Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

Thousands of miles away, in Beijing, in the Ministry of Justice prison.

Yuan Chonghuan sat cross-legged on a pile of moldy straw, his eyes closed and silent.

He has been in prison for more than half a year, from December last year to June this year.

During those six months, he underwent countless interrogations—joint trials by the three judicial departments, interrogations by the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and retrials by the cabinet. Over and over again, the same questions were asked: Why did you kill Mao Wenlong? Why did you allow the Jurchens to reach the gates of Beijing? Did you have a secret agreement with Huang Taiji?

His answer was always the same: killing Mao Wenlong was to enforce military discipline, and there was absolutely no personal grudge involved. The Jiankou's breach of the pass was inevitable, and it wasn't solely his fault. As for the secret agreement with Huang Taiji, that was a complete fabrication; there was absolutely no such thing.

But nobody believed him.

Or rather, no one needs to believe him.

The cell door suddenly rang. Yuan Chonghuan opened his eyes. A person wearing a black cloak walked in. All the jailers in the cell retreated, and even the footsteps in the corridor faded away. The person lifted his hood, revealing a face that was both familiar and unfamiliar to Yuan Chonghuan.

His mentor was Sun Chengzong.

Sun Chengzong was sixty-seven years old this year, his hair and beard all white, and the wrinkles on his face as deep as if etched by a knife. This spring, he commanded the army to recover the four cities of Yongping, driving the Jurchens out of the pass, and the court bestowed upon him the title of Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince. But he was not happy at all. Because his student, Yuan Chonghuan, whom he had personally promoted, was now imprisoned awaiting death.

"Elements." Sun Chengzong's voice was hoarse as he gripped the wooden bars of the cell tightly with both hands.

Yuan Chonghuan slowly rose, his shackles clanking. "Commander-in-Chief," he said, no longer calling him "Master," but using his official title.

Sun Chengzong's Adam's apple bobbed. "Yu Su, I'm sorry."

Yuan Chonghuan shook his head. "The Commander-in-Chief didn't wrong me. It was my own fault..."

"No," Sun Chengzong interrupted him, "If I had recaptured the four cities of Yongping earlier, perhaps you wouldn't..."

"It's no use." Yuan Chonghuan's voice was calm, so calm that it didn't sound like that of a dying man. "Commander-in-Chief, they want to kill me not because the Jian bandits broke through the pass. It's because my achievements overshadowed the emperor, because I killed Mao Wenlong, and because I offended too many people."

Sun Chengzong's eyes reddened. Of course he knew all this. When Yuan Chonghuan was in charge of the Ji-Liao region, he acted arbitrarily, killing Mao Wenlong, beheading Deputy Commander-in-Chief Du Yingkui, and impeaching Man Gui, the Commander-in-Chief of the Ji-Zhen region. He offended people all over the court and the country. These people usually dared not say anything, but after the Jianzhou rebels broke through the pass and Yuan Chonghuan was imprisoned, memorials impeaching him flew into the cabinet like snowflakes.

"Elements..." Sun Chengzong's voice choked with emotion, "I am powerless to save you."

Yuan Chonghuan suddenly smiled. The smile was faint, but it felt like a knife had been plunged into Sun Chengzong's heart.

"Commander-in-Chief, there's no need to be sad for me. In my life, I, Yuan Chonghuan, have fought from Liaodong to the capital region, from Ningyuan to Guangqumen. I have killed the Jianzhou rebels and the traitors. I have a clear conscience."

Sun Chengzong opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

Looking at his mentor's aged face, Yuan Chonghuan suddenly felt he had much to say. But in the end, he only said one sentence: "Commander-in-Chief, I entrust the tens of thousands of soldiers of the Guan Ning Army to you."

Sun Chengzong nodded vigorously, then turned and staggered out of the cell. He dared not stay any longer. He was afraid he would burst into tears in front of his students.

The prison door closed again.

Yuan Chonghuan sat alone on a pile of straw, gazing at a sliver of moonlight filtering through the window. The moonlight was faint and cold, like a thin layer of frost. He closed his eyes, and images of the beacon fires atop Ningyuan City, the bloody battle beneath Jinzhou City, the carnage outside Guangqu Gate, and Mao Wenlong, whom he had personally killed, floated into his mind.

Mao Wenlong. Did he kill the wrong person? He didn't know. But he knew that even if time could turn back, he would still kill him. Because if Mao Wenlong didn't die, military orders in Liaodong couldn't be unified; without unified military orders, the recapture of all of Liaodong would be nothing but empty talk. For this goal, he offended too many people and did too many things he shouldn't have done.

Now, he's going to pay the price for all of this.

Outside the window, the sound of the night watchman's clapper could be heard. It was past midnight.

There are still two hours until dawn.

---

The sixteenth day of the sixth month of the third year of the Chongzhen reign.

On this day in Beijing, the sky was overcast, with leaden clouds hanging low, as if brewing a downpour. But instead of a downpour, a crowd of people arrived, even more ferocious than a rainstorm.

