Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

June 11th, the hour of Chou (1-3 AM) is almost over.

The waning moon sank in the west, leaving only a cold crescent moon hanging atop Wucheng Mountain, casting a faint light.

Stars coldly gazed at the crouching black figures below—those were the White Banner cavalry of Bahana.

The night wind swept across the meadow, brushing against Bahana's taut cheeks.

He took a deep breath, trying to suppress the unease in his heart.

The horse's hooves, wrapped in cloth, trod over the grass roots, making a dull, muffled sound that was all the more distinct against the boundless silence.

Six thousand men, like slowly flowing ink, are quietly spreading across the sleeping earth.

Turgun was the striker, Bahana's spine was slightly arched, his dark armor blended into the night, only his eagle eyes shone brightly in the darkness, staring intently ahead.

Armored and dull, with blades wrapped in leather, this ghostly force was heading straight for the camp of Emperor Zhu Cilang of the Ming Dynasty at the foot of Wucheng Mountain.

The first moment of Yin hour.

Bahana suddenly pulled on the reins, and the warhorse neighed softly and came to a stop.

The vanguard stealthily made their way under the starlight and finally arrived at their designated position.

The Ming army camp at the foot of the mountain was silent, with only a few lights flickering.

The torches on the watchtowers flickered dimly, casting distorted shadows of the night watchmen onto the camp fence, where they remained perfectly still.

The vanguard battalion of the Bordered White Banner had reached the edge of the second trench, and the soldiers were laying cotton quilts on the makeshift wooden planks.

Every slight scraping sound made the soldiers lying prone along the edge of the ditch hold their breath.

Bahana's gaze swept over the Ming army camp, and he said in a low, deep voice:

"How about the scouts?"

The scout beside him was hunched over, his voice trembling:

"Your Majesty, the security was tight this afternoon, and scouts were unable to get close."

"Starting at 3:45 PM, the mobile sentries were withdrawn, but... the locations of the seven hidden stakeouts remained unchanged, all in key positions."

"etc--"

Bahana's lips twitched suddenly; he seemed to have a premonition of something:

"Strict preparations in the afternoon, but the sentries were withdrawn at night? No hidden agents were moved?... This is a trap!"

He abruptly raised his hand, signaling the entire army to halt its operations.

A mountain wind swept through the desolate Ming army camp, and a chill ran down his spine.

He gripped the reins tightly, about to give the order:

"Send the order! Retreat three miles, then we'll discuss further..."

"Master! Wait!"

An urgent voice abruptly cut off the military order.

Fucha Turhong suddenly leaned out of his saddle, his tone fierce:

"What kind of 'luring the enemy into a trap' tactic is this? What do those Zhu family brats have to 'trap' my Eight Banners army?"

"It's clearly a sick cat that's been starving for three days pretending to be a tiger. Back in the day at Songshan Fort, those southern barbarians did the same thing. And what was the result?"

He didn't even glance at Bahana; his gaze was fixed on the distant camp.

"This Ming dog loves to play these bluffing tricks! Let him do as he pleases, when my Eight Banners' warriors break through the stronghold—"

He slammed his sword sheath shut.

"We'll still slaughter them until their corpses litter the ground!"

"No!"

Bahana's command flag remained unmoved, and his voice was lower than the mountain wind.

"The Regent's decree: The enemy's formation is treacherous; proceed with extreme caution!"

"Order—retreat three miles, and lick all the hoofprints clean for me."

Upon receiving the order, the Ghoshha around him were stunned for a moment, almost doubting that they had misheard.

Fucha Turhong was about to argue again, but was forced back by Bahana's sharp gaze.

The order to withdraw troops has not yet been issued.

A hoarse, low growl rang out:

"Report—"

A lone rider broke through the darkness, clearly not coming from the direction of the Ming army camp, but rather from a more distant flank or rear.

The scout tumbled off the saddle, the horse's forelegs suddenly slipped, and he fell heavily onto the gravel, shouting urgently:

"Your Majesty! An hour ago, our scouts intercepted a secret letter from the Ming army five miles to the southwest."

He then presented a blood-stained letter.

Bahana took the letter, twirling the paper between his fingers. The texture was fine, just like the kind commonly used by the Ming army.

Under the moonlight, the words "insufficient supplies," "unstable morale," "quick relocation," and "Dezhou" on the paper were particularly glaring.

