The History of China - #235 - Ming 25: Some Light Treason

Episode Date: June 3, 2022

Great Ming is having some problems with its border troops who think orders are actually "suggestions." The Jiajing Emperor is having some problems with his ministers being self-serving twits. Meanwhile, there's some strange happenings going on beyond the wild frontiers... Time Period Covered: ~1510-1540 CE Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

You're listening to an Airwave Media Podcast. History isn't black and white, yet too often it's presented as such. Grey History, The French Revolution is a long-form history podcast dedicated to exploring the ambiguities and nuances of the past. From a revolution of hope and liberty to the infamous Reign of terror. You can't understand the modern world without understanding the French Revolution. So search for the French Revolution today. Hello and welcome to the History of China. Episode 235. Some Late Treason

A certain level of discipline is expected and required in any organization. We know this almost instinctually and have it reinforced throughout our lives, from listening to your parents and teachers, all the way up to the highest echelons of governments and companies. Rules are there to be followed. And when they are not, that leads to breakdown and eventual chaos. We also know that, as the old saying goes, the fish rots from the head. That is, organizational breakdown occurs from management on down.

By the time the grunt workers have decided that rules no longer apply to them, that's indicative of a deep failure from the top downwards. There's probably no organization in world history where those lessons are more critical than national militaries, and for pretty obvious reasons. We give these organizations massively dangerous levels of direct violent power, on the condition that they agree to institutionally follow a very strict set of rules about where and how they're allowed to deploy it. Fundamentally, that's the difference between an army and a mob with cruise missiles. Well, in Ming China, that sense of organization and oversight of the border defense forces had been rotting, badly, since the early 1500s.

The imperial court, who was supposed to maintain that all-important discipline, had just collectively gotten distracted with other issues closer to home. It certainly didn't help that the military as a career throughout most of imperial Chinese history was considered as the dregs and ne'er-do-wells of society, an organization for criminals, conscripts, and contemptibles. Certainly not for men of real value. As the old Chinese saying goes, don't waste good iron for nails, or good men for soldiers. Of course, there's a real problem with that saying, isn't there? Would you want your house built with low-quality nails? Discipline had been growing increasingly lax over the first

several decades of the 16th century, and with that came an increasing percentage of soldiers and officers alike who treated orders as polite suggestions. And when the day came that a governor or magistrate actually insisted that, no, they were actually orders, the troops tended to respond with increasing truculence, often to deadly effect. If that wasn't bad enough, this was furthered, and even rendered normalized, by the response that came out of Beijing to such disturbances and disorders. The imperial court now pursued a policy of appeasement toward garrisons of troops that essentially rebelled. Such a policy, of course, often stemmed the uprising in the moment,

but actually just exacerbated things in the long term. The garrison units grew ever more bold, and ever more likely to respond with orders that they didn't like with violence. In 1510, for instance, the new governor of Ningxia, a northwestern province bordering Mongolia, was murdered by his own troops who didn't like his new policies, with a similar violent fate beating the governor of neighboring Gansu a decade later in 1521. In both cases, the central government barely responded, and certainly not with any force to resume military order and punish those responsible. By the early 1520s, therefore, it was widely understood by the border troops that Beijing had no political will to intervene in such violent outbursts, and in the words of

James Geis, quote, that knowledge gave rise to a dangerous notion among the troops that they had license to kill, end quote. The rising and dangerous disconnect came to a head beginning in August 1524, when the soldiers of the Datong garrison along the Shanxi-Mongol border once again murdered the governor along with a deputy commander, set fire to a number of official buildings, and then fled the city. This situation had come about for a very typical reason. The governor had ordered some 2,500 soldiers to move out to five new outposts about 30 miles north of the city proper. When the troops refused the order because they simply didn't want to, the governor simply ordered his own bodyguard units to fill the posts instead.

