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

He paused, then changed the subject, his tone becoming resolute:

"The report of victory states that Dorgon, the remnant chieftain of the Jurchens, fearing our mighty army, has abandoned his lair and, with his followers, intends to flee eastward, coveting Korea. This wolfish wretch's ambition is as fierce as a centipede that, though dead, does not fall! I believe that evil must be eradicated completely, and we must not allow him any chance to recover! No matter where he flees to, our Great Ming army will pursue him relentlessly and annihilate him completely, to prevent future troubles!"

Hong Chengchou immediately responded, his voice steady and powerful:

"The Grand Secretary is absolutely right! The Jurchens are a major threat to our dynasty, and we have an irreconcilable hatred for them. Now that their remnants are roaming around, if we allow them to grow stronger, they will surely become a major threat to our borders. Pursuing them into Korea is essential to eliminating the remaining forces and protecting our borders and people. Moreover, Korea is a tributary state of our Great Ming Dynasty. If the Jurchens invade, it is our duty to send troops to their aid! For public and private reasons, for the sake of morality and reason, this war must be fought to the bitter end!"

Fan Jingwen watched Xue Guoguan and Hong Chengchou singing in unison, his brows furrowing even more, and couldn't help but interject:
"Grand Secretary Hong, it is only right to annihilate the Jurchens. However... while there are reasons for the large-scale invasion of our vassal state, shouldn't we... exercise extra caution? It might invite criticism, and we must also consider the situation in Korea..."

Before he could finish speaking, Zhang Zhifa interrupted him with a smile:

"Grand Secretary Fan is overthinking it. Precisely because Korea is a vassal state of our Great Ming, the Jurchen invasion is an attack on our Celestial Empire's bulwark and an insult to our suzerain state! Our Celestial Empire's dispatch of troops to help them defend against the invaders is an act of survival and continuation, demonstrating benevolence and righteousness. Who in the world can criticize it? The King of Korea is more than grateful, so how can there be any criticism? This is a righteous and honorable royal army performing a righteous and honorable act!"

Jiang Dejing picked up his teacup, gently blew away non-existent foam, concealing a meaningful smile from the corner of his mouth, and slowly echoed:

“Grand Secretary Zhang is right. This is an act of aiding the vassal state, which is perfectly legitimate. The most urgent task at present is to discuss how to ensure the needs of the army’s expedition. Food, weapons, and pay must all be prepared in advance.”

He skillfully shifted the topic from "should we go" to "how to go".

Fan Jingwen opened his mouth, looking at Xue Guoguan and Hong Chengchou with their upright expressions, Zhang Zhifa with his amiable smile, and Jiang Dejing with his calm demeanor. He then glanced at the words "Jiangnu intend to enter the court" in the victory report on the table and understood.

This reason is indeed plausible and watertight; no one can find fault with it.

He knew that the Crown Prince must have a far-reaching plan involved, and that His Majesty might even tacitly approve it. If he insisted any further, it would not only be futile, but would also make him seem out of touch with the bigger picture.

He finally sighed in despair and fell silent.

Zhu Cijiong took in the expressions of the cabinet ministers. Although he was young, he had been overseeing the country for several months and had been influenced by his elder brother Zhu Cilang. He was no longer completely ignorant of the political situation and military affairs.

After a moment's thought, he understood the hidden secrets behind the good news and the tacit understanding among the elders.

He smiled slightly, a clear smile that carried a composure and decisiveness beyond his years, and said in a clear voice:

"Gentlemen, what you say is all reasonable. The Jurchens are our national enemy and must be destroyed! Korea is our vassal state and must be saved! Given the situation, our Great Ming should forge ahead bravely. All military deployments will be decided by my elder brother, the Crown Prince, and the generals at the front. Our primary task in staying behind is to ensure the supply of provisions and military provisions, so that the soldiers at the front have no worries about their rear!"

He looked at Xue Guoguan and Zhang Zhifa:

"As the Grand Secretary and Minister Zhang have suggested, we shall immediately order the Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of War to conduct a thorough calculation to ensure that the army's expedition to Korea receives all necessary provisions, equipment, and pay. We shall err on the side of having more rather than less, in preparation for a prolonged campaign. I will trouble you two gentlemen with this matter."

Xue Guoguan and Zhang Zhifa quickly stood up, bowed, and accepted the order:

"Your Majesty, we obey! We will do our utmost to ensure the army's supplies!"

A seemingly calm court discussion, triggered by news of a victory, set the tone and paved the way for an impending military operation that would cross national borders.

Following the jubilation of recapturing Shengjing, a new chapter has quietly begun in a larger and more far-reaching game of chess.

In the eleventh month of the seventeenth year of the Chongzhen reign (1644), in Shenyang.

A strong north wind blew all night, and when I opened the window in the early morning, the world was already covered in a white blanket of snow.

