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

Fear is the first driving force.

The Jurchen regime has vanished into thin air. If we continue to keep this hairstyle, a hallmark of the "false dynasty," wouldn't the Ming government see it as "not forgetting the former master" and "harboring treacherous intentions"? What if the court investigates one day? Wouldn't that be courting death?

The practical inconveniences and discrimination are the second, and more direct, driving force.

Nobody wants to be treated as an outsider, interrogated, overcharged, or isolated all the time.

And so, quietly, the change began.

First, the bolder ones secretly cut off their braids and shaved their heads short. Then, relatives and neighbors helped each other, and soon, one "money rat tail" after another was discarded and burned in the stove or casually thrown into the garbage dump.

The new short haircut may still be unattractive, but walking down the street, the unsettling stares are definitely less frequent, the questioning upon entering the city is simpler, and the prices of things are gradually becoming "normal." Although subtle differences in accent and lifestyle between them and the local Han Chinese can still be seen, at least in appearance, that most striking and glaring "boundary" is rapidly blurring and disappearing.

All of this is certainly not a coincidence.

Shenyang, Imperial Palace, Imperial Study.

Emperor Chongzhen put down a secret report in his hand, a satisfied look on his face.

The secret report came from the Liaodong Garrison of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, providing a detailed account of the progress of the "cutting off queues" movement across various regions, as well as the public's reaction to the new hairstyle, the promotion of potatoes and sweet potatoes, and the "five-year tax exemption" policy.

"Your Majesty, His Highness the Crown Prince's plan is subtle and ingenious."

The accompanying scholar standing to the side praised softly.

"If we were to forcibly order the shaving of heads, it might provoke resistance from the various ethnic groups that have submitted, or even cause unrest. Now, by guiding them with benefits and forcing them with power, we can make them choose for themselves. This will be a natural outcome, and the potential dangers will be eliminated. Furthermore, with the promotion of potatoes and sweet potatoes and the implementation of tax exemptions, the people will benefit and naturally be loyal to the court. The people of Liaodong will gradually gain their support, and the foundation will be solidified."

Emperor Chongzhen nodded, his gaze piercing through the window to the vast, revitalized land beyond the palace. He recalled his son Zhu Cilang's analysis in a secret letter:

"Governing a large country is like cooking a small fish. Liaodong has just been recovered, and people's hearts are not yet settled. Forcing them to change their ways will not bring happiness. Hairstyles and clothing are merely superficial. The long-term solution is to guide them with economic means and force them with real benefits and interests, so that they will consciously abandon their old customs. Once they eat our food, abide by our laws, and become accustomed to our customs, after several generations, who will remember what the Jurchens were?"

“Lang’er’s thoughts and considerations are indeed deeper and more far-reaching than mine.”

Emperor Chongzhen was filled with emotion.

This son not only swept through armies on the battlefield, but also became increasingly adept and skillful in governing the country and winning people's hearts, showing signs of becoming an emperor.

"Your Majesty, the Ministry of Personnel has submitted a report that the list and performance evaluation of a new batch of officials to be sent to Liaodong, and even those to be sent to Korea, have been preliminarily drafted. Please review it, Your Majesty."

Another official presented a thick booklet.

Emperor Chongzhen took it and began to read it.

The booklet was densely filled with information such as names, places of origin, academic achievements, previous positions, and proposed new positions. Many names were also marked with words such as "successful candidate in the imperial examination" or "candidate for post."

Liaodong is a vast area, and the territory of North Korea that is about to be incorporated is even larger.

To effectively govern, restore order, and promote imperial rule, a large number of officials are needed.

The few remaining local officials in Liaodong and the surrendered Jurchen officials were far from enough.

The imperial court had no choice but to transfer a large number of experienced officials from within the Great Wall, especially from Beizhili, Shandong, and Henan, to the north.

Even many "veteran scholars" who had passed the imperial examinations but had been waiting for their places for many years due to limited quotas were promoted exceptionally and given real positions such as county magistrate, county assistant, and registrar, and sent to Liaodong and Korea, these "newly opened lands," to serve.

For them, this is both a challenge and a rare opportunity for promotion.

"Yes, you shall review this again, ensuring fairness, and select the most capable and virtuous for the post. Proclaim to all officials that this is a momentous mission of expanding territory and spreading the king's rule. You must be compassionate towards the people's hardships, diligent in your duties, and live up to my expectations. Anyone who is greedy, cruel, or derelict in their duties, or incites a popular uprising, will be severely punished without exception!"

Emperor Chongzhen closed the book and gave his orders in a deep voice.

"The minister obeys the order."

