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

Emperor Chongzhen waved his hand wearily, his voice regaining its calmness, even carrying a hint of desolation:
"I understand. This is a blessing from Heaven for the Ming Dynasty, and the merit of the soldiers who risked their lives. You... may leave. I want to be alone."

The old eunuch dared not ask any more questions, and could only bow and reply "Yes," before retreating with a belly full of doubts and gently closing the palace door behind him.

Inside the warm pavilion, silence returned, leaving only Emperor Chongzhen alone.

He got up, walked to the window, and opened the window.

The biting autumn air rushed in instantly, invigorating him.

Outside the window, a clear, full moon hangs high in the sky, its light like mercury spilling onto the ground, illuminating the artificial hill, withered trees, and stone path in the courtyard with a bright glow.

Emperor Chongzhen stood with his hands behind his back by the window, gazing up at the bright moon, remaining silent for a long time.

The war in Liaodong seems to be nearing its end, but the far-reaching geopolitical changes it has triggered may have only just begun.

The son's ambition to annex North Korea is a double-edged sword. If used well, it can expand territory and lay the foundation for an everlasting dynasty; if used poorly, it may damage the national image and leave behind a bad reputation.

After a long while, he slowly exhaled a breath of white air, which condensed into mist in the cold moonlight and then dissipated.

A complex and enigmatic smile appeared on his face, a smile that seemed to be a mixture of relief, helplessness, and perhaps a sense of relief after taking a gamble.

"Liaodong... My vast Liaodong is finally going to be reclaimed."

He murmured to himself, his voice drifting through the silent night air.

"And... perhaps, it will be bigger than I imagine."

At almost the same time, on the Liaodong grasslands, at the residence of the Khorchin tribe.

Inside Abuna's central command tent, charcoal fires roared.

Having just read the secret letter sent by Zhu Cilang and the report on the liberation of Shenyang, his rugged face was first filled with shock, which then slowly transformed into a complex expression that mixed admiration and certainty.

"Without bloodshed... Hauge committed suicide... Dorgon escaped..."

Abunai put down the letter, picked up the silver bowl, and drank the pungent mare's milk wine in one gulp. He exhaled a breath of wine fumes and sighed to his trusted general standing in the tent:

"The Crown Prince of the Ming Dynasty... is truly remarkable. Those firearms, those iron lumps... tsk tsk, Dorgon, that fellow, does have some self-awareness; knowing he can't win, he runs faster than a rabbit!"

One of the generals beside him couldn't help but ask:

"Great Khan, what shall we do next..."

A glint flashed in Abuna's eyes as he lit Zhu Cilang's secret letter on the charcoal fire, watching it turn to ashes, and said in a deep voice:
"The Crown Prince of the Ming Dynasty has ordered my troops to cooperate with the Heavenly Army, slowly pressing from east to west, driving that stray dog ​​Dorgon towards the Yalu River! Pass down the order, all units assemble and move towards Changbai Mountain. Remember, the Crown Prince said it's 'driving,' not a fight to the death. If you encounter a large Jurchen force, avoid their main force and harass their rear; if you encounter a small group, wipe them out! Our men should stretch their muscles and, incidentally... plunder some spoils of war!"

"Yes!"

One month later, in eastern Liaodong, in the foothills of Changbai Mountain, in a secluded valley and dense forest.

Winter had already arrived, and the northern frontier was already cold.

In the mountains and forests, all the trees are bare, and the ground is covered with withered leaves, adding to the desolation. In a relatively sheltered valley, countless tents and huts are densely packed and haphazardly erected, stretching all the way into the depths of the forest.

Shouts from people and neighing from horses, cries and curses, and swirling smoke transformed this once tranquil mountain forest into a huge and chaotic refugee camp.

This is the last Qing dynasty army that escaped from Shenyang, led by Dorgon.

After more than a month of hasty retreat northward, this massive force, which originally boasted 200,000 soldiers and 300,000 people, was already exhausted and demoralized.

With winter approaching and food supplies dwindling, the loot from villages and fortified settlements along the way yielded only limited resources, far from sufficient to support such a large force.

Corpses began to appear in the ranks, some dying from cold and hunger, and there were increasingly frequent escapes and riots.

Inside the central command tent, Dorgon, wrapped in a heavy fur coat, sat around a charcoal brazier, his face ashen, his eyes sunken, looking much older and more haggard than when he was in Shenyang.

Princes and nobles such as Jirhalang, Ajige, and Daishan sat around, all with somber expressions.

"Fourteenth Brother, we can't go on like this!"

Azig slammed his fist on the ground in frustration.

"Our food supplies are almost gone. Further north, it's a true no-man's land. Heavy snow will block the mountains, and everyone will freeze or starve to death!"

“Ming scouts and Mongol cavalry have been appearing on our flanks and rear. Although they haven’t engaged in battle, they are clearly forcing us to move eastward!”

Dai Shan was also deeply worried.

Dorgon remained silent, his gaze fixed on a simple sheepskin map laid out before him, depicting the outlines of Liaodong and Korea.

