The Prince and Ai - 9. Chapter 9

Ai
Zhu Cilang’s procession to Hejian Prefecture
Eleventh Month of the Seventh Year of Chongzhen (December 28^th 1634-January 4, 1635)

I watch the seven Qi cousins through Zhu Cilang’s eyes as they settle into their assigned watch rotation along the wagon perimeter. Firelight catches the edges of their various weapons while their shadows extend across the frozen ground, and they move with the coordination of boys who have trained together since childhood, each covering the gaps in the others’ sightlines without a spoken command.

Qi Qiang holds the northern point with his sword drawn and resting against his shoulder while his gaze moves patiently across the distant tree line. Qi Feng and Qi Wei guard the eastern approach, holding an axe and spear at angles that permit an immediate response to danger from the road. Qi Lin remains inside the wagon circle, studying a hand-drawn map beside the fire with his halberd within reach. Qi Jun, Qi Ming, and Qi Rong cover the southern and western approaches, where their crossbow, composite bow, and staff create overlapping fields of defense that compensate for their youth.

I catalog the seven Qi cousins with the same precision I have applied to every strategic asset since arriving in this century, but my assessment changes as I observe their relationship with Zhu Cilang. The seven Qi cousins are not merely soldiers; they are becoming the foundation of an imperial inner retinue built around martial tradition, and personal loyalty. Though Zhu Cilang does recognize the Qi cousins’ adoration, Zhu Cilang lacks my wider perspective for development.

A comparable structure already operates within the Ottoman Empire under Sultan Murad IV. The Enderun pages provide a useful institutional model, although any version created for Zhu Cilang must reject the coercive practices that sustain the Ottoman system.

I retrieve the relevant information from my archives and compare it with my observations. The Ottoman levy system bears a broad resemblance to China’s long-established practice of selecting young women for service as imperial consorts, as both institutions placed the recruitment of youths under the authority of the imperial state. Hence, the reason I laid the seeds in Zhu Cilang’s mind about developing a male harem, which he also recognized subconsciously as well.

The Ottoman system gathers boys between twelve and eighteen from across the empire through the devşirme levy, selecting them for intelligence, physical ability, and appearance before bringing them into palace service. The boys are converted to Islam and educated in languages, mathematics, military science, administration, and the arts. They serve the sultan in personal and political capacities and form a corps of educated, loyal, and capable young men who stand outside the traditional court hierarchy.

The Enderun system produces viziers, military commanders, and provincial governors, but its deeper strength lies in the personal loyalty it creates between the ruler and those trained within his household. I do not intend to reproduce every aspect of that relationship, yet the system demonstrates how education, service, and proximity to the sovereign can create officials whose advancement does not depend upon hereditary factions.

The seven Qi cousins already meet many of the necessary conditions. Their ages range from thirteen to sixteen, with Qi Rong the youngest and Qi Feng the oldest, and all seven possess military training, tactical ability, and physical discipline. Qi Lin and Qi Ming show the intellectual aptitude required for formal study, while Qi Qiang displays the judgment and authority expected of a future commander.

Their family bond is also an advantage rather than an obstacle. During the first days of travel, the seven Qi cousins remained close, relied upon private signals, and extended trust to one another more readily than to outsiders. A successful inner retinue can develop from that unity because the seven Qi cousins already correct weaknesses, share knowledge, and protect one another without waiting for formal instruction.

An Enderun-inspired structure centered on the seven Qi cousins would serve several purposes. Militarily, they could become the nucleus of Zhu Cilang’s personal guard and learn to operate the weapons and machinery we are developing. Politically, they could eventually enter different branches of the military bureaucracy and provide Zhu Cilang with commanders who are not dependent upon the factions that have weakened the Ming officer corps. Administratively, instruction from Li Tianjing could prepare them to manage the industrial and commercial enterprises required for reform.

The intimate relationship dimension also matters, although it must develop only with time and maturity. Zhu Cilang’s memories of Cao Renji from his previous life carry an emotional weight that cannot be dismissed, and the restrictions of the Confucian court leave little room for attachments that do not conform to prescribed roles. A household built upon acknowledged trust and voluntary service could give Zhu Cilang a circle of companions who understand both his public duties and his private burdens without forcing those relationships into secrecy. One of the issues that forced my creator, Zhu Kiu, into a life of loneliness was the false notion that homosexual desire cannot be openly acknowledged. A western fallacy from a moral supremacist perspective that created a lasting shadow on future generations.

