Chapter Twelve
The turbulent year of 1684 quietly slipped away amidst fierce smoke and flames of war. The events of those brief twelve months would provide ample material for historians and military scholars to study for centuries to come. Even at the time, the intensity of political upheaval left every politician utterly astounded. When the rebellion of the Three Feudatories erupted abruptly, the boldest vision people could imagine was merely a division between north and south; yet a single cannon blast outside the Forbidden City shattered the grand blueprint of “the revival of the Great Qing”—though no one could say when this so-called “Great Qing” had ever flourished. As if this were not enough, the rise of numerous volunteer armies further compounded the woes of the faltering Manchu regime. Under the leadership of Yang Qilong’s Fourth Son Society, those outlaws and heroes who had hidden in the shadows now stepped onto the stage of history, plunging the vast regions north of the Yellow River—Shanxi, Henan, Anhui—into a vortex of chaos.
Among them, Yang Qilong, who had long conspired with the Han Army’s Grand Marshal Lin, found himself in dire straits. The attempt to unify military groups by the bonds of underworld brotherhood proved a flawed theory, and Yang Qilong learned this lesson all too well. Once, a band of passionate sons of the Ming had sworn oaths before the ancestral spirit of the founding emperor, vowing to annihilate the Manchu invaders. How solemn and high-spirited they had been! Yet in only a few months, as these sworn brothers each commanded thousands of troops, they seemed transformed—each began calculating their own interests, paying lip service to their leader while secretly colluding with rival factions.
Fortunately, the local governments of the Qing court were exceedingly weak. Though the volunteer armies were rife with internal conflict and mutual intrigue, they remained united in their anti-Qing stance. After the initial period of “big fish eat small fish, small fish eat shrimp,” the various leaders pragmatically demarcated their spheres of influence based on strength, jointly nominating Yang Qilong as nominal chief. This was unwelcome news for Qing officials, for once the spoils were divided, the volunteer armies launched fierce assaults against their respective targets.
It must be acknowledged that the peasant armies lacked military discipline at the outset, but after months of civil and external warfare, they forged many capable fighting units. Previously, Qing local forces, aided by landlord militias, could mount ambushes and counterattacks. Yet once the volunteer armies consolidated, such opportunities vanished. After several joint conferences, the leaders coordinated large-scale sweeps in Henan and Shanxi, eliminating rural militia organizations under overwhelming pressure. Many landlord troops switched sides and became volunteers, while the rest fled to fortified cities.
The laws of war are impartial. Though victorious, these bloody battles left the volunteer armies severely depleted. While they never lacked for recruits, the loss of veteran cadres and seasoned soldiers could not be quickly remedied. As winter’s chill sealed the earth, the volunteers reluctantly halted their offensives, settling into a long period of rest and confrontation with Qing forces along the lines of Ruzhou and Xuzhou.
Aside from the unfortunate governor of Henan, the second to suffer calamity was Geng Jingzhong of Fujian. His downfall was entirely self-inflicted. The struggle for supremacy is a thrilling game, but not everyone is qualified to play. Fairly speaking, Geng Jingzhong was a competent warrior, but that could not mask his utter ineptitude in politics. After Prince Kang of the Qing, Jieshu, marched into the Xianxia Mountains, Geng should have submitted and conceded. Had he yielded then, any faction would have granted him a dignified exit. Yet he foolishly misread Lin Feng’s meteoric rise and destruction of the Qing court as a new opportunity, naively ordering a resurgence. This hostile move only aroused widespread resentment.
Chaos, pillage, and violence continued in Fuzhou until the second day of the New Year, when Zheng Jing’s troops from Taiwan took control and gradually restored order. Upon hearing of Geng Jingzhong’s demise, all Fujian erupted in celebration and fireworks.
Zheng Jing of Taiwan, along with his chief strategist Chen Jinnan, left an indelible mark on Chinese history. The abundance of written records ensures that even in the twenty-first century, their actions remain case studies in China’s military and political academies. The suddenness of the coup meant that in nearby Guangdong, only Shang Zhixin and Prince Kang of the Qing managed to accept the surrender of several thousand Geng army officers and soldiers.
This victory was achieved through Chen Jinnan’s masterful use of clandestine operations, showcasing the full might of the secret front. The reputation of the Heaven and Earth Society—already famed centuries before Jin Yong’s birth—spread across the land. In this silent war, loyalty and betrayal, deception and truth, wealth and beauty, bribery and persuasion, righteousness and self-interest, the noblest and basest aspects of humanity alternated and burned brightly amidst the bloodshed.
Marshal Wu Sangui, too, was deeply aware of this. In fact, the idea had haunted him since he drove Li Zicheng from the Forbidden City decades before, a thought that lingered relentlessly.
