Transmigrating to the Chongzhen era, I started by confiscating the Donglin Party.

Chapter 54 Thunderclap in the Northern Frontier

Mid-July of the sixteenth year of the Chongzhen reign (1644), on the southern grasslands of Inner Mongolia.

The tips of the grass are starting to turn yellow.

The August wind blows from further north, carrying the sand and gravel of the Gobi Desert and the chill of the first frost, sweeping across the endless grasslands.

The grass undulates, revealing the gray-brown ridges of soil beneath, like the ribs of the earth that have been thinned out.

In the distance, the Yinshan Mountains cast a bluish-gray shadow on the horizon, silently stretching across the only road southward.

General Ma Kele, the garrison commander of Xuanfu, stood on a high slope, followed by more than twenty personal guards. All of them wore faded mandarin duck battle jackets, covered with cotton armor, the armor plates rustling slightly in the wind.

He held up his monocular telescope and looked north.

Through the telescope, dust billowed across the horizon. Squads of cavalry, like migrating ants, surged forth from the depths of the grassland, dispersing east and west.

Judging from the banners, they are not the wolf-head banners or Suluding banners commonly used by the Mongols, but rather the dragon-patterned banners of the Later Jin Eight Banners—mostly Plain White Banners and Bordered White Banners, interspersed with some blue banners of the Mongol Eight Banners.

"Which batch is it?" Marco asked, his voice hoarse as he lowered his binoculars.

The scout captain beside him wiped his face, his beard frosted with white. "Reporting to headquarters, this is the third batch today. From dawn until now, no fewer than three thousand cavalry have passed through this section of the border wall."

"Are they all scouts?"

"Judging by their posture," the captain said, pointing to a cloud of dust in the distance. "Look at that group, about thirty riders. They walk a bit, then stop, some dismount to measure the distance, others climb to higher ground to draw maps—they're surveying the terrain, seeing where the walls are low and where the soil is soft."

Marco remained silent. He recalled what Li Ruolian had said three months earlier when investigating the Shanxi merchants' case in Xuanfu: "The border troops have deep-seated problems that cannot be changed overnight. You must remember General Zhou's legacy and not betray his reputation."

General Zhou Yuji.

The general who defended Tongguan Pass on an empty stomach until he succumbed to his wounds. Most of his former troops are now under his command. These soldiers have seen blood and are willing to fight to the death, but they have also witnessed the court's failure to pay wages, the corruption of superiors, and the starvation of their comrades.

Could such soldiers defend this Great Wall riddled with holes?

"General," the captain of the personal guard rode forward and lowered his voice, "news has come from Zhangjiakou Fort that the garrison commander, Wang Pu... went beyond the Great Wall again last night without permission."

Marco's eyes sharpened: "What are you going to do?"

"It's the same old business. They trade salt and tea for furs. I heard they got three cartloads of mink pelts in return, which they plan to transport south for winter."

Wang Pu. The former general who narrowly escaped punishment in the Shanxi merchant case, only to be demoted and transferred. He withdrew for a few months when the court was investigating hard, but now that things have calmed down a bit, he's reached out again.

Ma Ke gripped the reins tightly, the veins on the back of his hands bulging. He recalled Zhou Yuji's dying moments—emaciated, lying in a simple military tent at Tongguan, clutching his hand and saying, "Ma Ke, the border army... cannot rot completely."

"Go back." He turned his horse around. "Send orders to all forts: From this day forward, no one is allowed to leave the border without permission. Anyone who disobeys will be executed. Also, send someone to keep an eye on Wang Pu. If he violates the order again, arrest him immediately without reporting to me."

"General, he has... a powerful backer."

"The Great Wall is behind me!" Marco whirled around, his eyes bloodshot. "Behind the Great Wall are Xuanfu Town, Juyong Pass, and Beijing! Who's behind him? Even the Heavenly King himself can't protect him today!"

The guards fell silent.

Marco spurred his horse down the hillside. The wind picked up, whipping up sand that stung his face. He looked up at the sky; the leaden clouds hung low, as if about to collapse.

When autumn is high and horses are fat.

almost.

July 20th, Shenyang, Khan's Palace.

Huang Taiji lay on the kang (heated brick bed) in the warm pavilion, covered with a thick mink coat, but he still felt cold.

That kind of cold seeps from the very bones, and no matter how brightly the charcoal brazier burns, it can't be dispelled.

