The Prince and Ai - 8. Chapter 8

Zhu Cilang
Imperial Procession, Yongdingmen, Beijing
Eleventh Month of the Seventh Year of Chongzhen (December 27^th 1634)

Near the middle of the eleventh month, we are ready to depart Beijing. The outer gate of Yongdingmen stands before us in the gray light before dawn, its stone arches dark against the paling sky and its iron-bound oak doors already open, although the official command to depart has not yet been given.

Frost covers the flagstones of the outer courtyard. The breath of oxen, and men rises in white plumes before dissolving against the walls. Though horses and mules could have been used, oxen were the superior choice for the load and endurance during winter.

I stand beside the lead wagon and watch the fog retreat from the stones in uneven patches. The exotic wagon frame rises above my head, its iron-reinforced oak walls still damp with dew, while the sweet potatoes beneath the floorboards rustle inside rows of cloth wrappings.

Their earthy scent reaches me through the cold. It reminds me of the months of preparation that have brought us to this morning and of the famine that will begin within two years if I fail to spread the crop, in addition to our primary military objectives.

Beyond the more complicated quadricycles, these wagons are among the most practical designs Ai introduced while we planned the journey. Each wagon uses a reinforced wooden frame, iron-rimmed wheels, and a broad cargo bed capable of carrying nearly ten thousand jin, allowing us to transport the equivalent of several hundred small boatloads of material overland.

Ai based the design on wagons once used in lands across the eastern ocean, the foreigners would have called them Conestoga wagons. These wagons later carried generations of settlers across thousands of li and helped establish a nation that eventually surpassed every rival before entering its own decline, like my Ming Dynasty due to political paralysis, foreign threats, and internal unrest.

The design is simple enough for Ming craftsmen to reproduce once they understand its structure. With a fraction of the profits from the soap workshops, I ordered Li Tianjing to oversee the construction of two hundred wagons within the next several months.

We bring six wagons drawn by thirty-six oxen. Three carry military supplies for Fengyang City, while the remaining three carry seed sweet potatoes intended for cultivation throughout the Yellow River region.

Ai proposed the crop as one answer to the famine crisis. I had not known that sweet potatoes could produce yields nearly fifteen times greater than the amount planted, and with proper cultivation and storage, they could prevent the worst losses of the great famine in two years.

Ai has warned me that even a successful distribution will not prevent every death. Several million people may still die during the harshest winters, but the seed crops planted along this route can sustain parts of Shandong and Anhui after the next harvest, especially if these wagons allow food to move quickly between regions.

In my previous life, nearly thirty million people died while the dynasty collapsed around them. This time, I intend to deny famine the power to destroy the empire before its enemies can.

Hou Zhi stands at my left. His steel plate armor fits his smaller frame so closely that the smiths had to forge several pieces twice, and his steel staff remains strapped across his back.

Hou Zhi holds himself with the rigid posture of someone who has decided that solemnity is required. His tail curls once beneath the edge of his cuirass, presses against the back of his leg, and then becomes still.

The thirty Eastern Palace guards form a mounted column behind the second wagon. Ai and I have examined each guard’s history, loyalties, and personal debts to others. The Eastern Palace possesses over one thousand such guards in the register, but only these thirty met the strict criteria needed such as being orphan noble scions and personality traits. I trust their courage and loyalty even if I doubt that thirty young men will be enough against the rebel army expected to reach Fengyang City within two months.

I place one hand against the wagon’s iron reinforcement. The cold passes through the silk of my glove and settles against my palm.

The six quadricycles, known to the court as the Wooden Ox and Flowing Horse chariots, stand beside the wagons. Military equipment has been divided between both types of vehicles and hidden beneath floorboards, while the steel and wooden components remain wrapped in oiled cloth and the volatile chemical ingredients are packed in plain sacks and layered among genuine flour cargo.

Anyone examining the vehicles from the road will see only ceremonial cargo and travel supplies. No one will know that part of the procession carries the weapons needed to defend Fengyang City.

The last guard checks the axle pins, and the wagon shifts as its weight settles. I turn slightly toward Hou Zhi without fully facing him, a habit I have developed since his arrival because it acknowledges his presence without inviting others to challenge our closeness. Through Ai’s knowledge, I know there is nothing supernatural about a boy with a tail or hairy body, but many people still hold superstitious beliefs in demons and spirits who can influence people. My respectful distance with Hou Zhi serves to counter any allegations of impropriety.

Hou Zhi meets my gaze for a moment before returning his attention to the road. His tail uncurls and rests against the back of his leg, a position I have learned to recognize as attentiveness rather than unease.

Hou Zhi studies the placement of the guards, the angle of the wagons, and the frost breaking beneath the iron-rimmed wheels. He has done similar observations without instruction since the first morning he woke in the Eastern Palace and moved to the window to observe the changing light. As such, I assigned him the important role of surveyor to point out various things along this journey, which I will compile into a map with Ai’s assistance.

