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

Rather than allowing these hateful and terrain-savvy North Koreans to become potential sources of trouble, it would be better to incorporate them into our system, giving them the identity of "Ming people" and channels for advancement.

The effect is significant.

For many ordinary Koreans and lower-ranking soldiers struggling on the brink of life and death and utterly disillusioned with the corrupt and incompetent Joseon Dynasty, becoming a member of the "Celestial Empire," even in name only, was an irresistible temptation.

In a short time, the slogan "Join the royal army, fight against the Jurchens, and become a Ming citizen" spread rapidly in northern Korea along with stories of the benevolent rule of the Ming army.

The prestige of the Ming army grew rapidly, like a snowball rolling downhill, and its controlled area and influence spread rapidly southward.

In contrast, the Jurchens were like a snowman under the scorching sun, constantly melting and collapsing.

Although Dorgon dispatched the fiercest supervisory team and used the most brutal punishments to deter soldiers who attempted to escape or surrender, fear and despair could not be completely eradicated by the butcher's knife.

Every day, small groups of soldiers would take advantage of the darkness or the chaos of war to abandon their weapons, take off their uniforms, and flee into the mountains, or simply surrender to the Ming army.

The defenses at the front were like a dilapidated house with drafts everywhere. The Ming army didn't even need to launch a strong attack. Often, just a decent artillery barrage or a probing fire was enough to shake and collapse the Jurchen positions on the other side.

Everyone knew that the fall of the Jurchens was only a matter of time.

The only difference is whether one dies a glorious death in battle, or starves to death or scatters silently, or... kneels down at the last moment.

The ruins of Seoul, the "Royal Palace" area.

Compared to a month ago, the atmosphere here is even more oppressive and deathly still, like the last suffocating calm before a storm. The ruins of the palace remain, but the guards' eyes no longer show much ferocity, only numb weariness and deep-seated fear.

Food rations had been reduced to a minimum, and even the officers were beginning to look malnourished. Whispers spread like a plague throughout the camp:
"Have you heard? Another village has fallen to the north, and the garrison commander fled with his men..."

"Run? Where can we run to? We're surrounded by Ming dogs and those Korean bastards!"

"Surrender... I heard that as long as you lay down your weapons, the Ming dogs won't kill prisoners and will even give you food..."

"Keep your voice down! Are you out of your mind? If the supervisory team hears you, they'll chop you up on the spot!"

"It's better to be killed than to starve to death slowly..."

Despair, like black vines, coils around everyone's heart, tightening ever more.

Late one night in late April, inside the heavily guarded core tent.

The flickering candlelight illuminated several faces, each with a different expression but all equally solemn. Dorgon, Daišan, Ajige, and Jirgalang—the last core decision-makers of the Qing Dynasty—were gathered here.

After a long silence, Dorgon slowly spoke, his voice hoarse, yet carrying a resolute determination:
"Now that things have come to this, there are some things that no longer need to be kept from you brothers."

All eyes immediately focused on him.

“As early as when the Ming dogs first set foot in Korea, I… was already planning another way to survive.”

Dorgon's gaze swept over the crowd, finally settling on the huge blank space in the north of the map.

"Not Japan. It's Rakshasa."

"Rakshasa?"

Ajige frowned.

"The Rakshasa Kingdom is located in the far north, and its territory is said to be several times larger than that of the Ming Dynasty. Although the land is bitterly cold, it is sparsely populated. More importantly..."

A strange light flashed in Dorgon's eyes, as if he were trying to convince others, or perhaps himself.

"The Russians' firearms are extremely backward; they haven't even been equipped with decent muskets, let alone those demonic weapons like the Ming dogs. The flintlock muskets in our hands are enough to make us invincible there! As long as we can gain a foothold, with the abilities of us brothers, we might just be able to establish a new foundation there and rebuild the Qing Dynasty!"

He paused, lowering his voice, which carried a seductive undertone:

"Moreover, the Rakshasa are thousands of miles away from the Ming Dynasty, separated by mountains and rivers, and the climate is harsh. Even if the Ming dogs wanted to chase us, they would be too far away to reach us, and such a long and arduous expedition would not last long. Even if they did catch up, the Rakshasa are vast and boundless, and we can continue to migrate north and west. The world is so big, there will always be a place for us to stay, and there will always be places that the Ming dogs cannot reach!"

Silence fell again in the tent, broken only by heavy breathing. Jirhalang, Ajige, and the others exchanged glances, their faces initially showing shock, then slowly transforming into a complex expression—a mixture of disbelief, a glimmer of hope for survival, but above all, a sense of resigned acceptance.

