Chapter Twenty-Five

After the rebels reached a compromise with the Han Army government, the Liaodong rebel force was immediately reorganized on the spot along the Shanhai Pass. The Han military commanders encountered no resistance in handling the matter; in fact, when the announcement of their acceptance was made, those ragged soldiers let out thunderous cheers. This scene struck the rebel leaders who still harbored doubts like a bolt from the blue. Seeing the look of relief on their men’s faces, all lost the will to continue negotiating for their “cause.”

Such an outcome was not truly surprising. Whether it was the Cao brothers or Ma the Big Pole, neither army was determined to fight here. The confrontation at Shanhai Pass was, at its core, nothing more than political blackmail. Yet the rebel commanders lacked experience in such matters; they never imagined the psychological stress their soldiers would suffer during a standoff. Afterwards, Lin Feng, wishing to demonstrate trust and a connection with the people, visited the rank-and-file rebel troops. The answers he received were rather intriguing: the soldiers had little impression of the Han Army’s muskets and cannons, nor did they find the weapons particularly frightening. What struck them most were the splendid uniforms of the Han soldiers; the sight of tens of thousands of elite troops dressed in neat, beautiful formations left a profound impact. Thus, after the amnesty, Lin was often asked about these uniforms, and the soldiers expressed unabashed envy, collectively demanding them as soon as the reorganization began.

This phenomenon is timeless. On one hand is the prospect of returning home to farm; on the other, the promise of houses, land, and a secure government post. The choice was clear to all. So, apart from a few men who truly loved their previous lifestyle, most surrendered rebels declared their devotion and loyalty to Commander Lin, vowing to defend him at all costs.

This posed no difficulty for the seasoned recruiters. Truthfully, they were well accustomed to such matters. In the Han Army’s territories, numerous youths sought entry into the ranks, with intense incidents of self-mutilation to prove their resolve. The relocated refugees outside the camps numbered in the thousands, kneeling in hopes of enlisting. Compared to that, the current situation was almost trivial. In the eyes of these recruiters, being a Han Army soldier was a position of great honor, responsibility, and privilege—not just anyone could join. So, they swiftly enacted iron-handed policies: first to be dismissed were the old, weak, and sick infantry. The policy’s announcement immediately caused backlash, as those about to be dismissed took their grievances directly to Lin Feng, leaving the commander in an awkward position.

In a sense, the so-called “suppression of the Three Feudatories’ rebels” was merely a pretext. The factors necessary for a national uprising had long been brewing, and under the chain reaction of the Han Army’s campaign against the Manchu regime in the heartland, rebellion was inevitable.

With the foundation laid, and at the resolute request of Ma Ying and the Cao brothers, and seeing that the Qing authorities in Liaodong were temporarily incapable of defending two fronts, Lin Feng decided to seize the moment and recover the lost Ming territories.

In the spring of 1685, aided by the surrendered rebels and local residents, Lin Feng led the Guards, the Han Army’s Third Corps, two cavalry brigades, and over ten thousand surrendered rebels—almost thirty thousand troops—eastward at full speed. Counties and prefectures collapsed at the news, officials abandoned their posts and fled. At this point, the strategic hub of Jinzhou had lost all its outer defenses, like a shattered reef amidst stormy waves, encircled by rural resistance for half a year. With no supplies within and no reinforcements without, upon hearing of the Han Army’s advance, the main Qing force inside the city prepared early, organizing the Eight Banner colonists to break through and retreat toward Fengtian before Han cavalry scouts arrived.

Thus, all the territory lost by the Ming dynasty after the Battle of Songshan was restored.

Decades later, the Han regime once more emerged beyond the Great Wall. The government established the Liao-Jin Military Governor’s Office, with Lin Feng as its first governor. The administration included an official for civil affairs, temporarily overseeing all counties, tending to agriculture and economic recovery. Wang Dahai’s “Jianwei” command was renamed “Pacifier of Liaodong,” placed in charge of the Third Corps and two cavalry brigades, garrisoned at Jinzhou, eyeing central Liaodong.

In this shadowy internal feud, Ma Ying displayed fierce resolve. His series of secret executions—beheadings, live burials, and torchings—proved his capabilities. Having followed his father in banditry since youth, decades of iron and fire made him no stranger to such struggles. While he conducted these brutal purges, Commander Lin was cheerfully visiting the grassroots of the rebel force, expressing warmth and care, seemingly oblivious to the bloodshed.