His finger unconsciously traced between Shenyang and his current location on the map, finally stopping at the winding blue line marked "Yalu River".

Heading north is a dead end.

To the west lay the pressure from the Khorchin Mongols and the Ming army.

Heading east...

His gaze fell upon the land across the Yalu River, the land known as "North Korea".

There, the climate is relatively warm, there are cities, fields, and granaries... Back then, when his father and brothers were desperate, didn't they invade Korea several times and plunder it to the full?
A crazy and tempting idea, like a venomous snake, quietly crept into his already somewhat chaotic mind.

The tent fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the crackling of the charcoal fire and the howling wind outside, as if urging him to make the final decision that would determine the lives of hundreds of thousands of people.

A moment later, Dorgon slowly raised his hand, his fingertips tracing their current location on the map, eastward, then further east, and finally, with a heavy, desperate force, pointed to the opposite bank of the Yalu River.

"Enter the court!"

His voice was hoarse, yet resolute, like the final howl of a wounded lone wolf.

"Only by crossing the Yalu River and entering Korea can we have a glimmer of hope! There, we can defend cities, plunder granaries, and catch our breath! Although the Ming army's firearms are powerful, their effectiveness will be diminished in the mountains and dense forests of Korea! As long as we can gain a foothold, with the courage and bravery of my Eight Banners soldiers, we may not be unable to carve out a place for ourselves in Korea like our fathers and grandfathers, and gradually restore our nation!"

The tent fell silent for a moment, with only the crackling of the charcoal fire and the howling wind outside.

Ajige's eyes flashed with a fierce light, while Jirhalang frowned and quickly weighed his options.

This was undoubtedly a risky move, betting their last reserves on the gamble, but as Daišan and Dorgon said, they... had no other way out.

"I agree."

Dai Shan was the first to speak, his voice tired but firm.

"Let's do it! It's better than freezing to death in this ravine!"

Ajige gritted his teeth.

"I am willing to obey Fourteenth Brother's orders!"

The others eventually bowed and accepted the order.

That night, Dorgon slept in his tent.

There was only one oil lamp lit inside the tent, making the light dim.

Da Yu'er had just coaxed Fulin, who had a slight fever from days of fright and travel, to sleep, and tucked him in. Turning around, she saw Dorgon lift the curtain and enter, emanating a chill, his face appearing particularly gloomy in the dim light. "Your Highness..."

Da Yu'er stepped forward, wanting to take off his cloak, which was covered in frost and snow.

Dorgon waved his hand, haphazardly tore off his cloak and threw it aside, walked to the charcoal brazier, stretched out his cold hands to warm them by the fire, remained silent for a long time, and then whispered:
"Yu'er, we...we have to go."

Da Yu'er's heart sank, but she forced herself to remain calm:

"Go? Where to?"

"North Korea."

Dorgon uttered two words without turning to look at her.

Da Yu'er swayed slightly, grabbing the low table beside her to steady herself. Although she had a premonition, when those two words actually came from Dorgon's mouth, a tremendous sense of sorrow and despair still gripped her.

Leaving Shenyang was already a great disgrace; now, we must flee to a vassal state like stray dogs, engaging in plunder and humiliation to survive.

"North Korea?"

Her voice trembled.

"Are we...we really...out of options?"

Dorgon slowly turned around, the candlelight illuminating his exhausted yet exceptionally determined face:
"Going north means death, returning west means certain death, and returning south means certain annihilation. The only way is to go east, cross the river to Korea, and rely on the natural defenses of the Korean mountains and rivers to temporarily avoid the Ming army's advance, find a chance to catch our breath, gather our troops, and plan for future actions. This is... the only way to survive."

Da Yu'er looked at him, tears welling in her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. She knew that at this point, any crying or complaining would be futile. She was Fulin's mother, the Empress Dowager of the Qing Dynasty; she had to be strong and support the only man she could rely on.

After a long silence, she lowered her eyelids, mustered all her strength, and gently nodded, her voice barely audible, yet carrying a resigned obedience.

“I… understand. Wherever Your Highness goes, Fulin and I… will go.”

Dorgon felt a pang of pain in his heart as he watched her struggle to hold back her tears. He stepped forward, took her cold hand in his own, and tried to offer her some warmth, whispering:
"Don't worry, Yu'er. I will take you and Fulin with me to survive. I promise."

Late October, Beijing.

In the early morning, before the thin mist had dissipated, the chill of winter had already enveloped the capital.

On Zhengyangmenwai Street, the number of pedestrians gradually increased, the breakfast stalls were bustling with activity, and there was a constant flow of traffic; everything seemed normal.

Suddenly, a rapid, thunderous sound of horses' hooves, like a downpour, came from the south, quickly growing louder and louder, breaking the tranquility of the early morning.

People looked on in astonishment and saw a courier on horseback, with three bright red flags stuck in his back, covered in dust, and puffing out white breath, galloping along the wide imperial road like an arrow released from a bow! The courier's face was purplish and his lips were cracked and bleeding, clearly indicating that he had been running wildly for an unknown amount of time.

