The Pacification of the South
The China that entered the 1920s was a China far different from the one that had entered the 1910s. The status quo of internal tensions and de facto separate governments had been replaced by an empowered Regency, a gutted Nanjing Clique, and a Zhili Clique bound to Russia. Even as the fringes continued to resist centralization, with the Fujian Government forming the main remaining rebel faction, the heart of China was integrated into the government’s control. In 1922, the capital would be moved from Taiyuan to Nanjing, a statement that the Regency was here to stay.
Despite this, change was on the horizon. Chinese Regent Yan Jang was a man of indomitable will and fierce loyalty to China, the man who had reunified most of the nation, but he was also mortal. By 1925, Yan was 68 years old, and the stress of managing the civil war and its aftermath had taken a large toll on his health. As his grip weakened alongside his health, the factions of his government began to look to seize power for themselves.
The four strongest factions vying to succeed Yan were the New Najing Clique, the Minquan, the Western Outreach Society, and the Fajia School. The New Nanjing Clique, made up of “reformed” members of the old Nanjing Clique and ultranationalists, pushed for a stratocratic reorganization of China and an overhaul of its culture. Fiercely xenophobic, they viewed the entire world as out to get China, and that the only way to restore China’s status was via an autarkic economy and reasserting itself via force of arms. Popular among the younger officers in the Army, their own internal politics would see the reactionary Chinese Reconstruction Society and Beaumonist Chinese Revolutionary Committee clash over the future of China’s economy and the totality of a Chinese cultural revolution.
The Minquan alternatively viewed the New Nanjing Clique’s often totalitarian approach and extreme militarism, including its efforts to completely sideline the civilian government, as a threat to China. Most often making alliances with the Chinese Revolutionary Committee and the Fajia School, the eclectic and often Western and Korean-educated Minquan saw China as a nation in need of evolving from its past to a more equitable and modern nation. Viewing the great strides in literacy, cracking down on opium, the reforms to the bureaucracy, and the overall modernization its economy had seen since Li Hongzhang and the Tongzhi Emperor had clamped down on unrest all those decades ago as fine building stones, they believed that China was finally ready to move on to the next stage of its history. Their ideology, termed “Council Democracy”, stated that although the people were the reason for the state’s existence and to whom the state owed its allegiance, the common folk were simply too uneducated to have an active say in government. In their place, a council of China’s most skilled elites would vote on matters of state and serve as the government. Although theoretically opposed to a bourgeois class as a force with more loyalty to money than nation, the Minquan would often court the growing industrialist class and bankers in their efforts to secure influence.
The Western Outreach Society was one such group that often did business with the Minquan. Composed of the nouveau riche who had made their money when China was divided by working with foreign investors, they sought to keep China out of wars in exchange for peaceful, if staunchly protectionist, trading relations. A wildcard on the political scene, its members became infamous for forging ties only to drop them the moment the common cause was lost. Although they preferred a comfortable neutrality, fears of Russian power and the Japanese-Korean alliance saw them often backing Anglo-American interests in East Asia.
In terms of moderate conservatism, the Fajia School was its representative in China. Although on paper the largest force in the Chinese government, drawing support from large swathes of the old Regency bureaucracy, dual loyalties and the sudden explosion of the bureaucracy to a nationwide scale saw the influence of the Regency’s establishment recede to a fraction of what it once was. Its influence would further weaken as time passed and long-standing members began to retire, be sacked, or die off, allowing for the rise of less traditional voices. In particular, the dismissal of Minister of Revenues and prominent Fajia supporter Duan Qirui in late 1923 due to his staunch resistance to ceding government control over the economy delivered a savage blow to their power. Further worsening matters, his successor H H Kung was a firmly pro-American industrialist who viewed the bureaucracy in need of a thorough reorganization. Nevertheless, the Fajia School’s proliferation through the heart of the Regency’s bureaucracy meant that even if it lacked the power to decide China’s fate, it could make the life of any would-be ruler either much harder or much easier by rallying the civil service for or against them.
