The Tang dynasty (618–907) went into steep decline as a result of the Huang Chao Rebellion (874–84). The imperial government and the emperor himself became the tools of regional warlords, each maneuvering for his own power in an increasingly uncertain political and military milieu. These struggles were played out in the final decades of the Tang dynasty and beyond, lasting until the mid-point of the tenth century, when the various factions and power groupings of the late Tang had become so enervated by constant warfare and the deaths of the principal players that a new generation of ambitious power-seekers rose to the top. Steppe influence remained important in these conflicts and indeed, from the retrospective standpoint of the Jurchen Jin dynasty (1115–1234) and then the Mongol Yuan dynasty (1272–1368), the intervening control of north China by the Chinese Song dynasty (960–1279) almost seems to be the exception rather than the rule.

This chapter explores the emergence of blue-and-white porcelain in Jingdezhen. This has often been told as a global story that included cobalt from Central Asia, arriving in China by means of Islamic merchants who circulated throughout Eurasia, as did consumer demands from Central Asia. The emergence of cobalt blue decorations on the large dishes that were popular in the eating practices of the steppe and in Central Asian societies is often seen as a story of regional adaptation to global tastes, but this chapter adds a local dimension. It argues that the production of blue-and-white ceramics benefited the circulation of local technologies, especially the application of metal-based pigments onto the unglazed surfaces of ceramics to create line-drawings and brush-painted decorations. That process started in the northern kilns, especially in the wide region in which Cizhou and Cizhou-type ceramics were manufactured. Over time, the kilns in the south also started to apply painted decorations with brushes under the application of the glaze, as objects, ideas and people moved southwards. Jizhou played a key role in the transmission and circulation of materials and technologies.

Trained violence was a central forum for establishing the relationship between Chinese dynastic governments and their subjects. Because training in the use of violence (martial arts), along with access to weapons, determined an imperial subject’s effectiveness in carrying out violence in the service of the state, or in resisting the will of the state, imperial governments were always concerned to confine skills and weapons to those loyal to the state. Not only did different dynasties solve that problem differently at the beginning of their rule, the institutions governing training in violence changed over time in response to a government’s evolving society and external threats. Seen in this light, a state’s control over trained violence and access to weapons is a direct reflection of that state’s evaluation of its subjects’ loyalty and commitment to dynastic goals.

Chapter Two explores how court officials tried to come to terms with Zhu Di’s deep engagement with the steppe and its leaders. Zhu Di’s five steppe campaigns were more than military conflicts. Zhu Di visited the sites – sometimes ruins – of former Yuan palaces and lodges. He offered commentary on the Yuan ruling house, which accentuated his status as successor to the Great Yuan and as a ruler uniquely qualified to pass judgment on fellow sovereigns. Zhu Di’s actions challenged civil officials in many ways. They had to praise a sovereign who openly flouted the founder’s precedents. They celebrated the emperor’s newest subjects, men who drank blood, consumed raw liver, and exulted in physical strength. Court ministers’ writings depicted a style of rulership obviously connected to men from afar in ways that simultaneously satisfied their sovereign’s demands and minimized dangers to the polity and to themselves.

The Conclusion offers observations about what the study’s main findings reveal about Ming rulership and the Ming throne’s place in east Eurasia. It argues that the Ming throne actively sought allies in Eurasia through political patronage, economic support, and a rhetoric that highlights the ties of good faith and loyalty between the emperor and Mongol nobles at home and abroad. The Conclusion also briefly critiques New Qing History exceptionalism, suggesting that the Ming throne’s engagement in Eurasia is one chapter in a far longer story of China’s deep ties to neighboring polities.

Using the unusually rich historical sources generated by the Tumu crisis, Chapter Four offers a reconstruction of Ming rulership in east Eurasia in the mid-fifteenth century. Chapter Four demonstrated that the fifteenth century’s first half saw a multigenerational, multifaceted competition among Mongol, Oirat, and Ming ruling elites to turn the Chinggisid legacy to their advantage. Each developed a genealogy or pedigree of rulership, which it advertised to its neighbors. The best-documented example, that of the Ming dynastic house, trumpeted the superior attributes of the rulership of Zhu Yuanzhang and his descendants. Just as emphatically, the Ming throne denied the qualifications of rival lords such as Toqto’a-Buqa and Esen. The Ming ruling family and its close supporters tried to persuade several audiences, including Jurchen chieftains, the Choson throne, and Oirat and Mongol leaders, of its historical vision of the past and the present.