Yes, staying here means certain death. Going to Russia sounds like a pipe dream, but... at least it's a path, a path that might offer a glimpse of tomorrow. It's better than being trapped in these ruins, waiting to be crushed by the Ming army.

"Rakshasa...is this really feasible?"

"Jirhalang asked in a hoarse voice."

"The ships, provisions, and guides have been secretly prepared for a long time."

Dai Shan spoke at this moment, his voice calm and even, as if he were talking about something that had nothing to do with him.

"It was personally overseen by me."

These words undoubtedly increased his credibility. The last trace of doubt in the crowd dissipated. The look in their eyes as they looked at Dorgon rekindled with a faint light—the light of a drowning person grasping at a last straw.

"Alright! Let's go to Rakshasa!"

Ajige slapped his thigh suddenly, and the fierce glint in his eyes reappeared.

When do we set off?

Someone asked urgently.

"The Ming army's vanguard is less than a hundred li away from here."

Dorgon walked to the map and pointed heavily with his finger.

"At their current speed, they will be at the city gates in ten days at most. We... have no time."

He turned around, his sharp gaze sweeping over everyone:

"The ships and provisions are ready. Go back and immediately organize your most elite and loyal soldiers. Travel light, carrying only weapons, a small amount of dry rations, and warm clothing. Remember, only elite troops! Do not bring the elderly, women, children, bondservants, or unnecessary baggage! We are going to fight for survival, not to move house!"

When do we depart?

Jirhalang pressed for an answer.

"Three days later, at midnight, at the Han River dock. Three cannon shots will signal the departure!"

Dorgon said firmly, "This matter is top secret! Not a single word must leak out! If those hundreds of thousands of people below find out we're leaving..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone understood what it meant—an instant uproar, trampling each other, and none of them would be able to escape.

The group nodded solemnly. After quickly discussing details such as the order of boarding, signals along the way, and how to deal with interception by the Ming navy, they hurriedly dispersed and returned to their respective camps to secretly select men and prepare for their final escape.

However, secrets never stay hidden forever, especially in this despairing place where people are filled with anxiety and growing suspicion. Such a large-scale, unusual mobilization of elite troops, along with the sudden, secretive actions of several princes who closed their camp gates, eventually attracted the attention of those who were interested.

The night after midnight.

The silence of the ruins of Seoul was suddenly shattered by a shrill roar filled with despair and rage!

"Dorgon is running away! They're abandoning us!!" Immediately following was the sudden flash of torches, the clanging of weapons being drawn, and a chaotic cacophony of roars and cries:
"Damn it! They ran off by boat, leaving us to die!"

Kill them! We'll all die together!

"Charge into the palace! Seize Dorgon!"

Chaos erupted instantly, like cold water poured into boiling oil! A group of about two or three thousand men, mainly composed of low-ranking bannermen and bondservants, somehow got wind of the situation, or perhaps their suppressed fear and anger overwhelmed their reason. With bloodshot eyes, brandishing swords and spears and lighting torches, they surged towards the heart of the "palace" area—Dorgon's tent—like a flood bursting its banks!
"Enemy attack! Protect the Emperor!!"

"Stop them!"

Göshkha, loyal to Dorgon, and his personal guards reacted swiftly, immediately forming a human wall to fight back desperately.

A fierce battle ensued between the two sides amidst the crumbling palace walls and ruins.

Roars, screams, the clash of weapons, and the crackling of torches filled the air, instantly illuminating half of the night sky over Seoul.

Inside the tent, Dorgon had just lain down fully clothed when he was startled awake by the sudden commotion and sat bolt upright.

He listened intently, and his face instantly turned deathly pale.

"Your Highness! Your Highness! Something terrible has happened!"

A blood-covered man named Goshha scrambled into the tent, hissing.

"They're from the Bordered Blue Banner and the Han Banner. Someone leaked the news, and they've mutinied! They're coming this way! There are so many of them, we can't hold them off any longer!"

Dorgon felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave, his hands and feet turning ice-cold. His worst fears had finally come true! And so quickly, so violently!
"Go! Go quickly!"

He had no time to think, not even time to put on his outer robe, and was dragged out of the tent by several loyal Goshha.

Flames raged outside, shadowy figures moved about, and shouts of battle were close at hand. A stray arrow whizzed past his ear and embedded itself in the tent post behind him, trembling and rattling.

"Your Highness, over here! Quickly!"