March 3, 1925 would be the day future historians would recognize as the beginning of the Chinese Great Game. On that day, traditionalist general Zhang Mingqi was removed from his position as leader of the Fujian Anti-Insurgency Operation due to his repeated failures to capture Fuzhou and destroy Song Jiaoren’s Fujian Government. A staunch supporter of the Fajia School, he was replaced by Chinese Reconstruction Society member General Hu Ruoyu. With a member of the CRS now in charge of the largest military force in China, alarm bells began to blare for the other factions. Fearful of a coup by the CRS, the pro-Minquan governor of Guangxi moved to create a league in the south to oppose any power grab while in the north Duan Qirui, continuing to smart over his dismissal, moved to secure the loyalty of local garrisons to the central government.
In Fujian, Hu Ruoyu celebrated his promotion by organizing a grand offensive toward the Fujian Government’s seat of power in Fuzhou. Mobilizing 45,000 men with heavy artillery support, he sent out calls to the governors of neighboring provinces to dispatch reinforcements and swell his force to 120,000 in preparation for an operation to slowly constrict and squeeze Jiaoren until he was completely destroyed. Although Guangdong, Jiangxi, and Zhejiang willingly dispatched reinforcements, Taiwan’s governor Chiang Zhiqing proved recalcitrant toward Ruoyu’s request.
Zhiqing, who had spent his time during the Korean occupation fighting a low-intensity guerilla war from the interior, had been chastised for failing to put up sufficient resistance to the Koreans. Although he had retained his position, this cold welcome, coupled with the death of former Nanjing Clique leader Huang Zhen under suspicious circumstances in 1918 and the dismissal of the friendly Mingqi, soured Zhiqing’s relationship with the central government. Furthermore, his time in Taiwan’s interior had seen him rub shoulders with the same gunrunners and smugglers who had kept Jiaoren supplied, with the two even meeting in 1917 to ensure their forces did not come to blows or excessively compete for the limited supply of arms on the black market. The two men had struck up a rapport during this time, leaving Zhiqing far more sympathetic to Jiaoren than Ruoyu.
So Zhiqing stalled for time. While he publicly stated that Taiwan was regretfully in no position to supply aid, he sent informers to Fuzhou and kept Jiaoren abreast of news on the mobilization. He would continue to play this game for several weeks until Ruoyu, incensed by his continued excuses, demanded that he either dispatch soldiers or come in person to explain his actions.
Zhiqing refused, declaring that the situation in Taiwan was too volatile and that he could not risk leaving.
Ruoyu responded by declaring Zhiqing a rebel sympathizer and asking Admiral Lin Baoyi to mobilize the Southern Seas Fleet for the invasion of Taiwan. Although Baoyi was supportive, he was also afraid of the situation escalating even further, and counseled Ruoyu to ask Nanjing for new orders. Ruoyu, although irritated at the continued delays, assented to avoid further destabilization.
Regent Yan Jang was furious at the ongoing crisis, treating it as a personal insult as it threatened to undo his hard work as he was finding it harder and harder to handle ruling. He summoned both Ruoyu and Zhiqing to Hangzhou to explain themselves and keep the situation from growing out of control. Furthermore, he placed the Hangzhou Garrison on high alert and reinforced it with several battalions from the First Army, the reorganized core of the new Chinese Army, in a determined effort to avoid a repeat of the Taiyuan Incident.
Ruoyu arrived in Hangzhou on May 1, meeting with Jang later that day and discussing Zhiqing’s resistance to his efforts. Jang, relieved that Ruoyu was simply attempting to fulfill his duties, promised that the government would provide all resources required to put down any revolt, but that he still had to give Zhiqing time to arrive. There were still three days until the deadline, and if Zhiqing did show up, he was honorbound to listen to his side as well. Disappointed, but still energized by a dynamism lacking in the old Nanjing Clique, Ruoyu returned to planning for the next few days as Jang sent a destroyer to Tainan to give Zhiqing his final ultimatum.
