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

Hu Yongqiang lay prone on the cold rock, his body temperature slowly being drawn away by the frozen earth beneath his feet. Like a lone wolf that had been lurking in the snowfield for days, he even adjusted his breathing to match the cold mountain wind, without stirring up a single extra speck of white mist.

His eyes, gleaming with a poisonous light, were fixed on a hill about five miles below the ridge.

Not right.

Two days after discovering the massive, filthy camp left behind by Chu Ze's army, he led his few dozen men and slung them up the mountain from a distance. He had initially thought he was tracking a severely wounded, staggering tiger.

But now, he has discovered something else.

On the flank of the main force of Chu Ze's army, in that hilly area with complex terrain, a small force of very few people was active.

This small unit consisted of only six or seven people.

Their movements were extremely mysterious.

They neither scouted ahead nor relayed messages back. They were neither scouts nor a rearguard. They simply wandered back and forth in that narrow mountain forest, stopping to rest every few steps, and sometimes even arguing and shoving each other over trivial matters.

This is completely unlike what any army should be like.

"Commander, should we sneak over and grab his tongue?" Wang Mazi leaned closer, lowering his voice, his gaunt face full of greed.

Without turning his head, Hu Yongqiang raised his left hand, spread his fingers, and made a shushing gesture.

Wang Mazi's second half of his sentence was stuck in his throat.

Hu Yongqiang squinted, pressing his entire weight onto the cold rock, remaining motionless.

trap?

This thought, like an icicle, instantly pierced Hu Yongqiang's mind.

The hellish scene beneath the walls of Guangning City reverberated like thunder in his memory. Those "heavenly soldiers," those monsters whose chests were cleaved open by blades yet still laughed and charged forward—those things that defied all common sense and reason—completely overturned his decades of understanding of warfare. This strange squad exuded the wicked and unorthodox methods that Chu Ze, that little beast, was known for. It was clearly a deliberately thrown-out, rotting bait, waiting for him, this hungry wolf, to pounce on it recklessly, only to be ensnared and severed by an invisible net.

The taste of success is sweet, but his own life is the only asset that Hu Yongqiang cannot afford to lose.

He would never bare his fangs until he had a clear view of his prey's claws and teeth.

"Pass on the order." Hu Yongqiang didn't turn around. His withered lips pressed against the frozen ground, and his voice, hoarse and low, was like the cold wind squeezing out from the cracks in the mountain rocks. "Everyone, bury your heads in the snow and don't make a sound."

He paused, the venomous glint in his eyes growing even colder.

"Take the horses back another five miles and find a sheltered mountain hollow to die there. We'll stay here and wait them out."

He had plenty of patience, the only skill he learned from crawling out of piles of dead bodies.

The small unit down the mountain was already showing signs of exhaustion; their rations and strength were nearing their limit. Time, like the sharpest knife, would slowly scrape away their last vestiges of pretense and strength. They would be the first to give in.

Hu Yongqiang shifted his stiff body slightly, pressing the cold, sharp rock deeper against his chest, using the stinging pain to maintain absolute consciousness. He became a lifeless stone, the eyes of the calmest hunter, fixedly staring at the group of prey below who had entered his hunting range but were behaving strangely.

He has to wait.

Waiting for the prey to reveal their fatal weakness in despair.

……

The leaden sunlight couldn't penetrate the layers of withered branches, casting dappled and cold shadows through the dense forest of the hills. Wu Jingjing suddenly kicked out, sending a frozen stone flying. The stone tumbled among the withered leaves, crashing into the roots of an old tree with a dull, crisp sound.

"Damn it! It's been four days already! Forget about any Later Jin scouts, I haven't even seen a single Tartar hair!"

He slumped down onto the cold, damp pile of fallen leaves. The rotting leaves and wet mud instantly soaked through his trousers, bringing a chill to his bones. Frustrated, he ripped open the knotted rag at his collar. The wound on his arm, disguised with chicken blood, had long since hardened into a dark brown scab, mixed with mud and grime, emitting a faint, fishy stench in the cold wind.

The five members of the [Reverse Scale] guild who were with him were also ashen-faced. They slumped against the rough tree trunk, too weak to even lift their heads.

A player with the ID "Chasing the Wind" licked his dry, chapped lips, his voice hoarse as if it had been sanded: "Brother Chong...did the guild leader...miscalculate? This godforsaken place, you can't even see a ghost, how could there possibly be scouts coming..." The feigned despair in his eyes had now been replaced by a deep emptiness.

"Yeah, our rations are almost gone, and our water pouches are nearly empty too." Another player hugged his knees, burying his head in his arms, his voice muffled. "If we keep going like this, we won't even need to pretend; we'll really freeze and starve to death like the defeated soldiers."