The heavy snow fell silently, covering the city walls, streets, and rooftops, concealing the calamities and scars the ancient city had recently endured. The snow fell silently, yet it possessed a cleansing power, temporarily sealing away all the noise, bloodshed, and ruin, leaving only a pure and solemn silver-white world.

Outside Shenyang, the Ming army camp stood orderly on the snow-covered plain.

Despite the heavy snow blocking the roads and the biting cold, the camp remained completely orderly.

The gray tents were covered with a thick layer of snow, resembling giant mushrooms. Soldiers patrolled and changed shifts in the knee-deep snow along the cleared paths between the tents, their breath condensing into frost in the cold wind. At the entrance of each tent was a tin stove, its chimney extending outwards, slowly emitting pale blue smoke—a characteristic sign of burning honeycomb briquettes.

Inside the tent, a warm and inviting atmosphere contrasted sharply with the icy wilderness outside, creating a world apart. Soldiers were able to maintain their weapons, polish their armor, or chat quietly around the stove, their faces showing none of the hardship often associated with camping in the harsh winter. Ample logistical support, especially the ingenious use of honeycomb briquettes, allowed this expeditionary force to maintain high morale and fighting capacity even in the frigid conditions of Liaodong.

Inside the city, however, the scene was quite different, yet it still exuded a sense of vitality and order after surviving the catastrophe.

The snow on the main streets had been cleared by organized soldiers and laborers. The soup kitchens set up by the imperial court did not stop due to the heavy snow; on the contrary, they increased the frequency of soup distribution. Thick rice porridge was boiling in large iron pots, and the rising steam attracted thinly dressed and pale-faced people to line up in long queues.

Even more striking was the sight of wisps of smoke rising from the doorways of many dilapidated houses – the honeycomb briquettes distributed to each household were putting to good use. For these survivors, who had just endured the Jurchens' frenzied looting and were left with almost nothing, having a bowl of hot porridge to fill their stomachs and a coal fire to keep warm in the dead of winter was something they had never dared to dream of.

Beneath a partially collapsed courtyard wall, several elderly people, wrapped in tattered cotton-padded coats, huddled together, warming themselves by a small tin stove, talking in hushed tones. Inside the stove, several honeycomb briquettes burned bright red.

"Ugh, this awful weather. In previous years, I don't know how many people would have frozen to death at this time."

An old man with gray hair and a thin, gray braid hanging down his back stretched out his withered, bony hands to warm them on the stove, and sighed:

"I never expected that I would be able to have a fire this year."

"Yes, I heard that these are 'honeycomb briquettes' that the Crown Prince made. They're cheap, burn for a long time, and he even gave them to us who have no future..."

Another elderly man, also with a braid and sunken cheeks, spoke up, his tone complex:

"The Ming Dynasty... truly is the Celestial Empire. That damned Dorgon didn't even leave a broken pot behind when he fled!"

"Pah! Don't even mention that plague god!"

The first old man spat, his eyes filled with hatred:

"It would be best if the royal army caught up quickly and wiped them all out! Not a single one of them should come back! We... we should just pretend that nothing ever happened!"

As he spoke, he subconsciously touched the braid at the back of his head, a flicker of indescribable shame and resolve flashing in his eyes. The people around him remained silent, some also touching their own braids. The firelight illuminated their aged and numb faces, yet the faint warmth rekindled a glimmer of hope within them.

The population is returning at a slow but steady pace.

Every day, new, haggard refugees, young and old, trudged through the snow and arrived at the gates of Shenyang from all directions.

Some of them were families of bannermen who had fled from the northernmost fortresses abandoned by the Jurchens; some were Han Chinese bondservants who had emerged from the mountains and forests; and many more were lower-class bannermen who had voluntarily broken away from Dorgon's increasingly difficult and internally strife-ridden escape team after hearing that Shenyang had "food to eat, coal to burn, and the Ming army would not kill people."

They used their last bit of strength to come to this city that had just changed hands, just to beg for a mouthful of food to survive and a corner to shelter from the cold.

The officials in charge of resettlement were extremely busy, registering people, distributing temporary rations and heating supplies, and arranging for them to live in unclaimed, dilapidated houses that could be easily repaired.

In a short period of time, the population of Shenyang has recovered from less than 20,000 to more than 60,000, and this number is still quietly increasing with the daily snowfall.

Three days ago, Emperor Chongzhen's carriage arrived in Shenyang amidst a flurry of snow.

There was no grand ceremony, but the emperor's personal visit to this newly restored former capital and enemy stronghold was of unparalleled symbolic significance.

Emperor Chongzhen stayed at the Shenyang Imperial Palace, which had been urgently renovated and newly decorated. This was the place where Nurhaci and Huang Taiji commanded the Eight Banners and coveted the Central Plains.

At this moment, on the walls of Shenyang.

The heavy snow continued, and the world was shrouded in darkness.

