A resurgence of the late Ming Dynasty, starting with a trillion-dollar clone.

On the 27th day of the twelfth lunar month of the fourteenth year of Chongzhen (1641), the sky was so gloomy that it looked like it was about to collapse.

The snow stopped at midnight, leaving the ground covered in a ghastly white.

Frost had formed on the walls of Majiazhai, and the breaths of the garrison soldiers condensed into white mist in the cold wind.

Three miles outside the village, Sun Kewang's two thousand soldiers were in formation.

These were Zhang Xianzhong's elite troops. Although they had suffered repeated setbacks, they still possessed a fierce and courageous spirit.

The two thousand men were divided into three formations: eight hundred infantrymen in the vanguard, one thousand spearmen and shieldmen in the center, and two hundred cavalrymen in reserve at the rear.

Sun Kewang rode a black horse, clad in iron armor, his face grim. This time he had learned his lesson; instead of charging rashly, he first sent scouts to scout the minefield—having learned his lesson yesterday, he was being extra cautious today.

"General, the minefields have been marked," the scout captain reported back. "They are mainly concentrated three to one li outside the east gate, buried shallowly, and can be triggered with a long pole."

"Then use long poles to clear the way!" Sun Kewang ordered. "Sappers, move forward and clear the minefield!"

A group of soldiers carrying long poles stepped forward and cautiously advanced into the minefield.

The long poles pierced the ground, triggering explosions from time to time. Several explosions caused injuries, but most of the landmines were defused.

On the stockade wall, Ma Changsheng watched this scene through binoculars, his brows furrowed slightly.

Sun Kewang was indeed not stupid; he quickly came up with a solution.

"Gunners, prepare," he ordered. "Operate on the engineers first once they are within range."

"Boom—Boom—"

Five small cannons fired simultaneously, and the shells landed among the engineers, causing chaos and casualties.

But Sun Kewang's soldiers were fierce and fearless, and more men followed to continue clearing the mines.

Half an hour later, a passage was cleared from the minefield.

The cost was over a hundred casualties.

"Attack!" Sun Kewang brandished his sword.

The vanguard of 800 infantrymen began their charge.

Carrying makeshift ladders and shouting battle cries, they charged towards the stockade wall.

Ma Changsheng calmly observed the distance: three hundred paces, two hundred paces, one hundred and fifty paces...

"Musketeers, prepare."

One hundred and fifty musketeers stood in three rows behind the crenellations of the stockade wall, and the muskets were loaded.

One hundred steps!

"First row—place it!"

"Bang bang bang—"

White smoke billowed, and the bandits at the forefront fell like wheat being harvested.

"Second row—place it!"

Another salvo.

"Third row—place it!"

The three-stage firing tactic ensured the continuity of firepower.

After three rounds of firing, a large number of bandits fell, and their momentum was halted.

But Sun Kewang's soldiers were indeed fierce and brave, and those behind them continued to charge, stepping over the corpses.

Soon, the first batch of siege ladders were erected on the village walls.

"Roll logs and boulders!" Coach Sun shouted.

The defenders pushed down logs and stones they had prepared beforehand, hurling them at the enemy climbing the wall. Screams of agony filled the air.

The battle reached its climax.

Seeing that his vanguard was stalled, Sun Kewang ordered his central army to press forward. A thousand spearmen and shieldmen joined the battle, and the pressure on the walls of the stockade increased dramatically.

Ma Changsheng personally directed operations from atop the wall.

He was short in stature, but had sharp eyes and could always spot the enemy's weaknesses.

"Tiezhu! Take men and guard the left flank; there are many siege ladders there!"

"Coach Sun! The right flank needs reinforcements!"

"Musketeers! Aim at the officer and fire!"

The commands were clear and the scheduling was orderly.

Although most of the defenders of Majiazhai were farmers, they had been trained for two years and worked together seamlessly. With the advantage of the fortified walls, they managed to withstand the fierce attack of two thousand men for a time.

But casualties also began to appear.

One of the village militiamen was shot in the eye by a stray arrow and fell down screaming; another was slashed in the shoulder by a bandit who had climbed the wall, and blood gushed out.

