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

A side hall of the Shenyang Imperial Palace.

The hall was warm and cozy, with charcoal braziers burning inside.

Zhu Cilang changed into an apricot-yellow casual robe and sat upright in the main seat.

Before long, the eunuch led the group inside.

The leader appeared to be only about fifty years old, but his hair was mostly white, his face was withered, his wrinkles were deep, and his eyes were sunken. The Korean king's everyday clothes he wore were slightly worn and even a little too big for him, which made him look hunched over and old, as if he were in his sixties or seventies.

He was King Injo of Joseon.

As soon as Li Zong entered the hall, his gaze swept anxiously across the room. Seeing Zhu Cilang seated on the throne, though not the emperor, his status as crown prince was no small matter. He immediately rushed forward, disregarding all decorum, and knelt down with the utmost solemnity, his voice trembling with sobs as he shouted in slightly broken but clear Chinese:

"Li Zong, a humble subject of our lower kingdom, pays his respects to His Highness the Crown Prince of the Great Ming Dynasty! Long live His Highness! Long live His Highness!"

"Your Majesty, please rise! There is no need for such a grand ceremony."

Zhu Cilang rose from his seat and personally helped Li Zong up. He could feel that Li Zong's arms were thin and trembling slightly.

He said gently:
"Your Majesty has come a long way and is in the freezing cold. Why not send an envoy to inform us first, and I will come out of the city to welcome you?"

Li Zong stood up with Zhu Cilang's help, but still half-bowed, tears streaming down his face. He didn't bother wiping them away, and said urgently:
"Your Highness! Save Korea! Save our small nation! That remnant of the Jurchen, Dorgon, is extremely vicious and has been gathering at our border for several days. He is building rafts and cutting down trees. His momentum is overwhelming, and it looks like he is about to cross the river and invade our territory! Our small nation has few soldiers and generals. How can we stop that tiger and wolf army?"
We can only plead with our fathers, the Emperor and His Highness the Crown Prince, to swiftly dispatch heavenly troops to rescue our humble nation from this dire situation! The entire nation of Korea will forever be grateful for the Celestial Empire's benevolent restoration!

As he spoke, he was about to kneel down again.

Zhu Cilang quickly helped him up again, led him to a seat, and sat down himself, his expression solemn and full of sympathy.
"Your Majesty, do not be alarmed. Our Great Ming is already aware of this matter. The Jurchens are our mortal enemies. They have ravaged Liaodong and slaughtered our people. Now they wish to invade our vassal states. This is truly an outrage against both gods and men! Our Great Ming will never sit idly by!"

Upon hearing this, a glimmer of hope flashed in Li Zong's eyes:
"When...when will the royal army be dispatched? The soldiers and civilians on the border of our small state eagerly await the arrival of the royal army day and night!"

Zhu Cilang sighed, his face showing difficulty:

"Your Majesty is unaware of the situation. Our army's northern expedition lasted half a year, traversing thousands of miles. Although we have recaptured Shengjing, the consumption of food and supplies has been enormous. Now that Liaodong has just been pacified, transportation is extremely difficult. If we wish to send a large army to the capital to assist in the suppression, we would need several months' worth of food, supplies, and weapons to make it possible. Otherwise, without sufficient logistics, a large army on a long expedition will collapse without a fight. This is common sense in military strategy, and I hope Your Majesty will understand."

"Several months?!"

Li Zong was struck dumb, his face turning deathly pale instantly.

"Your Highness! Several months is too long! The Jurchens could cross the river in a day or two, and our small state... our small state is afraid we won't be able to hold out until the heavenly army arrives!"

He was so anxious he almost wanted to beat his chest and stamp his feet.

"Could Your Highness, considering our humble nation's long history of obedience and annual tribute, please allocate a contingent of elite troops to the capital as soon as possible? As for provisions... our humble nation is willing to do its utmost to procure some locally!"

Zhu Cilang shook his head, his tone gentle yet firm:

"Your Majesty, it is not that I am unwilling. It is simply that although Dorgon has been defeated, he still has 200,000 troops, and even a cornered beast will fight. Our Great Ming will either not send troops at all, or if we do, we will use overwhelming force to wipe them out in one fell swoop, so as to eliminate this future threat. Sending a small force to the capital will not only be of no use, but may also be used by the Jurchens. As for provisions... it is not that I am being unreasonable, but if you want to ensure the needs of my 600,000 troops to fight in the capital, can your country afford it?"

Six hundred thousand troops! Li Zong gasped, his entire body stiffening.

Let alone 600,000, even the provisions for an army of 60,000 would be extremely difficult for North Korea to gather in a short period of time, given its current national strength.

He opened his mouth, his throat tightened, and he couldn't utter a single word, only boundless despair remained.

After a long silence, he said sadly:

"Are we... are we just going to stand by and watch the Jurchens ravage our small nation and slaughter our people? Your Highness, I... I am willing to return to the country immediately, rally the army and the people, and fight to the death! Even if we fight to the last man, we will never surrender!"