I climb onto the wagon bench and adjust the sword at my hip when its steel fittings catch against the oak frame. Hou Zhi follows without hesitation, moving with enough control that his small body appears older than it is.

The bench is narrow, and Hou Zhi’s shoulder presses against mine through our armor. Even through the cold metal, I can feel his warmth.

The wagon creaks forward when the oxen lean into their yokes. The procession advances through Yongdingmen, passes beneath Beijing’s outer wall, and enters the southern road as the first light reaches the harvested fields.

I do not look back. The capital has already begun its calculations without me, and Zheng Zhihui’s informants will deliver their reports before the sun fully rises.

The officials who opposed this journey will find new reasons to challenge it during my absence. Their whispers no longer matter because the road ahead carries dangers that the Forbidden City cannot answer.

Hou Zhi’s tail shifts against the bench. The movement is slight, but its forward curl tells me that Hou Zhi has noticed something important.

I follow Hou Zhi’s gaze toward a distant eastern ridge, where morning light touches the edge of a pine grove. I see nothing unusual, but Hou Zhi’s senses exceed mine, and I no longer dismiss what he perceives.

“Tell me,” I say quietly. I keep my attention on the road so no one behind us notices the exchange.

“The frost on the eastern ridge is thinner than the frost here,” Hou Zhi says. “The ground beneath those trees is warmer, so there may be a spring or a buried channel.”

I store the information without responding. A spring could provide clean water and a secure campsite, allowing the procession to avoid drawing from the wagons’ limited reserves. Such details will be important for future wagon trains traveling along this route, since I intend to use the additional two hundred wagons to distribute seed sweet potatoes throughout the region.

Beyond preventing the destruction of Fengyang and the Imperial tombs, I have another equally important objective: lessening the effects of the prolonged drought before the famine begins in two years. Unfortunately, preventing the famine entirely is unrealistic. Feeding the entire affected region would require nearly two billion jin of sweet potatoes. The wagons can complete four journeys along this route each year, delivering eight million jin before the following winter. With a cultivation cycle of only three months, that initial supply could produce one hundred twenty million jin by winter.

That amount will not be enough to eliminate hunger, but conditions will still be better than they were in my previous life. Provided that enough of the harvest is reserved for replanting, more than one billion jin could be ready for harvest by the third year.

Hou Zhi has already begun mapping the road through temperature, texture, and changes in the frost. No ordinary scout would think to read the land with such precision.

Within the first hour, Ai surfaces. His consciousness settles behind my eyes with the familiar order of carefully arranged information.

“The tail of the convoy has expanded, Ai notes. The Ministry of Ceremonial Rites has attached several hundred attendants, maids, and members of official households without invitation, and their purpose is not subtle.”

I absorb the warning without changing my expression. The Ministry of Ceremonial Rites serves officials who have opposed Emperor Chongzhen’s decisions for years, and their sudden interest in the expedition to Fengyang City is not an act of devotion.

“The flag chief eunuch is Chief Eunuch Luk”, Ai continues, “Chief Eunuch Luk based on future surviving secret Eastern Depot records is actually a senior Eastern Depot operative, who has served twenty years under his ceremonial eunuch cover identity, and official record omits his martial training. I also perceive, based on his motions, that a dagger is concealed at his wrist beneath his sleeve.”

I allow my gaze to drift toward the rear of the procession. The column stretches around the curve of the road, filled with wagons, riders, attendants, and walking servants.

Among them, the dark-robed ceremonial attendants move at a controlled pace. Their measured steps belong to men who are prepared to act rather than servants concerned with ceremony.

“Nine other attendants have similar profiles and remain close to Chief Eunuch Luk”, Ai says, “Zheng Zhihui is the most probable source of the order, and the likely objective is not assassination but the forced return of you, the Crown Prince, under the pretense of imperial protection.”

I return my attention to the road. The trees thin, the fields widen, and the horizon brightens, although the sun has not yet risen above it.

“Things may become unpleasant when we stop in about two hours,” I tell Hou Zhi. My voice remains calm enough to suggest that I am discussing the weather.

Hou Zhi nods once and does not request an explanation. Hou Zhi has learned that I share information when action requires it and remain silent when knowledge would only create risk.

The trust in Hou Zhi’s acceptance is not something I take for granted. In the Eastern Palace, unquestioning obedience often hides fear or ambition, but Hou Zhi’s silence comes from confidence in me.

The wagon continues south. The seed sweet potatoes shift beneath the floorboards, and their damp scent rises through the gaps in the oak planks.

I think of the fields that remained barren in my previous life while hunger spread across the empire. Every turn of the wheels carries us farther from that future, although nothing guarantees that we will escape it.

