My father is Chongzhen? Then I have no choice but to rebel.

Enclosed with the letter was a handwritten letter from Dorgon, in which the tone was unusually humble and even pleading. He not only repeatedly guaranteed Hauge's personal safety, but also swore in the name of his father Nurhaci and mother Ulanara that they would not do anything detrimental to Hauge during the meeting.

Holding the two letters in his hands, Hauge sat alone in the cold palace all night.

Outside the window, the cold wind howled; inside, the candlelight flickered, and a heart tormented. Finally, he sighed and made his decision.

For the sake of the Qing Dynasty and the bloodline of the Aisin Gioro clan, he had to go back, even if it meant facing a dangerous trap set by Dorgon.

Thus, the team that braved the wind and snow to head to Shenyang came into being.

"Your Highness! Shengjing is just ahead!"

A soldier shouted hoarsely in the howling wind, his voice broken and fragmented by the wind.

Haug jolted awake from his chaotic thoughts, reined in his horse, wiped the frost from his eyelashes, and squinted ahead. Through the swirling snowflakes, the familiar, magnificent city built of bluish-gray bricks finally came into clear view.

The city walls of Shenyang are high and thick, and the arrow towers are majestic. They stand silently in the wind and snow, still carrying the aura of former imperial power.

Looking at the city that should have belonged to him but now required an "invitation" to enter, Haug was overwhelmed with mixed feelings. Bitterness, resentment, helplessness, and sorrow intertwined, ultimately turning into a self-deprecating, cold, bitter smile on his lips.

He took a deep breath of the icy, knife-like air, suppressed the turbulent emotions in his heart, and said in a deep voice:
"keep going!"

The procession started moving again, the horses' hooves pounding on the snow with a dull thud, slowly approaching the heavy, iron-clad gate of Shenyang.

At this moment, a large crowd had already gathered outside Deshengmen Gate in Shenyang. Despite the raging wind and snow, almost all the core Manchu nobles in Beijing, led by Regent Dorgon, including Prince Zheng Jirhalang, Prince Li Daishan, and Prince Ying Ajige, had come out in full force to personally greet them!
They were all dressed in the royal robes of princes and dukes, with expensive sable and fox fur coats on top, but in this biting cold, their faces were still blue and their beards and eyebrows were covered in frost.

However, no one complained. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the end of the northern official road, their faces filled with solemnity, anxiety, and a hint of barely perceptible... expectation.

They desperately needed Hauge back! Not just him as a person, but the still-capable army under his command, his status as "Grand Prince" to rally the people, and most importantly, the firsthand, accurate intelligence he would bring about the Ming army's movements!
When the nation is in peril, power struggles and personal grudges are temporarily set aside in the face of the immense fear of national subjugation.

At this moment, they share only one identity—descendants of the Aisin Gioro clan, the last pillar of the Qing Dynasty.

"They've arrived! Prince Su's royal banner!"

The sharp-eyed guard shouted loudly.

Everyone's spirits lifted, and they all craned their necks to look. In the wind and snow, the familiar brocade dragon banner drew ever closer, and Hauge's imposing figure, surrounded by hundreds of valiant personal guards, finally appeared before the city gate.

Dorgon took a deep breath, suppressing all the complex emotions in his heart. He quickly put on a warm expression, even with a hint of excitement at a long-awaited reunion. Before Hauge could dismount, he took the lead and strode forward to greet him. The princes and beile behind him also hurriedly followed.

Hauge reined in his horse, his cold gaze sweeping over his former political enemies, now his "guests."

When he saw Dorgon, the fourteenth uncle who had caused him to lose his throne and nearly lose his life, walking towards him with a big smile on his face, he felt a strong sense of disgust and absurdity.

But he suppressed his anger and dismounted expressionlessly.

The moment his feet touched the ground, Dorgon rushed forward, grabbed Hauge's icy, stiff, gloved hand, and shook it vigorously, his voice filled with an exaggerated, seemingly heartfelt concern:

"Hauge! My good nephew! You're finally back! You've been through so much wind and snow on your journey, you must be exhausted! You must be exhausted!"

Feeling uncomfortable with Dorgon's sudden, almost nauseating enthusiasm, Hauge frowned slightly and subconsciously tried to pull his hand away, but Dorgon held it tightly.

Behind him, Daishan, Jirhalang, and others gathered around, exchanging pleasantries and greetings.

"Your Highness, you must be tired from your journey!"

"It's good that you're back! It's good that you're back!"

"We've prepared hot wine to ward off the cold inside the city. Come with us into the city!"

