Chapter 195: Silver Vase Shatters, Water and Slurry Burst Forth; Iron Cavalry Surges Out, Swords and Spears Clamor!

The sky was lightening but not yet bright. Beyond the frontier, the morning wind carried a bone-deep chill, stirring drifting veils of thin mist.

Within the mist, first the blurred outline of a single rider appeared.

It was a horseman leading his mount on foot.

He wore only a dark-red military padded jacket and walked steadily along the mountain path.

On his warhorse's back, one side carried his armor and longbow; the other side bore a cold, gleaming lance.

He made no sound, simply leading his horse in silence, following the mountain path forward until he vanished once more into the thin mist.

Right after him, a second rider, a third…

One after another, Ming cavalrymen, in the same gear and the same manner, kept emerging from behind the bends of the mountain path.

The column snaked through the narrow defile like a dark-red dragon coiling among the peaks, its head and tail lost from sight.

How to fight?

For the army's commander, Ma Shilong, that question had never been a question at all.

He sat astride his horse, his gaze sweeping over the faintly visible column before him.

Of six thousand picked cavalry, three thousand were household retainers — and of those, at least fifteen hundred were men he had requisitioned by name, officer and soldier both, from every garrison.

Every household retainer was a stout, able-bodied man fed full on gleaming silver; the officers were fierce commanders who could fight and kill.

"Thirty-odd riders daring a thousand-li detour to strike deep behind enemy lines" — that was the kind of elite troops he had.

The other three thousand Liaodong veterans, though fewer of them were household retainers, were still hardened fighters he and Sun Chengzong had handpicked by the weight of their long-standing prestige — among them, no fewer than a hundred men had three or more rebel heads stashed to their name in the camp accounts!

This was already the finest field cavalry force the two of them could squeeze out without throwing the border garrisons into chaos.

And once he obtained authority to command the Datong military district, he had, within a matter of days, pushed that force's advantages to their absolute limit.

Datong Regional Commander Qu Jiazhen personally led three thousand wagon-fort troops and garrisoned Yulin Pass, freeing him to commit all six thousand cavalry to the attack with no worry for his rear.

He had also requisitioned three thousand second-grade packhorses solely to carry armor and provisions, husbanding the main warhorses' strength to the utmost so they could unleash their deadliest charge at the crucial moment.

And finally, there was the bounty the Emperor himself had retroactively issued.

Fifty thousand taels of reward silver! Fifty blank promotion warrants! No head-counts, no captive tallies, no civil-official oversight — everything decided by him, Ma Shilong, alone!

Strong troops, sturdy horses, ample reward silver.

When had he, Ma Shilong, ever fought a war this flush?!

So from beginning to end, the one thing Ma Shilong feared most, the one thing he could not control, had always been just one.

That the moment Ligdan Khan spotted the Ming banners, he would, without a moment's hesitation, strike camp and flee east.

If that truly happened, then he — the commander who had insisted on a western-front breakthrough strategy and rejected an eastern-front annihilation strategy — would become this campaign's greatest criminal!

In that scenario, exhausting the army for nothing while provoking the Tiger Chieftain — that was the worst possible outcome.

— Even though he had, in fact, carried out the Emperor's strategic intent to the letter.

But before the mountain- and sea-like flood of impeachment memorials that would come crashing down, this new sovereign likely lacked both the resolve and the inclination to protect him.

He, Ma Shilong, was, after all, only a once-defeated general…

Just then.

A courier came against the flow along the lane deliberately left open: "Commissioner-in-Chief, the forward cavalry has exited the mountain pass. Our scouts have run into Tumed roving patrols."

"They report that the Prince of Shunyi has already dispatched his scouts to screen the southern approaches with all their strength, and only asks the general to advance swiftly!"

Ma Shilong nodded slowly, pressed down every stray thought in his mind, and let his gaze sharpen like a blade's edge.