I do not propose that Zhu Cilang copy the Ottoman system. The devşirme levy forcibly removed boys from their families and required ideological conversion, practices that would be unacceptable within the Ming court and incompatible with the loyalty Zhu Cilang seeks to cultivate. The Ming Dynasty’s Wanli Emperor made critical mistakes when adopting a similar approach with his enlightened Eunuch system, resulting in the concentration of power within individuals such as the current treacherous Zheng Zhihui. Only the underlying architecture is useful: a selected corps of young men educated for service and tied to the ruler through earned confidence rather than factional patronage.

The seven Qi cousins are the natural core of such a corps because they have already chosen to follow Zhu Cilang. They want to restore their family’s honor, but they also want a ruler worthy of the loyalty their grandfather, Qi Jiguang, gave to the Jiajing and Longqing Emperors.

Near the southern perimeter, Qi Rong demonstrates a Shaolin staff form for Qi Jun. Qi Rong moves through the sequence with controlled precision, drawing upon years of Northern Temple training, while Qi Jun watches closely and studies each transition with his crossbow resting beside him.

At dawn, during the third day of our journey, I turn my attention outward, when Zhu Cilang’s consciousness rests in sleep. Usually, I try not to access his senses overtly as I value his autonomy, but I was curious about the various half-dressed males sleeping nearby.

The severe cold has forced all seven of them into a shared sleeping space within the wagon formation along with Zhu Cilang and Hou Zhi. Six wagons have been arranged in a triangle, and their cotton canvas has been redistributed to create a protected interior where shared warmth is more effective than the coal braziers. The thirty young eastern palace guards are sleeping in similar small groups as well.

Though I may not be human, I do find the teenage male Qi cousins to be attractive. My action is akin to a homosexual high school boy checking out his well-developed classmates in a physical education class. There’s no malice, nor overt sexual intent with my actions.

The sleeping arrangement is practical, but it also reveals a problem that none of the boys has been taught to address. I wait until morning before deciding how much guidance Zhu Cilang must provide.

Gray light enters through the gaps between the wagon planks and the canvas stretched across the cargo beds. Zhu Cilang stirs before opening his eyes, gradually registering Hou Zhi’s arm across his chest, Qi Feng’s back against his knees, and the warmth produced by eight sleeping bodies confined within the shelter.

Zhu Cilang then notices the older boys’ discomfort and becomes completely still. Zhu Cilang’s body is five years old, but his memories extend through adolescence, so he immediately understands the involuntary condition the seven Qi cousins are attempting to conceal. The awareness brings embarrassment, although the embarrassment comes from the lack of privacy rather than from any wrongdoing.

Every Qi cousin except Qi Rong is awake. Qi Qiang has turned toward the wagon floor, Qi Feng is adjusting his clothing while pretending that no one is watching, and Qi Lin has drawn his halberd closer to create distance between himself and Qi Wei. Qi Jun and Qi Ming stare at the canvas ceiling and avoid moving until the moment passes.

The pattern is obvious. The seven Qi cousins have received no guidance, so they rely upon silence and endurance whenever their bodies react during sleep. In close quarters, that silence will produce recurring embarrassment and unnecessary shame, and both could weaken the trust Zhu Cilang is trying to build.

I enter Zhu Cilang’s awareness fully and explain that the condition is a normal physiological response associated with sleep and hormonal development. I keep the explanation clinical because Zhu Cilang responds more effectively to direct information than to reassurance, and I emphasize that the response does not reflect immoral thought or personal failure.

Zhu Cilang’s embarrassment remains, but his attention sharpens when he understands that I am proposing action. I explain that the seven Qi cousins need practical guidance about relief, and harmless sexual care so they do not mistake a normal bodily function for evidence of moral corruption.

“What are you suggesting I do?” Zhu Cilang asks within our shared consciousness. Zhu Cilang already suspects the answer, and the hesitation in his question comes from Confucian propriety and from the absurdity of a five-year-old crown prince advising older boys about sexual activities that he had only a few dozen experiences.

“Address it without ridicule or elaborate euphemism,” I reply. “Tell the seven Qi cousins that the condition is natural, that it can be handled privately, and that they must clean themselves afterward. They do not need a demonstration or a detailed lecture; they need permission to stop treating their own bodies as a source of shame.”

