Take control of Wei Zhongxian at the start and confiscate 100 million from him!

Chapter 390 The Emperor Personally Garrisons Shanhaiguan

Shengjing, the Octagonal Hall.

It was June, and the summer heat was oppressive.

Above the sky, like a burning bronze umbrella, it relentlessly scorched the parched earth.

The continuous drought has long since drained the life from this black soil, leaving only choking dust and the smell of withered vegetation in the air.

The weather was just like the atmosphere inside the palace at that moment—oppressive, stifling, and suffocating.

Huang Taiji sat high on the Khan's throne, his golden dragon robe losing its former luster in the dim light.

He silently gazed at the princes and nobles kneeling before him, each face etched with anxiety and restlessness.

Suddenly, a series of chaotic footsteps came from outside the hall, and a travel-worn scout stumbled into the hall like a withered leaf caught in a gust of wind.

Before he could even stand properly, his knees buckled and he collapsed to his knees, his voice hoarse and distorted from extreme fear and thirst.

"Sweat!"

The eyes of everyone in the hall instantly focused on him like sharp swords.

The scout finally caught his breath. He looked up, revealing a face that had been drained of all moisture by the scorching sun and terror. "The fire from the north... the fire from the north is coming."

"Ligdan Khan?" Huang Taiji's voice was low, like a stone dipped in ice water. "He's dead?"

In his view, this was the only explanation.

The scout shook his head like a rattle-drum, his face contorted with absurd fear.

“No… he’s not dead…” he cried out, uttering the truth that was even more terrifying than death, “He… he joined forces with the Ming general Man Gui!”

A faint but clear inhalation sounded in the hall, as if some of the air had been instantly drawn away.

Fan Wencheng, who had been silent all along, swayed slightly, almost imperceptibly. He steadied himself against the table in front of him to keep from falling. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

"And then?" Huang Taiji's voice remained calm, but the knuckles of his hand gripping the armrest of the dragon throne were bulging and deathly pale.

“Then,” the scout said in despair, “that army of 70,000 men… came straight for us! Their vanguard was less than 300 li from our border outposts! Our northern defenses, overnight, vanished like sand dunes washed away by water!”

"Less than three hundred li"...

These words, like silent nails, were driven into the hearts of everyone present.

For cavalry, three hundred li is not a distance, but a time—a time when the enemy could be at the city gates at any moment.

Inside the hall, the commotion caused by the news vanished instantly.

Everyone felt a chill creep up their spine from their feet, dispelling all the summer heat in the hall.

Huang Taiji did not listen any further.

His gaze passed through the main hall and landed on the empty walls.

But in his mind, a vast geomantic map was rapidly collapsing.

The grassland to the north, representing endless possibilities, was now pierced by a sharp red arrow, pointing directly at the heart of Shengjing.

The three strategies he devised for the Qing Dynasty—"war, peace, and retreat"—that were full of strategic depth and boundless vitality, were now being brutally crossed out in his mind by an invisible hand with thick, blood-stained ink.

The grasslands were no longer a retreat route; they became an easy path for the enemy.

He, Aisin-Gioro Huang Taiji, experienced for the first time the feeling of four walls closing in on him.

This magnificent octagonal hall is no longer a symbol of power, but rather like a box being slowly filled with quicksand.

Huang Taiji felt a slight dizziness and a tightness in his chest, as if the hot air in the hall was becoming thinner and thinner, making it difficult for him to breathe.

……

Outside Shengjing City, a Han Chinese village.

Years of severe drought have turned the once fertile land into a cracked desert.

The road was covered with a thick layer of dust, and when the wind blew, it would stir up clouds of dust that stung people's eyes.

In the government-run blacksmith shop that repaired weapons for the Eight Banners soldiers, several shirtless Han Chinese craftsmen, drenched in sweat, were having a conversation that could cost them their heads, all under the cover of the clanging and banging of their hammers.

The roaring fire cast flickering light on their faces.

An old craftsman named Zhao Sancai, while vigorously swinging his hammer, said to his young apprentice who was pulling the bellows next to him in a voice that only those close to him could hear: "Tiger, have you heard? The merchants from the south have been secretly spreading the word."

His voice, mingled with the whistling of the bellows and the clanging of the hammer, sounded erratic.

The young apprentice named Shi Hu had a light in his eyes that seemed out of place in the dull environment.