He raised a hand and issued the order: "Pass the word! All units, upon exiting the mountain pass, are to don armor and form ranks immediately, then advance three li north to establish a screening line!"

The courier took the order and departed.

Watching his figure, Ma Shilong could not help drawing a deep breath.

The wind of the southern Gobi — still so cold and clear.

"Come, then, Hundun Tuohan — let this Commissioner-in-Chief see what choice you truly make!"

"The Ming army is coming."

Beneath the great standard, someone murmured these words, and the previously murmuring voices fell abruptly silent.

Ligdan Khan stood on the gentle slope, utterly unmoved by the remark, as though he had not heard it at all.

Agula, the ejen of Mount Aha-gu, stepped forward and spoke in a low voice:

"Even if it is not the Ming army, it could be reinforcements from the Ordos tribe arriving."

"Otherwise, the Prince of Shunyi would have no reason to commit so many scouts to the south — it is already abnormally many."

He looked toward Ligdan Khan and asked for instructions: "Great Khan, what do we do? Should we… pull back for now and observe?"

"Pull back?"

A cold laugh rang out. Guiying Qia stepped out from the crowd, his face full of contempt.

"Look at the strength of these Mongol Right Wing wretches, and you will know the strength of the Datong border troops."

He swept his gaze around the assembly, his voice rising: "An army of lambs! If they truly dare come forward, they have just given us cause to plunder Datong!"

"The Great Ming can give those lambs a million taels in annual bounty — why can they not give it to us!"

"A million taels in annual bounty! How much armor and how many arrows could that buy! Those silks and bolts of cloth — ten thousand carts could not carry them all!"

"Why should we retreat? There has never been a principle that a wolf should retreat before lambs!"

Guiying Qia wheeled sharply toward Ligdan Khan, dropped to one knee, and loudly demanded his orders: "Great Khan! Give me just one thousand bayara, and I will surely trample this relief force into the dust!"

No one else in the assembly spoke. Every gaze converged on Ligdan Khan — the steppe overlord who had just led them to a brilliant victory.

A moment later, Ligdan Khan finally stirred.

For by now the morning mist had gradually lifted, and on the southern horizon, a tide of fiery red was slowly spreading out, deploying laterally into formation — some five or six thousand riders by the look of it.

There was no longer any need for debate. It was the Ming army, not the Ordos tribe.

So — retreat, or fight?

Countless pros and cons, gains and losses, whirled rapidly through his mind.

In the end, all these thoughts condensed into a single disdainful, icy sneer.

He had crossed blades with Liaodong cavalry before — nothing to speak of.

What, then, could these Datong border troops possibly amount to? Were they worthy of making the bloodline of the "Golden Clan" yield?

"Dispatch a messenger. Tell the Ming army this is an internal affair of the steppe. Let them withdraw at once. Otherwise, let them not blame the iron hooves of my Chahar for showing no mercy!"

He paused, then spun around abruptly, his voice carrying throughout the entire army:

"Pass the word to every unit — prepare for battle immediately! If the Ming army remains obstinate, then let them learn who is the true eagle of these grasslands!"

"As you command!"

Amidst the tsunami of answering roars, mingled with the Mongols' distinctive wolf-like whoops and whistles, bloodlust and fighting spirit boiled over the entire encampment in an instant!

Bateer raised high the banner that marked him as an envoy and spurred his horse into a gallop. The cold wind buffeted his face, filling his chest with boundless heroic pride.

His master, Guiyingqia, had already promised him that if he could claim just two more heads in the battles to come, he would be promoted directly to Centurion!

Only by following the Great Khan on his western campaign, annexing tribe after tribe and subjugating their peoples, could such a meteoric rise be possible!

The Great Khan's trusted man was Lord Guiyingqia, and Lord Guiyingqia's trusted man was him — Bateer!

After all, he alone possessed the right to help his master remove his armor — proof enough of the trust placed in him!