But his eyes burned with an almost fanatical excitement. Controlling his horse, he strained with all his might, tearing open his already hoarse throat, and let out a desperate shout towards both sides of the street, towards the slumbering, newly awakened city:
"Great victory! Great victory in Liaodong!! The royal army has recaptured the puppet capital, Shengjing! The Jurchens have fled in defeat, and the capital has been recovered!!!"

"A great victory in Liaodong—!!!"

The sound was like thunder, rolling across the street and exploding in the ears of every pedestrian.

In an instant, the entire street seemed to be paused.

The peddler carrying his load stopped, the tea drinker put down his teacup, the old man walking his bird forgot his birdcage, and everyone stared wide-eyed and gaping in disbelief at the courier rushing past and the red command flag behind him fluttering in the wind, symbolizing the highest level of victory.

The silence lasted only a moment.

The next moment, like a volcanic eruption, a huge burst of cheers, shouts, and laughter suddenly erupted and soared into the sky!
"We won! We won!!"

"Shengjing! Shenyang is back!!"

"Heaven has mercy! Long live the royal army! Long live the Emperor!!"

"Slay all the Jurchens! Avenge our humiliation!"

People abandoned their usual reserve and etiquette, strangers patted each other on the shoulder, hugged and jumped for joy, and wept with joy.

The teahouse owner suddenly flung open the curtain and shouted excitedly into the street:

"Today, all tea and snacks in our shop are free! To celebrate the great victory of our army and the recapture of our homeland!!"

The restaurant staff also started banging on the copper basins and shouting:

"Celebrating! Celebrating! Drinks are half price today!"

The sound of firecrackers exploded sporadically throughout the city, quickly merging into a continuous chorus.

The children, bewildered but infected by the adults' ecstasy, ran and screamed excitedly in the streets. The entire city of Beijing was instantly engulfed in a boiling, pure, and fervent ocean of joy.

Decades of humiliation and countless tears of blood seemed to find release and solace at this moment, with the cry of "Liberate Shengjing!"

The Forbidden City, Wenyuan Pavilion.

Inside the pavilion, the charcoal fire was warm. Prince Ding, Zhu Cijiong, sat in the main seat, his slightly immature face displaying a composure beyond his years.

Below them, Grand Secretary Xue Guoguan, Second Grand Secretary Jiang Dejing, Grand Secretary Fan Jingwen, Minister of Revenue and Grand Secretary Zhang Zhifa, and Minister of War and Grand Secretary Hong Chengchou sat on either side, discussing daily government affairs such as the Grand Canal transport.

Wang Chengen, the Grand Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, carrying a lacquered tube adorned with a red feather, entered silently and quickly, bowing to Zhu Cijiong and saying:

"Your Highness, an urgent report from Liaodong has arrived."

Zhu Cijiong's eyes lit up:
"Bring it here quickly!"

Wang Chengen presented the lacquer tube. Zhu Cijiong took it, checked that the sealing wax was correct, personally unscrewed it, pulled out the silk scroll containing the victory report, and eagerly began to read it.

At first, his face quickly flushed with excitement and the corners of his mouth turned up, but as he looked, the smile gradually froze, his brows furrowed slightly, and a hint of confusion and contemplation flashed in his bright eyes.

He did not speak immediately, but gently placed the report of victory on the table and pushed it to Xue Guoguan, who was sitting to his left.

Upon seeing this, Xue Guoguan's heart stirred slightly. He took the report of victory with both hands and examined it intently.

For a moment, his gray eyebrows furrowed almost imperceptibly, but quickly relaxed, his expression returning to normal. He then handed the news of victory to Jiang Dejing beside him, speaking in a calm tone:

"Your Excellency, please take a look. This is indeed extremely good news."

The good news was passed around among the cabinet ministers.

Zhang Zhifa read it, stroked his beard, and smiled.

After reading it, Hong Chengchou's eyes flashed with a sharp light, but his expression remained unchanged.

Jiang Dejing smiled knowingly and shook his head slightly.

When it was Fan Jingwen's turn, he was the slowest to read, and his expression was the most complicated. First, he was happy, then he was suspicious, and finally his expression turned solemn.

For a moment, no one spoke in the pavilion, except for the occasional crackling of the charcoal fire.

The news of victory, which had just sparked citywide jubilation, now seemed to carry an invisible weight, pressing down on everyone's hearts.

Finally, Xue Guoguan broke the silence. He cleared his throat, faced Zhu Cijiong, and spoke in a loud and righteous voice:
"Your Highness, this is an unparalleled achievement! The royal army's northern expedition, less than half a year later, has swept away the enemy's stronghold and restored the false capital. This is truly the result of His Majesty's overwhelming divine might, His Highness the Crown Prince's strategic planning, and the soldiers' valiant efforts! It is worthy of praise at the Imperial Ancestral Temple and a testament to the world!" (End of Chapter)