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

The surrendered Mongol tribes and "wild Jurchens" were properly settled in designated pastures and hunting areas. The chieftains received rewards and honorary titles. Although they were still uneasy, at least for now, food and salt were a tangible reality. The situation in Liaodong was stabilizing at an unprecedented speed.

This former "Shengjing" is gradually shedding the marks left by the Jurchens and regaining the steady and resilient vitality belonging to the Ming Dynasty.

However, amidst this generally positive outlook, there are discordant notes, or rather, laments destined to be crushed by the wheels of time.

In the south of the city, there was a heavily guarded residence that seemed to be treated with great courtesy.

This place is where King Injo of Joseon and his family are housed.

The courtyard was spacious, the houses were clean, and all daily necessities were provided. There were even several palace servants brought from Korea to attend to them.

But no matter how comfortable the furnishings are, the omnipresent, silent surveillance, and the humiliation of losing freedom and living under someone else's roof are like invisible shackles, weighing heavily on everyone's heart.

Inside the warm room, the charcoal fire burned brightly.

Li Zong did not sit in the main seat, but curled up on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) by the window. He was wrapped in a thick brocade quilt, but still looked hunched over and lifeless.

Before him stood his youngest son, Prince Yi of Inpyeong, who had fled from Seoul in a panic.

The father and son had been sitting in silence for almost half an hour. Only the occasional crackling of the charcoal fire broke the suffocating silence.

Finally, Li Xian couldn't hold back any longer. He raised his head, his face still bearing the fear and exhaustion of his escape, his voice trembling with tears:

"Father... what... what should we do? Are we just... going to be locked up here forever?"

Li Zong slowly turned his head to look at his good-for-nothing son.

His abandonment of the country and subsequent flight became the final straw that broke the camel's back in North Korea, completely extinguishing any remaining hope for the return of the Yi royal family. But what good is blame now?

"How to do?"

Li Zong tugged at the corners of his mouth, revealing a smile that was more like a grimace, his voice hoarse and dry.

"Only now do I realize... you and I, father and son, are already trapped like turtles in a jar, there's no room for 'what to do' anymore?"

Li's face turned even paler:

"Father means..."

"I mean."

Li Zong interrupted him, his gaze slowly shifting from Li's face to the gray sky outside the window, his eyes empty and filled with despair.

“From the moment we stepped into Shenyang, no, from the moment we agreed to stay here, North Korea… was no longer part of the Lee family.”

"The Ming Dynasty never intended to rescue us, much less to help us restore our kingdom."

He gave a bitter smile, a smile filled with self-mockery and regret.

"They want to use the Jurchens as a weapon to cut off the branches and tendrils of Korea, and use our Yi family's 'abandonment of the country' to destroy the hearts and minds of the Korean people. Then, they can rightfully take over this cleaned land."

"But...but we are vassal states!"

Lee Ho couldn't help but speak up, his young face filled with resentment and confusion.

"Hasn't the Ming Dynasty always prided itself on benevolence and righteousness? Why would it resort to such a cruel method against its submissive vassals?"

"Benevolence and righteousness?"

Li Zong chuckled softly, as if he had heard something amusing, but his laughter was filled with sorrow.

“My child, between nations, what is eternal benevolence and righteousness? There is only eternal interest. The land of Korea, controlling Liaodong to the north, blocking Japan to the east, and looking south towards Dengzhou and Laizhou, is a strategic stronghold that the Central Plains dynasties have coveted for over a thousand years! Emperor Yang of Sui and Emperor Taizong of Tang, which one didn't want to take it? It's just that they lacked the strength or the time was not right back then.”

He sighed deeply, as if he had aged ten years in an instant:

"Now, the Ming Dynasty has produced an unprecedented monarch, whose military might is unparalleled in history. It has quelled the bandits within and recovered Liaodong without. It is a time of great prosperity and expansion. Our Joseon has been fortunate enough to seize this opportunity and has been given such a perfect excuse... If we do not take advantage of this opportunity, we will suffer the consequences. How could the Ming Dynasty let this chance pass?"

A deathly silence fell over the warm chamber once more. Only Li Zong's weary and desperate voice continued to whisper:

"I only hope... I only hope that the Ming Dynasty will remember the centuries of obedience and tribute paid by the Li family, and spare my father and me... and leave a way to live, and preserve a trace of incense for our ancestral temple. This empire... it's over, it's over..."

He closed his eyes in despair, and two streams of turbid tears silently slid down the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Li looked at his father, who seemed to have suddenly run out of energy, opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

Boundless fear, regret, and bewilderment at their unknown fate overwhelmed them like a cold tide.

Outside the window, the snow in Shenyang continues to fall silently. It covers the streets, the rooftops, and seems to want to cover everything that has happened here, to cover up the insignificant lament of an era coming to an end.