Before dawn, the area around the execution ground in the West Market was already packed with people. Men, women, children, scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants—almost the entire population of the capital had turned out, completely surrounding the execution ground. Some brought stools, some climbed trees, and some squeezed into teahouses and taverns along the street, craning their necks to look towards the execution ground. Only by forming a human wall with their hands joined together could the surging crowd be barely held back.

They came to see Yuan Chonghuan executed.

"Yuan Chonghuan colluded with the enemy and betrayed the country! He deserves to die!"

"Kill him! Cut him into a thousand pieces!"

"This treacherous minister has caused the deaths of countless Han people! He allowed the Jurchen invaders to reach the gates of Beijing! His execution is the only way to appease public anger!"

Shouts and curses rose and fell from the crowd. An elderly woman with white hair squeezed into the crowd, clutching a pair of scissors in her hand, muttering, "I want to avenge my son..." Her son was a soldier in the Beijing garrison who died in battle at Yongding Gate last year.

A middle-aged man nearby chimed in, "That's right! It was because he killed Mao Wenlong that the Jurchens dared to march to the gates of Beijing! When Marshal Mao was alive, how dare the Jurchens be so arrogant?"

"I heard he also had a secret agreement with Huang Taiji to surrender Shanhaiguan!"

"Bah! This kind of traitor deserves to be executed by slow slicing!"

Among the crowd were several scholars standing on the periphery, their expressions complex. One of them sighed softly, "Yuan Yuansu, the commander-in-chief of Ji and Liao, repeatedly defeated the Jianzhou Jurchens, how did he end up like this..."

Before he could finish speaking, several people nearby turned around and glared fiercely at the scholar. The scholar quickly shrank back and dared not say another word.

Many people didn't actually know what crimes Yuan Chonghuan had committed. They only knew that the Jurchens had reached the gates of Beijing, burned the granaries in Tongzhou, and killed countless civilians. The court accused Yuan Chonghuan of colluding with the Jurchens, so Yuan Chonghuan deserved to die. As for Yuan Chonghuan's achievements in Ningyuan and Jinzhou, as for the bloody battle at Guangqumen, as for whether Yuan Chonghuan's killing of Mao Wenlong was justified—none of these mattered anymore.

It is 9:00 AM.

The executioner loudly announced, "Bring in the criminal—!"

The clamor of the crowd suddenly subsided, then erupted into an even more frenzied cheer.

Yuan Chonghuan was brought up.

He wore a white prison uniform, his hands and feet bound by heavy shackles that clanged with each step. His beard and hair were shaved off, revealing a thin, pale face. In the six months he had been imprisoned, he had become almost unrecognizable, his cheekbones high and his eyes sunken. But his back remained straight, and his gaze still sharp.

He slowly walked towards the execution post, his gaze sweeping over the dark mass of people around him. Those distorted, angry, and excited faces appeared before him like ghosts.

"Yuan Chonghuan! You've finally met your match!"

"Traitor! Traitor! He deserves to die!"

"Slice him to pieces! Not a single cut should be spared!"

A stone flew from the crowd and struck Yuan Chonghuan on the forehead. Blood streamed down his brow bone, obscuring his right eye. He didn't flinch or wipe it away; he merely squinted slightly, a bitter smile playing on his lips that no one else noticed.

This is the Ming Dynasty for which he fought half his life. This is the people he risked his life to protect.

He was tied to the execution post. The executioner came forward, carrying a thin, willow-leaf-sized knife, its blade gleaming coldly in the bright sunlight, devoid of any warmth.

Another executioner carried a tray with knives of various sizes—all used for executions.

According to the imperial decree finalized by the joint trial, the punishment of slow slicing required 3,543 cuts. The prisoner could not die before the final cut.

The executioner unfurled the imperial edict and read it aloud:

"By the grace of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: Yuan Chonghuan, former Commander-in-Chief of Jiliao and Minister of War, has failed to live up to the Emperor's favor, presumptuously advocating peace negotiations, arbitrarily killing the Grand Marshal, colluding with the Jurchens to plot rebellion, and allowing the enemy to advance unchecked, resulting in the Jurchen invasion and the upheaval of the capital region. His crimes are unforgivable. In accordance with the Great Ming Code, he is to be executed by slow slicing for the crime of treason. His family property is confiscated, and his wife and children are to be exiled three thousand li away. This is the imperial decree."

The words "colluding with the enemy and plotting rebellion" struck Yuan Chonghuan like a heavy hammer. His lips trembled slightly, but he did not cry out that he was innocent.

He knew that crying out for justice was no longer useful.

The executioner stepped forward, knife in hand, and said in a hoarse voice, "Supervisor Yuan, please forgive me. My skills are decent; I'll try to make you suffer as little as possible. But as you know, it's three thousand five hundred and forty-three cuts, not one less. Bear with it."

Yuan Chonghuan closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, his voice hoarse but calm: "Make your move."

The punishment begins.

Cheers erupted from the crowd. Some pushed their way to the front, reaching out to catch the blood-soaked buns dripping from the execution platform—it was said that eating the blood of those subjected to slow slicing could cure all ailments.

