Somewhere in the highlands north of Beijing
Wang Shaohui held his face in his hands. This was not going as planned.
He’d been rocketed through the ranks of his emperor’s fledgling bureaucracy by virtue of being perhaps the only administrator in the rebellion who knew what he was doing. And it helped that he was there in the very beginning, when him and that rogue Wu Sangui had thrown in their lot with the emperor-to-be.
In hindsight, that had been something of a high point.
Not that he had any real place to complain. His stomach had been badly troubled by all the campaigning that had been done in recent weeks, accompanying what was basically an autonomous army that was plunging through the northern reaches of the empire, hunting for the imperial princes. It was a great relief when they’d finally decided to establish permanent quarters.
But that just meant that he had to do actual work. There were still people with petty complaints, quarrels that needed to be settled. He hardly had enough graduates to hear everyone’s petitions. There were some who doubted the legitimacy of his emperor, the true emperor, and tried to send their petitions to Beijing. A few public executions had put an end to that.
Not everyone in his administration was of the highest possible educational background. That could be tolerated for now, so long as the situation was rectified eventually.
At the very least, he’d managed to free up enough people to draft appropriate missives to various figures whose support he needed.
It was impossible to hear from every corner of the empire in any timely manner, but even with the present war, and the various wars over the previous years, he could talk to some of his correspondents. He had hopes that some of them would declare for the cause.
So far, he’d heard back from the Prince of Gui, who had been politely noncommittal.[1] Wang suspected that he’d only received a response because the prince had also been one of the Wanli Emperor’s many sons and didn’t want to cause too much trouble with either side in the conflict. The Prince of Tang had also responded, and had been almost receptive to the overtures. Almost.[2] Wang was hopeful, but kept firmly in mind that the Prince of Tang was only of distant imperial descent, as one of his ancestors hundreds of years ago had been a younger son of the Hongwu Emperor.
That was as much support as he’d gotten from the extended imperial family. The Prince of Rui hadn’t bothered to respond; he was pathetically grateful to Beijing for saving his fiefdom from the Yellow Tiger.[3] Neither had the Duke Yansheng said a word, but no wonder there, for one of the Kong family was then serving as Minister of Rites, and so they’d naturally support the status quo.[4] At this point, Wang was actively hoping that the foreign barbarian Daišan would come around to his side, as they’d sent him a messenger with a hefty bribe.
For now, he and his subordinates were trying to organize what they had. It wasn’t nothing. Still, it hadn’t really occurred to him before how difficult it was. Everyone, it seemed, had their own priorities. Some were rabidly anti-Christian, had heard the most appalling rumors of the Fishermen coming out of Dongshan. Some were traditionalists who hadn’t really gone along with the official succession following the Wanli Emperor, but were reluctant rebels at best. Some were naked opportunists. And there were, of course, many who were simply hungry peasants willing to fight for whomever fed them. Wang liked those the least but was forced to rely upon them more and more. As levied infantry, if nothing else.
Despite everything, he really liked to think that he had been making progress.
And then Wu Sangui had ruined everything.
Those were his footsteps outside, no doubt. The general entered. “That could have gone better,” Wu said casually.
Wang did not bother looking up at him when he spoke. “You had one job. One.”
“Wasn’t my fault.” Wu Sangui was not a man to admit fault. “We got there okay. He knew we were coming, barricaded the gates of his household. Things got out of hand after they shot at us.”
“Out of hand?!” Wang Shaohui all but shrieked. “You- you utter fool!” He didn’t care that the general was almost certainly armed. “Sun Chengzong was not to be harmed! Instead, I hear that you’ve burnt his house and massacred him and his retainers! What were you thinking?”
They’d hoped to get the old Grand Secretary on their side. Or, at the very least, neutralize him politically. Someone had eventually remembered that Sun Chengzong had been tutor to the false emperor, once, and that perhaps the imperial princes had taken refuge with him.
Wu Sangui refused to allow himself to be provoked. “The princes weren’t there,” he said. “So we had no reason to negotiate any further. And he’d barricaded the gates to his estate, and after things went bad his people started shooting at us.” He spit on the floor dismissively. “We killed him. What does that matter?”[5]
There wasn’t much that Wang Shaohui could have said. What he wanted to say was that he really didn’t like the idea of killing a venerable old fellow who’d been involved with the bureaucracy for so long. It bothered him a bit, that he could feel sentimental in that way. And as a practical matter, once news of the death got out, it wouldn’t make his job any easier. Making friends by the sword was...complicated.
“In any case,” Wu Sangui continued, “we’ve shown people that we mean business. It was an unfortunate turn of events, but they went for us first. Far as I’m concerned, it was perfectly justified for me to use all available force to eliminate the threat.”
Wang Shaohui opened and closed his mouth. He was spared from having to think of more words when his emperor walked into the room.
“I have come to a decision,” their emperor said, serene as could be, ignoring his subordinates as they fell to their knees. “My era shall be known as Hongguang, for I shall be a great light to my people.”[6]
Wang Shaohui murmured acquiescence. Fortunately, that seemed to be all the man had wanted to say. The Hongguang Emperor left just as suddenly as he’d entered. Wu Sangui got to his feet and strolled off, no doubt to see to his soldiers.
Wang Shaohui did not rise for some time. Then, wiping his face, he got up, staggered to a nearby basin, and vomited.
Footnotes
[1] Zhu Changying, who IOTL was father to the Yongli Emperor, the last emperor of the Southern Ming. ITTL his son has not yet succeeded to those noble titles (and also there aren’t any emperors of the Southern Ming).
[2] Zhu Yujian, who IOTL was briefly the Longwu Emperor of the Southern Ming. He was killed by the Qing and his son, the Shaowu Emperor, mostly spent his time fighting the Yongli Emperor over who was the real Ming emperor. Oh, yes, and IOTL Zhu Yujian was stripped of his princely title for some time by the Chongzhen Emperor because he killed his uncle who had allegedly killed his father in some weird family feud. Presumably he hasn’t done that ITTL but he’s still very much the loose cannon of the Ming princes.
[3] Zhu Changhao, fifth son of the Wanli Emperor, who IOTL was killed by Zhang Xianzhong (the Yellow Tiger).
[4] Duke Yansheng was a noble title with special privileges held by the most direct male-line descendant of Confucius (Kongzi).
[5] IOTL Sun Chengzong retired from politics and died leading a last stand against the Manchu invasion. ITTL Sun Chengzong had a somewhat longer career, and a longer life -- he’s managed another seven years, meaning he’s lived to his early 80s -- and has died leading a glorious last stand.
[6] He chose this IOTL as well, when declaring himself emperor of the Southern Ming.