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

Now that the marriage alliance has been reached, it means that the Khorchin tribe, and perhaps the entire southern Mongolia, has found a way to survive in the new era, and perhaps even to thrive.

Once the tension eases, intense fatigue and lingering fear surge forth, followed by an extreme longing for peace.

Night fell, and the sky quickly turned black as if ink had been splashed on it.

However, unlike the suffocating tension and vigilance that permeated the valley last night, the grassland tonight seemed to be infused with new life.

The biting cold wind seemed to have wisely weakened, no longer whistling mournfully.

Between the Ming army camp to the south and the Khorchin camp to the north, in the open space where tensions had been high during the day, dozens of huge bonfires were lit. The dry wood crackled in the flames, and orange-red tongues of fire rose several meters high, illuminating the snow-covered ground for hundreds of paces as bright as day and dispelling the bitter cold of the winter night.

The scorching air currents distorted the air above, and the sparks, like rubies, rose and spun with the heat before finally extinguishing in the cold night sky.

Around the campfire, shadowy figures moved about, and a great deal of noise and chatter filled the air.

The Ming generals, who had been clearly separated and wary of each other during the day, were now sitting together, mixed around bonfires, forming several lively circles. The air was filled with the rich aroma of roasted whole lamb and stewed meat soup, mixed with the mellow smell of mare's milk wine and strong liquor.

A huge copper pot simmered with milky white broth, and a whole fat sheep was roasting over the fire, sizzling and dripping with golden fat, which ignited even stronger flames and produced an even more enticing aroma.

Language barrier?
It's okay! Smiles, gestures, and sharing a drink are the best forms of communication.

The terror of rifles and the shadow of steel behemoths from the daytime had not yet completely faded from their minds, but at this moment, in the face of flames and delicious food symbolizing peace and alliance, a sense of relief as if they had survived a catastrophe and a shared expectation for the future quietly brought the two sides closer together.

The Ming soldiers shared their personal rations and strong liquor with the Mongols, while the Mongol warriors offered the fattest mutton and the finest mare's milk wine.

At first, there was some restraint, but after a few bowls of strong liquor, the atmosphere quickly warmed up. The rough Mongolian long song and the Ming soldiers' heroic drinking songs rang out from time to time. Although the lyrics and music were different, the exciting melody and the joyful mood intertwined.

Some began to wrestle, while others danced simple dances around the campfire. Laughter, shouts, and the clinking of bowls and cups blended into a symphony of primal vitality and reconciliation at the grassland night banquet.

Beside the largest bonfire were two low couches covered with luxurious furs.

Zhu Cilang and Abunai sat facing each other, between them a copper hot pot burning with charcoal, its milky white broth bubbling and simmering with thinly sliced, delicious mutton, wild mushrooms unique to the grasslands, and cold-resistant vegetables. Qiqige, dressed in a more dignified and vibrant Mongolian costume, sat slightly behind Zhu Cilang, her face still bearing the shy blush of a newlywed, but her eyes were much calmer.

She would occasionally add piping hot milk tea or warm wine to Zhu Cilang and Abu Nai's silver bowls with light and respectful movements.

As Zhu Cilang and Abunai ate and chatted, the topic had long since shifted from the daytime deterrence and negotiations to concrete preliminary ideas for joint operations next spring.

Abunai provided a detailed account of the forces that the Khorchin tribe could mobilize, the advantages and disadvantages of their cavalry, their understanding of the terrain around Shenyang, and the possible attitudes of other Mongol tribes he knew of.

Zhu Cilang then roughly explained the main Ming army's marching route, timeline, and general requirements for the western route army's coordination. The two pointed to the simple map the guards had spread on the snow, conversing in hushed tones, nodding occasionally and adding their own comments. The firelight danced on their faces, illuminating two equally young faces, now unusually earnest due to their shared goal.

Before meeting Zhu Cilang, and especially before witnessing the "miracles" he brought, Abunai harbored deep-seated ambitions like his ancestor Genghis Khan to conquer the world and let the glory of the Golden Family shine across the four seas once again.

He even occasionally fantasized that after using the Ming Dynasty to weaken or eliminate the Jurchens, he might be able to integrate the Mongol tribes and become the new overlord of the grasslands, or even... one day, like his ancestors, he could go south to knock on the gates and witness the prosperity of the Central Plains.

However, the mind-blowing "drill" during the day was like a bucket of cold water from the Arctic Ocean, extinguishing the nascent flame of ambition in his heart without leaving a trace.

