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

After a brief silence, there came a deafening roar of exclamations and uncontrollable excitement!
"Oh my god! What...what is that?!"

"An iron... iron... city gate tower? And it can move?"

"It is...it is the 'divine mechanism' Your Highness spoke of! It is truly made of iron!"

Just then, Zhu Cilang gestured to Li Hu beside him. Li Hu raised a specially made bronze horn and, with all his might, blew a long, desolate blast, yet carrying the power to awaken a primordial beast!

"Waaaaaah!!!"

Before the bugle call had even faded, the craftsmen who had been waiting beside the "Iron Fortress" sprang into action. The boiler was ignited! The massive bellows were pulled with all their might, and blazing embers roared at the bottom of the boiler, rapidly accumulating and pressurizing high-temperature steam within the dense network of pipes!
"laugh--!!!"

A sharp, piercing hiss of steam erupted simultaneously from the exhaust pipes atop the thirteen "Iron Fortresses"! White, high-temperature steam surged forth like an angry dragon, instantly condensing into a massive cloud of mist in the cold air, partially obscuring the behemoth's form and adding to its mystery and terror!
"Rumble! Rumble--!!!"

Immediately afterwards, a deep, resonant roar, as if from the depths of the earth, came from inside the "Iron Fortress"! It was the sound of a steam engine piston frantically reciprocating under the drive of high-pressure steam! Gears meshed, connecting rods drove, and the heavy crankshaft began to rotate!
Under the gaze of tens of thousands of almost stunned eyes, the dozens of huge iron-clad wooden wheels beneath the thirteen steel behemoths, which should have been still, began to slowly but steadily rotate!
They moved! They really moved!
Although their speed was slow, roughly the pace of a person walking briskly, the slow but determined movement, combined with their mountain-like size, deafening roar, and billowing steam, created an unparalleled visual and psychological impact! The earth groaned and trembled slightly under their crushing weight.

The steel tracks rolled over the frozen ground, leaving deep ruts like the claw marks of a giant beast.

"Long live! Long live! Long live!"

It's unclear who uttered the first shout, but this heartfelt cry, a mixture of shock, elation, and unparalleled pride, spread like wildfire across the entire drill ground! Tens of thousands of soldiers, officers and men alike, were moved to tears, waving their weapons and cheering wildly! At that moment, the morale of the army reached its peak!

With such "divine weapons" at our aid, how could we not destroy the Jurchens?!
Right at the edge of the drill ground, behind several hidden mounds, a few pairs of terrified eyes from Shenyang were peering intently through the gaps in the vegetation at this miraculous scene.

They were the most elite "white-armored soldiers" scouts sent by Dorgon, ordered to lie in wait here and investigate the strength and weakness of the Ming army.

When the sight of those thirteen steel behemoths spewing steam, emitting deafening roars, and moving slowly came into view, these battle-hardened and self-proclaimed brave and valiant Eight Banners elites felt a chill run from the soles of their feet straight to the top of their heads, their hands and feet turned icy cold, and their souls trembled!
"Demon... Demon God! The Ming Dynasty... The Ming Dynasty has summoned the demon god of the underworld!"

A scout, his teeth chattering, roared incoherently in a mix of Mongolian and Manchu, his crotch already damp and hot.

"Quickly...quickly go back! Report to the Great Khan! The Ming army...the Ming army is using sorcery!"

The other person, barely suppressing their fear, commanded in a trembling voice.

The men no longer cared about concealing their tracks. They scrambled onto their horses and kicked their bellies with their spurs, fleeing for their lives like stray dogs towards Shenyang.

They wanted to bring this nightmarish scene back to Dorgon, who was still in the Shenyang Imperial Palace, as soon as possible.

Three days later, at Shenyang Imperial Palace.

Dorgon sat grimly on a tiger-skin-covered chair, listening to the scout kneeling below, trembling like a leaf, repeatedly describing the scene they had witnessed outside Jinzhou City in a tearful, illogical voice.

"...Great Khan...really...really several stories high! His whole body...his whole body is made of iron! He...he can roar! His roar sounds like thunder! And...he can even emit white smoke! And then...and then he just left! He really just left! He wasn't pulled by an ox or a horse! This servant...this servant swears to the Eternal Heaven, if I utter even a single falsehood, may I be struck by lightning!"

Dorgon's brows furrowed into a deep frown.

He waved his hand, signaling the guards to take the scout, who was on the verge of a mental breakdown, away. He stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the gray sky over Shenyang, feeling a chill in his heart.

It wasn't that he didn't trust these loyal white-armored soldiers, it's just... the description was too absurd, too beyond the realm of common sense.

