Late Ming Dynasty: From the Defeated Soldiers at Daling River to Ascending the Throne

At night, the small house was packed like a sardine can.

The four people, plus two seriously injured, were huddled together in the small space, almost piled on top of each other.

The entrance to the hut was haphazardly blocked with branches and withered shrubs, and the cold wind kept blowing inside.

Chen Feng leaned against the innermost part, half of his body covered by a leather robe, the other half covering the seriously wounded man next to him.

Old Pu huddled on the other side of the wounded, using his thin body to shield the young man from the wind as much as possible.

Meng Changgeng and Aji squeezed against the door, serving as both the last line of defense and a convenient place for guards.

Hao Dadao and Zhao Sheng were on night duty for the first half of the night and were currently freezing outside.

I don't know how much time passed.

"Bang! Bang... Bang!" Three short explosions rang out from afar!

Chen Feng was sleeping lightly because of the cold. Upon hearing the sound, he immediately jumped up from the ground: the sound of muskets!

Had the Tartars discovered them? He had already placed one hand on the hilt of his sword at his waist, stepped over the wounded in the middle, and quickly woke Meng Changgeng.

"Wake up! Gunfire! Prepare to evacuate!" His voice was urgent.

Meng Changgeng panicked at first, but then calmed down and immediately began to fumble for his bow and arrow and his sword.

The shack instantly erupted in commotion, and Old Pu was also awakened, rushing to check on the wounded.

Aji woke up when the sound came and was now peering through the door to check what was happening outside.

"Take the wounded with you..." Before Chen Feng could finish speaking, the dead branches at the door were pushed aside, and Zhao Sheng and Hao Dadao poked their heads in from outside.

"They're not coming for us!" Zhao Sheng said calmly. "The gunfire is coming from the north, probably from the direction of Dadingbao!"

"It's a three-barreled gun!" Hao Dadao added. "Judging from the sound, it should be about a mile away, in the ravine to the north!"

Chen Feng calmed down. If they were pursuers, they should have come from the south, but the gunshot came from the north. So, as Zhao Sheng said, they shouldn't be pursuers.

Then Chen Feng listened carefully to the sounds in the night, but apart from the three shots just now, there were no more gunshots.

His mind raced. It was possible that the Tartars had encountered other defeated soldiers, or that the Tartar cavalry had run into the Ming army's night scouts. But whatever the situation, sitting idly by and waiting to die was not Chen Feng's style.

"Old Pu," he said, looking at Old Pu, "you stay here in the shack and look after the wounded. Put out the fire and don't make a sound."

He then looked at Hao Dadao, "You guard them. You can keep the horses. If any Tartars come up, take Old Pu and the wounded and retreat north. Don't worry about us!"

Hao Dadao wanted to say that he also wanted to go and kill the Tartars, but thinking of Chen Feng's words and methods during the day, he obediently accepted the order.

"Zhao Sheng, Aji, Xiucai," Chen Feng grabbed his musket, "come with me and let's go take a look."

------------------

Zheng Sanfu leaned against a cold rock, his breathing sounding like a broken bellows. He looked at his hand holding the knife, which was trembling so much that he could barely lift it.

"It's over." This thought crossed his mind more than once, but each time he forcefully suppressed it. "No! These dozen or so brothers behind me, and the women and children waiting on the mountain to bring back some food to survive, they can't just die here!"

He was a member of the "Yizhou Garrison," a title that sounded impressive, but in reality, he was a guerrilla force made up of scattered military households and local hunters and farmers from the original Yizhou Guard.

The leader was an old sentry with a missing arm, who led about a hundred men and a few dozen broken guns and bows, fighting and hiding around Yizhou.

They had considered fleeing to Jinzhou a few years earlier, but with the elderly, women, and children in tow, they couldn't even cross the Nangou River, let alone the Gewangbei Bridge.

The Jurchen Tartars continued to pursue and annihilate them, making it impossible for them to grow crops. They could only plunder lone patrols and steal crops from the Tartar-run farms to survive.

Occasionally, they would encounter scouts from Jinzhou and follow them to check the Tartars' grain supply routes.

Today was no different. Following five scouts who had sneaked in from the direction of Jinzhou, thirty men lay in ambush along the main road leading to the Yizhou granary.

