Two Proud Warlords

"Our compliments, Grand Marshal!"

"We knew you'd do it, Grand Marshal!"

Marshals Sha Liu, Potou Pan, and Pan Cheng—men who had doubted his leadership at every turn—and the rest of the commanders now beamed, their faces flushed with praise.

Guan Xiansheng only looked weary and grim.

"How much army grain is there in Yongping City?"

"Th-the government granaries hold about a hundred thousand shi, and the fodder is piled up like mountains. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The city was never plundered through all the long years of war, so the people inside are fairly well off as well..."

Only when he heard the captured clerk did a faint smile touch Guan Xiansheng's mouth.

"Ha ha ha! No empty bellies for a good while, then!"

"Liaodong, Liaoxi—there was nowhere left to strip bare. We've barely come through alive!"

"And that's not all. This is the Central Plain! We've finally broken the Liaoxi Corridor and come into the heartland!"

For the first time in a long while the marshals raised their cups, toasting the capture of Yongping City, the seat of Yongping.

"God, what a sickening fight. Ever since we took Jinzhou, hasn't every single step forward been a brutal scrap?"

"And the defenses of this Yongping City—how stout were they? If the Grand Marshal's plan hadn't worked, how would we ever have gotten over these walls?"

"Ha ha ha! Isn't that the truth!"

In the second month of the previous year, the Red Turban Central Route Army had stood shivering on a frozen riverbank, laying siege to Jinzhou. From then until the eighth month of this year they had fought a truly desperate battle to force the Liaoxi Corridor. Red Turbans trying to punch through a narrow passage some five hundred and sixty li long—two hundred and sixty kilometers—and imperial troops trying, at any cost, to stop them: the struggle had been enough to turn the stomach. Mongol cavalry bursting out of the harsh mountains, Red Turban horse countercharging to meet them. For a year and a half the Central Route Army had advanced toward the Central Plain one step at a time, until nothing remained ahead of them but the corridor's exit: Yongping.

It was only an ordinary rammed-earth fort of the north, yet it drew river water in for a moat, its walls were stout, and it had watchtowers and gate-towers both. It was plainly the one barrier that could keep the Red Turbans out of the Central Plain. And yet...

"Thanks to the two of you, we took the city without heavy losses. I am truly grateful."

When Guan Xiansheng praised them in a voice that was, for him, almost warm, the two men bowed their heads.

"Th-then the reward you promised..."

"Of course the promise will be kept. Gold, silver, treasure, the women you want—and the rank of marshal besides."

"Th-thank you, Grand Marshal!"

Cheng Sizhong, a Red Turban turncoat. Temür Buqa, a Mongol soldier. Both had belonged to the army holding Yongping, and if they had not talked the troops around, opened the gates, and welcomed the Red Turbans in, the city would never have fallen so easily. Through the long war the issue of rations had grown wretched, and the imperial soldiers had starved and gone in rags, ground down by endless service. Guan Xiansheng had sent in false defectors to reach Cheng Sizhong and Temür Buqa—men of no high rank, but deeply trusted among the troops. Lured by the promise of a rich reward, they had opened Yongping and let the Red Turbans in.

"Then we'll take our men and secure the surrounding counties."

"The soldiers holding the other places will come over to us as well."

When Cheng Sizhong and Temür Buqa pressed forward so eagerly, Guan Xiansheng nodded, well satisfied.

"I'll trust the two of you—no, the two marshals. The more merit you win, the greater the reward."

"Yes, Grand Marshal!"

The pair, risen overnight from common soldiers, went out beaming. The moment they were gone, Guan Xiansheng's face set hard.

"Bring me the map."

He spread a map of the region that took in Hebei, Khanbaliq included, and Shandong, and quietly touched it with a finger, sunk in thought. The marshals watched him for a time as he brooded alone.

"...Grand Marshal."

"Grand Marshal?"

"Grand Marshal!"

Only when the shout broke from them did he lift his head. He ran his eyes over the marshals, who were watching him with gloomy faces.

"Stop turning it over in your head by yourself and talk to us. What do we do now? We're in the Central Plain. Shouldn't we be discussing what comes next?"

