The Fragmented Southern Ming Court

The mid-17th century witnessed the dramatic collapse of China’s Ming Dynasty, replaced by the Manchu-led Qing Dynasty. Yet resistance persisted through the Southern Ming regime, a constellation of Ming loyalists operating from southwestern China. By 1654, the eighth year of the Yongli Emperor’s reign, the Southern Ming court had become a fractured entity, with real power divided between military strongmen like Sun Kewang, Li Dingguo, and Liu Wenxiu – former rebel leaders now nominally serving the Ming cause.

This political fragmentation proved disastrous for coordinated military action. While Sun Kewang, styling himself the “Prince of Qin,” controlled the Yongli Emperor like a puppet in Guizhou, other commanders pursued independent strategies. Li Dingguo focused on linking with Zheng Chenggong (Koxinga) in Fujian to open a southern front, while Sun Kewang envisioned a grand northern campaign along the Yangtze River. The stage was set for a decisive but ultimately squandered opportunity.

The Grand Strategy Unravels

In early 1654, Sun Kewang appointed Liu Wenxiu as “Grand Commander” to lead the eastern expedition. Contemporary records like the Cunxin Bian describe how Liu received ceremonial honors in Guiyang, where Sun personally bestowed military authority. Yet beneath the pageantry lay deep tensions. Liu’s banquet speech contained veiled warnings: “The Emperor is like the Buddha in his temple… our duty as monks is to build golden halls to house him.” This metaphor criticized Sun’s imperial ambitions while subtly reminding officers of their duty to the Ming throne.

Liu Wenxiu’s subsequent actions reveal his priorities. Rather than marching east, he spent months inspecting border defenses from Yuanzhou to Jingzhou and consulting astrologers about impending crises. The Cunxin Bian records his secret meeting with recluse Li Shi, who likely warned of Sun’s planned usurpation. By summer, Liu had only advanced to Tianzhu on the Hunan border – not to attack Qing forces but to monitor Sun’s movements back in Kunming.

Parallel Campaigns and Missed Opportunities

While Sun Kewang’s northern strategy faltered, Li Dingguo pursued his southern plan with Zheng Chenggong. Yongli court documents from 1654 reveal optimistic coordination: “Now the barbarian threat is receding… we have dispatched noble commanders to secure Chu and Yue… while the Marquis Zheng has sent Zhang Mingzhen north by sea.” On paper, a pincer movement seemed imminent.

In reality, neither front received full commitment. Zhang Mingzhen’s naval forces made three daring Yangtze incursions in 1654, reaching as far as Zhenjiang. But without Liu Wenxiu’s promised western advance, these became isolated raids rather than a concerted campaign. Similarly, Li Dingguo’s Guangdong operations lacked Zheng Chenggong’s full support. As historian Gu Cheng observed, “The southern front saw western forces attack without eastern support, while the northern front had eastern attacks without western coordination.”

The Personal Ambitions That Doomed a Dynasty

Sun Kewang’s behavior during this critical period reveals how personal ambition undermined the resistance. His Wangshui Ting Ji, an inscription at Huangguoshu Falls, boasts of divine omens – the waterfall’s surge being interpreted as heavenly endorsement. Local gazetteers confirm his May-June 1654 journey to Kunming to prepare usurpation rituals, abandoning military operations.

Liu Wenxiu, recognizing the impending coup, prioritized stability over offensive action. As the Mingmo Diannan Jilue notes, by 1655 he had withdrawn to southern Sichuan, effectively ending the Yangtze campaign. The strategic opportunity vanished as Sun’s political machinations alienated key commanders.

Legacy of a Lost Cause

The 1654 campaigns represent a tragic might-have-been for the Southern Ming. Contemporaries like Wang Siren argued that survival sometimes served the cause better than martyrdom: “Heroes know when to die and when not to… dying when the task remains unfinished helps no one.” This perspective complicates our judgment of figures like Sun Kewang and Qian Qianyi, whose later defections overshadow earlier contributions.

Military historians note the campaign’s promising elements: naval superiority on the Yangtze, potential coordination with the “Thirteen Houses” partisans in Huguang, and widespread anti-Qing sentiment in Jiangnan. Had Sun Kewang focused on unity rather than usurpation, the resistance might have sustained longer. Instead, his actions precipitated the 1657 civil war between Ming loyalists, enabling the Qing conquest of Yunnan by 1661.

The episode underscores how factionalism doomed the Southern Ming. Unlike the Qing’s centralized command, Ming loyalists remained divided between competing warlords, exiled scholars, and maritime powers. As the Zuiwei Lu lamented, their failures stemmed not from heavenly will but human failings – a cautionary tale about the cost of disunity in times of crisis.

Modern Reflections on a Pivotal Year

Today, 1654 stands as a watershed in the Ming-Qing transition. The abandoned Yangtze campaign marked the last serious Ming attempt to retake China’s heartland. Subsequent resistance became increasingly fragmented until the final collapse in 1662.

Scholars continue debating whether different decisions could have altered history. The campaign’s failure reminds us how often grand strategies founder on personal ambitions and mistrust – a lesson echoing beyond 17th-century battlefields into modern geopolitics. The Southern Ming’s tragedy lies not in their eventual defeat, but in how close they came to changing history’s course, had only their leaders placed unity above individual glory.