The bodyguard unit, and particularly its officers, were especially comfortable right where they were, and they refused the order as well. At this point, finally some discipline was enforced, and the deputy commander ordered the bodyguard officers to be flogged. Not wanting to be whipped, the officers whipped up the troops into a riot, rushed to the commander's headquarters, murdered him and dismembered his body, set the place on fire, and then did the same to the governor. This incident was duly reported to the imperial court, which responded by having a perfunctory investigation that pretty much

confirmed that, yep, that happened, and then just had a new governor and new commandant appointed to the vacant posts, and that was all. No bonus points for guessing that that did not stop the problem. So what was the deal with the imperial court? It had actually been divided on the issue of border policy for quite some time, as we've noted elsewhere, such as the dramatic shift to an essentially defensive posture post-Fort Tumu crisis. One side argued that border administration should be lenient and passive. Theirs was, in essence, an argument against the cost of it all. Punitive campaigns to put down Garrison's little temper tantrums were costly and all too often ineffectual. Military force at best intimidated the troublesome elements in the army, and then only for a time, while the civilian population suffered endless requisitions. And you kind of have to admit, at least on the last caveat,

they have something of a point. As an army moved through, or worse yet, occupied an area, they typically provisioned themselves by simply taking it from the surrounding populace, usually without any kind of compensation, and often under the direct threat of violence. Thus, unless the capital region itself was under threat, this first group argued, pacification could be better and more reliably and more cost-effectively achieved through gifts and pardons. And well, I've kind of already stated my own opinion of the if-your-dog-destroys-your-couch-give-it-a-treat philosophy, so let's move right on. The second position within the court was that such a passive and forgiving policy, quote, tarnished the authority and

prestige of the court and ultimately led to the deterioration of the entire defense system, end quote. Rules are not suggestions, and rewarding rule-breaking only makes you look like a chump. This court faction, it should be noted, was likewise supported by military leaders and their backers, quote, because such policies afforded them a chance for promotion and reward, end quote. Yes, you heard that right. We should ruthlessly crush all opposition because I get a bonus every time I do. Needless to say, the majority of the court favored the policy of leniency, though a sizable minority stood in opposition,

headed up by one of the two senior grand secretaries, as it were. Such was the level of division. But what about the dragon in the room? What was the judging emperor's take on all this? Again, from Geis, quote, The emperor himself held that the governor had been responsible for the disturbance. He wished only to arrest the ringleaders and pardon the soldiers who had taken part in the insurrection.

So a wrist slap with a he-had-it-common, though. Hmm. As luck would have it, this just so happened to be round about the same time that a large campaign army was marching from Beijing to Guangzhou, and was passing by Datong, meaning it was time for another red-skelton saxophone moment. The mutinous soldiers, quite understandably, mistook this for a punitive expedition sent against them, and so battened down the hatches. They streamed back into Datong City, took it over,

and then shut the gates tight. Now, some light treason was one thing, but outright defying an imperial army? Most military types will tell you they don't like to see such a thing. This, of course, escalated things. It also didn't help that they'd gone ahead and killed the local magistrate and besieged the home of the Prince of Tai, who had been forced to flee over to Xuanfu. Just really not writing themselves any checks here. The Ming army dispatched a force of 3,000 cavalry to deal with this situation. As they neared the rebel-held city, its commander made

plans to covertly capture the leaders of this little rebellion. When enacted, though, they met with limited success, which we all know is light code for partial failure. Geis writes, quote, a number of the rebel leaders escaped and later returned to retaliate for the arrest of their comrades by burning and looting official buildings. The cavalry commander then petitioned for the execution of all who had aided and abetted the ringleaders, end quote. Which seems a bit harsh, and from the sounds of things, the magistrate agreed that that was a bridge too far. Instead, his own neck on the line, at last trapped and executed the remaining rebel leaders of the Datong uprising in April 1525. Even so, thereafter, the garrison remained troublesome. Less than a decade later, in 1533, another major rebellion stemming from the garrison took place, during which the