Aunt Chen led the medical team to treat the wounded under the wall. Screams echoed incessantly in the makeshift "field hospital".

The battle lasted for half an hour, and the area beneath the stockade walls was piled high with corpses, their blood staining the snow red.

Sun Kewang's soldiers suffered approximately 400 casualties, while Majiazhai also suffered nearly 100 casualties.

"General, we can't get through!" the lieutenant said anxiously.

Sun Kewang's eyes reddened: "I don't believe it! Personal guards, follow me!"

He personally led two hundred guards to join the battle.

With their commander-in-chief present, the bandits' morale soared, and their offensive intensified.

On the stockade wall, the pressure suddenly increased.

A section of the wall was breached, and a dozen or so bandits rushed up.

"Kick them down!" Ma Changsheng drew his sword and was about to step forward when he was stopped by Tiezhu.

"I'll take care of Changsheng!"

Tie Zhu led his men forward, amidst flashing swords and flying blood and flesh.

After finally managing to drive back the bandits who rushed up, Tie Zhu was also stabbed, and blood was streaming down his left arm.

"Brother Tiezhu!" Ma Changsheng exclaimed.

"It's nothing, just a superficial wound!" Tie Zhu gritted his teeth and tore off a strip of cloth to bandage the wound. "Chang Sheng, this won't do. We're outnumbered, we can't outlast them."

Ma Changsheng knew this, of course. He had already prepared a backup plan.

"Ignite it!" he ordered.

Inside the village wall, dozens of local militiamen lit a pile of firewood they had prepared beforehand and poured kerosene on it. Instantly, thick smoke billowed out.

"They're going to set it on fire?" Sun Kewang sneered from a distance. "Trying to use smoke? How naive!"

But what happened next stunned him.

The thick smoke didn't rise outwards, but upwards, forming a huge column of smoke above the stockade wall.

At the same time, deafening drumbeats resounded throughout the village.

"Thump thump thump—thump thump thump—"

The drumbeats were rapid, like a vast army gathering.

Sun Kewang's expression changed: "What are they up to?"

This was Ma Changsheng's feint.

The "reinforcements" from the newly surrendered villages within the stronghold, though not strong in combat, could be used to bolster morale.

At this moment, all one thousand men were fully armored, though many wore paper armor. They marched in formation within the stronghold, their battle cries shaking the heavens.

With the sound of drums and plumes of smoke, it looked from the outside as if thousands of elite troops were being mobilized inside the stronghold.

Sun Kewang's scouts reported: "General, there's a lot of smoke and dust rising in the camp, and the sound of drums is deafening. There might be an ambush!"

"An ambush?" Sun Kewang asked suspiciously. "Where did they get so many of them?"

But he didn't dare to gamble.

If there really is an ambush, and they attack from the flank, his two thousand men could be surrounded and wiped out.

"Cease the attack! The entire army retreats one mile and regroups!" Sun Kewang ordered.

The bandits retreated like the tide.

On the stockade wall, the garrison soldiers breathed a sigh of relief.

But Ma Changsheng knew that this was only temporary.

Sun Kewang isn't stupid; he'll see through it soon enough.

"Quickly! Repair the fortifications! Treat the wounded! Replenish ammunition!" he ordered repeatedly.

Busy activity began on the village wall.

Aunt Chen led the medical team to evacuate the wounded; the blacksmith's apprentice delivered newly made arrows; and women and children brought hot water and dry rations.

Ma Changsheng quickly redeployed his forces: he moved the heavily wounded troops to the second line and replaced them with reserves; he added wooden palisades to the weak points of the stockade walls; and he took out all the remaining gunpowder to prepare for the final battle.

Half an hour later, Sun Kewang indeed saw through the feint.

"Damn it! We've been tricked!" he roared. "That smoke was deliberately set off! The drumming was just a bluff! Keep attacking! We must take Ma Family Village today!"

The bandits launched another attack.

This time it was even more intense; Sun Kewang committed his last two hundred cavalrymen as well.

Cavalry was the heavy hammer of the cold weapon era. Two hundred cavalrymen charging made the earth shake.

