Bright sunlight filtered through the light screen, illuminating the nearly frozen expressions of terror on the faces of everyone in the hall.
Zhu Yuanzhang shouted sharply, “What manner of monster is this?The sudden change caught everyone off guard. Zhu Wenzheng, seated toward the back, reacted quickly, scooping up the terrified child directly beneath the screen and rushing toward the main seat without a second thought. “Father! There’s a monster!!!”
The military commanders turned pale one after another. Zhu Yuanzhang stared fixedly at the suddenly appearing light screen, his face dark enough to wring water from.
Tang He, Xu Da, and others drew their blades, confronting the “eerie” light screen directly. The more impatient among them even slashed at it with their swords, but the light screen was visible yet intangible—their blades passed through it as if cutting through air, making everyone in the hall even more convinced that this light screen was the work of an evil spirit.
Hua Yun, never one to mince words, took a step back and blurted out, “Could it be Commander Guo?”
Xu Da rushed over to cover his mouth. “What kind of man is Commander Guo? It must be that scoundrel Guo Tianxu pulling tricks.”
Tang He: …
Weren’t they father and son? Was there any difference in accusing either of them?
Zhu Yuanzhang clenched his fists. “Everyone, shut up and stay alert.”
To be honest, not only did his brothers suspect the Guo father and son were behind this—he himself had thought of them first.
Commander Guo didn’t engage in deceitful schemes; he confronted matters head-on. But Guo Tianxu was different—that fellow was capable of anything when he turned treacherous.
This spring, Zhang Shicheng had proclaimed himself Prince Cheng in Gaoyou, establishing the Great Zhou dynasty with the reign title Tianyou.
That alone wouldn’t have been so bad. With numerous rebel armies across the land, Zhang Shicheng wouldn’t have stood out. The real trouble began after he declared himself king and seized Yangzhou.
Yangzhou was the starting point of the Grand Canal, and the capital’s grain supply largely depended on shipments from the south. Once the Grand Canal was cut off, the capital would face grain shortages—no wonder Tuotuo was determined to crush him.
When news of Zhang Shicheng’s capture of Yangzhou reached the capital, the court was furious.
Chancellor Tuotuo summoned troops from all regions—Tibetan armies, Western Region forces, Northern Desert cavalry, and even Goryeo troops—all gathering at the capital.
Once the massive army was assembled, Tuotuo personally led a million-strong force straight toward Gaoyou.
Not only was Zhu Yuanzhang bewildered—even Zhang Shicheng himself was stunned.
While Liu Futong was wreaking havoc with his rebellion in the north, why was Tuotuo ignoring him and coming after Zhang Shicheng with such overwhelming force?
But bewilderment was useless. Tuotuo had already declared that he wouldn’t accept surrender—once Gaoyou fell, a massacre would follow.
No one doubted Tuotuo’s threat. The last city he personally stormed, Xuzhou, still lay piled with bones and corpses—when this man promised slaughter, he meant it.
Zhang Shicheng, haunted by the horrors of Xuzhou, had no choice but to resist the court’s million-strong army, even knowing defeat was inevitable.
Resistance might buy them a few more days; surrender meant immediate death.
The battle at Gaoyou was intense—it wouldn’t fall in two or three days, but it couldn’t hold out much longer either.
Having gathered a million troops, Tuotuo naturally wouldn’t focus solely on Zhang Shicheng’s rebellion.
Gaoyou’s fate was clear: Zhang Shicheng’s resistance was as futile as a mantis trying to stop a chariot. With the city tightly besieged, it would fall within two months even without direct assault. There was no need to keep the entire million-strong army there.
So Tuotuo gave the order: maintain the siege at Gaoyou, and dispatch another force westward.
Liuhe in the west was the gateway to the Jianghuai region. Capturing this strategic point would allow the army to ride the momentum of victory and crush the rebel forces occupying Chuzhou in one sweep.
After he pacified Chuzhou, he then divided his troops into two routes: one heading north to attack Zhao Junyong in Haozhou, and the other marching west to assault Liu Futong. In this way, none of the Red Turban Armies across the land would amount to anything.
