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

After a moment, he suddenly spoke, his voice carrying a barely perceptible hint of tension and uncertainty—something utterly incongruous with his imperial status.
"Lang'er, tomorrow... tomorrow we will be swearing an oath and setting off for war. I... I feel a little... uneasy and uncertain."

He turned around and looked at Zhu Cilang, his gaze filled with inquiry, and even a hint of barely perceptible dependence:

"You often talk about the 'horizontal push' strategy... Is it really 100% certain? Six hundred thousand troops, without much flanking maneuvering or ingenious schemes, just relying on the advantage of firearms, can push straight through head-on... This is completely different from the military books I have read and the battle examples I have heard since I was a child."

Throughout history, warfare has emphasized the importance of timing, terrain, and popular support, combining the orthodox and unorthodox methods, and employing a balance of deception and strength. To so... to abandon all cunning and rely solely on brute force... I truly... have no confidence in such a strategy.”

Looking at the anxious Chongzhen Emperor, Zhu Cilang felt both moved and warmed.

He knew that Chongzhen was traumatized by the repeated defeats in the Liaodong campaign over the past few decades, and instinctively harbored doubts and even fears about any tactics that went beyond the scope of traditional military classics.

He stepped forward, his tone firm, carrying an almost arrogant certainty that transcended his time:

“Father, times have changed. In ancient times, due to the limitations of weapons—bows, horses, swords, and spears—the killing power was limited. Therefore, they had to rely on strategy to win with ingenuity and defeat the many with the few. But now, times have changed!”

His gaze was intense, and his tone was resolute:

"Our Great Ming has new rifles that can kill people at a range of 300 paces, with extremely high accuracy and a rate of fire far exceeding that of bows and arrows; we have improved cannons that can ravage for miles; and we have armored chariots that are impervious to swords and spears, spewing fire and smoke, and possessing immense strength! Faced with such absolute superiority in strength, any fancy tactics, any so-called 'advantage of terrain' or 'popularity' are nothing but a mantis trying to stop a chariot, utterly vulnerable!"

He made an extremely simple yet powerful gesture—arms outstretched, slowly moving forward:

"It's like a giant, strong enough to lift a cauldron and clad in heavy armor, facing a group of children wielding sticks and barely clothed. Why does the giant need to dodge and weave, or make a show of force? Why does he need to seize high ground or cut off the enemy's supply lines? He only needs to stride forward, upright and honorable, step by step! The children's sticks hitting his armor are like tickles; their charge will be easily crushed by his punches!"

No matter how fierce the Jurchen cavalry or how sharp their arrows, before our army's overwhelming and relentless rain of bullets, they are nothing but moving targets, lambs to the slaughter!

Zhu Cilang's words, like a resounding bell, were deafening and carried an undeniable confidence:

"Father, this battle needs no military strategy! What we need is this upright and overwhelming force! We need to show the Jurchens, and the world, that in the face of the absolute power of the Ming Dynasty, any resistance is futile! Any scheme is a joke! We will use steel and fire to crush all their illusions and end this era completely!"

Looking at his son's young and resolute face, and at the absolute confidence burning in his eyes—a confidence that stemmed from the "technological gap"—the doubts and anxieties in Chongzhen's heart miraculously dissipated little by little.

Yes, he had witnessed the power of a volley of rifle fire and the terror of the "Divine Machine Iron Fortress".

Perhaps... perhaps there truly exists a power in this world that can transcend all military strategies and tactics, leading directly to the shore of victory.

He slammed his fist on the window frame, his eyes rekindling with the resolute ambition and determination of an emperor:

"Good! I trust you! We'll follow your plan and sweep through! Let those Jurchens taste the feeling of being crushed by Mount Tai!"

April 12th, Chen Shi (7-9 AM), outside Desheng Gate.

The rising sun casts its golden rays upon the earth, dispelling the morning mist.

Outside Deshengmen, the open fields within a radius of several miles were already teeming with people, banners obscuring the sun, armor like a forest, and swords and spears like snow.

Thirteen thousand elite Ming soldiers, arranged according to their respective battalions and branches of service, stood solemnly in dozens of neat and orderly giant square formations.

Looking out from the majestic gate tower of Deshengmen, one sees a sea of ​​people and a mountain of horses, stretching endlessly to the horizon.

Sunlight shone on the Ming soldiers' brand-new gray uniforms, gleaming breastplates, and the forest of spears and muskets, reflecting a dazzling, cold light. The air was thick with the scent of leather, steel, sweat, and a chilling, almost burning atmosphere of "fighting spirit."

At 3:45 AM, the auspicious time has arrived.

Three deafening cannon shots, like thunderclaps, exploded over Deshengmen, their sound echoing for miles around, even making the bricks and stones on the city wall seem to tremble slightly.