The hail of bullets from rifles and the roar of steel behemoths did not extinguish his anger, but crushed it, making him realize with a clear understanding that times had changed and the way war was fought had changed.

Individual bravery and tribal archery skills are as insignificant as dust in the face of such unimaginable power.

Now, he had only one clear and urgent thought in his mind—to maintain a long-lasting and solid peace with the Ming Dynasty and with the unfathomable Crown Prince before him, at all costs! And his sister becoming his concubine would undoubtedly add the most reliable bloodline insurance to this peace.

As long as this relationship exists, the Khorchin tribe, and even the Mongol tribes close to the Khorchin, will be the most reliable northern bulwark and ally of the Ming Dynasty for the next few decades, rather than a border threat that needs to be guarded against day and night.

As night deepened, the boisterous bonfire feast finally came to an end.

Most of the soldiers returned to their camps to rest, and the camp was once again shrouded in silence, save for the footsteps of patrolling soldiers and the occasional snores of drunken men in the distance. Zhu Cilang did not return to the largest command tent prepared for him in the Ming army camp.

Under Abunai's personal arrangement, in the most central and heavily guarded area of ​​the camp, a brand-new, spacious, and magnificent yurt, covered with the thickest and warmest furs and brocades, was set up as a temporary "new home." Inside the yurt, it was warm as spring, with a huge copper basin burning brightly with charcoal, and the air was filled with a faint fragrance from the grasslands and a hint of new leather and felt.

With the help of Qiqige and two Mongolian maids, Zhu Cilang washed up briefly and changed into comfortable everyday clothes.

Only after the maids bowed and withdrew, and the heavy curtains fell, isolating them from the outside world, leaving only the two of them in the tent, did a private and subtle atmosphere quietly spread, different from the tense negotiations during the day and the public socializing around the campfire.

The charcoal fire crackled softly from time to time, and the tallow candle on the candlestick burned with a steady, warm glow.

Qiqige removed her gorgeous outer garments, wearing only a close-fitting silk undergarment embroidered with exquisite patterns. She sat on the edge of a couch covered with snow-white lambskin, her head slightly lowered. Her cheeks were flushed with a captivating rosy hue in the candlelight and charcoal firelight, and her long eyelashes cast soft shadows under her eyes.

She was no longer the prickly Mongolian princess of the past, but a shy and nervous young girl about to experience the most important moment of her life.

Zhu Cilang stood in the tent, looking at her. He had been in this world for more than four years, and according to the traditional Chinese age reckoning, this body was nearly seventeen years old.

In this era, especially within the royal family, his age was already considered a time for marriage and even procreation. Court officials, his mother, Empress Zhou, and even his father, Emperor Chongzhen, had repeatedly mentioned his marriage, both openly and subtly. But he harbored a deep-seated conviction—to wait until the Jurchen threat was completely eliminated, until his body had matured further, until he had firmly set the empire on the right track, before considering these "personal matters." It was as if he wasn't entitled to embrace personal happiness until he had completed that fateful duel. Perhaps this was a sense of responsibility befitting a time traveler, or perhaps a subtle resistance to the inertia of history.

However, plans can never keep up with changes.

One night on the grassland, a political marriage suddenly arranged at the negotiating table, candid thoughts expressed on the hill, tacit eye contact exchanged by the campfire... everything seemed to be pushed by an invisible hand, flowing naturally and so quickly that he himself was somewhat dazed.

But at this moment, looking at that beautiful yet anxious figure under the candlelight, the unease he felt because his plans had been disrupted suddenly vanished.

Perhaps this is fate, and also a kind of "compensation" and "recognition" for him by this era.

Without further hesitation, he stepped forward.

The red candles flickered, and the warm tent seemed to hold the deep warmth of spring.

An unfamiliar environment, a completely new experience, carrying the wild atmosphere of the grasslands and the awkward trembling of a young girl. Although Zhu Cilang has two souls, this is also her first time in this matter. She has no experience, but she has the most abundant energy and the most instinctive enthusiasm of a young person.

The unfamiliar touch and temperature ignited the most primal flame, melting away the last trace of barriers created by identity, race, or politics. In this grassland tent, far from the capital and the court, they were just ordinary boys and girls, enjoying the most genuine harmony of life.

