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

The gates were wide open, and as soon as Daishan stepped inside, he was so stunned by the sight before him that he could hardly breathe.

A straight, arrow-shaped bluestone path, more than ten zhang wide, leads directly to the central command tent, which can be vaguely seen in the distance.

On both sides of the passageway, there were densely packed Ming soldiers stretching as far as the eye could see. They did not stand haphazardly like ordinary troops, but were organized into strict "three-three" squads, with three people in each squad and several steps apart from each other, forming a huge "human wall" that stretched for miles and whose depth was unknown.

What terrified Dai Shan even more were the weapons in the hands of these soldiers.

The muskets on their shoulders had long, straight barrels that gleamed with a cold metallic luster. They also seemed to have some kind of peculiar metal component attached to the bottom of the barrel. Their simple and smooth design was completely different from any musket, matchlock gun, or flintlock gun he had ever seen before!
Without a matchlock or a powder keg, the slender barrel and simple mechanism exuded a restrained yet deadly killing intent.

"This...this is definitely not a flintlock gun..."

Dai Shan was horrified, and his steps unconsciously slowed down.

As a seasoned veteran, he knew all too well what a technological gap in weaponry meant.

The Ming army... has updated its equipment in such a short time! Just by looking at the appearance of this new type of firearm, one can tell that its range, accuracy, and rate of fire are far superior to those of the old firearms.

Just then, a series of extremely muffled yet continuous loud noises came from the distant horizon without any warning!

"Boom—!!!"

The sound was like thousands of giant cowhide drums beating simultaneously, or like the most violent thunderclap in summer, coming from the depths of the earth, shaking the ground beneath his feet and making the air seem to resonate with it! Caught off guard, Dai Shan shuddered violently, his face turning deathly pale. Almost instinctively, he looked up at the sky, thinking he had been struck by a thunderstorm.

However, the sky remained overcast, with leaden clouds hanging low, and there was no sign of thunder.

"Hahahaha!"

"Look at him!"

"You must be terrified by the 'Divine Iron Fortress'!"

The Ming soldiers, who had been standing solemnly like pines on both sides of the passageway, finally couldn't help but burst into laughter. The laughter was full of mockery, contempt, and a sense of superiority.

The guerrilla general leading the way also curled up a mocking smile, but did not stop him, only looking at the still-shaken Manchu prince with a hint of amusement.

Dai Shan's face turned bright red, filled with shame and indignation, yet he dared not retaliate.

He forced himself to remain calm, his voice trembling slightly.

"What...what was that sound?"

The guerrilla general stopped laughing, his tone calm, yet carrying a suffocating sense of oppression:
"Prince Li, there is no need to panic. This is our army's 'Divine Machine Battalion' practicing the 'National Guardian Weapon'—the Divine Machine Iron Fortress. It is not heavenly thunder, but... the roar of steel."

"Steel...roar?"

Dai Shan murmured repeatedly, a chill running from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head.

Just then, the group reached a slightly elevated slope. Through the gaps in the tents ahead, Daishan's view suddenly opened up, and he looked at the training ground, which covered hundreds of acres and was surrounded by heavy fences.

The next moment, Prince Li, who had served three emperors and seen many storms, suddenly contracted his pupils, opened his mouth slightly involuntarily, and stood frozen in place as if he had been frozen in place, his mind blank.

Contrary to his expectations, there wasn't just one "steel behemoth" on the training field.

Instead... a full thirteen!

Thirteen colossal figures, each several meters tall and resembling mobile fortresses, are constructed entirely of thick, riveted dark gray steel plates, their sharp edges and corners exuding a ruthless sense of industrial power.

They were not still, but were emitting deafening roars and howls! The thick chimneys at the top were frantically spewing out black smoke and white, high-temperature steam, and their massive bodies were moving slowly but steadily under the power of steam! The heavy iron wheels rolled over the ground, leaving deep ruts, and the earth groaned.

Each of the "Iron Fortresses" has several firing ports on its side, from which dark cannon muzzles protrude.

On the top platform, the busy figures of soldiers can be vaguely seen.

They are like primordial beasts that have stepped out of myths and legends, spewing flames and thick smoke, emitting roars that make the earth tremble, and strolling leisurely across this land!
This isn't just one, it's thirteen! Thirteen walking, roaring, and impervious to swords and spears—a total of thirteen steel fortresses!

Daishan felt his vision go black and the world spin.

All the luck and all the illusions were crushed in this moment by the thirteen steel behemoths before them!
He seemed to see the Eight Banners warriors, brandishing their sabers and roaring as they charged towards these monsters, only to be swept down like grass by the dense rain of bullets and crushed into mincemeat by the giant wheels...

What is human power compared to this kind of force?
What is courage in the face of such destruction?
The mighty Eight Banners army... what difference is there between them and clay chickens and earthen dogs in the face of this steel torrent?
"God...artifact..."

