Under Old Zhu’s broadsword threat, the little unlucky one’s plan to play dumb was forced to collapse.
Once he’d squeaked the first time, a second squeak followed. Having already squeaked, was speaking really that far off?
He only wanted to be a quiet little mute—why couldn’t this simple wish be granted?
He wasn’t some heinous criminal—was it really necessary to threaten him with a blade?
Mu Ying and Zhu Wenzhong were stunned. Having lived this long, they’d never been threatened with a sword before.
During their earlier days as refugees, they’d only been driven off by soldiers with clubs. As unarmed refugees, blades had never been necessary.
How terrifying!
The little unlucky one felt like crying but had no tears left. Slumping back onto the stool, he seemed even more wilted.
He’d known Old Zhu couldn’t be trusted. If the man would poke him with a sword before his identity was even revealed, what would happen when the truth came out? Dismemberment?
Life was simply unbearable, wuwuwuwu.
Zhu Yuanzhang smoothly sheathed his sword and sat back down with evident satisfaction. “See, my dear? There’s no way our little one could be mute. He’s perfectly fine, isn’t he?”
Ma Xiuying: …
She needed to seriously consider whether to let the child get too close to this man in the future. He usually seemed so reliable—why did he have to be so detestable around the child?
Ma Xiuying gathered the tearful child into her arms. “Don’t be scared, your father was just playing with you.”
Her gentle comfort backfired. The already teary-eyed child burst into full-blown sobs, refusing to eat any rice or drink any porridge. Closing his eyes and clenching his fists, he immediately staged a performance of Water Overflowing Jinshan.
Mu Ying and Zhu Wenzhong glanced at their flustered mother, then at their embarrassed father, before turning to exchange complicated looks with each other.
The two brothers wore identical expressions—first shaking their heads and sighing, then picking up their bowls to eat in silence, wisely staying out of the mess their father had created.
Zhu Yuanzhang rubbed his nose, not daring to speak. He’d only wanted the child to make a sound—he never meant for things to turn out like this.
Zhu Wenzheng returned from outside the city at a gallop. Hearing the crying from afar, he initially thought his parents were punishing the child.
Their little brother was so well-behaved. How had the good child been reduced to receiving beatings after just one day away?
Hearing the commotion at the door, Old Zhu quickly stood up. The brat’s return was perfectly timed. Since the meal was already ruined, the two of them could take some steamed buns and pickles to eat at the front.
Zhu Wenzheng: ???
Hey now, he’d rushed back from such a distance—wasn’t he even going to get a proper meal?
Zhu Wenzheng wanted to ask what their little brother had done to cry so bitterly, but before he could even greet their mother, he was dragged out. At this point, no explanation was needed.
Chances were it wasn’t Wenqing who’d caused trouble, but rather their father who’d made Wenqing cry with anger.
Fine, official business came first. He’d inquire about what happened after discussing the important matters.
Zhu Wenzheng had needed to maintain appearances on his return, avoiding any appearance of urgency. Nominally, Chuzhou’s leader was Commander Guo Zixing, not their father. While one shouldn harbor harmful intentions, precautions were necessary. Commander Guo was difficult to deal with—a little caution never hurt.
Zhu Yuanzhang carried the steamed buns and pickles to the Council Hall as if fleeing disaster. Waving his guards outside, he finally asked, “What’s the situation in Luhe? How did you return so quickly?”
Zhu Wenzheng’s eyes sparkled. “Father, the heavenly voice’s prediction was absolutely accurate!”
Zhu Yuanzhang paused mid-action, putting down the half-eaten steamed bun as he abruptly stood up. “The imperial forces are in turmoil?”
Zhu Wenzheng nodded vigorously like a pecking chick. “Chaos, absolute chaos! The Goryeo troops stationed in Luhe are just watching the spectacle. They probably aren’t genuinely loyal to the court anyway.”
When they arrived at the Goryeo camp, the soldiers were drinking and reveling, though it was unclear what they were celebrating—it seemed like a victory banquet.
The Goryeo Army commander showed no caution toward them. Upon seeing them bring wine and meat, he immediately opened the camp gates wide to let them in, his enthusiasm sending chills down their spines.
Was there truly no ambush inside?