After an unknown amount of time, the wind and rain stopped, and the tent returned to silence, leaving only the slightly rapid breathing of the two, still somewhat unsteady, and the warm crackling of the charcoal fire. Qiqige nestled in Zhu Cilang's arms, her cheek pressed against his sweaty chest, listening to his strong, slightly rapid heartbeat, feeling a sense of security and peace she had never felt before. Zhu Cilang held her smooth shoulders, his gaze somewhat unfocused as he stared at the domed tent ceiling painted with traditional Mongolian auspicious cloud patterns, suddenly finding it both absurd and amusing.

In just one day, from military intimidation to political negotiations, from sibling quarrels to a love affair on a hill, and then to the warmth of a red candle in the bridal chamber... the wonders of life are beyond compare.

Just then, a figure suddenly flashed through his mind.

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a low voice, with a hint of unease and inquiry typical of men after the fact:
"Qiqige, we're like this now. When we get back, what are you... planning to tell your little sister?"

He felt the delicate body in his arms stiffen slightly. Qiqige remained silent for a moment before replying in a muffled voice, tinged with post-coital languor and a hint of shyness:

"What good 'plans' do you have? Just tell the truth."

Her tone was natural, even somewhat matter-of-fact.

"If she finds out, she definitely won't blame me; on the contrary... she'll be very happy."

"Happy?"

Zhu Cilang was somewhat surprised.

"Ah."

Qiqige responded softly, and as if remembering something, a very faint, complex smile appeared on her lips.

“Back when we were in the capital, she mentioned this to me in a casual conversation. She said that if I wanted, she hoped I could stay in the Ming Dynasty, stay in the Eastern Palace, and keep her company. She also said…”

She paused, her voice lower, yet still clearly audible:
"She said, 'With your status, when you ascend the throne, you'll have a harem of concubines and countless wives. That's the rule set by our ancestors, and it's necessary for stabilizing the court. No one can change it. Rather than facing those women whose backgrounds you don't know and whose intentions you have, scheming and living in constant fear in the deep palace, it's better to... have a few good sisters like us, whom you've known for a long time, who know you well, and who can support each other and share your innermost thoughts. That way, life might be a little easier.'"

Zhu Cilang listened, speechless for a moment.

Zheng Xiaomei's words were calm, rational, and even carried a clarity and helplessness beyond her years. From her perspective, this was perhaps the most pragmatic and helpless choice she could make after recognizing the unchangeable reality of the palace—since she couldn't monopolize everything, she would proactively choose allies, cultivate her own "circle" in advance, and strive for a relatively stable foothold in the future palace intrigues.

She regards Qiqige as a "good sister" rather than a "competitor," which is both a matter of personality and a kind of survival wisdom.

However, when this idea of ​​a "sisterhood alliance" came from the mouth of a concubine of the crown prince who had not yet been formally married, Zhu Cilang found it both amusing and inexplicably heavy with a sense of pity. They were all so young, yet they had already had to begin thinking about and planning for the long and complex future within the deep palace.

Thinking of this, Zhu Cilang could only shake his head helplessly, holding the person in his arms even tighter, placing a light kiss on the top of her head, and whispering:
"Go to sleep, don't think so much. We'll talk about the future later."

Qiqige softly hummed in his arms, found a more comfortable position, and closed her eyes.

Having experienced the highs and lows of her emotions and the first physical transformation, she was exhausted and soon fell into a deep sleep enveloped in a comforting atmosphere. Zhu Cilang listened to her even breathing, gazed at the top of the tent, and remained lost in thought for a moment before slowly closing his eyes.

The next day, the sky was bright.

In the winter of the northern frontier, the sun shines exceptionally generously once it rises. The sky, a clear, deep blue without a single cloud, stretches as far as the eye can see, so clear it seems to reflect the human heart. The golden sunlight pours down without obstruction, illuminating the snow-covered grasslands. The snow reflects a dazzling light, and the world is bright and open, a stark contrast to yesterday's gloomy and somber mood, as if heralding a new beginning.

When Zhu Cilang awoke, the tent was already brightly lit. Sunlight streamed in through the skylight and the gaps in the curtains, forming several bright beams of light, with dust motes floating in them.

Qiqige beside him was still fast asleep, her eyelashes casting a soft shadow on her cheeks, her sleeping face serene.

He didn't get up immediately, but lay quietly for a while, savoring this rare, peaceful morning before the great battle.

Only when he could faintly hear the commands of soldiers doing their morning drills and the sound of horses' hooves outside the tent did he quietly rise, trying not to disturb those around him. (End of Chapter)