Emperor Chongzhen, draped in a heavy black fox fur cloak and without a crown, his hair held back only by a jade hairpin, stood side by side with Crown Prince Zhu Cilang in front of the city wall crenellations near Phoenix Tower. The bright yellow curved-handled umbrellas held by the attending eunuchs were waved away by Chongzhen, who let the cold snowflakes fall on his shoulders, his hair, and even his warm cheeks, quickly melting into tiny water droplets.

He gazed into the distance.

Through the snow-covered landscape, the outlines of the Ming army camps stretching out outside the city were faintly discernible, their banners fluttering defiantly in the wind and snow. Inside the city, sparse wisps of smoke rose from various places, mingling with the swirling snowflakes. Further away, a vast expanse of white stretched out—the boundless land that once belonged to the Jurchens, now returned to the Ming Dynasty.

An indescribable feeling, a mixture of immense accomplishment, a sense of relief from a heavy burden, and the pride of being a conqueror, surged within Chongzhen.

He stood with his hands behind his back, silent for a long time, as if trying to etch this scene deep into his heart.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice trembling slightly with excitement, yet carrying an unprecedented loudness and confidence:

"Lang'er, do you see it? This snow, this city, this land... It's back, it's all back! What the Taizu and Chengzu failed to do, what the Wanli Emperor, the Taichang Emperor, and the Tianqi Emperor failed to achieve... I have done it!"

He turned around abruptly, his gaze fixed intently on his son.

"I am the first emperor since the founding of the Ming Dynasty to stand atop the walls of Shengjing! The first emperor to personally reclaim Liaodong from the Jurchens!"

Seeing his father's rare, almost uncontrollable excitement and pride, Zhu Cilang was also filled with emotion.

He bowed and said:

"This achievement is due to Father Emperor's tireless efforts, working diligently day and night, in accordance with the will of Heaven and the hearts of the people. Your son and the soldiers have only followed Father Emperor's plans and done our utmost."

These words gave Emperor Chongzhen a great deal of face.

Emperor Chongzhen laughed heartily, patted his son's shoulder with considerable force:
"You need not be modest. You deserve the most credit for this battle! The new weaponry, the logistics, the decisive actions in battle... I know all of that."

He paused, his smile fading slightly, and looked northeast, where Changbai Mountain, the Yalu River, and North Korea lay.

"What are you going to do next? That scoundrel Dorgon, with his defeated troops, is like a stray dog, and it's the dead of winter..."

Zhu Cilang also looked in that direction, his gaze calm and profound:
"Your Majesty, your son, along with Zu Dashou, Sun Chuanting, and others, have already devised a strategy. Abunai's Mongol cavalry and Zu Dashou's vanguard are slowly 'driving' Dorgon's remnants away like sheep. Liaodong is bitterly cold, and his troops are lacking food and clothing, which will inevitably lead to internal turmoil. Once they are forced to the banks of the Yalu River, with no other option but to risk crossing the river and invading Korea, they will have no other choice. At that time..."

"At that time, we can legitimately pursue and annihilate them in the court, and accomplish our goal in one battle."

Emperor Chongzhen spoke, a hint of understanding mixed with complexity flashing in his eyes. He was well aware of his son's schemes regarding Korea; the matter was too audacious, even somewhat... contrary to the "way of the king," but he had to admit that this might be the best time and way to resolve the issues in Liaodong and even Northeast Asia.

He finally just nodded and said in a deep voice:
"Well, since you have a plan, then go ahead and do it. I... trust you."

Just then, a series of hurried footsteps came through the snow.

A commander dressed in the uniform of the Imperial Guard, his head and face covered in snowflakes, hurriedly climbed the city wall and knelt on one knee a few steps away from Emperor Chongzhen and his son. His voice was distorted by the cold and his haste:
"Your Majesty, Your Highness the Crown Prince! King Injo of Joseon, accompanied by a dozen or so attendants, has arrived at the city walls, claiming that there is an extremely urgent matter and requesting an immediate audience with the Emperor!"

Chongzhen's smile and heroic spirit froze instantly, followed by a flash of embarrassment at having his secret exposed and a helpless "as expected" expression. His old face even turned a little red.

He glanced at Zhu Cilang, who stood calmly beside him, coughed twice, and unconsciously quickened his pace:
"Hmm... The King of Joseon has arrived? It must be about the Jurchens. I... I feel a bit tired today, and the wind outside the city is chilly; I seem... slightly unwell. Lang'er, go see him in my stead. Reassure him well and do not neglect your vassal."

Having said that, without waiting for Zhu Cilang's response, he waved his hand to the eunuch beside him:

"Let's depart and return to the palace. I need to rest for a while."

He then turned around and hurried down the city wall, his back view giving the impression of "fleeing in panic".

Zhu Cilang watched his father's figure disappear at the top of the stairs, shook his head helplessly, but a faint smile appeared on his lips.

He straightened his robes and said to the Imperial Guard commander, who was still kneeling on the ground:

"Please ask the King of Joseon to wait in a side hall of the temporary palace. I will be there shortly." (End of Chapter)