His sense of "luring the enemy" remained taut, and he pressed on sharply:

"How was it intercepted? Is there anything suspicious about it?"

The scout hurriedly replied:

"My lord, it was not the enemy who sent him away voluntarily. It was the messenger who stumbled on horseback, revealing his whereabouts, which allowed our scouts to intercept him. His escape route was indeed towards Dezhou."

Before I could think it through, Fucha Turhong's voice pierced through again:

"Your Highness! Prince Rui said to be 'cautious,' not to watch the cooked duck fly away."

His hand gripping the knife hilt tightened suddenly.

"If we capture the false Ming emperor, the achievement will be immense..."

Bahana raised his arm, blocking Turhun's path once more, cutting off his words.

Fucha Turhong let out a short, cold snort through his nose:

"Since Master has made his decision, this servant will obey."

"But... when Prince Rui led us into the pass, he wasn't so hesitant."

As he spoke, his gaze swept over the soldiers around him, and the words "considering both the front and the back" drifted into their ears.

His fingers casually traced the rope wrapped around the hilt of the knife.

"That makes sense. This pseudo-Ming emperor is not a bandit like Li Zicheng. If... he really escapes, it won't be a big deal."

"In any case, our sons of the Bordered White Banner are not lacking in merit."

"But the other banners in Shengjing will probably laugh at the Bordered White Banner for being so scared by a southern barbarian boy that they don't even dare to take the credit that was already in their hands."

He glanced meaningfully at the command flag at Bahana's waist, then lowered his eyes and adopted a submissive demeanor.

But the slight trembling of his cheeks clearly revealed his contempt.

Bahana turned and glared at him:

"Turkhon, are you trying to teach me how to fight a war?"

"This servant wouldn't dare!"

He jabbed his finger sharply at the camp.

"Then Master should lead the army in a retreat!"

"I, Fucha Turhong, along with my Baturu of the Bordered White Banner, dare to pierce through this paper tiger camp tonight."

"Cut off the false emperor's head and present it as a gift to Prince Rui!"

As soon as he finished speaking, several guards subtly tapped their helmets.

The air seemed to freeze for a moment, with only the soft rustling of the night wind through the leaves.

Bahana's gaze swept over the secret letter in his hand again—

"Relocation of camps," "Insufficient supplies," and "Instantaneous morale"

—Every word burned away his hesitation.

Turhong's words, "What can that Zhu family brat use to 'encircle' my Eight Banners Heavenly Army?" echoed in his mind like a curse.

Right, what could this fake Ming emperor use to fight against the Eight Banners cavalry?

The silence lasted only a moment.

Bahana's resolve crumbled instantly, and he finally spoke:

"Once the false emperor is captured, Dezhou will be ours for the taking! The fertile plains of Shandong will be our playground for the Eight Banners warriors!"

"The Regent never said he wanted to release the tiger back into the mountains!"

A glint flashed in Fucha Turhong's eyes, and he immediately clasped his hands in a fist and shouted:

"My lord is wise and far-sighted! This servant is foolish and only cares about the immediate fighting!"

He then lowered his voice again, with a hint of probing:

"This humble servant dares to say that if the false emperor were to escape during the relocation of the camp, what would happen before Prince Rui..."

Moonlight slanted down from the helmet's brim, slicing half of Fucha Turhong's face into a pale plaster statue, while the other half disappeared into the inky black night.

"The Fucha family's eagle—"

Bahana's voice suddenly turned stern.

"It's time to show your claws! I'll call upon your three hundred elite troops and carve a bloody path through them."

"Two thousand iron cavalry followed closely behind, charging straight into the central army, and turning this dog emperor's camp upside down."

He leaned slightly forward, his gaze fixed on Turhong.

"If anything goes wrong, I'll answer to you with my head!"

"Yes, sir!"

Turhong immediately lowered his head and clasped his hands in response:

"My lord, please prepare the wine. This servant will use the head of that brat from the Zhu family as a wine vessel!"

A fire of arrogance burned in his eyes.

"The mere southern barbarian army is nothing but a bunch of chickens and dogs!"

"Tonight, I, your servant, will crush them to dust!"

The chilling vows had not yet faded in the night when Turgun's bloodlust had completely boiled over.

A sudden night wind arose, sweeping across Wucheng Mountain with a piercing whistling sound.

Under the moonlight, the exposed sandstone gleamed a dark red, and a pungent smell of dust wafted through the air.