Hou Zhi’s shoulder remains pressed against mine. I adjust my posture enough to preserve the contact without making the choice obvious.

Hou Zhi’s presence gives me a steadiness that neither court ceremony nor military preparation can provide. Beside Hou Zhi, I do not need to perform confidence for officials or conceal fear from subordinates.

Hou Zhi reaches into a leather pouch at his belt and removes a dried plum. Without ceremony, Hou Zhi breaks it in half and offers one piece to me.

The gesture is ordinary, but ordinary kindness is rare in the Eastern Palace. Food there is offered as tribute, payment, obligation, or proof of rank, while Hou Zhi offers it because Hou Zhi has noticed that I am hungry.

I take the plum and taste its sharp sweetness. Only then do I realize that I have not eaten since the previous evening.

“You should have eaten before we left,” Hou Zhi says. Hou Zhi speaks without reproach and treats the matter as a practical failure that can still be corrected.

“I was occupied,” I reply. The explanation sounds inadequate even before the words leave my mouth.

“You are always occupied,” Hou Zhi says. Hou Zhi’s tail curls once as he chooses the next words. “Occupied does not mean fed.”

The observation is direct, practical, and entirely without concern for rank. Something in my chest loosens, and I nearly laugh for the first time since the bathhouse.

“Then you will have to remind me,” I say. I expect Hou Zhi to accept the task with the same seriousness Hou Zhi gives every order.

Hou Zhi studies the road ahead before reaching into the pouch again. This time, Hou Zhi places an entire dried plum in my palm.

“Eat this one entirely,” Hou Zhi says. “I have counted, and there’s enough dried plum snacks to allow it before we reach the city.”

I close my fingers around the fruit. Hou Zhi’s insistence carries no political demand and creates no obligation beyond the need to eat.

Ai surfaces briefly and observes the exchange without comment. Ai has noticed the change in my mood since Hou Zhi entered the Eastern Palace, but for once, Ai chooses not to analyze it aloud.

I eat the plum while Hou Zhi watches the road. Hou Zhi does not look at me, granting privacy to an act Hou Zhi insisted upon.

The sun rises above the horizon and spreads light across the frozen fields. The temperature climbs enough to soften the upper layer of earth, and the wagon wheels begin to cut through mud beneath the thawing frost.

Hou Zhi does not move away from me. I remain beside Hou Zhi as the procession continues south, and neither of us needs to explain the contact.

The road widens beside a grove of mature pines and elms. Their branches preserve the frost beneath them, and the cold air carries the scent of resin.

I order the procession to halt. The lead oxen slow, the wagons stop along the widened shoulder, and the column behind us compresses in uneven sections.

I descend from the wagon and feel the frozen ground through my boots. The armor at my hip shifts, and I adjust my sword before facing the crowd.

Several hundred people stretch along the road behind me. Dark-robed attendants, maids in layered silk, and official families gather beside their wagons with the controlled stillness of people waiting for a spectacle they do not yet understand.

They study a five-year-old Crown Prince Zhu Cilang standing at the edge of the grove in steel plate armor. I allow my gaze to pass across the assembly until the last whispers begin to fade.

Hou Zhi descends behind me and takes position at my left. Hou Zhi’s staff remains strapped across his back, and his tail hangs beneath the edge of his cuirass.

I hold the silence for three breaths. A murmur begins near the rear, moves forward through the crowd, and stops when I raise one hand.

“Those who came because the Ministry of Ceremonial Rites or other court officials ordered them to join this procession may leave now,” I say. “You may return to Beijing safely and without consequence.”

No one moves at first. The trees absorb the sound of shifting feet and restrained breathing.

“Anyone who remains and later becomes a danger to this procession will be dealt with under military law,” I continue. “No title, household, or ministry will protect those who interfere with the divine pilgrimage to Fengyang City.”

The silence changes as fear replaces uncertainty. Attendants tighten their hands inside their sleeves, maids move closer together, and official families begin edging toward the northern road.

Most of the attached households turn back toward Beijing. Families leave first, followed by attendants and servants who waited only long enough to see whether others would retreat.

The road empties in uneven groups, reducing the procession by more than half within minutes. Those who remain include attendants and official households with genuine reasons to reach Fengyang City, along with Chief Eunuch Luk and nine Eastern Depot agents clustered apart from the others.

I draw my sword. The blade clears the scabbard, and the sound ends every remaining whisper.

I turn away from the crowd and enter the grove. The first pine is young, with a trunk no wider than one hand.

My sword rises and falls once. The trunk parts cleanly three handspans above the ground, and the upper section drops onto the pine needles.

I move to a thicker tree without pausing. A diagonal cut follows the grain, separates the trunk, and sends the upper section across the frozen ground.

