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

The grievances, fears, and anger that had been suppressed for decades seemed to have found an outlet. Immediately, several elderly Han Chinese men knelt down, crying and shouting, to recount the crimes of a certain headman of the bondservant clan who had forcibly seized their family's land and driven their son and daughter-in-law to their deaths.

Some Mongolian women timidly raised their hands, wanting to report a Jurchen official who frequently extorted money from their tribe.

Zhu Cilang nodded to the clerk beside him, who immediately stepped forward and led the person into the courtyard to register.

He didn't linger and, surrounded by his guards, walked toward another square where winter supplies were being distributed.

There were piles of sacks of grain, bundles of cotton, and mountains of honeycomb briquettes. Soldiers were distributing them door-to-door according to the registered rosters, or the people could come and collect them by presenting their household registration tags.

"Your Highness."

The newly appointed prefect of Shenyang, who was accompanying him, said in a low voice.

"As you instructed, the investigation has begun. Reports from various prefectures and counties indicate that over four hundred individuals with notorious criminal records have been preliminarily identified. Should we proceed with..."

"Conclusive evidence"

Zhu Cilang kept walking, his voice calm.

"There's no need to wait until autumn, nor to send them to Shenyang. Gather the people here, hold a public trial, and execute them in a clear and just manner. Let everyone see that the imperial court's blade is swift and accurate. Only by killing those who deserve to die can people's hearts be at peace and their anger be appeased."

"Yes!"

The prefect obeyed the order with a stern expression.

"Also, have the men sent to the northern mountains returned?"

Zhu Cilang asked about something else.

"Your Highness, we just returned. We brought back the chieftains of seven 'Wild Jurchen' tribes, and they have all been settled in the post station. They... were indeed severely bullied by the Jurchens. When they heard that the court had driven out the Jurchens and was willing to accept them, they were very excited and expressed their willingness to submit."

"Treat them well. Tomorrow, I will meet with them at the Imperial Palace. Tell the Ministry of Revenue to allocate a batch of winter grain, salt, and tea according to the population of the tribes that have submitted. Also, have the Ministry of War select some old armor, swords, and bows that have been replaced, of good quality, and give them to them. Tell them that they should follow the Ming Dynasty and abide by the Ming Dynasty's rules. The Ming Dynasty will help them reclaim the hunting grounds and rivers that the Jurchens took from them. From now on, they should pay tribute on time, and the court will protect their safety and allow them to trade."

"I understand!"

The prefect's eyes showed admiration.

His Highness the Crown Prince's methods are a perfect blend of firmness and gentleness. He uses killing to establish his authority, bestows favors to win hearts and minds, and wins over allies. With this combination of moves, the originally complex and contradictory situation in Liaodong is visibly calming down and coming together.

Zhu Cilang walked to the edge of the square and watched the backs of the people who had received grain and coal and were leaving with profuse thanks. Among them were many Manchus who had just cut off their queues and whose scalps were still green.

The mixture of fear, gratitude, and a glimmer of hope for a new life on their faces gave him a slight sense of reassurance.

The roots of Liaodong are being replanted.

Although it is still very shallow and weak, it has at least begun to take root.

All this stability will become the most solid and reliable support for the decisive battle across the Yalu River in the future.

He raised his head and looked southeast.

The wind and snow obscured the view of North Korea, but he knew that it must have started snowing there as well.

However, it was blood-red snow.

The third day of the twelfth lunar month in the seventeenth year of the Chongzhen reign.

The Yalu River has finally frozen completely.

It wasn't the kind of thick, flat ice surface where horses and carriages could run, but rather a huge, uneven ice shell with a bluish-white, deathly aura, forcibly bound together by countless broken icicles, snow chunks, and the still-rushing undercurrents beneath.

As you walk on it, you can hear a teeth-grinding "crunching" sound coming from deep within the ice, as if it might collapse at any moment and swallow everything into the cold darkness.

On the south bank, in the border area that North Korea calls "Uiju" or "Sokju", there are a few low earthen forts and wooden palisades scattered here and there.

This is the defense line that North Korea hastily set up along the Yalu River, which was touted as "impregnable".

On the earthen fort, a faded North Korean flag hung limply in the biting wind.

The defenders huddled behind the battlements. Most of them didn't even have proper cotton armor, only thin uniforms, and wrapped haphazardly in tattered cotton-padded coats that they had looted or brought from home. Their faces were blue from the cold, and their lips were purplish-black.

Their weapons were a motley collection: rusty spears, chipped knives, a few old matchlock guns, and even hoes and clubs. Their quivers contained only a handful of arrows, the arrowheads of which were heavily rusted.

The soldiers' eyes were unfocused, filled with fear and confusion.

Most of them were farmers, woodcutters, and craftsmen temporarily conscripted from nearby prefectures and counties. After only a few days of basic drill training, they were driven to this icy and snowy border region.

