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

The memorial text traces the journey from Fushun, Qinghe, and Sarhu to Liaoshen, Guangning, and Dalinghe, and then to Songjin. Over the decades, countless Ming soldiers shed their blood on the black soil, and countless Liaodong people were displaced. The tragic scenes resembled a living hell; countless cities were reduced to ashes, and the ruins were like scars of history.

This is no eulogy. It is clearly a most severe indictment of the invaders, written in blood and tears, and a thorough reckoning with a humiliating period of history!

The accusations, like sharp blades, pierced the hearts of everyone; the reckoning, like a raging fire, burned away people's anger and hatred.

"I have resolved to personally don armor, lead the six armies, depart from Yuguan Pass, approach the Liaodong Peninsula, and cross the Ling River to crush the false court. This is not out of a desire for endless war, but to punish the unjust and bring peace to China, to quell the tyranny and protect the people. I have already appointed the Crown Prince to oversee the state, with the Grand Secretariat assisting; the nine border garrisons are each tasked with securing their defenses. A million bushels of grain have been gathered in Tongzhou; armor has been repaired for three years, and the frost shines brightly north of Ji. The soldiers of the three armies weep as they volunteer; the people of the four seas eagerly await victory..."

"If I have committed any transgression, I will gladly accept the wrath of Heaven; if I fail to obey Your Majesty, I will be punished according to the law. I humbly pray that the divine spirits will take notice, assist the compliant in punishing the rebellious, and that the wicked's den be completely destroyed, and Liaodong be forever peaceful. On the day of our triumphant return, we will rebuild the sacrificial rites, repair the temples and altars, announce our success to the two ancestors, and repay the divine favors bestowed upon all. We will present sacrificial offerings again, and offer drums and music once more; how could we forget this! The barbarians' crimes are beyond redemption, and Heaven will surely punish them; when the royal army marches forth, the divine victory will be recorded. I respectfully submit this."

After reading the eulogy, Chongzhen solemnly threw the silk scroll in his hand into the raging fire of the altar. The scroll quickly burned in the fire, turning into a wisp of smoke that rose into the sky. He then pushed aside the golden mountain and jade pillar, and bowed deeply three times and kowtowed nine times towards the main hall of the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

Below the altar, Zhu Cilang, civil and military officials, and tens of thousands of soldiers knelt down in unison, shouting "Long live the Emperor!" The sound was like a tidal wave, soaring into the sky, as if they wanted to pour out all the humiliation and resentment of the past few decades and transform it into an inexhaustible force to wipe out the enemy!

After the sacrificial ceremony, the army was scheduled to formally swear an oath and set off for battle two days later.

On the tenth day of the fourth month of the seventeenth year of Chongzhen's reign, at night, in the Eastern Palace of the Forbidden City.

The grand and solemn sacrificial ceremony held in front of the Imperial Ancestral Temple during the day seemed to have exhausted all the noise and excitement of the entire capital city.

As night fell, the capital city, which had been deserted and bustling with activity during the day, gradually fell into an unusual, eerie silence, as if on the eve of a major battle.

Only the sound of the watchman's clapper from the city patrol, and the occasional neighing of warhorses and the clanging of clappers from the distant military camps, like the heavy breathing of a sleeping beast, broke the stagnant silence.

Deep within the Eastern Palace, however, lay a completely different scene.

The carved window frames were covered with clean white mulberry paper, which blocked out the cool night air and faint noise from outside the hall.

Inside, several exquisitely crafted glass palace lanterns were already lit, their warm orange light filtering through lampshades painted with plum blossoms, orchids, bamboo, and chrysanthemums, casting a soft and cozy glow on the room furnished with Persian carpets and rosewood furniture.

In the corner, the finest silver frost charcoal burned brightly in the gilded bronze incense burner, dispelling the slight chill of the spring night. The air was filled with a faint, elegant fragrance, a blend of lily and sandalwood, which Qiqige usually loved. This contrasted sharply with the smoke and bloody stench that permeated the Temple of Heaven Square during the day, creating a world apart from the other.

However, the warmth and tranquility within this small space could not dispel the thick, unyielding sorrow of parting and the heavy worry that permeated the room.

Zhu Cilang changed into a moon-white brocade robe with dark cloud patterns, a jade belt loosely tied around his waist, which made him look even more upright, but also added a rare sense of leisure and homeliness.

He did not sit in the main seat, but casually sat on the heated kang bed by the window, leaning against a large red coin and python-patterned pillow, his gaze somewhat unfocused as he stared at the flickering candlelight, as if lost in thought.

On the carpet opposite the heated kang, Qiqige and Zheng Xiaomei, the two de facto mistresses of the Eastern Palace, sat facing each other, silently tidying up his luggage.

