A Kingdom in Peril: The Waning Years of Ming China

The spring of 1630 dawned bitterly cold across northern China, the unrelenting grip of the Little Ice Age mirroring the declining fortunes of the Ming Dynasty. As the Later Jin forces under Hong Taiji prowled the outskirts of Beijing like wolves, the once-mighty empire could only watch helplessly as its territories were plundered and its people enslaved. Against this backdrop of imperial decay, a lone Ming general met his fate on a snow-covered road, his blood staining both his official robes and the winter ground crimson. The weeping Manchu commander who cradled his body called him by his Manchu name – “Aita” – revealing the complex identity of this remarkable figure: Liu Xingzuo, a man torn between two worlds.

From Privileged Scholar to Manchu Courtier

Born into a wealthy family in the frontier region of Kaiyuan, Liu Xingzuo (also known as Liu Aita) represented an anomaly in early 17th century China. Unlike most Han Chinese who viewed the Jurchen tribes as barbarians, this educated scholar found himself drawn into the orbit of Nurhaci’s rising Later Jin state around 1605. Contemporary accounts differ on whether he fled to Jurchen territory to escape legal troubles or was captured, but his exceptional talents soon propelled him through the ranks of the emerging Manchu power structure.

Nurhaci, the founder of what would become the Qing Dynasty, recognized Liu’s unique value. The Jurchen leader bestowed upon him the Manchu name “Aita” and arranged prestigious marriages to cement his loyalty. By 1621, Liu had risen to become one of the three most powerful Han officials in the Later Jin administration, governing the strategic “Four Southern Garrisons” of Liaodong. His fluency in multiple languages and deep understanding of both Han and Jurchen cultures made him indispensable to Nurhaci’s expansionist ambitions.

The Awakening of Conscience

Beneath the surface of Liu’s successful assimilation, however, grew an increasingly troubled conscience. As Nurhaci’s policies toward Han subjects turned brutal following the capture of Liaoyang and Shenyang, Liu found himself complicit in atrocities against his own people. The Later Jin implemented draconian measures including forced hairstyle changes (the infamous “queue order”), mass conscription, and the systematic enslavement of Han farmers. Particularly traumatic was the 1621 massacre at Zhenjiang, where thousands of Han civilians were slaughtered in retaliation for collaborating with Ming loyalists.

Liu’s Confucian upbringing and residual Han identity increasingly clashed with his official duties. He began quietly resisting orders and protecting Han subjects when possible, actions that did not escape Nurhaci’s notice. The tension came to a head when Liu intercepted 2,000 Han refugees attempting to flee to Ming-controlled islands – only to watch helplessly as they were executed on Nurhaci’s orders. This pivotal moment solidified Liu’s determination to defect, despite the tremendous personal risk.

The Failed Defection Plot

In 1623, Liu saw his opportunity through Yuan Keli, the Ming’s Deng-Laif regional commander. Through secret communications, Liu proposed a coordinated uprising that would return the southern Liaodong garrisons to Ming control. Yuan, recognizing the strategic value of having a high-ranking insider, provided Liu with official pardons and promises of protection.

Liu’s ambitious plan involved evacuating the entire Han population of Fuzhou, but before it could be executed, the plot was betrayed by a Han collaborator named Wang Bing. Though Nurhaci lacked definitive proof of Liu’s involvement, the Later Jin ruler slaughtered 20,000 Han civilians in Fuzhou as collective punishment. Liu narrowly escaped execution by vehemently denying the accusations, resulting in Wang Bing being put to death instead for false reporting. Nevertheless, Liu was demoted and closely monitored, his once-privileged position now precarious.

The Great Escape

Following Nurhaci’s death in 1626, the more pragmatic Hong Taiji rehabilitated Liu for his linguistic and diplomatic skills. This provided Liu with new opportunities to aid the Ming cause, including secretly warning Korea of impending Manchu invasions and passing intelligence to Ming commanders. His dual identity became increasingly untenable, however, and in 1628 he staged an elaborate ruse to defect.

Liu faked his own death by burning his residence with a substitute body inside, leaving behind a suicide note citing persecution by political enemies. The deception worked perfectly – even his close Manchu friends Bakshi Daha and Kurchan authenticated the corpse, and Hong Taiji authorized an honorable burial. Meanwhile, the real Liu escaped to Ming-controlled Pi Island, where he offered his services to the controversial Ming general Mao Wenlong.

Between Loyalty and Suspicion

Liu’s arrival at Pi Island marked the beginning of new frustrations. General Mao, skeptical of Liu’s motivations, treated him more as a prisoner than an ally and falsely claimed credit for his defection. Only through the intervention of renowned Ming commander Yuan Chonghuan did Liu gain proper recognition. Yuan’s memorial to the Chongzhen Emperor passionately defended Liu’s loyalty, detailing years of secret cooperation and his dramatic escape.

Tragically, Liu’s hard-won redemption proved short-lived. Following Yuan Chonghuan’s fall from favor and arrest in 1630, anti-Liaodong sentiment swept the Ming court. When Hong Taiji learned Liu was stationed near Yongping, he personally ordered a targeted attack, declaring he would “rather lose Yongping than let Liu Aita escape again.” The final confrontation saw Liu, vastly outnumbered, fighting valiantly without armor before falling to concentrated arrow fire.

The Bitter Aftermath

Even in death, Liu found no peace. His Manchu friend Kurchan, who had wept over his body, was executed months later for showing excessive sympathy. The Ming court, suspicious to the end, delayed posthumous honors amid whispers that Liu might have faked his death again. His brother Liu Xingzhi’s subsequent rebellion on Pi Island only deepened official distrust, ensuring Liu’s legacy remained contested.

A Legacy of Divided Loyalties

Liu Xingzuo’s life encapsulates the moral complexities of the Ming-Qing transition. A cultural bridge between two civilizations, he ultimately sacrificed everything for a Ming Dynasty that never fully trusted him. His story reflects the broader tragedy of Han collaborators during this period – men caught between ethnic loyalty and political reality, whose contributions were often erased by the victors’ narratives. Modern historians increasingly recognize Liu not as a mere turncoat, but as a poignant figure whose difficult choices mirrored the agonizing birth pangs of a new imperial order.