Orders were issued one after another, and the empire's administrative machinery operated efficiently, steadfastly extending its tentacles of rule to every inch of Liaodong, and preparing to continue its reach to the peninsula across the Yalu River, where the flames of war had just been quelled.

On the black soil, new seedlings sprout green, representing hope for survival. In towns and villages, the subtle changes in hairstyles foreshadow the integration of shared identity.

The officials who went north to take up their posts carried the mission of truly integrating this land into the Ming Dynasty's order and reshaping its cultural and political lineage.

Early summer in Liaodong is warm and bright. The wounds of war are slowly healing, and a new vitality belonging to the Ming Dynasty is tenaciously and irresistibly emerging on this land that has endured so much hardship.

In the early part of June of the eighteenth year of the Chongzhen reign (1644).

In early summer in Liaodong, the sky is a clear, almost transparent blue, as if washed by water, with a few wisps of thin clouds drifting lazily by.

The sun was already quite warm, generously shining on the dark, oily earth, making the patches of new green between the fields look vibrant and full of life.

The poplar and willow trees lining both sides of the official road are lush with branches and leaves, making a soft "rustling" sound in the warm breeze, casting large areas of pleasant shade.

On the ridges of fields beside the official road in western Shenyang.

Several elderly farmers were resting under a large willow tree.

They had just finished their morning work—weeding and mounding soil around the potato seedlings and sweet potato vines in the field.

Sweat soaked through his patched, coarse cloth jacket, leaving dark stains on his back. The air was filled with the smell of earth, grass, and sweat—the smell of labor.

An old man with a wrinkled face and dark skin unscrewed the gourd-shaped water bottle he carried with him, tilted his head back, and gulped down several mouthfuls of cold water. Then, he wiped his mouth with the back of his rough hand, squinted at the lush green potato seedlings in his field not far away, smacked his lips, and slowly began to speak:

"Hey guys, tell me... are these potatoes really as miraculous as the emperors and officials say? Three thousand catties per mu? I've farmed all my life, and in the best years, wheat only yields a little over two shi per mu, and that's only on fertile, well-seasoned land with good weather. This stuff... it sounds like a dream."

A slightly younger old man with a missing front tooth next to him chuckled, picked up a twig, picked at his teeth, and said:
“Brother Wang, what are you saying? At first, I didn’t believe it either! But think about it, who said that? It was the Emperor! His Majesty’s words are law, would he fool us common folk? Besides, didn’t you hear what those merchants and soldiers from the south said when you came to the city? People in Shandong and Henan started planting them years ago, and they easily get two or three thousand catties per mu! Their sweet potatoes are even more amazing, you can even eat the vines!”

"That's it."

Another gaunt old man chimed in, a simple smile on his face.

"The Emperor not only said it, but also personally guaranteed it for us, exempting us from taxes for five years! Even if we don't get three thousand catties of potatoes, let's cut it in half, say fifteen hundred catties. Add to that the sorghum and beans we already had, and it'll be enough for the whole family to eat. At least... this winter, we won't have to gnaw on tree bark or dig up grass roots anymore, watching our children cry from hunger." The old men's expressions dimmed for a moment as they recalled the past.

The old man with the missing tooth sighed:

"Ah, that's right. Back when the Jurchens were in power, those days... if a family could keep half of the grain they grew, they were lucky! Any man in the family with even a little bit of men would be conscripted to become bondservants and go to the front lines. Out of ten who went, two or three would be lucky to come back. Unlike now..."

Old Wang nodded, a sigh appearing in his cloudy eyes:

"The Ming Dynasty has arrived, that's wonderful. Last winter, if it weren't for the government setting up soup kitchens in the city and later distributing thirty catties of life-saving grain per person, it's hard to say whether my old bones and my family could have survived. At least there's something to look forward to now."

Several old men chatted amongst themselves, reminiscing about their current peaceful lives and lamenting the hardships of the past. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on their weathered faces. Though still poor, the deep-seated fear and despair seemed to be gradually diluted and replaced as the unfamiliar crops in the fields grew.

Just as they were chatting idly, a series of rapid and rhythmic hoofbeats suddenly came from the end of the official road, growing louder as they approached, like a dense drumbeat, shattering the afternoon tranquility.

The crowd looked in the direction of the sound and saw a group of about seven or eight riders galloping along the official road from south to north at breakneck speed! The horses' hooves flew, raising a long trail of yellow dust.

The lead rider was a knight in full armor, with three red feathers on his back, his expression solemn and his back ramrod straight.

The knights following behind him were all skilled and capable, with water bags and food sacks hanging beside their saddles, clearly indicating that they were preparing for a long journey.