Today, Qiqige wore a royal blue Mongolian robe embroidered with lotus patterns. Her hair was not styled in an elaborate bun; instead, her long, glossy black hair was braided into two thick braids that hung down in front of her chest, adorned only with a simple red-gold and kingfisher feather hairpin. Her eyes, which were as clear as the clear sky of the grassland, were now covered with a thin layer of mist, her eyes slightly red, as she struggled to hold back her tears.

She was carefully folding soft, close-fitting cotton undergarments and silk socks into neat squares with sharp edges before placing them into the box.

She carefully smoothed each garment with her hands, as if trying to iron in her warmth and longing.

Standing beside her was Zheng Xiaomei, who wore a light purple ruqun embroidered with crabapple blossoms, with a light blue vest over it, which made her figure look even more slender and graceful.

But at this moment, her beautiful face was also clouded with sorrow, and her almond-shaped eyes, which were usually filled with gentle smiles, were now red and swollen like ripe peaches, clearly indicating that she had secretly cried several times during the day.

She was carefully wrapping bottles and boxes of traditional Chinese medicine for treating knife wounds and metal injuries, as well as Huoxiang Zhengqi Pills for preventing wind, cold, heat and dampness, Zhusha Anshen Pills for calming the nerves and relieving fright, and even a small jar of palace-made pills that were said to be able to detoxify all poisons, in soft cloth, and then placing them neatly into a specially made small wooden box.

Her movements were gentle and focused, but her fingertips turned slightly white and trembled slightly from the force she exerted.

This was something they weren't supposed to do, but they did it anyway.

Although the two women came from very different backgrounds—one from the vast grasslands and the other from the water towns of Jiangnan—at this moment, their movements, expressions, and even the deep-seated worry and reluctance that almost overflowed from their eyes were remarkably similar.

Two years of living and working together have made them true sisters who can confide in each other and share joys and sorrows.

Now, the man who is the "backbone" of the Eastern Palace, whom they all love and rely on, is about to go to the battlefield amidst the flames of war. His return date is unknown, and his life or death is uncertain. How can they not be in turmoil and heartbroken?

"Your Highness..."

Zheng Xiaomei finally couldn't hold back any longer and broke the suffocating silence with a heavy nasal tone.

She picked up a vest that she had spent several sleepless nights crafting, made from the softest Songjiang cotton, with a few thin iron plates hidden inside for protection, walked up to Zhu Cilang, and handed it to him, her voice choked with sobs.

"On this journey to Liaodong, the borderlands are bitterly cold, the winds and sandstorms are fierce, and swords... are merciless. This vest, I... I sewed it myself, with the finest cotton. Wear it close to your skin, perhaps... perhaps it can protect you from the cold, and in case... in case of any accident, it can also protect your heart... You... you must carry it with you at all times, please... please don't find it cumbersome..."

As she spoke, tears streamed down her face uncontrollably, like large pearls from a broken string, wetting Zhu Cilang's warm, moist hands.

Zhu Cilang felt a pang of pain in his heart. He took her cold, trembling hand in his own, clutching the finely stitched vest brimming with affection tightly in his grasp, and said softly:

"Silly girl, why are you crying? It's not like I'm not coming back. I will wear this vest every day, just like... just like you are by my side."

Before he could finish speaking, Qiqige, who was standing beside him, also raised her head, tears welling up in her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. Instead, she spoke with the straightforwardness and urgency unique to women of the grasslands:

"And these medicines! I've checked them all; they're the best from the Imperial Hospital! Even the bravest warriors on the grasslands... even the bravest warriors on the grasslands are afraid of illness and wounds! You... you must take good care of yourself! If... if you get injured, remember to apply medicine! Don't be reckless!"

Looking at the two pretty faces before him, each with tears streaming down their faces yet trying to appear strong, Zhu Cilang was deeply touched in the softest part of his heart.

He reached out his other hand and took Qiqige's slightly cold hand into his palm. A pair of large hands enveloped two trembling, delicate hands, and a warm current flowed silently between the three of them.

"Alright, stop crying, everyone."

Zhu Cilang took a deep breath, suppressing the sob in his throat, and forced a light smile, trying to dispel the heavy atmosphere.

"Do you think I'm the kind of person who would easily put myself in danger? This trip to Liaodong is nothing more than dealing with a bunch of grasshoppers and clowns after autumn. It will take three to five months at the fastest, or a year and a half at the slowest. After my father and I have swept through the enemy's territory and hung the heads of Dorgon and Haoge above the Meridian Gate, we will surely return in triumph."

"By then, the Eastern Palace will still depend on the two of you to manage it and give me a few healthy sons!"

He had intended to amuse them with these slightly teasing words, but to his surprise, Zheng Xiaomei cried even harder, burying her face in his broad chest, her shoulders shaking violently, sobbing:

"Your Highness...you...please don't try to cheer us up...war...war is never foolproof...swords and spears have no eyes...sob sob..."