Goshha lifted him up and ran wildly toward a pre-prepared hidden passage, in the opposite direction of the approaching rebels.

Dorgon, being supported, stumbled through the ruins and the night, his heart pounding, his ears ringing, only one thought remaining:
It's over! It's all over! The plan has been exposed!

This sudden riot, though caused by disorganization, lack of unified command, and the desperate resistance of Dorgon's personal guards, was eventually suppressed by the elite troops led by Ajige and others who rushed to the scene after hearing the news, after more than half an hour.

The mutinous soldiers were brutally slaughtered, their bodies piling up like mountains.

But while riots can be suppressed, news can no longer be kept secret.

The rumor that "the prince is going to run away" spread like wildfire among the remaining nearly 100,000 Jurchen remnants.

Panic, anger, and a sense of betrayal, like poison, instantly eroded the last vestiges of cohesion within the army. Many soldiers who had been hesitant before now gave up completely. The entire Seoul camp was plunged into the most terrifying turmoil and suspicion on the eve of its collapse.

Officers at all levels were unable to suppress the mutiny, nor dared to do so too much, for fear of provoking an even larger mutiny.

Dorgon, still shaken, hid in a more secluded and heavily guarded side hall, listening to the gradually subsiding but not yet disappeared commotion outside, his face ashen. Daišan, Ajige, and others rushed over, all covered in blood and looking anxious.

"Fourteenth Brother, the news has leaked! Chaos has erupted all over the place!"

Ajig growled.

"If we don't leave now, we won't be able to leave at all!"

"Yes, we must set off immediately!"

Jirhalang also said urgently.

Dorgon closed his eyes wearily. The plan to depart in three days was now a pipe dream. Every moment of delay increased the risk of the entire army collapsing and being captured by the chaotic soldiers or the Ming army.

After a long while, he slowly opened his eyes, his gaze filled only with the ruthlessness of someone at their wit's end.

"Order... All core armored troops, immediately and secretly assemble at the Han River docks! Take as many as you can! They must board ships and leave port before dawn!"

"Then... those who stay behind to cover the retreat..."

Dodo hesitated. Without a strong rearguard to hold off the pursuers, even if they boarded the ship, they might be entangled by the Ming navy or the routed soldiers on the shore.

A silence fell over the tent. To cover the rear meant almost certain death. Who was willing to stay?

Just then, Daišan, who had been silent all along, slowly stood up. This Prince Li, whose fate had once been inextricably linked to the Qing Dynasty, appeared unusually calm, even with a sense of relief. He looked at Dorgon, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching everyone's ears:

"I stayed."

Everyone stared at him in astonishment.

The words "I will stay" resounded like a muffled thunderclap in the dimly lit side hall, their echo lingering in the flickering candlelight and the distant, lingering commotion.

Ajige, Jirhalang, and the others stared in astonishment at the former Grand Prince, now Prince Li, and were at a loss for words.

Stay? Faced with the approaching Ming army, possessing devastating power, everyone knew what staying meant.

Dorgon stared intently at Daishan, at his aged face that appeared unusually calm, even tinged with a sense of relief, in the dim light. His heart clenched, and a chilling sense of foreboding gripped him.

"Second brother..."

Dorgon's voice was dry and hoarse, with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor. He stepped forward, grabbed Daishan's arm tightly, and stared intently at him as if trying to see right through him.

"You...you wouldn't be thinking of..."

He paused, as if the word was too heavy to utter.

He swallowed hard, and asked with difficulty, word by word:
"You wouldn't... be thinking of dying for your country like Hauge, would you?"

Daishan slowly turned his head, meeting Dorgon's gaze, which was filled with surprise, fear, and even a hint of pleading.

He did not answer immediately, but simply looked quietly at his fourteenth brother, who had once vied with him for the throne but had now fallen to this state with him.

After a long while, the corners of his mouth twitched, revealing an extremely faint, desolate, yet unusually calm smile. In that smile, there was no intensity or resentment like Hauge's, only a weariness that came from seeing through everything and accepting one's fate.

Silence is the answer.

Dorgon was struck as if by a heavy blow; his fingers, gripping Daishan's arm, tightened sharply, his knuckles turning white.

"Why?! Second Brother! Why does it have to be this way?! Isn't it better to live?! Come with me to Rakshasa! We still have a chance! The Qing Dynasty..."

"The Qing Dynasty is gone."

Dai Shan gently interrupted him, his voice calm and even, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.

He slowly withdrew his arm, watching Dorgon's face turn deathly pale. (End of Chapter)