Faced with this sudden and unexpected "enthusiastic" scene, a stark contrast to the cold reception he received when he left Beijing a year ago, Haug was momentarily at a loss for words, unable to utter the sarcastic remarks he had prepared all the way.

He opened his mouth, but in the end only managed to squeeze out a dry syllable from his throat, tinged with weariness and alienation:

"Thank you for welcoming me personally, my uncles and elder brothers."

His coldness caused a slight pause in the otherwise enthusiastic atmosphere. Dorgon's smile remained unchanged, but his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly. He then took Hauge's hand even more warmly and turned to walk towards the city gate.

"We're all family, no need to be so formal! Let's go into the city! The Emperor is still waiting in the palace!"

The group escorted Hauge through the deep, cold city gate and into the city of Shenyang.

The scene inside the city was even more shocking than outside. Although the main streets had been cleared, the snow piled up like mountains on both sides, and many low houses were half-buried in the snow. There were few pedestrians on the streets, and even those who were there were hurrying along, looking pale and ragged. When they saw the procession of princes and nobles, they all hurriedly gave way in fear.

Most shops were closed, except for a few grain stores and salt shops where long, desperate queues formed. Soldiers maintaining order brandished whips, their shouts and the cries of children sounding particularly piercing in the cold wind. The entire city was permeated with an atmosphere of despair, oppression, and impending collapse.

This was a world apart from the Shenyang that Hauge remembered as vibrant and even somewhat arrogant, a city of conquerors.

The shadow of war and the scarcity of resources have brought this so-called "Shengjing" to the brink of collapse.

The journey was silent, save for the echoes of horses' hooves and footsteps in the empty streets. Soon, the procession arrived at the imperial palace—the Shenyang Imperial Palace.

This palace complex, modeled after the Forbidden City in Beijing but imbued with strong Manchu characteristics, appears even more solemn in the wind and snow, exuding an indescribable sense of melancholy.

In front of Chongzheng Hall, the young Emperor Fulin, surrounded by a group of eunuchs and palace maids, was already waiting on the steps.

His small body was wrapped in a heavy dragon robe, his face was red from the cold, and his eyes held a hint of timidity and confusion unique to children, as well as a hint of curiosity about this "elder brother".

Upon seeing the emperor, the princes and nobles quickly straightened their clothes, knelt down in unison, and shouted "Long live the emperor!"

Haug, following the crowd, knelt on one knee as if overturning a mountain of gold and a jade pillar, and said in a deep voice:
"Your subject, Prince Su, Hauge, pays respects to Your Majesty! Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor!" Despite his deep hatred for Dorgon and his complicated feelings towards the young emperor who had been placed on the throne by Dorgon and was like a puppet, Hauge still adhered to the duties of a subject.

This was not only out of reverence for imperial power, but also out of his deepest desire to uphold the name of the Qing Dynasty and the last vestige of dignity for the Aisin Gioro family.

Fulin was clearly a little nervous, and only after being prompted by his personal eunuch did he speak in a childish voice:

"All...all of you, rise."

Everyone thanked him and stood up. Fu Lin's gaze timidly fell on Hauge.

He hesitated for a moment, then took a few quick steps down from the steps, went straight to Hauge, looked up at him with his little face, and whispered:

"Brother...you, you're finally back. I...I missed you so much."

That childish, unrefined, and even affectionate "Big Brother" and "I miss you" pierced through the ice of hatred and indifference that had been built in Hauge's heart like a sharp arrow.

Looking at his younger brother, who was connected to him by blood but whose fate was so different from his own, and at the innocent and even slightly dependent look in his eyes, the resentment, grievances, and unwillingness he had felt over the past year transformed into an indescribable bitterness and sorrow.

He abruptly lowered his head, his voice trembling with a barely perceptible sob, and knelt on one knee once more:
"Your Majesty... Your subject... Your subject is ashamed before Your Majesty, ashamed before our ancestors!"

He was referring to his previous "defection" from Shenyang due to a scheme to sow discord. Although it was forced and it was a scheme, in name, he had ultimately "betrayed" the court.

Fu Lin shook his head, then stretched out his little hand and, mimicking an adult, gently patted Hauge's shoulder:

"Brother, there's no need to blame yourself. I've heard about what happened before. It was the southern barbarians who were too cunning. It's not your fault. From now on... from now on, the Qing Dynasty will still need to rely on you."

These words were clearly prepared beforehand by the ministers. But hearing them from the mouth of an eight-year-old child still sent a jolt through Haug's heart.

He raised his head, looked into Fu Lin's clear yet worried eyes, and nodded heavily, each word spoken as if making a vow:

"Your Majesty, rest assured! As long as I have a breath left, I will do everything in my power to protect the Qing Dynasty and Your Majesty!"