He is fifty-two years old, but looks like a seventy-year-old man—his face is puffy, his eyes are droopy, and there is a rattling sound in his chest when he breathes.

"Your Majesty," the eunuch knelt by the kang (heated brick bed), holding a bowl of medicine, "it's time to administer the medicine."

Huang Taiji opened his eyes, his gaze cloudy. He stared at the bowl of thick, dark medicine for a long time before suddenly raising his hand.

The medicine bowl was overturned on the ground, shards of porcelain scattering everywhere, and the medicine spilled onto the scarlet carpet, leaving a stain.

"His name is... Dorgon..." he gasped, each word strained, "and... Hauge..."

The eunuch hurriedly withdrew.

Silence returned to the warm chamber. Huang Taiji stared at the painted ceiling—it was the "Eight Horses" painting commissioned from a Han Chinese artist last year. The eight horses, each in a different pose, galloped across the grassland, their manes flying, full of vigor.

He was once the lead horse. At the age of sixteen, he joined his father in raising an army, conquering Mongolia, attacking Korea, and entering the pass five times, transforming the Later Jin from a tribe into the powerful Qing Dynasty that dominated Liaodong and looked down on the Ming Dynasty.

But horses will grow old.

People die too.

Footsteps came from outside; the steady one was Dorgon, and the hurried one was Hauge.

The two men lifted the curtain and entered, kneeling before the kang (heated brick bed): "Greetings, Great Khan."

Huang Taiji didn't let them get up. He turned his head with difficulty, his gaze sweeping over the two men's faces. Dorgon was thirty-one years old, with a cold and stern face and eyes as sharp as an eagle. Hauge was thirty-eight years old, with a burly build, but there was always a hint of restlessness between his brows.

"How's it going up north?" Huang Taiji asked, his voice hoarse.

Dorgon spoke first: "Your Majesty, the three Khalkha tribes have sworn an oath to send 20,000 troops after autumn. The Tumed and Ordos are also in contact, and the Khorchin are willing to send 30,000 cavalry. By the end of August, we can gather 80,000 Mongol troops, plus 60,000 from our Eight Banners, for a total army of 140,000."

"Has Akito... noticed?"

"Xuanfu and Datong have been reinforced, but the Great Wall defense line is too long for them to defend," Dorgon said calmly. "According to scouts, the Ming emperor is busy dealing with the threat of Zuo Liangyu in the south and has no time to look north. This is a golden opportunity."

Hauge couldn't help but interject, "Father, your son is willing to be the vanguard! We will surely break through the Great Wall and take Beijing!"

Huang Taiji coughed, his whole body trembling. The eunuch rushed forward to pat his back, and it took him a while to recover.

"What's the rush..." Huang Taiji panted. "Breaking down the Great Wall... isn't difficult. The difficult part is... what comes next."

He looked at Dorgon: "You speak."

Dorgon bowed his head: "Although the Ming Dynasty has declined, the Jiangnan region has not been damaged and its foundation remains."

Even if our army breaks through the pass, if we cannot achieve a swift victory and instead become bogged down in the Central Plains, the Mongol tribes will inevitably harbor rebellious intentions, and Korea may also become unstable. Therefore, I believe that the objective of this war is not to occupy territory, but rather—”

"And it's about deterrence," Huang Taiji continued, a sharp glint in his eyes. "Break the Great Wall, plunder the capital region, and force the Ming emperor to move south. As long as he leaves Beijing, the north will be in chaos. Then, the Han people will naturally... open the gates to welcome us."

He took a breath and continued, "Has Wu Sangui of the Guan-Ning Army... made contact?"

"We have already sent secret envoys three times," Dorgon said. "His attitude is ambiguous; he dares neither refuse nor accept. But according to reports, the Ming emperor has just bestowed upon him the title of Earl of Pingxi and granted him 50,000 taels of silver. At this time, it will be difficult to succeed in turning him against his cause."

"Then let's wait." Huang Taiji closed his eyes. "Let's wait for the Ming Dynasty... to descend into chaos. Let's wait for Wu Sangui... to make his own choice."

The warm room fell silent again. The charcoal fire crackled and popped.

After a long while, Huang Taiji opened his eyes and looked at Hauge's face: "You... get out."

Hauge was taken aback: "Father Khan?"

"go out."

Haug's expression changed, but in the end he dared not disobey and kowtowed before leaving.

The curtain fell, leaving only Huang Taiji and Dorgon in the warm chamber.