A steel monster tens of meters tall? It can walk on its own? It can make noise? This... how is this possible? This completely contradicts his understanding of the world over the past few decades.

However, the repeated, almost identical reports from different scouts forced him to believe it.

The Ming Dynasty must have invented something... something terrifying that he couldn't understand.

An unprecedented and immense fear called "the unknown" coiled around the heart of this once-spirited regent, like a cold, venomous snake.

He knew that a great war was inevitable. And this great war, perhaps from the very beginning, was destined to be an... asymmetrical, desperate contest.

That night, in the side hall of Chongzheng Hall at Shenyang Imperial Palace.

The charcoal brazier inside the hall burned bright red, but it did nothing to dispel the biting chill that permeated the air.

Dorgon, his face ashen, stood with his back to the crowd, hands clasped behind his back, before a screen displaying a huge map of Liaodong. His broad shoulders were slightly hunched, and the anxiety of the past few days and the nightmarish urgent reports from scouts had quietly added a few strands of frost to the temples of this regent, who was only in his thirties and in the prime of his life.

The hall was completely silent.

Prince Zheng, Jirhalang, Prince Ying, Ajige, and several key Manchu princes and ministers all stood with their heads bowed, not daring to utter a sound.

The scout's description of a "fire-breathing, smoke-emitting, self-moving, and towering steel behemoth" was too unbelievable and beyond everyone's comprehension, yet it was impossible not to believe it—after all, no scout would dare to risk their entire family's lives by fabricating such an absurd lie.

After a long silence, Dorgon slowly turned around, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. His voice was hoarse and weary, carrying an almost desperate calm:

"This matter... shall be put aside for now and must not be divulged. Anyone who undermines morale will be executed without mercy!"

He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the turmoil in his heart, and tried to steer the conversation back to reality:

"The Ming army has amassed a million troops, and its momentum is already established. Whether that 'monster' is real or not, this battle is inevitable. However, our army has just suffered a defeat, is short of food and supplies, and has low morale. We urgently need time to regroup. The best course of action now is to send envoys to negotiate peace, feigning to stall for time, and wait for the spring snow to melt and the roads to become muddy, where we may find a glimmer of hope."

"Peace talks?"

Ajige suddenly looked up, his eyes flashing with a fierce light, and said with a stiff neck.

"Fourteenth Brother! Isn't negotiating peace now just inviting humiliation? If you want to fight, then fight! At worst, we'll both die!"

"Foolish!"

Dorgon shouted sternly, his eyes bloodshot.

"A fight to the death? With what? With our heads, or with the lives of tens of thousands of elderly, weak, women and children in Shenyang? In the current situation, we can only drag this out for as long as possible!"

Jirhalang stepped forward, took his elder brother Ajige's arm, and whispered:

“Brother, Fourteenth Brother is right. As long as the green hills remain…”

Ajige gave a heavy snort, turned his face away, and said no more. "Send an envoy...who would be suitable?"

Someone broke the silence and asked the most crucial question.

The mission to the Ming camp, ostensibly for peace negotiations, is in reality an incursion into the lion's den to gather intelligence and, more importantly, to buy time. The envoy must be of noble birth to demonstrate "sincerity," and also be experienced, prudent, and adaptable.

All eyes turned to a middle-aged man in the corner wearing a prince's robe—Prince Li, Daishan.

He was Nurhaci's second son, Huang Taiji's elder brother, and the most senior and experienced member of the Aisin Gioro family. He was also the only person who could have a "consistent" dialogue with the Ming emperor Chongzhen at that time.

Dai Shan felt everyone's gaze, slowly raised his head, his face full of helplessness.

He knew perfectly well that this journey was fraught with peril. The Ming army had come with overwhelming force; how could they possibly be sincere in negotiating peace? This mission as a "peace envoy" was nothing more than a humiliation, and he might even become a sacrifice to anger the Ming emperor and hasten the start of war.

But he had no choice.

As the eldest son of the Aisin Gioro family and the Prince Li of the Qing Dynasty, he had to step forward when his clan faced a life-or-death situation.

"I'll go."

Dai Shan's voice was old and calm, carrying a sense of resigned weariness.

"If my old bones can buy my Great Qing a few days of respite, what does it matter if I die?"

Dorgon looked at his elder brother, a complex and unfathomable look flashing in his eyes, a mixture of guilt, gratitude, and a hint of relief.

He stepped forward and bowed deeply to Daishan:
"Thank you for your trouble, brother."

Starting from Shenyang, Dai Shan and his group traveled day and night without stopping.

