Chapter Fifty-Nine Northern Strategic Conception

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Northern Strategic Vision

“Your Majesty, I summoned Yishaha because of matters concerning the Jurchens. This year, they suffered a severe drought. Therefore, I intend to open markets in Liaodong, exchanging grain for furs, ginseng, and horses, to pacify the Three Guards of Jianzhou. After all, no matter what, the people of Jianzhou are still subjects of the Ming,” said Zhu Qizhen.

The Grand Empress Dowager replied, “I approve of this. Let Yishaha use military grain from Liaodong for now. Whatever is used can be replenished later this year.”

Liaodong spans twenty thousand hectares, and with the production levels of this era, absent any natural disasters, it yields between three to four million shi of grain. However, when combining all the military households in Liaodong, numbering over a hundred thousand souls including their families, this amount is merely sufficient.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Zhu Qizhen said, bowing quickly.

“You didn’t summon Yishaha simply for this, did you?” the Grand Empress Dowager asked sharply.

“Your insight is unmatched, Your Majesty,” Zhu Qizhen replied with a smile. He knew long ago that all his undertakings required her approval, and he was already choosing his words carefully.

What, after all, is the modern world’s most basic impression of the Northeast? An old industrial base, or a granary for commercial crops? Yet Zhu Qizhen always envisioned the Northeast as a great granary.

The Ming’s northern lands have always been far less prosperous than the south. The grain that supports the nine border garrisons, while partially sourced from the north, is largely transported from the south. This has placed the Ming at a strategic disadvantage against the Mongols. Once war breaks out, the supply lines for the Ming do not begin in Beijing, but in Nanjing. Under such circumstances, how could the Ming ever launch a proper offensive onto the steppe?

Therefore, to truly defeat the Mongols, countless issues must be addressed. For example, since the Yongle era, the corruption and decay of the garrisons have left soldiers little more than slaves to their officers. The fighting strength of the border troops has declined drastically, far removed even from the early reign or Yongle period. There is also the matter of a dearth of capable commanders, among other issues.

But to Zhu Qizhen, one matter stands above all: the development of the north. If the north could support the wars on the steppe, the cost of conflict would be greatly reduced. The empire would not be thrown into turmoil by every campaign against the Mongols.

Yet the north, from the Liao, Jin, and Yuan dynasties to the present, has been in a state of constant upheaval, never again reaching the heights of the Han and Tang. The economic center has shifted irrevocably south. Even so, any recovery, however slight, is worth pursuing.

The situation in Northern Zhili is difficult. Zhu Qizhen realized this through the Mentougou coal mines. Wherever there is a coal mine in Mentougou, the influence of the nobility is never absent. The same is surely true for farmland near Beijing—there is no need to speak it aloud. Any attempt to manipulate land ownership around the capital must be handled with extreme caution.

But Liaodong is different. Its vast lands and sparse population offer enormous potential for reclamation, and it remains under the administration of the garrisons, whose duty includes cultivating military farms.

“Your Majesty,” Zhu Qizhen said, “the grain needed by the capital is transported from the south along the Grand Canal. This is extremely risky; if anything were to happen to the canal, the capital could face starvation. I have thought long and hard, and it simply does not feel secure.”

He continued, “Liaodong is vast and sparsely populated. If developed, its grain could support the capital by sea, which would be far more convenient.”

The Grand Empress Dowager shook her head. “Liaodong can only grow one crop a year, mostly millet, and much of the land remains uncultivated. It is enough if they are self-sufficient—how can they support the capital?”

“Do you think I am mistaken?”

“Your Majesty, rice can be grown in Liaodong,” Zhu Qizhen insisted.

Hearing this, the Grand Empress Dowager was intrigued. “Is that true?”

Rice is far more productive than millet and similar crops. The south outpaces the north in grain production largely because of the widespread cultivation of rice.

“I would not deceive you, Your Majesty,” Zhu Qizhen responded. “Korea borders Liaodong, and its people grow rice in abundance. Liaodong also has plentiful water, so it should be possible.”

He pressed on, “If you do not believe me, send a few farming households from Jiangnan to try cultivating rice in Liaodong. Even if only one crop is possible per year, the yield would still be considerable.”

