Late Ming Dynasty: Summoning players from Liaodong to support the Ming Dynasty

The Later Jin camp, the commander's tent.

The echoes of the roar still lingered above the tent, refusing to dissipate for a long time.

The entire camp was deathly silent.

Inside the tent, the priceless Persian carpet was stained with blood and herbal ointment, and the low table that Amin had kicked in half lay scattered like the remains of a dead beast. Shards of an agate wine glass gleamed faintly in the candlelight.

The air was filled with the stench of blood, the burnt smell of flesh, and the bitterness of ointment, all mixed together to create a nauseating odor.

Amin was shirtless, his body haphazardly bandaged, fresh blood seeping out and staining the white cloth with glaring red flowers. The wounds on his face burned with pain, and with each heartbeat, he felt the dozens of wounds all over his body, a reminder of the unforgettable "flight" he had experienced that afternoon.

witchcraft!

He couldn't think of any explanation other than this word.

This thought was his only lifeline at that moment, allowing him to find the only acceptable excuse for his ridiculous and disastrous defeat.

But this excuse is so weak.

He was played, like the dumbest fool in the world, being toyed with by that Southern Dynasty brat named Chu Ze across the city wall for a whole month!

The Later Jin generals inside the tent all lowered their heads, wishing they could bury their heads in their breastplates, and even deliberately kept their breathing as still as possible, for fear that they might become the next target of this enraged beast.

"waste!"

Amin kicked another helmet that had rolled to his feet, sending it flying. The helmet arced through the air before crashing into a tent pole with a thud and bouncing to the ground.

The sudden commotion made several generals' shoulders tremble.

Just as the atmosphere inside the tent was so tense it seemed like it could explode again at any moment, outside, a series of hurried, distorted footsteps approached from afar, followed by a short, familiar hawk's cry.

"Report—"

The curtain was suddenly flung open, and a guard named Goshha scrambled in, his face a mixture of excitement and fear, his expression a jumbled mess.

"My Lord!" Nagoshha fell to the ground, raising a slender bamboo tube high with both hands. "It's...it's a carrier falcon from the city! The falcon has returned!"

In an instant, all the frozen gazes inside the tent came to life!

Messenger Eagle!

These two words, like a thunderclap, shattered the solidified silence within the command tent.

Everyone froze in their tracks.

Amin whirled around, and a complex light burst forth in her bloodshot eyes. There was anticipation, there was rage, but above all, there was the desperate longing of a drowning person clinging to a piece of driftwood.

He strode out, almost bursting through the tent flap, and snatched the gyrfalcon that had just fallen from Goshha's hand.

He didn't even bother with the raptor's feathers standing on end because of the rough treatment. He tore off the bamboo tube tied to the eagle's talons, crushed the wax seal with his trembling fingers from excessive force, and poured out the crumpled strip of cloth.

He unfolded the strip of cloth, approached the torch at the entrance of the tent, and read it word by word.

Outside the tent, all the Later Jin generals held their breath, craning their necks like a flock of fledglings waiting to be fed, trying to glean the secrets of the city from any twitch of the muscles on Amin's face.

Amin's expression shifted constantly in the flickering firelight.

When he saw the first paragraph of the letter, which attributed his crushing defeat to "the rampant use of sorcery, not a fault of war," described the terrifying cannon as a "demon cannon," and the fortified city as a "ghost city," the taut muscles in his face relaxed slightly.

Correct!

That's it!

It wasn't a fault of war!

These four words, like a scalding dose of strong liquor, poured into his cold internal organs, instantly dispelling the utterly crushed sense of humiliation. He, Aisin Gioro Amin, had not lost to that Southern Dynasty brat, Chu Ze; he had lost to the irresistible "fate"!

He could accept this explanation, and so could the Khan!

His breathing became heavy as he greedily continued to look down.

When he read the letter's description of the city's garrison as mostly "demon puppets" who knew nothing of death and had no strategy, only knowing how to hold their ground, his heart, which had been filled with fear and shame, was rekindled.

Are they just going to hold out?

No strategy?

This means that no matter how sinister that city is, it's still an inanimate object! As long as we can find a weakness, that seemingly indestructible demon city is not unbreakable!

His fingers, gripping the cloth so tightly, almost pierced through the lifeline.