The third tree is an elm with broad branches. I alter my grip, drive the blade into the densest part of the trunk, and split the wood through its center.

I do not strike in anger. Every movement is measured, and every cut demonstrates control rather than effort.

The largest pine has a trunk nearly two hands wide. Three rapid cuts weaken the correct points, and the tree falls in the direction I chose before the first strike.

Needles and frozen soil scatter across the ground. Behind me, several hundred people stop shifting and become completely still.

I return the sword to its scabbard. The sound of steel entering leather is sharp enough to carry through the grove.

“Those who remain may prove their loyalty in the traditional way,” I say as I face the assembly and brought out a small ornate dagger, “Use a dagger to cut your right shoulder, and do it before every witness present.”

My voice remains level. No one mistakes the demand for a child’s impulse after watching the trees fall.

Chief Eunuch Luk steps forward with relaxed shoulders and visible hands. His expression carries the patient condescension of a court servant who believes he can restore control by reminding everyone that I am five years old.

“Your Highness,” Chief Eunuch Luk begins, “this humble servant understands that a long journey places a heavy burden upon a young prince. However, the traditions of the court are not matters that can be dismissed without proper consultation.”

Chief Eunuch Luk continues before I answer. He speaks of protocol, precedent, the Ministry of Ceremonial Rites, and the obligation to ensure proper etiquette is followed for members of the imperial family.

Every sentence is designed to reduce my order to childish overreach. Chief Eunuch Luk explains the proper channels through which a crown prince’s instructions must pass and warns that well-intentioned decisions can create consequences beyond a child’s understanding.

I allow Chief Eunuch Luk to finish. The silence after the speech exposes the weakness of every word.

Then I spoke, “If we follow the roles of the imperial court properly, then why would a servant have the right to order his master, betraying the order of the court. Wouldn’t such actions violate etiquette, duty, and obedience, hinting at the treachery of the servant? And isn’t a betrayal of the crown prince a criminal offense?”

The sound is brief and without warmth, and Chief Eunuch Luk’s expression tightens because the response does not fit the role Chief Eunuch Luk has assigned me.

Chief Eunuch Luk’s hand moves toward his wrist. The motion appears instinctive, likely out of experience when faced with unexpected circumstances to check if his hidden weapon is in reach. I have waited for this kind of movement since Chief Eunuch Luk stepped forward, since Ai indicated the weapon’s presence earlier.

The dagger is shifted in Chief Eunuch Luk’s sleeve by his motion. Before the hidden blade completes its shift, I cross the distance and enter Chief Eunuch Luk’s guard.

My left hand strikes with the Shaolin palm technique Diamond Fist Enters the Temple. The blow lands against the tendons of Chief Eunuch Luk’s wrist, his fingers open, and the blade drops onto the pine needles.

Drawing a dagger against Crown Prince Zhu Cilang is armed rebellion and carries an automatic death sentence. Chief Eunuch Luk knows it, the nine agents know it, and every witness sees the weapon lying between us.

Chief Eunuch Luk drops to his knees. The practiced composure disappears from his face, leaving fear beneath it.

“Your Highness,” Chief Eunuch Luk says, “this humble servant confesses. I am not an ordinary Ministry eunuch. I am an Eastern Depot agent sent by Chief Eunuch Zheng Zhihui to protect Crown Prince Zhu Cilang during this journey.”

The nine attendants kneel behind Chief Eunuch Luk. Each draws a concealed dagger from a sleeve, belt, or inner fold and places the weapon forward as a sign of surrender.

I look at the ten kneeling men without surprise. They were acting as I anticipated.

“I do not want your protection,” I say. “Return to Beijing immediately.”

Chief Eunuch Luk does not move. A new calculation enters Chief Eunuch Luk’s eyes because honest obedience will expose the failure of the mission and may lead to execution after returning to the capital.

“Your Highness,” Chief Eunuch Luk says, “I carry secret orders from Emperor Chongzhen. Emperor Chongzhen commanded me to ensure the safe return of the Crown Prince to Beijing and abandon this holy pilgrimage to the Imperial tombs due to reports of bandits along the road.”

The claim holds the grove in silence. I allow enough time for Chief Eunuch Luk to believe that the lie has created doubt.

Chief Eunuch Luk’s shoulders loosen. His breathing steadies, and hope appears for a single moment.

I sheathe my sword. Chief Eunuch Luk’s hope vanishes because Chief Eunuch Luk understands that I no longer need the blade.

I drive my boot into Chief Eunuch Luk’s sternum. The strike lifts Chief Eunuch Luk from his knees and throws him onto the pine needles, forcing the air from his lungs.

“The imperial order is a false pronouncement,” I say. “Chief Eunuch Luk is an Eastern Depot operative acting without authorization, and Chief Eunuch Luk drew a dagger against this Crown Prince before witnesses. Under the Great Ming code, you are guilty of treason and rebellion, while all your followers should be put under investigation as co-conspirators.”

