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

The darkness was as thick as ink.

Thick fog blocked the moonlight, and water droplets condensed from the fog, dripping from his hair. Chen Feng trudged through the wilderness, the biting cold reminding him that his body temperature was dropping.

He dared not stop.

The distant firelight and clamor behind us had gradually subsided, but that did not mean we were safe. The Later Jin's cavalry, stragglers, and fleeing soldiers in the darkness were all potential threats.

Without the aid of modern clocks, the concept of time has become blurred. It may be past midnight, or it may only be 9 PM.

Chen Feng followed the river upstream. At first, he could barely make out his direction, but after turning a few bends, he completely lost his bearings. He might be moving away from danger, or he might step into an abyss at any moment.

Chen Feng was already extremely hungry and thirsty, and his strength was completely exhausted. He took out the dry biscuit from his pocket and swallowed it with the dew on the leaves.

He leaned against a tree trunk, trying to rest and regain some strength, but as soon as he sat down, drowsiness washed over him like a tide.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, the silence was suddenly broken.

From the dense forest to the left, about a hundred paces away, came the sound of horses' hooves and the crisp sound of a dead tree breaking, followed by suppressed groans, the clanging of metal against metal, and the restless neighing of warhorses and the chaotic sound of hooves pawing the ground.

Chen Feng immediately lowered his head and listened intently.

"Ming dog! Die!" A strangely accented Chinese voice roared, filled with bloodthirsty excitement.

"My He family of Liaoyang... has no blood that dies on its knees!" came another voice in response, hoarse but familiar to Chen Feng.

He Mingxiao?!

Chen Feng's heart clenched. Wasn't he fleeing north? How could he have run into him here?

The sounds of fighting grew increasingly intense, interspersed with heavy breathing and the muffled thuds of blades piercing armor. Judging from the noise, it seemed to be three riders attacking one person.

Chen Feng held his breath and crept forward under the cover of darkness. In the foggy night, a torch emitted a faint light in the thick fog, barely enough to make out a few blurry black figures wrestling together.

When he got within thirty paces of the group, he heard a muffled thud, and one of them was knocked off his horse.

A figure stumbled to his feet, leaning against a large tree, only a dozen steps away.

At this moment, Chen Feng could barely make out that the person who had fallen from his horse was He Mingxiao. He was holding a knife in his right hand and seemed to be clutching his abdomen with his left hand, his body swaying precariously.

Three Bayaras surrounded him in a semi-circle, two of whom dismounted, while the third remained on horseback, seemingly loading ammunition into a musket.

The two men, having dismounted, did not rush into a full-scale attack. Instead, like wolves toying with wounded prey, they probed and slashed, gradually wearing down He Mingxiao's last strength. The helmet of the man holding the torch was gone, and his rat tail swayed in the darkness.

He Mingxiao's swordsmanship was clearly the result of rigorous training. Even when seriously injured, his parries and counterattacks were still precise and ruthless, and he almost struck the enemy's vitals several times.

But He Mingxiao's movements became increasingly sluggish, and his feet were covered in blood.

Can't wait any longer.

Chen Feng unslung the musket from his back. This thing could explode in his hands at any moment, but right now, it was the only weapon that might change the situation. He carefully poured out the gunpowder, estimating the amount by touch.

Under the cover of the fog, he crawled behind a rock, no more than twenty paces from the nearest Bayara. Even at that distance, he had no hope of accuracy with the fire poker in his hand.

He raised the gun barrel slightly, aiming it at the warhorse beneath the mounted Tartar.

He took a deep breath of the cold air, which smelled of blood and earth, and pulled the trigger.

"Tch~~"

The sound of the fuse igniting normally brought him a sigh of relief, but at the same time, it made his heart leap into his throat.

The scene of the barrel exploding at dusk flashed through my mind. Please don't let it explode! Please don't let it explode!

"Bang!!!"

A deafening roar ripped through the silence of the night, and a burst of orange-red light erupted from the muzzle of the gun! The bullet was fired normally, and fortunately, it did not explode.

The lead bullet, streaked with sparks, swept out and flew in a bizarre trajectory, striking the horse squarely in the head.

