Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

The veteran Wang Tietou held a long spear, its tip like a dragon emerging from the water, thrusting straight at the wooden stake. With a slight tremor of the spear shaft, the stake cracked instantly.

He holstered his gun and stood still, saying coldly:

"Sharpshooting requires speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness; a single thrust must hit its mark, allowing no hesitation whatsoever!"

A young soldier next to him tried to thrust out in the same manner, but the tip of his spear was off by half an inch and failed to hit the center of the wooden stake.

Wang Tie stepped forward and kicked him in the back of his knee, where there was an old injury, shouting:

"Waist and stance as one, spear thrusts like a dragon! Again!"

The soldier instinctively clutched the back of his knee and muttered a complaint:

"pain!"

Wang Tietou sneered, his voice cold and hard:

"pain?"

"I was buried alive by the snow in Liaodong! If my comrades hadn't risked their lives to dig through the snowdrifts, I would have been a corpse in an ice cave long ago!"

He slammed the barrel of his gun into the ground, kicking up three feet of dust.

"Back then, even breathing felt like a knife cutting my throat! Your little pain is nothing!"

"Sizzle—!"

He ripped open his shirt, revealing a long scar.

"The Tartar's scimitar was stuck right between my ribs!"

"If you're going to join the army, risk your life. If you're going to be a pampered soldier—get out of the camp right now!"

The soldier turned pale from the scolding, but he gritted his teeth, a fierce determination to never give up showing in his eyes.

He took a deep breath and readjusted his stance.

With the spear in hand, the tip trembled slightly, but it was much more stable than before.

He let out a low growl, and the tip of his spear shot out like a meteor, this time striking the center of the wooden stake.

"Thump—"

Zhu Cilang's sword sheath struck the platform for the second time.

The commands from the drums and gongs in the arena suddenly changed!

The originally dense square formation seemed to be manipulated by an invisible hand, rapidly disintegrating and reforming.

Amidst the rising dust, dozens of small circular formations, each about three zhang in diameter, suddenly took shape.

In an instant, dozens of steel hedgehogs seemed to rise out of thin air on the training ground.

The outer ring consisted of shields covered with raw cowhide and edged with iron, tightly connected, layer upon layer, forming a sturdy barrier.

From the gap, a spear with a shaft over ten feet long pierced out diagonally.

—This is close-range defense.

Inside the protective circle formed by shields and long poles, the musketeers were in position.

The dark muzzle of the gun peeked out from the gap, pointing towards the pre-set "enemy cavalry" outside the formation.

—This is a long-range defense.

"This...this is a tortoise shell formation?"

In the audience, a nobleman cried out in a low voice, and was immediately tugged at by the person next to him.

Zhao Zhilong's triple chin trembled uncontrollably, and he whispered to Zhu Guobi:

"Duke Baoguo...this approach...is unorthodox! It's unlike anything we in the Ming Dynasty have ever done!"

Zhu Guobi's pupils contracted slightly, as he was about to speak of destiny again—

"boom!!!"

All the shields in the arena suddenly slammed to the ground at the same time, producing a deep, thunderous thud.

The brocade curtains on the viewing platform were whipped about wildly by the gust of air.

This sudden surge of power instantly shattered all the whispers and murmurs among the guests.

Zhao Zhilong was so shocked that he staggered, and the words he was about to say were stuck in his throat.

This formation was created by Zhu Cilang with painstaking effort and was named the "Subjugation Formation," with a very clear purpose—

It was designed specifically to counter and defeat the iron cavalry of the Jurchens.

From then on, Zhu Cilang devoted himself entirely to the training of the Beijing Garrison.

Rain or shine, every morning he would don his armor, mount his horse, and personally go to the military camp to instruct the soldiers in their drills.

On the training ground, the soldiers of the Five Armies Battalion, the Three Thousand Battalion, and the Divine Machine Battalion advanced and retreated in unison under the thunderous command of drums and gongs, their formations shifting with a chilling aura of killing intent.

Zhu Cilang's eyes were piercing, and his hoarse roar repeatedly emphasized the same ironclad rule:

"Even if it is torn open and bleeds, its core will not crumble!"

"If this formation succeeds, it will become the backbone of our Beijing garrison in resisting the enemy, our life-or-death reliance!"

The detailed strategies of the "Surrender Formation" were classified as top secret by Zhu Cilang, and its core secrets remained hidden in his heart.

On the drill ground, amidst the glint of swords and the sound of bugles, the morale of the Beijing garrison soldiers rose steadily.