I give Chief Eunuch Luk no time to answer and kick him again with even more force, “Under the law, treason and armed rebellion is punished by death.”

Chief Eunuch Luk rolls onto his side and presses one hand against his chest. Pain disrupts his breathing, but Chief Eunuch Luk’s eyes continue searching for an escape.

Chief Eunuch Luk has no remaining option that does not end in execution. That knowledge makes the next decision inevitable.

“Take Crown Prince Zhu Cilang,” Chief Eunuch Luk orders through clenched teeth. “Take Crown Prince Zhu Cilang hostage and return to Beijing. That is a direct order from the Eastern Depot.”

The nine agents rise together. Their daggers turn from surrendered weapons into instruments of attack as they spread into a semicircle.

Hou Zhi and the thirty Eastern Palace guards begin to close in. Armor shifts, swords clear their fittings, and the grove fills with the restrained sounds that precede violence.

“Stay where you are,” I order. “All of you.”

Hou Zhi stops at once. Hou Zhi’s tail becomes rigid, and every part of Hou Zhi’s posture remains ready to move if I change the command.

The first agent attacks before the others finish spreading out. The broad-shouldered man drives forward with a Northern Shaolin Straight Punch while holding the dagger in reverse grip.

The punch has force, but the agent commits too much weight to the leading leg. I step inside the striking arm, redirect the wrist with my left hand, and sweep the rear leg with Southern Shaolin’s Snake Coils Around the Branch.

The agent’s own momentum carries him past me. He hits the ground hard, and the dagger leaves his hand before he can recover.

The second agent attacks from my right with Mount Hua’s Swallow Return technique. The agent feints high, drops low, and drives the dagger toward the opening between my cuirass and thigh.

The feint is clean, but the agent commits to the lower strike before confirming my reaction. I hold position, let the blade pass beneath my thigh, and drive my elbow into the back of the agent’s neck.

The second agent strikes the frozen ground face-first. The dagger buries itself beside the agent’s hand, and the agent does not reach for it.

The third and fourth agents attack together. One moves high with Crane Spreads Wings while the other drives low with Dragon Submerges.

Their coordination is practiced, but the high strike begins before the low strike fully commits. That brief gap gives me a path between them.

I step forward and left. The high attack passes over my right shoulder, the low attack sweeps beneath my left hip, and Diamond Fist Breaks the Wall strikes the third agent’s ribs.

The impact throws the third agent into the fourth. Both men collapse together, trapping their weapons beneath their bodies as I strike their exposed heads rendering them unconscious.

The fifth agent refuses to advance. The dagger remains forward in Mount Hua’s Mountain Peak stance while the agent waits for a counterattack.

The patience is better than the aggression of the first four, but the rear foot angles too far outward. Most of the agent’s weight rests on the leading side, leaving no stable base for retreat.

I close the distance in three controlled steps. The fifth agent shifts to meet me and transfers even more weight forward.

I feint left with my shoulder. The fifth agent answers with a Mount Hua Cloud Hand deflection, but my right hand passes beneath the extended arm and presses the nerve cluster inside the elbow.

The dagger drops. My left hand follows with Tiger Claw to the Collarbone, and the fifth agent falls to one knee without enough control to continue as I strike the back of head.

The sixth agent advances with the circular movements of Wudang Taiji. The dagger traces broad arcs while the feet follow an Eight Trigrams pattern.

The form is memorized, but the power generation is absent. The circles are too wide, and every transition exposes the body for longer than a true Wudang practitioner would allow.

I permit the sixth agent to complete two circles. The third circle carries the dagger across my center, trying to force me to retreat, but I enter the unguarded space behind his extended arm with Shaolin light footwork.

My palm strikes the base of the sixth agent’s jaw. The force travels through the agent’s head, breaks the stance, and sends the agent to the ground. He is unconscious from the strike.

The seventh and eighth agents attack from opposite sides. The seventh uses a Shaolin Long Fist Chain of Punches while the eighth circles behind me with a Mount Hua ambush technique.

The strategy is sound, but the seventh agent’s rhythm never changes. I count two punches, step inside the third, and turn the seventh agent into the path of the eighth agent’s strike.

The eighth agent’s blow lands against the seventh agent’s shoulder. The seventh agent’s next punch drives into the eighth agent’s ribs, and both men fall before either can separate. I use two quick palm strikes as they fall to remove them from the fight.

The ninth agent remains. The older man discards the dagger and adopts the Northern Shaolin Praying Mantis form, choosing trapping and joint control over direct striking as he notices my various uses of the Shaolin palm technique.

The ninth agent is the most dangerous because the technique matches the agent’s body and experience. The stance is stable, the hands move without wasted motion, and the agent waits for me to make the first mistake.

