Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

Wang Aoyong immediately stood up and echoed:

"What you say is absolutely right. The summer grain harvest has not yet been completed, and the Grand Canal has been looted by the remnants of Li Zicheng. Their army will surely only have enough grain for ten days."

"Although the enemy forces are numerous, they have come from afar and will surely take the initiative to attack."

He offered his advice with hands clasped in respect.

"Our army should rely on the city's defenses, close the city gates and not come out, and engage in a protracted stalemate with them until their strength is exhausted, at which point the enemy army will retreat on its own."

Before he could finish speaking, Turhong let out a contemptuous snort, making no attempt to hide the disdain on his face.

Bahana flicked the tassel of her braid behind her head, a slight smile playing on her lips:

"Your plan, though sound, overlooks three opportunities for attack—"

"Firstly, the young Ming prince has just sat on the dragon throne, and his yellow robe needs to be stained with the blood of the Eight Banners soldiers."

"For a wolf cub on the grassland to become the wolf king, doesn't it have to tear apart several alpha wolves first?"

"Secondly, the false emperor is young and impetuous. This greenhorn, who hasn't even grown up yet, dares to stick his neck out to us. Isn't he just going to deliver sacrificial offerings to the Imperial Ancestral Temple in Shengjing?"

"Thirdly, if my personal guards capture this false Ming emperor, the Southern Dynasty will be like a lame horse with a broken spine."

He suddenly grinned, revealing his stained yellow canine teeth.

"Repel the enemy? No—"

His five fingers suddenly tightened, slamming heavily onto the hardwood armrest.

"What I want is for that brat of the Zhu family to fall, banner and all, outside Pingyuan City!"

"Just as the old Khan of Sarhu crushed Yang Hao's four armies back then, today my Bordered White Banner and Wolf Banner will just as easily defeat this false emperor's personal expedition."

Fang Dayou clenched his teeth slightly, but still maintained a respectful bow.

"Gushan Ezhen walks with the stride of a tiger and the gait of a dragon, clearly confident of victory. However, wherever the emperor goes, there is always a hidden danger; we should adopt a strategy of seven parts defense and three parts offense."

He chose his words carefully.

"During the Ningyuan Campaign in the sixth year of the Tianqi reign, Yuan Chonghuan (Yuan Manzi) misused the emperor's ceremonial regalia to mislead the public."

"Yellow dragon flags and five-sided banners were planted all over the city walls to lure our army into attacking, while eleven Western cannons were secretly laid in ambush, resulting in..."

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed the words "slave chieftain" instead, changing his words to...

"...This led to the Khan's death from falling into a trap. If our army rashly attacks, we may fall into the many traps he has laid."

As he spoke, he lowered his back by half an inch.

"Gushan Ejen, the defeat at Ningyuan serves as a cautionary tale. We must be careful. For now, we should conserve our strength and wait for an opening. Only when the time and place are right can we launch a swift and decisive attack."

Fucha Turhong, the Jiala Zhangjing (commander) standing to the side, suddenly stood up.

He was as tall and strong as a door panel, with bulging muscles in his arms and veins on the back of his hands like the roots of an old tree.

"Ha ha--"

He grinned, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth, and his laughter was thunderous:

"The young master of the Zhu family is personally leading the army? Those barbarians from the south who can't even stand properly in stirrups are nothing more than beggar soldiers raised in a sheepfold."

He slammed his hand on his chest armor with a "bang."

"The blades of our Manchu bannermen have long thirsted for blood!"

"As soon as Gushan Ezhenjin issues the order, this servant will lead Bayala (the guards) to charge at him and cut down the false Ming emperor's brocade dragon banner to use as foot binding cloth."

As Fucha Turhong spoke, his right foot stomped on the floor tiles with a dull thud, making him look like a bear or tiger that couldn't be tethered.

"Erzhen! Give the order, and this time the Bayala will charge ahead and surely rip out the hearts and livers of the southern barbarians to sacrifice to the banner."

"What's the rush!"

Bahana abruptly rose from his seat, took a step to Turhun's side, and placed his hand heavily on Turhun's shoulder:

"Why would you be afraid of losing a fat sheep that's already in your mouth?"

Just then, a gust of wind blew into the hall, and the large white flag high up rustled in the wind.