In the nearby palace, the lights in the imperial study often stayed on until late at night.

Emperor Chongzhen and the civil and military officials who remained in charge were engaged in countless discussions and plans for the complete assimilation of Liaodong, the final logistical support for the Korean War, and the future blueprint for this newly added territory under the rule of the Ming Dynasty.

An old era is falling silent in the snow, while a new era, with a wider territory and greater ambition, is quietly being conceived in this cold stillness.

It is just waiting for the spring breeze to arrive, then it will break through the ice and sweep across the world.

While Shenyang, Liaodong, and even Korea were making final preparations for war, the heart of the empire—Beijing—fell into a strange "calm" that was completely different from the tense atmosphere at the front.

It is described as calm, not dead still.

The streets remained unchanged, teeming with people, shops were open as usual, and teahouses and taverns were bustling with activity.

But amidst this commotion, there was less of the extravagance and ostentation of previous years, and more of a restrained pragmatism and frugality. Lanterns were still hung, and couplets were still pasted up, but on a much smaller scale, and fireworks and firecrackers were sparse—the imperial court had issued a clear decree that while soldiers on the front lines were shedding blood, those at home should be mindful of the hardships and advocate frugality and restraint.

With the emperor absent and the crown prince on a distant expedition, even the most outspoken officials and censors kept their mouths shut.

All eyes were fixed on the northeast, on the war that would determine the fate of the nation. A sense of shared hatred and indignation quietly permeated the empire. From grain merchants in the south to Shanxi merchants, and canal workers, everyone understood that this war had to be won, and would be won.

If they win, the Ming Dynasty will be revived and its reign will be long.

输.
Do not!
The Ming Dynasty will not lose!
For this war, the empire's resources were mobilized to the maximum extent. Grain, cloth, gunpowder, and ironware were transported north day and night by canal boats, ocean-going vessels, and mule-drawn carts. Workshops in Southern Zhili and Zhejiang were operating at full capacity.

Fortunately, the sweet potatoes and potatoes that had been vigorously promoted under the Crown Prince's supervision in the past few years, as well as the grain imported from Southeast Asia and Japan through merchants like the Zheng family, played a vital role at this time. Although life remained difficult for ordinary people, at least there was no large-scale famine, and no fatal turmoil was added to the rear of this war that threatened the entire nation.

A sense of "harmony" unseen for many years was evident in the imperial court.

Factional strife? With the emperor and crown prince both absent from the capital, and the imperial guards and henchmen roaming everywhere, and the outcome of the battles on the front lines affecting everyone's life, fortune, and even their place in history, any internal strife seemed foolish and dangerous. The old labels of Donglin, the eunuch faction, and the Zhejiang faction blurred, replaced by an unspoken understanding: everything would be discussed after the war.

Wenyuan Pavilion, the office of the Grand Secretary.

The charcoal fire warmed the room, dispelling the last trace of chill in the early spring of Beijing.

Grand Secretary Xue Guoguan and Grand Secretary Hong Chengchou sat facing each other, enjoying tea. The finest pre-rain Longjing tea unfurled in the celadon cups, releasing its fragrant aroma.

On the table in front of them lay the latest military intelligence reports from Liaodong and Korea. But at this moment, their attention did not seem to be entirely focused on them.

"Yan Yan."

Xue Guoguan gently put down his teacup, breaking the brief silence, and calmly looked at Hong Chengchou.

"In Korea, the ice should thaw completely by March at the latest. Cao Wenzhao, Zheng Zhilong, and Abu Nai's three armies should also be ready to move."

Hong Chengchou nodded, his expression calm:
"His Highness the Crown Prince has planned meticulously, employing both land and sea tactics, and with the stability of Liaodong as a foundation, the odds of victory in this battle are over 90%. However..."

He paused.

"After the Korean War, everything was in ruins and needed to be rebuilt. How to deal with this was the long-term solution."

Xue Guoguan stroked his beard, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes:
"His Majesty and the Crown Prince will surely make a wise decision on this matter. It is our duty to remain in the capital, manage the transport of provisions and supplies, and stabilize the rear."

He abruptly changed the subject, his tone suddenly becoming somewhat ethereal, as if he were talking about something unrelated to himself:
"Once His Majesty returns in triumph, Liaodong and Korea are pacified, and the world is at peace... I should submit a petition to retire and return to my hometown to live out my days."

Hong Chengchou paused slightly in his teacup, then looked up at Xue Guoguan. This over-sixty-year-old chief minister had a gaunt face, and although there was weariness in his eyes, there was not much of the murky greed for power; instead, there was a kind of... relieved composure.

"Your Excellency..."

Hong Chengchou put down his teacup and said seriously.

"The affairs of the nation are pressing, and it is precisely the time that requires the Grand Secretary to be in charge. It is probably not the right time to talk about resigning."

