Painting of Magnolia and Erect Rock, Cheng Hongshou (mid-1600s)
As one can imagine, the years of 1646 to 1647 were dominated by the Prince’s Revolt and its aftereffects. A note, of course, that while today the common name for the conflict is “the Prince’s Revolt,” such a name would have actually been taboo at the time, considering the exceedingly thorough manner in which the former Prince of Fu was posthumously deprived of his titles. Contemporary descriptions tended towards nonspecific terminology, e.g. “the recent unpleasantness” and “the conflict in the north.” Mention of the whole affair is cursory at best in the official Ming chronicles, likely due to embarrassment, and has resulted in modern historiography depending largely upon foreign and societally marginal sources which lack that degree of circumspection.
In any case, the revolt being put down (not without significant bloodshed; it is estimated that parts of northern China decrease in population by around 10% -- mostly internal displacement and not death, of course), we can pause and take stock of the other things happening around the empire.
The Northern Yuan, surprisingly enough, do not take the opportunity to raid southward, as they might have been expected to do in times past. Indeed, despite their acknowledgement of Ming suzerainty, a different leader might have chosen to remind everyone that once upon a time, the Northern Yuan had been the imperial Yuan dynasty, under Kublai Khan and other great kings. (“Yuan restorationism” is a later topic of romantic nostalgia, particularly in popular fiction, reminiscent of certain literary trends observed in the Kingdom of England, though its historical presence is likely overstated by revisionists.)
But the Northern Yuan do not ride south. Historians have designated this time as the “Great Realignment,” starting in the reign of Ejei Khan and continuing for the next several generations. Ejei knows full well that the Joseon would be glad to expand at his expense, should he break the peace; regardless of the chaos in Beijing, sooner or later an emperor would emerge (or re-emerge, as things turned out, since the Tianqi Emperor and his faction prevailed). Then they would look north, and punish any opportunistic violence that may have broken out on the frontier.
Instead of plundering northern China, or fighting with Joseon, the Northern Yuan turn west. There are quite a few notable skirmishes which happen, mostly because of their documentation in Chinese sources, but what is remembered best takes place in mid-1647, at the border town of Guihua.[1] This is a little awkward, given that Ejei’s father had actually raided the place some years back, but bygones are bygones. Guihua is, of course, renowned for Dazhao Temple, a scenic Buddhist monastery whose construction had been funded by the great Altan Khan. Actually, that’s a little bit more awkward, since Dazhao is very much affiliated with the Gelug school while Ejei Khan (like his father) favors the Nyingma.
The so-called Council of Guihua (which mostly takes place outside of the city) laid the groundwork for, if not complete harmony between the khans of the Northern Yuan and the Dalai Lama in Tibet, at least the framework of a relationship. The Council is recorded in the writings of Nicolas Trigault as something like an ecumenical conference, as one might expect from the perspective of a Catholic familiar with the Councils of Nicaea and Chalcedon and all the other great church councils. In truth, the Council of Guihua is more of a diplomatic summit, mapping out formal spheres of influence between the Mongols and Tibetans (and saber-rattling as one might expect). Religion is discussed, but is more of an afterthought. The Ming soldiers and merchants who happen to be present in town are mostly confused by everything that’s happening. Surprisingly, no fights break out at the Council. Of course, in the coming years there will still be multiple low-level conflicts between the Mongols and Tibetans as disagreements are settled with violence, raids in response to some insult, et cetera, but that’s to be expected. Great monuments are not built in a single day.
And in any case, such affairs aren’t much noted in the provinces, save among the imperial court officials whose job is to monitor affairs of the tributaries. No, the more immediately interesting developments have to do with the porcelain industry.
Let’s take a step back. Jingdezhen porcelain had for a long time been an iconic Chinese trade product, being put out by great kilns with imperial patronage. Porcelain itself was kind of a mid- to low-prestige item, fairly unimportant in the domestic market. Cups and plates and things; common as dirt! Almost literally, considering the materials used to make porcelain. As a trade good, porcelain in China wasn’t highly valued unless it was extraordinarily fancy. Historically, much of the trade in porcelain went to other countries -- to Japan, for instance, or down the Silk Road to the west, where porcelain products were exotic and highly valued.
The product coming out of Jingdezhen had long been regarded as the best of the bunch, especially because the imperial family supported the industry there. Unfortunately, due to decades of unrest and, frankly, outright neglect from Beijing starting during the reign of the Wanli Emperor, the Jingdezhen kilns had been largely left to fend for themselves. They still exist, of course, largely turning their attention to producing much cheaper product for private sale, either domestically or overseas.[2]
Zhou Qiyuan, the Minister of Revenue, has been waving his hands and pointing at the porcelain industry for a long time. He’d been really loud about it back in 1642 when he was appointed to run the ministry, but this has been a pet issue going back to when he was a much lower official, decades before. The emperor would like more revenue, yes? Why not just take control over porcelain and make a new state monopoly? Failing that, maybe the emperor could just regularize and tax the process. A lot of the porcelain trade (particularly foreign exports) has been slipping through the cracks, and though China has long had abysmal state revenues, the market for porcelain is one place where money can be safely skimmed off the top without too much trouble. It would be a little unusual, but the numbers check out.
