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

Two burly generals, as fierce as wolves, stepped forward, one on each side, and lifted the limp Daishan, dragging him out of the hall like a dead dog. The hall doors slammed shut behind him, shutting out the suffocating rage of the emperor and the curses of the courtiers.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Almost at the same time that Daishan was forked out of the main hall, the square outside the hall, and even the entire Ming army camp stretching for dozens of miles, seemed to have a tacit understanding beforehand, and a deafening roar of battle cries that soared into the sky rang out!
Hundreds of thousands of Ming soldiers responded to the Jurchens' ridiculous and futile "peace plea" in the most direct and violent way! The roar was like a tsunami, shaking the windows of the palace and making them vibrate, as if to crush the humiliated envoy and his groveling "letter of state" into the thunderous roar!

Inside the palace, a civil official stepped forward, bowed, and reported:

"Your Majesty, it is an ancient custom not to kill envoys in war. However, the Jurchens are fickle and treacherous. This barbarian is a member of the Jurchen chieftain's royal family, holding a high position and great power. Why not kill him to bolster the army's morale and quell his treacherous thoughts?"

Emperor Chongzhen slowly sat back on his throne, his expression now calm, though his eyes remained icy.

He waved his hand dismissively.

"I am the Son of Heaven, ruling over all nations. How could I do something that would break my promise to the world? Killing an old man would only sully my blade. Spare his life and let him go back to inform Dorgon of the death. Let him... wait patiently!"

Upon hearing this, the ministers could say nothing more and let Daishan leave.

That evening, at Hauge's residence.

When the camp sentries found him, the once imposing Prince Li was sitting on a cold rock, disheveled, covered in mud, and staring blankly, oblivious to everything around him.

"Second Uncle!"

Hauge, who rushed over upon hearing the news, was shocked to see Daishan in such a state and immediately went to help him up.

"What...what's wrong with you?!"

Daishan slowly raised his head and saw Hauge. A glimmer of focus finally returned to his cloudy old eyes, and then large, cloudy tears welled up. He grabbed Hauge's arm as if it were his last lifeline, his voice hoarse and choked with sobs:

"The Qing Dynasty... the Qing Dynasty is finished! Utterly... finished!"

Hauge's heart sank, and he quickly helped Daishan into his warm tent, ordering someone to cook hot ginger soup and calming medicine.

Dai Shan trembled as he drank the medicine, wrapped himself in a thick blanket, and sat by the charcoal brazier for a long time before a trace of color returned to his pale face. However, the fear and despair in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest.

"Second Uncle, what...what exactly happened? What did Emperor Chongzhen...say?"

Haug dismissed his attendants and asked urgently.

Daishan took a deep breath, as if trying to squeeze the nightmarish experience out of his lungs, and recounted in broken, incoherent words what he had seen and heard in the Ming army camp, especially the new rifles, the thirteen "Divine Machine Iron Fortresses," and Chongzhen's thunderous rebuke.

"...That gun...that gun wasn't a flintlock musket at all! It was longer, straighter, without a matchlock, without a powder keg...The Ming soldiers said it could shoot 350 paces! 350 paces, oh my god!"

Dai Shan's voice was shrill with fear.

"And that iron fortress... Thirteen towers! A full thirteen towers! They could roar, they could move, they could emit smoke! As tall as... as high as a mountain! Chongzhen... Chongzhen wouldn't listen to any peace offers, he... he wanted the destruction of the country! He wanted the extinction of the imperial lineage! He said... not an inch of Ming territory would be given up! Either surrender, or... die!"

As Hauge listened to Daishan's account, his face grew increasingly grim, as if covered in a layer of ice.

Despite being mentally prepared, the details described by Dai Shan, especially the "thirteen" steel behemoths and the rifles with a range of 350 paces, still far exceeded his imagination.

A chilling despair, like a venomous snake, coiled around his heart.

"Second Uncle..."

Haug remained silent for a long time, his voice hoarse.

"Tomorrow morning...you should return to Shenyang immediately. Tell Uncle Fourteen everything you have seen and heard. This place...is not a place to stay for long."

Daishan suddenly grabbed Hauge's hand, his withered fingers turning white from the force, his eyes filled with pleading:
"Ge'er! You come too! Come back to Shenyang with me! This battle... we can't win! Staying here... is suicide! It's a pointless death!"

Hauge slowly shook his head, his gaze fixed on the deep night outside the tent, his voice low and firm:
"I am Prince Su of the Great Qing Dynasty, ordered to guard this place. I have not received military orders, nor have I engaged the enemy in battle. How can I be cowardly before the battle even begins and desert my post? If I do so, how can I, Hauge, face His Majesty and my ancestors? This battle... though we are destined to lose, I must fight. Even if I die, I will let the Ming army know that the Eight Banners soldiers are not all cowards who fear death!"