Bahana said no more, his brows furrowed, and paced rapidly around the central sand table.

Sometimes he would gaze at the various command flags on the sand table, and sometimes he would look towards the drill ground outside the gate.

He was clearly hesitant!

The hall fell silent for a moment, with only the sound of banners fluttering and the suppressed breathing of the generals.

The generals held their breath and focused their attention, none daring to disturb Gushan Ezhen's contemplation.

Time slipped away slowly in this tense silence.

I don't know how much time passed, but suddenly—

Suddenly, the sound of rapid hoofbeats rang out outside the hall, approaching from afar before abruptly stopping.

Another scout rushed in, looking travel-worn.

"Bing'ezhen! The Ming puppet camp is backed by mountains and faces water, and its formation is enormous, with the dragon banner heavily guarded. However, there is little smoke from cooking fires, and the guards on the supply convoys are lax. It looks... strong on the outside but weak on the inside."

These words were like a spark falling into a pile of dry wood.

The doubt in Bahana's eyes was instantly replaced by a burning fighting spirit.

He gripped the military newspaper tightly and burst into laughter:

"Outwardly strong but inwardly weak... sparse smoke from cooking fires... Haha! Heaven is on my side!"

"The barbarians of the Southern Dynasty have dragged their baggage for a thousand miles, and now they are like lame deer, their legs trembling. This is the perfect opportunity to seize the moment and kill this scoundrel!"

Suddenly, he stopped and pressed his palm heavily on a corner of the sand table. This battle was inevitable sooner or later, so he made up his mind to fight it sooner rather than later.

He turned abruptly, his voice like the clash of iron and stone:

"Order to all Niru (the basic-level organizations of the Eight Banners): Men should wear gags in their mouths, horses should have their hooves wrapped, prepare food at the beginning of the day, and sneak out at midnight—"

He glanced at the generals below the hall.

"At the second quarter of the hour of Chou (1-3 AM), with Gabu Xixian's light cavalry as the vanguard, we will rush straight to the dog emperor's central command tent and capture the false master alive, who will be rewarded with a fifth-rank official hat."

"Which warrior cut down the dragon flag? I'll grant him three good careers."

All the generals simultaneously clapped their right hands onto their arrow sleeves, responding in unison:

"Yes, sir!"

Bahana stood in the hall, his back to the fluttering military flag.

The scout's new intelligence was like the final piece of the puzzle, giving him a glimpse into the enemy's weakness—outwardly strong but inwardly weak.

The unparalleled achievement of capturing the false emperor alive ultimately led to this high-reward tactical gamble.

The opportunity was fleeting, and he could not give Zhu Cilang a chance to catch his breath.

The fluttering of the flags sounded like the neighing of warhorses before a charge.

At this moment, a raging fire burned in his heart.

If the Ming emperor could be captured alive in this battle, what a glorious achievement that would be, enough to make him go down in history and enjoy endless glory and respect.

Such temptation was like a magnet to him, irresistible.

Bahanahu crushed a pebble on the blue brick with his foot, then turned and roared at his personal guard:

"Continue the investigation and report back!"

"Yes, sir!"

The guards responded and left.

......

The night was as dark as ink. Outside the camp, the Solon pole stood tall, piercing the sky filled with leaden clouds.

A freshly severed ram's head hung from the top of the pole, drops of blood falling and striking the drum surface with muffled "thump, thump".

The shaman, clad in a robe of eagle feathers, danced wildly amidst the fire shadows, his bone bells clanging erratically at his waist.

He scratched at the drumhead with his ten fingers, and a war song like a wolf's howl rolled from the bottom of his throat:

"Elewuchun—" (War spirit, come forth!)

"Deyanku, Deyanku!" (Kill! Kill!)

The drumbeats quickened, the campfire leaped, and the ram's head on the pole flickered in and out of focus, adding to the eeriness of the scene.

The shadows of the Eight Banners soldiers writhed on the military flag, resembling thousands of ghosts crawling out of the underworld...

Whenever the Eight Banners went to war, the shaman would dance wildly under the Solon pole, with bone bells and war songs intertwining to summon the ghostly war spirits.

Bahana stood before the meditation camp, watching this wild ceremony.

Amidst the resounding war drums, six thousand elite troops bearing the Bordered White Banner were ready.