For the first two days, they were full of energy, each of them determined to perform the desperate, exhausted, and on the verge of collapse soldier in Chairman Long Shuo's script to the level of an Oscar winner.

But now, the play is about to become a reality.

In this desolate forest, not even a wild rabbit could be seen, let alone any edible wild fruit. Each day, they could only rely on the nearly depleted reserves in their system inventory to fill their stomachs. Hunger was real, cold was real, and the torment of being slowly gnawed away at by the endless waiting was a real experience that penetrated to the bone.

Wu Jingjing's anger suddenly surged to his head.

He began to have doubts.

Chairman Long Shuo's seemingly flawless script, his grand blueprint depicting the "merit of following the dragon," appeared so empty and ridiculous in this cold, cruel, and desolate forest where not a single ghost could be seen.

Could it be that I was really used as a pawn and played by that chairman who sat in a warm tent and gave orders?

His haphazardly dyed granny-gray hair was a jumbled mess, his fingers digging into the roots, the muscles in his cheeks twitching. The cold wind lashed his face, but he felt no chill, only a manic rage of being mocked.

In the channel, Long Shuo's orders felt like heavy shackles. No contact was permitted before the mission was complete. This feeling of being abandoned by the whole world made the bloodshot in Wu Jingjing's eyes even more pronounced.

"Shut up, all of you!" Wu Jingjing suddenly jumped up, his voice hoarse and cutting through the air. He pointed at several teammates who were also on the verge of collapse, his voice squeezed out through clenched teeth: "Last day! Just this one day! If there's still no movement, I'm not going to go crazy with Long Shuo anymore, we're going back to the main camp to collect our military merits!"

What kind of loyal minister is he? What kind of protagonist is he? In this godforsaken place where you can't even get shit to eat, it's all a bunch of lies and bullshit. He made up his mind that as soon as the sun went down, he would lead his men to retreat.

He ripped off the shrunken leather water pouch from his waist, his knuckles turning white from the force.

"Brother Chong... that's what everyone keeps to save their lives..." Feng Zhongzhuifeng swallowed hard and reached out to grab his clothes.

"Get out of my way!" Wu Jingjing swung his arm ruthlessly, shoving the other man directly into the damp mud. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nostrils flared violently: "I'm the captain! I drink first!"

Thirst and anxiety completely overwhelmed his reason. He tilted his head back, aimed the water pouch at his chapped lips, and prepared to gulp down the last bit of his water.

In that instant, his movements froze.

Ahead, on a muddy path covered with half-rotten, withered leaves, an unusual depression was revealed.

Wu Jingjing tossed aside the empty water bag, letting it roll into the muddy water, and crawled over on all fours. He held his breath, his fingertips trembling as he brushed aside the weeds and ice shards covering it.

A complete footprint was displayed before his eyes.

The footprints were wide and flat at the front, narrowing towards the heel, with thick, non-slip folds in the soles of the shoes. These were the standard military boots of the Later Jin dynasty that the Ming dynasty's border troops would never have been equipped with. The moisture trampled out of the soil at the edges hadn't yet had time to seep back into the earth, leaving it damp and gleaming.

The footprints were left less than half an hour ago!

Wu Jingjing's heart pounded violently in his chest, almost leaping out of his throat. He abruptly raised his head and looked around at the deathly silent, dense forest.

Three steps to the left, in the bushes, a slender branch had been deliberately broken off. At the white break, a few drops of green sap were slowly seeping out along the wood fibers, not yet dried in the cold wind.

Someone has stayed here.

The real Later Jin scouts were nearby.

Wu Jingjing felt his blood ignite instantly, burning from the soles of his feet all the way to the top of his head!

coming!

They've finally arrived!

The "audience" has entered!

President Long Shuo was right! He was absolutely right!

Ecstasy! An indescribable ecstasy instantly overwhelmed all the negative emotions Wu Jingjing had accumulated over the past few days. He forcibly suppressed the urge to roar to the sky, his facial muscles twitching slightly from extreme excitement.

"Brother Chong, what's wrong?" Feng Zhongzhuifeng, his neck hunched, carefully approached Wu Jingjing, stepping over a pile of half-rotten leaves. He looked at Wu Jingjing, who was kneeling motionless in the mud, his face full of confusion.

Wu Jingjing suddenly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes flashing with a terrifying light. He formed his right hand into a claw, grabbed Feng Zhongzhuifeng's tattered collar tightly, and dragged the other man in front of him.

"Don't fucking make a sound!" Wu Jingjing lowered his voice, dry and rough, with a harsh, grating crack. His chest heaved violently, his breathing rapid. "Everyone, get your skin on the wall! The target... has entered!"

He released his grip, his fingertips trembling as he pointed to the clear animal hide boot print in the mud, then to the thin branch in the bushes whose broken end was still oozing green sap.