"Dorgon..." Huang Taiji reached out, his withered fingers gripping Dorgon's wrist with astonishing strength. "After I die... the Qing Dynasty... will be yours."

Dorgon shuddered and looked up: "Great Khan! Hauge, he..."

"He's no good." Huang Taiji shook his head, his eyes full of exhaustion. "He's brave but lacks strategy. If the Qing Dynasty wants to take over the Central Plains, it doesn't need tigers... it needs foxes. Foxes that can both command the Eight Banners and manage the Han people."

He stared into Dorgon's eyes: "You can do it."

Dorgon straightened his knees and said, word by word, "Your subject will certainly not fail the Great Khan's trust."

"I want you to swear an oath." Huang Taiji's fingers tightened. "Swear to lead the Qing Dynasty... into Beijing. To let the Aisin Gioro flag... fly over the eaves of the Forbidden City."

"Your subject swears."

"Okay...okay..." Huang Taiji released his grip and slumped back onto the pillow, as if he had used up all his strength. "Go and prepare. August...August is when the grass is at its fattest..."

The sound gradually faded until it could no longer be heard.

Dorgon knelt for a long time before slowly rising. He walked to the window and pushed it open a crack. Outside, the sky was overcast, and the north wind howled, swirling up the fallen leaves in the courtyard.

August.

He clenched his fist.

July 25th, Wenhua Hall, Nanjing.

The doors and windows inside the hall were tightly closed, yet it remained stiflingly hot. Most of the ice in the ice jar had melted, and steam filled the air, but it couldn't dispel the oppressive heat weighing on everyone's hearts.

Li Ce sat behind his desk, with seven or eight reports spread out in front of him. The top one was an urgent report from the Xuanfu cavalry: "The Mongol cavalry are advancing daily, and the Later Jin Eight Banners have advanced to within a hundred li, seemingly gathering."

Below is Wu Sangui's memorial from Shanhaiguan requesting payment: "Payment arrears have exceeded eight months, and the number of soldiers selling their armor and weapons is increasing daily. I beg the court to quickly allocate grain and pay to stabilize the morale of the army."

Below is a secret report from Shen Shikui, the governor of Dengzhou and Laizhou: "The Korean envoy is secretly communicating with the Later Jin, and the Ming troops stationed in Korea are under surveillance. If the Later Jin uses Korea as a route to attack Dongjiang Town, our army may be attacked from two sides."

After reading through the documents one by one, Li Ce looked up at the officials in the hall.

Ni Yuanlu, Li Ruolian, Li Jizhen, and the newly appointed Minister of War Shi Kefa—the four men sat on either side, all with solemn expressions.

"Have you seen them all?" Li Ce asked.

The four nodded.

"Tell me," Li Ce leaned back in his chair, "How do we fight this battle?"

Shi Kefa spoke first. He was a Jinshi in the first year of Chongzhen's reign and had served as a judge in Xi'an Prefecture and a principal of the Ministry of Revenue. This year, he was promoted to Minister of War. He was known for his competence and outspokenness: "Your Majesty, I believe we should firmly defend the Great Wall."

The garrison of 200,000 troops in Xuanfu, Datong, and Jizhou, relying on the strategic passes, is sufficient to hold the line. Once the enemy's supplies are depleted and they retreat on their own, we can pursue them with elite cavalry and achieve complete victory.

Li Jizhen shook his head: "What Minister Shi said is the way to fight in times of peace. Now the border troops are in serious arrears of pay, morale is low, and many sections of the Great Wall have been in disrepair for years."

Last year, during an inspection by the Ministry of War, eleven sections of the border wall had collapsed in Xuanfu Town, nine in Datong Town, and even more in Jizhou Town. "Defend? With what can we defend?"

"Then what is your opinion, Master Li?"

"Contract." Li Jizhen stood up, walked to the map, and pointed from Shanhaiguan all the way to Juyongguan. "Abandon the outer fortresses and concentrate our forces to defend the three major fortresses of Xuanfu, Datong, and Juyongguan. At the same time, order Zhou Yuji to lead his troops to strengthen the defense of Juyongguan and secure the western gateway to Beijing."

Ni Yuanlu pondered, "Contracting the defense line is tantamount to handing over hundreds of miles of territory north of the Great Wall to others. What will happen to the people? What will happen to the farmland? What will become of the court's prestige?"

"We can't afford to worry about that now." Li Jizhen's voice was low. "If we save the land but lose the people, we will lose both; if we save the people but lose the land, we will save both. Your Majesty, you must make a decisive decision."