Chapter Three is a group biography of Mongols in the early Ming throne’s service. Zhu Di and his advisers depicted Esen-Tügel’s decision to join the Ming dynasty in 1423 as a submission, which proved Zhu Di’s superior attributes of rulership. The emperor’s martial prowess, munificence, and ability to recognize men of outstanding ability regardless of their origin won the allegiance and service of a proven Mongol warrior and leader. As was often the case, this dramatic moment – an oath of personal fealty – commanded chroniclers’ attention, but the bigger story had yet to unfold. Imperial patronage continued for much of the remainder of the fifteenth century. It took material form in housing, wages, and personal gifts. It also came in the guise of tax exemptions, prestigious titles and posts, opportunities for advancement, and the throne’s conspicuous protection. Successive emperors displayed their favor through material, financial, political, and honorific means. Such patronage extended to hundreds of Mongolian men, their families, and their descendants for decades and decades. Men from afar embraced this face of rulership. At the same time, it was a pattern of behavior that many civil officials rejected, in part because they felt that such generosity came at their expense.

Chapter Five uses the Tumu crisis to shed light on two more facets of Ming rulership in east Eurasia. The first is the Ming court’s deep commitment to secure allegiance among neighboring elites, and the second is the striking commensurability between the Ming throne and Mongol (including Oirat) nobles. Both issues throw into relief contemporary awareness that Ming rulership did not occur in isolation but rather coexisted with other centers of power and authority. Ming rulers strove to shape the perceptions and actions of neighboring lords, great and small. Drawing on its military, economic, ritual, and rhetorical resources, the Ming court established itself as east Eurasia’s premier patron. The Oirats’ rise showed that the Ming court’s influence might be challenged, but in the mid-fifteenth century, no one – even Esen – seriously contemplated toppling, much less replacing, the Ming dynasty.

Chapter 8, “South of the Clouds,” moves from the Mongolian steppe to Yunnan, the southwestern kingdom of the Prince of Liang, a Chinggisid noble and Great Yuan supporter. In the mid-thirteenth century, the Mongols conquered Yunnan, a previously independent kingdom (Nanzhao), as part of its broader war against the mighty Song dynasty in China. Mongol governance in Yunnan shaped power sharing among local elites in ways that influenced their response to Daidu’s fall in 1368, the Great Yuan’s diminished power, and the Ming court’s efforts to win recognition. This chapter charts Zhu Yuanzhang’s diplomatic and military offensives in Yunnan with particular attention to his attempts to turn local experience of Mongol rule to his advantage.

Chapter 6, “A Precarious Tale” explores the role of war, military men, and court drama in the early Ming’s rivalry with the Great Yuan. It also addresses the precarious nature of the early Ming court’s Chinggisid narrative. All contemporaries understood that military force was essential for political legitimacy. Field commanders defeated Great Yuan armies, conquered its lands, captured Chinggisid nobles, and seized key political emblems such as seals of state. Thus, military commanders also figured in the story that the early Ming court told of the Great Yuan. The Ming court widely disseminated news of high political theater, for instance the reception of Chinggisid nobles in Nanjing. However, both court drama and military commanders repeatedly disrupted the Ming court’s carefully scripted stories about inescapable Yuan defeat and inevitable Ming triumph. Commanders lost battles. Some were declared traitors. Political theater failed to go according to plan; on occasion it was dramatically undone by senior figures in the Ming court.

Chapter 3, “Changing Fortunes,” explores the Yuan court's effort to regain ascendance in eastern Eurasia through military campaigns and diplomatic initiatives. Drawing upon spiritual, military, and political resources, the Great Yuan court pursued its claims to legitimacy and power in Eurasia, fielding powerful armies that clashed with the forces of the newly ascendant Ming court. If the Yuan court suffered defeats, until the late 1380s, it could also claim major triumphs. After the assassination of the Yuan's Great Khan in 1388, however, more Mongol commanders confronted the choice of remaining loyal to the Chinggisids or offering their allegiance to the Ming throne.

