Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

The setting sun, like blood, was branded onto Zhu Cilang's battle robe.

His gaze swept over his generals, and he continued to select his commanders:

"Commander Zhang!"

"Your subordinate is here!"

Zhang Wu responded and knelt on one knee.

"You are to lead two thousand light cavalry, keeping watch day and night, neither attacking fortified camps nor engaging the enemy in prolonged battles, and you must secure the north gate of Chengdu by the first quarter of the morning!"

"Your humble servant obeys! Even if it means facing mountains of knives and seas of fire, our light cavalry will reach the North Gate by dawn!"

Zhang Wu clasped his hands in acceptance of the order, turned around, and strode out.

Zhu Cilang did not pause, his gaze turning to Lieutenant General Wang Jing:

"General Wang, along with 20,000 elite soldiers from the Beijing garrison, broke camp and advanced at dusk."

He raised his hand and pointed south.

"If no battle flags are seen on the walls of Chengdu by 3:45 AM tomorrow, this Shrine of Loyalty will only be able to hold the corpse of the Commander-in-Chief."

Wang Jing, gripping the Embroidered Spring Blade, spoke in a booming voice:

"Your humble servant obeys! Even if the Shu roads crumble, we will still raise our battle flag atop the walls of Chengdu!"

Zhu Cilang suddenly ripped off his cloak, and the scarlet silk spread out on the clay offering table with a "whoosh," causing the candlelight to flicker violently.

He raised his hand and pointed outside the ancestral hall.

"Look at that wheat field outside the ancestral hall, soaked by the torrential rain—even a mouse couldn't dig up a handful of grains."

The air inside the hall suddenly froze.

"When Han Xin arrayed his troops with their backs to the river and Xiang Yu burned his boats, they relied not on luck or brute force, but on their resolute determination when there was no way to retreat!"

He drew his sword abruptly, the blade slicing through the twilight, a flash of cold light.

"Today, our soldiers are entering Sichuan alone, with thousands of starving people behind us and the granaries of Chengdu ahead of us."

"To retreat is to die a starving death in the wilderness; to advance is to be a mighty army drinking from the Jinjiang River!"

He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping across the entire room, then pointed the knife at the rotten wheat field outside the ancestral hall, posing a soul-searching question:

"Will you become starving corpses buried in this mud, or will you become tigers and wolves tearing open the western camp's granary?"

"Tigers and wolves! Tigers and wolves! Tigers and wolves!"

Amidst a deafening roar of responses, Zhu Cilang suddenly swung his sword:

"Alright, issue the order to the entire army!"

His voice was as sharp as tearing silk.

"Burn all remaining grain at dusk! If we want to eat Sichuan rice, we must first break through Chengdu!"

His words struck the ground with a force as sharp as metal shattering stone.

To eat the rice of Sichuan, one must first conquer Chengdu! This is cutting off one's own escape route, but also a desperate attempt to survive!

This desperate order, like a spark thrown into boiling oil, instantly ignited the courage and determination of all the soldiers.

A tragic atmosphere suddenly rose and permeated the crowd.

The setting sun cast its last rays, which shone coldly on the armor, creating a desolate sea of ​​metal outside the ancestral hall.

Zhu Cilang stepped out of the threshold, his feet crunching on the salt crystals in the cracks of the blue bricks.

"Report—!"

A scout galloped up, dismounted, and

"Reporting to the Commander-in-Chief! All the army's rations have been burned as ordered."

Without turning his head, Zhu Cilang suddenly swung his arm and flung the scarlet cloak out, like a blood-red flag sweeping through the air.

"Set off--!"

Outside the shrine, in the harvested fields, a thousand vanguard light cavalrymen were already lined up.

Zhou Dingchang, the commander of Shunqing Guard, mounted his horse.

"You bastards, tighten the horse's bit and don't let the beast lose its footing!"

He reached into the flag case behind the saddle, pulled out a large flag, and shook it open.

Under the blood-red setting sun, the six large characters "General Who Pacifies the South of the Great West" were dazzling, and the corner of the flag was still stained with dark red blood.

The hidden pattern on the flag is a Big Dipper emblem specially made by Zhang Xianzhong's western camp after entering Sichuan, designed to distinguish it from the traditional four-symbol flag of the Ming army.

"Look closely, everyone! Raise the Northern Dipper Flag of the Western Bandits!"