Although Qiqige did not cry out loud, a trace of blood seeped from her tightly bitten lower lip. Finally, her tears broke free and slid down her cheeks.

She abruptly raised her head, her eyes filled with an almost desperate plea, and said in a trembling voice:

"Your Highness! Perhaps... perhaps you should take us with you! Even if... even if it's just to follow behind, to do your laundry, cook for you, and take care of your daily needs, it would be better than... better than living in this deep palace, constantly on edge, having nightmares every night..."

"Nonsense!"

Zhu Cilang frowned slightly, his tone still gentle, but with an undeniable determination.

He gently pushed Zheng Xiaomei away from his arms, patted Qiqige's hand, and said seriously:

"Military camps are not places for women. Moreover, this battle is no small matter, no child's play. Hundreds of thousands of troops are clashing, and the battle line stretches for hundreds of miles. How can you follow behind? Your greatest contribution is to stay in the capital, to appease the people and stabilize the rear. This matter should not be mentioned again."

Seeing the two girls still with tears in their eyes, Zhu Cilang's heart softened, and his tone became gentle again. He reached out and gently wiped away the tears on Zheng Xiaomei's face, then used his thumb to caress the undried tears on Qiqige's cheek, and whispered:
"Rest assured, with me here and hundreds of thousands of Ming soldiers, we will surely win this battle! You all stay here in the Eastern Palace and wait for my good news."

After saying that, he leaned down and placed a gentle yet solemn kiss on Zheng Xiaomei's smooth forehead.

Then, he turned to Qiqige and placed a warm kiss on her equally smooth forehead.

This was not a kiss of lust, but a promise, a reassurance, the greatest comfort and reassurance they could receive before the flames of war were about to ignite.

The next morning, Zhu Cilang dressed himself neatly, took one last look at the person on the bed, resolutely turned around, and quietly left.

Outside the palace, the morning light was faint, and the air still carried the dampness and chill of last night's spring rain.

Instead of heading directly from the palace to the camp outside Desheng Gate, he first went to Kunning Palace to bid farewell to Empress Zhou.

Inside Kunning Palace, breakfast had already been prepared.

Emperor Chongzhen was having a meal with Empress Zhou.

Both the emperor and empress were dressed in casual clothes. Chongzhen wore a dark blue robe with a dragon pattern, while Empress Zhou wore an apricot-yellow palace dress embroidered with butterflies and flowers. She had removed the heavy hairpins and ornaments she wore on grand occasions and only wore a simple gold hairpin, which made her look more gentle and graceful.

However, this seemingly warm breakfast scene was permeated with an indescribable solemnity.

Upon seeing Zhu Cilang enter, Empress Zhou hurriedly put down her silver chopsticks, rose to greet him, and tears streamed down her face before she could even speak.

She grabbed her son's hand, looked him up and down as if trying to etch his current appearance into her mind, her voice trembling with tears as she said:

"My son... this journey... will be across thousands of miles of mountains and rivers, amidst endless war... you must... you must take good care of yourself! Swords and spears have no eyes, do not... do not always rush to the front, you must... you must stay by your father's side..."

Zhu Cilang felt a pang of sadness and quickly took his mother's arm, gently comforting her:
"Your Majesty, rest assured, I understand. Your Majesty is blessed with great fortune, and our Ming army is in high spirits. We are sure to achieve a resounding victory and a swift success."

Emperor Chongzhen sat at the dining table, looking at his wife and children in such a state. His usually stern face showed a rare complex expression, a mixture of worry for his son, solemnity about the impending war, and a sense of helplessness as a father who had to bring his son into danger.

He cleared his throat and said to Zhu Cilang:

"You haven't had breakfast yet, have you? Sit down and have some with me and your mother."

It was a rare occasion for the father and his two sons to dine together, but the atmosphere was so oppressive it was suffocating. Empress Zhou kept serving food to Zhu Cilang, piling the white jade bowl in front of him like a small mountain, her eyes glistening with tears, but she herself could not taste the food.

Zhu Cilang felt a pang of pity, but could only force a smile as he ate heartily the delicate pastries and side dishes in his bowl, praising them:
"The bird's nest porridge and crab roe soup dumplings made in my mother's kitchen are still as fragrant and sweet as ever."

After breakfast, Empress Zhou knew that the father and son must have important matters to discuss. Despite her reluctance, she could only retreat into the inner palace with red eyes and looking back every few steps.

Only the father and son remained inside the hall.

Emperor Chongzhen dismissed his attendants, and the hall fell silent. Only the monotonous, eternal dripping of the bronze water clock in the corner echoed in the hearts of the people, like a war drum urging them to battle.

Emperor Chongzhen stood up, walked to the window with his hands behind his back, and gazed at the white magnolia blossoms in the courtyard outside the window, blooming in the morning light. He remained silent for a long time.

A spring breeze swept by, and petals fluttered down, carrying a poignant beauty. (End of Chapter)