Ma Changsheng was well prepared.

"Hooked spearmen, advance!" he ordered.

One hundred local militiamen, armed with long hook-and-sickle spears, stood at the breach in the stockade wall—a gap left on purpose to lure the cavalry into charging.

The hook-and-sickle spear was a weapon designed by Ma Changsheng specifically to deal with cavalry: it was ten feet long and had a curved hook at the front end, which could hook the horse's leg.

The cavalry charged in, their momentum fierce.

However, upon entering the gap, they found the road narrow and flanked by high walls, causing them to slow down immediately.

"Hook!" Instructor Sun shouted.

The hook-and-sickle spears extended from both sides, specifically designed to hook the horses' legs. The warhorses neighed and fell to the ground. The cavalrymen who fell were hacked to death before they could even get up.

However, the momentum of the cavalry charge was too great, and several dozen riders still broke through the defense line and stormed into the camp.

"Stop them!" Ma Changsheng ordered urgently.

Street fighting began within the village. The layout of the houses in Majia Village was deliberately designed: the streets were narrow and winding, with obstacles everywhere.

The cavalry couldn't maneuver effectively in the alleyways and became easy targets.

The local militia attacked from rooftops, windows, and alleyways with bows and arrows, muskets, and even stones.

The charging cavalry were quickly wiped out.

However, this wave of attacks also caused considerable casualties within the village.

To make matters worse, the gate of the stockade was cracked by the cavalry's impact.

"The village gate is about to fall!" shouted the village militia guarding the gate.

Ma Changsheng's heart sank. If the gates of the stronghold were breached, the enemy could advance unimpeded.

He gritted his teeth and made a difficult decision.

"Light the beacon fires!" Ma Changsheng ordered.

On the highest watchtower in the village, three beacon fires were lit simultaneously, and black smoke rose straight up.

This is a signal.

Five miles outside the stockade, in a secluded valley, two hundred cavalrymen were fully prepared for battle.

The team was led by Song craftsman—this old craftsman not only knew how to make firearms, but also served as a cavalryman in his youth.

Upon seeing the beacon fire, the Song craftsman mounted his horse: "Brothers! The chieftain has ordered! Attack!"

Two hundred cavalrymen charged out of the valley, not towards Sun Kewang's main force, but around to the rear, heading straight for Sun Kewang's camp.

This was Ma Changsheng's last resort: to relieve the siege of Wei by attacking Zhao.

Sun Kewang's camp was left with only the elderly, the weak, the sick, the disabled, and a small number of garrison soldiers.

Two hundred cavalrymen suddenly attacked, as if they were in an empty field.

They set fire to tents, stole food supplies, and killed those who remained behind.

The news quickly reached the front lines.

"What? The main camp has been attacked?" Sun Kewang's expression changed drastically. "How many people?"

"About two hundred cavalrymen!"

Sun Kewang was both shocked and furious.

His supplies and wounded soldiers were in the camp.

If it gets burned, the battle can't be fought.

"Withdraw! Go back to rescue the main camp!" he ordered through gritted teeth.

But on the battlefield, retreat is never easy.

The attacking troops were engaged in fierce fighting when they suddenly retreated, which turned into a rout.

Ma Changsheng seized the opportunity: "Open the gate! Give chase!"

The gates of the stronghold swung open, and the Ma family stronghold's last fifty cavalrymen and all the infantrymen who could run fast charged out to pursue the retreating bandits.

Sun Kewang's troops were in complete chaos.

The front ranks wanted to retreat, but the rear ranks were still attacking; the retreat turned into a rout, with everyone trampling each other.

Standing on the stockade wall, Ma Changsheng watched this scene and knew he had won.

But he felt no joy, only exhaustion.

Majiazhai won this battle, but at a heavy cost.

Preliminary statistics show that 237 people died and more than 400 were injured.

The stockade wall was damaged in many places, and ammunition was almost exhausted.

Although Sun Kewang was defeated, his main force still remained.

He will come back.

On the 28th day of the twelfth lunar month, snow began to fall again, covering the bloodstains on the battlefield.

A solemn atmosphere prevailed within Majiazhai.