Seeing his nephew's resolute expression, Daishan knew further persuasion was useless, so he could only dejectedly let go, tears streaming down his face.

"Enough... enough... you... you'd better take care of yourself. In any case... spare your life... spare your life..."

That night, the wind was cold in the border region, and the moon was dark and the wind was high.

Inside Hauge's tent, the lights remained on all night.

He sat alone at his desk, wiping the waist knife that had accompanied him in battle for many years; the blade gleamed with a cold, eerie light in the candlelight.

Outside the tent, the cold wind howled, and the occasional heavy footsteps of patrolling soldiers and the sound of watchtowers added to the somber and desolate atmosphere.

His mind was filled with countless thoughts. He couldn't understand why, in just a few short years, the Ming Dynasty had become so...unfamiliar, so powerful.

That steel behemoth, that musket with astonishing range... it all seemed to come from another world.

His once-proud horsemanship and archery, his once invincible cavalry that swept across Liaodong, seemed so pale and laughable in the face of this new power. An unprecedented sense of powerlessness and desolation filled his chest.

From the next tent came Daishan's terrified murmurs and suppressed sobs; clearly, the daytime fright had given him recurring nightmares.

In the middle of the night, Dai Shan could no longer sleep. Like a frightened bird, despite his physical weakness, he insisted on setting off immediately to return to Shenyang.

Hauge was awakened and saw his uncle's panicked appearance. He felt a pang of sorrow, but he was powerless to stop him. He could only gather a squad of the most elite white-armored soldiers and escort Daishan on his journey under the cover of night.

Watching Daishan's carriage disappear into the deep night, Hauge stood in the cold wind, silent for a long time.

Two days later, at the Chongzheng Hall of Shenyang Imperial Palace.

Dai Shan ran all the way, barely closing his eyes, and finally dragged his exhausted body back to Shenyang.

When he was helped by his guards and stumbled into the main hall, Dorgon, Jirgalang, Ajige, Dodo and other princes and beile were discussing military matters.

Seeing Dai Shan's emaciated and listless appearance, as if he had crawled out of hell, everyone felt a chill in their hearts.

Dorgon suddenly stood up from his seat, rushed forward, and supported the swaying Daišan.

"You...you are..."

Upon seeing Dorgon, Daišan seemed to snap as if a taut string had finally broken; his legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down his face. With his last ounce of strength, he cried out in a hoarse voice:

"Fourteen...Fourteen...It's over! It's all over! The Ming army...The Ming army has amazing weapons! Rifles that can shoot 350 paces! And...and thirteen steel behemoths that can walk and roar! Chongzhen...Chongzhen won't negotiate peace! He wants...he wants to destroy my Great Qing! Destroy my ancestral temples!" He spoke incoherently, recounting everything he had seen and heard in the Ming army camp, and Chongzhen's angry rebukes, in a fragmented and incoherent manner.

Inside the hall, there was a deathly silence. Only Daishan's hoarse, desperate cries echoed in the empty hall, striking the eardrums of everyone present and breaking down the last line of defense in their hearts.

Dorgon's face went from initial shock to disbelief, and then to utter ashen color.

He slowly released Dai Shan's hand, staggered back two steps, and his body swayed slightly uncontrollably, as if all his strength had been drained away in an instant.

He looked up at the dome of the palace ceiling, painted with a coiled dragon, his gaze vacant, and muttered to himself:
"Thirteen platforms...three hundred and fifty steps...annihilation of the nation...extinction of the ancestral line..."

The men behind him, including Ajige, were also ashen-faced. Some had accidentally knocked over their teacups, while others had fallen to the ground. The hall was in a mess. Fear, like a plague, spread rapidly.

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

The flickering candlelight inside the hall illuminated Dorgon's face, which appeared particularly grim due to days of anxiety and despair.

The news that Daishan brought back during the day was like the heaviest boulder, pressing down on him so much that he could hardly breathe. At this moment, he felt completely exhausted, yet he was wide awake.

The cold wind howled outside the hall, making the window frames rattle and creak, adding to the desolate atmosphere.

Dorgon dismissed his attendants and walked alone out of the main hall, passing through many palace gates, towards the inner palace.

Inside the palace, it remained warm and spring-like, with flickering candlelight. Da Yu'er had just lulled the eight-year-old Emperor Fulin to sleep and was sitting in front of her dressing table, having her personal maid remove her hairpins and ornaments.

