My father is Chongzhen? Then I have no choice but to rebel.

Along the way, the civil and military officials, nobles, and elders who remained in Nanjing all knelt on the ground, shouting "Long live the Emperor!" and their farewell cries shook the heavens and the earth.

Upon arriving at Longjiang Pass, the scenery becomes even more spectacular.

On the wide river, hundreds of ships of various sizes, led by a giant treasure ship, had sails and masts like a forest, their prows lined up one after another, almost obscuring the river surface.

The naval officers and soldiers, fully armored and helmeted, stood solemnly at the gunwale.

Compared to when they arrived, the fleet was much larger, with nearly 50,000 people! The extra 20,000 people, apart from some additional imperial guards, were mainly the vanguard of the "Nanjing New Army" that was ordered to go north, as well as the sons of nobles who were about to leave their homeland and some of their relatives and servants.

With so many people, it's impossible for them all to board the boat.

According to the plan, about 20,000 people will travel north in batches via canal and land routes. At the dock, the teams that will travel north by land are also gathering.

The most eye-catching were the sons of noble families who were about to leave home.

Most of them were dressed in fine clothes, but they couldn't hide the anxiety, confusion, and deep longing for the bustling Nanjing they were about to leave.

Many people grew up here and have never set foot outside of Nanjing. This time, heading north to the unfamiliar, rumored cold and desolate capital of the north, they are naturally filled with unease and fear of the unknown.

Their fathers—those usually dignified and prestigious dukes, marquises, and earls—had also set aside their airs and gathered at the front of the crowd seeing them off at the dock.

Although he was filled with resentment and worry about the court's actions, he could not disobey the imperial decree. More importantly, the future and even the safety of his eldest son now rested in the hands of the court.

They could only force a smile and repeatedly urge their son to "be careful with his words and actions," "study hard and practice diligently," and "not fail the emperor's grace," while in reality their hearts were bleeding.

When fathers and sons, or mothers and sons, part, it's inevitable that they will embrace and weep bitterly, creating a very sad scene.

Even though I had cried countless times at home before, I still couldn't hold back my tears as we were about to part ways.

But after crying, life goes on.

Urged on by officers and watched with tears in their eyes by their family elders, these young noblemen, with many turns back, finally boarded the official ships or carriages heading north, joining the massive northward migration.

"Your Majesty and His Highness the Crown Prince are seeing you off! May Your Majesty and His Highness enjoy good health and smooth sailing. Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor!"

Amidst the deafening shouts of farewell from the civil and military officials remaining in Nanjing, Emperor Chongzhen and Zhu Cilang boarded the treasure ship side by side.

Emperor Chongzhen stood atop the tall ship-shaped tower, taking one last look back at the majestic and magnificent city of Nanjing behind him, his gaze filled with complex emotions.

Here, he enjoyed unprecedented comfort, witnessed the prosperity of Jiangnan and its potential crises, and together with his son, carried out a series of actions that profoundly affected the political situation.

After a long while, he withdrew his gaze and nodded slightly to Zheng Zhilong, who was standing to the side with an equally solemn expression.

Zheng Zhilong understood, immediately stepped forward, bowed, and loudly asked for instructions:
"Your Majesty, the ships have been fully loaded with personnel and supplies, and all vessels are ready. May we set sail immediately?"

Emperor Chongzhen took a deep breath of the crisp air from the river and uttered two words in a deep voice:

"set sail."

"Sir, obey the order!"

Zheng Zhilong responded loudly, turned around, and waved the command flag in his hand forcefully at the signalman at the top of the mast.

"By order of His Majesty, set sail!"

"set sail--!"

Commands were passed down through the ranks, bugles sounded, and drums thundered.

The huge sails slowly rose onto the mast amidst the shouts of the strongmen, filling the wind.

With a creaking sound from the winch, the anchor chain slowly retracted, and the massive treasure ship turned its bow first, cutting through the murky river water, and slowly sailed northward.

Subsequently, hundreds of ships moved in sequence, like a giant dragon awakening, slowly swimming on the Yangtze River, gradually accelerating, and meandering downstream, towards the entrance of the Grand Canal, and towards the distant Beijing.

Zhu Cilang stood alone on the deck on the side of the river, holding onto the railing, the river breeze blowing his clothes.

He gazed silently at the Nanjing city wall, the outline of Zhongshan Mountain, and the Ming Xiaoling Mausoleum hidden at the southern foot of Zijin Mountain, which gradually receded into the distance and eventually became a dark silhouette on the horizon. He was filled with emotion.

Just two days ago, after finishing all his urgent official business, he went to Xiaoling Mausoleum alone with a small entourage.

In the empty and solemn ancestral hall, he dismissed everyone and stood alone in front of the portrait of Emperor Taizu Gao, Zhu Yuanzhang, for a long time.