Before the sound of cannon fire had subsided, the heavy Desheng Gate slowly opened.

Emperor Chongzhen, clad in golden helmet and armor, with an apricot-yellow dragon-patterned battle robe over it, and a sword at his waist, rode a magnificent crimson Akhal-Teke horse. Surrounded by Crown Prince Zhu Cilang, Grand Secretary Xu Guoguan, Minister of War Hong Chengchou, and other important civil and military officials, he slowly drove out of the city gate and ascended the three-zhang-high oath-taking platform that had been erected beforehand.

"Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor!"

Thirteen thousand soldiers, along with tens of thousands of ordinary people from the capital city, both on and off the city walls and along the roads, knelt down in unison, their shouts of "Long live the Emperor!" like a tsunami, overwhelming and soaring into the sky, startling birds in the distant mountains and forests, and continuing for a long time.

Emperor Chongzhen reined in his warhorse, his gaze sharp as lightning, and slowly swept over the 130,000 men below the stage who were about to follow him on his northern expedition and determine the fate of the Ming Dynasty.

He took a deep breath, drew his sword from his waist, pointed it northeast, and spoke in a booming voice, each word clearly reaching the ears of everyone present:

"Army soldiers! Today, I and you swear an oath to march forth and punish the Jurchens, wipe them out and cleanse Liaodong forever! This battle concerns the fate of the nation, the well-being of the people, and the peace of all the Chinese people! I urge you to fight bravely and display the might of our nation! When we return in triumph, I will not hesitate to bestow upon you titles and fiefdoms!"

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

His response was met with an even more ferocious and resolute roar from 130,000 soldiers!

The roar of voices converged into an invisible torrent, as if to tear the sky apart and pour out all the humiliation and resentment of the past few decades onto the enemy far away in Liaodong!
After the oath-taking ceremony, the army set off.

With the vanguard elites led by generals such as Sun Chuanting, Cao Wenzhao, Wu Sangui, and Zhou Yuji as the spearhead, the central army surrounding the imperial carriages of Emperor Chongzhen and Emperor Zhu Cilang, and the rear army escorting a long stretch of grain and supplies that stretched for dozens of miles as far as the eye could see, this giant dragon of the East, forged from steel, flesh and blood, and will, slowly started moving, rolling towards Shanhaiguan, towards Liaodong, towards the final battleground.

The wheels rolled, the hooves clattered, and dust rose, obscuring the sky.

On the Deshengmen city tower and on the high ground on both sides of the road, the civil and military officials who were left to oversee the country, including Prince Ding Zhu Cijiong, Grand Secretary Xue Guoguan, Duke of Yingguo Zhang Shize, and Marquis Zhongzhen Qin Liangyu, all knelt down to respectfully see off the royal army.

"Your Majesty and His Highness the Crown Prince, we respectfully bid you farewell! May Your Majesty and His Highness achieve great success and return home victorious soon!" Although Qin Liangyu was over seventy years old and her hair was as white as silver, she still straightened her back and bowed deeply to the imperial carriage that was gradually disappearing into the distance.

This veteran general, who had fought on the battlefield his entire life and whose family was known for their loyalty and bravery, had no tears in his eyes at this moment, only endless expectations and an unwavering belief.

And so, 130,000 young men of the Ming Dynasty, carrying the hopes and anger of the entire nation, embarked on their northward journey.

At this moment, history turned a new page.

This chapter will be written with steel, flames, and blood, and its ending will determine the fate of East Asia for centuries to come.

In the early May of the seventeenth year of the Chongzhen reign (1644), outside Jinzhou City, Liaodong.

Spring always arrives exceptionally late in the border regions.

Although it was already May, the snow on the open fields of the Liaodong Corridor had long since melted away, and a few specks of green struggled to emerge from the withered meadows. However, the biting north wind still carried a chilling cold, stirring up dry dust that stung the face.

The sky was that unique, high and desolate leaden gray, typical of the northern frontier, with a few lonely wisps of cloud torn into fluffy shapes by the wind and drifting slowly.

However, on this vast and somewhat desolate land, a magnificent and unprecedented spectacle is unfolding at this moment.

Starting from Ningyuan Garrison City and extending northward to the city of Jinzhou, stretching for nearly a hundred miles from east to west, the once open fields, riverbanks, and hilly slopes have been completely covered by camps that have sprung up like mushrooms after rain, densely packed and seemingly endless.

Gray-blue tents, white yurts, makeshift wooden barracks, and mountains of grain and hay, along with supply wagons tightly covered with tarpaulins, formed a vast, boundless "artificial ocean" of manpower and resources.

This is the "Pingliao Camp" built by the Ming Dynasty with all its national strength.

Between the military camps, the crisscrossing official roads were widened and compacted, leaving deep ruts.

