Chapter 1342 – Impoverished Nation, Destitute People

The Ministry of Commerce had weighed the question at length. Aside from the Red Barbarian Cannons the Manchus craved most, probably only armor could truly move Huang Taiji to pay through the nose.

Ming-era observers recorded that iron smithies outside Shenyang stretched for miles, turning out armor and weapons for the army without cease. The armor, they noted, was subjected to arrow-shooting tests; if a piece was penetrated, the craftsman who made it was executed. The Senators remained skeptical that this practice was universal—but it was undeniable that the Later Jin enforced ferociously strict quality standards on weapon production.

Clearly, though the industrial system under the Senate's control was primitive by modern—or even early-modern—standards, it commanded incomparable advantages in quality and cost within the seventeenth century. Manufacturing armor lighter, more protective, and cheaper than Manchu plate presented no difficulty.

In broad terms, the armor the Senate intended to export was a form of plate armor produced by stamping technology, with articulated joints. Such armor could be made in any pre-industrial society, but limited by material properties and processing methods, skilled armorers had to invest enormous man-hours—hence the high cost and narrow scope of equipment.

The Senate's industrial system held the edge in both materials and process. Continuous stamping could produce standardized armor pieces in batches; simple manual assembly then yielded finished product in volume. Improved steel quality meant the plates themselves need not be excessively heavy or thick, yielding lighter armor. And the protective performance surpassed anything currently worn on either the Ming or Manchu side.

Arms dealing had been a lucrative, black-hearted trade since antiquity. The Senate had always aspired to become a weapons merchant for the seventeenth century. Initially, a plan to export a cannon factory to Li Luoyou was considered—but it had been strangled under pressure from those in the Senate who questioned "improperly exporting productivity and technology." Thus arms exports were limited to finished products—and those only with a clear generational gap.

Standard spears, machetes, half-body plate armor, and Nanyang-style caplock smoothbore muskets were all products born of this guiding philosophy. Smoothbore artillery remained subject to major controversy and had not yet been cleared for the export list.

Originally the Senate had hoped to use Li Luoyou as a white glove, but long-term observation led the Foreign Intelligence Bureau to a conclusion: though this man did smuggling business with the Manchus and earned a great deal of conscienceless money, he was absolutely unwilling to deal in arms.

Everyone possessed certain sentiments and bottom lines. Li Luoyou was evidently that sort of man. Though his smuggling effectively aided the enemy, he surely clung to some inner justification—otherwise he could hardly face his own conscience.

Li Luoyou's refusal to cooperate left the Senate no choice but to send Huang Hua into battle personally.

The mission was extraordinarily dangerous—so dangerous that many Senators questioned whether Huang Hua could even survive the round trip, and whether it was truly necessary to risk a Senator's life merely to trade with Later Jin. Huang Hua himself had stated repeatedly at the hearing that this was his personal wish; he was prepared to accept the risk, even at the cost of his life.

"Besides," he had said, "even when two nations are at war, they don't kill envoys. I'm a merchant bringing goods they desperately need. Why would they kill me?" His voice rang with confidence.

All the same, the Foreign Intelligence Bureau remained deeply uneasy about this maiden voyage. At first, the Bureau had considered simply having him lead a trading caravan into Shenyang under the guise of a "merchant." But most Later Jin officials came from humble origins, prided themselves on ferocity and barbarity, and—because their past lives had been so bitter—had become ravenously greedy. When the Crown Prince of Joseon had been held hostage in Shenyang, Manchu officials and their bondservants had extorted him incessantly, leaving the Yi Dynasty to suffer in silence. Every time a Manchu mission or trading party crossed into Joseon for mutual trade, their behavior en route was indistinguishable from banditry. The Yi Dynasty had been forced to exempt five cities along the road from taxation just to compensate local officials and commoners. Were it not for Huang Taiji—a ruler of considerable foresight who exercised some restraint—his subordinates would truly have recognized no limits.

Even if Huang Taiji himself appreciated Huang Hua's importance, lower-ranking officials and petty nobles might covet wealth and rashly murder or rob the trading caravan. In the end, it was decided that trade should proceed on an official "government-to-government" basis, rather than by dispatching a vulnerable caravan.

Since the New Year, Huang Taiji had remained in Shengjing, attending to matters of state. He had not gone hunting—though for the Manchu regime, hunting was not merely an aristocratic pastime or the loftier-sounding "military drill." It was also a vital source of national income. The meat and furs obtained in the hunt were indispensable to the Later Jin.

Born in 1592, Huang Taiji was now in his prime—middle age, though already gaining weight. He remained physically powerful, vigorously energetic, ruddy-faced, and bright-eyed. His career was entering an era of flourishing growth.

When he had inherited the throne, the Later Jin regime had actually been in decline. Economically it depended principally on plunder, and its large-scale development of slavery estates ran counter to historical progress. Coupled with the severe cold of the Little Ice Age, agricultural production had plummeted. Internal strife among the elite was rife, while ordinary soldiers chafed at the meager share of spoils they received—even armored warriors killed in battle were compensated with nothing more than blood-soaked garments stripped from corpses. Combat effectiveness had begun to erode. Under the Old Wild Boar Skin—Nurhaci—internal tensions between Manchus and Han Chinese had intensified unprecedentedly, until even die-hard early defectors like Li Yongfang and Fan Wencheng had nearly been executed. Han officials across the regime lived in terror.

