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

"Your Highness!"

A commotion erupted in the crowd. An elderly soldier with gray hair and beard suddenly knelt down with a thud, banging his head on the ground, tears streaming down his face.
"No, Your Highness! You are of the blood of the late Emperor, the Prince Su of the Qing Dynasty! How could this be... how could this be! We servants are willing to fight to the death with Your Highness! To the last soldier!"

"Yes! Your Highness! We are not afraid to die!"

"Let's fight Ming Gou to the death! Killing one is enough, killing two is a bonus!"

The crowd was filled with rage, and many drew their knives, their eyes burning with a resolute will to die.

Haug looked at them, and his eyes welled up with tears.

He stepped forward, bent down to help the old soldier to his feet, and brushed the dust off his knees. His movements were slow and gentle, and his voice softened, yet carried an undeniable resolve:
“Old Taksi, you’ve followed me for thirty years, from Hetu Ala to Shenyang… I know your loyalty. But death is easy. Living and watching our ancestral legacy crumble and our land change hands is the most unbearable torment.”

He straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the crowd once more, each word spoken as if it were a final instruction:

“My mind is made up, there is no need to persuade me further. After my death, you must not resist anymore. Open the city gates and surrender. You must… save the lives of these innocent people in the city. This is the last thing you can do for the Qing Dynasty.”

After saying this, he stopped looking at the crowd, resolutely turned around, and walked back towards the rooftop. His back was straight, yet it exuded a deep-seated loneliness and desolation.

On the rooftop, the autumn wind was even stronger.

Hauge took off the precious sword that Huang Taiji had personally bestowed upon him from his waist, and with a clang, drew the sword from its sheath.

The blade, as clear as autumn water, gleamed with a cold, poignant luster under the midday sun. He held the blade with both hands, the tip pointing inwards, aimed at his own throat.

With his last glance, he looked north, towards Changbai Mountain, the place where the Aisin Gioro family rose to power, and also the direction Dorgon fled with the last embers of the "Great Qing".

There was no hatred in his eyes, only a deep, unfathomable sorrow and relief.

"Father... Your son... is incompetent... unable to protect this empire..."

The whispers faded into the wind.

The next moment, he used all his strength to pull himself back sharply!
"puff--!"

Warm blood, like a brilliant but fleeting crimson flower, blooms sadly in the autumn sun and the biting cold wind.

Hauge swayed and slowly fell backward, crashing heavily onto the cold brick floor of Phoenix Tower.

The imperial sword, bestowed upon him, fell to the ground with a clatter. Blood trickled down its blade, quickly being absorbed by the dry ground, leaving only a dark red mark.

"Your Highness—!!!"

Downstairs, the soldiers who witnessed this scene let out heart-wrenching cries of grief.

Several of the most loyal Goshha, their eyes bloodshot, roared:
"Your Highness, please wait! We servants have come to keep you company!"

They immediately drew their knives and either committed suicide or stabbed each other. In an instant, blood splattered on the steps, and several corpses lay scattered.

After a brief period of deathly silence and immense grief, the remaining guards finally accepted reality.

They silently wiped away their tears and, following Haug's final order, laid down their weapons.

Immediately afterwards, the heavy North Gate of Shenyang was slowly pushed open with a teeth-grinding creak.

The few surviving low-ranking officials, carrying the seal of Shenyang Prefecture, the remaining household registers, and a white flag representing the surrender of the defending army, staggered out of the city gate with ashen faces and knelt down in front of the Ming army formation.

The Ming army on the battlefield.

Zu Dashou, Sun Chuanting, Cao Wenzhao and other generals stood on the high slope behind the "Shenji Iron Fortress" and witnessed the brief but shocking scene on the city wall.

When Hauge committed suicide by cutting his own throat, his blood splattering on the city wall, even these veteran generals who had a blood feud with the Jurchens couldn't help but become solemn, a complex emotion welling up in their hearts—a little respect for the enemy's last integrity, and a deep sense of regret that the war had ended in this way.

"Send the order to accept the surrender. All units, enter the city in the predetermined order!"

Zu Dashou's steady voice broke the silence.

The Ming army did not lower its guard because of the enemy's surrender. The elite vanguard was the first to enter the city and quickly took control of the gates and key streets.

Then, the large contingent, in orderly formation, filed into the enemy capital they had long dreamed of, the city they had fought and bled to reclaim decades ago.

However, the scene after entering the city left many soldiers, who were eager to make a fortune, feeling a huge sense of disappointment and a sense of unreality.

The streets were deserted and dilapidated, with hardly any young or strong men in sight. Only a few elderly, weak, women, and children, pale and emaciated with fear in their eyes, hid behind broken doors and windows, secretly watching the heavily armed army.