Zhu Yuanzhang was no fool. As soon as he saw Tuotuo sending troops to attack Liuhe, he understood what he was scheming.
Liuhe was not far from Chuzhou. Once Liuhe fell, Chuzhou would be like a lamb waiting for slaughter.
He didn’t care whether Zhang Shicheng lived or died, but now that the fire was burning at his own doorstep, he couldn’t afford not to panic.
When the defenders of Liuhe learned that the imperial army was heading their way, they urgently sought reinforcements from Chuzhou. They knew their own limitations—the troops in the city were insufficient to resist the attack—and could only pray for reinforcements to arrive quickly.
Zhu Yuanzhang understood that Chuzhou and Liuhe shared a common fate: prosperity and decline were intertwined. However, Commander Guo in Chuzhou did not see it that way.
His relationship with the Liuhe garrison commander was poor, and even facing the imperial army, he had no intention of sending troops.
With the crisis already at their doorstep, Commander Guo’s stubbornness nearly infuriated Old Zhu to death.
How could he still cling to personal grudges at such a critical time? Would he only relent when the imperial army captured Liuhe and marched on Chuzhou?
Old Guo had a bad temper and even worse interpersonal skills. In Haozhou, there were five commanders including him, and four of them were at odds with him. After being ostracized from Haozhou, he had nowhere to go. It was Zhu Yuanzhang who took the initiative to invite him to Chuzhou.
Zhu Yuanzhang was a man of principle. Despite having far more troops than Old Guo, he generously ceded Chuzhou to him.
Back in Haozhou, it was Old Guo who had taken him in and even arranged a virtuous and capable wife for him. Now, by giving up Chuzhou, he was repaying Old Guo’s kindness. He had truly bared his heart to him.
Over 30,000 disciplined soldiers were a prized asset anywhere, and Commander Guo was overjoyed.
While Old Guo was delighted, Old Zhu’s days grew difficult.
Although Guo Zixing valued Zhu Yuanzhang, he was temperamental, jealous of talent, protective of his own, indecisive, and easily swayed by flattery. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made enemies everywhere.
Throughout history, those whose achievements overshadowed their lords met grim ends. When Old Guo’s suspicions arose, he was utterly unreasonable. Soon after consolidating his position in Chuzhou, he transferred all of Zhu Yuanzhang’s trusted aides away, swiftly stripping Old Zhu of his military authority.
The frustration Zhu Yuanzhang felt when handing over his command was nothing compared to the rage he experienced when he needed to deploy troops but couldn’t.
He was so angry that blisters formed on his lips, and he cursed endlessly in private. Yet, since Chuzhou now nominally belonged to Commander Guo Zixing, no matter how furious he was, he had to reason with Old Guo calmly.
If nothing else, surely he understood the principle of “when the lips are gone, the teeth will be cold”?
Once Liuhe fell to the Yuan army, Chuzhou would face the imperial forces. How could their tens of thousands of troops in Chuzhou resist the empire’s million-strong army?
Zhu Yuanzhang sought out Guo Zixing, appealing to both emotion and reason. After several days of persuasion, he finally convinced Old Guo to allow him to lead troops to resist the Yuan army.
The Yuan forces dispatched to Liuhe were Koreans. Old Zhu had never fought Koreans before and feared that a fierce general might suddenly emerge, catching him off guard.
Fortunately, luck was on his side this time—the enemy commander wasn’t particularly clever. Or perhaps he was wise yet feigned foolishness.
This Korean army had originally been the main force besieging Gaoyou. Yet, every time they were on the verge of capturing the city, Mongol troops would interfere, stealing their credit.
Once or twice might have been a coincidence, but three or four times was undoubtedly intentional.
The court had summoned them from afar to fight, yet refused to let them earn merits, reserving the greatest achievements for their own people. This left the Goryeo army deeply discontented.
After a series of strategic maneuvers, the Goryeo forces stationed at Liuhe temporarily halted their advance. Seizing the opportunity, Zhu Yuanzhang reclaimed partial control of the military authority, at least managing to recall his trusted brothers and confidants.