The officers' shouts were weak and feeble; even they themselves didn't know how to use these people and this ragtag bunch to resist the legendary, fierce army that was about to cross the ice from the north bank of the Yangtze River.

In stark contrast to the deathly despair on the south bank was the north bank.

On the snow-covered plains, a vast, dark mass of people and horses stretched as far as the eye could see, like an ant swarm emerging from hell, unfolding silently and orderly. Despite their pale faces and tattered armor, their ferocious aura, forged in countless battles, permeated the air as if it were a tangible presence.

Especially the armored soldiers in the front row, who no longer held bows, arrows, swords and spears tightly in their hands, but flintlock muskets that were well maintained and gleamed with a cold metallic luster under the snow.

This was Dorgon's last remaining possession: flintlock muskets seized or copied from military workshops in Shenyang, Liaoyang, and other places. Although their performance was far inferior to the new rifles of the Ming army, with significantly lower range, accuracy, and rate of fire, they were worlds apart from the fire sticks of the opposing Korean army.

Dorgon immediately stood on a slightly higher snow slope, not wearing his signature golden armor, but only a heavy dark blue cotton armor, over which was a sable cloak. His face was ashen, his eyes sunken, but his gaze was like an icy blade, fixed on the pitiful earthen fortresses on the opposite bank.

He gave no pre-battle pep talk, no rousing slogans. He simply raised his right hand slowly, and then swung it down hard!
"Waaaaah—"

A deep, mournful horn suddenly sounded, tearing apart the deathly silence of the river.

"go ahead!"

"Cross the river!"

The officers' hoarse shouts carried on the cold wind. The flintlock musketeers at the front stepped onto the ice, cautiously but with firm steps. Behind them were infantrymen carrying makeshift ladders and battering rams, followed by cavalry. The massive column began to move, like a giant black python, slowly gliding across the bluish-white ice crust, approaching the south bank.

The ice, unable to withstand the weight, emitted a chilling groan and cracking sound.

Men and women continued to slip, screaming as they slid into the ice crevasse and were instantly swallowed by the raging torrent. But no one stopped, no one went to their rescue. Those behind them stepped over the corpses and ice shards of their companions and continued onward. Only by crossing the river could they survive. Staying on the north bank meant either freezing to death or being hunted down by the Ming army, whose whereabouts were unknown.

The North Korean troops on the opposite bank were clearly stunned by this overwhelming, silent, and resolute advance.

Only when the Jurchen vanguard crossed the river and entered within a hundred paces did the sporadic, distorted sounds of gongs and the off-key shouts of officers echo from the earthen fortress:
"Fire the arrows! Fire them now!"

The sparse arrows flew out weakly, most of them landing limply on the ice. The few that hit people were easily blocked by shields or thick cotton armor.

"Raise your guns!" A unified roar rang out from the Jurchen ranks. The front-line flintlock musketeers halted in unison, raised their guns, and aimed. Though their movements were not as swift and coordinated as the Ming army's, they carried the ruthlessness of desperate men.

"put!"

"Bang! Bang bang bang—!"

A burst of gunfire, like popping beans, suddenly erupted, drowning out the wind! White smoke instantly billowed across the river. Lead bullets whistled through the cold air, slamming heavily into the earthen bunkers and wooden palisades on the south bank!

"Puff puff!"

Fragments of dirt flew from the adobe walls, and splinters of wood flew from the wooden palisade. Even more deadly were the human casualties. The North Korean defenders' meager protection was like paper against the lead bullets. Screams erupted instantly; figures staggered and fell from the earthen bunker, blood splattering onto the snow—a horrifying sight.

A single salvo nearly shattered the will to resist at the forefront of the North Korean defenses.

"Release it again!"

A second salvo followed immediately. The North Korean defenders were thrown into complete chaos, crying out and retreating from behind the battlements, some even turning to run down to the fortress.

"Don't retreat! Hold on! Hold on..."

A North Korean general was shouting at the top of his lungs when a stray bullet struck him in the face. He didn't even utter a sound before falling backward.

The collapse has begun.

However, just as the Jurchen vanguard began to accelerate, preparing to charge up the south bank in one fell swoop, a sudden change occurred!
"Boom! Boom!"

A series of crisper, denser gunshots, like popping beans, suddenly rang out from the flank and rear of the Jurchen army's marching column, from the dense forest on the north bank! The bullets, with their piercing whistles, precisely penetrated into the Jurchen rear guard!
"Ming Gou! It's Ming Gou!"

"Behind us! There's an ambush behind us!"

The Jurchen army was thrown into chaos. They hadn't expected the Ming army to dare appear behind them at this crucial moment!
In the woods, Li Dingguo put down his rifle, which was still emitting wisps of smoke, and calmly observed the battle situation through his binoculars.