The Goryeo troops were so excessively welcoming that even someone as bold as Tang He dared not let the elders and villagers who accompanied him enter the Goryeo camp. Better safe than sorry—who knew what sinister schemes the Goryeo soldiers were plotting?
Tang He had come to gather intelligence. To avoid arousing suspicion, they had brought few troops, making their situation akin to sheep walking into a tiger’s den.
However, there was a difference between sheep voluntarily approaching a tiger and sheep chopping themselves into mutton to feed the tiger. They were there to gather information, not to throw their lives away.
Zhu Wenzheng had initially thought the trip would be in vain, but the Goryeo troops, in their overwhelming enthusiasm, stubbornly refused to let them leave.
At that moment, he truly believed they would be forcibly detained as prisoners in the Goryeo camp. Yet, to his astonishment, the Goryeo soldiers acted like lunatics—they even dragged the “captives” into their victory celebration.
Not only was Zhu Wenzheng bewildered, but even Tang He, who had far more experience, was equally stunned. If Tang He was confused, the others were even more so.
Zhu Wenzheng grabbed a cup of water and gulped it down, still feeling a lingering fear as he recounted the events. “Father, you have no idea—we had even prepared our last words.”
Old Zhu clicked his tongue in impatience. “Get to the point! How did the imperial forces fall into chaos? How bad is it? Did you find out what the Goryeo troops plan to do next?”
“We did. They intend to stay put in Luhe without moving,” Zhu Wenzheng quickly returned to the main topic. Despite the danger in the Goryeo camp, they hadn’t retreated out of fear. Instead, they had knowingly ventured into the tiger’s lair and managed to extract crucial information from the Goryeo soldiers.
The more they inquired, the more shocked they became—the Goryeo troops knew an astonishing amount of insider details.
The emperor in Dadu’s most favored consort, Empress Gi, was a tribute woman from Goryeo. The Crown Prince, whom the emperor had appointed two years earlier, was the son born to this Goryeo empress.
The Goryeo Army’s schadenfreude toward Tuotuo’s misfortunes was not without reason. Their conflict with Tuotuo had deep roots, not only because Tuotuo had denied them the primary credit for capturing Gaoyou.
Previously, when the emperor appointed the Crown Prince, Tuotuo had argued that the heir should not be the son of a Goryeo tribute woman. However, the emperor ignored his advice and still designated Empress Gi’s son as the Crown Prince.
Neither Empress Gi nor the Crown Prince were known for their magnanimity. With Hama adding fuel to the fire by deliberately provoking them with incidents like Tuotuo delaying the Crown Prince’s investiture ceremony, Empress Gi naturally harbored simmering resentment.
The Goryeo people living in Dadu looked to Empress Gi as their leader. As a result, every Goryeo individual in Dadu viewed Tuotuo with disdain.
When Tuotuo led his troops to suppress Zhang Shicheng, he entrusted the authority of acting regent to his younger brother, Yesun Temur, and appointed Ru Zhongbai as the Secretary of the Imperial Secretariat to assist him.
As the saying goes, “To hunt a tiger, one needs one’s brothers.” However, Yesun Temur bore no resemblance to his elder brother at all.
When Liu Futong rebelled in Yingzhou, the court dispatched two waves of troops to suppress the uprising. Tuotuo gathered elite forces, intending to eradicate all rebel armies across the land in one decisive campaign. The overall commander of these forces was his younger brother, Yesun Temur.
Tens of thousands of troops marched grandly into the Central Plains—theoretically enough to annihilate the rebels without a trace.
Yet reality proved the opposite.
Yesun Temur’s vanguard commander, Gong Buban, was a fierce and capable warrior. Leading his troops into battle, Gong Buban achieved successive victories. No one expected that the seemingly disorganized peasant rebels would launch a night raid, killing Gong Buban.
Gong Buban’s death terrified Yesun Temur into immediate flight. He abandoned hard-won cities and retreated dozens of miles, sparking such a flood of impeachment memorials from court officials that they could have filled Tuotuo’s study.
Changing commanders mid-campaign is a major military taboo, but sometimes necessary. Yet Tuotuo did not replace his brother. Not only did he retain Yesun Temur, but he also punished the officials who had impeached him, then dispatched another several hundred thousand troops as reinforcements.