I advance. The ninth agent shifts laterally to keep the center aligned with mine and raises the left hand in a Mantis Hook aimed at the tendons of my wrist.

I pass beneath the hook without engaging it. My right hand strikes the pressure point at the agent’s hip with Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg.

The contact is light, but the agent’s balance breaks at once. As the ninth agent shifts weight to recover, my left palm drives into the center of the chest with Phoenix Spreads Its Wings.

The ninth agent staggers backward three steps and catches one foot on an exposed pine root. I use two-finger penetrating strike on his shoulders, dislocating the joints. The agent falls, rolls aside without any control, and stays down because his fight is over.

Nine agents lie across the grove among discarded daggers and broken frost. Less than two minutes have passed.

Chief Eunuch Luk has forced himself upright during the fight. One hand remains pressed against the injured sternum, and every trace of courtly condescension has disappeared.

Chief Eunuch Luk stares at me with more than fear. The sight of a five-year-old Crown Prince defeating nine trained operatives has destroyed Chief Eunuch Luk’s understanding of what is possible.

“How?” Chief Eunuch Luk asks. Pain does not break the voice; disbelief does. “How does a five-year-old Crown Prince possess skills beyond those of the current masters of the Northern Shaolin Temple in Henan?”

The question remains unanswered for several breaths. Some of the fallen agents move weakly, but none can stand, and the crowd behind me remains silent.

“I was trained by my divine teacher,” I say. The answer is true, although Chief Eunuch Luk cannot understand the truth behind it.

Chief Eunuch Luk has spent years learning Northern Shaolin forms and surviving the Eastern Depot’s internal struggles. The techniques I have displayed exceed the abilities of the masters Chief Eunuch Luk once considered unsurpassable.

I watch Chief Eunuch Luk search for a weakness that can return the world to something familiar. Chief Eunuch Luk’s hand begins moving toward a sleeve.

“Contact poison is likely present”, Ai warns, “The hidden sleeve pocket contains an injectable compound, and Chief Eunuch Luk may intend to use it on you during another exchange. He may feign surrender to lull you into a false sense of security.”

I see the concealed pocket in Chief Eunuch Luk’s left sleeve and the dark needle in Chief Eunuch Luk’s fingertips. The compound is probably intended to incapacitate rather than kill because Zheng Zhihui needs me alive to prevent investigations along this route leading to Fengyang City. The rebel army is likely already on the move from their base in Henan, Zheng Zhihui cannot allow them to be detected.

Chief Eunuch Luk drops to his knees again. The bowed head, trembling hands, and fractured voice create a convincing display of surrender.

“Your Highness, I beg for mercy,” Chief Eunuch Luk says. “I followed orders and served the empire for twenty years. My mother remains in Hebei, and she has no one else.”

Chief Eunuch Luk shuffles forward on both knees. One hand reaches toward the lower edge of my armor while the poisoned fingers remain partly concealed inside the sleeve.

I step sideways, and Chief Eunuch Luk’s hand closes on empty air. The plea continues, but panic begins to replace control.

“Your Highness, I will tell you everything,” Chief Eunuch Luk says. “I will reveal Zheng Zhihui’s network, the northeast contacts, and every report sent to Beijing.”

The information may be useful, but the poisoned fingers decide the matter. Chief Eunuch Luk is already close enough to attack again.

I cross the distance before Chief Eunuch Luk can change position. My right hand rises with one extended finger, using one of the seventy-two secret forms I have mastered.

The One Finger technique strikes the brain stem at the base of Chief Eunuch Luk’s skull. The point of contact is narrow, and the effect is immediate.

Chief Eunuch Luk folds at the waist and collapses onto one side. The poisoned hand never reaches my armor, and Chief Eunuch Luk dies before the unfinished plea can continue.

The silence that follows settles the confrontation. The nine fallen agents remain on the ground, and no one in the crowd attempts to defend Chief Eunuch Luk.

I turn toward the remaining assembly with my sword sheathed and my hands empty. My breathing remains steady.

“The ultimatum stands,” I say. “Anyone who wishes to leave may return to Beijing, but anyone who remains and becomes a danger to this procession will be dealt with under military law.”

The crowd empties at once. Attendants turn north, official families gather their children and possessions, and maids retreat in close groups.

Within minutes, the road behind me contains only the wagons, the oxen, the thirty Eastern Palace guards, and Hou Zhi standing at my left. One group remains beyond them.

Seven well-armed teenage boys stand together at the rear of the procession. Their ages range from thirteen to sixteen, and their formation reflects a deliberate choice to remain rather than hesitation over whether to flee.

The leader, wielding an old steel sword, steps forward. The boy appears to be young, lean, alert, and disciplined by life in a military household. Though he still held many childish features such as a round face and no facial hair, he carried himself with authority among the other boys like a general. Aesthetically, he reminded me of Zhou Xian.