Dai Shan was distraught, his lips trembling, his voice barely audible.

"This is... a divine artifact... beyond human power to defeat..."

His legs went weak, and he almost collapsed to the ground if his personal guards hadn't caught him in time.

He no longer looked at the training ground, but mechanically, as he was helped along, he walked forward with uneven steps, his back hunched, as if he had aged ten years in an instant.

He knew that the battle was lost.

From the moment these thirteen "Divine Iron Fortresses" were activated, the fate of the Qing Dynasty was sealed.

Not far away, the central command of the Ming army's "Pingliao Grand Camp" was located.

This is a huge palace that was temporarily built, yet it is grand in scale and heavily guarded.

The palace was built with massive timbers and covered with bright yellow silk. Although it could not match the splendor of the Forbidden City, it exuded an unquestionable imperial majesty in the desolate wilderness beyond the Great Wall.

In the square in front of the palace, the white marble steps were swept clean and spotless. On both sides stood tall Han generals in golden armor, holding golden mace and axes, their faces expressionless, stretching all the way to the end of the field of vision into the military formation that resembled a steel jungle.

Under the "escort" of the Ming army guerrilla who was leading the way, Daishan staggered up the stone steps.

At this moment, he was no longer the princely figure he had been when he left Shenyang a few days earlier. His hair and beard were disheveled, his brocade robe was covered in dust, his back was hunched, and every step he took seemed extremely difficult, as if he were carrying a heavy burden. The roar and movement of the thirteen "Divine Machine Iron Fortress" soldiers, and the chilling killing intent of the new rifle formation, haunted his mind like a nightmare, almost shattering the last shred of dignity he had as a veteran general.

The palace doors slowly opened, and a warm current mixed with the scent of ambergris, warmth, and a chilling atmosphere rushed out.

Inside the hall, candlelight illuminated the room as brightly as day.

Emperor Chongzhen, Zhu Youjian, dressed in a dragon robe with twelve imperial symbols and wearing a winged crown, sat on the temporary golden throne with coiled dragons set up on the Danbi steps. His face was calm as water, but his eyes were sharp as an eagle, as if they could penetrate people's hearts.

Zhu Cilang, dressed in an apricot-yellow robe with four dragon medallions and covered with golden armor, stood beside the throne with an upright posture and imposing presence. His eyes held a calmness and scrutiny beyond his years.

Your Majesty, flanked by ministers from the Six Ministries and Nine Ministers, nobles and military generals, gathered in a grand hall, all impeccably dressed and solemn. Their gazes toward the trembling figure at the palace entrance were filled with undisguised contempt, hostility, and a sense of superiority that seemed to hold the victory in their grasp.

Dai Shan felt as if those gazes were thorns in his back, making him feel cold all over.

He took a deep breath, suppressing the humiliation and fear in his heart, and walked shakily to the foot of the steps. He pushed aside the golden mountain and the jade pillar, his knees buckled, and he knelt heavily on the ground. His forehead touched the cold, hard gold brick floor, making a dull sound.

"Your subject... Prince Daishan of the Great Qing Dynasty pays homage to His Majesty the Great Emperor of the Great Ming Dynasty! Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor!"

His voice was hoarse and dry, with an uncontrollable tremor—a tremor of fear and despair.

The hall was deathly silent; you could hear a pin drop. Only the monotonous dripping of the water clock clearly recorded each suffocating moment.

After a long silence, Emperor Chongzhen's cold, authoritative, and emotionless voice finally rang out from the throne:

"Flat body."

"Thank you... thank you for your great kindness, Your Majesty."

Dai Shan struggled to get up, but due to weak legs and exhaustion, he was unable to stand up and almost fell to the ground, showing his disheveled state.

On both sides of the imperial steps, civil and military officials couldn't help but let out low sneers.

His personal guards rushed forward to help him up, and they managed to lift him up with difficulty.

Daishan steadied himself, not daring to look directly at the emperor's face. Trembling, he took out a scroll of official documents from his bosom, bound in bright yellow silk and stamped with the jade seal of "Treasure of the Prince of the Great Qing." He raised it high above his head, his voice growing increasingly humble, almost a wail:
"Your subject... by order of my sovereign, has come to present this letter of state, desiring to be a vassal state of the Great Ming Dynasty forever, paying tribute annually without fail. Furthermore... we are willing to cede a thousand li of land east of the Liao River, and earnestly beg Your Majesty... to cease hostilities and allow... to allow my tribe to eke out a living in this corner of Liaodong..."

"wishful thinking!"

"A treacherous traitor like you dares to talk about peace?!"

"Cede territory? Your Jianzhou Guard has always been part of the Ming Dynasty! How can you talk about 'ceding' it?!"

