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

The tent flap was lifted again, and Zhu Cilang strode in. He was still wearing the apricot-yellow robe with four dragon medallions, covered with golden armor, but he had removed his heavy helmet. His temples and brows were soaked with sweat, making him look even more heroic.

During the day, although he did not directly charge into battle, he personally went to the central command position and experienced firsthand the overwhelming firepower and the devastating victory.

"Father!"

Zhu Cilang's voice carried a hint of barely suppressed excitement, yet he forced himself to maintain the composure of a crown prince.

"Great victory at the Liao River, our army..."

"I already know."

Emperor Chongzhen interrupted him, looking at his son with gentle eyes.

"This battle was won thanks to the bravery of our soldiers and the effectiveness of our new weaponry. You... did a great job."

He paused, his tone turning serious.

"However, Shenyang has not yet been captured, and the Jurchen regime has not been destroyed. We cannot afford to be complacent in the slightest. Order the three armies to rest well tonight and continue our advance tomorrow, proceeding steadily and surely, without rashness."

"Your subject understands."

Zhu Cilang suppressed his excitement and solemnly replied.

He knew that his father was reminding him to guard against arrogance and impetuosity. Victory in this war was already predetermined, but how to achieve a complete victory with the least cost and in the safest way was the greatest test for him and the entire Ming Dynasty command.

"in addition."

Emperor Chongzhen pondered for a moment, then spoke again.

"As the Crown Prince, you are the foundation of the nation, and your life is of utmost importance. Swords and arrows are indiscriminate on the front lines. Starting tomorrow, you will remain in the central army to coordinate with Zu Dashou and Sun Chuanting in command and control. Unless absolutely necessary, you need not personally go to the front lines."

Upon hearing this, Zhu Cilang frowned slightly, seemingly unwilling.

He was young and impetuous, eager to experience the battlefield firsthand and feel the thrill of war. But thinking of his mother's earnest instructions to Zheng Xiaomei and Qiqige before his departure, and the future of this vast empire behind him, he ultimately suppressed his impulse and bowed, saying:

"Your subject... obeys the decree."

That night, the Ming army camp was brightly lit and bustling with activity, yet orderly. Unlike the grim atmosphere of the daytime, the camp was now filled with a sense of exhilaration and relief after surviving a calamity and achieving a great victory.

Outside an ordinary tent, several soldiers who had just experienced a fierce battle were sitting around a campfire, eating and drinking steaming hot meat soup and flatbread, boasting about the day's battle with great enthusiasm.

"Hey! You didn't see that! Those Tartars charged pretty fiercely, but what happened? They'd only gone three hundred paces when our guns opened fire, and they fell like wheat being harvested!"

An old soldier with a scar on his face and a heavy Shaanxi accent wiped his mouth with his greasy hands, grinned, and revealed a mouthful of yellow teeth.

"Exactly! Especially those new gadgets."

A young soldier gestured excitedly.

"With such long barrels, there's no need for a matchlock. Just pull the trigger, 'bang!' From over 300 paces away, if they say they'll hit your left eye, they'll never hit your right! The Tartar's arrow hasn't even been nocked yet, and the man is already gone!"

"And that lump of iron!"

Another soldier chimed in, a hint of awe still in his eyes.

"My goodness, that thing was like a small mountain, it could roar, move, and even smoke! One shot and the earth shook! The Tartars were so scared they peed their pants, turned tail and ran, even losing their shoes in the process!"

Everyone burst into laughter, creating a lively atmosphere.

This battle was so exhilarating! In the past, every battle against the Jurchens was a bloodbath, with thousands killed and eight hundred of our own casualties. But this time, it was like an adult beating a child, no, like crushing a swarm of ants! Our side suffered almost no losses, and the enemy was routed.

This unprecedented experience of victory made these soldiers, who dealt with death year after year, feel as if they were in a dream, yet it was all too real.

"If you ask me, our Great Ming Dynasty truly has divine assistance!"

The Shaanxi veteran lowered his voice and said mysteriously.

"Think about it, ever since the Crown Prince took over the reins of government, we've had sweet potatoes, potatoes, and new-style firearms. Now we've even made this self-propelled iron behemoth! Isn't this a blessing from heaven? The Jurchens' fate is sealed!"

Everyone nodded in agreement.

In their simple understanding, such a miraculous weapon and such an overwhelming victory could not be explained more reasonably than "divine blessing upon the Ming Dynasty".

However, not everyone is enjoying the joy of victory.

At the forefront of the camp, on an open area near the Liao River, a different scene was unfolding. Thousands of conscripted laborers and engineers, carrying torches and under the command of officers, chanted in unison, wielding shovels and pickaxes, undertaking a difficult and urgent task—road repair!
"Quick! Quick! Fill in this depression! And clear away all the stones over there!"

A worker, covered in sweat, shouted loudly in a hoarse voice.