Silence fell over the hall.

Li Ce looked at Li Ruolian, who had remained silent, and asked, "What do you think?"

Li Ruolian rose and bowed: "Your Majesty, I have just returned from Wuchang. Although Zuo Liangyu has outwardly submitted, he still holds 70,000 elite troops in his hands, and Wuchang, Yuezhou, and Jiujiang remain under his control. If the war in the north goes against us now, this man will surely harbor rebellious intentions."

He paused for a moment, then said, "Therefore, I believe that the objective of this battle is not to annihilate the enemy, but to avoid defeat. As long as we hold Beijing and stabilize the northern defenses, we can hold out until winter, at which point the combined forces of the Later Jin and the Mongols will surely retreat. At that time, we can then reorganize our border defenses and gradually plan for recovery."

"Not losing..." Li Ce repeated these two words, then suddenly laughed, a somewhat bitter laugh, "Our Great Ming has reached the point where 'not losing is winning'."

He stood up and walked to the map. His fingers traced the winding Great Wall line in the north, from Shanhaiguan to Jiayuguan, a barrier stretching for thousands of miles, which had once caused countless northern cavalry to fall and perish.

But now, this barrier is riddled with holes.

"Issue the decree," he said, his voice not loud, but each word clear.

"First, we approve Li Jizhen's proposal: order Ma Ke of Xuanfu, Jiang Xiang of Datong, and Tang Tong of Jizhen to abandon the outer fortresses and concentrate their forces to defend the towns. Those people who wish to migrate south will be assisted by the government; those who do not wish to... may they pray for good fortune."

Ni Yuanlu's hand trembled slightly as she held the pen.

"Secondly, confer upon Wu Sangui the title of Earl of Pingxi and grant him an additional 30,000 taels of silver. Tell him: As long as Shanhaiguan stands, his title remains; if Shanhaiguan falls, I will exterminate his entire clan."

"Third, Zhou Yuji's troops are ordered to move to Juyong Pass and take overall command of the western defense of the capital. Of the 50,000 new troops in the Beijing Garrison, 20,000 are to be placed under his command."

"Fourth," Li Ce looked at Li Ruolian, "where is Zheng Sen's navy?"

"We have arrived in Dengzhou and are replenishing our supplies."

"Instruct him not to come to Nanjing to report for duty, but to go directly north. His mission is singular: to harass the Liaodong coast, burn granaries, cut off supply lines, and force the Later Jin to divert troops back to defend. Tell him—we do not seek to conquer cities and territories, but only to contain the enemy's forces."

"I obey your decree."

Li Ce looked north one last time, his gaze seemingly piercing through the palace walls, across the Yangtze River, across the Yellow River, and landing on that land where war was about to break out.

"And," he said softly, "make sure Beijing... is ready."

"What are you preparing?" Shi Kefa asked.

Li Ce did not answer.

But everyone inside the hall understood.

Prepare for the worst.

August 9th, Shenyang.

Huang Taiji died at the third quarter of the hour of Chou (1-3 AM).

There was no will, no final instructions, only a violent cough followed by sudden silence. When the imperial physician rushed in, his hands were still clenched, as if trying to grasp something, but grasping nothing.

The Khan's Palace was immediately placed under martial law. The banner lords, princes, and ministers of the Eight Banners were summoned to the palace overnight and made to kneel outside the warm pavilion. Dorgon and Hauge stood at the forefront, one on the left and one on the right, like two stone lions facing each other.

"The Great Khan's dying wish—" The chief eunuch held out his empty hands, his voice trembling, "that Prince Rui, Dorgon, temporarily assume the reins of government."

"Impossible!" Hauge roared. "Father Khan never said that! You must be a traitor, you lackey!"

"Prince Su!" Dorgon shouted coldly, "The Great Khan's body is barely cold, are you going to start a fight before his coffin?"

Hauge froze. He glanced around; the generals of the Plain White Banner and Bordered White Banner had already subtly drawn their swords, while the men of the Two Yellow Banners had shifty eyes. The banner lord of the Plain Blue Banner, who supported him, remained silent with his head bowed, while the Bordered Blue Banner…

"Gentlemen," Dorgon turned to face the crowd, "the Great Khan has suddenly passed away, and the country cannot be without a ruler for even a day. However, Prince Fulin is still young, not yet six years old. According to ancestral rules, the prince should temporarily assume the administration of the country until the prince comes of age and the government is returned to him."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across each face: "I, Dorgon, hereby swear: During this temporary regency, I will faithfully fulfill my duties and live up to the Great Khan's will. When Fulin comes of age, I will return power to him. If I break this oath, may I be struck down by heaven and earth!"