Marshal Potou Pan led the way, and Sha Liu, Pan Cheng, and the other commanders nodded.

"Let us be clear about one thing first. We have not yet entered the Central Plain."

"What? Why—"

"We've finally escaped the narrow corridor of Liaoxi, but Dadu, where the Mongol emperor sits, lies right beside Yongping. Until we break through here and reach the Hejian Circuit, we are still, in fact, trapped."

The commanders, their spirits soaring only a moment before, shut their mouths tight at the coldness of his voice.

"Of course a broad plain is far better than the Liaoxi Corridor. Put the other way, it means those damned Mongols will now throw everything they have at us—and that the ground has become much kinder to their cavalry."

"Mm..."

"Damn it. The mood was good, too..."

Guan Xiansheng paid no heed to the marshals' grumbling.

"We can't breathe easy until we've punched through and reached Shandong in the south. Surely none of you is fool enough to suggest we go west and take the Mongol emperor's head?"

"Well, we may be ignorant next to you, Grand Marshal, but we aren't idiots."

In the course of hard fighting and the taking of prisoners, news of the Central Plain had reached them. They all knew already that last August Bianliang, the capital of the Great Song, had fallen, and that King Xiaoming, Han Lin'er, and Chancellor Liu Futong had fled south to Anfeng with nothing but their lives.

"And if we go south? Is there any point? After Grand Marshal Mao Gui died, they say Shandong went to hell as well."

As Grand Marshal of the Eastern Route Army, Mao Gui had held Shandong and flaunted a power greater even than the regime at home. He had taken in Zhao Junyong, who had fled after a crushing defeat in the south at the hands of the imperial army and Zhang Shicheng—and for that he was assassinated. Xu Jizu, Mao Gui's subordinate, had come by ship to link up with the Eastern Route Army; he sailed back in haste, killed Zhao Junyong in his turn, and then died himself, emptily, in battle. After that the Red Turbans of Shandong lost their leader and fell into chaos for a time...

"I hear Tian Feng and Wang Shicheng have more or less settled things. Yidu, Jinan, even Dongping—the banner of our Great Song still flies there, for now."

At Guan Xiansheng's words Sha Liu snorted.

"Will those fellows follow His Majesty King Xiaoming and the Chancellor? From what I hear, Wang Shicheng has gone so far as to proclaim himself the Sweeping King, and Tian Feng the Flower-Horse King."

"The Sweeping King? So a king who sweeps the ground clean? And what in the world is a Flower-Horse King? Honestly..."

"Wang Shicheng—wasn't he one of ours, Central Route? Ha. And now the bastard's a king?"

"Every dog and cow is proclaiming himself king. It's a joke..."

"So in practice nobody gives a damn for King Xiaoming's orders, or the Chancellor's. Isn't that it?"

The marshals muttered, half sneer and half envy.

"If that's how it is, there's no reason our Grand Marshal can't do the same. How about it—why don't you rise to king as well?"

Guan Xiansheng looked at Sha Liu, who had asked it as if he were only making conversation, and his face did not change.

"Drop the useless talk. Unlike them, we are in no position to indulge ourselves."

"No, I only meant—"

"We've taken Yongping and gained the grain, so one worry is off our backs. What remains is to push west somehow and open a road to Shandong."

"And when we get there, will Tian Feng and Wang Shicheng even take us in?"

Guan Xiansheng's brow tightened. The Eastern Route Army had collapsed, in the end, precisely because it had taken in Zhao Junyong when he came calling himself an ally. If he himself went to them—Guan Xiansheng, with no small force at his back, a Grand Marshal equal in rank to their late superior Mao Gui—the two men might not welcome him at all. They might attack.

"Do we have another road? Go back to Liaodong? Or off to Goryeo, like that dead fool Mao Jujing?"

"Mm. That's..."

"For now there is no other road. Unless we're driven out of here, we go south, whatever it takes..."

They were still in council when a man burst into the great hall and shouted, breathless.

"G-Grand Marshal! Disaster! The enemy is on us!"

"Imperial troops? Already?"

"They came riding from the west, from the imperial capital! Fighting has already broken out. The messenger says Yesui has come!"

