The sky over the plain was a vast, indifferent blue, a stark canvas against which General Yuan Shikai had painted a masterpiece of terror. Thousands of his New Army soldiers stood in perfect, silent formations, their polished bayonets catching the morning sun to create a forest of deadly light. They formed a great, hollow square, and in its center, a collection of several dozen old men stood huddled together, their traditional silk robes and fur-lined hats looking fragile and out of place against the backdrop of disciplined steel. These were the khans, the chieftains of the western Mongol clans, forcibly summoned to this desolate location to serve as an audience.
At the focal point of this grand, intimidating tableau, General Yuan Shikai sat astride a magnificent black charger, his own dress uniform a constellation of polished leather, gleaming brass, and scarlet trim. He was not just a general; he was the master of ceremonies for a grim pageant of power. Before him, bound and kneeling in the dust, was Khan Batu of the Tergin, a proud old warrior whose face was a mask of defiant fury. Behind the kneeling khan stood his clan's largest yurt, a symbol of his status and his people's home.
Yuan raised a gauntleted hand, and an unnatural silence fell over the plain, broken only by the nervous shuffling of the Mongol horses and the flapping of the Qing dragon banners in the wind. His voice, when it came, was not a shout, but a powerful, amplified boom that rolled across the assembled men with chilling clarity.
"Chieftains of the northern tribes! You have been summoned here today to witness the law of the new Empire! The Son of Heaven, in his infinite mercy, is benevolent to those who obey. But his wrath is a cleansing fire for those who defy him. You are here to learn the difference."
He gestured with his riding crop towards the bound Khan Batu, who spat defiantly into the dust.
"This man's clan, the Tergin," Yuan continued, his tone conversational, as if delivering a lecture, "resides closest to the site of a cowardly and dishonorable attack on our Imperial railway. An attack that murdered loyal soldiers of the Emperor while they slept. While my investigators have no direct proof of his clan's involvement, he bears the ultimate responsibility through proximity. He failed to police his territory. He failed to prevent the enemies of the Empire from using his lands as a staging ground. This is a failure of leadership, a failure of obedience, a failure he will now answer for."
A low murmur rippled through the assembled khans. One, a wizened old man with a long, white beard, whispered to his neighbor, "This is madness. The Tergin were a hundred miles from that attack. They are herders, not warriors. Batu's sons have not raided in a generation."
Yuan's sharp eyes caught the movement. "The time for whispers is over!" he roared, his voice suddenly cracking like a whip. "The time for obedience is now! I have decreed an Iron Census. All clans will present themselves for registration. Every man, woman, and child. All weapons—every last arrow and rusty spear—will be surrendered to my officers. This is not a request. It is a command from your Emperor. For those of you who are contemplating defiance, for those of you who believe the old ways will protect you, let today be your lesson."
He gave a sharp, almost imperceptible signal. A team of soldiers, moving with practiced, grim efficiency, marched forward and methodically entered the Tergin yurt. A moment later, they began to emerge, carrying everything the clan owned. Ornate saddles, woven blankets, iron cooking pots, children's toys, precious religious icons passed down through generations—they piled it all in a heap before the kneeling khan. Then, another team of soldiers brought out the women and children, their faces streaked with tears and numb with terror. They were herded like livestock into a roped-off enclosure, their wails and cries a heartbreaking counterpoint to the military discipline.
Khan Batu, watching his family's humiliation, let out a great, primal roar of defiance. "You Han dog!" he screamed, his voice thick with hate. "You have no honor! Your ancestors were pig farmers! Kill me, but spare my family! They are innocent!"
Yuan Shikai watched the outburst with the cool, detached interest of a naturalist observing an insect. "Innocence is irrelevant," he said, his voice returning to its calm, lecturing tone. "In this new era, there is only obedience and disobedience. Let the lesson begin."
On his command, a firing squad of six soldiers stepped forward. They raised their rifles as one, aimed, and fired. The volley was a single, sharp crack. Khan Batu's body jerked and then slumped forward into the dust. It was swift, brutal, and impersonal. But it was only the prelude.
Yuan gave another signal. A detachment of engineers approached the pile of the clan's worldly possessions. They doused the heap with kerosene and, with a flick of a match, set it ablaze. A thick column of greasy black smoke began to poison the clean desert air, carrying the smell of burning wool, leather, and history.
Then came the most horrific part of the demonstration. A full regiment of cavalry, with Colonel Liang at its head, drew their sabers. But they did not charge an enemy line. At Yuan's command, they spurred their horses forward and charged directly into the clan's vast, terrified herd of horses and sheep. The air filled with the panicked screams of animals, the crack of rifles, and the wet, rhythmic thud of sabers. It was a methodical, senseless slaughter. The soldiers were not just killing a clan; they were systematically erasing their entire existence, their wealth, their future, their very soul, which every Mongol knew resided in his herds.
Yuan raised his voice again, ensuring it cut through the sounds of slaughter. "Behold, chieftains! This is the price of defiance! Their men are dead. Their property is ash. Their livelihood is now carrion for the crows. Their women and their children will be taken to labor camps in the south to repay their clan's blood debt to the Empire. Their name, the name of Tergin, will be struck from all records. As of this moment, the Tergin clan no longer exists. They are a ghost. A lesson."
He slowly wheeled his horse around to face the assembled khans. Their faces were ashen, their eyes wide with a mixture of horror, hatred, and a dawning, soul-crushing terror. Their pride, their history of defiance, had evaporated in the face of this cold, industrial-scale brutality. This was a kind of warfare they had never conceived of.
"Tomorrow," Yuan Shikai said, his voice now quiet, almost gentle, which made it all the more menacing, "my census takers will arrive in your lands. I expect your full and immediate cooperation. Do you understand me?"
The khans, these proud rulers of the steppe, could only nod numbly, their heads bowed. Yuan had not won their loyalty. He had not even earned their respect. He had clubbed them into a state of terrified, absolute submission.
With a final, contemptuous look, he spurred his horse and cantered away from the scene of his lesson, his staff officers falling into formation behind him. He felt a deep, satisfying surge of triumph. This, he thought, was how you tamed a wilderness. This was how you brought order to a chaotic people. Not with whispers and patience, not with honor and duels, but with fire, steel, and absolute, unforgettable fear. Meng Tian could chase his single wolf; Yuan Shikai had just taught the entire forest to fear the sound of his name.