He leaned forward, lowered his voice, and excitedly replied, "Master, it's not just a rumor! I've seen the proof!"

Zhao Sancai paused, looked around warily, and only after confirming that the bondservants who were supervising the work were all dozing under the shed in the distance did he whisper and scold, "You fool, keep your voice down! What are you yelling about?"

A flush of barely suppressed excitement rose on Shi Hu's face. He leaned closer, almost whispering in his master's ear, "Master, I'm not shouting, it's huge news! Didn't a peddler selling smuggled salt come to the East Market a few days ago? The salt was so cheap it was practically free."

Zhao Sancai's eyelids twitched, and he lowered his voice, saying, "I've heard that many people have gone to exchange their salt. What, is there a problem with the salt?" In the territory of the Later Jin, salt was a strictly controlled commodity, and smuggling salt was always a capital offense.

"The salt itself is fine, the problem is with the paper wrapping it!" Shi Hu's voice trembled slightly, a mixture of excitement and lingering fear. "Today, seeing that our salt was almost gone, I took out that paper packet. Just as I was about to open it, I noticed something was off about the paper. It was smoother and whiter than the cardboard we usually use! Out of curiosity, I carefully unfolded it by the firelight..."

Shi Hu's eyes shone brightly. He gestured and said, "On the inside of the paper, there's a sun and a moon printed in red. They're very beautiful! There are words underneath! I attended a private school for a few days and I recognize those big characters. They say, 'The royal army has pacified the north and relieved the people from their suffering!'"

Zhao Sancai's heart skipped a beat. He grabbed his apprentice's arm and asked urgently, "Where's the paper?!"

"How could I dare keep it!" Shi Hu chuckled, but there was a hint of shrewdness in his smile. "After reading it, my hands were shaking, and I immediately stuffed it into the furnace and watched it burn to ashes with my own eyes! But the words on it, that bright red sun and moon flag, are all etched into my mind! Master, just think about how much salt that peddler sold!"

"Good lad...you did the right thing!" Zhao Sancai praised him first, then loosened his grip.

He stared at the red-hot iron in the furnace, his gaze becoming distant and complex, as if he could see through the flames and glimpse a long-awaited light.

Zhao Sancai let out a long sigh, a sigh that contained both the bitterness accumulated over decades and a glimmer of hope that was finally breaking through the soil.

"These days...maybe they really are coming to an end." His voice was hoarse, with a slight tremor. "We're treated like cattle and horses for these Jurchens, and we're fed worse than their dogs. When they want to fight, our lives are tied to this furnace, working day and night to make weapons for them. In the end, what's the difference between us and animals?"

Seeing his master's agitation, Shi Hu quickly added, lowering his voice even further: "Master, it's not just this paper! That salt peddler, he kept humming a little tune! Lots of people heard it and even started imitating him!"

"A minor tune?" Zhao Sancai looked at him in confusion.

“Yes!” Shi Hu lowered his voice and recited it with great reverence. The tune was simple and catchy, carrying a strange power: “'The Great Wall and the dragon open their eyes, the emperor personally guards Shanhaiguan. Those who follow the Ming will prosper and have plenty to eat, those who oppose the Ming will perish and turn to ashes!'”

"The emperor himself guards Shanhaiguan..."

Zhao Sancai repeatedly pondered the phrase, and suddenly a surprising light flashed in his eyes. He grabbed Shi Hu's shoulder with such force that it hurt Shi Hu.

"So that's how it is! So that's how it is!" Zhao Sancai's voice trembled. "Tiger, connect everything together! The Ming army and Ligdan Khan's army are pressing in from the north, and from the south... the Emperor himself is guarding Shanhaiguan! This is a pincer attack from the north and south, aiming to wipe out the Jurchens in one fell swoop!"

Zhao Sancai finally realized that the promise on the paper, the message in the folk song, and the increasingly tense atmosphere in the city... all the fragmented clues pieced together a complete and shocking picture at this moment.

"Tiger, remember this!" Zhao Sancai's voice was strong and resonant, echoing the sound of the hammer striking the ground. "This is our only chance in this life! We are not livestock, we are human beings! Even if it costs us our lives, we must earn a world where our descendants can live with dignity!"

……

That night, Huang Taiji forced himself to remain calm and hosted a banquet for the princes in the Octagonal Hall.

He needed a banquet, a facade of peace and prosperity, to tell everyone that the Khan of the Qing Dynasty still held absolute power.