Two hundred and thirty-seven corpses covered with white cloth were laid out in the open space in front of the ancestral hall.

The entire village gathered to bid farewell to the deceased.

Ma Changsheng stood at the front, his voice hoarse: "These brothers died protecting the village. Some were fathers, some were sons, some were husbands. From today onward, their families are the family of the entire village. The elderly will be cared for by the village; the children will be educated by the village; the wives and daughters will be protected by the village. I, Ma Changsheng, hereby swear: as long as I live, I will never allow the families of my fallen brothers to suffer any injustice!"

He picked up a bowl of wine and poured it on the ground: "Brothers, farewell. In the next life, let's be brothers again."

People followed suit, tears streaming down their faces.

After the funeral, Ma Chang fell ill.

After several days of intense command and witnessing so many deaths, the twelve-year-old's body finally gave out.

He had a high fever, was delirious, and dreamt of the horrors of the battlefield.

Li stayed by the bedside, taking care of him day and night.

Aunt Chen and Yu Zhenzi's disciple took turns treating her.

"The chieftain is exhausted, and has caught a cold," the medical staff member diagnosed. "He needs to rest and cannot be overexerted."

But Ma Changsheng couldn't calm down.

Even in his unconscious state, he was still shouting: "Hold the left flank... Musketeers, load... Iron Pillar, watch out..."

Tie Zhu sat on the edge of the bed, his tough-guy eyes reddening: "Chang Sheng, you're only twelve years old... You should be at the age of studying and playing..."

Ma Sanbao squatted at the door, puffing on his pipe. Overnight, half of his hair had turned white.

Three days later, Ma Changsheng woke up.

The fever subsided, but she had lost weight and her eyes were sunken.

"The chieftain has woken up!" The news spread, and everyone in the village breathed a sigh of relief.

Leaning against the bed, Ma Changsheng's first question was: "Have the casualty statistics been released? Have the compensation arrangements been made? Has the stockade wall been repaired?"

Chen Jiru reported in detail: "Two hundred and thirty-seven people were killed in battle, and four hundred and fifteen were wounded, including one hundred and twenty seriously wounded. Compensation was distributed according to standards: the families of the dead received a one-time compensation of ten shi of grain and ten taels of silver; the wounded received compensation according to the severity of their injuries. The stockade wall is under repair; the Song craftsmen have improved the design, making it more sturdy than before."

Ma Changsheng nodded and then asked, "What about Sun Kewang?"

"They've retreated fifty miles and are resting. The scouts say they've suffered about eight hundred casualties, a severe blow, and they probably won't be coming back anytime soon."

"In the short term..." Ma Changsheng smiled bitterly, "that means it will come sooner or later."

He struggled to get out of bed, but Li Shi held him down, saying, "Chang Sheng, rest a little longer!"

"Mother, I'm fine," Ma Changsheng said. "There's still a lot to do."

He insisted on holding a post-war debriefing meeting.

At the meeting, he first gave a self-criticism:

"Although we won this battle, it exposed many problems. First, insufficient troop strength; second, equipment gap; third, simplistic tactics; and fourth, weak logistics."

He proposed an improvement plan:

First, expand the force to two thousand men and strengthen training, especially for new recruits.

Second, increase the proportion of firearms, with 300 muskets and 10 cannons.

Third, develop new weapons, especially those for dealing with cavalry.

Fourth, establish a more comprehensive supply system, including secret grain depots, armories, and medical stations.

"And there's one more crucial point," Ma Changsheng said, looking around at everyone. "We can't always be on the defensive. Sun Kewang may have lost this time, but Zhang Xianzhong, Zuo Liangyu, and even the imperial court could become enemies. We need a broader strategic vision."

"What kind of field of vision?" Coach Sun asked.

Ma Changsheng walked to the map and pointed to the vast land of Huguang: "Qishui is too small. We should use Qishui as a base to expand outwards. Not by force, but by alliance—unite all the villages and militias willing to defend themselves to form a larger defense network."

He drew a circle: "The first step is to control the three counties of Qishui, Huangmei, and Guangji; the second step is to influence the entire Huangzhou Prefecture; the third step... is to observe the situation across the country."

