Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 481 Stalemate (Part Two)

The twilight at Changling Mountain was more somber than at Songshan City.

As the leaden clouds hung low over the camp, completely swallowing the last rays of the setting sun, a sudden, fierce north wind swept across the land, howling and seeping into the gaps in the tents like countless hungry ghosts roaming outside.

Outside Huang Taiji's tent, two dragon flags with yellow borders, already torn to shreds by the wind, were now weakly pounding their flagpoles.

The Bayara soldiers guarding the tent wrapped their cotton armor tightly around themselves, but they still couldn't keep out the bone-chilling cold. The sound of their stomping feet knocked out fine shards of ice on the open ground.

Inside the tent, the flames of the three tallow lamps flickered in and out due to the draft, casting dappled light and shadow on the Liaodong map hanging on the wall.

"Cough cough..."

Huang Taiji coughed violently, his withered fingers gripping the jade thumb ring at his waist tightly.

Since he suffered a serious illness last year, his health has deteriorated day by day.

He was wearing three layers of mink coats, but he still felt the chill creeping up from his feet. He couldn't help but tuck the hand warmer into his clothes again—the charcoal in the hand warmer was the last piece of good red charcoal left for the day.

"Your Majesty, Prince Rui, Prince Zheng, Prince Dorobele, and the various chieftains are outside requesting an audience." Sony's voice came from outside the tent, tinged with a hint of cautious hesitation.

"Let them in." Huang Taiji loosened the thumb ring, his knuckles turning white from the force.

He knew why these people had come. For more than ten days, the banner chiefs and generals of each banner had been sending out plaques, saying the same few words over and over again.

In short, the key is to withdraw troops!
The moment the curtain was lifted, a gust of cold wind swept in, carrying raindrops, and the tallow lamp suddenly shrank by half.

Prince Zheng, who was at the head of the group, was hunched over, and snow was falling from his black fox fur hat. Behind him were a dozen or so people, including Dorgon, Hauge, Dodo, Abatai, and Aobai, all of whom had their necks hunched and the frost on their cotton armor gleamed coldly under the lamplight.

"Your servants pay their respects to the Khan." As the crowd knelt, their knees slammed into the frozen ground with a dull thud.

Huang Taiji waved his hand, his gaze sweeping over the imperial relatives and nobles who had followed him through thick and thin.

Dodo's left ear was frozen purple, an old wound from the campaign against Korea during the Tiancong era; Aobai's right hand was bandaged, his finger bone injured by a Ming army musket while inspecting the trenches the day before; what sank his heart the most was Jirhalang—this relative who strongly advocated a decisive battle with the Ming army, whose usually straight spine was bent like a bow, the white hair at the end of his braid covered with ice shards, as if covered with snow.

"Rise, all of you," Huang Taiji's voice was somewhat hoarse. "Is it about the provisions?"

Dodo, being the most impatient of them all, couldn't help but speak up as soon as he straightened up: "Your Majesty! If this continues, the Eight Banners soldiers will freeze and starve to death!"

He pulled open his coat, revealing a patched padded jacket underneath. "Yesterday's headcount at the Bordered White Banner showed that eleven armored soldiers had frozen to death, and more than forty others were coughing so badly they couldn't straighten up. Today's rations are half bran and half chaff; they're so tough on the brothers' throats!"

"The same goes for the Bordered Blue Banner," Hauge replied in a deep voice, glancing cautiously at his father. "The soldiers we sent to gather firewood yesterday ran into Ming scouts in the woods. Although we killed more than a dozen of them, we also lost seven of our own. Now, if we want to gather a bundle of firewood, we have to run more than ten miles away, and we might not even be able to bring it back. The fire in our tent is almost out of control."

Jirgalang sighed and pulled a scroll of paper from his sleeve: "This is a report from each banner, which the Khan has reviewed. The Bordered Red and Plain Blue Banners have run out of food, and twenty-nine warhorses of the Plain Blue Banner have starved to death. More importantly..."

He paused, his voice extremely low, "The Taiji of Khorchin sent someone to say that their herds suffered a windstorm in the north, and the cattle and sheep they promised to send might be..."