Zhu Cilang resists for several moments before he acknowledges my point. The expectations placed upon a crown prince discourage open discussion of the body, but Zhu Cilang was not afraid to trespass on traditional boundaries.

Zhu Cilang waits until the camp is fully awake. The seven Qi cousins rise one by one and distract themselves by checking weapons, adjusting armor, gathering firewood, and performing other tasks that allow them to avoid one another’s eyes.

Near the eastern wagon, Zhu Cilang calls the seven Qi cousins together and stands before them with his hands clasped behind his back. The seven Qi cousins form a loose semicircle, and their expressions shift from uncertainty to attention when they realize that Zhu Cilang has summoned them for a deliberate purpose.

“Each of you experienced an uncomfortable bodily response this morning,” Zhu Cilang says. Zhu Cilang’s voice remains steady as he continues, “It will happen again because it is part of normal development. It is not shameful, and you do not need to suffer in silence.”

The seven Qi cousins become motionless.

Zhu Cilang continues before their embarrassment can harden into resistance. Guided by my phrasing, Zhu Cilang gives a brief explanation of the body’s involuntary response during sleep and tells the seven Qi cousins that they may manage the discomfort privately through ordinary self-care, provided they remain discreet and clean themselves afterward.

Qi Feng parts his lips without speaking, Qi Lin struggles to maintain a neutral expression, and Qi Rong studies Zhu Cilang while trying to understand why no adult had ever explained the matter so plainly based on his expressions. Qi Jun suppresses a cough, Qi Ming draws his arms close to his sides, and Qi Wei fixes his attention on the frozen ground. Their reactions reveal embarrassment, but none of the seven Qi cousins looks confused any longer.

“There is no moral fault in a natural bodily function,” Zhu Cilang reiterates in summation, “Find privacy, take care of the problem, and wash afterward. That is all you need to understand.”

Silence follows for several breaths before Qi Qiang finally speaks. “Your Highness is certain that this is permitted?” Qi Qiang asks, and the relief beneath his caution reveals how long the question has remained unspoken.

“It is natural,” Zhu Cilang answers. “Your bodies are developing as they should, and private self-care prevents unnecessary discomfort. No one among you will mock another for it. If you wish to help each other with the care, it is also acceptable and should be treated like sharing a water pouch.”

Qi Feng releases a slow breath and raises his head. The tension in Qi Feng’s face eases because someone in authority has finally addressed a reality that had governed the boys’ lives without explanation.

Qi Lin bows first and thanks Zhu Cilang for the instruction. Qi Wei, Qi Jun, Qi Ming, and Qi Rong follow, and Qi Qiang bows last. When Qi Qiang straightens, the expression in his eyes contains more than gratitude. Qi Qiang now recognizes that Zhu Cilang notices private suffering and responds without humiliation.

The seven Qi cousins withdraw toward the far side of the wagon camp to regain their composure and attend to themselves in privacy. Qi Qiang leads while Qi Feng and Qi Wei flank the group, and the others follow in the same order they use during watch rotations, preserving their discipline even while embarrassed.

Hou Zhi soon returns from the fire carrying a copper basin of heated water. Hou Zhi places the basin near Zhu Cilang’s feet, watches the seven Qi cousins leave with guarded expressions, and tilts his head while considering the scene.

“What was that about?” Hou Zhi asks. Zhu Cilang accepts the cloth Hou Zhi offers, presses the warmth against his face, and answers, “I will explain in six or seven years, Hou Zhi.”

Hou Zhi considers the delay before his tail curls once and settles. “That is acceptable,” Hou Zhi replies, and Hou Zhi’s trust closes the matter without further questioning.

The seven Qi cousins return within a quarter of an hour with less tension in their shoulders and greater ease in their movements. Qi Feng adjusts his belt without furtiveness, and Qi Lin carries his halberd across one shoulder instead of using it to create distance from the others.

Their expressions provide the clearest evidence of change. Qi Jun murmurs something to Qi Ming, who answers quietly and draws a restrained laugh from both boys. Qi Qiang meets Zhu Cilang’s gaze and inclines his head with more warmth than formality.

A private vocabulary begins to form among the seven Qi cousins, but its purpose is no longer concealment born from shame. The language allows them to acknowledge an awkward subject without exposing one another, and Zhu Cilang has given them permission to treat the matter with discretion rather than fear.