He bows with practiced formality. The gesture shows respect without fear.

“This humble one is Qi Qiang,” Qi Qiang says. “I am the grandson of Qi Jiguang, who wrote the Jixiao Xinshu and the Lianbing Shiji. These are my cousins.”

Qi Qiang introduces Qi Feng, Qi Lin, Qi Wei, Qi Jun, Qi Ming, and Qi Rong. Each boy straightens when Qi Qiang speaks his name, and none looks away from me. They each held interesting qualities and carried a variety of weapons ranging from a bow, crossbow, wooden staff, halberd, spear, battle axe, or sword. In my mind, I wish absent-mindedly that I could have an army of such boys in the Eastern Palace.

“You are too young to be daydreaming of having a harem,” Ai scolds me playfully in our shared consciousness.

Despite knowing Ai is joking with me, I blush at the suggestion, since that is not my intent. I appreciate their capabilities and physical aptitudes for martial training. After returning to my five-year-old body, I have not had any desire for male companionship of that type. Though I do enjoy the closeness from Hou Zhi, it is an aesthetic interest based on my current five-year-old body. While we may sleep in the same bed, along with bathing and dining together, like I would do with Cao Renji ten years later, it is a different type of bond for now. Ai states that my inherent desire for males are likely nascent and the deeper aspects will likely not appear until I reach my eleventh birth year as it did when I met Cao Renji in my prior life.

As I am lost in thought, Qi Qiang finishes all his introductions and makes a request.

“We wish to serve Crown Prince Zhu Cilang,” Qi Qiang says. Qi Qiang offers no elaborate explanation and does not disguise ambition beneath false humility.

Qi Qiang bends and picks up the dagger Chief Eunuch Luk dropped. After straightening, Qi Qiang turns the blade toward the right shoulder.

“I pledge my life and the lives of my cousins to Crown Prince Zhu Cilang,” Qi Qiang says. “By this blade, I mark my loyalty before Heaven, earth, and the spirits of our ancestors.”

Qi Qiang begins the cut. I cross the distance and close my hand over Qi Qiang’s wrist before the blade reaches the shoulder.

I take the dagger without using more force than necessary. Qi Qiang meets my gaze with direct attention and no fear.

“You do not need to bleed to prove your loyalty,” I say. I study Qi Feng, Qi Lin, Qi Wei, Qi Jun, Qi Ming, and Qi Rong, none of whom has flinched or stepped away from Qi Qiang.

“Get in the wagon,” I tell them. The order grants acceptance without forcing them to repeat the oath.

Qi Qiang glances toward Hou Zhi and studies Hou Zhi’s tail, armor, staff, and watchful posture. Qi Qiang asks no questions and turns immediately toward my wagon.

Qi Feng, Qi Lin, Qi Wei, Qi Jun, Qi Ming, and Qi Rong follow Qi Qiang aboard without negotiation. The seven boys made their decision before Qi Qiang stepped forward.

I order the bodies of all nine Eastern Depot agents to be stripped and burned, since Ai had instructed that corpse disposal could help prevent various disease from forming. Additionally, as the witnesses would return to Beijing with the account of Chief Eunuch Luk’s attempted attack on me, the detail of leaving no burial place for him or his men should put psychological pressure on various groups, including Eastern Depot chief, Zheng Zhihui.

The procession reforms and continues south. The scent of the sweet potatoes rises again through the floorboards as the wagon wheels cut deeper into the thawing road. The boys sitting in the back of the wagon did not pay it any mind.

Hou Zhi sits beside me again, with Hou Zhi’s shoulder pressed against mine. Hou Zhi’s tail settles into the attentive curl that appears whenever Hou Zhi studies someone of genuine interest.

Through the rear opening, Hou Zhi watches Qi Qiang speak quietly with Qi Feng and Qi Lin while Qi Wei, Qi Jun, Qi Ming, and Qi Rong secure their places among the cargo. Hou Zhi’s attention is not guarded suspicion but careful assessment.

“What do you see in Qi Qiang?” I ask. I keep my voice low enough that the boys behind us cannot hear.

“Qi Qiang does not pretend with his loyalty to you,” Hou Zhi says. “The others follow Qi Qiang without being ordered, and Qi Qiang does not use their trust to increase his own importance. They also appear to be awed by your martial abilities.”

Hou Zhi pauses while watching the rear wagon. Hou Zhi’s tail curls slowly against the bench.

“When Qi Qiang looked at me, Qi Qiang saw the tail first,” Hou Zhi continues. “Then Qi Qiang examined my face, hands, staff, and stance. Qi Qiang searched for what mattered and ignored what did not. He is not like Master Zhang disciples, who hold prejudices at first sight.”