"I'm afraid it won't be delivered, is it?" Huang Taiji took the booklet, his fingertips touching the frozen ink marks on the pages, feeling a chill.

He didn't need to look to know what was written on it. From two meals of dry rice a day in early September, to one meal of dry rice and one meal of thin porridge in mid-September, and now to one meal of rice porridge a day, every word in this booklet was imbued with the bitterness and helplessness of the Manchu bannermen.

The tent was deathly silent, save for the howling wind whistling through the tent roof.

In the glow of the tallow lamp, one could see the white breath exhaled by the crowd, like wisps of fleeting mist.

Dodo suddenly slammed his fist on the table: "Khan! Why not listen to the bannermen below and withdraw the troops back to Shengjing!"

His thick, dark eyebrows furrowed into a knot. "We've been at odds with the Ming dogs for over a year, almost two. We've occupied the outskirts of Jinzhou and killed quite a few of their people, so it's not a complete loss. When spring comes, we'll bypass Shanhaiguan, break through from Miyun, and rob a bunch of thieves in the capital region. Isn't that better than eating chaff and bran here in this freezing cold?"

"That's right!" Tan Tai's eyes lit up. "Two years ago, when we entered the pass through Qiangziling, we plundered over 400,000 people, a million in gold and silver, and countless bolts of silk and cloth. No matter how well the Ming dogs defend their cities, how could the people in the countryside possibly escape?"

Huang Taiji remained silent, his gaze fixed on Songshan City on the map.

Around that tiny ink dot, the camps and trenches of both sides were densely marked, like a net that was getting tighter and tighter.

He recalled that a month ago, when the Qing army had just built the camp at Changling Mountain, his brothers could still gather around the campfire to roast meat and drink wine, and the copper nails on their armor gleamed in the moonlight.

But now...

He strongly advocated for a decisive battle at Songjin, but since he was determined to push it forward, how could we let them change their minds?
He glanced at the grain sacks piled in the corner of the tent; there were less than twenty sacks of rice left, which had been forcibly requisitioned from Korea some time ago.

"Do you think Hong Chengchou will let us withdraw our troops safely?" Huang Taiji suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but it instantly silenced the noisy tent. "The Ming army in Songshan City numbers over 100,000, with 20,000 to 30,000 cavalry. If we break camp and retreat, the Ming army will launch a surprise attack from behind. Will those Xinyi cannons on the city walls just stand by and watch us leave?"

Dodo suddenly looked up: "If they dare to chase us, then turn around and devour them all! When it comes to fighting to the death, how can the Ming dogs possibly beat our Eight Banners elite cavalry?"

"Fight to the death?" Huang Taiji retorted, pointing his finger at Rufeng Mountain on the map. "Last month, Cao Bianjiao was able to charge two hundred paces to my tent, not because of courage, but because our trenches were destroyed by artillery fire! Now the Ming army's artillery battalion is positioned on the walls of Songshan City. Do you brothers want to be crushed to pieces by cannonballs when you charge up there?"

His voice suddenly rose, his chest heaving with excitement: "Have you forgotten how we won Sarhu? Have you forgotten how we captured Guangning? It was because the Ming dogs were impatient for quick success and instant benefits, always thinking of a quick victory! Now Hong Chengchou is hiding in the shadows, but what about Emperor Chongzhen behind him?" Huang Taiji stood up, walked to the tent entrance, lifted the curtain and looked at Songshan City in the distance.

The lights there twinkled like scattered diamonds embedded in the darkness, yet they exuded a sense of calm that made his heart flutter.

"The Ming rebels have already occupied Henan, and Li Zicheng boasts a million troops. Can Chongzhen sit still in the capital?" His voice was slightly blurred by the wind, but every word was clear. "Hong Chengchou dares to stall us, but Chongzhen doesn't! Perhaps, by now, imperial edicts urging us to fight have already arrived like snowflakes. In that case, Hong Chengchou will make all sorts of excuses, but in the end, he will only be able to force his soldiers to fill our trenches!"

