Chapter 51 The Grand Chancellor of the Oirat Embarks on a Southern Expedition!
“How is it that after only twenty-odd years, you can no longer recognize me?” Old Zhu Di cast him a disinterested glance, his steed snorting beneath him.
Twenty-odd years?
“I... I...”
Esen was drenched in sweat, unable to utter a word for ages, staring at the retreating Mongol cavalry behind him, utterly lost and panicked!
He vaguely recalled those years when this very Emperor of Ming would launch northern expeditions at the drop of a hat, driving them across Mongolia until their horses’ hooves were worn to the bone!
The memories of his childhood, when his entire family was bullied by Zhu Di, surged madly into his mind, making this true master of the Mongol steppe—who had once commanded the region for ten thousand miles—revisit the terror of being dominated.
Back then, the Yongle Emperor chased them across the grasslands; sometimes, they barely had time to pull up their trousers before fleeing. Even adults would frighten children, saying: “Don’t wander too far from home, or you might run into the Great Emperor!”
How could he ever forget?
It was nothing like the carefree days he enjoyed now, ruling the northern steppes.
While Esen was lost in thought, the sudden ambush swiftly reached its conclusion. The Hongwu troops had an innate advantage against the Mongol Yuan.
The chaos of the battlefield gradually faded.
Bayan Temür looked around nervously, swallowed hard, and said anxiously, “Brother, we should surrender; Ming soldiers are everywhere!”
As Esen’s own younger brother and the Taishi of the Oirat, he gazed anxiously at the hills teeming with Hongwu soldiers.
The Oirat cavalry he commanded—over ten thousand strong—had already been routed or slain by the fierce onslaught of the Hongwu army, leaving barely a hundred loyal guards at his side.
There was no longer any choice between fighting or fleeing.
Surrender was the only option.
Especially with the Ming generals surrounding them, each eyeing them with greedy anticipation.
He knew very well: if he did not surrender now, his life would soon become someone’s military achievement.
“Shut up!”
Upon hearing this, Esen’s eyes flashed with ferocity. He turned and glared at his brother, gritting his teeth and shouting, “I would rather die than surrender! Men, follow me—break out of this encirclement!”
“Kill!!”
What of the Great Emperor? He must be seventy or eighty by now, frail with age, while Esen himself was no longer the child who only knew how to run.
No sooner had he finished speaking—
“You ignorant fool!”
Old Zhu Di snorted coldly, raised his blade and charged, a deadly aura radiating from him.
Clang!
In a panic, Esen swung his saber to parry, nearly being knocked from his horse by the sheer force; fear overtook him instantly.
How could this rider possibly be seventy or eighty?
“Run! Run for your lives!”
Esen, terrified out of his wits, felt his legs weaken with the old terror of domination, all courage gone. He urged his horse forward, shouting frantically.
Bang!
Ah!
Just as Esen turned his head, he screamed in agony, clutching his mangled left ear, looking around in horror.
Bang!
Another thunderous explosion rang in his ears!
Esen was petrified, no longer daring to move. Though he had suffered many wounds as a steppe eagle since childhood, never fearing pain, the terror now was psychological, far exceeding any physical hurt.
“What was that thing that whizzed by just now?!”
Bayan Temür was dumbstruck, hastily calming his restless horse.
On a small hill not far away—
“From a hundred paces, one shot strikes Esen’s left ear—this truly is a divine weapon!” Zhu Yuanzhang stood atop the hill, gazing far out, his heart filled with awe.
The firearms of the Hongwu era were weak, prone to bursting, lacked moisture resistance, had lengthy cooldowns, and killed more users than enemies—utterly incomparable to the rifled gun held by Zhu Youjian.
Not even close!
Zhu Yuanzhang stared at the weapon with infatuation, reluctant to part with it. “Once these firearms are produced, send a batch to the Grand Ancestor. He’ll test them for you.”
“Shooting like a god—my grandson is indeed a celestial!” Old Zhu Di praised quietly, adding, “The ancestor would like one as well, just from the second batch; I won’t be greedy.”