This move displeased not only the Goryeo people in Dadu but also further alienated court officials.
The court’s claims of “hundreds of thousands” of troops were often exaggerated—like the million-strong army besieging Gaoyou, which actually numbered only four hundred thousand.
Even accounting for inflated figures, after Tuotuo’s reinforcements, Yesun Temur commanded a solid three hundred thousand Mongol elites. These troops were regarded as the court’s lifeline, and everyone assumed quelling the rebellion would be effortless.
However, Yesun Temur was clearly unfit for military command. With such a leader who fled at the first sign of adversity, the outcome was predictable.
Yesun Temur dared not take the initiative. His three hundred thousand elite troops idled in camp, engaging in rituals and prayers for divine intervention. After a full month, the soldiers were exhausted, their morale lower than if they had fought for a month.
Divine aid never came. Instead, the rebels took action.
While the government troops remained inactive, the rebels, fighting for survival, could not afford to do the same. They sent a small squad to scout the enemy camp under cover of darkness.
Haunted by Gong Buban’s death in a night raid, Yesun Temur panicked at the signs of disturbance, assuming the rebels had breached the camp to kill him. Without a word, he mounted his horse and fled.
His flight alone was disastrous, but worse, he failed to inform his troops. Soldiers, confused by the chaos in the commander’s tent and stirred by the rebels’ disruptive tactics, assumed a mutiny had broken out. In the pitch darkness, chaos erupted—stampedes and fratricidal clashes claimed countless lives. Even the rebels were baffled by their own victory.
Tuotuo had provided Yesun Temur with three hundred thousand elites for a glorious victory, but instead of triumph, only ten thousand troops remained—the other two hundred ninety thousand were lost in the Central Plains.
Such a spectacular “achievement” is rare in history.
Yesun Temur’s campaign not only failed but also decimated the court’s last elite forces. Impeachment voices rose again in the court, yet to no avail—he had a powerful brother.
If not for Yesun Temur squandering the court’s remaining strength, Tuotuo would not have needed to mobilize troops from the Western Regions and Goryeo for this campaign against Zhang Shicheng.
Tuotuo was a capable and virtuous Chancellor, but his younger brother was truly incompetent. Leaving Yesun Temur in Dadu to oversee state affairs was clearly another disastrous move.
Yesun Temur lacked support among the court officials. Before departing, Tuotuo specifically appointed Ru Zhongbai as the Imperial Censor to assist him.
Zhu Wenzheng remembered Ru Zhongbai’s identity perfectly – he was precisely the foremost confidant of Tuotuo whom Hama envied and resented according to the heavenly voice. Having just learned about these individuals’ entangled grudges and affections, it was impossible for him not to know.
While Yesun Temur was incompetent, Ru Zhongbai was quite capable. Convinced that Hama would bring endless trouble if not eliminated, he urged Tuotuo to deal with him before the military expedition. However, Tuotuo hesitated, considering Hama’s past favors toward him, and ultimately didn’t heed the advice.
Since Tuotuo wouldn’t listen to counsel, Yesun Temur was even less likely to do so.
Sure enough, as soon as Tuotuo led his troops away, the Emperor in Dadu immediately appointed Hama as Chancellor of the Central Secretariat, granting him immense power. Otherwise, Hama wouldn’t have had such confidence to overthrow Tuotuo.
Alcohol was indeed trouble. The Goryeo people, when drunk, would spill everything. If not for the urgency to return and report, Zhu Wenzheng would have stayed listening, so captivating was the information. “Father, the Goryeo chieftain said the Emperor’s Goryeo Empress has close ties with Hama. While Hama spreads rumors about Tuotuo in court, the Goryeo Empress whispers in the Emperor’s ear in the inner palace. They’ve apparently set a trap in Dadu waiting for Tuotuo – he’s surely doomed this time.”
The events foretold by the heavenly voice had been verified. Chuzhou would certainly escape this disaster.
Zhu Yuanzhang frowned. “All this was said by the Goryeo people? Spoken directly in your presence?”
Something was wrong. The information came too easily. The Goryeo people weren’t fools – how could they possibly reveal everything so freely?