The Wushen Tribe, a lingering remnant of the Northern Yuan, continued their slow and difficult retreat northward.
They had originally believed that once they moved far enough away, once the grasslands widened and the horizon stretched endlessly, their troubles would finally ease.
Unfortunately, reality proved otherwise.
Halfway through their migration, they ran headlong into an old enemy—the Otog Tribe.
The Otog were also moving north.
On the boundless steppe, where pasture was life itself, the meeting of two migrating tribes could only end one way.
Disputes erupted almost immediately.
While the Wushen tribe's cattle and sheep were grazing, Otog riders swept in brazenly and drove off entire herds without even bothering with excuses.
Thefts led to insults.
Insults led to blades.
And before long, yet another violent clash broke out between the two tribes.
The result was painfully predictable.
The Wushen Tribe, already weakened after losing many of their young warriors in earlier disasters, stood no chance. They were crushed outright. Not only were huge numbers of their cattle and sheep stolen, but even many of their women were seized and carried off by the Otog.
The blow was devastating.
Unwilling to swallow such humiliation, the Wushen chieftain immediately sent envoys to seek help from their traditional overlord—the Ordos Tribe.
Yet when those envoys finally reached the Ordos encampment, they were met with grim news.
The Ordos Tribe's leader, Ligdan Khan, was in the middle of a campaign against the Great Ming.
Not just any campaign.
Over the past year, Ligdan Khan had launched five separate large-scale offensives, repeatedly clashing with the Ming's Supreme Commander of the Three Borders, Hong Chengchou.
And every single time—
He lost.
He failed to break through Ming defenses.
He failed to seize grain.
He failed to achieve anything at all.
The endless failures had crushed not only morale but also Ligdan Khan's body. He was gravely ill, his condition deteriorating by the day, his life hanging by a thread.
In such circumstances, who would care about a minor feud between the Wushen and the Otog?
No one.
There was no one to arbitrate justice, and no one willing to lend strength.
With no hope of defeating the Otog on their own, the Wushen Tribe had no choice but to withdraw even farther, retreating to the northwestern fringes of the Yulin region.
As they fled, the Wushen chieftain clung to a fragile hope.
"We are nomads," he thought. "Our camps move constantly. Shi Jian managed to find us once… but surely he won't find us again."
It was a simple, almost childlike belief.
With that faint optimism, he hoped to quietly recover, rebuild their strength, and disappear into the vast grasslands.
Unfortunately for him—
Reality had never been kind to the Wushen Tribe.
Less than half a month later, disaster arrived again.
A Han man with a terrifying appearance rode into their camp, leading a troop of flintlock cavalry. His face was hard, his eyes vicious, and his presence alone radiated hostility.
This was clearly not someone who came to negotiate.
The man dismounted, stared coldly at the trembling Wushen chieftain, and spoke.
"The name's Chen Qianhu."
His lips curled into a cruel grin, exposing large, yellowed teeth.
"I'm not like Shi Jian," he said flatly. "He talked too politely. Too gentle. The higher-ups said he was soft, spineless, useless trash."
Chen Qianhu leaned forward slightly, his eyes burning.
"So they stripped him of his command… and sent me."
His voice dropped, heavy with menace.
"I have no intention of being demoted."
He pointed directly at the Wushen chieftain.
"I'll say this once. Hand over your chief wife, An Jile, and your eldest son, Zhebu. They'll be taken back as hostages and locked up."
A pause.
Then, slowly—
"If you refuse, I'll boil them alive and feed them to the dogs."
The words were delivered calmly, almost casually.
But the terror they inspired was absolute.
Faced with Chen Qianhu's twisted gaze and murderous expression, who would dare resist?
The Wushen chieftain's entire body trembled. Without the slightest hesitation, he obediently presented his chief wife, An Jile, and his eldest son, Zhebu.
Chen Qianhu nodded in satisfaction.
Then, as if it were an afterthought, he demanded two hundred more sheep.
Once the sheep were handed over, Chen Qianhu mounted his horse and prepared to leave, his flintlock cavalry falling into formation behind him.
Before departing, he glanced back.
"You've been quite obedient this time," he said lazily. "Since you behave so well, I'll take you in as my subordinate."
He sneered.
"If anyone bullies you in the future, remember to mention my name."
The Wushen chieftain hesitated.
Fear gnawed at him, but desperation won.
Gathering his courage, he spoke in a trembling voice.
"General Chen… that… this humble one… we are being bullied right now."
Chen Qianhu stopped.
"Oh?" His eyes narrowed. "Who dares?"
The Wushen chieftain immediately replied, "The Otog Tribe! They're on the northern plains, not far from here."
Chen Qianhu nodded as if this was perfectly ordinary.
"I see," he said. "Very well. Follow me."
"I'll take a ride across the northern plains and settle this matter for my subordinate."
The Wushen chieftain was overjoyed.
"Then we leave everything to General Chen!"
Among the Mongols, strength was revered above all else.
Even though they had just been victims of a greater power, the moment that power turned to support them, pride surged uncontrollably.
Almost instantly, the Wushen tribesmen straightened their backs.
They became swaggering again.
The Wushen chieftain prepared to guide Chen Qianhu toward the Otog settlement—
Only to realize it wasn't necessary.
Chen Qianhu didn't ask.
He didn't hesitate.
He rode straight ahead, as if he already knew exactly where the Otog Tribe was.
The Wushen tribesmen were stunned.
"How do these Han people locate Mongol camps so precisely on such vast grasslands?" they whispered. "Is this divine assistance?"
Soon, someone shouted—
"We're here! That's the Otog Tribe!"
But before the words fully left his mouth, Chen Qianhu's cavalry had already surged forward.
Gunfire erupted.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Otog Tribe, completely unprepared, collapsed under the assault just as easily as the Wushen had before them.
The flintlock cavalry stormed into the settlement, seizing cattle and sheep in large numbers.
Only then did the Wushen tribesmen snap out of their daze.
"Wait—those are our cattle and sheep!"
With wild howls, they charged forward, joining the looting.
Some couldn't resist mocking the Otog people as they pillaged.
"You dared to bully the Wushen Tribe?" they roared with laughter. "Now you see our strength! With the Han helping us, your Otog Tribe will obey us from now on!"
The settlement descended into chaos.
In truth, Chen Qianhu's men committed relatively few atrocities.
It was the Wushen tribesmen—turning on their own kind—who proved far more brutal.
Just like puppet troops throughout history, they were crueler than their masters.
After the devastation, the Otog Tribe was left broken and silent, forced to declare submission to the Wushen.
The Wushen Tribe, meanwhile, swelled with arrogance.
Not only had they reclaimed what was stolen, but they had also plundered even more livestock from the Otog—effectively replenishing everything the Han had taken from them earlier.
In their eyes, it was as if the Han had never stolen from them at all.
And, with twisted delight, they also took women from the Otog Tribe to bear children.
To them, this was a joyous outcome.
The Wushen chieftain's ambitions began to grow.
With Han support behind him, he launched successive campaigns—first attacking Ulaan Tolgoi, subjugating three minor tribes, then marching on Sumitu Sumu and conquering four more.
As more tribes submitted, the Wushen Tribe's power and arrogance expanded rapidly.
They even began to openly challenge Northern Yuan nobles, disregarding the authority of the Ordos Tribe altogether.
At this time, Ligdan Khan lay gravely ill, on the brink of death.
Many Mongol tribes had already defected to the Manchus or allied with them.
The Northern Yuan existed in name only, teetering on the edge of collapse.
And now—
The sudden rise of the Wushen Tribe added yet another layer of chaos to an already crumbling world.