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

His deputy also looked worried.
"General, the engineers and laborers we brought are severely understaffed, as they are tasked with building bridges and roads, clearing mines, and exploring the way. If this continues, we'll be crawling like snails, 'opening roads through mountains and building bridges over rivers.'"

"and."

Another general added.

"Although the Jurchens dared not engage in direct combat with their main force, small groups of soldiers appeared and disappeared in the mountains and forests, constantly harassing our engineers and supply lines. Although the losses were not significant, they were extremely annoying and seriously delayed our progress."

Cao Wenzhao put down his telescope and snorted coldly:
"Dorgon is determined to use the mountains and rivers of Korea to wear us down. Send down the order: all battalions should strengthen their vigilance, and the engineering corps should be extra careful. Better to be slow than chaotic. After the Shenji Iron Fortress is assembled, do not move it out easily. Protect our 'precious gem'."

However, just as the Ming generals were worrying about the speed of their advance, a turning point appeared in an unexpected way.

That afternoon, a patrol of Ming cavalry, while searching an abandoned village, discovered dozens of emaciated Korean civilians huddled among the ruins, shivering in fear. At first, the civilians' eyes were filled with only numb terror upon seeing the Ming soldiers.

But when the Ming soldiers took out their own rations, which they themselves were reluctant to eat, and shared them with them, a faint spark ignited in those lifeless eyes.

One of the elderly men, who understood some Chinese, after wolfing down a few mouthfuls, suddenly knelt down and cried out in broken Chinese:
"General! General of the Celestial Empire! The Jurchens... the Jurchens are not human! They have plundered all our grain, killed all our men, and defiled our women! We beg the General... we beg the Heavenly Army to avenge us!"

The surrounding Korean people also knelt down, weeping and accusing, their eyes filled with deep hatred for the Jurchens and a last glimmer of hope for the "heavenly soldiers".

The patrol team reported the situation.

Soon, the news reached Zhu Cilang's ears.

"Pass on the order."

Zhu Cilang made a decision immediately.

"Set up soup kitchens and open granaries in the areas controlled by each army! Tell the people of Korea that the Ming army has come to relieve the people's suffering and punish the guilty! Anyone who is willing to help our army build roads, transport grain, guide the way, and report enemy information can be paid according to their work and receive rations, and even cloth and salt!"

This order was like a spring of life poured into parched land. The news spread rapidly throughout the Ming-controlled areas and surrounding regions.

Initially, only a few desperate civilians came, hoping to try their luck. But when they actually received hot porridge and even real grain and cloth, and discovered that the Ming army was disciplined and did not loot or kill, more and more Korean civilians flocked to the Ming army camp.

The ragged farmer put down his hoe, picked up a shovel and a carrying pole, and joined the road-building team.

Woodcutters and hunters familiar with the local terrain volunteered to lead the Ming army scouts, pointing out where there were shortcuts and where there might be ambushes.

Some of the bolder ones even began to secretly return to areas where the Jurchens had not yet completely withdrawn, to pass on messages to the Ming army.

Even more remarkably, some of the scattered Korean soldiers who had fled into the mountains and forests, upon learning that the "heavenly army" had indeed arrived and was treating the people with benevolence, also came out of the mountains and forests and asked to join the Ming army, even if only as guides or auxiliary soldiers.

"Sir, this is the village chief of Pujia Village. He said that there are more than 30 strong men in their village who are willing to help us repair the road that was destroyed by the flash flood. They only ask for two full meals a day and some salt."

A junior officer excitedly reported to Cao Wenzhao.

"Good! Tell them that as long as they do a good job, they will not only be provided with food and salt, but each person will also be rewarded with a bushel of rice after the work is completed!"

Cao Wenzhao waved his hand.

Popular sentiment, this invisible and intangible thing, began to quietly shift in the war-torn land of Korea, becoming an indispensable "auxiliary force" propelling the massive war machine of the Ming army. The Korean people expressed their contempt for the Jurchens and their acceptance of the "royal army" through the simplest actions—selling their labor, providing information, and even guiding the Ming army with hateful eyes.

For the Ming army, the situation was slowly but steadily improving in a way that was "supported by the righteous and aided by many."

In contrast, the Jurchens presented a completely different hellish scene.

The ruins of Seoul are now desperately referred to by Jurchen soldiers as the "dead city".

Food remained the greatest nightmare. Dorgon's grain-gathering teams searched the Gyeonggi Province and even the more distant Chungcheong and Gangwon Provinces like combs, but the supplies dwindled and became increasingly scarce. Hunger, like a festering sore, spread throughout the army.

