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

Zhu Cilang watched her retreating figure, remaining silent for a moment, seemingly organizing his thoughts or calming his breathing. Then, in a calm voice devoid of any discernible emotion, he slowly spoke:
"What your brother said in the tent just now... about the marriage alliance, you... you should know about it, right?"

The wind on the hilltop seemed to pick up, ruffling the hair at Qiqige's temples and scattering Zhu Cilang's voice. But Qiqige had clearly heard it. Her back stiffened for a moment, then she nodded very slightly. She still didn't turn around.

Zhu Cilang took two steps forward, getting closer to her, and could see her hands, tightly gripping the hem of her dress, her knuckles white. He continued, his voice softening, tinged with inquiry:
"So... what are you really thinking? Your brother says you're willing. But I want to hear it from your own mouth. Marrying me... is it truly your own choice? Or... is it just because, as a princess, you can't go against your brother's and the tribe's decision?"

He had to get to the bottom of this.

Even if this marriage was destined to be tinged with politics, he at least hoped that his wife wasn't completely forced into it, marrying him with resentment. That wouldn't do her any good for the future.

Kiki's shoulders trembled slightly. She still didn't turn around, but after a moment of silence, she finally spoke. Her voice was muffled, with a suppressed sob, yet it was exceptionally clear, as if she had used all her strength:
“What my brother said in the tent just now might have been a little…unpleasant. But…he was telling the truth.”

She slowly, bit by bit, turned around. The cold wind tousled her hair, a few strands clinging to her tear-stained cheeks, which she tried to keep calm.

Her eyes were a little red and swollen, but her gaze no longer darted away. Instead, she looked straight at Zhu Cilang, her eyes filled with resignation, determination, and a hint of world-weariness that shouldn't belong to a girl her age.

“I have the blood of the Borjigit clan flowing through my veins.”

Her voice was soft, yet each word was clear, as if she were reciting a scripture that had been prepared long ago and was destined to remain unchanged.

"This means that in many things in my life, I have no say in them. My marriage and my happiness have never been my top priorities."

She took a deep breath of the cold air, as if drawing strength from it:

"Even if... even if I don't marry you in the future, my ultimate fate will still be to be used as a gift, a bargaining chip in a transaction, to marry the leader of another powerful tribe on the grassland, to consolidate the alliance, in exchange for temporary peace or benefits. Such a marriage may have nothing to do with love, but only with interests and the survival of the tribe. This... is the fate of people like us."

At this point, her gaze became unusually firm, even carrying an almost martyr-like calm:
"So, yes, I am willing to marry you. Not because I have any deep love for you that I can't live without you, nor because I fear your power. It's because I see another possibility."

She gazed at the faintly visible, towering tents of the Ming army camp in the distance, her voice carrying a complex emotion:

"Marrying a chieftain of the grasslands might bring peace to one tribe or clan. But marrying you, the future emperor of the Ming Dynasty, if this marriage can truly become a strong bond as my brother says, then it could bring decades of genuine peace between the entire southern Mongolian grasslands, and even more Mongolian tribes, and the Ming Dynasty! It would mean smooth trade routes, prosperous border markets, and my people no longer having to risk their lives 'fighting for the border' for a drop of salt or a bolt of cloth, and being able to live and graze peacefully on the grasslands!"

Her gaze returned to Zhu Cilang's face, where the shyness had vanished, replaced by a clear, almost cold rationality:
"As for whether you like me or not, or whether I like you or not, it really doesn't matter. What matters is that if our union can truly bring lasting peace and a better life to the people of both countries, then what do my personal little bit of 'like' or 'dislike' matter? That's enough. For me, that's enough."

These words, spoken by a sixteen-year-old girl, carried a maturity and sorrow beyond her years, as well as a heart-wrenching spirit of sacrifice that completely subordinated personal happiness to the interests of the community. She positioned herself so clearly—a "sacrifice" or "bridge" that had to be used for greater peace, and accepted it with equanimity.