commander of the garrison was again killed. Further, in 1545, members of the Imperial Zhu clan fomented a sizable rebellion from there. What I'm saying is, it was something of a known issue. In both such cases, Mongols were a decisive factor, it must be said, at least in terms of their fomentation, if not the actual eruption. Either the actual instigators, or as willing potential allies thereof, they quote, often used defectors from the garrison as spies or guides behind the Ming lines of defense. Irregular trade between the officers and soldiers from the garrison and various Mongol chiefs made control even more difficult, since people were constantly

passing back and forth through the defense lines, exchanging information as well as goods." But in fact, there was a far more serious problem arising in the far west that pulled Ming attention away from better dealing with the issues at places like Datong. As of 1513, the Sultan of Turfan, or Turpan, also rendered as the Mogul Khanate, or the Khan of Mogulistan, named Mansur, had occupied the city of Hami, also known as Haradel, an oasis city in eastern Xinjiang that marked the eastern terminus of the Silk Road, right on the edge of the Takhamakan Desert. Hami had been under Chinese control since the late 14th

century, and the imperial court had previously sent expeditionary armies to defend it when threatened across the 15th century. But at this point, the imperial court opted instead to merely send an official to meet with the sultan and negotiate the return of the imperial city seals, in effect ceding control of the cities and pulling back as a larger part of its ongoing defensive retrenchment. But even these negotiations proved more difficult than expected. Initially, the Chinese official was flatly refused, and the Turfan Sultanate continued to raid and pillage further and further eastward. Eventually a deal was worked out, in which, in exchange for the seals and a stop to the raids,

the Ming court acknowledged Mansur's control over Hami and allowed him to directly trade with the Ming at Beijing. That, however, lasted only a few years before the Turfan envoy was executed for treason, and in response, Mansur's envoys were detained in Beijing as of 1521. Hostilities were renewed, culminating with a full-on attack on Ganzhou in 1524, with sporadic infighting between the two forces lasting until 1528. Ming foreign policy toward the region was set to dramatically change yet again. Back in Beijing, the court had had its own dramatic turnaround over which of the ministers were now the emperor's favorites. The chief advocate for a more aggressive stance, a minister named Yang Tinghe, found himself on the receiving end of a set of political purges,

all beginning in the summer of 1526 as a case of treason. It's a very curious case, too. That year, the Marquis Guo Xun was implicated in this treason case against, quote, certain officials who opposed the emperor's policies and appointees, end quote. Who were these persons or people? Unknown, even at the time. He might have been named Zhang Yin, or maybe Li Wu, but generally the case is known as the Li Fuda case. According to testimony taken more than four decades after the fact, for some reason, a certain Mr. Li had rebelled, been exiled, escaped,

and rebelled again in 1512. This man was said to have resurfaced in 1526 under another alias as an officer in the Taiyuan Guard. So, sounding really super clear so far, right? Well, just hang on. This guy Li was eventually noticed by the Marquis because his son had been taken in by the Mr. Lee as a catamite, that is, a young male lover. But the actual case came to the Emperor's attention in 1526 when the Marquis' name was added to Lee's charges of both rebellion and sorcery when the Marquis was identified as having bought aphrodisiacs from the guy. Both of these charges, incidentally, carried a mandatory sentence of beheading. And now, this story goes on and on, and it is very confusing, and we really would only be getting started at this point.

And apparently, it is intentionally confusing. It's intentionally so. But to just sum it up, upon review, the judging emperor became suspicious that this Marquis' name kept getting added to charges by the censors, and that the charges kept changing. Eventually, he orders that all the charges be dropped against the accused, and instead opens up investigations into the accusers themselves,

culminating in 10 officials getting beaten to death and 40 others banished to the frontier forever. What was found in the final verdict was that really this quote-unquote rebel sorcerer Li Fuda was nothing more than a patsy, maybe a traveling artisan who was just like unregistered. The whole case was concocted by the Hanlin clique in the court, led by Yangting He to try to get rid of their political enemies, and it had just backfired spectacularly. A massive investigation was launched, as the Emperor had never liked these Hanlin guys anyway, since they'd insulted and humiliated him back when he'd been appointed as Chancellor of the Hanlin Academy.