When the time came, Temur would have a colt and a bow of his own, and when he grew up, he would become the lord's Baturu…

Bateer raced onward, lost in dreams of the bright future ahead.

At last, he drew rein and came to a slow halt a single bowshot from the Ming army's front line.

Bateer drew a deep breath and was about to speak, ready to deliver the Great Khan's warning and contempt in full.

Yet the very instant he opened his mouth, that motionless crimson battle line across from him erupted into motion with a thunderous roar!

No warning, no parley, not a single superfluous move!

The arrogance on Bateer's face froze solid, then shattered into sheer, overwhelming terror.

Without a second thought, he wrenched his horse's head around, lashed its flanks desperately with his riding crop, and made to flee at full gallop.

Too late.

In the space of a mere breath, from within the charging Ming formation, dozens of riders drew their bows almost as one. Arrows rose into the sky like a swarm of locusts and came plummeting back down in an instant.

Bateer felt a searing pain in his back. Several feathered shafts had already buried themselves deep in his body.

He clung to his horse's back, straining with all his might to escape.

His warhorse let out a mournful whinny and, spurred by the shock, surged forward in a violent burst — but after a moment, it abruptly slowed again.

In his despair, he cast a sidelong glance and saw that a single Ming rider had already drawn up alongside him.

The man's face wore an expression of bloodthirsty excitement. His saber flashed.

In the final moment of his life, Bateer murmured to himself, "Temur… Abbu…"

But it seemed he never managed to finish the words.

That Ming cavalryman bared his teeth in a grin, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, bent low, and scooped up the head while it was still in midair.

He was just about to tie it to the side of his saddle when a fierce whip-lash came howling from behind and to the side, lashing viciously across his back!

"Tian Le, do you wish to die?!"

The Ming cavalryman Tian Le looked back and saw the formation's cavalry commander, Cao Wenzhao, glaring at him with blazing fury, his lance already half-raised and aimed at Tian Le's throat.

Tian Le shuddered, and only then, through years of muscle memory, did he snap back to his senses and recall the military orders issued before they had marched out.

Those who stop to take heads in the midst of battle — executed!

Those who hesitate in the midst of battle — executed!

Those who wheel about in the face of the enemy — executed!

Those who ride off alone and do not return — executed!

A dozen and more execution orders, every single one reeking of blood — yet in the entire army, from top to bottom, not a single man had uttered a word of complaint.

Because laid out plain before their eyes was a stark reward of fifty thousand taels of silver!

Before striking camp, every officer had together sworn a blood oath in the encampment.

For this battle, the officers would not touch a single tael of the reward silver; all of it would be distributed solely according to valor displayed in the face of the enemy!

Heads? We don't want them!

Captured banners? We don't want them!

Only the breaking of formations! Only the breaking of formations!

Break through one formation, and the cavalry company gets two thousand taels! Break through two formations, and the cavalry company gets four thousand taels!

If they could fight their way to beneath Ligdan Khan's great standard, there would be a reward of five thousand taels!

Damn it all, how could I have forgotten this!

Tian Le groaned inwardly at his misfortune! He hurriedly tossed that troublesome head aside with a careless fling, crouched low, and lashed his horse whip with desperate fury.

His warhorse screamed and finally managed to edge ahead by a single horse-length within the charging line, and only then did he feel that devouring gaze lift slightly from his back.

He let out a breath of relief and finally fixed his eyes on what lay ahead.

A detachment of the opposing Chahar cavalry had also split off and was charging straight toward them.

Judging by what had been said before the battle, these were either outer vassal tribes or the main division's Gūsa — in any case, they would not be the Baya'ra of the Khan's central guard.

Because they wore neither bright armor nor cotton armor.

But even if they were the Baya'ra, so what!

Could the Tiger Khan's Baya'ra possibly be the same as the barbarian chieftain's Baya'ra?

Tian Le, who had taken four barbarian heads and one Tartar head in Liaodong, let out a savage grin and spurred his horse to even greater speed.

Closer now, closer and closer!