This might be her last way of protecting her pitiful self-esteem:
See, I wasn't forced; I chose this path voluntarily for the greater good.

Zhu Cilang listened quietly, his gaze fixed on Qiqige's face, which was a mixture of tear stains, determination, and resignation.

The floodgates of memory quietly opened.

Two years ago, when I first met her in Xuanfu, she was a little girl with the wildness of the grasslands, a stubborn look in her eyes, and an undisguised fear, like an unripe Sarilang flower with sharp thorns.

Now, standing atop the snow-covered hill, she stands tall and graceful. Her red Mongolian robe accentuates her snow-white skin and exquisite features. The hardships of the grasslands and life in Beijing have washed away her naivety, giving her a calm and resilient temperament.

However, behind this temperament lies a heavy shackle imposed too early on, a shackle inherent to political beings.

Honestly, do you love me?

Zhu Cilang silently asked himself. As a transmigrator who combined a modern soul with an imperial mindset, the word "love" was too extravagant and too heavy.

He bore the heavy responsibility of saving a dynasty and changing an era, and love was ranked very low on his priority list.

He even deliberately suppressed these feelings to avoid them becoming a weakness or a distraction.

But if asked whether you like it...

The girl in front of him was intelligent, brave, and sensible. In the two years she had spent in the capital, she had worked hard to adapt and learn, and had never caused him any trouble. On the contrary, she could sometimes offer some unique perspectives on the grasslands.

Her eyes widened when she was angry, her cheeks flushed when she was shy, and the occasional glimpses of curiosity and innocence that belonged to her age...

These images had been quietly imprinted in his heart without him even realizing it.

Perhaps, in the daily interactions, in those seemingly ordinary times, a faint affection had already quietly seeped into his heart like a stream after the spring snow melted, but he never deliberately examined or acknowledged it.

Silence spread across the hill, with only the howling of the wind.

After a long silence, Zhu Cilang finally spoke, his voice low but carrying an unprecedented gentleness and sincerity:

"Actually... when I first met you, I felt that you were quite different from Han Chinese girls. In the past two years, you've lived in the East Palace, and although you sometimes throw little tantrums and give me the cold shoulder..."

He paused, a rare, faint, genuine smile playing on his lips: "But I know it's not true dislike. And... I don't know when it started, but seeing you here makes me feel... well, the Eastern Palace doesn't seem so deserted anymore. So, if you're talking about liking..."

He met Qiqige's wide, incredulous gaze and said frankly:

"I like you, and I like you very much."

"boom--!"

These words were like a red-hot iron thrown into the calm lake of Qiqige's heart! All her previous mental preparation, all her "righteous indignation," and all her strong pretense of "sacrificing herself for peace" crumbled and vanished in an instant before this simple and direct "I like you!"
The reason she preemptively said "it doesn't matter whether you like it or not," and the reason she positioned herself as a "political tool," was that her deepest fear was that Zhu Cilang only married her for political needs and had no feelings for her at all.

She wanted to protect her pitiful self-esteem this way, to put on armor in advance so as not to be hurt by possible indifference and neglect in the future. But now, that armor has been easily pierced by those words!
An immense, indescribable mix of sorrow, grievance, relief, and an overwhelming sense of ecstasy, like a burst dam, instantly overwhelmed all her defenses! The forced calm on her face shattered completely, and scalding tears, no longer under control, streamed down her reddened eyes like pearls from a broken string, rolling down her cold cheeks and quickly turning icy cold in the wind.

She bit her lower lip hard, trying not to cry out, but her shoulders shook violently. Silent crying was more heartbreaking than wailing.

Seeing her break down in tears, Zhu Cilang felt the last bit of awkwardness and estrangement he had felt due to the political marriage quietly dissipate.

He understood. He understood that her previous "righteous" words were nothing more than the last fragile line of defense this proud and sensitive girl had built for herself when she was afraid of being rejected and treated merely as a tool. Her pitiful yet adorable little pride was laid bare at this moment.

