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

Dorgon felt a pang of sorrow as he looked at her tearful face. He knew all too well that retreating into the depths of Liaodong meant abandoning the foundation built up over decades of bloody battles, and that the "Great Qing Empire" would exist in name only.

He sighed, his tone carrying a hint of self-deceptive consolation, and also a gambler's mentality in dire straits:
"As long as the green hills remain, there will always be firewood. Although the Ming army is strong, Liaodong is too vast for them to defend everywhere. Once their main force withdraws back to the interior, we can regroup. Moreover, the terrain between the Changbai Mountains and the Heilongjiang River is complex and not conducive to the Ming army's use of firearms. As long as we are alive, as long as the bloodline of the Aisin Gioro family is still there, there is still hope."

Da Yu'er looked at him, tears streaming down her face.

She knew that Dorgon's words were mostly meant to comfort her, and also to comfort himself.

Hope was so faint. But now, what could she do but believe in him and rely on him? Compared to Shenyang, compared to that illusory imperial ambitions, her and Fulin's lives were the most important. She could only nod through her tears, her voice choked with emotion:
"I...I'll do whatever you say."

Dorgon felt relieved when she agreed, and gently wiped away her tears, then pulled her into his arms.

Da Yu'er buried her face in his broad chest, sobbing silently, her warm tears soaking the front of his clothes.

The two embraced in silence, with only the crackling of the candlelight and the occasional, uneasy murmurs of Fu Lin from the inner warm chamber.

After a long while, Dayuer stopped crying, raised her head, and looked at Dorgon with teary eyes, whispering:
"Your Highness, it's late. You...you must be tired. Why don't you rest here?"

Her voice carried a hint of barely perceptible shyness and determination. On this night of national crisis and uncertainty about life and death, she needed his warmth, and she also needed to use this method to bind him more closely to her own fate and that of Fulin.

Dorgon looked at her pretty face, which was tearful yet had a hint of allure, and his heart fluttered. It was as if the anxiety and exhaustion of the past few days had found an outlet.

He leaned down and kissed her smooth forehead, then blew out the candlelight beside the bed.

Outside the window, the cold wind still howled, as if playing a final elegy for this crumbling dynasty.

The following morning, in the Liaoxi Corridor, at the Ming army camp.

"Woo-woo-woo-woo-"

Three deep, long blasts of the horn, like the roar of a sleeping beast, shattered the silence before dawn in the borderlands.

Immediately following was the deafening, continuous sound of war drums, like thunder rolling across the earth, causing the snow on the top of the tents to fall in a flurry.

It is precisely the hour of Chen (7-9 AM), the auspicious time has arrived.

The Ming army camp, stretching for dozens of miles, roared into action like a colossal creature imbued with a soul!

The heavy camp gates opened one by one.

The first thing that catches the eye is the thirteen towering "Divine Machine Iron Fortresses" that resemble small mountains.

The enormous boiler was already scorching hot, and the thick chimney was spewing out thick black smoke and white, high-temperature steam, emitting a deafening roar that seemed to come from the primordial era!

"Rumble! Rumble--!!!"

Accompanied by the metallic grinding of gears and the resounding boom of steam pistons, these steel behemoths, weighing hundreds of thousands of kilograms, began to slowly move forward! The heavy, iron-clad wheels rolled over the frozen ground with a teeth-grinding roar, causing the earth to tremble!

On both sides and behind the Iron Fortress, Ming infantry formations surged forth like a tide.

Due to the limited production of the new rifles, they could not be equipped by the entire army, so the formation presented a unique "mixed old and new" form.

Some soldiers carried long, straight, breech-loading rifles that gleamed with a cold, menacing light, their expressions stern and their eyes sharp. Many more carried improved flintlock muskets, not as advanced as the new rifles, but still displaying impeccable military discipline. Formed in a tight, three-by-three formation, they formed a vast, straight square stretching for miles, marching with synchronized, resolute steps, closely following the "Iron Fortress of Divine Machines," rolling northeastward!

Sunlight shone on the forest of bayonets and the gleaming breastplates, reflecting a dazzling, cold light, like a moving metal forest.

Between the formations were mule-drawn carts pulling heavy field artillery, and supply convoys loaded with massive amounts of ammunition and provisions, stretching for dozens of miles and seemingly endless.

The entire marching force, like a giant dragon made of steel, flesh and blood and will, with the overwhelming momentum to crush all obstacles, launched a decisive attack on Shenyang, the last stronghold of the Jurchens!

Meanwhile, at the southern tip of the Liaodong Peninsula.

The Ming navy also began to advance, carrying out a diversionary mission.

On the edge of the vast Mongolian steppe, tens of thousands of elite Khorchin cavalry led by Abunai had already arrived at their designated positions.