Zhou Dingchang roared as he planted the flagpole firmly, the silk fabric billowing and fluttering in the east wind.

Under the cover of dusk, at first glance, this troop was indistinguishable from Sun Kewang's cavalry. The success or failure of this deception hinged on this moment.

The setting sun cast long shadows of the cavalrymen on the ridges of the fields, like a thousand obliquely inserted longswords.

As dusk settled, Zhou Dingchang took the lead, guiding his light cavalry at breakneck speed along the Shiting River.

Xiaoquanchang is about 30 li from Guanghan, which takes more than an hour to travel at high speed. The "Northern Route Reconnaissance and Defense Post" of the Great Western Army is located there, specifically to guard against Ming troops coming from the direction of Baoning Prefecture.

This is the first nail they have to remove.

At three quarters past the hour of You (5:45 PM), the waters of the Shiting River lapped against the riverbank.

Zhou Dingchang lowered his body and pressed himself against the horse's neck. The yellow horse's muscles tensed, and a scorching heat emanated from the saddle.

He held the reins with his left hand, keeping the Big Dipper flag half-furled.

This was a flag signal from the Western Camp scouts indicating "all is well," their right hands already gripping the hilt of the Embroidered Spring Blade hidden in the saddle's concealed case.

The river breeze, carrying a salty, fishy smell, filled my nostrils.

Suddenly, Zhou Dingchang's eyes narrowed, and he pulled hard on the reins, causing the yellow horse to stop.

A curse burst forth from between his bushy beard:

"Damn it, we're here!"

A hundred paces away, a sentry post made of wooden fences stood prominently in the twilight. The flag reading "Northern Route Reconnaissance and Defense" fluttered in the river wind.

On the watchtower, five sentries with three-barreled muskets leaned out, the smell of gunpowder from matchlock guns mingling with the river mist.

"Which shed is this? Why are you crossing the river in the middle of the night?"

"Damn your ancestors, you're blind as a bat!"

Zhou Dingchang deliberately imitated the arrogant tone of the Western Camp soldiers, responding in a gruff voice.

"Urgent military news from General Sun's camp! Those bastards from Chongqing Garrison have betrayed us! Open the gates at once!"

The fog was suddenly torn apart by the light of several torches, illuminating an area in front of the sentry post.

A one-eyed captain emerged from behind the wooden fence.

The man's armor was worn and tattered, but his spiked club was gleaming; he was clearly a seasoned veteran.

"Password!"

Zhou Dingchang casually touched the back of his neck with his left hand, a signal that the whole team was preparing for a surprise attack, but he hesitated to speak:

"Wait a minute, my memory's not good... Let me think..."

Before he could finish his delaying words, the one-eyed captain's expression changed drastically, as if he had seen through the mystery, and he suddenly raised his spiked club with a whooshing sound.

Zhou Dingchang had already drawn his embroidered spring knife from under the saddle bridge, its cold light flashing.

The blade swept upwards smoothly, leaving a trail of blood, and precisely sliced ​​across the opponent's throat.

The spiked club crashed to the ground, and the corpse fell backward with a thud.

"kill--!"

Zhou Dingchang's roar shattered the silence along the riverbank. This roar also marked the beginning of this surprise attack.

The thousand light cavalry behind him, like a pack of wolves poised to pounce, moved at the sound of his voice.

In an instant, the thunderous sound of horses' hooves trampling the mud replaced everything else.

The cavalrymen no longer concealed themselves and charged toward the outpost like a flood bursting its banks.

"Enemy attack! It's Ming the Dog!"

The sentry on the watchtower finally realized what was happening, screamed, and hurriedly lit the matchlock of his three-barreled gun.

But it was too late.

Zhou Dingchang took the lead, and his yellow horse leaped over the fallen fence wreckage.

The lead bullets from the three-barreled gun whizzed past my ears, and the pungent smell of saltpeter filled my nostrils.

The Embroidered Spring Blade was swung out again, cutting down a Western Army soldier who had just rushed out of the barracks.

Hot blood splattered on his face, carrying a salty, metallic taste, but he was completely unaware of it.

"Take control of the watchtower, leave no one alive!"

As Zhou Dingchang parried a spear that stabbed at him from the side, he roared out the order at the top of his lungs.

The battle escalated instantly within the narrow area of ​​the outpost.

Amidst the flashing blades and flying blood, the small outpost was instantly transformed into a vortex of death.