Soldiers' rations were repeatedly reduced, with many receiving only a bowl of thin porridge each day, barely enough to reflect their image. They were also forced to reinforce fortifications that they themselves did not believe could withstand the Ming army, all under the whip of their officers.

Bad news from the front lines came flying back to Seoul like snowflakes.

It was either that a camp was easily captured by the Ming army, or that a grain transport team was attacked and wiped out, or that a large number of Korean civilians were found to be "colluding with the enemy" and helping the Ming army to build roads and transport grain.

Every piece of news was like a boulder, pressing down on the already taut nerves of the Jurchen leadership.

"Report! Urgent report from the northern front of Ping'an Road! The Ming army's vanguard has passed Anzhou. Our garrison commander... fought bravely and died for his country. His troops... were mostly routed, and the rest... are missing!"

A messenger, covered in blood and with his helmet askew and armor askew, rushed into the tent, hoarsely reported the news, and then collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Inside the large tent, there was a deathly silence.

Dorgon, Daišan, Ajige, Jirgalang and other princes and beile sat in their respective positions like clay sculptures and wooden statues, their faces more and more unpleasant than the last, so gloomy that they could almost drip water.

The occasional crackling sound from the charcoal brazier seemed particularly jarring at this moment.

After a long silence, Jirhalang finally uttered a dreamlike whisper, his voice trembling and filled with unbelievable despair:
"Could it be...could it be that my Great Qing...is truly destined to perish here and be extinct?"

No one answered. Ajige gripped the armrests of the chair tightly with both hands, his knuckles white, his eyes flashing with a fierce light, yet unable to conceal the deep fear within.

Dai Shan closed his eyes, as if he had fallen asleep, but his slightly trembling beard betrayed the turmoil in his heart.

Dorgon slowly raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. He knew that the most terrifying thing was not the defeat at the front, but the fact that the strings of "hope" in the hearts of these people, the last core pillars of the Qing Dynasty, were snapping one by one.

If the shadow of failure spreads like a plague among the upper echelons, then the complete collapse of the middle and lower classes is not far off.

"Everyone, perk up!"

Dorgon slammed his hand on the table, making a dull thud that broke the suffocating silence.

His voice was hoarse, yet it carried a forced fierceness.

"The war isn't over yet! The Ming dogs are formidable, but we're not at our wits' end! The Korean mountains are rugged and treacherous; as long as our soldiers fight with their lives, holding off the Ming troops layer by layer, we might be able to wear them down until they're exhausted! It's too early to be pessimistic!" He paused, his gaze sharp as a knife, sweeping across everyone's faces:

"Order all banners to maintain strict defenses! Anyone who dares to undermine morale or spread rumors, no matter who they are, will be executed on the spot! Our Great Qing has no cowards who surrender!"

This harsh but ultimately weak reprimand barely managed to liven up the atmosphere in the tent. The crowd responded sparsely, but their faces showed little enthusiasm. After a few more words about trivial defense matters, they all retreated, deep in their own thoughts.

In the end, only Dorgon and Daišan, who seemed to be asleep, remained in the tent.

Only when the footsteps had completely faded away did Daishan slowly open his eyes. His eyes were now cold and clear. He looked at Dorgon, his voice so low that only the two of them could hear him:

Why not tell them?

Dorgon knew what he was asking. He wearily rubbed his temples, walked to the tent flap, opened it a crack to make sure no one was outside, then returned, lowering his voice as well:

"Second Brother, what's the difference between telling everyone we're leaving now and declaring we're finished?"

A complex emotion, a mixture of ruthlessness and helplessness, flashed in his eyes:
"The more people who know, the greater the risk of leaks. Once the people below find out that we princes and banner lords are preparing to 'go first,' leaving them behind to cover the rear, the morale of the army will collapse instantly! Even without the Ming dogs attacking, we'll start fighting amongst ourselves and killing each other!"

Moreover,

His voice was even lower, almost inaudible.

"Even if we were to evacuate, how many people could we take? Where would we get so many ships? Second brother, how are things going on your side?"

Daishan was silent for a moment before speaking:
"I personally supervised the construction, and with the ships of all sizes plundered and requisitioned from all over Korea, no more than 150 ships were capable of long-distance voyages. Moreover, most of them were old and could not withstand strong winds and waves. Including sailors, food, fresh water... even if we squeezed them in, we could only take away less than 50,000 people at most."

Fifty thousand people.

Dorgon felt a chill in his heart. This meant that at least 70%, or even more, of the troops would be left behind to become...sacrificial pawns, used to block the Ming army and cover their escape.

