In the seventh year of Chongzhen, the Manchus split their forces into four columns, sweeping south like steel floodwaters into Xuanfu and Datong Prefectures.
They did not rush to siege cities.
They did not seek strategic strongpoints.
They did only one thing.
They plundered.
Villages.
Forts.
Hamlets.
Anywhere where people lived—but walls were thin.
"They aren't attacking cities," the officials quickly concluded.
That single realization decided the fate of countless commoners.
The Chongzhen Emperor, Zhu Youjian, issued a harsh decree:
Any official who loses a city shall be executed.
With that sword hanging over their necks, every local official reached the same conclusion.
As long as the city doesn't fall, my head stays attached.
So they stayed behind their walls.
They did not send troops out.
They did not rescue villages.
They did not reinforce one another.
The Manchus weren't attacking cities anyway.
As for the common people outside the walls?
They could pray to Heaven.
The Manchus, of course, noticed.
"Oh?"
"They won't come out?"
"All the cities are isolated?"
Then—
Why not try attacking cities too?
Thus, the plunder escalated.
The first city they assaulted was Lingqiu.
The county magistrate, Jiang Bingcai, raised troops and defended the city to the death.
The garrison commander Shi Qi died.
Officer Chen Yanwu died.
Officer Ma Ruzhi died.
Judicial officer Zhang Biao died.
Instructor Lu Dengfu died.
When Lingqiu finally fell, Magistrate Jiang Bingcai hanged himself.
His entire family followed him in death.
No one survived.
Next—
Daizhou.
On Daizhou's city walls stood Sun Chuanting, clad in armor, his fists clenched so tightly that blood seeped between his fingers.
Below the walls—
Smoke.
Screams.
Chaos.
He wanted to charge out.
He wanted to fight.
But reason chained him in place.
With what?
He had only his household guards.
Without court orders.
Without reinforcements.
Charging out would be nothing more than throwing eggs at a mountain.
All he could do—
Was assist the Prefect of Daizhou in holding the city.
Then suddenly—
A roar erupted outside the walls.
A sea of refugees surged toward Daizhou.
Young men ran at the front, faces pale, legs pumping desperately.
Far behind them—
The elderly.
Women.
Children.
Their steps were slow.
Their breaths ragged.
Behind them—
The thunder of hooves.
Manchu cavalry.
"Open the gates!" Sun Chuanting roared.
"Let the people in—now!"
The Prefect of Daizhou hesitated.
Only for a moment.
"Open the gates!"
The gates swung wide.
The fastest young men poured inside.
But the elderly… the women… the children…
They were too slow.
The cavalry arrived too fast.
Over a thousand were intercepted outside the walls.
The Prefect's face hardened.
"Close the gates!"
Sun Chuanting turned on him in disbelief.
"Don't close them!" he shouted.
"Open the gates again! We must charge out, repel them, and save those people!"
This time—
The Prefect ignored him.
"Close them."
The guards strained at the capstan.
CLANG!
The gates slammed shut.
Outside—
Wails tore into the sky.
Inside—
Those who had made it in time scrambled onto the walls, collapsing as they watched their families trapped outside.
The Ming soldiers did not dare fire arrows.
One arrow might provoke an assault.
So they stood there.
Watching.
The Manchu cavalry laughed.
With casual swings of their blades—
They slaughtered every elderly person.
Women and children were spared.
Not out of mercy.
But because they were useful.
Productive.
They were driven north like livestock.
The elderly?
Useless.
Not even worth enslaving.
Sun Chuanting's eyes turned blood-red.
With a hoarse roar, he lunged toward the gate mechanism.
His household guards rushed forward, restraining him.
"Master, no!"
"We can't fight them!"
"We don't have the strength!"
Sun Chuanting screamed:
"Where is Zhang Zongheng, the Grand Commander of the Xuan–Da Command?!
Why hasn't he come to rescue Daizhou?!"
A guard replied bitterly:
"The Manchus split into four columns, Master. Zhang Zongheng can barely hold off one."
Sun Chuanting collapsed against the wall.
Tears streamed down his face.
He raised his head to the sky and cried out:
"Someone… anyone… please… save the common people!"
"Report! The Manchus are plundering Chunxian!"
Taiyuan, provincial capital of Shanxi.
Governor Dai Jun'en sat in the main hall, his face dark and drawn.
A household guard reported:
"The Manchus seized over a thousand women and children in Chunxian. When they passed Daizhou, the captives recognized their families on the walls and cried out. The city guards did nothing. After the Manchus left, Chunxian officials emerged and reported to the court that they had 'gloriously recaptured' the city."
Dai Jun'en sneered.
"'Gloriously recaptured'?"
"How glorious."
The guard asked quietly, "Master… what should we do?"
Dai Jun'en shook his head.
"What can we do?"
"Xuanfu and Datong belong to the Xuan–Da Command. If I intervene, it's overstepping authority."
He sighed deeply.
"And the troops I command?"
"They're useless."
"Sending them would only get them killed."
Just then—
Another guard rushed in.
"Master! A letter from Xing Honglang, Commissioner of Military Preparations of Hedong Circuit!"
"Oh?" Dai Jun'en said. "Read it."
The guard reported:
"The gentry of Hedong Circuit, outraged by the Manchu rampage, have spontaneously organized militias and armed volunteers. They've prepared weapons and provisions and are heading north as reinforcements. They will pass Taiyuan in a few days."
Dai Jun'en froze.
Then let out a soft laugh.
"Militias and armed volunteers…"
He remembered his visit to Hedong Circuit.
Remembered Xing Honglang.
A 'pacified bandit.'
A woman who truly cared for the people.
Militias?
No.
That was her army.
Disguised.
"Well played," Dai Jun'en murmured.
"If that's the case… I absolutely must not interfere."
He issued an order:
"All checkpoints in Taiyuan Prefecture are to grant passage."
The message spread.
And just like that—
The government troops saw nothing.
Heard nothing.
Knew nothing.
The Gao Family Village Militia passed Taiyuan unimpeded.
Days later—
Dai Jun'en stood atop Taiyuan's city walls, watching.
Below—
A vast force marched past.
Armor gleaming.
Formation disciplined.
Equipment pristine.
A guard whispered nervously:
"Master… they're at least ten thousand strong. If Xing Honglang rebelled…"
Dai Jun'en snapped:
"Don't say it."
"Don't think it."
"We saw nothing."
"We know nothing."
As the army disappeared northward—
Only one question lingered in the air:
If officials would not save the people…
Who would?