In the seventh year of Chongzhen's reign, as late autumn settled in—
While the Central Plains of China still lingered in the tail end of autumn, the Mongolian Steppe had already been swallowed by bone-deep cold.
Every year, this season marked the beginning of suffering for the people of the grasslands.
Food grew scarce.
Livestock weakened.
Countless men and women froze or starved to death.
And so, year after year, when autumn turned sharp and cruel, the tribes fought like madmen—fighting not for glory, but for survival. Fighting for provisions.
At this moment, Hong Chengchou—Supreme Commander of the Three Borders—was personally patrolling the frontier. With his personal retainers and a detachment of border troops, he moved between forts, inspecting defenses, ever wary of Mongol incursions.
Suddenly—
A scout came galloping at full speed.
He did not even dismount. From horseback, he clasped his fists in a deep salute and shouted urgently,
"Report! Supreme Commander! Our spy embedded within the Ordos tribe has sent back critical news! Bo'erzhijin Elinchen, chieftain of the Ordos, intends to surrender to the Manchus! He is currently wavering, and is preparing to send emissaries northeast to negotiate!"
Hong Chengchou's heart clenched.
His expression darkened instantly.
More and more Mongol tribes were defecting to the Manchus with each passing day. Even the Ordos—one of the most renowned and powerful tribes of the steppe—was on the verge of turning.
If a tribe of this size pledged allegiance to the Manchus…
Then the Great Ming Dynasty—
Hong Chengchou let out a long sigh and looked toward the distant north.
"What can be done…" he murmured. "If only I had a strong army, one capable of pushing deep into the steppe and winning over the Ordos. If only…"
He knew it himself.
A beautiful fantasy.
A pipe dream without the faintest chance of becoming reality.
He did not know that—
Just over a hundred li to the northeast, two Mongol tribes were already locked in a brutal clash.
A true, head-on battle.
The chieftain of the Wushen tribe led his cavalry like a storm, smashing violently into the right flank of the Bo'er Su Te tribe. At the same time, the Otog tribe—already allied with the Wushen—attacked Bo'er Su Te's left flank with ferocity.
Two tribes against one.
The Bo'er Su Te tribe was immediately hard-pressed.
Their leader roared furiously amid the chaos, his voice carrying across the battlefield.
"Wushen! Otog! You've gone too far! This is the season to raid the Han for food to survive the winter—yet you insist on fighting me instead? Are you sick in the head? Go see a doctor!"
The Wushen chieftain acted as though he hadn't heard a single word.
Without hesitation, he drove his cavalry straight into the Bo'er Su Te front lines.
The formation shattered.
The Bo'er Su Te tribe teetered on the brink of collapse.
Just then—
From the northwest, the mournful sound of horns echoed across the steppe.
A fresh force appeared.
Cavalry in disciplined formation surged forward—the Dalad and Hanjin tribes had arrived.
The two chieftains laughed loudly as they rode.
"Bo'er Su Te! We've come to reinforce you!"
Joy burst across the Bo'er Su Te leader's face.
"I've been waiting for you!"
It turned out he had never intended to wait helplessly for death.
In recent days, the Wushen tribe had been aggressively clashing with and annexing neighboring tribes. The Bo'er Su Te leader had sensed danger long ago and secretly reached out to the Dalad and Hanjin tribes.
The three had formed a quiet pact.
Watch out for one another.
Unite if attacked.
Now, at last, the reinforcements had arrived.
The Bo'er Su Te leader threw his head back and laughed.
"Wushen tribe! Your arrogance ends today! Dalad, Hanjin—brothers, charge with me!"
In an instant, the situation reversed.
From two against one—
To three against two.
The Wushen and Otog tribes were immediately pushed into a disadvantage.
They began retreating southeast, their formations in disorder.
The Bo'er Su Te leader refused to relent.
"Chase them! Hunt them down! Today, the three of us unite—wipe out the Wushen, this scourge of the steppe!"
The three tribes surged forward with renewed momentum.
During the pursuit, however, the Otog tribe began to waver.
Their warriors' thoughts churned.
"The Wushen are weakening. Three tribes are chasing them. If we keep helping, we'll be hunted too. Maybe… maybe we should defect now. Join the other three and turn on the Wushen…"
Such was the law of survival on the grasslands.
Yet—
At that very moment, a cavalry force suddenly appeared on the southern horizon.
At its head rode a woman in armor.
Zao Ying.
The Wushen warriors burst into laughter.
"Haha! Our Han reinforcements are here! They always show up exactly when we're in trouble!"
The Otog warriors, who had just been entertaining thoughts of betrayal, immediately extinguished them.
"Damn it—the Han are here again!"
"This Han arquebus cavalry is terrifyingly strange. How do they always know when the Wushen are in danger, and appear at the perfect moment?"
"No, no. With the Han here, betraying the Wushen would be suicide."
"For now, obey the Wushen!"
In just a few minutes, the Otog tribe's resolve swayed back and forth like grass in the wind—only to finally settle back beside the Wushen.
Ahead, the Bo'er Su Te, Dalad, and Hanjin tribes remained completely unaware of the snare closing around them.
They roared as they charged.
"Wushen! Don't run!"
The Wushen tribe suddenly stopped.
They wheeled around in perfect unison.
The Otog tribe halted as well, standing firm beside them.
Two tribes faced the charging three—faces cold, expressions resolute.
Still blissfully ignorant, the three tribes thundered forward.
Then—
The Wushen and Otog cavalry split apart to either side.
Behind them, Zao Ying's unit was revealed.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The thunder of arquebuses ripped across the steppe.
In an instant, a massive swathe of the three tribes' cavalry was cut down.
After the volley, Zao Ying's unit pulled back.
The Wushen and Otog warriors surged forward like mad tigers, crashing into the disordered enemy ranks.
"Aoo! Aoo! Aoo!"
The Bo'er Su Te tribe was utterly stunned.
They had no idea what had just happened.
The Dalad and Hanjin tribes panicked as well.
"What was that?"
"What kind of demonic weapons are those?!"
The Wushen and Otog tribes became twin blades, slicing through the enemy formation, crossing and recrossing the battlefield.
As they momentarily separated—
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Zao Ying's unit fired again.
Another rain of bullets tore through the ranks.
Before the three tribes could even catch their breath, the Wushen and Otog surged through once more, ripping apart their flanks.
The battle ended swiftly.
In short order, all three chieftains surrendered together.
They declared their submission to the Wushen tribe, obediently offering up beautiful women and livestock as tribute.
Only then did the Wushen chieftain feel satisfied.
After sternly scolding the three leaders, he returned triumphantly to his settlement, laden with spoils.
"General Zao, thank you once again for your aid."
When dealing with other Mongol tribes, the Wushen leader was an alpha wolf.
But the moment he faced Zao Ying, he became the loyal second-in-command of the pack.
Zao Ying wasted no time on pleasantries.
She took out a letter and handed it to him.
"A letter from your wife and son."
The Wushen leader's eyes lit up.
He took it eagerly.
The letter was written in Han characters, but he could read it.
His wife's message—written by their son on her behalf—was short, only a few simple lines.
But his son's portion was much longer.
"Father, winter must be coming soon on the steppe, right? Your son at Gao Family Village misses you greatly. Recently, I've been learning textile techniques here. My sworn brother, Liu Maopao, helped provide the funds so Mother and I could start a small textile workshop…"
Reading on, his expression slowly changed.
"It made me think of our sheep back home. Our use of sheepskins and wool is far too crude. If we brought the wool from those sheep to my workshop, we could probably weave truly remarkable things…"