As he spoke, he struggled to stand up again, as if he was about to leave immediately.

Zhu Cilang quickly pressed him down, his tone earnest and full of "concern":
"Your Majesty, you mustn't! You are the ruler of a nation, your life is precious, how can you personally go to such a dangerous place? On the battlefield, swords have no eyes, and stray arrows are hard to avoid. If Your Majesty is lost, Korea will be without a ruler, and chaos will surely ensue. Wouldn't that play right into the hands of the Jurchens? At that time, the situation will be beyond control!"

Seeing the mixture of hesitation, fear, and resentment on Li Zong's face, he continued to offer his heartfelt advice:

"Your Majesty, it would be better to remain in Shenyang for the time being. Firstly, you will be safe, and secondly, you can discuss military matters with our Great Ming at any time. Once our army is well-supplied, we will march south with overwhelming force. At that time, I will personally accompany Your Majesty back to the capital to recover our lost territories, expel the Jurchens, and stabilize the nation! Wouldn't that be safer and better preserve the ancestral temples than Your Majesty risking returning to the country now?"

Li Zong listened, his mind in turmoil.

He feared both the dangers of returning home and the potential collapse of the country due to a lack of leadership.

But the Crown Prince's words sounded reasonable and full of "concern." Staying under the Emperor's nose seemed to be the safest option... As for the country, with ministers like the Chief Councilor in charge, surely they could hold out for a while?

Torn between fear, a sliver of hope, and the expectation that the "heavenly soldiers" would eventually come to the rescue, Li Zong finally nodded with difficulty, his voice hoarse:
"In that case...this humble subject...this humble subject will shamelessly remain in Shenyang and await the arrival of the heavenly army. Everything...is in the hands of Your Majesty and His Highness the Crown Prince!"

Zhu Cilang smiled with satisfaction and personally poured Li Zong a cup of hot tea.
"It is a blessing for Korea that the King is so wise. Please rest assured and stay here in peace. All your needs will be arranged by me. When the time is right, I will return to Seoul with the King!"

A few days later, Emperor Chongzhen "recovered from his illness" and formally received Li Zong in the main hall of the temporary palace.

Emperor Chongzhen sat upright on his throne, his expression solemn yet gentle. Li Zong bowed deeply, tears streaming down his face, and recounted the national calamity once more.

Emperor Chongzhen comforted him gently:

"Your Majesty need not worry too much. The Jurchens are mere clowns; once the Heavenly Army arrives, they will surely be reduced to dust. Now that you have come to court, you are a distinguished guest of our Great Ming. So rest well in Shenyang and do not trouble yourself with worldly affairs. When my royal army sweeps across the world, I will surely send Your Majesty back to court in glory, so that you may continue to enjoy peace and wealth, and the Li clan's ancestral temple may forever enjoy offerings!"

The words were sincere, and the promises were solemn.

Li Zong prostrated himself on the ground and wept bitterly, overwhelmed with emotion. He repeatedly expressed his gratitude, and the last trace of doubt in his heart vanished. He felt that coming to Shenyang was a wise decision. With the golden words of the Ming Emperor, the restoration of Joseon was in sight.

Little did he know that from the moment he stepped into Shenyang and decided to stay, his fate and that of his Li dynasty were no longer in his own hands.

A grand scheme targeting North Korea, ostensibly a "rescue" but actually an "annexation," has quietly begun amidst the swirling snow in Liaodong.

And he, this "submissive" vassal king, will become the most crucial and tragic piece in this grand game—a piece that is gently picked up, placed in a safe corner, and then gradually forgotten until it loses all its value.

In November of the seventeenth year of the Chongzhen reign, winter came exceptionally fiercely to Liaodong.

It wasn't the kind of lukewarm, layered cold that gradually builds up; rather, it was a biting, overwhelming cold that seemed to freeze everything in the world into dust.

Snow poured down from the leaden-gray dome day and night, first as goose feathers, then as ice pellets that stung the face.

The wind is like a knife, scraping along the ground, swirling up the snow and forming howling, moving white sand dunes that can easily flatten ravines or swallow people and animals in an instant.

In such weather, most living things choose to hibernate.

Bears hid in tree hollows, wolves retreated to their dens, and even the most cold-resistant grouse huddled together in sheltered rock crevices, shivering. But people, especially those driven by fate with different purposes, had no choice but to struggle forward across the snow-covered plains.

The Ming army camp was located in an unnamed valley, a hundred li east of Fushun.

Contrary to the outside world's imagination of a camp stretching for dozens of miles with banners in the wind, the camp in this valley was extremely hidden, and could even be described as "shabby".

There were not many tents, and their grayish color blended almost into the surrounding snow-covered mountains. There was no smoke rising into the sky, no noisy voices, and even the warhorses were placed in sheltered spots with bridles to prevent them from neighing.

Deep in the valley, inside the largest cowhide tent, Li Dingguo took off his frost-covered leather hat and rubbed his frozen face vigorously.