Chapter 9, “The Chinggisid Fold,” explores Zhu Yuanzhang’s correspondence with two other groups with deep ties to the Chinggisid imperial enterprise. The first were senior Great Yuan military commanders and Mongol nobles, primarily those based in today’s Liaoning and Jilin provinces to the northeast, the southern Mongolian steppe, and in Gansu and eastern Xinjiang. The second group consists of the Moghul khanate and the Timurid dynasty in Central Asia. Memory of Chinggis Khan and the institutional arrangements of the Mongol empire (including hereditary relations of leadership) were defining elements of both groups. This chapter argues that Zhu Yuanzhang worked hard to win the first group’s allegiance through a combination of military pressure, economic incentives, and argumentation. If he failed to sway the Great Khans and the Prince of Liang, the Ming founder did have some success among this critical group of Chinggisid supporters. Zhu Yuanzhang and his advisors invoked the Mongol empire’s inheritance in communications with the Timurid and Moghul polities. However, the early Ming court’s Chinggisid narrative was not compelling to them.

Chapter 7, “Letters to the Great Khan,” examines correspondences that Zhu Yuanzhang wrote to three successive Great Khans between 1368 and 1388. These missives examine Chinggis’ origins as a humble man of the people chosen by Heaven to unite the steppe and then subjugate much of Eurasia. They praise the glories of Qubilai, who united long-divided Chinese territory and ushered in a sparkling age of prosperity. They also chronicle the collapse of effective Yuan governance, which led to the rise of regional warlords, the spread of human suffering, and the disintegration of moral order. Perhaps most striking is the way Zhu Yuanzhang speaks as one ruler to another in these letters. He spends much time walking the Great Khans through the new reality of the day and their choices for the future. Zhu Yuanzhang’s correspondence did not alter the Great Khans’ views, but it does conform to what we know about the Ming founder’s insistence that people not merely obey his orders but also accept his views.

Chapter 5, “Telling Stories and Selling Rulership,” examines how Zhu Yuanzhang and his ministers created a story of the rise, glory, and irreversible fall of the Chinggisids for audiences at home. Primary audiences included not just educated Chinese men but also Mongols, Turks, Kitans, and Jurchens. Many felt a sense of loyalty to the Great Yuan. The early Ming court’s Chinggisid narrative highlighted such themes as the end of the Chinggisids’ allotted span of rule, Chinese renewal, the physical and political marginality of the post-1368 Yuan court, and the deficiencies of contemporary Chinggisid leadership. Emphasizing the superiority of Ming rulership, such a discursive strategy was intended to persuade contemporary audiences to forsake the Great Yuan and pledge loyalty to the Great Ming. Zhu Yuanzhang and his advisors worked hard to create a version of the past that served the needs of the present.

Chapter 4, “Black City” shifts from eastern and central to western Mongolia. It focuses on the only Great Yuan city for which administrative documents survive from the post-1368 period. Qara-Qoto or Black City is located in the southwestern corner of today’s Inner Mongolia. Saved from extinction by arid conditions and long centuries of neglect, the Qara-Qoto documents reveal that Great Yuan regional governance continued after 1368. Documents occasionally mention military mobilization against impending Ming attack, but most focus on daily governance. This may not seem exciting, but it reminds us that 1368 as a transformative moment was in part a narrative creation of the Ming court meant to change contemporary perceptions of both the Great Yuan and the Great Ming courts. The documents also reveal Chinggisid nobles’ ongoing importance to Great Yuan governance in Qara-Qoto and surrounding regions after 1368.

Moving beyond Ming territory and the Chinggisid world, Chapter 10 looks at how the early Ming court invoked the story of the Mongol empire in its relations with the kingdoms of Koryŏ, Japan, and the Great Việt (Đại Việt or most of the northern part of today’s Vietnam), which today are commonly lumped together as East Asia. The chapter reviews these three kingdoms’ markedly different experiences of the Mongol empire. It argues that the early Ming court tried, with uneven success, to exploit divergent memory of the Mongol empire to pursue pressing contemporary issues of diplomatic recognition, border populations, and coastal security. It also considers how the early Ming court gathered information on events in of Koryŏ, Japan, and the Great Việt, and how, on the basis of such intelligence, it tailored its Chinggisid narrative for different audiences.