Jirhalang frowned: "But the various tribes of the Eight Banners..."

"I know the bannermen are suffering!" Huang Taiji turned around, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers' faces, red from the cold. "The soldiers of the Bordered Yellow Banner will receive an extra spoonful of rice every day; those suffering from frostbite will be given priority access to medicine from the tents; as for the cattle and sheep of the Khorchin..."

He paused, a ruthless glint in his eyes, "Issue an edict to Prince Li, ordering him to send someone to the grasslands to deliver one of my knives to those Taiji! Let them think carefully about how many cattle and sheep they should send over."

There was a collective gasp inside the tent.

Offering Huang Taiji his precious sword was a blatant threat.

Either obediently send over supplies, or once my Great Qing recovers, we will exterminate you all!
"Khan!" Jirgalang stepped forward anxiously, "Such radical actions are likely..."

“I have nothing to fear!” Huang Taiji interrupted him, grabbed the waist knife on the table, and slashed it hard against the tent pillar.

The blade embedded half an inch into the pine wood, causing ice shards to fall in a flurry.

"Back in the Battle of Sarhu, we ate snow and dry rations for three days, and we still managed to cut down Du Song's army without leaving a single survivor. Now, just because we've missed a meal and been in the cold for a few days, you think you can retreat back to Shengjing?"

His gaze, sharp as ice, swept over every face: "Hauge! Take five hundred armored soldiers and patrol each camp. Anyone who dares to privately discuss retreating will be executed!"

"Dorgon! You shall lead the Bordered White Banner, Plain White Banner, and Bordered Blue Banner to reinforce the western moat. It must be dug another three feet before dawn tomorrow!"

"Sony." He turned to look at Sony, who was standing to the side, "Go back to Shengjing and tell the various banners and clansmen to find another way to gather 20,000 to 30,000 shi of grain."

Everyone looked at the trembling blade on the tent pillar, then at Huang Taiji's bloodshot eyes, and finally lowered their heads.

They knew the Khan's temperament; once he made up his mind, nothing could change it.

"Your servants obey the decree." The crowd knelt down again, the sound of their knees hitting the frozen ground much heavier than when they arrived.

The curtains closed again, keeping the cold wind out, and the flame of the butter lamp gradually became steady.

Huang Taiji leaned against the tent pillar and coughed violently, his back bent like a bow.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and when he saw a trace of dark red blood, he just frowned and casually wiped it away.

“Ao Bai,” he called out.

"Your servant is here." Ao Bai entered from outside the tent, bowing his head and not daring to look at him.

"Go, take all the sable furs out of my tent and distribute them to the brothers who are most severely frostbitten." Huang Taiji sat down again, picked up the grain ration book, and gently stroked the words "Plain White Banner, seven people froze to death" with his fingertips. "Also... send a message to the Niru Zhangjing of each banner, saying that starting tomorrow, I will drink the thin porridge with them during non-combat periods."

Ao Bai suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with shock: "Khan! Your health..."

"Go quickly!" Huang Taiji waved his hand, his voice filled with an undeniable weariness.

Ao Bai withdrew in response, and silence returned to the tent.

The north wind continued to howl outside the tent, as if mocking the lonely emperor inside.

Huang Taiji looked at Songshan on the map and recalled the scene when he first went on a campaign with his father more than 20 years ago.

At that time, he was still a boy, riding a small horse, following behind Nurhaci, watching the Eight Banners' iron cavalry surge past the Ming army's ranks like a tide.

The snow seemed to be just as heavy back then, but I never felt this cold.

He picked up the brazier; the embers inside were almost out, with only a little warmth remaining.

But he didn't ask anyone to add more charcoal; instead, he cupped his cold hands over the charcoal and stared intently at the small ink dot on the map.

“Hong Chengchou, Chongzhen…” he murmured, as if he were competing with himself, “Let’s see who can’t hold on first.”

The wind outside the tent picked up, whipping up fine snowflakes that pelted the tent with a crackling sound.

The cold nights in Changling Mountain are still long.
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(End of this chapter)