The panicked expressions on the faces of the Chahar men opposite were even visible now.

"Run! Move!"

With a thunderous roar, Cao Wenzhao shoved his way from the second rank to the front of the first, and with a dozen-odd household retainers who feared death no more than he did, formed a small arrowhead wedge.

"Hold your arrows! Hold your arrows!"

"Charge! Charge! Charge!"

Sixty paces!

A shower of arrows erupted from the opposite side, riddling the knights in the front rank like hedgehogs.

A few Ming cavalrymen had the worst luck — shot through the horse's head or through the throat — and tumbled into oblivion, swallowed up beneath the charging column.

But no one spared them a glance.

The column merely swerved slightly around these unlucky souls and kept accelerating!

Forty paces!

Nearly every man on the opposite side wheeled his horse around and began scattering in panicked flight to the rear and to the flanks!

"Damn it! What shit is this! How can they run so early!"

Cao Wenzhao's eyes instantly went bloodshot. He felt as if he had thrown a full-force punch, only to have it land on a ball of cotton.

If they ran too early, it would be hard to drive these routed troops into the next formation, hard to create a cascading collapse.

Damn it, he never imagined he'd run into this kind of shit situation himself.

"To the right, to the right!"

Cao Wenzhao bellowed at the top of his lungs. The cavalry standard-bearer riding with him heaved the general's banner and followed.

The entire company of household retainers wheeled as one and came crashing down like a thunderbolt upon the flank of an enemy unit on the right that had not yet fully scattered!

The cavalry formation of several hundred men struck like a crimson bolt of lightning, slamming viciously into the tail of that decelerating enemy cavalry unit!

Sabers slashed, lances thrust!

They could not even be bothered to cut down their foes with care; they simply used their colossal momentum to drive these routed men like sheep, smashing them hard into the next rank that had yet to react.

Today — no reserves! no wheeling back!

One charge forward, and every charge thereafter would be forward!

First charge, two thousand taels; second charge, four thousand taels; third charge, six thousand taels!

Charge after charge toward the silver!

Across the battlefield, wails of agony filled the air.

On the faces of the Ming cavalrymen there was not a trace of pity — only hunger for reward silver and absolute obedience to orders.

In silence they swung their blades, in silence they charged, in silence they leveled their lances, tearing to shreds everything that stood before them.

After Cao Wenzhao's column had smashed through two successive formations, their horses' speed at last dropped unavoidably, and they became locked in a tangled melee with the enemy of the third formation.

Cao Wenzhao speared a Mongol officer off his horse, wiped the blood from his face, and glared fiercely toward the enemy who were already beginning to regroup ahead — but his heart was bleeding.

Damn it! One charge, one red banner — and now I've only got two reds! Only two reds!

I staked my life, threw away all face, begged and groveled to every soul I could to win the vanguard for this battle — how can I end up with only two reds!

"Kill —!"

With a furious roar, he spurred his horse and charged alone, once more plunging into the enemy ranks!

This time, he no longer sought to punch through. He transformed into a true mad tiger, surrendering himself to the most primal frenzy of slaughter.

In his hands, the long lance became at times a staff, smashing man and horse together with crushing force until bones and sinew snapped; at times a whip, sweeping wide and knocking two or three foes from their saddles; but most of the time, it was nothing more than the simplest thrust, lift, and stab!

He abandoned all unnecessary parries and dodges. Trusting in the two layers of heavy armor on his body, he simply let the enemy's weapons hack at him, producing a chaotic clanging and clattering.

He did only one thing: with the greatest possible speed, drive the lance-point into the body of every foe who dared stand before him!

Inspired by his valor, the cavalry column surged forward with even greater ferocity, and by sheer force battered this fresh unit — of some tribe he did not even know — to the verge of collapse.

"Cao Wenzhao of Datong stands here! Who dares face me in battle!"