Due to the marshal’s frail health, he could not undertake long journeys. After much deliberation, the civil and military officials of the Great Zhou court decided to relocate the political center to Changsha. What followed was most intriguing: as soon as the officials from the Imperial Astronomical Bureau arrived, they observed extraordinary cosmic changes, particularly in the movement of the stars. In Wuling and Chenzhou, enormous fruit trees were discovered; far away in Kunming, a miraculous report arrived—one night, countless residents visiting the Prince of Peace’s mansion witnessed fragrant clouds and golden dragons soaring. With these reports, officials across the Great Zhou realm felt as if collectively awakened, as myriad strange and auspicious events flooded in.
In the southern provinces, excitement surged. All were dissatisfied with Marshal Wu Sangui’s refusal of the imperial throne. Even the Great Zhou emperor—the former Crown Prince of the Chongzhen Emperor—was angered by Wu Sangui’s modesty and ordered the Imperial Guards to arrest him, forcibly installing him upon the succession platform outside the city and compelling him to accept the throne.
Thus, under the former emperor’s martial pressure, Marshal Wu Sangui was forced to accept abdication.
In the spring of 1685, a grand ceremony was held in Changsha, Hunan. Wu Sangui, Grand Marshal of the Great Zhou, accepted the abdication, formally ascending to the throne. To honor the previous emperor, the country retained the name “Zhou,” adopted the new era name “Zhaowu,” declared Changsha the capital, named his wife Lady Liu as Empress, and established his legitimate grandson Wu Shifan as heir.
Following ancient custom, the first act of the new dynasty was lavish reward for meritorious subjects. After the Wu clan and the emperor’s loyal generals received their rewards, the court remembered a great contributor still far in the north: the Han Army’s Grand Marshal Lin Feng, who held Beijing. After days and nights of debate, the emperor decided to bestow a princess upon him.
After a hurried family council, the choice fell upon Princess Anping, Wu Yingke, daughter of the renowned recluse Chen Yuanyuan. The selection caused a stir throughout Zhou. Among all the emperor’s daughters, Princess Anping was the most beautiful and captivating; many young courtiers had long admired her. When news spread that she would marry the northern hero, everyone envied his fortune.
Yet admiration aside, few were surprised by the emperor’s decision, for the status of Chen Yuanyuan and her daughter in the Zhou court was well understood.
There was nothing unusual about this affair—it echoed countless tales of passionate women and fickle men. The romance between these two famed figures had once captivated the world, earning the emperor the epithet “he angrily cast aside his crown for a beauty.” Yet, as always, such legendary love could not withstand the tide of time. Once Wu Sangui became Prince of Peace, more beauties—the likes of “Goddess of Four Faces” and “Goddess of Eight Faces”—entered his life. As Chen Yuanyuan aged and her beauty faded, her lover naturally made his choice. After losing favor, her days grew harsh; the jealous primary wife seized the opportunity to torment her. Forced by circumstance, the once-celebrated beauty retreated to a small nunnery near Kunming.
Born into such a single-parent household, Princess Anping Wu Yingke had little of a pleasant childhood. Whether or not her mother was favored, she remained isolated within the Wu clan. The other concubines envied her mother’s beauty and fame; the elders blamed her mother for tarnishing Wu Sangui’s reputation—a twisted form of scapegoating. Thus, the absurd situation arose: the illustrious Princess Huile of Qing, now Princess Anping of Zhou, was forced to leave the palace and live in the nunnery with her mother.
Fortunately, though Wu Sangui was fickle, he was not irresponsible. Their material circumstances remained privileged; though they lived in the temple, their lives were luxurious and well-served. Chen Yuanyuan, ashamed and guilty of her background, protected her daughter with utmost care. Inevitably, disaster followed: in such an isolated, discriminated household, Princess Anping developed a dreadful temper. Worse, seeking to alleviate childhood loneliness, she learned martial arts from the guards. Now, she had become an unstable force within the royal family—a ticking bomb. Only her mother could exert any control; there was no one in the Zhou court she dared not challenge, not even her father Wu Sangui, who could not win her favor. Despite her famed beauty, no suitors dared approach.
Although the Han Army and Zhou dynasty had never engaged in formal diplomatic contact, this did not impede the dispatch of envoys. It was a daunting diplomatic mission, for the territory between them was enemy-held for thousands of miles. To facilitate the passage, the Zhou army mobilized more than twenty thousand troops for a small-scale campaign. After drawing the Qing army’s attention, the envoys, escorted by elite Zhou soldiers, slipped northward along the seams of the battlefield.