The organization was almost completely gutted and restaffed in the aftermath, and the entire system of appointment reworked to make sure that another such faction couldn't arise again. Quote, All of the senior court officials involved lost their positions, and all the junior officials were stripped of their rank and reduced to the status of commoners. The sentences were never commuted. In every subsequent general amnesty, the emperor particularly accepted these officials, and anyone who spoke on their behalf was summarily punished. End quote. As for Yang Tinghe, he almost got out of it untouched right up until the very end when the emperor decided to issue him a death penalty,

but then commuted it, stripping him of his rank and rendering him a commoner. Yeah, Jiajing was not playing around. All right, so following the final phase of this Hanlin purge in 1528, courtly debate on the imperial policy towards the Turfan began anew, with a totally new set of ministers at the wheels. From Fort Sumter to the Battle of Gettysburg. From the Emancipation Proclamation to Appomattox Courthouse. From the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments to the Compromise of 1877. From Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman.

To Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. The Civil War and Reconstruction was a pivotal era in American history. I'm Rich. And I'm Tracy. And we're the hosts of a podcast that takes a deep dive into that era, when a war was fought to save the Union and to free the slaves. And when the work to rebuild the nation after that war was over turned into a struggle to guarantee liberty and justice for all Americans. Look for the Civil War and Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts. Late that year, one of the Sultan Mansur's generals, named Ilan, arrived in Beijing

and requested asylum, which was summarily granted. This prompted Mansur Khan to send a message to Beijing offering to give the whole city of Hami back to the Ming if they would just turn over General Ilan to him for punishment, and also wanted the Ming to cease its economic blockade of the Khanate and resume trade. And I know I've been going back and forth between Sultanate and Khanate when we're talking about Turfan, and it goes by both. It is both a Khanate and a Sultanate at this point. It's one of the Islamic Khanates, so it's an interchangeable term. Several of the emperor's favorites favored resuming trade. Opposition, though, argued that such leniency towards the Turfan Khan, without him issuing a

formal apology for raiding and generally breaking the law of Ming, quote, could only increase the arrogance of these western peoples and lead to further trouble, end quote. To this, proponents of easing restrictions pointed out that reports were coming in that the Mongol hordes were massing along the northern frontier to attack, and thus it would be wise to settle the matter on the western borders at once. Though highly suspicious of the Turfan Khan's sincerity and intentions, the Jiajing Emperor was nevertheless persuaded to restore trade privileges with Mansur Khan. This turned out rather well, as it allowed the Ming armies to redeploy their border armies in time to at least partially counter the suddenly increased Mongol raids. Speaking of the Mongols, how are things going up in Mongolia? For the first half

of the 15th century, the Oirat tribes in western Mongolia dominated the steppe and imposed their will upon the Mongol descendants of Genghis Khan. But towards the end of the century, after decades of civil war, the Mongol tribes once again began coalescing around a new war chief named Batu Monka. Under Batu Monka's firm hand, the Mongols began to challenge the hegemony of the Oirats once again, gradually extending their influence under First Essen, who you may remember having his crowning moment of glory back in 1449 with his stunning victory over the Ming armies at Tumu Fort, north of Beijing, and even capturing the Chinese emperor

himself. Well, just four years after that, Esen decided that he was going to take the bold step of promoting himself from Taishi to Great Khan of the Mongols in 1453, even though he had no relation to the imperial Bojigin family. His plan to assume the title of Great Khan turned out to be a pretty bad idea, though, as just a year later he was overthrown and killed, largely because of the ire around him taking up a title that he had no right to claim, and it also not achieved via a Heraldi election. With the death of Essen, the Mongolian steppe was plunged back into internecine chaos for a period of decades, until 1486, when, with most of the other candidates having been killed,

