The news that a 100,000-strong Oirat army was at the gates of Datong struck like a bucket of ice water in the heart of winter, instantly extinguishing the fragile sense of control and joy that Emperor Zhu Gaochi had just begun to grasp. Inside the central command tent, the atmosphere was thick enough to cut. The generals exchanged uneasy glances; worry etched deep into every face. With the Yongle Emperor barely in his grave and the military still unsettled, the Oirats had seized the moment to invade—an utter disaster atop calamity.
"Report! The commander at Datong reports the Oirat vanguard has begun testing the city's defenses!"
A messenger burst into the tent, stumbling, his voice on the verge of tears.
Zhu Gaochi slammed the table in fury, eyes ablaze:
"Outrageous! My father's body is not yet cold, and that cur Toghon dares act so brazenly!"
He turned to Yang Shiqi, Qian Yi, and Xia Yuanji with urgency.
"My lords, what counsel do you have?"
Qian Yi and Xia Yuanji furrowed their brows—neither was adept in military matters. Yang Shiqi remained silent, occasionally glancing toward the tent's entrance, as though expecting someone.
Just then, Wang Zhen entered, carefully pulling back the curtain with several young eunuchs. And there—borne in on a soft palanquin—was Li Ming, the Crown Prince Grandson who should have been too sick to even sit up. His face was still pale, but his eyes shone with a clarity and sharpness utterly devoid of weakness.
"Zhanji! Why have you come? You're not recovered—return to your tent and rest!"
Zhu Gaochi rushed forward, concern and fatherly love in his voice.
"Father!"
Li Ming forced himself upright, coughing violently. Though his voice was faint, it carried unyielding resolve.
"I heard of the Oirat incursion and could not rest. In times of national peril, how could your son sleep soundly?"
His eyes swept across the ministers and generals in the tent. Wherever his gaze landed, it brought with it an invisible weight.
"Datong is the bulwark of the capital. If it falls, Oirat cavalry will charge straight in!" Li Ming steadied himself, his voice rising slightly.
"Last night, while fevered in my illness, I meditated—and in that darkness, a vision came to me."
"A vision?"
Zhu Gaochi's heart skipped a beat. He instantly recalled yesterday's "dream warning" his son had given. He motioned for Li Ming to sit, anxiously asking,
"What did you see, Zhanji?"
"I saw clearly: Toghon's claim of vengeance for the late emperor is a lie. His ambitions are feral—he seeks to raid our wealth and shake the foundations of our realm while we mourn."
Though spoken softly, Li Ming's words rang out like thunder.
"They appear to threaten Datong, but it's all a feint. Their true target is the grain depots west of Datong—at Xuanfu!"
Gasps rippled through the tent. Everyone had been focused on defending Datong, never suspecting that the real target might be their supply lines.
"Xuanfu's grain?"
Zhu Gaochi frowned.
"They would ignore a fortified city to strike at food supplies? That seems… unlikely."
"Father, Oirat cavalry are swift like the wind, and grain is their lifeline," Li Ming's eyes glinted before fatigue veiled them again.
"Toghon knows Datong is heavily fortified—prolonged siege would bleed them dry. But if they seize Xuanfu's stores, they can sweep deep into our borders, even threaten the capital itself!"
He gripped the edge of the couch, trembling, and forced himself to stand. Pointing at the border map Wang Zhen held, he declared:
"Look here! The Oirat army seems concentrated at Datong, but their elite cavalry has already split into two forces: one to feint a siege at Datong, the other to ride light and fast toward Xuanfu!"
He stabbed his finger at key chokepoints and supply lines.
"Their true aim isn't to hold territory—it's to cripple our logistics, plunge the frontier into chaos, and destabilize the empire!"
His analysis—clear, bold, and surgically precise—completely upended the traditional thinking. The generals crowded in, studying the map. The more they saw, the more their faces darkened. Every route, every tactical prediction Li Ming offered struck home with uncanny precision, as if he had ridden with the enemy himself.
"How… how can this be?"
An elderly general whispered in awe,
"How does His Highness know their plans so well?"
"Your Majesty!"
Yang Shiqi stepped forward with a bow,
"This is not the first time His Highness has shown prophetic insight. He foresaw the Oirat incursion yesterday, and it has come to pass! We must heed his words!"
Zhu Gaochi stared at his son, overwhelmed by a mix of shock, awe—and an unspeakable joy.
This frail boy… possessed such stunning strategic brilliance? It was as though Heaven had gifted him to Ming at this critical hour.
"Zhanji, what would you advise?"
Zhu Gaochi asked eagerly.
Li Ming's gaze sharpened instantly, his voice becoming firm and commanding. The weakness vanished.
"Stop the enemy at the border. Annihilate them before they penetrate further!"
"Oirat cavalry are fast in and fast out. If they succeed in looting, they'll vanish into the grasslands—impossible to catch!"
He pointed to several locations on the map.
"I propose we immediately mobilize the mobile forces from Xuanfu and nearby garrisons. Set ambushes along the cavalry's likely routes. Wait patiently, cut off their retreat—trap them like rats!"
Every sentence struck like a war drum. The generals' eyes lit up. This was no ordinary plan—it was a trap born of deep understanding of cavalry warfare.
"As for Datong," Li Ming turned to the city on the map, his eyes cold,
"Hold the city. Deny the enemy battle. Let them exhaust themselves. The commander should feign weakness, luring Toghon's main force into a drawn-out siege. When their supplies run low, our main force can strike from the flank, cut their escape, and destroy them in one blow!"
His words rang like a war bell throughout the tent. The generals looked to each other, then stepped forward in unison, eyes blazing. This was true military genius. Trapping both wings of the Oirat force in a coordinated pincer? Unthinkable—and yet, utterly brilliant.
Zhu Gaochi's blood surged with excitement. He clapped his hands, exclaiming,
"Excellent! Zhanji's strategy is worthy of the great masters of war! Only now do I see my son's greatness!"
He turned to the assembled generals, eyes sharp with authority.
"Generals! Do any of you object to the Crown Prince Grandson's plan?"
How could they? With the empire under siege, and a clear, actionable plan before them, even the battle-hardened veterans felt hope rekindling.
"We stand ready to follow His Highness's command!"
One old general knelt. The others quickly followed.
Li Ming watched the ranks of kneeling commanders. A faint, almost invisible smirk tugged at his lips.
Military power—this was what he truly desired.
Zhu Gaochi, kind-hearted emperor… it's time to start handing over the reins.
"Your Majesty," Li Ming coughed a few times, his voice turning frail again,
"Though I cannot ride to war myself, I am willing… from this sickbed… to direct our armies from afar, and bring victory to the realm. If Your Majesty trusts me—grant me command."
It was a blatant power grab. And not just any power—military power.
Without hesitation, Zhu Gaochi declared,
"Good! Zhanji, I trust you! I hereby name you Crown Prince Regent, with command over the empire's armed forces! Rest and recover—the military is yours to lead!"
Shock rippled through the tent. Crown Prince Regent? Supreme military command? That level of power was second only to the emperor—perhaps equal.
But no one dared protest. After the strategy Li Ming had just delivered, who could deny his capability?
Li Ming closed his eyes, his face weary—but inside, he laughed with triumph.
Military power—secured.
His first move on the great board had landed.
To him, the Oirat invasion was no threat.
It was his offering of blood.
And this… was only the beginning.