It's a messenger!
Moreover, he was a messenger delivering urgent military intelligence via the "800-li express courier"! The red feathers on his back were particularly eye-catching in the sunlight.

Messenger teams of this caliber typically kept their eyes straight ahead and focused solely on their journey on official roads.

However, whether it was because he saw the group of old farmers resting under the willow tree, or because he was too excited to contain himself and wanted to share this earth-shattering good news with everyone, the lead messenger, when he was still dozens of steps away from the willow tree, suddenly took a deep breath and, with his voice, which was a little hoarse from shouting for a long time but was still incredibly loud, roared towards the direction of the field ridge:
"Breaking news! Urgent dispatch from 800 li away—!!"

"The Ming army has achieved a great victory! A resounding triumph in Korea! Over 130,000 Jurchens were killed in battle, and 30,000 were captured! The main force of the Jurchens has been completely annihilated!!"

"The false Qing emperor, Fulin, has been captured alive!!"

"Long live the Ming Dynasty! Long live His Majesty! Long live His Highness the Crown Prince!!!"

The roar, like thunder, rolled across the fields and clearly reached the ears of every old farmer.

The messenger team did not slow down at all. Before their shouts had even faded, they had already swept past the willow trees like a whirlwind, leaving behind only a cloud of dust and the lingering, earth-shattering sound of the victory report, which echoed and reverberated in the vast sky and earth.

Under the willow tree, there was a deathly silence.

The old men stood frozen in place, as if struck by lightning, mouths agape, eyes wide, forgetting to put down the water jugs and straws they were holding. Their expressions were frozen in disbelief and shock. Only their hearts pounded wildly in their chests, like drums beating.

"Just...just now..."

The old man with the missing tooth was the first to react; his lips trembled and his voice shook.

"What did that soldier shout? I'm hard of hearing, I didn't hear it very clearly..."

He said…

Old Wang slowly turned his head, looked at his companion, his eyes wide open, and his voice trembled.

"He said... the Ming army... wiped out the Jurchens in Korea! They killed over 130,000 and captured 30,000! They even... even captured the Jurchen emperor!"

"All...all wiped out? The emperor has been captured?"

The gaunt old man muttered to himself, then suddenly slapped his thigh.

With a loud "Awooo!" he jumped up, his gaunt face instantly turning bright red.

"Really?! The Jurchens are completely wiped out?! They'll never come back?!"

"Yes! It's true! I heard it too! 'Total annihilation!' 'Capture of the false emperor alive!'"

Another old man also stood up excitedly, waving his hands helplessly.

"God! God has opened his eyes! Those damned beasts have finally gotten their comeuppance! They're all dead! Hahaha!"

"Waaaaah..."

The old man with the missing tooth suddenly squatted down, covered his face with his rough hands, and his shoulders heaved violently, emitting a suppressed whimper like that of a wounded beast. Yet, within that whimper, there was clearly an indescribable sense of relief and ecstasy.

"It's over... They're finished... They'll never come back... We don't have to be afraid anymore... We don't have to be afraid of being dragged out and beheaded in the middle of the night... We don't have to be afraid of our food being looted... The children can grow up safely now... Waaah..."

Old Wang was also overcome with tears. He looked up at the azure sky, letting the tears stream down his deep wrinkles, repeatedly muttering:

"Good...good...it's good to destroy it...it's good to destroy it..."

A tremendous, belated sense of security, like a warm tide, finally overwhelmed these elderly people who had lived under the shadow of fear for decades.

The fear of the Jurchens' return, which had once tormented them day and night like a leech, vanished at this moment with the roars of victory, transforming into the purest and most intense joy and liberation.

They laughed and cried, patting each other on the shoulder, talking incoherently, as if they were venting all the fear and humiliation that had been building up for a lifetime in the fields.

About half an hour later, the dusty messenger team, carrying the dust and clamor of their journey, finally shot into the heart of Liaodong—Shenyang City—like a blazing arrow.

"Breaking news! Urgent dispatch from 800 li away—!!"

"The Ming army achieved a great victory in Korea! They killed 130,000 Jurchens in battle and captured 30,000! The main force of the Jurchens was annihilated! The false emperor Fulin was captured alive!"

"Long live the Ming Dynasty! Long live His Majesty!!!"

Upon entering the city, the leading messenger shouted at the top of his lungs.

The knights behind him also repeated this earth-shattering news to the stunned pedestrians, merchants, and soldiers on both sides of the street in Chinese, Mongolian, and even some simple Manchu words.

At first, there was a deathly silence, as if the entire city of Shenyang had been silenced by this overwhelming news. (End of Chapter)