A Powder Keg of Discontent Among Qing Troops

In the summer of 1894, as tensions between China and Japan escalated over influence in Korea, the Qing dynasty’s military camps buzzed with bitter complaints. Soldiers from different regiments compared notes on their miserable conditions—delayed pay, embezzled rations, and corrupt officers lining their pockets while troops starved. The worst offender was General Wei Ruguai’s 13th Battalion of the Sheng Army, where rations were half those of neighboring units like General Zuo Baogui’s Fengtian troops. Whispers spread that Wei owned a lucrative pawnshop (a de facto bank in late imperial China), using embezzled military funds as capital. “Why risk our lives for a commander who steals our food money?” became the rallying cry. Morale crumbled, with soldiers openly vowing to flee if battle came.

The Rot Within: Systemic Corruption and Empty Ranks

Wei Ruguai’s corruption epitomized the Qing military’s decay. He padded payrolls with “ghost soldiers”—collecting wages for 500 men per battalion while mustering only 450, filling gaps with vagrants when inspections loomed. Discipline collapsed: brawls erupted daily, and officers, complicit in graft, turned a blind eye. By September, even Viceroy Li Hongzhang, architect of China’s modernized Beiyang Army, sent a blistering telegram: “Your troops riot nightly… If this continues, you’ll lose your head.” But the warning came too late.

The Siege Begins: Tactical Disarray and Heroic Defiance

On September 15, Japan’s 5th Division launched its assault on Pyongyang. Qing commander Ye Zhichao—already disgraced after earlier defeats—pushed for retreat to the Yalu River, but Zuo Baogui, a grizzled veteran of the Taiping Rebellion, refused. “Fight first, then see what happens!” he roared, donning the imperial Yellow Jacket (a rare honor) to rally troops at the strategic Xuanwu Gate. Meanwhile, Wei Ruguai’s malnourished Sheng Army crumbled at the Sparrow Gate, while Japanese forces, though outnumbered, exploited Qing disunity.

The Fall of the “Impregnable” City

Zuo’s defiance became legend. As Japanese artillery shattered Qing defenses at Peony Hill, he stood atop the walls in his golden jacket, deliberately drawing enemy fire until cut down. His last words: “Do not shame me.” With Xuanwu Gate breached, Ye Zhichao panicked, raising a white flag. A farcical “negotiation” followed; Japanese officers, themselves out of ammunition, slow-walked their rejection, hinting at escape routes. That night, Qing forces fled north—straight into a massacre. Narrow mountain passes became killing grounds; 2,000 Qing soldiers died, most unarmed. Abandoned loot included 40 cannons, 10,000 rifles, and even 12 crates of gold.

Legacy: A Microcosm of Qing Decline

The battle exposed fatal flaws: corruption hollowed out armies, while rigid hierarchies stifled initiative. Zuo’s heroism contrasted starkly with Ye’s cowardice, symbolizing a nation torn between tradition and modernity. For Japan, the victory (at just 180 casualties) cemented its rise as Asia’s military power. Today, historians see Pyongyang as the death knell for China’s Confucian military ethos—a warning that no empire survives when its soldiers fight hungry and its leaders steal their pay.