He roared, his long lance dancing like a dragon. Drunk on slaughter, he suddenly hurled the lance in his hands like a javelin, pinning a Mongol archer who had been trying to loose a hidden arrow dead to the ground more than ten paces away!

Several household retainers forced their way up to him; some who had lost their mounts simply fought on foot at his side.

A line of a dozen-odd men, and just like that, they carved a bloody corridor straight through the heart of the enemy formation.

When at last he reined in his horse and looked back, behind him lay a field of utter carnage, and not a single man dared advance.

The Mongol unit that had stood before him had, at last, had its courage utterly shredded by this human-shaped beast of prey!

"It's an Asura! It's an Asura!"

No one knew who let out that desperate shriek, but the shriek spread like a plague.

The Ming commander before them was no longer a man — he was a demon god who knew no pain, knew no fatigue, and lived only for slaughter!

Against such a foe, any resistance seemed pale and laughable.

The collapse began.

The Mongol cavalrymen nearest to Cao Wenzhao wheeled their horses with unearthly shrieks and fled desperately to the rear, even crashing into and trampling their own comrades without a second thought, so long as it put more distance between them and that demon god.

One man's collapse dragged down a whole rank; a whole rank's collapse triggered an avalanche of the entire formation!

Cao Wenzhao threw back his head and laughed to the heavens, his heart swelling with boundless heroic pride.

He was just about to spur his horse in pursuit, to widen this rout as far as possible and see if he could roll up one more formation.

But his warhorse suddenly let out a mournful whinny. It had borne too many shocks and wounds alongside its master, and now at last could hold out no longer — its forelegs buckled, nearly pitching it to its knees.

"Shit!"

Cao Wenzhao cursed, jumped helplessly from the saddle, and roared at the household retainers beside him: "Sound the horn! Sound the horn! Rally at the gentle slope on the right!"

The long, faintly mournful note of the swan-horn rang out.

Only then did this cavalry column — which had been locked in fierce combat for barely the time it takes to drink a cup of tea — finally follow the horn's call, wheel their horses, and slowly withdraw toward the gentle slope on the right flank.

The men regrouped on the gentle slope and counted heads. Three hundred and four had ridden out to battle; now only two hundred and forty-seven remained.

That did not mean so many had actually fallen — more likely, most had simply been scattered in the chaos of the melee.

Some had even lost their horses and were now trickling back to the ranks one by one.

The true casualty count would not be known until after the battle.

But in any case, the men now finally had a moment to catch their breath and take in the whole battlefield.

One glance, and every man froze where he stood.

They saw Ming cavalry detachments, identical to their own, each three hundred strong, wave after wave, charging from south to north and hammering the Chahar positions in relentless succession.

The entire Chahar line, stretching several li, had already collapsed at point after point. In that very first charge, its left wing and the vanguard of its center had been utterly routed.

The battle plan they had all discussed beforehand involved far more than this single wave of elite cavalry bombardment.

The next wave of attack should be starting at any moment.

Cao Wenzhao strained his eyes into the distance. Sure enough, he only had to wait a moment.

The last three thousand Ming troops, held back as a reserve, had now drawn out into a terrifying battle line several li wide. Like a dark-crimson tidal wave, they surged from south to north and thundered into motion.

"Bah!"

Cao Wenzhao spat out a mouthful of blood-flecked saliva, his eyes filled with envy and jealousy.

Damn it all — in less time than it takes to drink a cup of tea, they had thrown all six thousand elite cavalry straight into the furnace!

Too satisfying! Goddamn satisfying!

No worrying about the flanks, no worrying about the rear, no worrying about your comrades bolting first, no fretting over whether the reward silver would be paid, not even any need for that dogshit wheeling and pulling back — just ramming the whole goddamn mass straight in!

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Old Cao had fought half a lifetime of wars, from Shanxi to Liaodong, and he had never fought one this satisfying!

But!

Aiya, just thinking about it made his liver ache with rage!

His grandmother's — why the hell wasn't it Old Cao himself fighting this battle in person!