Finally, he saw the last, and most crucial, part.

Those lines of words were like beams of golden light, piercing through the gloom in his mind and illuminating a bloody path to revenge and glory!

"...West of the city...Abandoned warehouse..."

"...drainage tunnels during the reign of Emperor Xuande of the previous dynasty..."

"...Abandoned for a century...defense has become lax..."

"...capable of accommodating hundreds of elite troops...to storm the high platform...and the sorcery will crumble on its own..."

Secret passage!

These two words, like two of the most intense flames, exploded in his crimson pupils!

A sickly flush instantly rose on his pale face, which was already gaunt from blood loss. Greed, ecstasy, and the desire for revenge erupted like a volcano, overwhelming all his reason.

Surprise attack! Ambush! A direct hit from the center!

A perfect plan, capable of clearing his name and turning defeat into victory, suddenly appeared before him!

"Haha...hahahaha!"

Amin threw her head back and let out a burst of uncontrollable, neurotic laughter. The laughter carried far through the deathly silent night, sending chills down the spines of everyone who heard it.

He clutched the letter as if it held the power of the entire world, strode back to the command tent, and slammed the strip of cloth onto the map, marking the location of Guangning City.

"Get the hell in here, all of you!"

The generals filed in, heads bowed, not daring to look directly at their commander, whose emotions were extremely unstable.

"Look at this!" Amin slammed her finger heavily on the map, her ugly face contorted with extreme excitement. "Look at this!"

"A golden opportunity! This is a chance bestowed upon me by the Heavenly Emperor!"

He threw the letter to the nearest Jala chieftain and commanded in an unquestionable tone, "Read it! Read it out loud! Let everyone hear it!"

The general nervously took the strip of cloth and, by the light of the candle, read the contents of the letter word by word in a dry voice.

The entire command tent was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The expressions on all the generals' faces changed constantly as the letter's contents unfolded.

From initial acceptance (the sorcery theory), to doubt in the middle (the puppet theory), and finally to shock and fervor (the secret passage theory).

When the words "secret passage" were uttered, a collective gasp of shock filled the tent.

"Your Highness! Heaven is helping our Great Jin!"

"So that's how it is! So that's how it is! I was wondering how that brat Chu Ze could conjure a city out of thin air!"

"A secret passage! If we can find the secret passage, we can destroy his sorcery from within!"

The atmosphere inside the tent instantly shifted from deathly silence and panic to frenzied excitement. The gloom of defeat vanished, and everyone seemed to have been injected with adrenaline, their cheeks flushed and their breathing rapid.

However, amidst this fervor, a discordant voice arose.

"Your Highness, please reconsider!"

The one speaking was the officer in charge of the Bayara Guard, who had been with Amin during the day and had miraculously survived the artillery fire. One of his arms was wounded by shrapnel and was in a sling across his chest; his face was deathly pale and his lips were still trembling.

"My lord, have you forgotten that cannon shot during the day? That city... that city is a death trap! Could this... could this be Chu Ze's trap?"

These words were like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing the fervor within the tent.

Yes.

The power of that cannon shot and the strangeness of that arrow are still vivid in my mind.

Another surviving guard stepped forward, his voice trembling: "Yes, Your Highness! That Chu Ze is cunning and treacherous. How could he have built such a demon city in just one month, and how could he have left such a huge flaw, which was then discovered by our spies? This...this doesn't make sense!"

"Bullshit!" a young general who advocated attack immediately retorted. "Fortune favors the bold! The scouts said in their letter that the secret passage is a relic of the previous dynasty, abandoned for a hundred years, and not even on any map! How could Chu Ze, an outsider, possibly know about it!"

"That's right! This is our chance! That demonic cannon is powerful, but as you've seen, it takes half a day to fire a single shot! If we're quick enough to break in through the secret passage before they can react, they're doomed!"

Inside the tent, the two factions split into two groups and started arguing fiercely.

One faction, the "Fear City Faction," was terrified by the cannon fire during the day. They advocated an immediate withdrawal of troops, moving away from that ominous demon city, and reconsidering the situation.

The other faction was the "pro-war faction," eager to make a name for themselves. They believed this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that they had to seize.

Amin sat in the main seat, listening to her subordinates' argument, her expression shifting between anger and uncertainty.