"Him again... that damned bastard..."

The marshals ground their teeth. Mongol nobles who had lost the valor of their ancestors and sunk into cowards—but not all of them were like that. There was a fierce general who had crossed the barren mountains and grasslands of Daning to ambush them and inflict heavy losses. Yesui, leading the elite cavalry of the imperial guard from the front, was an enemy not to be taken lightly.

"Grand Marshal, what do we do?"

"Yongping is our life. If we can't drive him off, we'll be going back to Liaodong."

Guan Xiansheng gave the order with a sharp look.

"We march at once and intercept him!"

"Yes, Grand Marshal!"

He clenched his teeth, eyes cold. This was the gate to the Central Plain, barely seized. Lose it again, and there was no road back.

If he could not break through here... where in the world was he to lead these hundreds of thousands?

"Your Highness the Crown Prince! A victory memorial from Zhongshu Pingzhang Zhengshi Yesui—"

"Here. Bring it here!"

Ayushiridara was barely twenty, just come of age, but he had already acquired a certain seasoning as heir apparent. He read swiftly down the report that had only just arrived.

Ayushiridara's eyes were bloodshot from days without sleep. The young prince let out a sigh of relief. Luanzhou, in the Yongping Circuit, lay a mere three hundred and sixty li from Khanbaliq—barely a hundred and forty kilometers. And between them there was nothing but open plain and farmland. Let cavalry run, and they could raid Khanbaliq in three or four days. It had been a lamp-flame in the wind.

"Yesui. Yesui did it."

"Congratulations, Your Highness!"

As the high officials of the Central Secretariat raised their voices together, Crown Prince Ayushiridara slammed his hand down on the desk.

"Silence! What is there to celebrate? Bandits have reached the very doorstep of this Khanbaliq, where the Great Khan resides!"

The green young heir snarled, eyes blazing.

"If Pingzhang Zhengshi Yesui had not stepped forward, the bandits would have threatened this capital that rules the world. Where are the valiant generals of the Yeke Mongol Ulus?"

"Y-Your Highness..."

Near Khanbaliq it was hard to find a commander one could trust besides Yesui, a general still in his thirties. He was the scion of an old Mongol noble house, son of Grand Commandant Yuekuochar, and he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had served in the keshig from childhood. While other Mongol noble sons of similar station sank into luxury and idleness and were of no use in settling a troubled age, Yesui had followed his father across the battlefields from his twenties and piled up merit. Loyal and upright toward the court, and able besides—he was the only one.

"Köke Temur and Bolod Temür. What, exactly, are those two doing?"

"Th-that is..."

"Still? You mean they are still quarreling?"

Ayushiridara was sick to death of warlords who had begun to run wild, court orders or no. Bolod Temür, posted to Datong to crush the bandits rampaging around Shangdu in the north. And Köke Temur, based in Shanxi and Taiyuan, who had won great merit by taking Bianliang, the Red Turbans' capital. The two warlords who commanded the strongest armies in the Yeke Mongol Ulus were even now fighting over who would govern Taiyuan—that is, the Jining Circuit.

"It seems neither can easily yield, on account of securing the grain to feed the armies under them."

"Yield? Since when do generals seize land as they please and haggle over what is mine and what is yours? Are they denying, now, that they are subjects of the Great Khan?"

Ayushiridara burst out, then choked it back. He was not wholly unable to understand their circumstances. Once the fires of rebellion began to burn across the Central Plain, the collection and transport of taxes had in effect stopped. For years now, the suppression armies had gone unsupplied. In the end it had become a matter of course for the commanders of those armies, wherever they were, to appoint local officials as they pleased, requisition goods, and collect taxes in order to keep the men under them. The two strongest warlords of the north, Köke Temur and Bolod Temür, were no different.

The problem was that the Datong region, where Bolod Temür was stationed, was a barren place skewed toward the north. With only forty-five thousand households and a population of a hundred and thirty thousand, he was hard pressed to find grain. Jining, which Köke Temur held, had originally numbered no more than seventy-seven thousand households and a hundred and fifty thousand people—but after all of Shaanxi, Hebei, and Henan were swept up in war, and after Köke Temur had pacified the basin ringed by mountains, refugees had poured in. He settled those refugees to till military colonies and state fields, levied soldiers, and trained them. He commanded a force strong enough to have broken the capital of that Red Turban host and put their false emperor to flight.

