Chapter 034: The Catastrophe at Tumubao

On Xue Rui’s journey home, a thousand miles away at Tumu Fort, an unprecedented catastrophe was unfolding. This crushing defeat would be known to history as the Catastrophe of Tumu.

On the thirteenth day of the eighth month, the Ming army suffered two successive defeats at the hands of the Oirat forces, plunging Emperor Zhu Qizhen and the eunuch Wang Zhen into unending terror. Fortunately, after their victory, the Oirat troops were preoccupied with gathering spoils and tending to their own exhaustion, so they did not immediately pursue, granting the Ming forces precious time to withdraw.

On the fourteenth day, after half a day’s march, the Ming troops reached Tumu Fort, some twenty miles southeast of Huailai city. Dusk had not yet fallen. If they pressed on, they could reach Huailai before night and take shelter within its walls. If the Oirat pursued, the city’s defenses would serve them well.

Yet, this entirely sensible course of action was opposed by Wang Zhen. Perhaps, having recently flipped through a few pages of military treatises, he clung stubbornly to the adage, “Before the army advances, supplies must be secured.” On reaching Tumu Fort, for reasons unknown, he became fixated on the grain and wagons left behind, and ordered the army to camp there and wait for the rear supply convoy.

Among the civil and military retinue, the Minister of War, Kuang Ye, who understood warfare, advised that the army should first enter Huailai to rest, and then hasten to escort His Majesty to Juyong Pass, ensuring safety. But when he sought audience with Emperor Zhu Qizhen, Wang Zhen blocked him, rebuking, “You are but a pedant, what do you know of warfare? Another word and you die.”

Kuang Ye, unyielding, retorted, “I speak for the sake of the nation and the people. Why should I fear death?” Wang Zhen, enraged, ordered his attendants to drag Kuang Ye from the tent.

Over a hundred thousand Ming soldiers and conscripted laborers, exhausted and parched, found themselves at Tumu Fort, where water was scarce. The only stream flowing to the Hun River, fifteen miles away, had been cut off by the Oirat. Fetching water became nearly impossible.

Thus, the vast army and camp endured until the next day.

On the fifteenth day of the eighth month, the Mid-Autumn Festival, as noon approached, the army prepared to set out when suddenly Oirat cavalry attacked from the rear. The Ming troops dared not move and began to fortify their positions. Their water stores depleted, the generals ordered men to dig everywhere for wells, fearing a protracted siege. Yet, no matter how deep they dug, not a drop of water was found. With thirst unrelenting for a full day, the army was on the verge of collapse when good news suddenly arrived from outside the camp.

Earlier, Oirat scouts had circled the camp, searching for a weakness. The Ming defenses were impeccable; seeing no easy breach, the Oirat chieftain Yesen feigned withdrawal, hoping to lure the Ming into error.

Learning of the Oirat retreat, Wang Zhen ordered the army to strike camp and fetch water from the Hun River nearby. The Ming troops, long maddened by thirst, abandoned all discipline and rushed southward in a chaotic swarm.

This disorganized march was the opportunity Yesen awaited. Four or five miles south, Oirat cavalry sprang out from all directions. The Ming, beset and parched for two days, were utterly drained, possessing no will to fight. Disordered and leaderless—officers and men separated, many soldiers having discarded their weapons—they could mount no effective defense. After a brief, savage assault, the army of more than a hundred thousand collapsed instantly.

Terrified beyond reason, the Ming soldiers flung away their arms and armor, desperate only to run. The Oirat pressed their advantage, driving the fleeing masses before them. By some twist of fate, the stampede swept back toward the imperial center. When the emperor’s own guards saw the panic, they too abandoned hope, cast aside the emperor, and fled.

Even the Oirat at the rear could scarcely believe their fortune: the mighty Ming army had simply melted away before them. Yesen, surrounded by mountains of captured arms and supplies, could barely contain his joy. Oirat had long known want; these spoils could arm tens of thousands—by far their greatest windfall in years.

At the height of his delight, Yesen’s brother Boyan Temur hurried in to report they had seized a prisoner whose bearing was unlike any ordinary soldier—he should come and see for himself. At the description, Yesen’s suspicion was aroused. He hastened to the scene and found a man clad in imperial yellow robes. Who could it be but Emperor Zhu Qizhen himself?

Yesen was beside himself with glee. To capture the emperor—surely now the fate of the Ming dynasty would hang by a thread.

Abandoning all hope, Zhu Qizhen retained his last shred of imperial dignity. He did not flee in panic like the common soldiers, but sat cross-legged on the ground, awaiting the moment of judgment. Perhaps, by now, he was lost in deepest remorse. Had he heeded his ministers’ counsel and not led his army into peril, he would now be safe in the palace, spending the Mid-Autumn Festival with the Empress Dowager, the Empress, and the princes, enjoying peaceful happiness. Had he listened to Huangfu Zhonghe’s warnings, tens of thousands of soldiers and commoners would not have been slaughtered by the Oirat. If only... But the world allows no such ifs. All he could do now was close his eyes and await his fate, to be decided by others.

…

Returning to Stone Alley, before he even knocked, Xue Rui heard a man’s voice from within the courtyard. Listening closely, he recognized his uncle Liu Ren. In recent days, Liu Ren had been busy with the autumn grain transactions and had not visited; presumably, those affairs were now concluded, and he had come to see them.

“So, Uncle finally has some leisure,” Xue Rui announced as he entered.

But Liu Ren’s face was troubled, as if struggling to speak. Noticing this, Xue Rui asked, “Uncle, why do you look so worried? Has something happened?”

Before her brother could answer, Lady Liu spoke up. “Rui’er, your grandfather’s grain deal with the merchant has run into trouble. More than half remains unsold. With news of two successive defeats, the merchant has broken the contract and refuses to buy the rest.”

“More than half? How much is that?” Xue Rui turned to his uncle, voice urgent.

Liu Ren gave a bitter smile. “It was five thousand bushels in total. A few days ago, after I urged him, the merchant carted away two thousand. But then his warehouse filled up. He said to wait a few days, until he’d cleared some space. Your grandfather thought the delay was harmless and agreed. Today, when I heard the army had been defeated again, I rushed to urge the merchant to fetch the remainder. But he’d rather forfeit his deposit than continue. Alas.”

“Did you at least get paid for the grain already delivered?” Xue Rui asked.

Liu Ren nodded. “That, at least, is settled. Payment was made in full. I made sure of it.”

“That’s a relief.” Xue Rui sighed; at least half the capital was recovered, lessening the blow. Thinking of his grandfather’s refusal to heed advice, Xue Rui grumbled, “Grandfather really should have listened. I made it perfectly clear, but he insisted on indulgence. Now we’re in a fix.”

Liu Ren replied sheepishly, “Your grandfather doesn’t put much faith in oracles and dreams. He thought your master couldn’t even foresee your father’s arrest, so his warnings of military defeat were even less credible. That’s why he ignored them.”

“Well, now he believes it, I suppose.” Xue Rui shrugged. His grandfather’s cleverness had come back to bite him this time, hoisting himself with his own petard.