Chapter 1722: Public Opinion
Magistrate Wu knew he was trapped in a besieged city with no hope of breaking out, so he resolved to defend to the death and await reinforcements from the prefectural capital. He refused to believe the enemy's shouts claiming Guangzhou had already fallen. A city that size—even if the Hair-shorn bandits could take it, surely it would require ten days or a fortnight. Besides, from nightfall until now, not a single cannon shot had been heard from that direction.
Yet he also knew the common people were not of one mind with him. The officers and soldiers defended the walls only because he spent silver lavishly and without hesitation. So he issued a stern proclamation: anyone caught secretly colluding with the bandits outside would have their entire family beheaded; their property would be confiscated and distributed as rewards to the soldiers and civilians defending the city. He hoped this would stiffen the defenders' resolve. At the same time, he strictly forbade the militia on the walls from speaking with the Righteous Army outside.
Most soldiers in the city, however, were acquainted with the locals and feared retaliation should the city fall. When they saw people on the wall conversing with those below, they cursed and waved their sabers menacingly—but never actually struck.
When Wu Guangzhi observed the defenders chatting with the enemy, he worried they would be seduced by Hair-shorn rhetoric. Seeing quite a few enemy soldiers approaching the walls, he immediately ordered the cannons to fire.
The gunners hesitated, reluctant to act. Wu Guangzhi flew into a rage: "Fire the cannons!" Then he roared again: "Five taels of silver for each shot fired!"
This time, the two cannons on the South Pass discharged together. The cannonballs flew wide—the gunners had deliberately aimed too high. One splashed into the river; the other thudded harmlessly into a mudflat.
The patrol boats' naval guns answered immediately. Six cannons fired in unison at the wall. Wu Guangzhi saw the muzzle flashes and waved frantically for everyone to scatter and take cover. The barrage destroyed two more battlements and cut three crouching militiamen in half. One ball sailed into the city, demolished a thatched hut, and set it ablaze.
Then, from below the walls, several large tin loudspeakers were set up. Soldiers with powerful voices began shouting: "Officers, soldiers, gentry, and commoners inside—hear this: capture the magistrate immediately and open the gates to surrender! Otherwise, when we take Xin'an, every living thing in this city shall be slaughtered—not even chickens or dogs will be spared!"
Commotion rippled along the walls. Wu Guangzhi, gripping his Japanese saber with bloodshot eyes, roared: "Don't be afraid! These are empty threats! They have only a few hundred men and a handful of boats. They won't touch a hair on Xin'an's head! Drive off the Hair-shorn bandits, and every soldier and civilian who defends the city will receive fifty taels! Double for those who die in battle!"
The several dozen soldiers and militiamen around him—those he had personally fed with silver—roared along with him, occasionally brandishing their weapons. They temporarily quelled the unrest.
But Wu Guangzhi sensed the wavering morale. Scanning the walls with fierce eyes, he spotted a militiaman not far away sneaking glances outside, apparently making some kind of gesture. He pointed his saber and bellowed: "Seize him!"
His personal guards rushed over, twisted the man's arms behind his back, and shoved him before the magistrate. The militiaman looked bewildered and terrified, shouting: "Why are you arresting me?"
Wu Guangzhi spoke grimly: "I saw everything. You were talking to the Hair-shorn bandits on the wall, and just now you were signaling to them. You must be a spy! Take him and strike off his head!"
The militiaman protested his innocence. The guards dragged him down the ramp, and at the foot of the wall, they raised their blade and severed his head.
"Display it at the city gate!" Magistrate Wu roared. "Let this be the consequence for anyone who dares collude with the enemy or shirk their duty in defense!"
The execution established his authority and temporarily cowed the populace. But at that moment, more than a dozen whistling arrows arced over the walls with notices attached. Fearing the people would retrieve them and lose heart, Wu Guangzhi sternly commanded: "Don't touch those arrows!" His guards hurried to collect them, but some were snatched up by quicker hands first.
He opened one of the notices. It had been hastily inked, giving the soldiers and civilians one hour to open the gates and surrender. The Grand Army would not harm a single person, and all lives within the city would be preserved. Only the magistrate would be executed upon the army's entry into Xin'an County.
Despite his best efforts to suppress the news, the gentry in the city saw the notices, as did some soldiers. Private discussion spread like wildfire.
The gentry and civilians all wanted to surrender rather than fight. The Australians had long been known for keeping their word and leaving the submissive unharmed—but they were equally renowned for ruthlessness toward those who resisted. Everyone felt that regardless of whether the prefectural capital had fallen, surrendering now to preserve lives and property was paramount. The gentry felt this especially keenly, having already been forced to contribute large sums for the city's defense. Feeling their interests had been damaged, they had no desire to accompany Magistrate Wu in his martyrdom.
Wu Guangzhi was acutely aware of the instability within the city, particularly the gentry's ambiguous stance. This alarmed him greatly. During his service in Shaanxi, he had repelled bandit assaults multiple times by relying precisely on the wholehearted support of local gentry. But the Hair-shorn bandits here seemed different—neither gentry nor commoners regarded them with hostility or fear.