A young woman holding a child squeezed to the front. The child was so frightened that he cried, but the woman comforted the child while excitedly standing on tiptoe to look, saying, "Don't cry, don't cry, Mother will take you to see the execution of the treacherous minister. Once the treacherous minister is executed, the world will be at peace."

Some timid girls turned their faces away, too afraid to look, but after taking a few steps, they couldn't help but turn back, their eyes peering through their fingers. It was as if not seeing that one glance would mean missing the most spectacular event of their lives.

The number of cuts is increasing.

The executioner stopped and wiped Yuan Chonghuan's wounds with a cloth soaked in salt water—this was the custom for slow slicing, as salt water could prevent the person from losing consciousness too quickly. A sharp pain shot through his body, and Yuan Chonghuan tensed violently, his hands bound to the execution post trembling uncontrollably. But he only let out a very low groan.

"Yuan Chonghuan, does it hurt? If it hurts, then scream!" someone in the crowd shouted mockingly.

Yuan Chonghuan slowly raised his head, revealing a face covered in blood. He had bitten his lips until they bled, and each breath he exhaled was laced with blood. He looked at the faces of the onlookers and suddenly smiled. It was a hideous smile, his lips dripping with blood, but at that moment, everyone who saw it felt a chill run down their spines.

"I, Yuan Chonghuan..." His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, yet each word pierced the ears of everyone present like nails, "In this life... I've killed bandits... I've defended cities... I've never done anything... that would betray the Ming Dynasty..."

"Still dare to talk back!" someone cursed.

"Who do you think you are! You're nothing but a traitor!"

Yuan Chonghuan didn't say anything more. He was tired. His eyes slowly swept across the crowd, his gaze devoid of anger or resentment, only a deep, suffocating weariness and emptiness. Then he lowered his head and closed his lips again.

The executioner raised his hand to signal, and the announcement rang out again: "Continue the execution—!"

The execution lasted a long time.

As time passed, the commotion from the onlookers gradually subsided. Some began to vomit. Others quietly withdrew from the crowd. The old woman who had been holding scissors and intending to kill Yuan Chonghuan had dropped the scissors at some point; she stood there, trembling.

A young scholar, pale as a sheet, squeezed through the crowd. He had come filled with indignation, believing Yuan Chonghuan deserved to die. But as the execution progressed, he could no longer bear to watch. He turned and pushed his way out of the crowd, leaning against the wall to vomit. When he straightened up, gazing at the crows circling above the execution ground and the distant, hazy palace, he murmured blankly, "Is this truly... ridding the country of a traitor?"

No one answered him.

The execution entered its second day. The crowd changed batch after batch; a new group of onlookers arrived, while another group of familiar faces, unable to bear the shock, left. The executioners also changed—the original two had become sore and numb in their wrists, and new ones stepped in.

Yuan Chonghuan was still alive. He was completely unable to speak or make any sound. Only his chest was still rising and falling weakly. His eyes were half-open, the pupils beginning to dilate, but never fully closed.

Noon on the third day.

The final blow fell.

Yuan Chonghuan's breathing finally stopped. His head drooped limply, motionless.

The executioner let out a long sigh and announced loudly, "The execution is complete!"

The crowd fell silent for a moment, then erupted into a complex cacophony of sounds—cheers, sighs, weeping, and vomiting. Some breathed a sigh of relief, others were bewildered. Many more silently dispersed, their steps heavy, their eyes blank.

The executioners began to gather their blades and wipe away the marks on the execution post. An old executioner, while wiping his knife, muttered under his breath, "Having executed so many people over the years... I've never seen anyone so tough."

His companion didn't speak, but simply nodded.

Yuan Chonghuan's head was cut off and placed in a separate wooden box, while his body was dragged off the execution platform.

The onlookers surged forward, scrambling for the remaining items. Some who managed to grab something held it in their hands and wept loudly—not out of sorrow, but out of euphoria; others who missed out stamped their feet in anger and cursed. Those bloodshot eyes and stained fingers tore apart the normally gentle facade. From a distance, this was no longer the bustling marketplace of the capital, but rather a pack of mindless beasts reveling around a corpse.

According to the law, Yuan Chonghuan's head will be sent to the nine border regions.

The Nine Garrisons were the collective name for the nine major military garrisons along the northern border of the Ming Dynasty—Liaodong, Jizhou, Xuanfu, Datong, Shanxi, Yansui, Ningxia, Guyuan, and Gansu. Starting from the capital, the route passed through Jizhou, exited Shanhaiguan, inspected the few remaining isolated cities in Liaodong, then detoured through Xuanfu and Datong, passing through Shanxi before turning towards Yansui, Ningxia, Guyuan, and Gansu, before finally circling back.

Along this winding border line stretching for thousands of miles, Yuan Chonghuan's head will be passed down from station to station, so that all the border soldiers can see what happens to those who colluded with the enemy.

This will be Yuan Chonghuan's second border inspection.

The first time, he was the spirited Governor-General of Jiliao, riding a tall horse with thousands of Guan Ning cavalry behind him, their banners obscuring the sun and their swords and spears like a forest.

The second time, he was left with only his head, in a wooden box, walking the path he had once walked before.