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

Read Uesugi Ryuka's masterpiece, "Late Ming Dynasty: Summoning Players from Liaodong to Support the Ming Dynasty," now!

A cold wind swirled with snowflakes, darting through the deep ravines and old forests of the Yanshan Mountains.

The crisp sound of dry branches breaking was continuous.

Dozens of figures trudged through waist-high bushes. Their thick leather armor was scratched with countless white marks by the thorns.

Hu Yongqiang walked in the middle of the group. His once-shiny armor as a Later Jin general was now covered in mud and tree sap, making it look extremely bulky and awkward on his fair and thin body.

He raised his hand to wipe the ice shards off his face, his breathing heavy.

Baturu Turge kicked down a dead tree trunk blocking his path, sending wood chips flying.

"Hu Yongqiang! What kind of path have you led, you lackey!" Turgh's rough voice boomed through the forest. He pointed to a muddy ditch that was knee-deep ahead, his face trembling with menacing rage. "Why not take the smooth official road and instead venture into this wretched forest where even wild boars don't defecate! Are you deliberately making fun of your masters?!"

Several soldiers from the Plain Yellow Banner stopped in their tracks, their hands on the hilts of their swords, their expressions hostile.

Hu Yongqiang immediately put on a fawning smile. He bowed and quickly approached Turg.

"Master, please calm down, please calm down!" Hu Yongqiang bowed repeatedly, his voice high-pitched. "This servant is only thinking of the bigger picture. The Ming army in Guangning City... no, those madmen, are definitely heading towards the capital along the official road right now. If we take the official road and run into them, we'll suffer a great loss."

Turgh spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground.

"Bah! A Han dog is a Han dog, cowardly as a mouse! A few tens of thousands of beggar soldiers scared you out of your wits? If Prince Amin knew you were such a pathetic coward, he'd skin you alive!"

Hu Yongqiang's smile froze for a moment.

Amin? That brute who only knows how to swing a knife and kill people must be lying in his tent, clutching his wounds and groaning in pain right now. Hu Yongqiang spat inwardly, a chilling glint of malice flashing in his lowered eyes.

When he raised his clean-shaven face again, his features were plastered with a nauseatingly obsequious smile. He bowed even lower, his hands unconsciously gripping the old Ming-style sword at his waist. His shrill voice sounded particularly grating in the howling wind: "Master's reprimand is absolutely right! This servant is thick-skinned and thick-skinned; taking a few scoldings is a favor from Master. But those fellows in Guangning City are no ordinary Ming soldiers! The Great Khan is currently in the capital, eagerly awaiting our intelligence. Masters are all of high value; any mishap would be a loss for the Great Jin. It's not worth fighting to the death with those reckless madmen on the official road. We should preserve our lives and deliver this crucial news intact to the Great Khan; that would be the true greatest achievement!"

A gust of wind, carrying shards of ice, suddenly swept into the forest, causing the waist-high bushes to sway violently. Withered yellow leaves swirled and pelted Turg's fleshy face. Turg let out a heavy snort, exhaling puffs of white breath from his large nostrils, but ultimately refrained from drawing his sword. The battle outside Guangning City had been utterly frustrating; the thought of those insane madmen, whom he couldn't kill or eradicate, still sent chills down his spine.

"Stop talking nonsense! Let's get going! We have to get over this ridge before dark!" Turg cursed as he turned around, his thick arm snapping off the thorns blocking his way. He lifted his heavy leather boot, stomped into the mud, and brute forcefully cleared a path ahead.

The wind and snow intensified, and the sky grew increasingly dark. Hu Yongqiang slowly straightened his back, which had been hunched over like a shrimp. He stared intently at Turg's broad back, the fawning on his face vanishing instantly, replaced by a chilling ruthlessness. He clenched his teeth, the muscles in his cheeks twitching uncontrollably, his hands gripping the hem of his clothes tightly at his sides, his nails digging deep into the flesh of his palms, drawing blood.

Night hung heavy over the deep ravines and old forests of the Yanshan Mountains. A biting wind howled through the bare tree trunks. No open fires dared be lit in the depths of the mountains; the troops, nestled in a sheltered ravine, managed to gather two small, smoldering fires. Turg and a dozen or so Plain Yellow Banner soldiers stood imposingly around the fires, their rough hands tearing at frozen jerky, their mumbled Manchu curses echoing through the valley with the sounds of chewing.