At this moment, the struggle for the throne and the infighting seemed to become irrelevant. What mattered was that they were of the Aisin Gioro clan, and they were the last hope for this land.

After a simple audience ceremony, Fulin was escorted back to the inner palace by eunuchs and palace maids.

The major military and national affairs that followed were clearly beyond the scope of an eight-year-old child's ability to participate.

The princes and nobles moved to the adjacent council hall.

The charcoal fire inside the hall burned bright red, dispelling some of the chill, but the atmosphere was even more somber and oppressive than outside.

The palace doors were tightly shut, isolating the raging wind and snow outside from the oppressive, almost suffocating atmosphere inside.

The huge copper basin was burning brightly with charcoal, and the leaping flames reflected the ashen and tense faces of every Manchu nobleman present, elongating and distorting their shadows. These shadows were projected onto the palace wall, which was painted with a picture of a tiger descending a mountain, adding to the solemn atmosphere.

The air was filled with the aroma of fine pine charcoal, mixed with the pungent smell of expensive mink fur robes, and an indescribable sense of anxiety and fear before a great battle.

At this moment, the place has taken on a somewhat 'conference of eight princes' connotations.

Regent Dorgon sat upright in the main seat, his hands gripping the rosewood armrests of the grand master's chair. He forcibly suppressed the turbulent waves surging in his heart, his gaze sharp as a hawk, sweeping over everyone in the hall, finally settling on Prince Su, Hauge, who had just taken his seat and was covered in dust from his journey.

He cleared his throat, which was dry from nervousness, and his deep, hoarse voice broke the deathly silence:

"Prince Su, you have long been stationed on the front lines, facing the Ming army's advance directly. You are more aware of the situation in the south than any of us here today. Today, everyone in the hall is a pillar of our Great Qing Dynasty, and since the fate of the nation is at stake, there is no need for any concealment. Tell us everything you have learned and seen, in detail, about the Ming army's movements. Do not leave out a single word!"

Although he already knew the general outline through secret letters, Dorgon had to make Hauge say it himself, and he had to let all the princes and beile present hear the cold and cruel reality from the mouth of this front-line commander, so as to completely shatter the last bit of hope in their hearts.

All eyes instantly focused on Haug.

Haug took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs and clearing his head, which was somewhat groggy from the long journey and the cold.

He straightened his back, meeting the probing gazes of Dorgon and the others, and in a loud voice, revealed the military intelligence that he had already pondered countless times in his mind, a intelligence that felt like a nightmare:

"My lords, the situation... is far more serious than we imagined!"

He paused, as if gathering his strength to utter that despairing number:

"Since the beginning of winter, according to the intelligence gathered by our spies and the fragmented information extracted from them, we can be certain that the Ming army is launching a massive troop buildup that has never been seen since the founding of our Great Qing Dynasty!"

"Jinzhou, Ningyuan, Tashan, Xingshan, and even further back to Shanhaiguan, Jizhou, and Xuanfu! In the past two months, almost every day, new army units have appeared in all the important towns along the Liaoxi Corridor! These soldiers are dressed in various styles, speak with accents from all over the country, from within the Great Wall, from the Central Plains, and even from Huguang and Sichuan! Braving the wind and snow, they are coming in an endless stream, like a migrating swarm of ants, heading towards the borders of our Great Qing!"

Haug's voice suddenly rose, carrying an almost desperate roar:

"Preliminary estimates suggest that in just the past two months, the Ming army has added at least 50,000 fresh troops to the Liaoxi front! And this is far from over! Their supply wagons, loaded with grain, gunpowder, clothing, and weapons, stretch as far as the eye can see! Their camps, like mushrooms after rain, have sprung up one after another, stretching for dozens of miles!"

He held up three fingers, his gaze sweeping across the faces pale with shock. Each word he spoke struck like a hammer blow to everyone's heart:

"At this rate, if they are allowed to continue assembling, by April next year, when spring is in full bloom and roads are clear, the Ming army will be able to assemble at least 300,000 troops on the Liaodong front! This does not include the troops originally stationed there! 300,000! All of them are well-equipped, well-supplied, and highly motivated!"

"boom--!"

Despite being mentally prepared, when Haug clearly uttered the astronomical figure of "three hundred thousand," a collective gasp still filled the hall!

Many princes and nobles turned deathly pale instantly, their bodies trembling uncontrollably. Some even dropped their teacups, the crisp sound of shattering porcelain particularly jarring in the deathly silent hall. (End of Chapter)