"Before dawn, this road must be repaired to the point where it can pass through the 'Divine Machine Iron Fortress'!"

It turns out that although those thirteen "Divine Iron Fortresses" were incredibly powerful, they were also veritable "gold-devouring behemoths" and "road killers."

Their enormous size and astonishing weight place almost demanding requirements on roads.

Ordinary rural dirt roads simply cannot withstand their crushing force.

Advancing thirty li in a single day is already the limit, and it has caused serious damage to the road. We are about to cross the Liao River, whose banks are muddy and need to be reinforced and leveled in advance.

The laborers toiled under the scorching sun, dumping baskets of earth and stones into the pits, then repeatedly compacting and tamping them with huge stone rollers.

When they encountered small streams or ditches, they had to build temporary wooden bridges or simply fill them in. This was a logistical battle against time. The engineers knew that only by securing the passage of this "steel dragon" could the Ming army's invincible offensive continue.

Fortunately, the imperial court's preparations this time far surpassed those of previous dynasties. The various tools, timber, and stone materials carried by the army were piled up like mountains, and the number of laborers reached hundreds of thousands, which was more than enough to support this massive project.

In the days that followed, although the Ming army's advance was hampered by the "Shenji Iron Fortress" and the need for a steady and methodical approach, it could not be described as a "blitzkrieg." However, its unstoppable and overwhelming momentum shook the entire Liaodong region.

The Ming army was like a precise and efficient war machine. Every morning, they would break camp and advance steadily for twenty or thirty miles. Before sunset, they would choose favorable terrain, dig deep trenches and build high walls to set up strong camps.

Wherever they went, whenever they encountered Jurchen cities, villages, or fortified settlements, they would first send envoys to persuade them to surrender.

"Listen up, garrison troops inside the city! I am the Great Ming Imperial Army! I have been ordered by Heaven to punish the rebels and annihilate the Jurchens! If you open the city gates and surrender, abandoning darkness and embracing light, our Heavenly Dynasty Imperial Army will not harm you in the slightest! If you remain obstinate and resist stubbornly, when the city falls, not a single chicken or dog will be spared!" The Ming envoy, holding an iron megaphone, shouted loudly in front of the battle lines, his voice carrying far across the open fields.

The garrison on the city walls consisted mostly of Han bannermen and Mongol soldiers who had been coerced by the Jurchens, or lower-ranking bannermen who had long harbored resentment towards Jurchen rule.

They had already heard about the horrors of the Liao River battle and learned from the defeated soldiers about the power of the Ming army's "divine weapons." Now, witnessing firsthand the overwhelming military formations and the fire-breathing, smoke-filled steel behemoths outside the city, they had no will to fight left.

In most cities, upon seeing the Ming army approaching and hearing the promise of "surrender and be spared death," the defending general hesitated briefly before ordering the city gates to be opened, presenting their seals, and kneeling to surrender.

The Ming army kept its promise. After entering the city, it only confiscated weapons and identified those who resisted. It did not harass ordinary people, whether they were Han or Manchu, and opened granaries to distribute food to relieve the starving people.

Even if there were a few strongholds that were loyal to the Jurchens or that relied on their high walls and deep moats to resist stubbornly, the Ming army would never show them any mercy.

First, the heavy cannons on the "Divine Machine Iron Fortress" bombarded the city walls, then riflemen were used to close in and fire to clear out the defenders on the city walls, and finally the infantry charged to break through the city in one fell swoop.

After the city falls, anyone who resists with weapons will be killed without exception, but those who lay down their weapons will still be spared.

Although Zhu Cilang did not personally lead the charge on the front lines, he meticulously reviewed the battle reports daily and issued strict orders to all troops:

"Those who resist will be killed without mercy; those who surrender will be given a way to live. The innocent must not be killed indiscriminately, and women and children must not be slaughtered."

This is not a case of womanly compassion, but rather a strategic consideration based on reality.

Under the rule of the Jurchens, there were not only Manchus, but also a large number of Han Chinese and Mongols who were enslaved.

Indiscriminate slaughter will only provoke stronger resistance, increase casualties, and be detrimental to the long-term stability of Liaodong after the war.

He ultimately couldn't bring himself to issue the "extermination order" to those lower-ranking bannermen and bondservants who were also living miserable lives under the cruel rule of Nurhaci and Huang Taiji.

Battle reports flew to the central command tent like snowflakes.

Cities were liberated one by one, and fortified villages were destroyed one after another. With the Liaoxi Corridor as its axis, the Ming army advanced steadily across Liaodong like a red-hot iron. Wherever it passed, the foundations of the Jurchen rule were uprooted, and the puppet regime collapsed.

Meanwhile, the number of Ming army casualties remained at an unbelievably low level.

This is a dimensional reduction attack; this is the near-crushing victory brought about by a technological gap.

Meanwhile, outside Shenyang city.