A biting wind pierced through the dense forest, rustling the withered branches and leaves. The other four players dragged their weary bodies over. Their eyes fell on the footprints and fresh broken branches, and their ashen faces instantly changed. Their previous despair and numbness were completely ignited; a morbid, extremely frenzied excitement appeared on their five faces, covered in mud and grime.

"Holy crap! They're really here!"

"Damn! I've finally made it!"

"Brothers, keep your eyes peeled! Today's show depends entirely on our acting skills!"

Wu Jingjing forcefully shook the mud off his hands, braced himself against his cold knees, and slowly straightened up. He gulped down the icy air mixed with shards of ice in the forest, forcibly suppressing the frantic pounding of his heart.

A cold wind ruffled his disheveled hair. He didn't look around, nor did he search for any trace of the enemy. He knew perfectly well that deep within this dim forest, there were definitely one, or even several, pairs of eyes watching their every move.

"Listen up, everyone!" Wu Jingjing gritted his teeth, his voice, though suppressing wild joy, revealed an unprecedented ruthlessness. "From now on, follow the chairman's script exactly! Play your part perfectly! Anyone who dares to slack off at this crucial moment, or give themselves away even the slightest hint, don't wait for the Tartars to draw their swords, I'll be the first to chop them to pieces!"

Looking at the deserted forest ahead, he seemed to already see himself being "captured," speaking eloquently before Huang Taiji, revealing the secret of the "heavenly soldiers'" immortality, and then rising through the ranks to become a marquis and general.

No.

That's not enough.

The rout was convincingly portrayed, but something was missing. Something was missing that would completely disarm the suspicious Later Jin scouts and even make them show themselves.

Wu Jingjing's mind was racing.

Got it!

He looked at the half-full sachet of water in his hand, then at his brothers beside him, whose faces were flushed with excitement. A crazy and daring idea took shape in his mind.

He suddenly raised the water bag high.

The biting wind in the forest whipped up half-rotten, withered leaves, lashing against the men's thin, tattered armor. Wu Jingjing whirled around, his hands clutching the shriveled leather water pouch tightly, his bloodshot eyes wide and bulging. He roared through his cracked, parched throat, the veins on his forehead and neck bulging and throbbing with each heavy breath: "Don't the hell move! Anyone who dares come near! This water's mine! Mine all to myself!"

A chill crept up the muddy ground. "Wind Chaser" instantly understood the intention; his face, already sunken from extreme thirst, twitched violently. He staggered forward half a step, his withered hands desperately grasping at the air, his voice filled with a desperate, resentful rage: "Wu Jingjing, you're insane! That's the last sip of water for our brothers! If you drink it, we'll all die in this wretched forest!"

"Fuck you, brother! I'm the captain! I want to live!" Wu Jingjing cursed, spittle flying in the cold air. He roughly bit open the cork of the water bag with his teeth, tilted his head back, and squeezed the opening against his chapped lips. Clear water poured down, and he deliberately opened his mouth wide, letting most of the water flow down his chin, washing two glaring muddy grooves into his muddy and grime-covered cheeks, dripping and splashing into the mud at his feet.

The sound of water droplets hitting the ground was amplified infinitely in the deathly silent forest. "Fuck your ancestors! I'll fight you to the death!" "Wind Chaser" roared desperately, his eyes bloodshot. He stomped his legs on the ground, kicking up a cloud of cold mud, and lunged at Wu Jingjing. His rough hands gripped Wu Jingjing's waist tightly, and the two lost their balance, crashing heavily into the muddy puddle filled with withered branches and leaves.

Icy water splashed everywhere, and decaying leaves flew. The two men rolled, tore, and punched each other wildly in the mud, the dull thuds of flesh colliding mingling with heavy breathing, echoing through the cold hills. Several other players immediately screamed and scrambled into the mud to break up the fight, their desperate cries and hoarse curses instantly shattering the deathly silence of the forest: "Stop fighting! The water's all spilled! Stop fighting!"

The remaining four team members immediately reacted and rushed forward in a chaotic manner to break up the fight.

In an instant, the once quiet mountain forest was filled with curses, roars, and the muffled thuds of fists hitting leather armor.

They fought extremely "realistically".

Wu Jingjing punched "Wind Chaser" in the face, causing the latter to bleed profusely from his nose. "Wind Chaser" was not to be outdone, biting Wu Jingjing's shoulder and refusing to let go.

They were like a pack of wild beasts driven to the brink of despair, tearing off all pretenses for the last bit of survival resources, staging a most primitive and bloody internal struggle.

On the mountain ridge.

Hu Yongqiang could see everything below clearly through a monocular telescope.

When he saw those people killing each other over half a bag of water, a barely perceptible, cruel smile finally appeared on his fair face.