So Bolod Temür, struggling to supply his army, had tried to occupy part of the Jining Circuit south of Datong. Köke Temur, of course, would not let it pass that a fellow imperial army was eyeing his own territory. The result was that the two warlords were even now fighting battles large and small.

"Bolod Temür, Pingzhang Zhengshi of the Central Secretariat, has submitted a memorial. He argues that since Köke Temur, Pingzhang Zhengshi of Henan, was charged with pacifying Henan and Shandong, the Jining Circuit ought by rights to fall under his own jurisdiction."

"And Köke Temur?"

"That most of the soldiers under him are men of Jin and Ji, and so handing over the Jining Circuit is impossible..."

Crown Prince Ayushiridara shut his eyes tight. Both of them had their justifications, and both were pressing their own case upon the court; in that they were the same. Bolod Temür, fighting the Red Turban remnants in the north and guarding the imperial capital of Khanbaliq, would think Köke Temur greedy for clinging to the land when he was supposed to march on distant Shandong. Köke Temur, gathering the strength and the supplies for that campaign, would find it absurd—Bolod Temür's greed, trying to swallow for nothing the base he had so carefully nurtured.

"The two have been on bad terms for a long time. Köke Temur was originally nothing more than a militia commander under Dash Badur, Bolod Temür's father, and now their positions are reversed, are they not?"

Bolod Temür was the heir of an old Mongol noble house that had inherited the office of myriarch for generations, and his father, Dash Badur, had been the famed general who led the suppression army of all Henan and drove the Red Turbans into a corner. Three years ago, however, the court had sent army inspectors on the pretext of examining Dash Badur, who commanded a force grown too powerful. Their clumsy interference in his military authority led to a grave defeat at the hands of the Red Turbans, and Dash Badur, unjustly impeached, fell ill from rage and died.

Bolod Temür had been given command of his dead father's troops, and by outstanding valor he had won great merit in blocking the Red Turbans' march north. He might have resented the Great Khan and the court for his father's unjust death. But true to the heir of a house that had served the Yeke Mongol Ulus for generations, he had stayed faithful to his duty. Naturally, a man from a great house like Bolod Temür could not like it that Köke Temur led a power on his own level—no, a greater one.

Köke Temur was a Mongol, of Naiman stock, but no ancestor of his had risen particularly high. An obscure house. He had simply raised a militia to defend his home, and by fighting and earning merit he had risen.

"What has the Great Khan said?"

"Only that the Zhongshu Ling should handle it as he sees fit..."

Formally invested as crown prince and appointed Zhongshu Ling, the young Ayushiridara was in practice leading the court, and he sighed. The court's authority had already fallen into the dust. Orders issued not by the Great Khan but by himself, the heir, were finding it ever harder to control warlords who did as they pleased.

In the end, must he take the Great Khan's place by an abdication from within, as his mother wished?

Ayushiridara brooded for a moment, then gave the order.

"North of Shiling Pass, Bolod Temür will defend. South of it, Köke Temur. Send an imperial envoy in the Great Khan's name."

"Your Highness, but—"

"It can't be helped. They must each yield a little."

Shiling Pass was a barrier standing at the midpoint of the Jining Circuit. Ayushiridara had chosen to hand the northern portion of the circuit to Bolod Temür, leave the richest ground in the south as the territory Köke Temur already held, and so mediate between them. A compromise meant to soothe Bolod Temür's discontent while keeping to a minimum the anger of Köke Temur—the strongest of the warlords, and the one preparing the campaign into Shandong. For a crown prince who had in hand neither the force to compel them nor sufficient authority, it was the best decision he could make.

"The next item?"

"The army sent to suppress Alqui Temür, Prince of Yangdi..."

"Was it defeated?"

"They say that in the night they left their commander, Tügen Temür, behind and went over to the rebels."

"Absurd. Simply absurd."