The plan was ambitious, but everyone who listened to it thought it was feasible.

Because Ma Changsheng has proven with facts that he can not only talk the talk, but also walk the walk, and he can succeed.

"But expansion takes time and strength," Chen Jiru said. "We've just finished a battle and need to rest and recuperate."

"Yes, so the next six months will be mainly for recuperation and recovery," Ma Changsheng said. "We need to focus on spring planting, improve people's livelihoods, and consolidate our internal strength. Once we've recovered, we can then plan for further development."

After the meeting, Ma Changsheng went to see the wounded and inspected the repair work on the village wall before returning to his house in the evening.

Madam Li brought over chicken soup: "Chang Sheng, drink it while it's hot."

Ma Changsheng took it and suddenly asked, "Mother, do you think I did the right thing? So many people died..."

Madam Li patted his head: "Changsheng, I don't understand grand principles. But I know that without you, it wouldn't have been just over two hundred people who died, it would have been two thousand, twenty thousand. You saved so many people."

These simple words warmed Ma Changsheng's heart.

Yes, in chaotic times, who can avoid sacrifice? The important thing is whether the sacrifice is worthwhile.

As he gazed at the twilight outside the window, his resolve gradually hardened.

He will continue down this path.

For the living, and for the dead.

In the first month of the fifteenth year of Chongzhen (1642), Majiazhai welcomed the New Year amidst grief.

The village was not as lively as in previous years, but the village chief ordered that each person be given half a pound of meat and a pound of rice so that the children could at least have a full meal.

On the third day of the Lunar New Year, an unexpected guest arrived outside the village: Huang Zongxi.

He didn't come alone; he brought with him a dozen or so young men dressed as scholars, and several carts full of books.

"Brother Changsheng, how have you been?" Huang Zongxi looked travel-worn, but his eyes were bright.

Ma Changsheng was both surprised and delighted: "Brother Huang! What brings you here?"

"I heard you fought a tough battle here, so I came to see you," Huang Zongxi said. "These are my students, and some like-minded friends. We brought some books that might be useful to you."

A book! Ma Changsheng's eyes lit up.

In times of chaos, books are more precious than gold.

He invited Huang Zongxi and his party into the village and hosted a banquet in their honor.

During the meeting, Huang Zongxi discussed the external situation:

Li Zicheng broke through Kaifeng, killed the governor, and his power was at its zenith.

Zhang Xianzhong and Zuo Liangyu were locked in a stalemate around Jiujiang, with no clear victor.

The Qing army entered the pass for the fifth time, plundering Shandong, and the imperial court was powerless to resist.

The scholars and officials of Jiangnan were either living in a drunken stupor or engaging in empty talk that harmed the country; very few of them actually did anything.

"That's why I came to find you." Huang Zongxi looked at Ma Changsheng. "Brother Changsheng, your Ma Family Village has given me hope. In chaotic times, relying on ourselves, without depending on the imperial court or bandits, to protect the peace of our region—that is the true way to save the world."

Ma Changsheng said modestly, "Brother Huang, you flatter me. I was just protecting myself."

"Self-preservation is salvation," Huang Zongxi said earnestly. "In today's world, how many people can truly protect themselves? And those who can not only protect themselves but also save others, teach, and spread the Way, like you, are extremely rare."

He paused for a moment, then said, "I came here this time because I want to stay in Majiazhai and work with you. These students are also willing to stay. We scholars can't just talk the talk; we have to walk the walk."

Ma Changsheng was overjoyed.

Huang Zongxi was a great Confucian scholar of his time, with profound knowledge and enlightened thinking.

With his involvement, the cultural development of Majiazhai will be greatly enhanced.

"Brother Huang's willingness to accept this is a blessing for Majiazhai!" he said solemnly.

From that day on, Huang Zongxi became the "educational administrator" of Majiazhai, responsible for education, documents, and even participating in decision-making.

His students are scattered in various positions: some teach, some keep accounts, and some study agricultural policy and water conservancy.

Majiazhai, this small mountain village in a chaotic world, began to develop a cultural foundation.

In February, the ice and snow melt, and spring plowing begins.