In a mere handful of moments, that even more colossal torrent of Ming iron cavalry thundered past right before their eyes.

The riders under Cao Wenzhao's command grew hot-eyed with longing and surged forward around him.

"General! Charge with them! We only got six thousand taels today — maybe we can still fight another round!" a burly man roared.

"Charge your mother's balls!" Cao Wenzhao spat again. "Can your horse still charge?"

The big man said urgently, "Why couldn't it charge!"

"Even if it could, it's useless now. Is there a single mouthful left for us here?"

The men turned their heads to look. Sure enough, Ligdan Khan's great formation, under that final, mountain-toppling, sea-sweeping assault, was melting and crumbling like butter under a hot knife.

"Mount up," Cao Wenzhao said, pointing ahead. "The horns will sound soon. Those Mongols on the right wing aren't entirely trustworthy — we need to stay on guard. It'd be a joke if we finished off the wild wolf only to get our eyes pecked out by an eagle."

Yet hardly anyone was listening to what Cao Wenzhao was saying.

The eyes of the entire cavalry force, several hundred men, were fixed on Ligdan Khan's great standard as it moved.

That great standard, the banner of the lord of the Chahar, had at first shifted eastward.

But before long, the Ming torrent had already reached it. The great standard struggled, swaying a few token times, then crashed down.

"My mother!" The burly man who had just been clamoring to charge again let out a piercing wail. "Five thousand taels! Five thousand taels!"

His comrades around him instantly erupted in a chorus of chest-beating, foot-stomping lamentation.

"Which heaven-cursed bastard got those five thousand taels?"

"Say — you think anyone took the Tiger Chieftain's head?"

A man beside him laughed. "Even if they did, it's useless! There's no reward silver for the Tiger Chieftain's head — why waste the effort? Cut it off and you might end up getting a dressing-down from Commissioner-in-Chief Ma later!"

As the men debated, a long horn-call rang out.

Cao Wenzhao stood, swung himself onto a spare packhorse, and shouted:

"Move out! It really is none of our business now. The whole army is to form up facing west!"

"Steady the battle line for the Commissioner-in-Chief, and make sure those western barbarians don't sneak over to steal our heads!"

One of his personal guards asked curiously, "General, didn't they say heads won't be counted for merit?"

An older personal guard smacked the back of his head and said with a scolding laugh:

"What the hell do you know? You send the heads up to His Majesty, and His Majesty gets face! When His Majesty has face, those civil officials at court won't dare run their mouths! That's called sharing your sovereign's burdens!"

Ligdan Khan lay flat against his horse's back, several hundred of his most loyal Bayara riders guarding him tightly as they fled desperately eastward.

Too fast. Everything had happened far too fast.

From the moment he sent out his envoys to the moment his entire great formation collapsed in ruin — how long had it taken?

Half a shichen? Or a single ke?

His mind was a chaos. He could not comprehend the course of this battle at all.

The entire battlefield was no more than ten-odd li in depth and breadth.

The moment the first small Ming formation launched its charge, he had known this battle was unavoidable.

He had not even, as he usually did, sent the outer-vassal troops in first to wear the enemy down. Instead, he had directly dispatched his own elite gūsa troops to meet them head-on.

And the result? Damn it — the ones standing at the very front were all doubly-armored, high-horsed cataphracts!

What the hell was this Jurchen style of fighting doing here?

Where did the Datong border troops get so many fine horses and double armor sets?

In a single clash, his vanguard had collapsed, then been driven back to smash through the second line of horsemen waiting in place to support them.

By the time he realized something was wrong and immediately sent out his Bayara, only a few moments had passed!

But goddamn it! Goddamn it!

The unknown Ming general opposite him, without the slightest regard for the rules of engagement, had simply thrown his entire reserve force of three thousand men straight into the assault!