Ayushiridara leaned back in his chair, his head spinning. As the chaos dragged on, the annual tribute collected from the appanages across the Central Plain and Jiangnan had ceased. As a result, the princes of the Golden Lineage who dwelt on the western steppe, or in the uluses of the Hexi Corridor, had fallen into severe financial distress—so severe that some of their own kin were starving to death. When the court tried to raise a suppression army in the midst of that, the resentment finally burst. Alqui Temür, Prince of Yangdi, a descendant of the House of Ögedei, rose in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠revolt. And he had the nerve to send a letter straight to Khanbaliq.

The Great Khan, Toghon Temür, who had cast government aside and shut himself away, flew into a rage and personally ordered Tügen Temür, Administrator of the Bureau of Military Affairs, to suppress the rebel. The Kipchaks who had been loyal to Chancellor Toqto'a, purged and dead—he entrusted Tügen Temür with ten thousand elite of the Qarachi imperial guard that had been protecting Khanbaliq, and sent them far off. And now that army had joined Alqui Temür's rebels.

"They say Alqui Temür has brought various princes to heel and gained two hundred thousand cavalry. So great a host—the Kipchaks must have taken fright..."

"Don't be ridiculous! Two hundred thousand?"

Ayushiridara glared at the officials of the Central Secretariat, useless to a man.

"If they truly had a great army of two hundred thousand, they would already have pushed into Guanzhong! Why are they looping the long way around through barren steppe and desert, coming toward Shangdu? Because they aren't capable of fighting the fierce warlords, or the Red Turbans!"

"Y-Your Highness..."

"Tens of thousands at most, and the greater part of them herdsmen with nothing but bows and no armor! Most of them won't have fought a single battle in decades!"

He vented his irritation, then tapped the desk with a finger.

"Order Laozhang, Administrator of Military Affairs for the Lingbei Branch Secretariat, to suppress them. He has Uyghur mingghans under him who distinguished themselves in the southern campaigns. Fewer men, and he'll still deal with the rebels more easily."

"Yes, Your Highness. It will be done."

"The next item?"

"Grand Commandant Zhang Shicheng and the Duke of Yue, Lim Hyeon, have sent tax grain."

"Send the grain to Yesui's army first of all. Right now, the only thing this court can truly rely on is Yesui's imperial guard."

"It will be done."

"Wait."

Ayushiridara considered for a moment, then beckoned the man who had been standing in silence.

"You called, Your Highness?"

A principal fourth-rank attendant of the Crown Prince's Household Administration, assisting in the prince's business—and a survivor of the Gi clan. Gi Jeonryong. He bowed his head to Ayushiridara, his maternal cousin.

"Go out and bring Sain Temür."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Gi Jeonryong went quickly and returned with his younger cousin, who, as a member of the keshig, had been standing guard nearby. Ayushiridara looked with warm eyes on Gi Sain Temür, his nökör and maternal cousin, raised beside him from childhood.

"Sain Temür. You know you can't build any strength by guarding me here in Khanbaliq."

"Yes, Your Highness. I know it well."

"Among the keshig, the only things there are to learn are swilling wine and chasing women. If you are to be my strength—and if you are to grow strong enough to avenge the house—then in the end you have to go to the battlefield."

Gi Sain Temür had been raised not as a man of Goryeo, but as a Mongol. He nodded, his head shaved clean in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Mongol fashion, the braid hanging behind.

"If it is to fulfill my duty as Your Highness's nökör, I will accept any danger."

At that resolute answer Ayushiridara gave a bitter smile.

"Go to Yesui, who is fighting the Red Turbans in Yongping. Take the Goryeo warriors Her Majesty raised. They will be of help."

"But they..."

"What strength will you build if you go alone? Go, and win such merit that no one can slight you for being a man of Goryeo."

Gi Sain Temür bowed his head to his noyan—no, to his lord.

"I will fight with my life, so that I am never a shame to Your Highness as your nökör."

"Don't talk nonsense. Come back alive. Only then can I raise you to a higher place—and only then can you be my strength."

"Yes, Your Highness!"

The young crown prince watched the departing back with sad eyes. Then Ayushiridara returned to his work.