Before Dai Shan could finish speaking, the crowd inside the hall was already filled with indignation.

An elderly imperial censor, with white hair and beard and dressed in a scarlet robe embroidered with cranes, suddenly stepped out of the ranks, pointed his halberd at Dai Shan, his beard and hair bristling, and shouted angrily:

"Daishan! You still have the nerve to mention 'peace negotiations'? Back then, your father Nurhaci was merely a commander of the Jianzhou Left Guard of our Great Ming Dynasty. He was granted an imperial edict and seal by the court, allowing him to command his people! It was the court that took in you savages from the Changbai Mountains and the Heilongjiang River, giving you a place to live! But how have you repaid this grace? You usurped the title of emperor, slaughtered my people, and ravaged my territory! Now that the royal army is pressing in, and the situation is hopeless, you finally know to wag your tails and beg for mercy? It's too late!"

Another Vice Minister of War responded sharply, his voice icy, each word piercing the heart:
"Today you cede the land east of the Liao River, will you cede Shenyang and Tieling tomorrow? Once you've recovered, will you betray our promise and invade the Celestial Empire again? You Jurchens are wolfish and fickle, as the whole world knows! My Great Ming will not fall for your delaying tactics again!"

The ministers' angry rebukes, like a violent storm, pelted down on His Majesty's lonely figure.

Dai Shan's face was ashen, his whole body trembled like a leaf, and cold sweat instantly soaked through his inner shirt. He felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave, with cold air shooting from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, and even his teeth couldn't help but chatter.

He wanted to explain, but his throat tightened and he couldn't utter a single word.

The unearthed old grievances about his father and grandfather's humble origins, and the enumerated crimes of betrayal, were like the sharpest knife, peeling away the dignity that he and the entire Aisin Gioro family had tried to conceal, revealing the bloody and irrefutable truth.

"enough!"

On his throne, Emperor Chongzhen slammed his hand on the armrest of the dragon throne, the sound like thunder, instantly silencing the commotion in the hall.

He suddenly stood up, the golden dragons on his black dragon robe gleaming in the candlelight, as if they were about to burst out of his clothes and devour someone at any moment.

His gaze was like lightning, fixed on Daishan's face. In that gaze was the anger of decades of national and personal hatred, the absolute authority of an emperor facing rebellion, and an unquestionable, final judgment-like determination!
"Dai Shan!"

Emperor Chongzhen's voice trembled slightly with indignation, yet every word was clear, like a heavy hammer striking the hearts of everyone present.

"You Jianzhou rats, ungrateful and treacherous, have usurped the title of emperor, slaughtered my people, and ravaged my land! Since the rebellion of Nurhaci, how many cities of my Great Ming have been reduced to ashes? How many soldiers have shed their blood on the yellow sand? How many people have been displaced? This hatred is irreconcilable!"

He enumerated the seven major crimes of Nurhaci and Huang Taiji, from "ingratitude and repaying kindness with enmity" to "usurping the throne and disrupting the social order", from "breaking oaths and repeatedly violating heavenly laws" to "massacring cities and killing people, arousing the wrath of heaven and man". Each one was accompanied by bloody memories, and each one was enough to make the "envoy" in front of him suffer eternal damnation!
"Today, I lead the six armies to hunt in Liaodong, not to cede territory, nor to pay tribute, but to eradicate this wicked rebellion, to restore order, and to bring peace to both the Chinese and the barbarians!"

Chongzhen's voice suddenly rose, carrying an almost roaring, resolute determination that was like sacrificing everything.

"The royal army has arrived, and their arrows are pointed at you. Only now do you know to wag your tails and beg for mercy? Too late! Too late!"

"Go back and tell Dorgon!"

Zhu Cilang, who was standing to the side, stepped forward at the right moment. His voice was clear and melodious, but it was colder and harder than Chongzhen's angry rebuke, carrying an unquestionable and iron-willed spirit.

“Not an inch of Ming territory will be yielded! Shenyang belongs to Ming! Liaodong belongs to Ming! You either surrender and await punishment, so that your ancestral temples may be preserved and your bodies may remain intact in the afterlife, or you will have to wait for the day the city falls, when everything is destroyed, the ancestral temples crumble, and the Aisin Gioro clan… will be wiped out from the world! There is no third way! Do you understand?”

The last sentence, "Did you understand?", was spoken in a flat tone, yet it carried a condescending and authoritative air, like a master giving orders to a servant.

Dai Shan trembled violently and could no longer hold on. He collapsed to his knees with a thud, cold sweat pouring down his forehead and dripping in large drops onto the gold bricks, forming a small puddle.

His lips trembled as he tried to say something, but could only utter a suffocating "hoarse" sound, like someone being strangled.

"Fork out!"

Emperor Chongzhen waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away a disgusting fly. (End of Chapter)