Reason told him that the "Fear City Faction" had a point; Chu Ze was too strange and he had to be on guard.

Yet, the burning anger of humiliation within him, the gambler's mentality of desperately wanting to turn the tables, drove him madly toward the "war faction." He needed a victory! A resounding victory to wash away the humiliation he had suffered today! To prove to the Great Khan, to the entire Great Jin, that he, Aisin Gioro Amin, was not a coward who would be terrified by a single cannon shot from the Southern Han dogs!

Just as he was torn between his inner thoughts and his own indecision, a figure scrambled and stumbled into the center of the tent.

It's Hu Yongqiang.

Ever since his return, he had been confined to his tent, terrified by the sounds outside. When he heard the news of the falcon's return and the prince's maniacal laughter, he knew his chance had come.

"Your Highness!"

Hu Yongqiang knelt down with a thud, tears streaming down his face, his forehead banging against the ground repeatedly.

"Your Highness! This servant...this servant deserves to die! But this servant believes this is a golden opportunity, one that must not be missed!"

All eyes were on him.

Hu Yongqiang raised his tear-streaked face and, in a resolute tone, loudly analyzed, "Your Highness, generals! Think about it! That demonic cannon, though powerful, is incredibly difficult to fire even once. When that thing fires, the earth shakes, but how long will it take to fire again? Half an hour? An hour?"

He became more and more excited as he spoke, as if he had already seen through Chu Ze's trump card.

"Don't they need time to load the gun? Don't those red-hot cannons need to cool down? Such powerful weapons must be incredibly expensive. How many cannons could Chuze City possibly have? How many shells could they possibly have?"

"His only advantage is that demon city, as tough as a tortoise shell! But now, we've found his Achilles' heel! The secret passage! If we can infiltrate through the passage, we can bypass all his fortified defenses and cannons, and strike right at his heart!"

"This is precisely the best strategy: to avoid the enemy's strength and attack their weakness!"

His words were clear, logical, and perfectly met Amin's most pressing psychological needs at that moment.

Amin's small, red eyes lit up.

Seeing this, Hu Yongqiang added fuel to the fire. He suddenly straightened his back and shouted in a righteous tone:

"If Your Highness does not believe me, this servant is willing to sign a written pledge!"

"This humble servant is willing to personally lead a squad of assassins to drill this hole for Your Highness! If it fails, this humble servant will offer my head! If it succeeds, this immense achievement will all be due to Your Highness's divine wisdom and strategy!"

He adopted the most humble stance, attributing all the credit to Amin, while he himself played the role of a fearless and loyal "die-hard".

This performance was absolutely perfect.

The last shred of hesitation in Amin's heart was completely shattered by Hu Yongqiang's "loyal and courageous" statement.

He needed a step, so Hu Yongqiang built one for him.

He needed a vanguard, and Hu Yongqiang stepped forward on his own.

"good!"

Amin slammed his hand on the map in front of him and stood up from his seat. The loud noise silenced the entire command tent.

"That's what we'll do!"

That cruel and arrogant grin reappeared on his face. The anger of being humiliated completely overwhelmed any remaining reason.

Hu Yongqiang was overjoyed; he knew he had made the right bet!

He was about to kowtow in gratitude when Amin's next words froze him completely.

Amin slowly walked up to him, looking down at him with a tone that was icy cold and devoid of any emotion.

"You are very good."

"Since you're so eager to share my burdens, then I'll give you a chance."

Amin stretched out his finger and pointed heavily at the north side of the map.

"You, take all your men and go launch a feint attack on the north gate!"

"Remember, the bigger the commotion, the better! We need to draw everyone's attention in town!"

The joy on Hu Yongqiang's face instantly froze.

A feint attack on the north gate?

Isn't that just going to your death?! Going to be a target for that terrifying demonic cannon?!

He opened his mouth, wanting to explain, but when he met Amin's emotionless eyes, he couldn't utter a single word.

Amin sneered and ignored him, turning instead to look at the few guards inside the tent who remained silent, clad in white armor.

Those were the most elite and loyal white-armored soldiers in his Bayara Guard. Each one was a true warrior who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood; they were his core fighting force.

"As for drilling the hole," Amin's voice turned gloomy and ruthless, "you don't need to worry about it."

"I have my own plans!"