In the portrait, Zhu Yuanzhang's gaze remains majestic and sharp, as if it can pierce through time and space.

Zhu Cilang silently poured out his experiences, plans, visions for the future, and even his complex feelings for the empire to the founding ancestor.

He recounted how to salvage the critical situation, how to reorganize domestic affairs, how to plan the final blow against the Jurchens, and how to envision a stronger, wealthier, and more powerful new Ming Dynasty that combined land and sea power…

Of course, this also includes those origins and secrets that are inconvenient to tell outsiders and that are beyond the understanding of this era.

Thinking of this, Zhu Cilang couldn't help but smile with a self-deprecating smile.

Chatting with portraits of people from hundreds of years ago and recounting one's "achievements" in saving the world—if others knew about this, they would probably find it absurd and laughable.

But for him, it was a special ritual, a confirmation of his own mission, and a kind of "accountability" to the legendary founding emperor.

The fleet cut through the waves, and Nanjing disappeared completely below the horizon.

Zhu Cilang snapped out of his thoughts and turned his gaze northward.

That place is the heart of the empire, and the stage where all future grand plans will unfold.

Just as Emperor Chongzhen and Emperor Zhu Cilang's fleet departed Nanjing and began their long journey home, thousands of miles away in Shengjing, Liaodong, something of great significance to the Qing Dynasty was quietly taking place.

West of Shengjing City, at the firing range of the Firearms Manufacturing Office.

In the autumn air outside the Great Wall, the sky is high and the air is crisp, but the wind carries a chill. At the firing range, the smell of gunpowder is still pungent.

Grand Secretary Fan Wencheng was carefully taking a flintlock musket from a Han Chinese bannerman. The musket had just been assembled and was polished to a gleaming shine.

The appearance of this flintlock musket is quite different from those crude and easily exploded imitations. Although the details are still rough, the overall structure is complete, the barrel is straight, and the flintlock mechanism is properly installed. It at least looks like a "proper firearm".

Fan Wencheng's fingers trembled slightly as he gently stroked the cool, smooth barrel of the gun. He couldn't suppress the look of ecstasy on his face, his mouth almost stretched to his ears, and his eyes gleamed with an almost fanatical light.

It's a success! At least, a visible, temporary success!
For the past two months, he had practically lived in the Imperial Workshop, working day and night with the Han Chinese craftsmen he had hired at great expense, as well as a few knowledgeable Western missionaries, experimenting, failing, and experimenting again.

After countless setbacks such as barrel explosions, misfires, and parts breakage, and after consuming countless amounts of refined iron, copper, and gunpowder, they finally produced this batch of relatively "stable" imitation flintlock muskets after repeatedly adjusting the metal ratio, improving the quenching process, and carefully polishing the key components.

Of course, this "stability" is relative to the previous scrap products.

Fan Wencheng knew perfectly well that the gun in his hand was vastly different from the standard flintlock muskets used by the Ming army.

The Ming army's flintlock muskets had a certain hit rate within 100 paces, while their imitations lost all accuracy beyond 50 paces, with unpredictable trajectories.

The effective range of the Ming army's flintlock muskets far exceeded that of bows and arrows; their imitations could barely reach seventy paces, and their power was greatly reduced.

The Ming army used fixed-pack paper ammunition, and well-trained shooters could fire more than ten rounds per minute. Their imitations still used the old-fashioned separate-pack ammunition, and could only fire five or six rounds per minute at most. Moreover, the barrel would overheat after continuous firing, further reducing accuracy.

Secondly, although the rate of barrel explosion has been greatly reduced, it has not been eliminated.

The craftsman had warned that after every ten or so shots, the gun must be stopped to inspect the barrel and mechanism, otherwise there was still a risk of it exploding.

In addition, the success rate of flint firing is only 70% to 80%, and misfiring is common.

However, for Fan Wencheng, this was already a remarkable breakthrough!

At the very least, it can fire reliably, launching projectiles to create continuous firepower! This is no longer a fire poker, but a "firearm" that can kill enemies and is not afraid of wind and rain!
In his view, issues such as accuracy, range, rate of fire, and safety can all be resolved through continuous improvement of the process and enhanced training.

The key is that they mastered the core technology for manufacturing flintlock muskets! With this foundation, given time, they might be able to catch up with the Ming army's level.

The immense sense of accomplishment washed away the fatigue and anxiety of the past few days.

He immediately thought of Regent Dorgon. The prince had personally witnessed the embarrassing barrel explosion. Although he hadn't reprimanded Dorgon at the time, Fan Wencheng was still uneasy, feeling that he had lost face in front of the prince.

Now that we have finally achieved some decent results, we must report them to the prince as soon as possible so that he can see our efforts and abilities and make up for our shortcomings!