The imagined fierce street fighting and stubborn resistance did not occur.

The imagined gold and silver treasures, the mountains of spoils, were nowhere to be found. The entire city was like the corpse of a giant beast that had been ravaged by locusts and had its internal organs ripped out, leaving only an empty shell exuding an aura of decay.

"That's... all? The capital of the Qing Dynasty... just like that, it's taken?"

A young Ming soldier, carrying a rifle, walked down an empty street and couldn't help but mutter to his comrade beside him, his tone filled with disbelief.

"I also feel like I'm dreaming..."

The other person chimed in, subconsciously licking their slightly chapped lips.

"Aside from the battle at the Liao River, we haven't fought any decent hard battles along the way. These Jurchens... they're too weak to fight!"

Shh! Quiet down!

The team leader turned around and whispered, but his face also showed the same confusion. The victory came too quickly and too easily, which made people feel uneasy.

Just then, a commotion arose from ahead.

A group of Ming soldiers, following orders, attempted to enter several shops along the street that looked relatively tidy to "search for remaining enemy soldiers." As soon as the doors were pushed open, the terrified cries of an old woman and the shrill wails of a child immediately came from inside.

Several soldiers retreated sheepishly, looking somewhat embarrassed.

Then, something even more unexpected happened.

Perhaps seeing that the Ming army was disciplined and did not immediately begin looting and killing, some of the bolder civilians, who had been tormented by hunger and fear for too long, began to tremblingly emerge from their hiding places.

Holding broken bowls filled with murky well water or a few pieces of dark, unidentifiable coarse food, they knelt on both sides of the street, kowtowing repeatedly to the marching Ming soldiers, crying out in broken Chinese, Manchu, or a mixture of Mongolian:

"Sir! Please have mercy! Give me some food!"

"Long live the royal army! The royal army has arrived! We are saved!"

"Your Honor! That heartless Dorgon has robbed us of all the grain! Please save us!"

At first, there were only a few scattered people, but soon, more and more people poured out of the ruins, cellars, and thatched huts, forming a stream of ragged, pale-faced people. There was no hostility in their eyes, only the most primitive desire for survival and unrealistic expectations of the "royal army".

Many people knelt on the ground, weeping bitterly, as if the Ming army were not conquerors, but saviors who had rescued them from their suffering. This scene completely stunned many of the soldiers who had been eager to make a quick buck in the city, and they were then filled with shame and embarrassment.

Faced with these "spoils" that were worse than beggars' possessions, they couldn't bring themselves to swing their knives; their thoughts of plunder vanished in the face of those desperate and humble faces.

"Listen up, everyone!"

Officers at all levels took the opportunity to loudly reiterate military orders.

"The commander-in-chief has ordered! Looting and disturbing the people are strictly prohibited upon entering the city. Anyone who disobeys will be executed! Search for and capture any remaining enemy soldiers. If they resist, kill them on sight. Those who abandon their weapons will not be prosecuted! Everyone, be alert and maintain order!"

Faced with strict military discipline and this unexpected "popular support," the Ming army quickly took control of the entire city.

Zu Dashou personally led his most elite troops straight to the Shenyang Imperial Palace.

The palace gates were ajar, and the guards who had stood before them were nowhere to be seen. Zu Dashou reined in his horse, gazing at the empty crenellations on the palace walls and the tightly closed vermilion gates, and gave a deep order:

"Surround the palace! No one is allowed to enter without His Highness the Crown Prince's decree! Anyone who violates this order will be punished for breaching palace rules and executed without exception!"

The elite soldiers immediately dispersed, completely surrounding the palace.

About an hour later, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from the direction of the south gate.

Under the strict protection of a team of Imperial Guards and elite cavalry, Zhu Cilang passed through the newly cleared streets and arrived at the square in front of the Shenyang Imperial Palace.

He did not ride in a carriage, but instead rode a magnificent white horse, wearing an apricot-yellow robe with four dragon motifs, and a light soft armor over it, which made him look even more heroic.

The sunlight was a bit too bright.

Zhu Cilang reined in his warhorse and looked up at the magnificent palace.

With its flying eaves and bracket sets, yellow tiles and red walls, one can still vaguely see the scale and grandeur of the Forbidden City in Beijing that it once imitated.

This place was once the stronghold where Nurhaci and Huang Taiji issued orders and coveted the Central Plains; this place also once held the blood, tears and humiliation of countless Han people.

And today, the banner of the Ming Dynasty will finally be planted at its highest point.

Generals such as Zu Dashou and Sun Chuanting were already waiting at the palace gate. Upon seeing Zhu Cilang, they all bowed in greeting.