Millet yields in the north are often just over one shi per mu, sometimes even less. Thus, Zhu Qizhen’s estimate of three million shi from twenty thousand hectares in Liaodong is actually optimistic. He suspects that Liaodong’s arable land is more than officially recorded—there must be some private fields.

But if all twenty thousand hectares were converted to rice cultivation, yields could instantly double. Two shi per mu of rice is standard; in parts of Jiangnan, yields reach five or six shi per mu, though such results are rare. Three shi per mu per crop is not unusual in Jiangnan.

The Grand Empress Dowager considered this. “Let us set this matter aside for now. I will send some families from the south to plant rice in Liaodong.” With all the empire’s resources at her command, such matters required only a word from her. “But Liaodong’s population is too small. What do you propose?”

“From now on, all major criminals sentenced by the court should be exiled to Liaodong, and Jurchens should be encouraged to come down from the mountains and farm,” Zhu Qizhen replied carefully. “If possible, some disaster refugees from the northern provinces could also be relocated there.”

The Grand Empress Dowager’s expression softened into a faint smile, betraying no emotion. “You asked about Daning—is it because you intend, in time, to use Liaodong’s grain to aid Daning and rebuild its command?”

Zhu Qizhen knew that every word spoken in the Hall of Heavenly Purity reached the Grand Empress Dowager’s ears. Whether this was care or surveillance, he found it somewhat wearying, but he was no child—such things were unavoidable. He never let these feelings show.

He answered, “Precisely so. Daning is too important. The Taizong Emperor once said, ‘As long as Kaiping and Daning stand, the barbarians cannot menace the capital.’ If both Kaiping and Daning are abandoned, the enemy can reach Datong and the frontier will be aflame. That is not the sign of a flourishing dynasty.”

The Grand Empress Dowager asked, “And in the future, how do you plan to deal with the Oirat Mongols? Have you thought this through?”

In the warmth of her smile, Zhu Qizhen felt as if she were merely a kindly old grandmother. Since his accession, he had grown increasingly familiar with the affairs of state under her tutelage. Though he could not claim to know every detail, he understood the main issues and carried himself with the poise of a seasoned statesman. Now, occupying the throne, he was eager to act. Without hesitation, he replied, “I have considered it. Though the Taizong Emperor campaigned northward five times and won many victories, within decades the Oirats rose to power while the court had yet to recover its strength.”

“In my view, the hope of resolving everything with a single grand campaign must be abandoned. The Ming’s border defense strategy should return to the founding emperor’s original plan.”

The Grand Empress Dowager asked, “And what plan was that?”

Zhu Qizhen began, “The founding emperor, realizing that the steppe could not be conquered swiftly, sought to ally with various tribes while establishing the nine border defenses, pushing toward the steppe, building the Liaohai shield and Gansu rampart. With the rise of the Oirats, these regions have grown unstable. I believe two fronts should be reinforced to contain the Oirats.”

“Gansu can be set aside for now, but the northeast, with its forests and abundant vegetation, surely can be cultivated. I propose opening fields in the Nurgan Commandery, both farming and defending, turning Nurgan into a province, and from there moving west to rebuild Daning, Kaiping, and Dongsheng, reclaiming all lands south of the desert.”

“Thus, we could drive the northern barbarians back beyond the Gobi.”

The Grand Empress Dowager asked, “And what of the lands beyond the Gobi?”

Zhu Qizhen admitted, “I have not yet devised a solution for that.”

The Grand Empress Dowager’s tone cooled. “It is not that you have not thought of a solution—it is that you have thought too well.” Her expression grew stern. “Kneel.”

Startled, Zhu Qizhen saw her displeasure and realized he had misspoken, though he did not know exactly where his strategy had gone awry. He obeyed at once, kneeling to the floor.

Her face thunderous, the Grand Empress Dowager asked, “Do you admit your mistake?”

“I do, Your Majesty,” Zhu Qizhen replied hastily.

“And what was your mistake?” she pressed.

But Zhu Qizhen, unsure of what exactly had displeased her, could not say.