The warhorse let out a deafening, agonizing neigh, reared up, and then immediately collapsed.

Ba Yala, who was riding a horse, lost his balance and fell off. The horse's body landed directly on his leg, and the crisp sound of bones breaking could be clearly heard.

Chaos erupted instantly. The Bayara who was pinned under the horse screamed in agony, and the other two Bayara were also stunned for a moment by this sudden turn of events.

He Mingxiao did not let this fleeting opportunity slip by!

He unleashed his last burst of strength from who knows where, charging forward with a sudden burst of power. His waist knife, held from below, plunged from a tricky angle into the gap in the armor plate on the side of the Ba Ya La's waist! The blade was completely submerged!

Ba Yala's eyes bulged out, and he tried to say something, but He Mingxiao pushed him away with his shoulder. He stumbled back two steps and fell to his knees, motionless.

He Mingxiao himself was also exhausted. The knife in his hand slipped from his hand, and he staggered back a few steps. He leaned against the tree trunk and slowly slid to the ground, panting heavily. Each breath was accompanied by a hissing sound of blood foam.

Chen Feng had already leaped out from behind the rock, his right hand gripping the short-handled mace tightly.

He didn't charge in for a direct confrontation. His opponent was heavily armored, and even in a panic, he would have the upper hand in a head-on fight.

Chen Feng's target was the two warhorses that had stamped their feet in fright. He rushed over, grabbed the reins, and yanked hard, while simultaneously slamming the mace in his other hand into the horses' rump!

Startled and in pain, the warhorse instinctively lunged forward, heading straight for the unhelmeted Bayara.

Bayara hurriedly dodged, his formation already in disarray.

Chen Feng seized this fleeting opportunity, closing in like a monkey. Taking advantage of his relatively light cotton armor, he suddenly lowered his body and swung his mace with all his might, slamming it hard into the back of his opponent's leg!

"Snap!"

With a distinct sound of bones cracking, Bayala screamed and fell to one knee, the hand-held torch rolling to the side.

Chen Feng gave him no chance. He stood up, raised the mace high, and smashed it down with all his might on the head that was not protected by a helmet!

The torches went out, and everything returned to darkness, leaving only the curses of Yaba Yala and He Mingxiao's heavy breathing.

Chen Feng leaned on the mace, panting heavily, his arm trembling slightly from the exertion.

He picked up the remaining torch from the ground, blew on the embers to light them, and quickly walked to He Mingxiao's side.

By the flickering firelight, he finally saw He Mingxiao's injuries, and his heart sank to the bottom.

He Mingxiao's cotton armor was almost soaked in blood, and at least three broken arrows were stuck in his chest and shoulder. The most fatal wound was in his abdomen, where a walnut-sized wound was gushing dark red blood, probably from a musket at close range.

"You...you are...from before?" He Mingxiao's blurry vision focused and he recognized Chen Feng. A hideous smile appeared on his blood-stained lips. "Good...good gun technique...cough cough..." Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth with each cough.

"Don't speak." Chen Feng tore off the relatively clean hem of his undergarment and tried to press it against the wound on his abdomen, but the bleeding couldn't be stopped at all, and the fabric was instantly soaked.

He Mingxiao shook his head, his cold hand pressing down on Chen Feng's busy wrist, his strength waning. "It's no use... my intestines... are ruptured..." he gasped, his eyes beginning to glaze over, but he forced himself to stay awake. "Listen to me... if you can live... go back to Jinzhou... you can find... your uncle... his name is He... He Kegang... he's the Deputy Commander-in-Chief of Liaodong... just tell him... I... I didn't... I didn't disgrace my father..."

His chest heaved violently, his voice growing softer and softer, yet he stubbornly repeated, "You can... come to my house... as a servant... monthly salary... two taels... my He family... doesn't... owe any wages... tell... tell my master..."

The sound gradually faded, and the hand that was pressing on Chen Feng's wrist slipped down limply.

Those eyes, which were gazing perhaps in the direction of Jinzhou, had lost their last sparkle, but they were not completely closed.

Chen Feng stood frozen in place, feeling the blood flowing from his wound rapidly cooling down.