The copper kettle hanging above the charcoal brazier was steaming. He poured himself a bowl of piping hot ginger tea and gulped it down. Only then did he feel the chill seeping from his bones being forced back down a bit.

The tent flap was lifted, letting in a gust of wind, snow, and biting cold.

The man who entered was Batel, a Mongolian guerrilla general under his command, nicknamed "Snowfly".

Batel's face was covered in cuts from the cold wind, but his eyes shone with an astonishing brightness.

"General, you're back!"

Batel's voice was hoarse, but it was filled with excitement.

"The brothers from the third and fifth teams have also retreated without much damage. We burned three grain stacks at the Tartars' eastern camp, killing dozens of people with the smoke. We took down four outposts on the west side, and dragged their bodies into the woods to feed the wolves."

Li Dingguo nodded and walked to the simple map hanging on the side of the tent.

The map was made of tanned cowhide, with mountains and rivers roughly outlined in charcoal and cinnabar, as well as several blue triangular symbols representing the Jurchen camps.

He picked up the charcoal pencil and drew a small cross next to one of the blue triangles.

"Done efficiently."

His voice was calm.

"Tell the brothers to take a break, dry their clothes, and check their equipment. Tomorrow at 1-3 AM, the first and fourth teams will set off. Heading to here."

The charcoal pencil dotted another blue triangle, which marked a supply depot on the flank of the Jurchen central army camp.

"Going again?"

Batel licked his chapped lips, a fierce glint flashing in his eyes.

"General, the brothers are itching to fight. Instead of just scratching the itch, let's charge in and wipe them out!"

Li Dingguo glanced at him, his gaze sharp as a knife:

"Itchy hands? Want to die? Look at the snow and the wind outside. How many of us are there! Even if the Jurchens are down on their luck, they still have tens of thousands crammed into those few camps! Charge head-on? How many lives do you have?"

He walked to the tent entrance and opened it a crack.

A cold wind immediately swept in, and in the distance, the continuous snow-capped mountains looked like the spine of a giant beast under the gloomy sky.

"His Highness the Crown Prince gave us the order to 'drive away,' 'harass,' and 'exhaust the enemy.' Not to engage in a decisive battle."

Li Dingguo lowered the curtain, turned around, and spoke in a low but clear voice.

"We must be like wolves on the snowfield, silent, unpredictable, and elusive. We take a bite and leave, leaving them never knowing where they'll bite next. We'll keep them awake at night, unable to eat, and constantly on edge. Once their spirits break and their strength is exhausted, they'll jump into the pit Your Highness has dug for them."

He patted Batel on the shoulder, his tone softening:
“Tell the brothers, this is more difficult than a frontal assault, but it’s also more effective. Every sentry we kill, every bag of food we burn, means that when the army on the front lines attacks and captures cities, ten or even a hundred of our brothers might die less. We need to make that clear.”

Batel nodded emphatically, the fierce glint in his eyes vanishing, replaced by a wolf-like calm and obedience.
"Understood, General! I'll go and relay the order right away!"

Batel stepped down.

Li Dingguo sat back down by the charcoal brazier, and by the dim light of the oil lamp, he wiped his specially made new rifle with a sight. The gun was cold, but his heart was warm.

This tactic is unprecedented.

There were no grand battle formations, no drum-beating charges, only endless lurking, endurance, sudden attacks, and swift disengagement. It was an extreme test of the soldiers' will, physical strength, and wilderness survival skills. But precisely because of this, the results were astonishing.

He recalled the Crown Prince's pre-battle address to them, the commanders of the "Special Scout Battalion":

“You are not ordinary soldiers, but nails driven into the enemy’s heart, swords hanging over their heads. I want you to become their nightmare, so that when they hear the wind they will think it is your footsteps, and when they see the snow moving they will think it is the reflection of your bayonets.”

It seems the nightmare has already begun.

The Jurchen camp was located on the upper reaches of the Hun River, at the foot of Laotudingzi Mountain.

Compared to the quiet and orderly Ming army camp, this camp can only be described as a "chaotic hell".

The tents were leaning precariously, many of them hastily supported by wooden poles with scraped felt and cloth, offering no protection against the relentless wind and snow.

The campfire in the center of the camp burned weakly. Soldiers huddled together trying to keep warm. They were all pale and thin, with sunken eyes. Their tattered cotton-padded coats could not keep out the cold at all. Many of them had severe frostbite on their hands and feet, which was oozing pus and blood.

What's even more terrifying is the atmosphere.

A poison called "Fear" permeated every corner of the camp.

"Listen...listen! It's happening again!"

A young flag soldier huddled beside the fire suddenly pricked up his ears, his face turning ashen.

Those around froze instantly, instinctively reaching for their weapons. However, apart from the howling wind and the rustling of snowflakes hitting the tent, there was nothing else.

"Damn it! You scared the hell out of me!"

An old soldier cursed and kicked the young flag bearer hard.

"There was no sound! You're just scaring yourself!"

The young soldier clutched his stomach, not daring to utter a sound, but the fear in his eyes remained undiminished. (End of Chapter)