The outer vassals fled first, and his own main force crumbled in their wake. Even his most elite bayara guards, halfway through their charge, saw that sky-blotting crimson tide and turned their horses one after another, joining the rout.

An army of tens of thousands was crushed into the open ground at the valley mouth south of the Yin Mountains, less than a thousand meters wide. The Ming troops swarmed in, and the wanton slaughter was the least of it — the casualties from trampling one another in panic were what truly chilled his heart.

Ligdan Khan's heart was bleeding.

After this battle, his strength would likely be set back to where it had been years ago.

Never mind unifying the Mongols — even those outer vassal tribes that had only just submitted would surely be harboring their own schemes now!

Yet this was not what tormented him most.

"Tiger Khan, Foolish Cub, where do you think you're running!"

A thunderous roar erupted from behind him, shaking Ligdan Khan so that he could not help but shudder.

Damn it all — some Ming junior officer who had appeared out of nowhere, leading a hundred-odd cavalry, had been chasing him like a mad dog the whole way!

"Quick! Send a squad to stop him!" Ligdan Khan lashed his horsewhip without turning his head. His bayara guards, obeying the order, peeled off several dozen riders and, roaring, wheeled their horses to counter-charge straight at that pursuing force.

"Smash through them! Ignore them! Charge straight for Ligdan Khan!"

Jiang Mingwu, Garrison Commander of Weiyuan Fort in Datong, his eyes bloodshot, whipped his warhorse desperately. The long spear in his hands moved like a dragon bursting from the sea, and in only a few exchanges he had already skewered the foremost bayara riders and sent them tumbling from their saddles.

He was about to resume the chase when a familiar bugle call suddenly sounded from behind him.

It was the signal recalling all units to their main formation — which meant that the pursuit in this battle ended here.

Jiang Mingwu's movements faltered, his face filled with bitter indignation.

He spurred his horse forward, as if he still meant to continue the chase.

An old household retainer seized his reins firmly and shook his head at him with force.

The two men locked in a standoff on horseback for a moment. At last, Jiang Mingwu deflated and turned his horse around in fury. "Go! Back to formation!"

A military jinshi of the second year of Tianqi — how could Jiang Mingwu not understand the imperial decree that Ma Shilong had repeatedly conveyed before the battle?

Strategic objectives always outweigh tactical objectives.

Keeping the Foolish Cub Tiger Khan alive, so that he remains a threat to the Right Wing Mongol tribes, will do far more to achieve the court's far-reaching goal of controlling the steppe and isolating the Later Jin than killing him ever could.

And yet…

So what! So what!

Had not his late father given him the courtesy name Woyang — "I Rise" — precisely in the hope that he would one day make his name resound across the realm?

If only his horse had been a little faster just now, if only he had discovered the direction of Ligdan Khan's flight a little earlier…

If he had "had no choice" but to capture or behead the Foolish Cub Tiger Khan, who could truly have said anything against him?

To capture or kill a "renowned khan of the barbarians" in a single battle — that was a heaven-shattering achievement worthy of the history books and the annals of renown!

Ah…

Jiang Mingwu let out another long sigh from horseback, his heart filled with regret and unwillingness to accept it.

At this moment, it was barely the hour of the rabbit.

In the Forbidden City, the Yongchang Emperor had just finished his morning wash and was preparing to set out for the parade ground of his loyal Valiant Guard Camp.

The civil officials in the provinces were still sleeping soundly in their chambers, but the hundred officials in the capital had already begun the morning roll call.

By the waterside towns of Jiangnan, breakfast stalls steamed with warmth, while in the painted pleasure boats, scholars and singing girls slept off their hangovers.

Across ten thousand li of fertile fields, farmers either sighed before their parched plots or tended the just-sprouting wheat shoots, beginning the day's labor.

The morning sun rose over the Mongol Plateau, shining from east to west, falling upon the regret-filled silhouette of this young junior officer.

The young Jiang Mingwu would never know that, across countless branching streams of the long river of history, this would be the best ending he would ever have.