However, with large numbers of imperial troops lurking nearby, anyone with a modicum of sense knew this was no time to rest easy.
Mu Qing stared dumbfounded at the familiar video, relieved that he had the foresight to use a pseudonym as his online persona instead of his real name. Had he boldly announced in the video, “Hello dear viewers, I’m your beloved uploader Mu Qing,” and if Old Zhu caught on, he’d be done for.
It was true that he had changed his name now, but that didn’t mean Old Zhu had forgotten his previous one.
Heavens above! What kind of mess was this?
Zhu Wenzheng shivered, clutching the little child in his arms while forcing composure. He quickly turned to the only educated man present, “Master Li, look—Wenqing is so terrified he can’t even speak. Please, think of a way to vanquish this monster!”
Li Shanchang: ???
Shouldn’t they be seeking out Taoist priests or Buddhist monks for this?
He was indeed a scholar, but scholars weren’t trained in exorcising demons and vanquishing monsters!
The guards outside, hearing the commotion, rushed in to check. Upon seeing the light screen floating mid-air, they were equally terrified.
However, their reaction differed from that of the generals in the hall. Believing the floating screen to be a Divine Manifestation, they immediately dropped to their knees in unison.
Zhu Yuanzhang took a deep breath and decisively ordered the kneeling guards to be expelled to guard the gates. No one was allowed to enter unless they left, and even if Commander Guo himself arrived, they must find a way to block him.
“Stay calm, all of you! Let’s hear what this monster has to say.”
Mu Qing: shivering in fear.jpg
He had said it before—if Old Zhu ever found out that the voice in the screen was his, he’d be tied up and burned as a monster without a doubt.
Zhu Wenzheng patted the poor little fellow’s head, “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid. Our father is here; no demons or monsters would dare act recklessly.”
Mu Qing’s eyes welled up with tears. If there weren’t so many people around, he would have burst into tears like a fountain.
Zhu Yuanzhang maintained a stern expression to stabilize the situation. The hall fell silent, everyone glaring hostilely at the light screen suspended in mid-air, eager to hear what kind of sinister words this monster would utter.
The young male voice that appeared out of thin air did not disappoint. After greeting the audience, it cut straight to the main topic.
[Emperor Huizong of Yuan, Toghun Temür, whose Mongolian name means “Tie Guo” (Iron Pot). He was the eleventh emperor of the Yuan dynasty, the fifteenth Great Khan of the Mongol Empire, and the last emperor of the Yuan dynasty as a unified national regime.]
[From subsequent events, it’s clear that Brother Guo lived up to his name in the downfall of the Great Yuan.]
[The Yuan dynasty, from Kublai Khan establishing the dynastic name Great Yuan to the Mongols’ retreat from the Central Plains, lasted ninety-eight years, passing through five generations and eleven emperors.]
[The first, Kublai Khan, reigned for thirty-five years, and the last, Emperor Huizong (Brother Guo), reigned for thirty-eight years. Excluding these two, only twenty-five years remain.]
[With twenty-five years divided among the nine emperors in between, each emperor averaged less than three years on the throne. This rapid turnover of emperors clearly illustrates the severity of internal strife within the Yuan imperial family.]
【First, let’s talk about Tie Guo’s background. He was the eldest son of Emperor Mingzong of Yuan and the elder brother of Emperor Ningzong of Yuan. Why was his younger brother able to become emperor before him? This is enough material for a separate episode, so we’ll keep you in suspense for now.】
【We won’t dwell too much on the internal strife within the Yuan imperial family for the moment, as the focus of this episode is our Tie Guo.】
【As we all know, the fall of a dynasty is never caused by a single reason. By the time Tie Guo ascended the throne, the Yuan dynasty was already beyond saving. No matter who was in power, without deep institutional reforms, the dynasty’s decline was inevitable.】
【Clearly, our Tie Guo was not the heaven-sent hero capable of truly solving the problems.】
Zhu Yuanzhang: ???
Zhu Yuanzhang: !!!
“Hurry, hurry! Fetch paper and brush to record this monster’s words!”
