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

When Zheng Sanfu followed Chen Feng into the small house, the last spark of hope in his heart was extinguished.

Two seriously wounded soldiers were curled up on the ground, their faces ashen, barely breathing. An old man in prison clothes sat beside them, fiddling with herbs in his hands.

There were no supplies, no auxiliary troops, and not even a small, well-organized squad of officers and soldiers as he had imagined.

Zheng Sanfu stood at the doorway, snow pouring in through the doorway and hitting his thin back.

Old Pu was changing the dressing of a wounded soldier when he looked up and saw three or four more children covered in blood being carried in. He paused in his work.

He sighed, "There's only half a bottle of wound medicine left... and we're out of herbs too..."

Before he could finish speaking, he had already knelt down to examine the wounds of the new wounded soldier.

Chen Feng didn't say anything, patted Zheng Sanfu on the shoulder, and turned to leave the small house.

The two found a sheltered rock outside and sat down. Snow was still falling, and it lingered on their shoulders for a long time.

Silence is Cambridge tonight...

After a long silence, Chen Feng spoke, his voice slightly hoarse from the cold wind: "I'm sorry."

Zheng Sanfu was stunned for a moment, then turned to look at him.

"You've all been waiting in vain." Chen Feng looked at the distant mountain shadows. "Without a large army, we're just a bunch of defeated soldiers."

Zheng Sanfu lowered his head and rubbed his frozen face with his hands.

After a while, he chuckled.

"I'm used to it," he said.

He pulled something out of his pocket and waved it in front of his eyes; it was a brass pipe.

"I just took this from Nabashku." Zheng Sanfu wiped his cigarette holder with his sleeve and handed it over. "This stuff is very valuable here."

Chen Feng paused for a moment, then realized how long it had been since he had last touched a cigarette.

In my past life, I was in the army and would always smoke a cigarette when I was under a lot of pressure; after transmigrating, I've been running for my life for days and have long forgotten about it.

He took the pipe, and Zheng Sanfu then took out a small leather pouch and poured out some dark brown tobacco leaves.

Chen Feng lit the tinderbox and took a deep drag.

"Cough! Cough cough cough!"

The thick, harsh smoke rushed into his throat, like sandpaper scraping through his trachea, and Chen Feng choked until tears welled up in his eyes.

Zheng Sanfu chuckled: "Lord Chen, you probably used to smoke the fine tobacco from the south, right? This is Liaodong tobacco, it's strong."

Chen Feng coughed for a while before stopping, and an absurd thought popped into his mind: Once I survive, I'll definitely get rid of Hua Zi and never let him smoke that broken pipe again.

He then shook his head self-deprecatingly, assuming he could survive this round.

Hao Dadao's nose twitched, and he poked his head out of the house, his eyes lighting up: "Smoke?"

Meng Changgeng followed him out, rubbing his hands together with a fawning expression: "Give me a bite, just one bite!"

Four or five people gathered around the stone, passing a brass pipe through their frozen, red hands. The red glow flickered in the snowy night, and the atmosphere became strangely lively.

"Boss Zheng," Chen Feng tapped his pipe on a stone and handed it to Meng Changgeng, "I heard there's a collapsed gap in the Great Wall northwest of Yizhou?"

Zheng Sanfu nodded: "It collapsed in the first year of Chongzhen's reign, struck by lightning. It collapsed for almost three zhang (approximately 10 meters) wide, and the Tartars never repaired it."

He paused, "But that place is difficult to traverse, and the collapsed bricks and stones are piled up higher than a person. Horses absolutely cannot get through, and even people have to use their hands and feet to climb over."

Chen Feng's heart sank.

His original plan was to slip through the gap in the Great Wall, detour outside the pass, and head west along the northern foothills of the Yanshan Mountains to see if he could find his way back to the Xifengkou area.

But if one cannot ride a horse and has to trek hundreds of miles on foot along the edge of the Mongolian grasslands... it's a matter of life and death.

His face was expressionless, but Zheng Sanfu guessed what Chen Feng was thinking when he asked the question.

"Does Lord Chen intend to... head west?" Zheng Sanfu asked tentatively.

Chen Feng hummed in agreement.

Zheng Sanfu was silent for a moment, then suddenly said, "Stay."

Chen Feng looked up at him.

"We still have about a hundred brothers in our village." Zheng Sanfu's voice was lower, but very serious. "We don't eat much, but we won't starve. I know that Lord Chen is a capable man. Stay here, and you can lead us to kill the Tartars."

Zheng Sanfu kept his eyes fixed on him as he spoke, his eyes filled with hope.