Had it not been for Huang Taiji—an almost freakishly talented anomaly—inheriting the Khan's seat, the Manchus might have been remembered only as a short-lived local regime.

After years of vigorous reform, he had pulled the Later Jin back from the brink. Though national poverty and the people's destitution had not fundamentally improved, conditions were far better than the days when they killed captives simply to reduce the number of mouths to feed.

Several years prior, his first campaign beyond the Shanhai Pass had yielded rich returns. He had seized vast plunder and countless captives, alleviating fiscal shortfalls and quieting the complaints of the Eight Banners soldiers. He had also, in the process, taken the measure of the Southern Court. The Great Ming is nothing more than this! For the first time, the ambition to "restore the Great Jin, water horses at the Yellow River" had entered his mind.

In the power struggles among the Later Jin's upper echelons, he had successfully crushed heavyweight rivals like Amin and Manggultai. At last, in the first month of the previous year, strictly adhering to the old system of the Three Great Beiles sitting together, he had amended practice so that he alone sat facing south while the other Beiles sat to the side. He had become the supreme ruler in truth.

At this moment, Huang Taiji stood at the threshold of glory. Accordingly, whether in action or in speech, he radiated confidence and ambition.

Yet many problems remained. Externally, though he had seen through the Southern Court's facade of strength, a centipede dies but never falls down; it would take time to water horses at the Yellow River. Eastward, the Dongjiang Army, weakened by fratricide, still persisted on his flank; Joseon was secretly corresponding with the Southern Court. Westward, the Chahar Mongols had yet to be fully subdued.

Internally, the shortage of national revenue cast a shadow he could never escape. Though the slavery-estate system was no longer expanded and grain production had slightly improved, it remained difficult to increase yields on that bitter cold land. Rice prices had always been exorbitant. As the Khan of Heaven's Mandate, he could enjoy Liaoyang Green—a premium dry-rice variety grown on the imperial estates outside Shengjing—at every meal. Even the ordinary princes and nobles tasted it only on festival days. Commoners further down ate coarse grains at best—some even subsisted on barnyard grass. For this reason, they had to pour vast sums of silver into buying grain from Shanxi merchants at prices ten or even a dozen times higher than inside the passes. The gold, silver, and treasures looted from within the Ming domains flowed into those merchants' hands at alarming speed.

Beyond grain, nearly every daily necessity was in short supply. Prices for everything remained ruinous. Even the most basic provisions—salt and sauces—could scarcely be guaranteed: the Jurchens did not know how to produce salt. After supply from inside the passes was severed, they depended entirely on Korean merchants, whose prices were extortionate and whose stocks frequently ran out. To eat salt and seasoned food at all was a mark of upper-class status.

If revenues could not be secured and the people's livelihood eased, his grand ambitions would remain a mirage. This had been weighing heavily on Huang Taiji of late.

Raiding through the passes again was one option—but the present situation was unstable. Beyond external threats, Manggultai, though stripped of his title of Grand Beile and demoted to ordinary Beile, still commanded formidable factional power. The danger of a comeback loomed...

While he meditated on these matters, a memorial from the Ministry of Revenue arrived. He opened it: a report on the recent session of mutual trade with Joseon at Uiju. Trade with Joseon was one of the Later Jin regime's most important economic lifelines. Not only did many Later Jin commodities depend on Korean supply, but they also traded re-exported Korean goods with Mongolia in exchange for quality horses. Huang Taiji therefore monitored every trade session with Korea personally.

Joseon, however, was distinctly cool toward mutual trade with Later Jin. On the one hand, the Yi Dynasty still regarded the Great Ming as the legitimate suzerain and adhered strictly to the distinction between Hua and Yi, unwilling to ally with Later Jin. On the other hand, the Later Jin often conducted trade as if they were victors—bullying, buying and selling by force, paying low and selling high, and even seeking to "buy on credit." In the first trade session with Joseon in 1629, a Korean merchant had brought 3,000 shi of grain. Of that, 2,000 shi had been "gifted," leaving only 1,000 to actually sell. Korean merchants had understandably lost their appetite for dealing with them.

Huang Taiji knew perfectly well how his subordinates behaved, yet he turned a blind eye. The Later Jin's small court was simply too destitute. Squeezing soft persimmons like Joseon was its only recourse.

Days earlier, the caravan he had dispatched to Joseon returned from Uiju. They had brought 1,600 jin of ginseng, demanding 16 taels per jin—but Joseon had offered only 9, a difference of 11,200 taels. The price fell far short of his expectations. He had been counting on that silver to buy additional goods.

What vexed him further was that the goods purchased from Joseon were often shoddy and short-weighted. A single bolt of cotton cloth was cut short and sold as two or three bolts; six or seven sheets were pulled from a single roll of paper. Without careful inspection, the cheating was hard to detect.