"Your Majesty, we respectfully welcome Your Highness the Crown Prince!"

Zhu Cilang dismounted, handed the riding whip to Li Hu beside him, and his gaze swept over the generals before finally settling on the tightly closed palace gate. His voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable power:

"Open the door and enter the palace."

"Yes!"

The heavy palace gates were slowly pushed open, emitting a dull thud, as if lamenting the end of an era. Fully armed Ming soldiers, marching in with orderly steps, filed in. However, neither the expected final resistance nor the panicked flight of palace servants appeared.

What came into view was a chilling emptiness and desolation.

The once magnificent palace is now wide open and empty.

The precious ornaments, bronzes, porcelains, and paintings had all been moved away, leaving only bare rosewood shelves and faint stains left on the walls from the paintings. Scattered on the ground were some miscellaneous items that hadn't been taken away or were of no value: broken porcelain shards, torn silks, and trampled documents.

The air was filled with dust and a desolate feeling of emptiness.

Surrounded by his generals, Zhu Cilang walked straight toward the core building—Chongzheng Hall.

Inside the hall, the gilded dragon throne, a symbol of imperial power, stood alone on the steps, its bright yellow silk cushion covered in dust, with several clear footprints.

Behind the throne, where portraits of Nurhaci and Huang Taiji or plaques bearing the inscription "Upright and Bright" should have been hung, is now empty.

The generals could not hide their disappointment.

They had assumed that after conquering the enemy capital, the imperial palace would be filled with countless treasures to reward the army and make up for the hardships of the campaign. But they were surprised to find this unexpected sight.

Only Zhu Cilang remained calm and composed, with even the corners of his mouth curving upwards in a barely perceptible arc, and a knowing look of "as expected" flashing in his eyes.

He slowly ascended the steps to the empty dragon throne, reached out and gently ran his fingertips along the cold, gilded armrests, feeling the intricate carvings on them, and murmured to himself, his voice so soft that only he could hear it:

"As expected... they all took them away. Dorgon, Dorgon, you still... chose this path."

The search and cleanup operation continued throughout Shenyang that day.

The Ming soldiers meticulously searched every street and alley, and every possible hiding place.

However, a city-wide search yielded no organized resistance. The few suspicious individuals captured, upon interrogation, were mostly elderly, wounded, or sick remnants of the Manchu bannermen, abandoned by the main army.

The number of surviving residents in the city, after a preliminary count, was less than 20,000, and almost all of them were the elderly, women and children, emaciated and many were on the verge of starvation.

"Your Highness, these people... not only cannot farm or serve in the army, but also require our army to allocate precious grain for relief."

The official in charge of civil affairs and appeasement reported with a troubled expression.

"Transportation in Liaodong is difficult, and our army's own food supplies also need to be carefully managed. Supporting these 20,000 people for a long time may become a burden."

Zhu Cilang rubbed his temples, feeling a bit of a thorn in his side.

Reason told him that the army's supply lines were the top priority, and that rashly accepting a large number of starving people without adequate logistical support could cripple the army.

But when he thought of the civilians who had been temporarily gathered together by the soldiers, shivering in the autumn wind, and the light in their eyes that was a mixture of fear and the last glimmer of hope, he couldn't bring himself to be cruel.

"Pass on the order."

He said in a deep voice, “Open the granaries immediately and set up soup kitchens to save the lives of these people. The necessary food should be temporarily allocated from the military rations. At the same time, send an urgent report to the Emperor, detailing the liberation of Shenyang and the situation in the city, and request the court to quickly send grain and supplies north. Tell the Emperor that Liaodong has just been pacified and the people’s hearts are not at peace. This matter of relief is related to the benevolence of the court and whether it can win the hearts of the people of Liaodong. It must not be neglected.”

"The minister obeys the order!"

The next morning, the autumn air was crisp and clear.

Zhu Cilang rose early, and after a quick wash, declined the entourage, taking only Li Hu and a few other personal guards with him, and strolled through the streets and alleys of Shenyang. He wanted to see this newly liberated city with his own eyes, to see its wounds, and to see its remaining vitality.

The streets were still empty and dilapidated, but they were more lively than yesterday's deathly silence.

The porridge kitchen had been set up, and long queues had formed in front of the steaming pots. Soldiers maintained order and distributed the thin porridge to the eagerly waiting people.

Those who received the porridge were extremely grateful and squatted in the corner, wolfing it down.

Many people still had that ugly braid hanging down the back of their heads, a symbol of being conquered and tamed, which Zhu Cilang found particularly jarring.

But he knew that this braid was a mark etched by both force and time, and it couldn't be removed overnight. (End of Chapter)