Behind these cold numbers are tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of lives, the Eight Banners descendants and bondservants who followed them all the way from Liaodong to here...

But he quickly suppressed this inappropriate pity. In this life-or-death situation, he couldn't worry about such things. Taking away the core elite forces, preserving the Aisin Gioro bloodline and the last glimmer of hope for a comeback, was the most important thing.

"enough."

Dorgon gritted his teeth.

"Fifty thousand elite troops are enough to establish a foothold in the Rakshasa Kingdom. Second brother, this matter is top secret. No one other than you and me should know the details. Ships, sailors, provisions, and guides must be the most reliable. Prepare them in batches and do not arouse suspicion."

Daishan nodded, looking into Dorgon's eyes—a glint of despair, madness, and the last vestige of ambition—and suddenly asked:
"Will things really get better once we get to Rakshasa? I've heard that place is ten times colder and more harsh than Liaodong."

A fierce glint flashed in Dorgon's eyes, as if he were bolstering his own courage:

"Rakshasa is bitterly cold, but its territory is vast and boundless, far beyond the reach of the Ming Dynasty. I've heard that their firearms are not as sharp as the flintlock muskets we have. As long as we can gain a foothold and gather our followers, we might just be able to carve out a new world! At that time, with the emperor far away, no matter how strong the Ming Dynasty is, what can it do to us?"

He walked to the rudimentary map, its edges worn from years of use, and pressed his finger hard against the vast blank area north of Korea marked "Rakshasa," as if trying to pierce through it:
"That's where our new beginning lies! Once we leave this damn North Korea, everything will be alright!"

Looking at his almost obsessive expression, Dai Shan said nothing more, only nodded silently.

However, he never voiced the lingering questions in his mind about Hauge, about Shengjing, and about past glory.

What's the point of asking?
Outside the tent, the cold wind of Seoul howled through the ruins, stirring up dust and ashes. Inside the tent, two desperate warlords, in the shadows, were plotting an escape route paved with the lives of the vast majority of their subordinates—a route so uncertain it was almost unreal.

Outside the tent, hunger, fear, and despair were growing wildly among the ordinary soldiers, like weeds growing under parched earth, waiting for a spark to ignite a raging inferno that would consume everything.

When people are alienated and disloyal, the great edifice will crumble.

The Ming army's slow advance was like stepping on dominoes on the verge of collapse. The final, devastating moment seemed not far off.

It was the end of April in the eighteenth year of the Chongzhen reign.

A month passed quietly amidst the mountains, rivers, and flames of war in Korea. For the Ming army, it was a month of steady progress and unstoppable advance; for the Korean people, it was a month of relief after hardship and renewed hope; but for the Jurchens, huddled in the ruins of Seoul, it was a month of deepening despair and utter collapse.

The Ming army's vanguard camp was located at the border of Pyongan Province and Gyeonggi Province in Joseon.

The camp was several times larger than it had been a month ago. The tents stretched as far as the eye could see, and in addition to the red flags that were unique to the Ming army, there were also some flags with slightly different designs, but which were also embroidered with the characters "Ming" or "Korean Expedition".

That was the camp of the newly reorganized Korean Righteous Army and its surrendered soldiers, who had been incorporated into the Ming army's combat order.

Zhu Cilang stood in front of the central command tent, looking at the soldiers bustling about in the camp, their accents varied but their morale high, a look of satisfaction on his face.

Generals such as Zu Dashou, Sun Chuanting, Cao Wenzhao, Abu Nai, Zheng Chenggong, Li Dingguo, and others stood by.

"Your Highness, in the past month, more than 20,000 young men from Korea have volunteered to serve and have been reorganized into ten 'righteous contingent battalions'."

Cao Wenzhao reported this.

"Although their combat strength and equipment were far inferior to our main force, they were familiar with the terrain, hated the Jurchens, and performed well as guides, auxiliary soldiers, mopping up defeated troops, and even engaging the enemy head-on on some secondary fronts. More importantly..."

He paused.

"Once this precedent was set, the eight provinces of Korea were shaken. People flocked to surrender, and remnants of the Korean government troops scattered by the Jurchens also came to join us, claiming that they were willing to be the vanguard of the 'heavenly army.' The hearts of the people have completely turned to our Great Ming."

Zhu Cilang nodded. Accepting Koreans into the Ming army, and even allowing them to fight under the Ming army's banner, was a decision he had made after careful consideration.

This is not just about replenishing troops, but also about sending a crystal-clear message to all North Koreans:

The Ming Dynasty was not only the "liberator" that came to expel the Jurchens, but also the "new master" who could accept them, give them a new identity, and a future. (End of Chapter)