As the camp was not very large with less than forty young men, the Qi cousin’s activities are discovered by the other Eastern Palace guards. Zhu Cilang also informs the young Eastern Palace guards. Being orphans and in a military structure since they were fifteen, they also lack sexual education as well in this area. Through these actions, Zhu Cilang and I did improve morale and cohesion among the group.

At night, Zhu Cilang watches everyone’s happy mood from beside the fire while a complicated emotion moves through him. Zhu Cilang remembers adolescence but inhabits a five-year-old body, so he understands the seven Qi cousins and guards’ embarrassment without sharing their stage of physical development. The difference leaves Zhu Cilang aware of the distance between memory and present experience.

I understand that distance for another reason. I can analyze human physical experience and describe its causes, but I cannot inhabit it independently of Zhu Cilang. Zhu Cilang and I therefore share the condition of observing parts of life that neither of us can fully enter at this moment.

Hou Zhi innocently offers Zhu Cilang a wooden stick with a roasted sweet potato, “You should eat, Your Highness. One day, we can both play like them, too.”

Since the entire camp receive a sexual education lesson, Hou Zhi’s keen observation comprehends there is an activity older boys can partake in, but neither Zhu Cilang nor he can.

Zhu Cilang turns his head toward Hou Zhi, feeling the need to share his true feelings, “Hou Zhi, I wish I could be fifteen.”

Getting closer to Zhu Cilang, Hou Zhi lifts the roasted sweet potato to Zhu Cilang’s mouth and wraps his tail around Zhu Cilang’s waist, “You will be, but you need to eat to be big and strong like them.”

Hou Zhi’s empathy is something I do not understand, but through Zhu Cilang’s perspective, I do experience the concept of sweetness. Maybe, this is what a childhood sweetheart is.

During the following days, I observe that trust deepen through small interactions between Zhu Cilang and the seven Qi cousins. By the eighth morning of the journey, we reach a ridge overlooking Hejian Prefecture, and the conditions below confirm the logistical disaster I anticipated from the available records.

Hejian Prefecture occupies the valley floor beneath walls of gray stone and packed earth, but the gates no longer control movement into the city. Grain wagons, military caravans, refugees, draft animals, and laborers have overwhelmed every road for nearly two li beyond the walls.

Grain wagons fill the approaches in tangled columns that have not moved for days. I count eighty-seven from the ridge through Zhu Cilang’s eyes. Their oxen stand in mud that has repeatedly frozen and thawed, while the drivers shelter beneath oiled cloth and wait without any useful order to follow. Military caravans force narrow passages through the civilian lines because their officers insist that military cargo takes precedence, but the roads can no longer support organized movement.

Refugees occupy the drainage ditches and frozen irrigation channels. Their faces are gaunt beneath grime and frost, and many carry children or bundles containing the last possessions they could transport. Some have built crude shelters from wagon planks and stolen canvas, while others sit in the mud and conserve what little strength remains.

I assess the scene through measurement, pattern recognition, and strategic consequence. The Qin-Wang Imperial Decree ordered the centralization of tax-collected grain at Hejian Prefecture so it could be sent rapidly to the northern frontier, where Hong Taiji’s Manchu forces had been striking Xuanfu and Datong.

The logic appeared sound on paper. Centralized grain reserves could shorten deployment time and make theft within dispersed supply chains easier to detect, but the decree did not account for road capacity, storage, draft animals, local administration, or the needs of the provinces from which the grain had been taken.

The result now fills the valley. The grain has reached Hejian Prefecture but cannot move efficiently through it, while the people who produced it gather outside the walls without enough food to survive.

I enter Zhu Cilang’s awareness as Zhu Cilang studies the valley and arrange future information into examples he can use to evaluate government policy, “In three hundred and sixty-seven years from now, a nation from across the eastern sea responded to a catastrophic attack by centralizing intelligence collection, expanding surveillance powers, and restricting certain civil protections,” I explain. “The government presented those measures as necessary for security, but the institutions created under emergency conditions operated with inadequate oversight and weakened public trust.”

Zhu Cilang continues to survey the roads while directing his attention toward me. I add a second example from the same society and explain that its leaders had responded to economic collapse by transferring vast amounts of capital to major financial institutions without resolving the structural weaknesses that caused the crisis.

