In the autumn of the ninth year of Chongzhen, the Qing army finally withdrew beyond the pass.
Their entry had been like a blade cutting through silk. Beacon fires had flared across the north, memorials of disaster arriving daily in the capital, each more desperate than the last. For a time, the Ming court had looked powerless.
Yet their exit was far less glorious.
Ajige's carefully arranged scheme of luring the enemy into reckless pursuit had been calmly dismantled by Datong Regional Commander Wang Pu. Not only had over a hundred thousand enslaved civilians been rescued, but more than half of the looted livestock and valuables had been reclaimed.
Ajige had sworn to personally take Wang Pu's head.
Then he rode back in fury.
Meanwhile, the man whose name now sat on Ajige's blade was blushing.
Wang Pu stood before tens of thousands of rescued civilians who knelt, wept, and hailed him as their benefactor. The cheers rose like thunder rolling across mountains. It was the kind of praise that could intoxicate a man.
Instead, Wang Pu felt his ears burning.
Bai Mao, Wang Er, and Ma Shouying stood nearby, exchanging quiet glances.
"General Wang," Bai Mao said with an easy smile, "our Shanxi relief army will head home first. We are exhausted. As for reporting to the capital and receiving commendations, we leave that to you."
Wang Pu stared at them. "This was your battle. Why push the credit onto me? I did not even strike a proper blow."
Bai Mao laughed. "Did Zhuge Liang personally swing a spear at Xinye? No. Yet whose name carried the credit?"
Wang Pu hesitated. "But Zhuge Liang gave counsel. In this campaign, I merely followed behind you. Each time I arrived somewhere, victory had already happened."
The awkwardness was genuine.
He had marched. He had coordinated. But the decisive blows had belonged to others.
Ma Shouying, the man Wang Pu secretly found most intimidating, showed no interest in claiming glory. He adjusted his saddle casually, as though matters of merit were no more important than dust on his boots.
"We are not suited for the capital," Ma Shouying said. "Too many eyes. Too many tongues. You go."
That was explanation enough.
Wang Pu felt his throat tighten. "Brothers, if I ever rise higher because of this, I will not forget you."
The two forces parted.
The three generals of Gao Family Village passed through the Datong garrison and returned quietly to Shanxi. Wang Pu escorted the rescued civilians toward the capital.
When he arrived in Beijing, he learned that Minister of War Zhang Fengyi had already taken poison.
The charge had been cowardice.
Wang Pu stood still for a long time after hearing it.
The man who had refused to gamble the capital's last army had been condemned.
The man who had done little yet stood before cheering crowds was about to be rewarded.
History, Wang Pu realized, had a peculiar sense of irony.
Before he could dwell on it, a eunuch hurried over.
"General Wang, His Majesty summons you."
Wang Pu straightened his attire and followed.
Inside the Imperial Study, Zhu Youjian was visibly delighted. Upon seeing Wang Pu, he rose almost eagerly.
"My dear Minister Wang, I have awaited you. During this Manchu incursion, I received nothing but grim reports. Only your victories brought me comfort."
Wang Pu bowed deeply. "Your Majesty is too gracious."
"I shall reward you generously," Zhu Youjian continued. "You have restored dignity to the court."
Wang Pu felt a sudden urge to speak honestly.
"Your Majesty, truthfully, the Shanxi relief army accomplished most of this. I merely coordinated..."
Zhu Youjian waved him off.
"To achieve merit and yet refuse to boast of it. That is rare. Your modesty only increases your virtue."
Wang Pu fell silent.
He had tried to deflect praise. Instead, it had doubled.
"I will have the Ministry of War consider your promotion at once," the Emperor declared.
Before Wang Pu could respond further, Cao Huachun interjected gently, "Your Majesty, Minister Zhang Fengyi has just passed away. The Ministry of War is currently in disarray."
Zhu Youjian froze briefly.
"Then," he amended, "once order is restored, your promotion shall be processed."
At that moment, another eunuch rushed in.
"Your Majesty, urgent report from Nanyang. The Prince of Tang, Zhu Yujian, has organized a relief army of over a thousand men and is marching toward the capital."
"What?" Zhu Youjian's voice thundered across the chamber.
Wang Pu instinctively spoke before thinking. "Your Majesty, perhaps he intends to serve the throne. With only a thousand men, rebellion seems unlikely."
Zhu Youjian shot him a sharp glare.
Wang Pu immediately shut his mouth.
Silence stretched.
When the Emperor's anger cooled slightly, reason returned. A thousand men could not overturn the dynasty. The intent was likely loyal.
But a prince leading troops out of his fief was a dangerous precedent.
If one prince could mobilize soldiers under the banner of loyalty, what would stop another from doing so under ambition?
The loophole was intolerable.
"Draft an edict," Zhu Youjian ordered coldly. "Strip Zhu Yujian of his princely title. Reduce him to commoner. Send the Embroidered Uniform Guard to apprehend him and deliver him to Fengyang for proper reeducation. His brother Zhu Yuzhen shall inherit the title."
Ink began to flow across paper.
Wang Pu stood at the side, heart heavy.
Only moments earlier, he had been promised promotion.
Now he was witnessing how swiftly imperial favor could twist into punishment.
When Zhu Youjian finally dismissed him, Wang Pu bowed and withdrew.
As he stepped out of the palace gates, the earlier joy he had felt was gone.
So this is why they refused the credit, he thought.
Serving the throne openly was like walking across thin ice. One misstep, and the water below was cold and merciless.
Some forms of loyalty were safer when unseen.
He returned to Datong that very day.
That evening, in Xi'an, at the Market Square Intersection, Gaojia News flickered across the large public screen.
Zhu Cunji stood in his usual spot.
"Today," Gao Yiye announced calmly, "our war correspondent Zhou Daya reports from Henan."
The image shifted.
Zhou Daya appeared on screen, poised even amid chaos. Behind her, two forces clashed violently.
"One side," she explained, "is the bandit army led by Meng Hu and Du Hu. The other is the relief force organized by the Prince of Tang, Zhu Yujian. He has personally funded and assembled over a thousand guards, intending to march north to resist the Manchus. His courage is admirable."
Zhu Cunji's face drained of color.
He leapt to his feet, pointing at the screen.
"He… he… does he want to live anymore?"
Because anyone who understood the court understood this simple truth.
Fighting bandits was dangerous.
Fighting Manchus was dangerous.
But touching imperial authority without permission was the most dangerous of all.