However, reality gave him a loud slap in the face.

Outside the palace, there was no wind, rain, thunder, or lightning, only a deathly still and scorching air. The persistent drought made everything seem desolate and hopeless.

The banquet inside the hall was shockingly meager.

The mountains of roasted beef and mutton that used to pile up were gone. The liquor was diluted with water, as bland as horse urine.

Natural disasters have already eroded most of the foundation of this regime. There are no good banquets, and no good people.

Each of the princes sat silently at the table, each with their own thoughts, and a tense atmosphere filled the air.

Huang Taiji raised his wine cup, forcing a stiff smile: "Brothers, although the military situation is urgent today, the more urgent it is, the more composed we must be. Come, let us drink this cup together to... send off the warriors of our Great Qing!"

No one responded.

The Third Prince Mangultai, a notoriously unruly and fierce general, had already drunk several cups of wine in silence.

His face was flushed red, his eyes were bloodshot, and his chest was heaving violently.

As soon as Huang Taiji finished speaking, he slammed the ceramic cup in his hand onto the ground!
"Snapped!"

The crisp cracking sound was like a whip, lashing at everyone's taut nerves.

Mangultai suddenly stood up, his massive body resembling a volcano about to erupt.

He pointed his finger directly at Huang Taiji, who was seated high above him, and roared in a voice filled with anger and despair:

"Still want to eat? Still want to drink? Can you even finish it all?!"

He stepped forward, spitting everywhere.

"Who was it that defied all opposition and said that raiding the pass was the best strategy, and that the Southern Mongols were nothing more than a minor nuisance? Who was it that said that as long as we were strong enough, they would have no choice but to submit to us? Well, look what's happened! They turned around and surrendered to the Ming Dynasty, and have now become vicious dogs blocking our doorstep!"

His voice echoed in the empty hall, each word piercing the heart.

"Which of my Qing warriors didn't grow up on horseback? The grasslands are our roots, our escape route! Now our roots have been uprooted, and our path has been blocked! We are like a flock of sheep trapped in a valley, only able to wait for the Ming people to pile up earth in the south and set fire to the north! All of this is thanks to your far-sighted planning, Huang Taiji!"

Seeing this, Second Prince Amin calmly put down his wine cup, a sarcastic smile on his face, and advised, "Fifth Brother, calm down, calm down. The Khan has his reasons for doing this. The Khan is a man of great talent and ambition; how could we mere mortals possibly fathom his wisdom?"

His words, ostensibly meant to offer advice, were actually adding fuel to the fire. He looked around and sighed meaningfully.

"But... given the current situation, we have no reinforcements from outside and no supplies from within. To the south, we face the entire Ming army, and to the north, the Mongols have built a high wall. We must find a way for the descendants of the Aisin Gioro family to survive, mustn't we?"

He spoke the word "way out" very lightly, yet with immense weight, like a boulder thrown into a deep pool, stirring not ripples, but a bone-chilling cold.

The temperature inside the hall seemed to have suddenly dropped to freezing point.

The subtext of this statement is all too clear: Huang Taiji's path is a dead end.

At this tense moment, Fan Wencheng, a Han official who had been standing by his side, could no longer remain silent. He took a few steps forward, disregarded the distinction between ruler and subject, and knelt down with a thud.

He didn't cry, but his voice was hoarse, as if it had been sanded.

"Khan! My lords!" He raised his head, his eyes flashing with a frenzied determination, "Besieged in this fortified city, death is the only outcome! We can no longer wait, we can no longer hold out!"

He crawled forward two steps on his knees and looked up at Huang Taiji.

"The only course of action now is to mobilize the entire nation's army, combining all the elite troops of the Eight Banners, and take advantage of the Ming army's inability to complete its encirclement from four directions. We must launch a desperate, all-out attack on Shanhaiguan with overwhelming force! We must shake their heart and disrupt their formation! If we win, we will be like a trapped dragon ascending to heaven, perhaps with a glimmer of hope! If we lose, it will only be a matter of dying sooner or later! This is the only strategy to seek survival in the face of death!"

Fan Wencheng's plan was crazy and ruthless, but it was indeed the only way to break the deadlock at the moment.

The hall fell silent instantly, and all eyes turned to Huang Taiji, awaiting his decision.

However, at this moment, the Great Prince Daishan, who had been resting with his eyes closed like a stone statue, slowly opened his cloudy yet all-knowing old eyes.