The emperor agrees. Many of the neglected kilns are re-established under state patronage, but instead of merely making porcelain for the use of the imperial household, they’re officially producing goods for profitable export. A few men in the industry had been heavily fined, and at least one executed, for alleged disloyalty during the recent unpleasantness; their enterprises are taken over by loyal men. The Prince of Yi, an imperial prince who has lands nearby, is put in charge of organizing all of this as recognition of aid rendered to Daišan during the latter’s relief expedition to Beijing.[3]
Speaking of Daišan, he’s doing rather well for himself, being rewarded (again) for his actions against rebels. Unlike the fight against the Yellow Tiger, this time he is able to retrieve the identifiable corpse of the renegade scholar-official Wang Shaohui, which is posthumously decapitated. It is believed that he was also able to retrieve the corpse of the former prince, who had hanged himself. The official chronicles are silent on the matter, given the degree to which the former prince’s name was expunged from the chronicles, but historians agree that the unfortunate rebel was likely also subject to posthumous dismemberment. Daišan is less lucky in apprehending Wu Sangui, who escapes with some of his followers and becomes a common outlaw. It will be several years before that man’s death is confirmed.
Anyways, Minister Zhou is very much pleased with himself, having gotten his economic ideas put into practice, and Daišan is also richly honored for his actions. Admiral Zheng is…less fortunate. His enemies at court make much of the fact that his reinforcements arrive in Beijing weeks after Daišan, much too late to be of any use! (To be fair, he was traveling greater distances and Daišan was able to use river boats and the Grand Canal to speed his travel, just as he did years before. And Admiral Zheng
was dealing with fighting against the Dutch and other foreign interlopers, although to be fair his own bellicosity was a large part in why there was fighting with the Dutch in the first place.) Although he is not formally punished or demoted (he still retains the emperor’s favor), Zheng Zhilong appears to largely retire from public life around this time; he is aged beyond his years, not in good health, as years of fighting and the occasional tropical fever have taken their toll. His son, Zheng Chenggong, will serve as de facto regent of Dongshan for the rest of his father’s life.
And what of Dongshan? Some steps will be taken to regularize its position in the imperial bureaucracy. While Zheng Zhilong retains his title as “Admiral of the Coastal Seas,” it is finally decided that the title will not be hereditary, having been intended as an honor specific to the elder Zheng. Dongshan will officially be classified as a protectorate (dūhù fǔ), modeled somewhat after the military protectorates of earlier dynasties (for example, the Tang dynasty’s protectorates along the western frontier). That said, just because the name is the same does not mean that known traits of the one protectorate can be casually ascribed to the other. Students of Chinese history often make similar mistakes as students of Roman history who conflate the “dictatorship” of the early republic with the “dictatorship” of Sulla and Caesar. For historians, the characteristics of the protectorate are those things which the protectorate has been documented as doing. Of course, much is made of the “protectorate” anyways because all parties (even the Zheng family) want a respectable term from antiquity, so although there is technically no continuity between the status of Dongshan and the protectorates of earlier times, the term sticks. Zheng Chenggong will essentially be a governor-for-life, answering directly to the throne and responsible for coordinating military operations in the area. While he’s still very much his father’s son, and opportunistic raids against foreigners will still be happily undertaken (where they don’t interfere with trade), much of his effort will be directed toward pacifying Dongshan’s still-wild interior. And he’s a trifle more practical-minded, at least relatively speaking. Relatively. Again, he’s his father’s son. A little bit of filibustering is to be expected.
Shi Kefa, who had embarked on the project to protect the ancestral tombs of Zuling, has announced that his elaborate system of walls is nearing completion. Or, at least, they're sturdy enough to work, and the elaborate ornamentation can be done by dedicated artisans. He’s honestly rather put out that the civil war has distracted people from all the good work he’s doing. Fortunately, his boss Minister Dong praises him for his efforts, and promises him further prestigious postings after the current project is wrapped up. Minister Dong, after all, isn’t getting any younger, and he could use an intelligent and hardworking young(er) man to take over things after he’s gone.
So Shi Kefa returns to Beijing, letting his subordinates put the finishing touches on his construction project. Meanwhile, other people are leaving northern China, displaced by famine or war. In some cases, suspected rebels flee for their lives, while others are spared the executioner’s ax but are sentenced to internal exile. These last are sent to a variety of places. The traditional place to serve such a sentence is the western frontier, but others come to Dongshan, which accepts any manpower it can get, absorbing people into its melting-pot culture. There are also greater levels of involvement in Ryukyu and even Ezo, that island on the fringe of Tokugawa Japan, whose Ainyu inhabitants do steady but low-level trade with Chinese merchants. Of course, it’s mostly experienced hands, and not exiled rebels, who do business in these quarters. Still, this time period marks an important milestone in Chinese influence across Eastern and Southeast Asia, as increased trade leads to the flourishing of expatriate communities across the region...
Footnotes
[1] IOTL now known as Hohhot.
[2] Everything I’ve just described is pretty much exactly what happened IOTL. The style of porcelain from this era is known as
Tianqi porcelain (after the emperor).
[3] The current Prince of Yi is probably Zhu Ciyi, who IOTL died in this year while fleeing with the Southern Ming. His heirs were largely supporters of Koxinga, although they don’t appear to have been as prominent as the Prince of Ningjing, Koxinga’s resident Ming figurehead. The Princes of Yi descended from a younger son of the Chenghua Emperor.