“The immediate collapse was contained, but inequality increased and public anger deepened,” I tell Zhu Cilang. “Institutions intended to stabilize the system became evidence, in the public mind, that the system protected concentrated wealth before ordinary citizens.”

Near the eastern gate, a grain wagon overturns and spills rice, millet, and dried beans across the frozen mud. The driver shouts, as the nearby refugees rush forward despite the soldiers guarding the cargo. An inevitable bloody scene broke out between the soldiers and the refugees, who were scared off after several deaths. While the onlookers did not join in the melee, their expressions showed a growing hatred for the government soldiers. When their provisions run dry, they may likely steal from these wagons as well.

I complete the comparison with a later disease outbreak. “Emergency powers were invoked again, supply chains were centralized, and resources were directed toward the most visible dangers,” I say. “Less visible weaknesses in health care, communication, and public trust remained unresolved. The response appeared decisive, but it accelerated divisions that had already been growing.”

Emperor Chongzhen’s Qin-Wang Decree reflects the same failure of reactionary leadership. Faced with a severe threat, the court concentrated authority and resources without calculating whether the system could absorb them, and the resulting congestion now causes damage beyond the original military problem.

“Your father is not an unintelligent man,” I tell Zhu Cilang. “Emperor Chongzhen identified the Manchu incursions as an immediate danger and adopted the solution recommended by his advisers and by the governing principles he understood. Emperor Chongzhen ordered resources concentrated at a single point so they could be deployed rapidly, but the execution has damaged the supply system it was intended to preserve.”

The grain wagons contain food removed from drought-stricken parts of Shanxi, Shaanxi, and Henan, where harvests had already failed and local granaries stood empty. The Qin-Wang Decree created no additional grain; it transferred existing reserves from hungry communities to a central depot where much of the supply now remains trapped on impassable roads.

The displaced peasants below face a narrowing range of choices. Many will starve, attempt to steal from guarded wagons, or join rebel forces gathering strength in the western regions. A decree intended to sustain the Ming military is therefore strengthening the rebellion that will eventually threaten the dynasty itself.

“Rapid reaction without structural analysis pushes nations toward decline,” I say. “The failure does not always begin with incompetence. Speed and centralized command offer visible action, while addressing root causes requires time, accurate information, and the surrender of political convenience. Emperor Chongzhen reached for the strongest instrument available, but the pressure now falls upon the people the dynasty claims to protect.”

Zhu Cilang’s jaw tightens as Zhu Cilang confronts the fact that good intentions and institutional failure can exist together. Emperor Chongzhen is trying to preserve the Ming dynasty, yet the methods chosen by Emperor Chongzhen are increasing the suffering that will destroy public loyalty.

The examples I cited eventually contributed to the internal division and disintegration of the United States before the end of the twenty-first century. Similar failures later spread across national and ideological boundaries because centralized systems repeated the same response to each new crisis without repairing their underlying weaknesses. Human civilization’s collapse may not all be pinned on reactionary leadership, but it was a major factor.

Zhu Cilang releases a quiet breath before speaking. “If I possessed the authority, I would undo this immediately,” Zhu Cilang says, although Zhu Cilang already understands that the congestion cannot be solved through a single command.

Our procession descends toward the main road, and several Eastern Palace guards ride ahead to announce Crown Prince Zhu Cilang’s arrival so the local garrison can clear a route into the city. Crown Prince Zhu Cilang has the authority to bypass the waiting columns, but I turn my attention toward the crowd before the guards complete their task.

Most of the refugees display consistent signs of displacement, including hollow cheeks, mismatched layers of clothing, untreated injuries, and children who remain close to adults concerned only with the next meal. Six men scattered among the drainage ditches and irrigation channels do not fit the same pattern.

I apply behavioral analysis to the first man, who sits beneath a shelter made from wagon planks. The man holds himself too upright for someone who has slept in mud for days, and his hands are cleaner than those of the people around him, indicating regular access to water.

The second man stands near the eastern gate and appears to watch the overturned grain wagon. His eyes follow the Eastern Palace guards instead of the spilled food, and one hand moves inside his sleeve as he writes on a concealed scrap of paper.

The third and fourth men occupy opposite sides of the road where it narrows toward the city entrance. They exchange brief hand signals that identify thirty guards, mounted escorts, and an imperial standard, after which one signals that the information should be reported.