Batu Monka's father was able to achieve a consensus vote and was elected as Great Khan of the Mongols. He held this position for less than a year, though, before he too was murdered, and therefore his son, Batu Monka, succeeded him as Dayan Khan, meaning simply Khan of the Great Yuan. One would have every right to think that Batu Monka could expect a knife in his own back at any point, but in fact, as Great Khan, he had remarkable staying power, remaining as such for the following 38 years. Probably one of the most fascinating figures of this time period, though, and I'm actually thinking about doing an episode totally on her, is Batu Monga's wife and khatun, Mandukai, known as Mandukai Session Khatun, or Queen Mandukai the Wise. About six years older than her husband, as was fairly typical of Mongol marriages, she was not only the mother of their eight children, but also served as his chief political advisor, one of his primary battle commanders,

and a general strategic go-to. In every sense, her husband's equal, and in many cases, his better. She would serve as Batu Munga's childhood primary caretaker, and in many ways substitute mother, and then wife, principal advisor, and in many ways the greatest driving force behind the whole reunification drive of the Mongol tribes into the Mongol nation once again, right up until her death in 1510, having just barely seen her goal fulfilled. Between 1508 and 1510, the Mongols under Batu Monga conquered the Ordos region within the Great Bend of the Yellow River, south of the Gobi Desert, taking it from the leaders of the Western Mongols named Ibrahim, and driving him into exile east to Turfan and its Mansur Khan. He thereafter appointed his third son, Barz Bolud, as the Jinong, meaning viceroy or crown prince, of the region in 1512. It would be two of Barz Bolud's sons, Gunbilig and Altan, who inherited the Ordos and the northern Shanxi

regions, respectively, and who were primarily who inherited the Ordos and the northern Shanxi regions, respectively, and who were primarily responsible for the Mongol raids into Great Ming during the Jiajing era. Batu Mongke died in or around 1524, at about the age of 60, with Barsbalot assuming command, although not taking the title of Great Khan himself, but rather retaining that of Jinong. As the Mongols remained largely concerned with internal conflicts and the process of unification through the first decade of the 1500s, raids into Great Ming were sporadic and small in scale. But after Batu Mongka and his family had secured the Ordos and northern Shanxi regions, raiding into China would become an annual practice, usually in

both the spring and early autumn. And as we discussed before, with Chinese military discipline along the borders so lax and disorderly, frequent raiding once again became an attractive alternative to trade because you were almost guaranteed success and also very light, if any, losses on your own part. So circling back to our initial topic, the Ming border garrisons. This was the world both the troops and the imperial court were dealing with right along the northern and western frontiers, and the conditions in which the Datong garrison revolted yet again in October of 1533. Just two years prior, the area had been the target of a large-scale Mongol raid of a force of 60,000 cavalry. The newly installed garrison commander, understandably,

wanted to prepare for the inevitable next time by ordering the construction of earthworks and other fortifications along a defensive perimeter. But manual labor is hard, and it's boring, and the troops were far too used to doing whatever they wanted, or nothing at all. The proximate cause of the 1533 rebellion was, as usual, over a pretty trifling matter. From Geis, quote, The officers supervising the work requested a day of rest in the garrison city, and this was denied. On 24 October, these officers incited their soldiers to loot the city while they themselves killed the commandant. The rioting soldiers dispersed at dawn.