However, they did not rush to launch an attack. Instead, they stood quietly in the wind, vigilantly monitoring the movements of other tribes in southern Mongolia, acting as an invisible barrier to prevent the remnants of the Jurchens from fleeing westward or seeking aid. Their mission was to "block" rather than "attack."

On Pi Island, Zheng Zhilong's main fleet was also patrolling the sea, keeping a watchful eye on the Jurchen forces in the rear and preventing them from making any easy moves.

West of Shenyang, on the banks of the Liao River.

Hauge, clad in heavy armor, stood on a slightly elevated earthen slope, his face ashen, gazing at the overwhelming Ming army formation surging like a tide on the western horizon.

Although he had already learned of the terror of the Ming army from Daishan and was prepared to die, his heart still sank uncontrollably when he witnessed the unimaginably massive formation.

Behind him was a mixed force of more than 30,000 men, consisting of elite Eight Banners soldiers, Han Banner firearms soldiers, and temporarily recruited Banner soldiers.

This was the last bit of resources Dorgon could give him to delay the Ming army and buy time for the defense of Shenyang.

Among them, about 10,000 men were equipped with flintlock muskets hastily copied from military workshops in Fushun, Liaoyang and other places—these were the most "advanced" weapons they could currently produce, although their performance was far inferior to the original Ming army version.

"Form ranks! Prepare to meet the enemy!"

Hauge drew his sword and roared at the top of his lungs, trying to dispel the fear in his heart and boost the already dwindling morale of his soldiers.

In the Qing army's ranks, bugles wailed and war drums thundered.

Suppressing their fear, the soldiers, urged on by their officers and threatened by the steel blades of the supervising soldiers behind them, slowly began to form ranks. Cavalry were deployed on both flanks, with infantry and firearms soldiers in the center.

However, compared to the Ming army's disciplined and precise formation, the Qing army's ranks appeared loose and chaotic, with many soldiers' faces filled with fear and confusion, and their hands holding weapons trembling slightly.

"Look...look what's that?"

A sudden commotion arose in the formation, and someone pointed into the distance, their voice trembling.

Before the Ming army's formation, the thirteen "Divine Machine Iron Fortresses" resembled moving mountains, spewing black smoke and steam and emitting deafening roars, as they approached step by step!

The sheer size of their bodies, their inhuman roars, and the billowing smoke were devastating to the Qing soldiers, who were still operating under the mindset of the cold weapon era. Many turned pale, their legs went weak, and they would have likely collapsed long ago had it not been for the watchful eyes of the supervisory team behind them.

"Stay calm! Everyone stay calm!"

Haug shouted at the top of his lungs, veins bulging on his forehead.

"That's Ming Gou's sorcery! Don't be afraid! Bows and arrows, muskets, get ready!"

However, when the Ming vanguard entered within about three hundred paces, Hauge discovered in despair that the effective range of his flintlock muskets was simply not enough to reach the enemy! Meanwhile, the soldiers in the Ming army formation equipped with the new rifles had stopped, raised their guns, and aimed.

"put!"

At the command of the Ming army commander, thousands of new rifles and tens of thousands of flintlock muskets opened fire simultaneously!
"Bang! Bang bang bang—!!!"

The deafening gunfire, like thunderclaps from a clear sky, merged into a deathly roar! Thick smoke instantly billowed out, and the pungent smell of sulfur drifted on the wind. Bullets, like a whirlwind, with piercing shrieks, covered a distance of three hundred paces and accurately struck the Qing army's ranks!

"Puff puff!"

Blood splattered, screams echoed! In the Qing army ranks, the front-line soldiers fell in droves like felled wheat! Many didn't even understand what was happening before high-speed bullets pierced their chests and skulls! A personal guard carrying a flag next to Hauge was hit squarely in the face by a bullet, his head exploding like a ripe watermelon, splattering red and white matter all over Hauge's face!
"Fight back! Fight back now!"

Haug wiped the blood off his face, his eyes bloodshot, and roared furiously.

The Qing soldiers frantically loaded and fired their firearms, the flintlock muskets spitting out sporadic bursts of fire.

However, most of their bullets fell to the ground at around two hundred paces. The few that managed to fly into the Ming army's formation were unable to penetrate the Ming army's fine breastplate due to the loss of kinetic energy, leaving only shallow dents on the armor plates.

The second and third volleys of fire from the Ming army followed in quick succession!

The hail of bullets grew denser and more deadly! The Qing army's ranks were thrown into complete chaos, suffering heavy casualties.

At the same time, the cannons on the "Divine Machine Iron Fortress" began to roar! Although the accuracy was poor, the shock wave and flying shrapnel generated by the huge cannonballs hitting the ground and exploding still created large blank areas in the Qing army's formation, with limbs and broken arms flying everywhere!

"Withdraw! Quickly withdraw!"

Haug knew that if the fighting continued, the entire force would be wiped out. He closed his eyes in anguish and gave the order to retreat.