So, suppressing his excitement, he instructed his trusted confidants:
"Quickly, send someone to the Prince's residence to report to the Regent, saying that... there has been significant progress in the imitation of firearms, and the new guns have been completed. Please invite Your Highness to the firing range of the Imperial Workshop when you have time to personally inspect them!"

He wanted Dorgon to see with his own eyes that the Qing Dynasty also had its own flintlock muskets!
Although it is not perfect yet, this means that they are gradually narrowing the fatal gap with the Southern Ming in firearms!

This might slightly alleviate the prince's fear of Ming army firearms and also allow him to earn a real merit.

Suppressing his elation and a lingering tension, Fan Wencheng's gaze fell once more on the replica flintlock pistol in his hand, its surface gleaming with a cold metallic sheen.

Success was certainly exhilarating, but he knew that the next "demonstration" segment would be the real test, allowing no room for error!

He abruptly raised his head, his expression turning stern, and solemnly instructed the trembling old craftsman beside him—a foreman and also a semi-expert in firearms—his tone carrying an unquestionable warning:
"You lot, immediately! Take every single one of these new guns and inspect them thoroughly from start to finish! Are there any hidden damages or cracks in the barrel? Is the rifling even and straight? Are all the parts of the flintlock mechanism engaged smoothly? Is the spring force sufficient? Don't overlook even the loose rivets or the tiny cracks in the stock!"

"Be extremely careful! Listen carefully, His Highness the Regent will be personally inspecting the place shortly! If, in front of His Highness, another disgraceful incident like last time occurs... such as a misfire, a misfire, or a jam, disappointing His Highness..."

Fan Wencheng's voice was even lower, yet as cold as a knife, his gaze sweeping over all the craftsmen and soldiers in charge of the test firing with the sharpness of a hawk:
"Then you... go and explain to King Yama yourselves! I will take care of your families!"

"Yes, sir! Rest assured, sir! We understand! We will not dare to be careless in the slightest!"

The old craftsman trembled with fright, his face turned ashen, and he immediately knelt down and kowtowed.

The other craftsmen and soldiers around them were also silent, not daring to even breathe loudly.

They knew that this scholar, Fan, though seemingly gentle and frail, was extremely ruthless and always kept his word.

If they were to fail in front of the Regent today, they would be doomed to die a hundred times over! Everyone immediately sprang into action, treating the twenty new guns to be demonstrated as priceless treasures, disassembling, cleaning, inspecting, and reassembling them one by one, repeatedly confirming their work without daring to slack off in the slightest.

About half an hour later, just as Fan Wencheng was getting a little anxious and was about to send someone to the Prince's Mansion again to urge them, a series of steady and rapid footsteps came from outside the gate of the Imperial Workshop, along with the low shouts and shouts of the Goshha people clearing the street.

"The Regent has arrived—!"

"Prince Li has arrived!"

The announcements rang out one after another. Fan Wencheng perked up, quickly straightened his official robes, and jogged to the door to greet them.

Under the strict protection of a team of elite Bayara soldiers, two Manchu princes dressed in ordinary clothes and with dignified bearing walked side by side into the courtyard of the Imperial Workshop.

Leading the way was none other than the de facto ruler of the Qing Dynasty—Prince Rui of the First Rank and Regent Dorgon.

Today he was dressed in a dark blue four-clawed python-patterned casual robe, with a black sable fur overcoat and a warm hat on his head. His face was as handsome as jade, his eyes were sharp, and he exuded an imposing aura of someone who had long held a high position as he walked.

Following slightly behind him was Prince Daishan.

Dai Shan was quite old, with graying hair and beard, but he was still robust, with a square face and a calm demeanor. His eyes held the vicissitudes and shrewdness of someone who had been through many battles. He wore a simple blue dragon robe without much decoration.

Daishan had been stationed with his troops in a key border town near Korea, guarding against Zheng Chenggong, the Ming Dynasty naval commander who occupied Pi Island and frequently raided the coast.

With the recent cooler weather, increased sea waves, reduced naval activity, and no ongoing battles on the border, Daishan submitted a memorial requesting to return to the capital to "report on his duties" and take a short rest.

Most of his family members lived in Shengjing. After years of fighting away from home, it was only natural for him to miss them.

Dorgon, naturally, would not refuse such a reasonable request, and had no reason to do so, so he issued an edict in the name of the Shunzhi Emperor allowing him to return to the capital.

Hauge was fully aware of this, knowing that it was merely Dorgon's intention, but now that he was far away in the border town, his influence over court affairs had greatly diminished, so he could only pretend not to know.

Daišan himself, having served three emperors, had long seen through the dangers of the power struggle. He had no real desire to become deeply involved in the power struggles between Huang Taiji's faction and Dorgon. (End of Chapter)