I consider the judgment and agree with it. Qi Qiang saw something extraordinary, accepted the evidence, and chose a course without demanding an explanation.

“Qi Qiang and his cousins are good additions on this journey,” Hou Zhi adds. Hou Zhi states the conclusion with complete certainty.

Qi Qiang and his six cousins will be useful, as will the thirty Eastern Palace guards during this dangerous journey to Fengyang City. We will need to face various issues from the corrupt officials in Shandong and Anhui provinces, homeless refugees from the Henan province lining part of the route, and roaming bandit gangs.

Ai tells me that in the original history, Qi Qiang, Qi Feng, Qi Lin, Qi Wei, Qi Jun, Qi Ming, Qi Rong, and the rest of the Qi family died defending Shandong from Manchu Qing forces shortly after my own death. These seven boys seek martial achievement and a chance to elevate their family’s honor, but this time, I intend to give them a future beyond sacrifice.

Well I have to use the Shaolin training at some point   That note in chapter 2 of Zhu Cilang training was not a throwaway filler chapter.
1. Zhu Cilang with Ai's help and enhancements is currently a true master of Shaolin 72 Secret Arts. He can't however exceed his human limitations like fly, break steel with a punch, or have summon the elements like Avatar Aang (I did consider that option, but he's already OP enough without elemental/wuxia magic powers)
 
2. The seven Qi cousins are the first people to join Zhu Cilang. They are descendants of the famous Ming Dynasty General Qi Jiguang, who is noted as one of the Ming Dynasty's greatest generals, defeating both Japanese raiders on the southern coast and Mongolian cavalry near the Great Wall. Qi Jiguang is one of Chinese history's few noteworthy marine generals, who could fight both sea-based and land-based battles equally well. His strategies and command style are rarely mentioned outside military history enthusiasts.
He wrote two military treatises, which were innovative for their era and showcased the strength of mid-Ming Dynasty use of gunpowder weaponry tactics, which tragically corruption and dysfunctional Chinese administration ignored. Additionally, despite his fame and family's cultivation of advanced military tactics, later Ming Dynasty Emperors and court officials feared the reputation of the Qi family. They never gave them any official military posts again. According to the histories I was researching, much of the family was massacred arranging a makeshift militia to defend their hometown against the Manchu Qing Dynasty armies augmented with traitorous Ming Generals and their armies, who sided with the invaders after the Chongzhen Emperor died. 
They will serve as Zhu Cilang's guards and confidantes in this book, but they have much bigger roles and stories if I continue. That kind of pedigree and family tradition deserves far more than obscurity and decimation that befell them in our timeline.

3. Conestoga Wagons are well within Ming Dynasty or European technology to create in the 17th century. The wagon that epitomized the American Westward migration on the Oregon and Santa Fe trails were an evolution of the oxen-driven heavy cart from the old world. As a simple innovation, it is not going to carry things as fast as future railroads, but it will be able to carry far more than traditional Chinese or European heavy carts of the 17th century. On average, the best carts in the 17th century could only move 2,000 pounds or 1,800 Chinese jin at full loads compared to nearly 16,000 pounds or 14,400 Chinese jin with a Conestoga wagon.
This will be important for the upcoming Great Famine of 1636, one of the biggest factors that led the Ming Dynasty to collapse into civil unrest as rebel armies would increase rapidly due to hunger far more than the environmental disruptions and political grievances in 1634. Like Li Zicheng, the rebel who would ultimately take Beijing and fail in the end to the Manchu Qing Dynasty, was rebelling in 1634, but he rebelled because he was fired from his job as a postal worker. The rebel army was relatively smaller in 1634-1635, around 100,000 and a few cities when they attacked Fengyang compared to the Ming Dynasty China's population of 70 million people. After the Great Famine of 1636, the rebel army surged to several million people and entire provinces, including key mineral resource from Shanxi and Shaanxi, or the main bread basket of China, Sichuan. Unluckily for the Chinese rebels, all these territories were controlled by separate warlords, meaning no coherent rebel force could acquire a supply chain to form a new successor government or fight on a unified front against the Manchurian Qing Dynasty after the Ming Dynasty collapsed.
As for ecological issues, the little ice age had already plagued the Ming Dynasty China for a decade at this point, which has severely reduced traditional crop yields. This will further be aggravated by a major drought in the coming years. Sweet potatoes are a New World crop that has reached China from the Portuguese, but it remains a southern specialty food and hasn't migrated North yet. Even if it were to move up north, you would need to transport millions of pounds of sweet potatoes to cultivate enough crops to become a substitute staple even with the 15 to 1 yield potential before fertilizers. That's why Ai introduce this innovative cargo vehicle to the Ming Dynasty.
Bottom-line: Logistics and crop cultivation needs to start now across the Grand Canal and Yellow River regions to prevent famine and ultimately national collapse.