Hu Yongqiang huddled alone in the outermost shadow, far from that meager warmth. His bulky Later Jin general's armor froze solid in the cold wind. His hands trembled as he unfastened the standard Ming general's sword from his waist and carefully placed it across his knees. The gilding that once symbolized glory on the scabbard had long since peeled away, revealing the dark red wood grain beneath, stained with dried blood. His pale, thin fingers traced the hilt's edge, his fingertips repeatedly tracing the rough texture. .

A cold night wind howled through the dense pine forest. The sound pierced through his thick leather armor, seeping straight into Hu Yongqiang's bones, exactly like the winter wind in his hometown of Liaodong. His parched lips twitched slightly, and half a tuned Liaodong folk song involuntarily escaped his throat. The sound had barely left his lips when he shivered violently, glancing at the Manchu soldiers gnawing on dried meat not far away. Feeling guilty, he bit his lower lip hard, forcing the rest of the sentence back down. He closed his eyes, and the dilapidated garrison walls, his mother's tearful eyes on her deathbed, the firelight that lit up half the sky when the Jurchens entered the pass, and their heart-wrenching screams—all transformed into sharp knives, churning wildly in his mind.

"The Ming Dynasty... to hell with the Ming Dynasty!" Hu Yongqiang suddenly opened his eyes, a chillingly venomous light flashing in them, and roared madly in his heart.

He too once wielded this sword, and he too stood tall, leading his men in a fierce battle atop the city walls. But what did he gain in return? When the city fell, those officials, spouting empty rhetoric of benevolence and morality, fled faster than dogs! Leaving behind these hard-working soldiers, to be slaughtered like lambs by the Jurchens!

He stared intently at the pungent, muttony leather armor he wore, his fingers gripping the sword hilt so tightly they turned deathly pale. To survive, he had shaved off his ancestral hair and donned this reeking armor. He raised his blade and hacked at his former comrades, killing with more ruthlessness and robbing with more frenzy than any true Jurchen. All his groveling, all his madness, was nothing but a plea for food from his masters, a desperate attempt to survive!

"As long as I tell the Khan the details of those lunatics in Guangning, I can finally gain a firm foothold!" He lowered his voice and squeezed out this hoarse vow through clenched teeth, his eyes gleaming fiercely in the darkness.

A cold wind swirled withered leaves around their feet. A gaunt, dark figure crept close to the ground, rustling through the falling snow. "Commander," the figure whispered in Hu Yongqiang's ear, interrupting the turmoil in his mind. The newcomer was Wang Mazi, an old comrade of the Han Banner Army who had crawled out of the piles of corpses from the Ming Dynasty with Hu Yongqiang, and who had shaved their heads and surrendered to the Later Jin.

Wang Mazi, his neck hunched, furtively looked around. Confirming that the group of Manchu soldiers huddled around a smoldering fire, gnawing on dried meat, couldn't hear the commotion, he swallowed hard and continued in a trembling voice, "Commander, are we really going to see the Khan empty-handed? We haven't even managed to tear down a single wall of Guangning City, and Amin Beile suffered such a huge loss. With the Khan's cannibalistic temper, if he blames us, our heads won't be enough to pay for it."

Hu Yongqiang suddenly opened his eyes, a venomous glint flashing in them in the darkness. His thin, pale hand reached out and grabbed Wang Mazi by the greasy collar of his leather armor, lifting him halfway up. "Shut up!" Hu Yongqiang's shrill voice was muffled by a wild beast's protective growl. Wang Mazi trembled, his withered hands hastily covering his mouth, nodding repeatedly.

A cold wind howled through his collar. Hu Yongqiang disgustedly released his grip, shoving Wang Mazi to the frozen ground, and let out two cold laughs through his nose. "Blame us? Why should the Khan blame us? We're here to deliver life-saving intelligence!" His withered chest heaved violently, and his thin fingers pounded heavily on the scabbard of the Ming general's sword at his waist, producing a dull wooden sound.

"Those monstrous things outside Guangning City, didn't you see them with your eyes?" Hu Yongqiang leaned down, his pale face almost touching Wang Mazi's nose, his breath carrying a strong, fishy smell. "They're not human! They can't be killed by knives, they can't be driven back by arrows! They're all shirtless, rushing headlong into our blades! They're dead for no more than half a day, then they're jumping around and charging back up the city walls! Is that something a human could do?"