The top performer in the first day's assessment could draw a bow with a draw weight of two stones; the vanguard soldiers in the night drill on the sixteenth day could distinguish twenty-eight different flag signals; and by the end of the month, during the grand finale, Governor Lü Daqi had clenched his beard to pieces—

That seemingly impregnable "surrendered enemy formation" was indeed able to withstand the onslaught of the Jurchen cavalry.

......

Morning next day.

Incense smoke filled the Wuying Hall.

Zhu Cilang was discussing the grain transport matters of Huai'an granary with Gao Hongtu, the Minister of Revenue, when he suddenly felt a dizzying sensation and his body trembled.

The ministers saw the emperor sway, his face turn pale, and he collapsed straight onto the imperial steps.

"Protect the Emperor—"

Zhang Youyu, the Vice Minister of Revenue, leaped to the rescue, while Zan Zhou's shrill voice pierced the court at the same time.

The emperor fainted on the spot!

A moment later, Zhu Cilang stood up with the help of others, his forehead propped up. He was surrounded by a dense crowd of high-ranking officials of the third rank and above, making it impossible for him to move.

He gripped Han Zanzhou's forearm with his five fingers for leverage to stand up straight, his voice tinged with weakness:

"My chronic illness from my youth has relapsed, and I need to rest for a hundred days. I hereby appoint the Grand Secretariat to lead the Six Ministries in governing the country, and they shall not enter the palace to report on matters other than those concerning the survival of the nation."

Han Zanzhou helped the emperor leave the palace, his back view appearing somewhat unsteady amidst the coiled dragon pillars.

Inside the Hall of Prudence, the candlelight was as bright as the sea.

Zhu Cilang suddenly opened his eyes, and there was not a trace of illness in them.

It turned out that the carefully planned fainting in front of the imperial steps was just a pretext set up by Zhu Cilang to secretly go to Chengdu.

To achieve this, he even fasted for three days in advance to make his complexion naturally pale.

At this moment, he unfolded a secret edict that had been prepared in advance, the cinnabar mark on which read "Prince Ji, Zhu Shuaiqin" was bright red and eye-catching.

He first secretly summoned Shi Kefa to the palace.

"Grand Secretary Shi, listen to my decree—"

"This journey to the west is crucial to the fate of the nation. If anything goes wrong, you may carry my secret edict to support Prince Ji, Zhu Shuaiqin."

"He made great contributions in the recapture of Dezhou and is fully capable of undertaking important tasks."

Zhu Cilang solemnly handed over the secret edict, and Shi Kefa accepted the order and withdrew.

Immediately afterwards, Lü Daqi entered the hall to the sound of the night watchman's drum.

Zhu Cilang's dagger was stuck in the Kui Gate position on the sand table, his tone resolute:

"Minister Lü, remember this: the Beijing Garrison is the lifeblood of the nation."

"Even if the drums beat at the nine gates and the beacon fires illuminate the city, not a single soldier shall be mobilized without the tiger tally personally bestowed by me!"

The third watch gong sounded.

Zhu Cilang had already fastened his night clothes and was about to set off when Han Zanzhou stumbled in, panting so hard he could barely speak:

"Your Majesty, Grand Secretary Ma, accompanied by Imperial Physician Wang Huichun, is waiting outside the Qianqing Gate, saying, 'Your Majesty's chronic illness is severe, and this old minister has been unable to sleep all night.' If they cannot receive an audience with Your Majesty, they will kneel until dawn!"

Zhu Cilang's eyes turned cold, his mind racing—Ma Shiying had arrived too quickly and at the perfect moment!

A hint of doubt flashed in his eyes, but he showed no sign of it on his face. Almost the instant Han Zanzhou finished speaking, his body reacted instinctively.

Suddenly, she lifted the curtain and lay down on the couch, the brocade quilt half-covering her face, and said in a hoarse voice:

"Announce."

Ma Shiying strode inside, followed closely by the imperial physician Wang Huichun, who carried a medicine chest.

After the ceremony, he wept and pleaded:

"This old minister heard that Your Majesty's dizziness was like a thunderbolt! This illness is dangerous; even Emperor Guangzong of Ming died because of it..."

On the couch, Zhu Cilang coughed a series of times at the opportune moment, causing the brocade quilt to rise and fall.

"Cough...cough...I have already said that this is a recurrence of a chronic illness from my youth, and a hundred days of rest and recuperation will suffice! You need not worry!"

A sudden downpour struck, the raindrops striking the glazed tiles and creating a misty fog, while gusts of cool wind swept into the deep palace.

The flickering candlelight inside the hall cast distorted shadows of the three figures onto the high wall.