He sighed softly, then without further hesitation, took two steps forward, stretched out his arms, and gently but firmly embraced the girl who was shivering in the cold wind and crying uncontrollably.

His embrace wasn't particularly warm, but it felt exceptionally comforting.

"Okay, stop crying."

He whispered in her ear, his tone gentler than ever before, with a hint of barely perceptible pity.

"I understand what you meant by what you said before, and what your little schemes are. Aren't you just afraid that I only see you as an ornament, a tool, and that I don't care about you at all?"

He felt the delicate body in his arms stiffen slightly, and the crying subsided a little, but the tears flowed even more fiercely, instantly soaking the front of his clothes.

Zhu Cilang gently patted her back, as if soothing a frightened little animal, and the smile on his lips deepened:

“Silly girl, I’m not that bad. I’ve seen you clearly these past two years. Your pride, your intelligence, your kindness, and your occasional little temper… I like them all. So, stop scaring yourself with those ‘righteousness’ and ‘responsibility’ words, and… stop scaring me.”

Finally, Qiqige in Zhu Cilang's arms could no longer hold back. She buried her face deep in Zhu Cilang's chest and let out a suppressed cry, like the whimper of a small animal. But this time, the cry contained less despair and more relief and grievance. The cold wind still howled, stirring up the snow at their feet, but between the two people embracing each other, it seemed as if a small, warm world, belonging only to them, had been created.

The hustle and bustle of the distant camp and the clash of swords during negotiations seemed to have temporarily faded away.

Sunlight filtering through the clouds cast a warm, golden-red hue over the vast snowfield and the scattered camps.

On that small hill overlooking the valley, their embracing figures, silhouetted against the backlight, created a serene and harmonious scene. The cold wind still howled, whipping at their clothes, but it couldn't dispel the warmth that quietly flowed between them, a warmth known as "mutual understanding."

Not far away, in front of the largest yurt, which had once served as the negotiation venue, a corner of the heavy curtain was quietly lifted.

Abuna stood in the shadow of the curtain, one hand still in the position of lifting the curtain, but his gaze had already passed through the gap between the tents and was firmly locked on the young couple embracing on the hill.

The cold wind blew into the tent, ruffling the hair on his forehead, but he was completely unaware.

He couldn't see his sister's expression, nor could he hear what they were saying. But he could see that the Ming Crown Prince, who was always calm and composed in public, even somewhat arrogant, was now holding his sister Qiqige in his arms in an almost protective manner.

Qiqige, the younger sister who always pretended to be strong and even prickly in front of him, buried her head deeply in his bright yellow embrace, her shoulders trembling slightly, as if she had unloaded a heavy burden, or as if she was venting some kind of emotion.

The tension that had been building for so long finally eased completely with a "clang".

Abna let out a long, silent sigh, the breath turning into a clear white mist in the cold air before being dispersed by the wind. The boulder that had been hanging over his throat seemed to have quietly fallen to the ground with that breath.

It's done. There's no need to ask what was said or guess the outcome; the scene before us is the best answer and the clearest signal.

He slowly lowered the curtain and turned around.

Inside the tent, warmth enveloped him once more, and the glow of the charcoal fire illuminated the complex expression on his face—a sense of relief, a feeling of ease as if a heavy burden had been lifted, a hint of reluctance at his sister's impending marriage, but above all, a sense of peace and security that everything had finally settled.

Behind him, several Khorchin generals, who were also eagerly awaiting and anxious, instantly understood when they saw the relaxed expression on Taiji's face, an expression he hadn't shown in months.

The group exchanged glances, and all saw the same emotion in each other's eyes—a deep, relief at surviving a disaster.

To be honest, after witnessing firsthand the volley of rifle fire that reaped lives like the Grim Reaper's scythe, especially that rumbling, fire-breathing steel behemoth that seemed to have stepped out of mythology, the last shred of hope that the grassland warriors might be able to fight back with their courage and horsemanship had long been crushed.

To oppose such a force? That's not war, that's suicide, a mad rush towards destruction for the entire tribe. (End of Chapter)