The also newly appointed governor was shocked by this turn of events, and with little else that he could directly do, reported the deadly riot to Beijing. Yet when the report reached the imperial court, the governor was accused of himself colluding with the rebel troops. It launched into, yet again, a giant debate over which policy to pursue, leniency or dropping the hammer. This time there was the added element that this was by no means the Datong garrison's first offense. A decade prior, as we said before, they'd pulled this same kind of thing, and back then the court had placated the offenders with not only a general pardon, but a payout to each of the soldiers there of three ounces of silver. Well, obviously, that strategy hadn't worked out, so it was time for the other thing. Though the emperor was still apparently somewhat hesitant, the military

strategy was approved. The plan, therefore, would be to send a viceroy at the head of an expeditionary force to Datong, with something of a mixed bag of options. He would have a commission to seek out and execute the main drivers of the rebellion, while also being able to pardon those who'd been pressured into following them. But as it turned out, the viceroy was something of an all-stick-no-carrot kind of a guy, and had no intention of finding anyone to pardon. He was there to kick ass and chew bubblegum. And he was all out of

bubblegum. Quote, he disregarded the intent of his commission and approached the city with the imperial forces, which began to loot and pillage in the suburbs. At this point, the soldiers in the city, certain that they were marked for death, shut the gates. End quote. And yeah, that's the thing. You don't start pillaging before you even get inside the walls. That's totally backwards. As any Mongol general of old would be able to tell you, when it comes to taking a city, you just smile, act natural, and then you sucker punch the guy.

So anyways, now the viceroy has no choice but to try to lay siege to Datong, which again is a military garrison and heavily defended. So he tries to flood it. It doesn't work. He tries to storm the walls. No dice. He tries to tunnel under the walls. Nope. He tries to smoke them out with fire. Nothing. And then he tries the I-just-wanna-talk tactic of tricking them into surrendering, but they don't buy it.

The siege drags on and on into the winter, into February of 1534, and by this point, the imperial court is fed up. I mean, this was supposed to be over by now. So he's finally relieved of command for basically sheer incompetence, and now an investigation is launched into what exactly went wrong here. The judging emperor summarizes the results of the investigation quite well. Quote, is this not an another garrison, this time at Liaodong in the northeast, rose up in insurrection and for similar reasons. This new governor came in trying to reorganize the way things were run, by which he meant reducing the soldiers'

help staff from three men to one, and confiscating all of their pasture land that they used to graze their horses, all while ordering heavy fortifications constructed on a very harsh deadline. When the officers went to him to complain that this was outrageous and unfair, he threatened to have them arrested and flogged. They didn't like the sound of that, so they started attacking him, and the governor managed to barely escape with his life by climbing over the garrison's wall, flinging himself down, and then beating a hasty escape. Another investigation was launched, finding that it was the governor's fault. He was recalled, and his changes were returned to the way things used to be. Quote, the investigating official reported that the incident had been fomented at the governor's discretion and requested a pardon for the troops. The censorate opposed any

pardon, but this time the emperor refused to support any military campaign and the pardon was granted, end quote. But wait, it gets even better. Because as that same disgraced, recalled, beat-up ex-governor is traveling back to Beijing, he makes a stop at the Guangning garrison in order to gather up some of his belongings that he'd left there. And as he's getting packed up and he's getting ready to carry on and keep going, the garrison commander gives him a nice little parting gift, a chunk of the funds that had been set aside for the soldiers' fodder allowance for their animals. The troops find out that their money's being given away to this screw-up governor, they get ticked off, and they revolt. Both the governor and the commander

are stripped, beaten, tied naked back to back, paraded through the city, and then tossed into the local prison. Then these soldiers force the rations officer to pony up extra cash for all of them and tell the eunuch intendants that these two thieving jerks sitting in jail had better be impeached or they're all going to have a real problem on their hands. Once again, the judging emperor took the side of the soldiers and refused the military option. One official who tried a little too hard to convince him otherwise was himself immediately arrested by the imperial bodyguard. The court then formed a consensus that these recent uprisings had come from a combination of three critical factors. One, harsh policies. Two, truculence in the ranks. And three, lack of warfare to occupy