However, the defeat was swift and devastating.

The Qing army, already gripped by fear and despair, collapsed instantly upon hearing the order to retreat, as if grasping at a lifeline! Soldiers abandoned their armor and helmets, crying and trampling each other as they fled for their lives towards Shenyang. The Ming cavalry seized the opportunity to pounce and slaughter, like tigers among sheep, their blades flashing and blood and flesh flying everywhere.

On the banks of the Liao River, corpses lay strewn everywhere, and blood flowed like a river. The smoke and the stench of blood mingled together, permeating the cold early spring air, proclaiming that the Ming Dynasty had achieved a decisive first victory in its war to pacify Liaodong and exterminate the Jurchens.

As dusk settled, the battlefield, now devoid of smoke, finally fell silent, leaving only the pungent smell of blood and burnt flesh mingling in the evening breeze, telling the story of the brief but brutal battle that had taken place during the day.

The frozen soil along the Liao River was soaked in blood, turning into a dark red muddy mess. The corpses of the Jurchens lying in disarray and the dead warhorses filled the field of vision. Torn flags, discarded weapons, and broken armor were scattered all over the place, stretching to the distant horizon.

In less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn—to be precise, from the moment the Ming army fired its first volley of gunfire to the complete collapse of the Jurchen lines and their desperate flight, it was only a short quarter of an hour.

The elite Eight Banners troops, who once struck fear into the hearts of the Ming army at Sarhu, were as fragile as thin ice under the scorching sun in the face of this new form of warfare.

Hauge's 30,000 "elite troops" used to delay the Ming army and buy time for the defense of Shenyang had now lost more than half of their strength. The survivors were terrified and abandoned their armor and weapons, fleeing like stray dogs, desperately running towards Shenyang under the relentless pursuit of the Ming cavalry.

The Ming army did not rush to pursue their victory.

The central command flag was waved, and the retreat was signaled.

All units ceased their advance as ordered and began constructing fortifications, clearing the battlefield, and treating the wounded.

In this battle, the core of the Ming army's tactics was to "build strongholds and fight a protracted war," advancing step by step rather than taking risky advances. Commander-in-Chief Zu Dashou and Deputy Commander Sun Chuanting were well-versed in military strategy and understood the principle of "not blocking a retreating army, and not pressing a desperate enemy," especially when they had an absolute advantage and victory was assured, there was no need to take risks.

The afterglow of the setting sun cast a poignant golden-red hue over this land that had just been baptized by blood and fire.

Tents sprang up rapidly like bamboo shoots after a spring rain, campfires were lit one after another, and wisps of smoke rose, mingling with the lingering smoke from the battlefield to create a strange and solemn scene.

At the heart of the Jinzhou camp, inside a grand, bright yellow tent, Emperor Chongzhen, Zhu Youjian, stood with his hands behind his back before a huge map of Liaodong.

Inside the tent, candles were lit and charcoal braziers burned brightly, dispelling the chill of the spring night in the border region.

He was not in military uniform, but still wore a black casual dress with a dark blue cloak over it. His expression was calm, and his gaze was deep as he stared at the winding Liao River on the map, and the city on the opposite bank that was heavily circled in red ink—Shenyang.

Despite the unprecedented victory achieved during the day, the Emperor of the Ming Dynasty did not show much joy on his face. Instead, he exuded a solemn air of ease amidst the impending great battle.

He knew that the victory in the Battle of Liaohe was only the beginning.

The ultimate goal of this war is to capture Shenyang and completely destroy the Jurchen regime.

He could not, nor did he need to, go to the front lines. His position was here, in the central command tent, a symbol of imperial power and will, where he stabilized morale and oversaw the overall situation.

"His Majesty."

A secretary in a scarlet robe bowed and entered, presenting a report of victory still wet with ink. His voice trembled slightly with excitement.
"Frontline report: In today's battle, our army achieved a great victory! A total of 23,000 were beheaded, more than 2,000 were captured, and countless enemy soldiers were routed. Hauge was wounded and led his troops in a disarray to flee north. Our army... Our army suffered only 37 dead and more than 50 wounded."

When Emperor Chongzhen received the report of victory, his gaze swept over the shocking numbers, and his fingers trembled almost imperceptibly.

What an enormous disparity in casualties! This was unprecedented in the seventeen years since he ascended the throne, no, in the more than two hundred years of military history since the founding of the Ming Dynasty! He slowly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, suppressed the surging emotions in his heart, and when he opened his eyes again, his gaze had returned to calm.

"Understood. Issue my decree: give the fallen soldiers a grand funeral and provide preferential treatment to their families. Those who have rendered meritorious service will be rewarded after the war."

His voice was steady, without much emotion, as if this earth-shattering victory had been expected all along.

"The minister obeys the order."

The Imperial Secretary bowed, accepted the order, and quietly withdrew. (End of Chapter)