Soldiers dressed in colorful mandarin duck battle jackets, covered with cotton or leather armor, moved between camps like a busy swarm of ants. The sounds of commands, horses' hooves, wheels rolling over frozen ground, and shouts of battle from the drill ground in the distance intertwined into a huge and continuous roar, breaking the silence of a spring afternoon in the border region.

The air was filled with the unique scent of leather, steel, horse manure, damp earth, and freshly lit cooking smoke—a scent unique to the army camp.

Banners representing different camps and generals fluttered in the wind.

There were dragon flags representing the Beijing garrison, general flags representing the border troops, and commander flags with the character "朱" (zhu, meaning red) representing the new army—a dazzling array that blotted out the sky. A rough estimate suggests that, within sight alone, the number of Ming soldiers gathered here was no less than 300,000!

This does not include the even larger number of supply soldiers, doctors, veterinarians, craftsmen, and conscripted laborers who accompanied the army.

Jinzhou, a major town in western Liaoning that has been ravaged by war and whose city walls are now mottled, is like a huge reef in this "sea of ​​people".

On the city wall, a bright yellow dragon flag fluttered high, and a burly Han general, clad in golden armor and wielding a long halberd, stood solemnly on guard.

At the city gate, a constant stream of vehicles and horses flowed. Grain, weapons, medicines, and clothing, brought from within the Great Wall, from Jiangnan, and from Huguang, were being transported by sea and canal, and were being continuously delivered into the city by the shoulders of countless laborers and pulled by mules and horses, before being distributed to various camps outside the city.

An elderly man with white hair and beard, wearing a coarse cloth jacket and with his face etched with the wrinkles of time, was leading several young boys, driving several large carts loaded with freshly harvested hay, struggling through the crowded streets.

He was a centurion from a fortified village thirty miles outside Jinzhou City, and he was ordered to deliver fodder today.

Looking at the boundless, murderous army formation before him, the old man's cloudy eyes were filled with shock and an indescribable excitement.

He stopped, wiped the sweat from his brow, and said to a boy beside him, about thirteen or fourteen years old, also dressed in patched clothes, but excitedly looking around:

"Dog Boy, did you see that? This...this is the Heavenly Army of our Great Ming! I've lived for seventy years, and I've been in Liaodong since the time of Emperor Wanli. I've fought the Tartars and defended cities, but...but I've never seen anything like this before! How many troops must there be!"

The boy named Gouwa stared wide-eyed, swallowed hard, and his voice trembled:
"Sir, I heard from the steward that there are four or five hundred thousand soldiers alone! Add to that those of us who transport grain, cook, and repair roads, and it's probably...maybe over a million?"

The old man nodded heavily, his calloused hands trembling slightly.

"A million...a million heavenly soldiers! With this force, let alone attacking Shenyang, we could plow through the entire Liaodong region! Heaven has opened its eyes! We Han people are finally going to reclaim this land that has been occupied by the Tartars for thirty years!"

Like the grandfather and grandson, there were many others in this camp who were awestruck by this unprecedented massive military mobilization and joined in with great anticipation.

Since the imperial court issued the edict to "pacify Liaodong", almost all men in Liaodong and Liaoxi who could walk, from teenagers as young as thirteen or fourteen to elderly men in their sixties with white hair and beards, were conscripted to undertake heavy logistical tasks such as transporting grain and fodder, building fortifications, and taking care of mules and horses.

They may not understand military and national affairs, but they know that the imperial court is serious this time and wants to completely drive the "Jiang slaves" who caused their families to be destroyed and their people to be displaced out of this black land.

Hope, like the belated spring grass in the borderlands, quietly sprouts in the hearts of countless people who have suffered the ravages of war.

At this moment, in the center of Jinzhou City, the grand and heavily guarded mansion that originally belonged to General Zu Dashou of Liaodong had been renovated overnight and hung with bright yellow curtains, becoming the temporary palace for the Ming Emperor and the Crown Prince.

The main hall of the imperial palace, which originally contained sand tables and maps, was now brightly lit with candles, and the atmosphere was solemn and dignified.

Emperor Chongzhen, Zhu Youjian, dressed in a slightly worn black casual robe with a dark blue cloak for warmth, did not sit on the temporarily added dragon throne. Instead, he stood with his hands behind his back in front of a huge carved wooden window inlaid with glazed tiles on the west side of the hall, quietly gazing out the window.

Outside the window, beyond the palace walls, one can clearly see the orderly streets and alleys of Jinzhou City, and further away, the Ming army camp outside the city, as vast as the ocean, with its banners obscuring the sun.

The afterglow of the setting sun cast a poignant yet magnificent crimson hue upon this torrent of steel and flesh. (End of Chapter)