Upon hearing Zheng Sanfu's words, Meng Changgeng and Hao Dadao stopped fighting over the pipe, and Zhao Sheng also looked at Chen Feng.

Chen Feng remained silent for a long time, then slowly shook his head.

"No," he said.

"Why?" Zheng Sanfu asked anxiously, "We—"

"The Tartars are about to win." Chen Feng interrupted him, his voice as calm as if stating a result he already knew. "Dalinghe cannot be held. After the battle there is over, the Ming Dynasty will retreat to Jinzhou. Governor Sun will also resign in disgrace. The Tartars will then have completely established a foothold in Yizhouwei."

He paused, then added, "By then, even the night watchmen probably won't be able to get in."

Zhao Sheng stared at Chen Feng in surprise, opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.

Meng Changgeng shoved the pipe into Hao Dadao's hand and tugged at Hao's frozen earlobe.

Zheng Sanfu panicked a little. "Then we have to do something!"

Chen Feng looked at him, a long string of thoughts flashing through his mind: he could burn the Tartars' grain fodder, blow up their gunpowder depots, organize guerrillas to cooperate with the main army in attacking the Tartars' rear...

But Chen Feng rejected all of them. They were too few in number. Zheng Sanfu's group could only be considered a peasant army at best. If such a small number of people were exposed to the Tartars, they would die.

He longed to meet Zheng Sanfu's expectations, but in the end, he could only sigh and shake his head.

He changed the subject: "We caught a Mongolian novice captor before, and he said a large caravan came in through Zhenyuan Pass. Have you seen it?"

Although Zheng Sanfu wanted to continue asking questions, he understood everything from Chen Feng's expression—they were too weak.

He nodded in agreement with the topic raised by Chen Feng: "I have seen it. It has come every year since the second year of Chongzhen's reign. The number of carriages and horses is frightening. Sometimes there are four or five hundred carriages, and sometimes there are one or two hundred."

"What banner are they flying?"

"No banners." Zheng Sanfu shook his head. "The guards are all dressed in Tartar clothes, and the goods they're carrying are all wrapped tightly in oilcloth. We don't know what they are."

Upon hearing this scale, several names popped into Chen Feng's mind: Fan Yongdou, Wang Dengku, Jin Liangyu, Wang Dayu, Liang Jiabin, Tian Shenglan, Zhai Tang, and Huang Yunfa.

The eight famous Shanxi merchants in history, or the future "eight imperial merchants".

In real history, these people would have obtained the status of "Imperial Merchants" after the Qing army entered the pass, monopolized almost all of the Qing Dynasty's foreign trade business, and become incredibly wealthy.

But for now, they are still operating in the gray area, exchanging grain, ironware, and medicine for furs and ginseng from the Later Jin, and incidentally sending over Ming Dynasty border defense intelligence.

Chen Feng took the pipe, took a deep drag, and asked, "Who's the leader?"

"All we know is that he's a young man, but no one has ever seen what he looks like. However, he has quite the entourage, riding in a two-wheeled car. You can recognize him at a glance."

Chen Feng didn't reply. He slowly finished his last puff of cigarette, tapped the pipe on the stone, and the ashes fell into the snow, hissing as they rose into the air.

Then he raised his head, his gaze swept over the people surrounding him, and finally landed on Hao Dadao, a smile appearing on his face.

"Hao Dadao," Chen Feng said, "want to pull off something big?"

Hao Dadao was taken aback: "How big?"

Chen Feng smiled and said, "Let's rob the head of that caravan. With such a large caravan, their clothes must be made of gold."

Hao Dadao's eyes widened, then he slapped his thigh: "Beautiful! Damn it!"

Aji seemed to understand but not quite, but seeing Hao Dadao's excitement, he grinned and said, "Boss, let's do it!"

Meng Changgeng remained silent, his fingers starting to pull at his earlobe until it turned red. He had a bad feeling that this matter was definitely not as simple as just robbing money.

Zhao Sheng placed his hand on the hilt of the knife, his fingers unconsciously stroking it. Without realizing it, he had changed his form of address: "Boss, you don't really want to become an outlaw, do you?"

Chen Feng didn't reply to him, but looked at Zheng Sanfu, "Chief Zheng, are you interested in stationing troops in Yizhou?"

Zheng Sanfu's Adam's apple bobbed, then he straightened his back ramrod straight. "Damn it! All the Tartar lackeys are no good!"

Chen Feng stood up with a smile, shaking the snow off his shoulders. "Then let's discuss this properly!"

Meng Changgeng's bad premonition grew stronger. He felt that Chen Feng seemed to have changed tonight, becoming more unpredictable.