My plan was to intercept a small grain transport team, kill a few auxiliary soldiers, seize the grain, and leave.

Who would have thought that today the Tartars' grain escort team would be augmented by a small elite squad, and their scouts would also suddenly increase in number.

They had just rushed out of the ambush point when a small squad of scouts charged over from afar, chasing the night scouts like rabbits!

How could these ragtag soldiers possibly defeat the elite Tartar troops? Their ranks were scattered the moment they met.

Zheng Sanfu led his dozen or so brothers, fighting and retreating, relying on their familiarity with the mountain paths, all the way to the mountain valley on the southern slope of Dachong Mountain.

Who knew that after dark they would take the wrong road and end up in a dead end!

Behind us was a slippery, wet rock wall seven or eight zhang high, and the steep slopes on the left and right were extremely slippery due to the snow, making it impossible to climb.

When they tried to retreat, the pursuing Tartar soldiers blocked their path, and the two sides confronted each other at the bottom of the ravine.

On Zheng Sanfu's side, including himself, there were only eleven people left.

Everyone was wounded, their clothes were tattered, and their weapons were even more shabby.

Besides his broken knife, he only had two spears with rusty tips and four or five hunting bows. The most decent weapon was the old, worn-out three-barreled gun on Er Gouzi's shoulder, the barrel of which was a bit crooked.

In contrast, the Tartars, though numbering only ten, were in a well-organized formation.

Each of them wore thick, iron-embroidered cotton armor and warm hats or iron helmets.

The leader was a boshku, wearing a conspicuous red-tasseled helmet and thick, heavy cotton armor with a breastplate.

"Er Gouzi!" Zheng Sanfu roared hoarsely, "Give that son of a bitch a good whack! Aim for that official!"

At the very back of the line, a thin young man responded tremblingly. He hurriedly placed the old three-barreled gun on a rock and lit the fuse with a flintlock pistol.

"Swoosh—Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The three explosions were almost simultaneous, with flames erupting and thick smoke billowing out.

Lead bullets flew haphazardly, scattering snow and gravel everywhere, forcing the Nabushiku and several Tatars in the front row to instinctively raise their shields and lower their heads, thus slowing the Tatar offensive.

"Go!" Zheng Sanfu shouted, taking advantage of the opportunity, and led his brothers to run deeper into the ravine, retreating to the cliff at the end.

The Tartars spread out in a semi-circle, with the front row of Tartars slowly approaching, shields raised, like a pack of wolves hunting.

Nabashku grinned and shouted in broken Chinese, "Kneel, surrender! We won't kill you!"

"Pah!" Zheng Sanfu spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "May your ancestors be cursed!"

Er Gouzi's face was deathly pale. He trembled as he loaded the gun with gunpowder, stuffed in lead pellets, and tamped it down with a cleaning rod.

This three-barreled gun was left behind by a squad of scouts from a few years ago. The barrel was terribly hot when it was fired just now, but he had no other choice at this point.

"Dog, one more time!" Zheng Sanfu dodged an arrow shot by a Tartar.

Er Gouzi's hands trembled as he lit the medicine rope again.

"boom--!!!"

The old three-barreled gun suddenly exploded from the middle, and a dazzling flash of fire engulfed Er Gouzi's upper body. Broken iron pieces and scorching wood chips sprayed outwards like a rainstorm!

"Ah—!" The agonizing scream lasted only half a breath.

Er Gouzi's chest and head were pierced by broken pieces of iron, and the musket barrel fragments in his hand fell to the ground with a "clang," instantly staining the snow beneath him with blood.

"Er Gouzi!!" Zheng Sanfu's eyes were bloodshot.

Despair, like icy snowmelt, instantly engulfed everyone.

"Damn Tartars!!" A brother leaned out from behind a rock and fired an arrow.

The moment he peeked out, a Tatar archer, who was already prepared, shot him through the head.

Seeing that the bandits had lost their support, Naboshiku laughed loudly and raised his sword.

Just then, "Awooo~~"

A tiger's roar echoed from the forest, startling both sides.

Following the sound, everyone looked and saw two eerie green "lanterns" light up from the darkness, and a huge outline slowly appeared on the steep slope to the left, illuminated by the Tartar torches.