He didn't look at Huang Taiji, nor at Fan Wencheng, but instead turned his gaze to Prince Jirgalang, who was in charge of logistics, and asked softly in a calm yet unsettling tone:
"Mr. Fan's plan is indeed reasonable. However... I would like to ask, do all the granaries inside and outside the Khan's Palace combined still have enough to support our tens of thousands of Qing troops until they reach the walls of Shanhaiguan?"

Silence fell for a moment.

It was as if an invisible bolt of lightning had flashed, illuminating the deathly pale faces of everyone in the hall.

Yes.

They don't even have the resources to fight desperately anymore.

Hunger, the most primal and terrifying enemy, had reached their throats even before the Ming army's blades.

This banquet in the dilapidated building was completely transformed into a desperate moment of silence by Dai Shan's seemingly casual yet deadly question.

……

The next morning.

The sweltering heat that lasted for several days seemed to have evaporated the last bit of moisture from the air.

The sky was a despairing gray-white, without a breath of wind, only a oppressive gloom.

At the dusty execution ground of Shengjing Caishikou, dozens of Han Chinese, who had been arrested overnight and tortured into confessing under duress, were brought in bound hand and foot on charges of spreading rumors about the Ming Dynasty and undermining the morale of the army.

Among the crowd was the young blacksmith, Shi Hu.

To everyone's surprise, Huang Taiji was dressed in full military attire and personally rode to the execution ground to oversee the execution.

He wanted to use the bloodiest methods to consolidate his already crumbling rule.

Huang Taiji reined in his horse, his gaze sweeping across the dark mass of people below with the sharpness of a hawk:

"The Ming Dynasty is tyrannical, causing a severe drought! Now they use such despicable schemes to sow discord among our troops and people! You should know that the rise of the Great Qing is ordained by Heaven! All rumors about the Ming Dynasty's heavenly army are lies! Anyone who discusses this matter again and shakes the morale of the army will suffer the same fate as this vile creature!"

After saying that, he suddenly waved his hand.

"cut!"

The executioners raised their cleavers.

Just as the two ferocious soldiers were about to pin him to the ground, the young Shi Hu used the last of his strength to break free halfway.

He did not beg for mercy, nor did he cry out. Instead, he straightened his neck, facing the dark mass of people, facing the lofty Huang Taiji, and roared out with all his might the words he had read on salt paper, heard in folk songs, and which were already etched into his very bones—

"The Emperor himself is stationed at Shanhaiguan Pass—!!!"

This shout was like a spark thrown into a dead powder keg.

Among the onlookers, countless Han people trembled violently, and their faces, which had been numb and fearful, instantly flashed with undisguised shock and excitement.

They instinctively looked up at the young craftsman they didn't know, as if he were a messenger who had fallen from the sky.

"Those who follow the Way prosper, those who oppose the Way perish!!!"

The second roar was almost spit out blood from Shi Hu.

He used his life to turn this ballad, which was circulating in secret, into a thunderclap that resounded over Shengjing!
On the high platform, Huang Taiji's pupils suddenly contracted!
He saw the light that flashed in the eyes of the Han people in the audience, and he saw the undercurrents surging beneath their originally submissive expressions.

"puff!"

The executioner's blade finally fell, and the roar abruptly ceased.

Blood gushed out, staining the yellow earth beneath their feet red.

However, Shi Hu's shouts did not seem to dissipate with his death; instead, they transformed into countless buzzing echoes that penetrated the ears of everyone present and were imprinted on their hearts.

Huang Taiji's cheek muscles were twitching wildly.

He abruptly stood up, pointed at the corpses below the stage, and roared with suppressed rage, "Send the order! Martial law throughout the city! Starting tonight, if I hear another utterance of this song... no, similar words, or hear another humming this tune in Shengjing," his gaze, sharp as a knife, swept over the trembling Eight Banners generals below the stage, "no matter who it is, no matter where they are, kill them without mercy! Their entire families will be enslaved!!"

Huang Taiji rode away from the execution ground, leaving behind a trail of blood.

The scorching sun shone on his golden armor, reflecting a blinding light, but it did not bring him the slightest warmth.

He returned to the empty octagonal hall.

Outside the palace, the hustle and bustle of the marketplace gradually returned, as if the killing just now was nothing more than an insignificant drama.

But the sound sounded so unreal and so distant to him.

(End of this chapter)