To heal the wounds from the infighting, Lin Feng convened a commanders’ meeting before the eastern campaign, announcing the early promotion of Ma Ying to major general with the title “Jianwei Pacifier,” equal in rank to Wang Dahai, and giving him command over all surrendered rebels. He also fulfilled his previous promises: the rebel leaders received rewards according to their rank and strength—not just gold and silver, but also houses, land, and captured Eight Banner maidens. Thus, internal issues were suppressed, and in the end, the motley rebel force, after witnessing the Han government’s policies toward farmers, finally realized Liaodong had a new master.

When Lin Feng returned to Beijing, leading the Guards and over four hundred trained officers, summer had already arrived. The journey had far exceeded its scheduled length, and the results far surpassed his ministers’ expectations. In fact, before the commander’s return, the Han government was already mounting a grand victory campaign in its territories. Stories of the commander’s heroic might, the Manchus fleeing north in panic, and all manner of legends were being spread. Though storytellers often exaggerated, the restoration of ancestral lands indeed “revived the spirit of all Han people.” Lin’s fame among the masses soared to its peak; merchants and scholars alike praised him, and the Han Army enjoyed unparalleled prestige. Yang Qilong of Henan sent envoys to offer congratulations despite taboos, and even Zheng Jing in distant Fujian sent a letter of praise via the Heaven and Earth Society’s Green Wood Hall.

Yet at this time, the commander had no leisure to accept these accolades. During his absence from Beijing, matters requiring judgment had piled up on his desk. Besides all sorts of administrative affairs, the most urgent were the requests from the Mongolian Prince of Chakhar to enter the capital and the return of the Great Zhou’s bridal envoy.

If many of Lin Feng’s decisions seemed absurd to his ministers, then his choice for the Great Zhou bridal envoy was the pinnacle of eccentricity. When Lin appointed Colonel Rick of the Guards as chief envoy, the etiquette-conscious Lord Li Guangdi was so furious he smashed the table before his master. He later joined Zhou Peigong, Chen Menglei, Tang Bin, and other distinguished officials in submitting a letter, demanding an elder of high virtue be sent so as not to make a laughingstock internationally. But these efforts failed to sway Lin’s resolve, and in the end, Rick—the blond, blue-eyed foreigner—accompanied Wang Shirong as envoy.

For several months, Colonel Rick lived quite comfortably. Though the Great Zhou officially regarded the northern Han regime as a lesser province, in reality, both Emperor Wu Sangui and his ministers took the diplomatic mission very seriously. When Rick’s bridal party landed at Guangzhou’s Huangpu Port, Shang Zhixin immediately dispatched a three-thousand-strong army to escort them out of Guangdong. Upon entering Zhou territory, Wu Sangui’s elite Imperial Guard awaited, layers of protection leading them all the way to Changsha.

Poor Colonel Rick, for the first time in his life, enjoyed the treatment of a state guest; inevitably, it left him a bit nervous and eccentric. Most disturbing was his peculiar inclination toward women. Whenever he encountered one on the journey, he would display wild enthusiasm, addressing them all as “ladies,” showing them even greater respect than he did Zhou officials.

The local Zhou officials responsible for hosting him found it unbearable. At every banquet with the foreigner, Colonel Rick never forgot to greet their wives and warmly inquired why they hadn’t brought their wives to meet him.

However, Rick’s status did not cause protest in Zhou’s court. According to intelligence, Colonel Rick was Lin Feng’s closest “servant,” akin to a “Kunlun slave” in rank. Lin’s decision to send him as bridal envoy underscored the importance he placed on the diplomatic mission. It was well known in Chinese political tradition that sending a minister or academician to handle a task was ordinary, but sending a eunuch signaled utmost gravity. With this cultural implication, Zhou’s Ministry of Rites did not raise objections as Li Guangdi feared, but courteously welcomed Colonel Rick into the capital.

What followed was hardly suspenseful: Rick had no interest in elderly men, and Emperor Wu Sangui found the foreigner’s chatter somewhat amusing. Thus, the marriage was quickly settled, with express riders and swift boats sent ahead to notify Commander Lin in Beijing. Upon receiving the departure date and the list of dowry gifts, Lin calculated the time and suddenly realized he was about to be married.