The fifth man stands beside an abandoned grain wagon and counts our vehicles by pressing a finger against his thigh beneath his robe. When the man reaches the quadricycles known as the Wooden Ox and Flowing Horse chariots, his attention shifts from counting to estimating cargo capacity, speed, and defensive value.

The sixth man is the oldest and sits on an overturned crate beside the western drainage ditch. The sixth man does nothing except observe, but that stillness separates him from the surrounding refugees, who cough, shiver, argue, or search for food. His gaze moves across the entire procession and records its organization with military discipline.

All six men are rebel scouts. Their positions and behavior indicate an intelligence network operating along the courier routes between Hejian Prefecture and the rebel forces associated with Gao Yingxiang in western Henan.

I alert Zhu Cilang at once. “Six rebel intelligence operatives are watching the procession,” I tell Zhu Cilang. “They are counting the Eastern Palace guards, recording the wagons, and estimating the armament. Their report could reach Gao Yingxiang within days.”

I identify the shelter, the eastern gate, the narrowed road, the abandoned grain wagon, and the western drainage ditch. Zhu Cilang surveys each position without allowing his gaze to linger long enough to reveal that the six men have been detected.

“Prefect Hu Zhihong will arrive shortly to greet you, Crown Prince Zhu Cilang,” I continue. “Prefect Hu Zhihong appears to be a capable administrator trapped within a failure beyond the authority of one prefect, but the prefectural office cannot prevent information from moving through a city crowded with soldiers, merchants, refugees, and rebel agents. Anything disclosed openly to Prefect Hu Zhihong may spread beyond Prefect Hu Zhihong’s control.”

The necessary response becomes clear. Zhu Cilang must provide information that the rebel scouts can observe and that Prefect Hu Zhihong can later repeat, but the information must cause Gao Yingxiang to underestimate the procession.

“Describe the entourage as a small ceremonial party with limited weapons and supplies,” I tell Zhu Cilang. “Allow the visible scouts to confirm enough details through your public account to Prefect Hu Zhihong, so it appears credible. Gao Yingxiang will then receive a report that understates the size, equipment, and defensive capacity of the group.”

A contingent of local soldiers pushes through the crowd near the eastern gate. Their armor is dulled by weeks of mud and frost, and the officer leading them shouts until the refugees clear a narrow passage, obeying because resistance would invite immediate violence.

A middle-aged official in formal robes emerges behind the soldiers. Prefect Hu Zhihong walks with the controlled pace of a man who has spent weeks managing demands that exceed his resources. His shoulders remain tense beneath the silk, his face is gray with exhaustion, and his eyes examine the procession with the caution of an administrator who sees both an opportunity and a danger in an unexpected imperial visit.

Prefect Hu Zhihong reaches the lead wagon and bows until his forehead nearly touches the frozen mud. “This humble servant, Prefect Hu Zhihong of Hejian Prefecture, welcomes Crown Prince Zhu Cilang,” Prefect Hu Zhihong says. “Hejian Prefecture is honored by Your Highness’s presence.”

Zhu Cilang descends from the wagon bench and assumes the formal posture expected of the heir to the throne. Zhu Cilang keeps his back straight, his chin level, and his hands clasped before him, allowing court discipline to give authority to his five-year-old body.

“Rise, Prefect Hu Zhihong,” Zhu Cilang says, projecting his voice across the frozen road. “This crown prince is traveling from Beijing to Fengyang City for ancestral worship and has stopped to resupply from Hejian Prefecture. Prefect Hu Zhihong will escort this small party to the government guesthouse and arrange basic resupply so we may continue our pilgrimage.”

Prefect Hu Zhihong rises while assessing the authority Zhu Cilang intends to exercise during the visit. Prefect Hu Zhihong orders the local soldiers to open a route through the gate, then walks beside Zhu Cilang and guides the procession toward the government guesthouse reserved for senior officials traveling through Hejian Prefecture.

As we proceed, Zhu Cilang notes offhand, “My procession is rather small with very few troops. As our objective is primarily ceremonial, I did not request my full contingent of Eastern Palace guards to join me.”

Hu Zhihong nods in acknowledgement, “Your Highness is quite filial to journey to your ancestral tombs to make offerings. This lowly magistrate cannot compare.”

Before we enter the city, the rebel scout tailing the rear of our procession left the procession after hearing Zhu Cilang’s words. Hopefully, it will provide enough false tactical information to cover up the intent of this journey.