Xue Guoguan waved his hand and smiled, a smile that carried a hint of self-deprecation and a touch of profound understanding:
"Yan Yan, we have known each other for many years, so there is no need for such empty words. As the chief minister, I have been walking on thin ice since I took office. There is endless factional strife at home, and foreign invaders and Jurchens are attacking us. The national treasury is empty and natural disasters are constant... To be honest, it is a blessing from heaven that we have been able to hold on until today and see the current situation. It is thanks to His Majesty's wisdom and His Highness the Crown Prince's extraordinary talent."

He gazed out the window, his eyes distant.

"The credit for this battle lies first in His Majesty's decisiveness, second in the Crown Prince's planning, and third in the soldiers' bravery. As an official in the central government, I merely played a supporting role, coordinating and transporting supplies. What merit have I made? However, history is like iron, and when future generations record this unparalleled achievement of 'pacifying Liaodong and establishing the dynasty,' they will always mention that it was accomplished during my tenure as Grand Secretary. This is my greatest honor and the best time to take my final bow."

He turned back and looked at Hong Chengchou with sincere eyes:
“You are different. You are knowledgeable in military affairs and political affairs, you have firm opinions and a sense of responsibility, and what is even more valuable is that you are still in your prime. After this battle, the situation in Liaodong, Korea, and even the entire northern frontier will be completely reshaped, with everything in need of rebuilding and countless tasks to be completed. What the court needs is a capable and courageous person like you, not an old man like me who is lethargic and only seeks to avoid making mistakes. This position of Grand Secretary should be taken by you, both for the public good and for your own sake, for the country and for yourself.”

Hong Chengchou listened quietly, his heart filled with turbulent emotions.

He had a premonition that Xue Guoguan would retire gracefully after the war, but he didn't expect the other party to be so straightforward and so... frank.

There were no tests, no deals, only assessments of the situation and recognition of colleagues' abilities.

After a moment of silence, Hong Chengchou rose and bowed deeply to Xue Guoguan:
"If that day ever comes, Chengchou will do his utmost to live up to the trust of His Majesty and the Crown Prince, to the expectations of the Grand Secretary today, and to the hopes of the people of the world."

Xue Guoguan stood up, personally helped him up, and patted his arm forcefully, everything understood without words.

The aroma of tea still lingers in the duty room.

The city of Beijing outside the window appears calm and resilient under the cool early spring sunlight.

At this time of looming war, the empire's central command completed a calm yet crucial rehearsal for the transfer of power.

There were no conspiracies, no infighting, only a shared expectation for the future and a weighty responsibility to be passed on.

Time flows silently and steadily, like the quietly surging spring waters of the Yalu River. In the blink of an eye, it's March.

Bohai Bay, the estuary of the Yalu River.

The harsh winter has faded, but the early spring winds are still biting, carrying the salty smell of the sea. Compared to when the river was dredged a few months ago, the scene here is more spectacular and more imposing.

On the sea, masts stand like a forest, and sails obscure the sun! Hundreds of warships and transport ships of all sizes are quietly moored inside and outside the newly widened and dredged river mouth.

Fujian and Guangdong ships resembled floating castles, the gunboats' cannons stood menacingly on their sides, and transport ships were piled high with supplies. On ships and on shore, soldiers in dark blue naval uniforms moved back and forth, conducting final checks and preparations.

On both sides of the river mouth, the project has not stopped, but has instead entered its final and most crucial stage.

More laborers and engineers were mobilized, and their goal became clearer—to further widen and deepen the key waterway near the river mouth, ensuring that Zheng Zhilong's main gunboats, with the deepest draft and the most powerful firepower, could sail into the Yalu River without any hindrance!
"Give it your all! This is the last part! We'll give everyone an extra five coins of silver and plenty of meat and wine if we finish!"

The supervising officer's voice was hoarse from shouting, but his excitement was palpable.

"Roar! Fuck him!"

The laborers, shirtless, shouted rough chants and sweated profusely.

Pickaxes struck the rocks, sparks flying; winches creaked as they dragged massive boulders ashore. The triple wages offered by the imperial court, coupled with the sense of glory in "paving the way for the country and annihilating the Jurchens," unleashed astonishing power in these laborers from the lowest rungs of society.

On a towering flagship, Zheng Zhilong did not stand at the front of the deck as usual, but instead climbed to the highest mast.

Through the telescope, the progress of the project was clearly visible. A cold, confident smile remained on his lips throughout.

"almost……"

He muttered to himself.

"Dorgon, you just wait in Seoul. This 'water dragon' of mine will soon come and meet you, you sick tiger on land!"

He could almost see his fleet bursting into the Yalu River, its cannons raking across the banks, crushing the Jurchens' ridiculous traps and fortifications to dust. With control of the waters, they had already won seven-tenths of the battle. (End of Chapter)