That evening, the young captain, who had tried to rally the fleeing soldiers in their desperate situation and promised them a way to survive, died in the pitch-black fog of an unnamed wilderness. Even as he lay dying from his injuries, he was still thinking about his pay.

There was no death on the battlefield, no mournful final song, only an unfulfilled promise and a lingering gaze that remained unbroken in death.

Chen Feng felt his eyes burning, but he blinked hard to suppress the stinging sensation.

After a long while, Chen Feng slowly released his hand and gently closed He Mingxiao's eyes.

Before he died, He Mingxiao uttered a name—He Kegang.

Given He Kegang's position as Deputy Commander-in-Chief of Liaodong, he must have been during the Battle of Dalinghe.

When Chen Feng was studying at the military academy, his instructors talked about that tragic battle. The Ming Dynasty completely lost the Liaodong region at this battle, and thereafter the Ming Dynasty changed from strategic defense to being completely attacked unilaterally.

He Kegang will be killed by Zu Dashou at the end of this battle as a pledge of surrender.

The foggy weather and the river beside it should correspond to the Battle of Xiaoling River on September 16th, when Qiu Hejia led 7,000 Ming soldiers to be attacked by Huang Taiji.

He forced himself to compose himself and stood up. The dead are gone, but the living must go on.

Chen Feng vigorously wiped his face, forcefully suppressing his surging emotions. He began cleaning up the battlefield; the area was not yet safe.

He walked up to the Tartar who was pinned down by a horse and was still wailing.

Seeing Chen Feng approach, the Tartar struggled to brandish his scimitar and threatened in broken Chinese, "Ming dog! I'll kill you! Kill!"

Chen Feng easily deflected the powerless blade and smashed the mace onto the Tartar's head.

The Tartar didn't die after taking that blow; he was still cursing something.

Chen Feng was taken aback, then struck again with his mace, and the Tartar's body twitched and he lost consciousness.

He struck the third blow, the fourth blow... until half of his head was dented in before he stopped.

Chen Feng's actions were unrelated to hatred or national righteousness. He had no sense of belonging to the Ming Dynasty; he didn't belong to this era and had no memories of the original owner of this body. But thinking of the actions of the Manchu Qing government later on, he gripped the mace in his hand again and brought it down with another blow.

Pulling his thoughts back from their wanderings, Chen Feng began quickly cleaning up the battlefield.

He carefully packed the dry rations, dried meat, water bags, and silver into individual containers.

He also stripped the weapons and armor of several Tartars and tied them to their horses.

Looking at the well-made musket and pistol in his hands, Chen Feng decisively discarded the fire poker he had used before.

After much deliberation, for the sake of warmth, he took off his cotton armor and put on a relatively clean Bayara battle robe, discarding the tattered cotton armor.

"Hey! It's still the Bordered Yellow Banner!" Chen Feng joked, feeling the thick leather boots under his feet.

He recalled a movie star from later generations who said tanks didn't have rearview mirrors, and a mocking smile appeared on his lips.

Then he thought of the leader in bright yellow armor he had seen earlier. Could that person be Huang Taiji?

Then, he returned to He Mingxiao's side, his gaze falling on He Mingxiao's blood-stained cloth armor. "Commander He, I'll lend you this armor. I'll wear it and walk in your place."

After saying that, he removed the cloth mask from He Mingxiao's body.

He did not strip He Mingxiao of his clothes; his comrade had died in battle, and he could not let him lie naked in the wilderness.

Finally, he dragged He Mingxiao's body to the elm tree. Unable to dig a grave for his compatriot, he could only hastily cover it with withered grass and broken branches.

"Wait for me, I will come back for you!" Chen Feng bowed deeply to He Mingxiao's body, then mounted his horse.

Jinzhou was to the west, but Huang Taiji had already cut off their retreat; going west would mean certain death. He turned his horse around to face north and gently spurred it.

He gripped the reins tightly; the knife at his waist and the new gun on his back gave him a sense of security in the cold night.

He probably won't be able to fulfill He Mingxiao's will, but as long as he can return to Jinzhou alive, he will spread He Mingxiao's name so that the world will remember him.