The vows echoed within the temple.

Haug clenched his teeth, his nails digging into his palms until they bled. He knew he had lost—not because of a lack of strength, but because of poor timing. Dorgon had prepared for far too long; this whole affair was part of his calculations.

"Prince Su," Dorgon looked at him, his tone softening, "with the nation in peril, we must unite as one. I intend to appoint you as the Grand General for the Expedition against the Ming, commanding the Plain Blue and Bordered Blue Banners and 50,000 Mongol troops as the vanguard of the army. Are you willing?"

This is an exchange. He gave him the power to command troops in exchange for not vying for the regency.

Hauge stared at Dorgon for a long time before kneeling on one knee: "Your subject... obeys the order."

"Very well." Dorgon helped him up, then turned to the crowd. "Issue orders to the Eight Banners: From this day forward, during the national mourning period, each banner shall prepare for war. On August 20th, the army will set off, with the objective of—"

He pointed south.

"The Ming Dynasty".

On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, August 15th, in Xuanfu Town.

Marco didn't enjoy the moon.

He stood atop the north gate tower, gazing at the dark plains beyond the city. Tonight should have been a night of reunion, but the city was eerily quiet—most of the people had migrated south, and those who remained had closed their doors and windows. The streets were deserted, save for the hollow echoes of the footsteps of the night patrolling soldiers striking the stone pavement.

"General," the lieutenant said, bringing up a bag of mooncakes, "this is a small token of our appreciation from the brothers."

Marco took it; inside the oil paper package were four coarse flour mooncakes, as hard as bricks. He broke off a piece, put it in his mouth, and chewed slowly.

"Have they all been sent away from home?" he asked.

"They've been seen off," the lieutenant said in a low voice. "They left through the south gate last night, and should be at Juyong Pass by now." He paused, "General, your family..."

"They're on their way." Marco looked south. "They're with General Zhou Yuji's personal guard, so they're safe."

The two remained silent. At the crenellations of the city wall, a young soldier was secretly wiping away tears—he was only seventeen years old, and his home was in a village thirty miles outside Zhangjiakou. His parents refused to leave, saying that the ancestral graves were there, and leaving would be unfilial.

"Why are you crying?" Marco walked over.

The soldier hurriedly stood at attention: "Commander, I..."

"Missing home?"

The soldier nodded, tears welling up in his eyes again.

Marco patted him on the shoulder and stuffed the remaining half of the mooncake into his hand: "Eat. Eat your fill, and if you can hold this city, your parents will live. If you can't hold it..." He didn't finish his sentence.

The soldier gripped the mooncake tightly and nodded emphatically.

At that moment, the night sky to the north suddenly lit up.

It wasn't moonlight, nor starlight, but a cluster of firelight—rising and falling on the horizon twenty miles away, like a blinking eye.

Then came the second cluster, the third cluster...

war.

Marco tensed, and shouted sharply, "Send the order! All troops to storm the city! Light the beacon towers and send a message to Juyong Pass!"

Horns pierced the night sky.

Footsteps on the city wall quickened, and torches were lit one after another, illuminating tense faces. Cannons were pushed into their positions, and the gunners tore off the tarpaulins to reveal the dark barrels.

In the distance, more flames merged into one, like a resurrected fire dragon spreading across the grasslands north of the Great Wall.

coming.

Marco gripped the knife handle tightly, his palms sweating profusely.

He recalled Zhou Yuji's dying words: "Marco, we soldiers have a duty to defend our land. We can lose land, but we can't lose it in vain. Every inch must be paid for with the enemy's blood."

He took a deep breath and roared hoarsely at the approaching firelight to the north:

"The young men of Xuanfu—"

"exist!!"

"Let the Tartars see—" Marco drew his sword, the tip pointing to the sky, "What are the bones of the Ming border army!"

The roar was like thunder, crashing against the city walls and echoing in the dark night sky.

Meanwhile, in the south, the Mid-Autumn Festival moon shone brightly in Nanjing. The Qinhuai River was teeming with painted boats, and the sounds of music and song never ceased. No one knew, or rather, no one dared to imagine—

The sky in the north has begun to collapse.