At the foot of Mount Daqing,
on the Tumu River plain.
Dotting the landscape were small tents, yet in their midst stood a small, resplendent palace.
Altan Khan, just fifty years old, was seated atop it. Chieftains of the various tribes and ministers of the Khan’s court, imitating the customs of the Central Plains, were reporting to the Great Khan.
On the left, leading the assembly, was Kuden Khan Da Laisun, the chieftain of the Chahar. Following him were Nuoyan Tulei of the Uriankhai, then Changzi Xin Ai, second son Buyan, third son Tie Bei, fourth son Bing Tu, fifth son Ba Lin, sixth son Geli Ge, and his cousin Labuke, among others.
To the right sat several Han Chinese, with Zhao Quan at their head, followed in order by Li Zixin, Zhou Yuan, Liu Si, and Qiu Fu.
The gaunt and stern Altan, at this moment, was brimming with satisfaction, proud of his carefully laid plans. In the prime of his life, he yearned for the prosperity and glory of the Yuan Dynasty’s imperial court.
And at this very moment,
he could already see a glimmer of dawn—
Yan Song’s secret missive had been verified. His suspicions were indeed correct; the old fox could no longer sit still. That young Zhu Mo’s reckless attacks had thoroughly frightened the old fox. And when a fox is frightened, it will seek protection from the lion at any cost.
However, he didn’t actually care about the so-called reforms of the Ming Dynasty. He was merely using Zhao Quan and the Princess of Dai to trick Yan Song.
For what use were these so-called reforms, no matter how they changed? This wasn’t the first time. Could they truly produce any magical tricks? The struggle between two nations was a clash of arms on the battlefield, like two colossal beasts grappling in the wilderness, leaving no room for trickery! What did that young Zhu Mo, so young, understand of military affairs? Even if he changed things, so what? It would simply mean more money, and the construction of countless fortresses along the Great Wall.
But what use were these fortresses? They could still pass through freely. They merely drained national resources. How could that young man understand this principle? The maneuvers he was orchestrating in Jiangnan might fool the Ming people, but they would be hard-pressed to deceive others.
His true objective, not a single person in the Ming Dynasty knew—
He intended to completely transform the grasslands, to unify the twelve Tumet tribes with the northern provinces of the Ming Dynasty, and then to push the Ming to the Huai River line, reverting to the former格局 of the Liao, Jin, and Song dynasties. Only then could the Mongol tribes prosper once more, and the Central Plains continuously supply resources. This was also the most stable approach. The Ming people would still have a corner of territory, enough to deceive themselves and continue their drunken stupor.
If Yan Song was willing to play this role, it was naturally best. For these treacherous officials were too greedy. As long as there was profit to be made, they would sell not only the nation but even their ancestors without a second thought. Moreover, even if Yan Song was unwilling, there were ways to compel him.
In reality, whether it was Yan Song or Zhu Mo, whoever could fulfill his wishes, he would support. In his eyes, no internal policies implemented by the Ming Dynasty could fundamentally change things. If they could change, why would the Yuan Dynasty have ended up in that state? Therefore, that Zhu Mo was merely a fleeting phenomenon, perhaps another Wang Anshi, who would only accelerate the decay of the situation.
The grasslands had an ancient saying: Those within the passes were always cunning administrators, and within a few decades, they would turn into a puddle of mud. And once a dynasty within the passes decayed, it was often irreparable. This was almost a time-honored iron law…
These thoughts were naturally unknown to the people before him.
He had always proclaimed that he was undertaking this great endeavor out of concern that Zhu Mo would turn the Ming Dynasty into a second Qin or Han, ultimately mobilizing all national strength to sweep north. In reality, he had merely seen this vast rift in the Ming Dynasty, sufficient to realize his blueprint. Since ancient times, there had been many who wished to sweep north, but how many had succeeded? It was all just bluster.
At this moment,
three months had passed since the last incursion. Every stage of the plan was progressing as anticipated. From Qinghai to Liaoning, and north to the Chahar homeland, all the troops that could be gathered were already en route, more than a month ahead of schedule. This time, a total of eighty thousand cavalry had been assembled, a force unmatched in two hundred years.
If it weren’t for the sudden attack by that fierce Grand Tutor Ma, who abducted his grandson Ba Han Na Ji, everything would have been perfect.
Thinking of this, his mood couldn’t help but become somber. Simultaneously, a thought began to swirl in his mind, a fleeting, intangible sensation. This feeling had saved him from danger countless times; it was the wolf’s instinct for danger—
Grand Tutor Ma Fang had always been more courageous than strategic. How could he have struck so accurately this time? And why would he suddenly venture beyond the frontier to pursue? Why did he appear at Xiaobaihai precisely at this juncture? After abducting his grandson, he didn’t rush back to the city but instead kept circling the areas of Xuanfu and Datong?
What was the reason for all this?
And so,
he sat on his royal throne, unmoving as a clay statue, yet his mind was already turning a hundred times.
At this moment,
he let out a long sigh, made up his mind, and looked at his third son, Tie Bei, saying, “Tie Bei, Na Ji is your eldest son. Grand Tutor Ma has abducted him, what do you intend to do?”
Tie Bei had been waiting for this moment. While there was a flicker of disappointment, there was more righteous indignation. He declared loudly, “Father Khan, the people of my Golden Clan will never harm the whole for the sake of one person! Ba Han Na Ji is protected by Tengri and Bodhisattva. Whether he lives or dies, he will not dishonor the dignity of the Golden Clan!”
Mm-hmm,
A good son, a good grandson…
Upon hearing this, Altan recalled his own youth when he had been in exile. A pang of sorrow struck him, and he found himself unable to let go, remaining silent for a long time…
But since an alliance had already been forged, regardless of whether his grandson was rescued or how, he should consider the thoughts of Yan Song’s faction. Thus, he turned to Zhao Quan and said,
“Lord Zhao, what does the Princess of Dai say?”
Zhao Quan, since his defection six years prior, had gained Altan’s deep trust. He knew well how much this Great Khan doted on Ba Han Na Ji and that offending him was out of the question. He immediately replied,
“Great Khan, the Princess says they will find a way to rescue Na Ji…”
Before he could finish,
Tie Bei let out an angry snort, asking, “How will they rescue him?”
Zhao Quan faltered, saying, “Uh, this humble subject is merely relaying the words… Great Khan, their words cannot be trusted! Yan Song’s treacherous faction has always been untrustworthy. We must find our own way… However, as far as this humble subject understands, Grand Tutor Ma is a man of great integrity and would likely not harm Na Ji.”
Mm-hmm,
Altan was naturally reassured by this. Otherwise, he would have already sent out troops. He had been fighting Ma Fang for twenty years and had a good grasp of what he would and would not do.
Thinking of this,
he felt it necessary to give Yan Song’s faction a formal response. He took a small golden arrow from his embrace, on which was inscribed Ba Han Na Ji’s name in Mongolian, and tossed it with a crack in front of Zhao Quan, saying, “This is Na Ji’s golden arrow. You will return to Datong overnight and give it to the Princess of Dai…”
With a whoosh,
he stood up again, strode out of the hall, and calmly declared,
“In more than ten days, it will be the minor new year for the Han people. Tell Yan Song that I will present him with a great gift on the night of the minor new year…”
Upon stepping out of the hall, he turned back to glance at the palace with its Central Plains style. He stared into the distance for a long time before saying leisurely, “Why is it that I can never get used to living in this place…”
Everyone present, including the few Han Chinese, understood: that was the golden arrow bestowed when Na Ji was born and named. By doing this, the Great Khan indicated that he no longer cared about his grandson’s life.