Chapter 715: with translation of chapter title

Under the night sky, the old Jianzhou camp's bonfires stood like a forest.

In the firelight, what was no longer a disordered mess of animal-skin tents, but neat rows of camps exuding a stern atmosphere. The air was filled with the charred aroma of roasted meat, the gamy smell of horses, and an extremely faint, almost imperceptible sweet-bloody odor.

The central grand tent towered several times higher than all the other tents; atop its peak stood a huge black flag, its dark-red silk-thread embroidered with a spread-winged crow, whose eyes were set with two gloomy blue crystals that flickered faintly in the firelight.

Inside the tent, the charcoal brazier burned brightly.

Nurhaci sat cross-legged in the chief seat draped with a whole tiger pelt; he was over fifty, his visage rugged, an old knife scar at his temple looking somewhat ferocious in the leaping firelight. But most striking were his eyes, which opened and closed, shooting forth sharp light, occasionally flashing a barely perceptible hue of gray-blue.

To his left and right sat his nephews and his most important commanders: Daisan, Amin, Manggūltai, Hong Taiji… as well as several elders clad in shamanic robes, their faces painted with strange pigments, silent and speechless.

"Grain and fodder, sufficient." Nurhaci's voice was low and hoarse, yet with a metallic quality that rose above the wind outside the tent. "Blades and arrows, also sufficient."

He glanced over the assembly.

"The lads' hands are itching."

"The old tree of the Great Yuan has rotted at the roots. The Han people to the south are in utter chaos."

He paused, his gaze turning to the foremost of the shamans. That shaman was extremely aged, his facial wrinkles deep as knife cuts, his eyelids drooping as if never opened, cradling in his arms a bone staff topped with a large blue crystal.

"Tengri (the shaman)," Nurhaci said with a barely perceptible note of reverence, "Has the divine raven's will arrived?"

The old shaman slowly lifted his head; though his eyes remained shut, beneath his lids a blue light seemed to stir. His withered lips twitched a few times, emitting a sound like dry leaves rubbing together:

"To the south… the Great Wall… has a gap."

"A hungry wolf ought to go into the rich sheepfold and drag back fat meat."

"The divine raven's gaze points to… the weakest stretch of wall."

He raised the hand holding the bone staff slightly; the blue crystal at its tip suddenly blazed, casting a blurry, wavering shadow that roughly traced the contours of the winding mountain range, and on one segment marked a pulsing dark-red dot.

That shadow was extremely unstable and quickly faded.

Yet everyone in the tent saw that spot clearly.

"Koufenkou…" Hong Taiji's young, steady voice rang out, "That section of wall collapsed during last autumn's floods; the Yuan's repairs were slipshod, and the garrison there is the most exhausted."

Nurhaci stared at the spot where the light had vanished, then nodded slowly.

"Right here."

He sprang to his feet, his tall frame casting an oppressive shadow inside the tent.

"Amin!"

"Here!" a broad-shouldered commander with a fleshy face rose in response.

I give you three elite companies, all veterans who have seen battle, bled, and drunk the 'divine water.' Within five days, march to the outskirts of Koufenkou and lie in wait.

"Manggūltai!"

"Here, son!" another youthful, hot-headed commander rose.

You take two companies, lag thirty Chinese miles behind, ready to reinforce and mop up any stragglers.

"Daisan, you hold the old camp, guard the home."

"Hong Taiji," he said, looking at his youngest son, "take men to contact those already bought inside the wall, and re-check the garrison's relief schedule and troop strength."

Orders were issued one after another, crisp and decisive.

The atmosphere in the tent was solemn yet exhilarated.

They had awaited this day for a long time. The power granted by the divine raven surged through their veins; the lust for wealth and land burned in their chests. The Great Yuan? The Ming? Those feeble southerners do not deserve such fertile land.

"Remember," Nurhaci finally said in a deep voice, "this time we go as wolves snatching sheep, not tigers pouncing on oxen."

"In quick, out quick; take enough and leave, don't be greedy, don't get entangled."

"We want the southern emperor to feel pain, but not so much that he immediately throws his life into crushing us."

"What we want is to slowly thrust our claws in, to completely rip open this broken wall!"

"Yo!" the commanders bellowed in assent, their eyes flashing with wolf-like ferocity.

The old shaman still kept his lids lowered, clutching his bone staff, appearing utterly unresponsive to all this. Only within the crystal at its tip did a faint blue light subtly shift once more.

Outside the tent, the night wind howled.

Farther north, in the endless, dark‑shrouded depths of the mountains and forests, it seemed countless night‑ravens fluttered their wings, the faint sounds merging into the wind, leaving no trace.

An arrow tipped with pure desire and uncanny power had already been nocked to the bowstring.

Its point aimed straight at the southern stretch of wall that looks imposing yet is already riddled with ant‑holes.