Even though he was still quite healthy and had a warm car to drive in, he was exhausted when he arrived at his destination after such a bumpy ride. His once meticulously combed braids were now slightly disheveled, his eyes were sunken, and his face was covered in dust.

At this moment, he did not go directly to the main camp of the Ming army, but instead detoured to a hidden valley located behind the Ming army's defensive line—this was the garrison of Prince Su Hauge's troops.

Night falls, and the spring chill lingers in the northern frontier.

Several bonfires lit up in the valley, illuminating the makeshift tents and the solemn faces of the people there.

Daishan and Hauge, uncle and nephew, sat facing each other across the flickering flames. A few simple dishes and drinks were laid out on a low table between them, but neither of them had the appetite to touch them.

"Second Uncle..."

Haug's hoarse voice broke the suffocating silence. The firelight cast flickering shadows on his angular face, making him appear even more haggard.

"What's the situation in Shenyang...? Is that 'steel behemoth' really as the scouts described?"

Dai Shan picked up the rough earthenware bowl, took a sip of the spicy liquor, and tried to dispel the chill that enveloped him and the gloom in his heart.

He sighed deeply, his voice aged and weary:
"It should be true. Scouts don't lie. Dorgon is blocking the news because he's afraid the army's morale will collapse in an instant."

Upon hearing this, Hauge tightened his grip on the wine bowl, his knuckles turning white, and the murky liquid inside sloshed violently.

He suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with barely suppressed anger and despair:

"Then why negotiate peace?! This is clearly a suicide mission! A humiliation for ourselves! With such powerful weapons, how could the Ming army allow us to linger on in vain?"

"To throw one's life away? To invite humiliation?"

Dai Shan gave a bitter smile, a smile that looked even worse than a grimace.

"Do you think your second uncle wanted to go? But now... does the Qing Dynasty have any other choice? Dorgon sent me to use my old bones and the face of the Aisin Gioro family to buy time! Even if it only buys three or five days, enough to prepare a few more bundles of arrows and a few more sandbags for the city defenses, it would be good. This is... drinking poison to quench thirst, but we have no choice but to drink it!"

He paused, his cloudy old eyes fixed on the flickering flames, as if he could see that irresistible future:
"Besides... even without that 'steel behemoth,' look at this Ming army camp..." He raised his hand and pointed out of the valley. On the distant horizon, the continuous lights of the Ming army were like a galaxy fallen to earth, boundless and endless.

"Such military bearing and such a spirit are no longer what they were before. I observe their soldiers; their ranks are disciplined, their weapons are excellent, and their morale is soaring. As for us... after the defeat at Songjin, we have suffered heavy losses, our supplies are scarce, and our morale is low. With the other side gaining and losing, even without divine weapons, our chances of victory... are still slim."

Hauge lowered his head, his shoulders trembling slightly. This once spirited Prince Su now resembled a helpless child.

After a long silence, he finally said in a muffled voice:

"Then... Second Uncle, please be very careful on your journey. If things don't go well... your own safety is the most important thing."

Daishan reached out and gently patted his nephew's shoulder across the campfire, the movement slow and deliberate, carrying a sense of farewell.

"Don't worry. This old body of mine has lived long enough. If I can find out some of the truth on this trip, I might be able to leave a glimmer of hope for the Qing Dynasty. Take care of yourself. If... if the city really falls, there's no need to fight to the death. Find an opportunity... and go."

These words were a heartfelt entrustment of one's son to another.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Daishan bid farewell to Hauge and, with only ten personal guards, carrying a white flag, rode in a plain blue-canopied carriage towards the main camp of the Ming army.

The carriage was stopped two miles from the Ming army's gate.

A troop of Ming cavalry, their armor gleaming and their expressions stern, approached like a wall. The leading guerrilla general reined in his horse, his eyes flashing like lightning as he swept over the carriage.
"Who goes there? What brings you here?"

Dai Shan lifted the carriage curtain, revealing his aged face, and said in a deep voice:

“Prince Daishan of the Qing Dynasty, by order of my sovereign, has come to see His Majesty the Emperor of the Ming Dynasty to discuss… the matter of ending the war.”

The guerrilla general, expressionless, clasped his hands and said:
"So it is Prince Li. Please lay down all weapons and enter the camp on foot. There will be guides inside the camp."

Daishan had anticipated this, nodded silently, and handed the sword from his waist to the Ming soldiers.

Then, escorted by the guerrilla general and a squad of soldiers, they walked towards the Ming army camp, which resembled a crouching behemoth. (End of Chapter)