Around him, hundreds of elite scouts, some crouching, some kneeling, using trees and snowdrifts as cover, were rapidly reloading their rifles. They were all using new breech-loading rifles, with a rate of fire far exceeding that of flintlock muskets.

"Target: Enemy mid-section, cavalry concentration! Fire freely to disrupt them!"

Li Dingguo gave the order in a low voice.

A denser hail of bullets poured from the forest, specifically targeting those trying to form ranks, or those that looked like officers or had flags in place.

Chaos indeed broke out in the Jurchen central army, with men and horses neighing and officers shouting and cursing.

On the river, Dorgon, who was already halfway across, suddenly turned around and looked in the direction from which the gunshots came. A fierce glint flashed in his eyes, but he did not show much panic. He had long anticipated that the Ming army would do this.

"Ignore it! Vanguard, accelerate and charge! Middle troops, hold your ground! Archers and musketeers, launch fire into the woods to suppress the enemy! Rear troops become the vanguard, guard the rear!"

He gave the order in a deep voice, which was quickly relayed through his personal guards.

His judgment was accurate.

The Ming army was small in number, and although its firepower was fierce, it was insufficient to truly shake the foundation of his tens of thousands of troops. Their objective was merely harassment and delay. Once the vanguard quickly routed the Korean defenders and established a foothold on the south bank, this raiding squad would naturally have no choice but to retreat.

After the initial confusion, the Jurchen army quickly carried out the orders.

The vanguard rushed towards the earthen fort on the south bank, while the central army hurled arrows and bullets aimlessly into the woods to suppress them, and the rear guard nervously turned north.

Seeing the Jurchens' reaction, Li Dingguo knew that the harassment had achieved half of its objective—delaying their crossing of the river and causing chaos in their army.

But there was nothing he could do about the rest.

"withdraw!"

He gave the order decisively.

"Follow the predetermined route, provide alternating cover, and retreat to Assembly Point One!"

The Ming scouts moved as swiftly as when they appeared. After firing several volleys, they did not linger in battle. They put away their weapons and, using the cover of the trees and terrain, quickly retreated into the depths of the mountains and disappeared in no time, leaving only the smoke of gunpowder lingering in the forest and hundreds of Jurchen corpses on the snow.

At this moment, the battle on the south bank of the Yalu River is no longer in doubt.

Having lost command and with morale completely collapsed, the Korean defenders were unable to mount any decent resistance under the fierce onslaught of the Jurchen vanguard.

The earthen fortress was easily breached, the wooden palisade was toppled, and the defenders were either killed or surrendered on their knees. Many more people cried out and fled to the mountains and towns behind them.

Half an hour.

From the first gunshot to the last North Korean flag being trampled underfoot, only half an hour had passed.

The Yalu River, a natural barrier and a border defense line on which North Korea had placed high hopes, has been breached.

The Jurchen army surged across the river like a flood bursting its banks and set foot on the land of Korea.

Without pausing to regroup, they immediately set up their cavalry as the vanguard, followed closely by infantry, and advanced furiously southward along the official road. Upon encountering any slightly larger villages or towns along the way, they divided their forces to loot and plunder, seizing all visible grain and property, burning houses, and killing civilians who dared to resist or were simply unable to escape.

Black smoke began to rise from the snow-covered plains of northern Korea, and cries of agony drifted away on the wind.

The last geographical barrier between Liaodong and Korea has vanished. Blood has begun to truly stain the three thousand miles of land red.

Dorgon was among the last group to cross the Yalu River, surrounded by his personal guards.

He stepped onto the still slightly slippery mud of the south bank and glanced back at the north bank. The wind and snow obscured any trace of the Ming army, but the surrounding mountains seemed to conceal countless cold, piercing eyes.

He turned away, no longer looking. His gaze was fixed ahead, on the unknown road to the south, a road destined to be filled with plunder and slaughter.

"Pass on the order."

His voice was slightly hoarse from the cold wind and excitement.

"All troops, accelerate! Target—Seoul! Of the spoils along the way, 70% will go to the public, and 30% are for your own use! Whoever enters Seoul first will be rewarded with a thousand gold pieces and promoted three ranks!"

This blatant order to plunder was like the most potent stimulant, injected into the already starving, freezing, and ferocious Jurchen army.

Cheers and howls erupted as the exhausted army miraculously unleashed astonishing speed and destructive power once more, surging southward.

Behind them, on the frozen surface of the Yalu River, only messy footprints, toppled flags, scattered weapons, and countless drops of congealed blood remained, which were quickly covered by new snowflakes.

Further into the mountains, Li Dingguo stood atop a high slope, gazing expressionlessly at the wisps of black smoke rising from the southern horizon. (End of Chapter)