When the male voice first mentioned Emperor Huizong of Yuan, the last emperor of the Yuan dynasty, they hadn’t reacted immediately. With so many emperors in the court, none had the temple name “Huizong,” so it must be the monster spouting nonsense.
When the group heard “Emperor Huizong of Yuan, Toghun Temür, whose Mongolian name means ‘Iron Pot,'” they still didn’t react much. What was so strange about the name Toghun Temür?
The main issue was that none of those present understood Mongolian. Mongolians didn’t put much thought into naming—if you went to the grasslands and shouted “Bayan,” five out of ten people would turn their heads.
Besides, the emperor was far away, and they didn’t even know the current emperor’s name.
But when it was mentioned that he was “the eleventh emperor of the Yuan dynasty and the fifteenth Great Khan of the Mongol Empire,” those with quick minds realized that the “monstrous words” on the light screen weren’t mere nonsense.
The eleventh emperor of the Yuan dynasty—wasn’t that the one currently sitting on the throne in Dadu?
Li Shanchang frantically took the paper and brush, dipped the brush in ink, and began writing swiftly, not caring about the elegance of his calligraphy. The most important thing was to record the heavenly voice’s words as quickly as possible.
In just a short while, the “monstrous words” had been upgraded to “heavenly voice.”
Xu Da glanced around, nudged Tang He beside him with his elbow, and asked, “Old Tang, what is our boss asking us to record?”
Tang He was also writing furiously. While scribbling, he scolded, “I told you to read more books, but you never listened. No time to explain now—step aside and don’t get in the way.”
They couldn’t rely solely on Mr. Li to take notes. The more people recording, the better. If Mr. Li missed something, they could fill in the gaps from others’ notes.
Nearby, the generals who disliked studying rubbed their noses and quietly stepped back, not daring to argue with Old Tang at a time like this.
Zhu Wenzheng—the overgrown child who disliked studying—shrank his neck, pinched the little child in his arms, and lectured earnestly, “Wenqing, our family can afford a tutor now. Don’t follow their example. Learning more characters won’t hurt you.”
Before Mu Qing could reply, Old Zhu kicked him. “You have the nerve to teach your brother? Did you even recognize all the characters the tutor taught you yesterday?”
Zhu Wenzheng scratched his head sheepishly and handed the soft little brother to his father for protection. “Dad, let’s keep watching.”
The little unlucky one transferred from his cheap older brother’s arms to his cheap father’s arms, pouting and on the verge of tears.
At that moment, the image on the light screen changed.
The scene of the Q-version characters fighting faded away, replaced by a segmented line divided into three sections of different colors.
Brother Guo’s imperial career can roughly be divided into three stages: the puppet tool phase, the striving phase, and the slacking-off phase.
From the fourth year of Zhishun to the sixth year of Zhiyuan (1333–1340), these eight years saw powerful minister Bayan controlling the court. Brother Guo was merely a puppet, doing whatever Bayan ordered him to do. Hence, this period is referred to as Brother Guo’s puppet tool phase.
From the sixth year of Zhiyuan to the eleventh year of Zhengzheng (1340–1351), Brother Guo, with the help of Bayan’s nephew Tuotuo, successfully took personal control of the government. Thereafter, he diligently attended to state affairs, selecting talents, improving the legal system, and strengthening integrity in governance in an attempt to salvage the Yuan dynasty’s rule. This period is historically known as the “Zhengzheng New Deal.”
During these eleven years, Brother Guo and Tuotuo collaborated enthusiastically as ruler and minister, so this period is called Brother Guo’s striving phase.
However, as previously mentioned, by the time Brother Guo ascended the throne, the Yuan dynasty was already beyond saving.
In the eleventh year of Zhengzheng (1351), the Yellow River burst its banks, causing severe flooding. Tuotuo, overriding all opposition, appointed Jia Lu to manage the Yellow River, conscripting hundreds of thousands of laborers for the task.
The common people were already living in dire straits, and now the court was forcing them into hard labor. To make matters worse, the grain allocated to them was embezzled layer by layer, leaving them with almost nothing. Countless people died from exhaustion and starvation.
What followed is familiar to all: “Do not say the stone man has one eye; it stirs the Yellow River and the world rebels.”