The ship would return early on March 3 much worse for wear, stating that Taiwanese forces had attempted to first seize the ship then sink the ship upon spotting them near the northern coast.The crew, haggard from running on almost no sleep in their effort to return while keeping their ship afloat, were unable to provide a cohesive explanation for several hours, but the specifics weren’t needed to know that Chiang Zhiqing had allied himself with the Fujian Government.
The response was severe. Jang authorized the deployment of the entire Chinese navy for the pacification of Taiwan, as well as ordering the entire First and Fourth Armies to the south under Ruoyu’s command. The nascent Chinese Marine Corps, first organized as a brigade under the Nanjing Clique and expanded to a full division after the Shanghai Agreement, was mobilized and dispatched to Xiamen for a baptism by fire. All told, General Hu Ruoyu was slated to command a quarter of a million men between the professional army and local Tuanlian while Admiral Lin Baoyi could count on nearly 60 vessels of all sizes.
For the Fujian Government, Zhiqing’s stalling had worked, but at what cost? Jiaoren had planned to rely on local terrain and an army with superior esprit de corps to once again defeat the poorly motivated enemy, but with the arrival of so many reinforcements and the Regency’s strongest, most professional forces, there wasn’t much Jiaoren and his 30,000 men could do to stop them. Despite the morale boost from Zhiqing officially declaring Taiwan’s support for Fuzhou on May 4, a hurried council of war was called.
After a series of heated debates, lasting several days, the Fujian Government came to an official decision. A retreat to Taiwan, where Zhiqing’s forces were already entrenched, was rejected due to the lack of sealift capacity while attempting to hold Fuzhou was seen as defeatism. Instead, the Fujian Government would gather up all its strength and evacuate the region, punching eastward and heading to the Southwest, where the Regency’s control was still weak.
The evacuation of Fuzhou would prove to be far more difficult than anyone had assumed. While secrecy was maintained by declaring martial law and heavily controlling who entered and exited the city, as preparations progressed, word began to leak out to the citizens and surrounding areas. The populace, who had been supportive of Jiaoren’s reforms and implementation of local democracy, begged the government not to go. With a surge of volunteers, filled with men and women stating that they would fight to the bitter end for their freedom, and a brewing refugee crisis as thousands of families prepared to follow the army, Jiaoren was forced to make a public statement asking that people remain calm and not disrupt preparations. Pointing to the Regency’s clemency toward the former Nanjing Clique’s territories, he stated that while the future would likely be harsh, the Fujian Government’s retreat would not condemn them to death, and that they would one day return.
Although the worst of the panic would subside, Jiaoren still had to take harsh measures to ensure that no civilians followed them when the retreat finally commenced. New volunteers were put through their paces while the soldiers were quartered away from the civilian population and ordered to give no information. With the revolution at stake, Jiaoren authorized the execution of any soldier caught spreading information on the upcoming offensive. Although primarily a statement of intent, several soldiers found to be leaking information to their friends and family would face a firing squad in the weeks preceding the offensive’s start date of June 10.
As the day of the offensive approached, Fujian soldiers moved to their jumping off points in utmost secrecy. Regency scouts would report enemy activity dropping to near zero along the northern and eastern reaches of Fujian as early as the 3rd, but none had expected that Fuzhou itself was abandoned in the middle of the night on the 8th. 50,000 strong, the Fujian government began its breakout in the early hours of the morning by striking at and overrunning an isolated detachment of Tuanlian at Longyan, seizing their weapons and supplies before moving further on. Although they had taken Hu Ruoyu by surprise, the Regency would begin their pursuit on the 12, with soldiers of the First Army entering Fuzhou and the first clashes between the Fujian rearguard and Regency skirmishers on the following day.