A gust of wind swept through the valley, and Wang Mazi couldn't help but shiver, his teeth chattering. He remembered, of course. The day of the siege, the ground was littered with severed limbs. He had witnessed a giant, eight feet tall, leap naked from the city wall, which was dozens of feet high, smashing into several heavily armored barbarians, before smashing himself into a pile of mangled flesh. But by the afternoon, that giant was standing on the battlements, full of life, wielding a greatsword and roaring incomprehensible gibberish. And those broken pottery jars falling from the sky, filled with all sorts of evil gunpowder. Amin Beile's more than one hundred elite guards were blown to bits, not even a single bone fragment could be pieced together. Amin himself was thrown several feet away by the scorching blast wave, half his face burned black and oily, his screams deafening.

"This great Ming Dynasty has produced a man-eating monster!" Hu Yongqiang gritted his teeth, his jaw muscles twitching violently. "That little beast Chu Ze, I don't know what kind of heinous evil magic he used to summon this endless horde of ghost soldiers. If this news doesn't reach the Great Khan immediately, Huang Taiji's 100,000 iron cavalry might suffer a terrible, unpleasant defeat at the gates of the capital!"

Wang Mazi, cowering on the ground, nodded repeatedly, his head bobbing rapidly. "The commander is wise! But..." He swallowed the dryness in his throat, his voice trembling even more violently, "If we just go and say this without any real knowledge, will the Khan believe us? Those Manchu masters have always treated us like dogs. You saw Turg's attitude just now. They'll definitely insist we're making excuses for defeat, and then they'll just drag us out and behead us as a sacrifice to the flag!"

The embers in the mountain hollow flickered, and the cold wind whipped the branches wildly. Hu Yongqiang fell silent. Wang Mazi's words had struck a nerve. Huang Taiji was inherently suspicious and ruthless. Without concrete evidence, how could Hu Yongqiang possibly convince Huang Taiji of the existence of unkillable ghost soldiers based solely on his words? Huang Taiji might easily accuse him of undermining morale and spreading heresy, and have his head chopped off and hung on a flagpole on the spot. Hu Yongqiang raised his trembling hand and touched his shaved forehead, where a fine layer of cold sweat had beaded. He stared intently at the dark night sky, forcing out a few words through clenched teeth: "Take it one step at a time. Let's get to the vicinity of the capital first!"

The following morning, the thick fog in the foothills of the Yanshan Mountains was so dense it wouldn't dissipate. The grayish-white fog rolled along the cold, frozen ground, completely engulfing the withered trees and strange rocks. Hu Yongqiang's team groped their way south along the steep ridge, the mud mixed with ice underfoot making a teeth-grinding squelching sound with every step.

The scout from the Plain Yellow Banner at the forefront suddenly raised his right arm, fingers spread wide. The entire column froze instantly, dozens of men holding their breath, only their heavy breathing turning into white mist in the cold air.

Hu Yongqiang immediately crouched down, his bulky Jin armor scraping against the rough tree bark with a dull thud. With the alertness of a dog, he quickly made his way to the front of the group, extending his pale, thin fingers to carefully part the frost-covered, withered shrubs in front of him.

As his gaze pierced through the thin mist, the scene ahead made Hu Yongqiang gasp sharply, his pupils instantly shrinking to the size of pinpoints.

This was an extremely open valley. The once smooth snow and frozen ground had been completely trampled into a mess. The center of the valley was a scene of utter devastation, with countless footprints overlapping each other, spreading haphazardly southward, their sheer number enough to make one's scalp crawl. Several shockingly large wheel tracks were deeply embedded in the hard frozen ground, at least half a foot deep, the soil at the edges twisted and rolled outward by the immense pressure.

Ignoring the mud, Hu Yongqiang slid down the slope, landing in the center of the valley. He walked straight to a huge pit. At the bottom of the pit were piles of unburnt ashes, still emitting wisps of smoke.

Scattered among the ashes were several extremely bizarre objects. Hu Yongqiang reached out with trembling hands and picked up one of them. The material felt extremely strange; it was neither silk nor hemp, neither paper nor leather, and it made a piercing, crisp sound when kneaded. The surface was printed with extremely bright and glaring floral patterns, and next to it were several strange Chinese characters missing limbs. He turned his head and saw several highly transparent glass bottle fragments carelessly discarded in the mud. At the bottom of the bottles was a pool of dark, thick liquid, and an extremely pungent yet sweet smell assaulted his nostrils.

Turgh strode down the earthen slope, his heavy leather boots splashing mud everywhere. He reached the edge of the pit, raised his foot, and kicked the still-smoking pile of ashes, sending them flying everywhere.

"Pah! These spineless cowards, they run fast!" Turgh's face was contorted with grotesque features, white breath spewing from his large nostrils, and a cold, extremely contemptuous sneer curled at the corner of his mouth.