the troops. As such, the ringleaders should be rounded up and executed, but the rest of the soldiers were to be pardoned. Now this was more like what judging wanted to hear, and the policy was quickly enacted. Quote, within a month, the severed heads of the ringleaders were staked on poles outside the gates to the garrison cities where they had revolted. The policy was cheap and effective. There were no further incidents until 1539, and the uprising comprised only about 40 soldiers, all of whom were immediately beheaded. There was subsequently very little trouble in the region. Where we'll last head today is way down south to Annam, aka Vietnam, because it's always such a good idea to try to invade Vietnam. At this

point, the militarist faction in court had been smacked down on invading Turfan, they can't really attack the Mongols yet because their soldiers are acting up along the northern border, and they can't even indiscriminately punish the soldiers for doing so. Well, how about a nice military holiday in Hanoi? In 1537, the leader of the militarists, Guo Xun, tried to get approval for this very costly campaign. The purported case as Belai was that back in November of the prior year, an imperial son had been born. The minister had argued against sending a Ming emissary down to Annam to announce this happy news, because the southern kingdom had stopped paying its tribute for the last 20 years, and the present rulers were illegitimate. The minister of war, who, surprise, is one of the

militarists, pipes up and proposes sending a punitive expedition to remind them to pay up. The proposal flew like a brick. It, quote, was immediately criticized as an extravagant and needless expense, which would have to draw men and supplies from southern provinces that were already overburdened, end quote. That march, who should arrive with near perfect timing but an ambassador from Annam to ask for help. There was actually a civil war going on right now, and the legitimate ruler had been deposed by one of his chief ministers, so they were all a little bit busy fighting it out, and the whole tribute thing had just, whoops, slipped their mind.

The emissary was detained, and investigators were sent south to verify the claims. And the initial preparations for a campaign were enacted. You know, to help out. Initially, Jia Jing was in favor of the military option this time around because he was pretty miffed about the lack of tribute payment, which he saw as an affront to his majesty. To this though, several local officials down in Guangdong, just to Annan's north, pointed out that neither side had encroached into Chinese territory, and since the civil war was still undecided, it would be best to wait until all that got sorted out before pressing for the back payments. And here we get one of the few times I can think of when young Jiajing really waffles.

The imperial court presses to go ahead with the campaign, and so he agrees. But then the regional officials clamor against it, and so he changes his mind and calls it off. But then some other local officials offer a different type of campaign strategy, and so he changes his mind and calls it off. But then some other local officials offer a different type of campaign strategy, and so he changes his mind again and orders military preparations to start up again. But then the governor of a border region along Annam sends his advice that he's done some calculations, and any campaign would cost at least 2 million tails of silver, and also it would be into the jungles and mountains of freaking Vietnam, and you really don't want to do that if you can at all avoid it.

So Jiajing then calls up the Ministry of War and tells them to tell him what they think he should do. The Ministry of War totally whiffs, though, and says, oh, we don't know, you should ask the full court. But Jiajing counters that their one job was to advise him on matters of war and what exactly am I paying you people for again? And at that point, quote, he terminated the campaign in disgust. He had never really favored the military solution. When the Annamese pretender surrendered his territories to Ming

officials in 1540, he concluded that he had been right to resist the advice in favor of a campaign, end quote. One thing that the Jiajing emperor had made up his mind about by 1540, and he was about 33 years old at this point, was that he was getting really sick of these ministers and court officials. He'd first become disgusted with them over the imperial rights kerfuffle when they tried to make him change his parents, which, quote, left him with the impression that they were a conniving and self-serving lot who did not have his interests at heart, end quote. Now, their abject failure to recommend suitable policies had confirmed that disgust. And next time, the judging emperor will decide that he doesn't want to deal with them anymore, and so from now on he just... won't.

Thanks for listening. The French Revolution set Europe ablaze. It was an age of enlightenment and progress, but also of tyranny and oppression. It was an age of glory and an age of tragedy. One man stood above it all. This was the age of Napoleon. I'm Everett Rummage, host of the Age of Napoleon podcast. Join me as I examine the life and times of one of the most fascinating and enigmatic characters in modern history. Look for the Age of Napoleon wherever you find your podcasts.