Hongxi and his son, fat and jolly, shamelessly showered praise, never taking their eyes off the firearm.
“Of course,”
Zhu Youjian packed away his rifled gun, patting his still-full stomach of Ming eye elixirs, modestly replying, “You flatter me, ancestors.”
Truth be told, he had aimed for Esen’s horse’s leg!
But the shot utterly shattered Esen’s courage, and he cried out in terror: “We surrender!”
“Great Emperor, we surrender!!”
“Hmph! Spineless as your ancestors—bind them and bring them over!” Old Zhu Di grunted with lingering excitement. Having consumed so many elixirs, his body was robust as ever, barely warmed up before the battle was over.
Esen, his brother, and several Oirat nobles were dragged off their horses by Hongwu officers and hauled beyond Tumu Fortress.
Esen hung his head, led away.
He deeply regretted his rash advance; had he known the Yongle Emperor still lived, even if he borrowed every ounce of courage from the steppe, he would not have dared entertain the thought!
Gulp.
Esen’s muttering abruptly ceased as he swallowed hard, face full of shock. “Brother, am I seeing things, or are all those men up there Ming emperors?”
“Huh?”
Bayan Temür’s mind buzzed, and as he cast his gaze over the hill, he saw—like the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas—a row of men in dragon robes standing, critiquing them.
Except for one, supported by attendants, hair disheveled, face battered, sobbing uncontrollably like a pig’s head.
Every other figure looked unmistakably like a Ming emperor!
“So this is Esen?”
Zhu Yuanzhang looked on with a stern face.
Zhu Youjian nodded, “Precisely. If not for today’s intervention, he would have captured the Ming Son of Heaven, marched on the capital, nearly repeating the disgrace of Jingkang. After being defeated and driven back by Yu Qian, he would have taken the emperor to the steppe, turned to banditry, and periodically demanded ransom from the court.”
“The court paid?” Old Zhu raised his brows.
“Of course not. Except for the empress of the fortress who gave Esen gold and silver a few times, no one else in the court ever mentioned it.” Zhu Youjian shook his head.
“To avoid embarrassment, officials of the Orthodox Dynasty called it the ‘Northern Hunt.’”
“Northern Hunt?”
Zhu Yuanzhang grinned, slapping Esen’s head. “Northern Hunt, eh? Send you south instead—we’ll call it the Southern Tour. I’ll have the Oirat avoid the topic, and exile you, their Taishi, to the southern border under the name Southern Tour…”
“Great Emperor, are you serious?!”
Esen, suddenly hopeful, turned eagerly to Old Zhu Di, shouting his question.
If he left for a year or two, the Oirat wouldn’t fall to Tutu Buha, the puppet; his followers wouldn’t allow it, and Arat would vie for power. The regime wouldn’t slip from his grasp in such a short time. When he returned from the Southern Tour, he’d be back in charge—a hero again!
You little rascal, trying to roast me alive!
Old Zhu Di’s scalp tingled, and he cursed, “It’s the command of the Grand Ancestor—why ask me, you fool!”
Grand Ancestor!?
Esen was no illiterate; he’d read the classics and knew the Grand Ancestor was the founding emperor of Ming. Instantly, he was paralyzed with fear.
Old Zhu and Zhu Di, father and son, were like walking force fields to the Mongols; facing both at once, Esen couldn’t stop sweating.
Zhu Yuanzhang glanced at them, making both fall silent. He said calmly, “I’m not finished. South is the Southern Tour, east is the Eastern Voyage, west is the Western Hunt.”
Esen pondered seriously, muttering, “Grand Ancestor, the south is too far, I won’t go. I can’t swim, so I won’t go east. I’ll take the west instead—it’ll be easier to return to the steppe.”
Hei, this rascal thinks he can pick!
“No trouble at all,”
Zhu Yuanzhang’s face turned icy. “Chopping you into three pieces wouldn’t be any trouble.”
…