Despite not being fully recovered, Ma Changsheng personally went to the fields.

He held the plow while Huang Zongxi sowed the seeds; the two worked together seamlessly.

"Brother Huang, do you know what this is?" Ma Changsheng asked, pointing to the crops in the field.

"Sweet potatoes? Corn? And... what are those?"

"Potatoes, peanuts, tomatoes," Ma Changsheng said, "they all came from the south or even overseas. They are drought-resistant, high-yielding, and can save many lives."

Huang Zongxi exclaimed, "Brother Changsheng is truly a genius. He not only understands military affairs and politics, but also agriculture."

"In chaotic times, you have to know a little bit about everything," Ma Changsheng said, "because anything can save your life."

During the spring planting season, Ma Changsheng implemented a new policy: land reform.

It wasn't about equal land distribution—that was too radical and likely to cause a backlash. Instead, it was about "tenant system reform."

All land within the village, regardless of its original owner, will be managed by the village; tenant farmers' rent payments will be reduced from 50% to 30%; and those who reclaim wasteland will be exempt from taxes for the first three years.

At the same time, a "farmers' association" was established, with representatives elected by tenant farmers to supervise the implementation of the tenancy agreement and mediate disputes.

These measures have greatly stimulated production enthusiasm.

Spring planting is progressing smoothly, and by March all the fields were planted.

Life in the village also got back on track: the night school expanded, teaching not only literacy but also arithmetic, agricultural techniques, and medicine; the medical camp trained more apprentices, and every village had a "barefoot doctor"; the craft camp developed new agricultural tools, which improved efficiency.

Majiazhai, like a wounded but tenacious wild beast, rose again after licking its wounds.

However, the peace is always short-lived.

In mid-March, scouts brought back news that Zhang Xianzhong and Zuo Liangyu had reached a "ceasefire agreement" in Jiujiang, dividing the country along the Yangtze River. Zhang Xianzhong would control the area north of the river, while Zuo Liangyu would control the area south of the river.

"A ceasefire?" Ma Changsheng frowned. "What about Sun Kewang..."

"Sun Kewang has been transferred back to Xiangyang, and Zhang Xianzhong has sent General Bai Wenxuan to take over the military affairs of Huangzhou Prefecture," the scout said. "Bai Wenxuan is reorganizing his troops, and it is said that... he is coming to 'inspect' various places."

The inspection was a pretense; the real purpose was to recruit them.

To consolidate his rule north of the Yangtze River, Zhang Xianzhong needed to either incorporate or annihilate local armed forces like those in Majiazhai.

"Bai Wenxuan... what do you think of him?" Ma Changsheng asked.

Instructor Sun replied, "I've heard of him. He was originally a border general of the Ming Dynasty, but later surrendered to Zhang Xianzhong. He is cautious, skilled in warfare, and even more difficult to deal with than Sun Kewang."

Ma Changsheng pondered.

They just finished dealing with Sun Kewang, and now Bai Wenxuan is here.

Majiazhai needs time to recover; it can no longer afford to fight tough battles.

"Prepare for negotiations," he said. "But this time, we can't be as perfunctory as we were with Sun Kewang. Bai Wenxuan is a smart man; we can't fool him."

He had Huang Zongxi draft a document to "submit" to Zhang Xianzhong as a "successful candidate in the imperial examination" of the Ming Dynasty, but demanded "autonomy"—nominally belonging to the Great Western regime, but actually maintaining independence.

At the same time, generous gifts were prepared: 500 shi of grain, 500 taels of silver, and 50 warhorses.

This is a major hemorrhage, but it's worth it to buy time.

Documents and gifts were sent by messengers.

Ma Changsheng intensified preparations for war: he continued to expand the army, strengthen defenses, and stockpile supplies.

He knew that peace was temporary, while war was eternal.

In this chaotic world, only strength can buy you a chance to breathe.

In April, Bai Wenxuan's messenger arrived.

Negotiations begin.

A new game, a new test.

Ma Changsheng stood on the village wall, gazing into the distance.

He was only thirteen years old, but his eyes already looked like those of an old man who had experienced many hardships.