Although Emperor Fulin was young and of noble birth, he was often awakened by nightmares at night due to the tense and oppressive atmosphere inside and outside the palace in recent days. He dared not sleep alone and could only be accompanied by his mother.

"The Regent has arrived!"

A eunuch's shrill voice came from outside the hall, and although he tried to keep his voice down, it still broke the silence inside.

Da Yu'er paused slightly in her hand holding the jade comb, then resumed her composure and winked at the palace maid in the mirror. The maid understood, quickly put down the comb, bowed, and withdrew. The eunuchs and palace maids serving in the hall also bowed and silently filed out, leaving the space to the couple whose relationship was delicate and whose secret was already an open secret.

Dorgon strode into the hall, still carrying the chilling aura that had been swept in from outside.

He wasn't dressed in court attire or military uniform as usual, but rather in a dark blue patterned casual robe with a black fox fur cloak over it. He shed the majesty and murderous aura of the daytime, but could not hide the weariness and heaviness between his brows.

Da Yu'er rose to greet her. Today she was only wearing a lotus-colored brocade robe embroidered with plum blossoms, without any makeup. Her long hair cascaded down to her waist, making her figure appear even more slender and her face more beautiful.

However, even in those bright and sparkling almond-shaped eyes, a look of worry could not be hidden at this moment.

Her voice was gentle:
"coming."

Dorgon reached out and touched something warm and soft, which calmed his cold and agitated mind.

Dorgon then looked past her and toward the apricot-yellow curtains hanging in the inner chamber.

"Has His Majesty... fallen asleep?"

"I just fell asleep. I tossed and turned for half the night and finally managed to get him to sleep."

Da Yu'er answered softly, leading Dorgon to sit on the warm couch by the window in the outer room, and personally poured him a steaming cup of milk tea.

"You came so late at night, is it because... there has been a change in the military situation at the front?"

Dorgon accepted the warm milk tea, but did not drink it. He simply held it in his hands, enjoying the slight warmth.

He looked up at the still beautiful but undeniably haggard face before him, and felt a mix of emotions.

This woman was the woman of his youthful dreams, the widow of his elder brother, the mother of the young emperor he was willing to support to the throne, and the only source of solace he found in this cold vortex of power. He didn't want to hide it from her, nor could he.

"Yu'er..."

He called her by her given name, his voice low and carrying a rare hint of vulnerability and helplessness.

“Daishan is back. What he saw in the Ming army camp… was even more… more terrifying than what the scouts had described.”

Da Yu'er's heart sank, and her hand holding the teapot trembled almost imperceptibly. She didn't interrupt, but just looked at him quietly, waiting for him to continue.

Dorgon took a deep breath and recounted everything Daishan had seen—the new rifle with a range of 350 paces, the thirteen "steel behemoths" that could breathe fire and smoke and move on their own, and Chongzhen's angry rebuke of "exterminating the country and destroying the ancestral rites."

He spoke slowly, each word seeming to be squeezed out of his throat with great difficulty, carrying a deep sense of powerlessness.

He concluded, his voice hoarse.

"Shenyang...I'm afraid we can't hold it."

Despite having a premonition, when Dorgon clearly uttered these words, Dayuer was still struck as if by lightning. Her delicate body trembled slightly, and her face instantly turned as pale as paper.

The teapot in her hand fell with a "clatter" onto the thick carpeted floor, spilling warm milk tea all over the floor, but she seemed oblivious.

"Can't...can't it be held?"

She murmured the same thing over and over, her voice trembling, her eyes filled with unbelievable fear.

"Then...then what do we do? Fulin...and me...we..."

Seeing her momentarily lost in thought, Dorgon felt a pang of pain in his heart. He reached out and tightly grasped her cold, trembling hand, trying to offer her some strength and comfort.

"Don't be afraid, Yu'er, I'm here."

He paused, a resolute glint in his eyes.

"I've already thought it through. When the city falls, we'll abandon Shenyang, retreat north, into the Changbai Mountains, then to the Heilongjiang River, to the far north where the Ming army's supply lines can't reach. Liaodong is vast, with dense forests and crisscrossing rivers; there's bound to be a place for us to hide!"

"Retreat...retreat to that bitterly cold land?"

Da Yu'er suddenly looked up, tears welling up in her eyes, her voice trembling with sobs.

"Then...then the Qing Dynasty...wouldn't it... perish?"

She painstakingly maneuvered between Huang Taiji and Dorgon, exhausting all her efforts to ensure her son ascended the throne and to link the Khorchin tribe with the Aisin Gioro family—all for the sake of the Qing Dynasty's empire and the glory of the Shenyang Imperial Palace. If she were to retreat to that barbaric land, how would she be different from savages? Wouldn't everything she had done be in vain? (End of Chapter)