As dusk fell like blood, the setting sun painted the western sky a poignant crimson, casting an ominous glow over the ancient city of Shengjing, which stood on the banks of the Hun River.

On the city wall, the brocade dragon banner that had been fluttering in the wind now hung listlessly in the evening breeze. The Eight Banner soldiers guarding the city were all ashen-faced, gripping their spears or muskets tightly, their eyes looking westward in fear.

Smoke and dust began to rise on the horizon.

At first it was just a line, but then, like a flood bursting its banks, it spread and expanded rapidly. Countless black dots emerged from the smoke and dust—the figures of people, disheveled and in disarray, and among them, warhorses neighing in panic. There were no banners, no bugles, only desperate cries, heavy breathing, and the chaotic clatter of hooves, all converging into a suffocating torrent of despair, surging towards Shenyang.

"It's...it's Prince Su! Prince Su is back!"

The sentry on the city wall, through his telescope, recognized a familiar yet disheveled figure among the fleeing soldiers—Hauge, clad in tattered silver armor, with blood-soaked strips of cloth wrapped around his shoulders, and tightly surrounded by his personal guards.

The fleeing soldiers drew ever closer, a dark, endless mass stretching as far as the eye could see! A rough estimate puts their numbers at thirty to forty thousand! This number was even greater than when Hauge had led them out!
The reason is simple: defeat is contagious. The crushing defeat on the banks of the Liao River, which felt like divine retribution, had already spread like a plague across western Liaoning with the survivors.

The Eight Banner soldiers who were originally ordered to garrison small towns and fortresses along the way, upon hearing the terrifying rumors that "the Ming army has a steel mountain god that can breathe fire and smoke and can hit 350 paces with one shot," and after witnessing the miserable state of Hauge's "main force," their morale had already collapsed, and they dared not defend the city.

He immediately joined the escape, hoping to get back to the "safe" Shenyang as soon as possible.

"Open the city gates! Open the city gates now! Let us in!"

The defeated soldiers surged to the city walls, crying and roaring, frantically pounding the heavy iron gates with their fists and the hilts of their swords, like drowning people grasping at their last straw.

However, what answered them was the cold, hoarse command from the city wall commander:

"By order of the Regent! To prevent spies from infiltrating, the defeated soldiers shall temporarily set up camp outside the city! No one is allowed to enter without authorization! Anyone who disobeys will be executed!"

As soon as the order was given, an uproar erupted below the city walls, with curses, cries, and pleas filling the air.

However, the heavy city gate remained unmoved, with only a few platoons of fierce-looking white-armored soldiers on the city walls, bows drawn and arrows aimed at their former comrades below.

Fortunately, with Haug there, nothing really went wrong.

Not long after, a procession of people carrying the regalia of Prince Li slowly drove out of the city, led by Daishan, whose hair and beard were all white and whose expression was complicated.

Looking at the fleeing soldiers below the city, who were like frightened birds, he sighed and ordered the granaries to be opened and some warm clothing to be distributed. He also reassured them with kind words and promised that arrangements would be made for their entry into the city the next day. Only then did the commotion below the city gradually subside.

Daishan then personally brought Hauge, who was seriously injured and nearly exhausted, into the city.

Chongzheng Hall, Shenyang Imperial Palace.

The candlelight flickered inside the hall, creating a suffocatingly oppressive atmosphere. Dorgon sat upright beside the throne, flanked by a host of princes and nobles, including Jirgalang, Ajige, and Daišan, all with solemn expressions, as if they had lost their parents.

In the center of the hall, Hauge stood with difficulty, supported by two guards. His face was pale, and although the wound on his shoulder had been simply bandaged, blood was still seeping out, staining the bandage red.

His silver armor was covered with sword marks and soot, and the once invincible Prince Su was now like a defeated rooster, looking utterly pathetic.

"Tell me, what exactly happened in the Battle of Liaohe?"

Dorgon's hoarse and weary voice broke the deathly silence. Although he had already learned the general outline from the defeated soldiers and Daišan, he still needed to get the most accurate and brutal truth from Hauge, the commander-in-chief at the front.

Hauge struggled to lift his head, his bloodshot eyes staring blankly at the coffered ceiling of the palace, as if he had returned to that nightmarish afternoon.

His lips trembled as he used all his strength to recount the tragic scene on the banks of the Liao River in its entirety, without omitting a single word.

From the Ming army's "Divine Machine Iron Fortress" that resembled a moving mountain, to the "long spear" that could accurately strike from 350 paces away, from the helplessness of their own flintlock muskets in the face of their own troops, to the despair of the lines collapsing instantly and people trampling each other...

His narration was fragmented, sometimes choked with emotion, sometimes trembling with fear; every detail was like a cold dagger, piercing the hearts of everyone in the hall.

"Our troops...our flintlock muskets simply...simply cannot reach them!"

Haug's voice was choked with sobs, a testament to the despair that followed the collapse of his faith. (End of Chapter)