Ming Cult leaders Han Shantong and Liu Futong launched an uprising in Yingzhou, raising the battle flag: “Three thousand warriors will reach You and Yan; the dragon will fly to the ninth heaven and reopen the Great Song.” Thus began the massive peasant uprisings of the late Yuan dynasty.
Brother Guo’s efforts to strive and strengthen the dynasty failed. First, he was overwhelmed by the widespread uprisings across the land, and then he was battered by a combination of natural disasters—floods, droughts, locusts, and plagues—leaving him utterly disoriented. The initial determination he had upon taking power—”to turn the tide and prop up the collapsing empire”—gradually faded, marking the beginning of his slacking-off phase.
From the eleventh year of Zhengzheng to the thirtieth year of Zhengzheng (1351–1370), over these nineteen years, Brother Guo gradually neglected governance and indulged in pleasures. Even after the Mongols were driven out of the Central Plains and he led his remaining forces to flee to the grasslands, he never regained his vigor. He passed away just two years after fleeing north. This period is referred to as Brother Guo’s slacking-off phase.
Zhu Yuanzhang and the others did not understand what “1333 to 1340” meant, but the reign title Zhengzheng was familiar to everyone present.
Their current reign title was “Zhengzheng,” and this year was the fourteenth year of Zhengzheng!
Heavens, was this demon—this heavenly voice—going to tell them about future events?
Li Shanchang and others who could write and draw were practically grinding their brush tips to sparks, sweating profusely as they struggled to record both the visuals and the heavenly voice, with no time to spare to ponder what the heavenly voice was actually saying.
Those without brushes in their hands were left empty-handed, completely stunned by the above account.
They were unaware of the internal court affairs—how Bayan controlled the government and how his nephew Tuotuo righteously overthrew Bayan to take power—but they had heard rumors about it.
However, the Yellow River changing its course to flow into the Huai River, Tuotuo dispatching Jia Lu to conscript laborers for flood control, and the subsequent uprisings led by Han Shantong and Liu Futong, with heroes across the land rallying in response—these were not just things they knew about; they were events they had personally experienced.
When the court commits evil deeds, the common people suffer. They would not have rebelled unless they truly had no means to survive.
Xu Da sat back down in a daze, glancing at Tang He who was vigorously writing beside him, then at Hua Yun on the other side who wore the same bewildered expression. He raised his arm and swung a slap.
He sobered up, and so did Hua Yun.
Hua Yun: ???
“Old Xu, what are you doing?”
The dark-skinned general clutched his head and glared furiously. If the situation weren’t so inappropriate, he would have fought this guy for eight hundred rounds on the spot.
“An accidental slip of the hand,” Xu Da explained foolishly, then turned to look at Zhu Yuanzhang seated above. The tall, burly man’s voice trembled as he spoke again, “Brother, the heavenly voice said the dog emperor in the capital neglects governance and indulges in pleasure. The Mongols will be driven out of the Central Plains.”
The Han people had been oppressed by the Mongols for many years. In all their years, they had never encountered a single Mongol official or soldier who was decent.
The Han commoners were emaciated and starving, working from dawn till dusk only to end up dying of hunger. Those Mongols did not engage in production but only knew how to extort the people’s wealth, clad in silks and satins, their bellies swollen from gluttony.
If the Mongols could truly be driven out of the Central Plains, they would celebrate with gongs and drums for a full month, even bringing opera troupes to personally see them off.
Zhu Wenzheng grinned wryly, “Uncle, the heavenly voice also said the dog emperor won’t die until the 30th year of the Zhizheng era. Based on the fact that he passed away not long after fleeing to the grasslands, the Mongols won’t be driven out until the 28th year of Zhizheng. This year is the 14th year of Zhizheng—there are still over a decade to go.”
“Shut your mouths, all of you,” Zhu Yuanzhang frowned deeply. Recalling how he had once heard that children’s eyes could see things adults couldn’t, he ruffled the little child’s head in his arms and said, “Wenqing, help your father see if this thing is a monster or a deity.”
Mu Qing: ???
Huh? This works too?