He summoned the county's officials to discuss the situation. No one offered useful suggestions. Instead, they urged him to stop resisting. The Educational Director of the county school spoke plainly: the Hair-shorn bandits had long enjoyed prestige locally, and neither commoners nor gentry would support armed resistance. He added:
"The Hair-shorn bandits have always been lenient to the submissive and harsh to the defiant. As of now, there has been no major battle and no significant casualties. If the Magistrate surrenders by leaving the city, the bandits will surely not harm you."
Wu Guangzhi dismissed them and remained alone, pacing in anguish, unable to conceive of a solution. Cannons boomed again from the river. He stamped his feet and sighed, circling the pillars, muttering to himself:
"Alas, I never imagined I would end like this!"
Near midday, the officials, gentry, and elders of the city came to the county yamen requesting an audience. Wu Guangzhi received them in the Flower Hall. The atmosphere was starkly different from his arrival three months earlier, when the gentry had hosted a welcoming banquet and he had basked in their respect. Just that morning, after suppressing the Thousand-Household's attempted mutiny, he had convened these same men to discuss strengthening the defenses, and they had been deferential, praising him as a "capable official." Now, suddenly, the Flower Hall was filled with anxious faces.
After everyone was seated, a leading gentleman spoke first:
"We officials, gentry, and elders come before the Magistrate today for one purpose only: to ask that you find a way to preserve the lives of everyone in this city—officials, gentry, soldiers, and commoners alike."
He understood their intent but still tried to persuade them: "I am doing everything possible to defend this city. I am prepared to fight the bandits to the death. This is how we preserve the lives and property of all."
Another gentleman countered: "Fighting to the death cannot win, and there is no certainty in holding the walls. If we persist, we will not only fail to preserve anyone—we will invite a massacre. Has the Magistrate considered this?"
Wu Guangzhi replied: "Surrendering without a fight might preserve lives temporarily, but we would become fish on the chopping block. Once the Hair-shorn bandits enter the city, whether they burn and kill is entirely at their whim. Even if they refrain from slaughter—which of you doesn't have a family, property, wives, and concubines? If the bandits demand military contributions and beautiful women, will you comply or refuse? You should understand that by then, you will have no choice!"
His argument was reasonable and persuasive. In any other place, such words would have sufficed. When he had served as magistrate in Shaanxi, similar speeches had repeatedly rallied the gentry to his side. But they carried no weight here.
A gentleman responded: "The Australians have always kept their word. They are neither greedy for wealth nor lustful."
The gentry knew full well what the Australians had done during their previous incursion into the Pearl River. Towns and villages that submitted and handed over grain were left unharmed; the "reasonable contributions" levied were quite light. The Australians had even destroyed scattered pirates along the way, temporarily stabilizing local security. Those who organized militia resistance were severely punished—their gentry and powerful families annihilated. Everyone feared suffering the same fate, so they strongly advocated opening the gates.
"Even for Your Honor personally—though you may have been momentarily misguided—we will speak on your behalf to the Australians and do our utmost to protect you."
Another gentleman hastened to add: "Even if the Australians don't remain here long, as long as Your Honor doesn't accept a false position, the Australians will never force you. In this urgent moment, you should adapt to circumstances rather than cling stubbornly to the word 'loyalty.' After they withdraw, we will continue guarding this territory for the court. Wouldn't that be the best of both worlds? Even if the court wishes to investigate, we gentry of this county will speak in your defense."
Wu Guangzhi seethed inwardly, silently cursing them as shameless. He restrained his anger and said slowly: "Since my youth, I have studied the classics. The words 'loyalty to the monarch and love of country' have been engraved upon my heart since childhood, and I dare not forget them. Having received the Emperor's salary and grace, there is absolutely no justification for surrender."
The Educational Director, who had preferred to stay silent, now felt compelled to speak since the standoff between the gentry and the magistrate had reached an impasse: "I implore the Magistrate to reconsider. Men's hearts today lack steadfast resolve, and an isolated city without reinforcements must eventually fall. I too am a court official, assigned here with responsibility for this territory. Does the Magistrate alone possess loyalty? Am I not loyal as well? I am a Tribute Student who has received the teachings of Confucius and Mencius. What is at stake now is the safety of an entire city's population! If Your Honor thinks from the perspective of the people, a temporary surrender to save them is itself a virtuous act."
Wu Guangzhi sneered: "Since you are a Juren, one who has received the nation's grace and eaten the Emperor's salary, how will you face the Emperor afterward? Even if the people understand you, can the laws of the realm?"
The Educational Director replied: "Mencius said: 'The people are the most important; the state comes next; the ruler is the least.' Your Honor, do not sacrifice an entire city for a single word—'loyalty'!"
Everyone echoed his sentiment. Wu Guangzhi saw how isolated he had become. He fell silent for a long moment, then sighed deeply:
"Leave me now and let me think. Rest assured—I, Wu, will never implicate the officials, gentry, and commoners of this city."
"There's not much time left..."
After the meeting, Wu Guangzhi paced alone in the Flower Hall, deeply distressed. The ambition he had felt that morning had turned to ash. The thought of suicide crossed his mind. If he died, he would be faithful to both the people and the Emperor...
But before he could complete the thought, a commotion erupted outside the yamen. One of his servants, covered in blood, stumbled in, collapsed headlong to the floor, and with his last strength gasped: "Master! It's bad! The soldiers... the soldiers... have mutinied!"