A Scholar in Chains: The Unlikely Beginnings of a Military Leader

On a sweltering summer night in August 1226, within the small but strategically located city of Fangcheng (modern-day Henan Province), an unusual scene unfolded in a dimly lit prison cell. A gaunt man in white robes meticulously copied classical texts by flickering lamplight, surrounded by stacks of books that cluttered every corner of his cramped quarters. This was no ordinary prisoner—he would soon emerge as one of the Jin Dynasty’s most celebrated military commanders, leading the infamous Zhongxiao Jun (Loyal and Filial Army) in a desperate bid to save the crumbling empire.

Fangcheng, situated at the heart of the Nanyang Basin, was a modest yet vital administrative center during the Jin Dynasty. Surrounded by rivers and nestled near the foothills of the Funiu Mountains, it was a place of natural beauty—a stark contrast to the political turmoil engulfing the dynasty. The man in the cell, whose identity we will later reveal, embodied the paradoxes of his era: a scholar imprisoned in a decaying regime that would soon pin its hopes on him.

The Jin Dynasty on the Brink

The year 1226 marked the fifteenth year of war between the Jin Dynasty and the rising Mongol Empire. By this time, the Jin had lost control of vast territories north of the Yellow River, including Liaodong, Hebei, and Shandong. Emperor Aizong (Wanyan Shouxu), who ascended the throne in 1223, inherited a realm in crisis. Though young and physically unassuming, he was perhaps the most capable of the Jin’s last three emperors, implementing reforms to stave off collapse.

The Jin military, once formidable, had deteriorated into a shadow of its former self. The traditional Meng’an-Mouke system—a hereditary military structure—had decayed to the point where units were severely undermanned and ineffective. Conscription drives only worsened morale, with forced enlistments of civilians, including elderly scholars, leading to widespread resentment.

The Birth of the Loyal and Filial Army

Recognizing the inadequacy of existing forces, Emperor Aizong initiated sweeping military reforms. In 1225, he established a new elite army under the direct command of the central government. These troops, rigorously trained and capable of marching 200 li (approx. 100 km) in a single day, formed the backbone of Jin resistance.

Yet, the most feared and formidable unit was the Zhongxiao Jun—the Loyal and Filial Army. Unlike conventional forces, its ranks were filled with guizheng ren (“returned loyalists”): defectors, escaped prisoners, and displaced warriors from across Eurasia. This motley assembly included Uighurs, Naimans, Tanguts, and Han Chinese who had fled Mongol rule. Many were hardened survivors, acutely aware that capture meant certain death.

The army’s name, “Loyal and Filial,” was both propaganda and necessity. These men had to prove their allegiance to the Jin, and they did so with ferocity. Their combat prowess, honed by desperation and familiarity with Mongol tactics, made them indispensable. Emperor Aizong rewarded them handsomely—triple pay, the finest horses, and regular bonuses—but their loyalty was as volatile as their battlefield fury.

The Psychology of the “Edge Men”

The Zhongxiao Jun were products of war’s brutality, men with nothing left to lose. Their ranks included figures like Pucha Guannu, a Jurchen who escaped Mongol captivity, robbed a merchant, and fought for both Jin and Southern Song before returning to the Jin. Such men thrived in chaos, their survival instincts sharpened by betrayal and violence.

Their mindset was encapsulated by one officer’s grim remark: “We are all men the Great Court [Mongols] will never pardon.” This existential dread fueled their relentless aggression. Unlike conscripts, they fought not out of duty but sheer survival.

The Legacy of the Last Stand

The Zhongxiao Jun became legendary for their battlefield exploits, but their story is also one of tragic inevitability. Despite their efforts, the Jin Dynasty fell in 1234, overwhelmed by Mongol forces. Yet, their resistance delayed the inevitable, buying time for cultural and political transitions that shaped subsequent Chinese history.

Their legacy endures as a case study in asymmetric warfare and the psychology of soldiers fighting against annihilation. In many ways, they foreshadowed later resistance movements—desperate, adaptable, and ultimately unable to reverse the tide of history.

Modern Reflections

Today, the Zhongxiao Jun are a footnote in the grand narrative of Mongol conquests. Yet their story resonates in discussions of loyalty, identity, and the human cost of war. They were neither heroes nor villains but survivors of an era when empires crumbled and ordinary men were forced to become something extraordinary.

In the end, the scholar in the Fangcheng prison cell—whose name history records as a key architect of this doomed resistance—embodies the paradox of the Jin’s final years: brilliance in the face of ruin, courage in the shadow of defeat.