MLMD -Chapter 217 My General Is Coming

Upon hearing the woman’s words, a man named Batel immediately blushed, stammering a few words but unable to form a proper sentence. Though her words were harsh, they were the truth. The Chahar tribe now lacked both soldiers’ resolve and will to fight; let alone facing the Later Jin in battle, even the mere arrival of the Later Jin army would likely send them scattering. The Mongols of this era were long past the bravery and strength of Genghis Khan’s time.

Seeing Batel fall silent, the middle-aged noblewoman snorted and said to Namuzhong, “Sister, since the Great Khan passed away, you have become the head of the Chahar tribe. For the sake of our people’s survival, you must make a decision soon. Otherwise, when the Later Jin army arrives, even if we want to surrender, they may not accept us.”

Namuzhong sighed softly, slowly leaning her tired body against the tiger-skin mat, closing her eyes without replying. Everyone below watched her intently, their faces etched with anxiety. The situation was extremely urgent; if no decision was made soon, it might be too late when the Later Jin forces arrived.

After a long moment, Namuzhong opened her beautiful phoenix-like eyes and said slowly, “If we are to submit to the Later Jin, how can we ensure that our wealth and herds suffer minimal loss?”

At her words, many breathed a sigh of relief. They knew that once the de facto ruler of the Chahar tribe gave her consent, the next steps would be much easier.

Soon, another middle-aged noblewoman spoke up, “Sister Namuzhong, isn’t it obvious? If we wish to preserve our lives and our wealth, there is only one way: we must submit to the Jurchens and…”

Before she could finish, a commotion outside the main tent erupted, accompanied by the clatter of hooves.

The interrupted noblewoman’s face flushed with anger. She shouted, “Who is making noise outside? Don’t you know the leaders are in discussion?”

No sooner had she spoken than the tent flap was suddenly pushed aside. A rider rushed in, hurriedly approaching the group before kneeling halfway and gasping, “Madam Dorji Dafu, esteemed madams and nobles—trouble! Our warriors just spotted Ming cavalry to the south. These Ming riders, upon seeing us, requested to meet Madam Dorji Dafu to report something to you!”

“What? Ming cavalry?”

“That’s impossible! Ming cavalry haven’t been here for who knows how many years!”

“By the heavens, what is going on?”

For a moment, it felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured into the tent, and chaos broke out instantly.

Namuzhong’s tired expression hardened into seriousness. Her delicate face stiffened as she demanded, “Are you telling the truth?”

The rider looked pale and solemn. “Madam Dorji Dafu, I would need the courage of a leopard to lie to you. Besides, those Ming cavalry are right outside. How could we possibly deceive you?”

“Ming cavalry… Ming cavalry…”

For a brief instant, confusion flickered across Namuzhong’s lovely face before resolute determination settled in. She said sternly, “Send for those Ming cavalry—bring them in!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The rider obeyed, leaving the tent in stunned silence. The noblewoman who had spoken earlier muttered, “Sister Namuzhong, at a time like this, the sudden appearance of Ming cavalry may not be good news!”

“Not necessarily,” another noblewoman interjected. “Perhaps this is fortunate. Those Jurchens have been demanding our surrender, right? Now that the Ming have appeared, I wonder how they will respond.”

As they spoke, three people entered the tent. Two were Mongol bodyguards, and the front figure was a young man of about twenty, clad in finely made gray light armor, wearing an eight-petal iron helmet, and cavalry boots with spurs. He looked both spirited and formidable.

The young rider scanned the tent, stepped forward briskly, and clasped his fists as he called out loudly, “Greetings, esteemed Mongol nobles! I am Ye Bushou of the Northern Shanxi route of the Ming, under the command of General Yue Yang. May I ask, who here is Madam Dorji Dafu?”

Namuzhong straightened in her seat and replied gravely, “I am Madam Dorji Dafu. Young man, why have you come?”

Ye Bushou bowed calmly toward Namuzhong. “So that Madam Dorji Dafu may know: my general has learned that since Khan Lindan’s passing, the Jurchen-Tartars have been coveting your tribe. Now they have dispatched forces under Yuetu, Dorgon, and Haoge to attack. Out of regard for the historical friendship between the Ming and the Chahar tribe, and unwilling to see Khan Lindan’s life work destroyed, my general has led troops to come to your aid. This is a formal notification, and we ask that Madam Dorji Dafu prepare to welcome our army tomorrow.”

“Crash…”

Ye Bushou’s announcement hit the tent like a bomb, leaving everyone dumbfounded.

“That’s impossible!” a sharp voice cried. “Ming forces haven’t left their borders for decades. How could they come to help us against the Jurchens? You’re lying!”

“Yes, you’re lying! The Ming are struggling to even defend themselves—how could they send troops here? You must be a fraud!”

Several noblewomen leapt forward, pointing and shouting at Ye Bushou in panic.

Ye Bushou sneered at their panic. “You are far too naive. Could such a matter be fabricated? My general leads the army on the road even now. They will arrive tomorrow. Could this be a lie?”

At his words, silence fell over the tent. Indeed, could such a thing be false? The army would arrive tomorrow—how could one deceive about that?

Namuzhong spoke: “How many troops has your general brought?”

“A total of nine thousand soldiers,” Ye Bushou said calmly.

“Nine thousand?” The crowd exchanged glances, many showing surprise and delight. Even by sheer numbers, nine thousand was considerable; combined with the Chahar tribe’s forces, they could already match the Later Jin army.

Only Batel frowned, asking, “Of the nine thousand, how many are combat troops? How many cavalry? How many infantry?”

Ye Bushou’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Don’t you know such details are military secrets? How can you inquire so casually?”

Batel sneered. “If you don’t tell us, how can we know whether you have the strength to resist the Jurchens? If your forces collapse at the first clash, nine thousand is useless—even ninety thousand would be wasted!”

Ye Bushou looked at Batel with surprise, thinking: This Mongol isn’t stupid; he knows to probe the true strength of my army.

After a moment’s thought, Ye Bushou replied, “Rest assured. We are not fools. If we were unsure, we wouldn’t risk coming here to die. Perhaps you don’t know my general’s record: last year, the forces of the Plain Red Banner under Yuetu suffered great losses at the hands of my general, losing thousands of soldiers. My general’s reputation is such that even Huang Taiji would respect him.” Pride shone on Ye Bushou’s face.

“What? That’s true?”

The crowd was astonished—they had never heard of this before. But on reflection, it made sense; defeats are not something the Jurchens would publicize.

The group hesitated, then all eyes turned to Namuzhong. Finally, she said, “Very well. Since the Ming army has come to assist us, we will wait until tomorrow. Go back and report to your general: tomorrow, I, Namuzhong, will lead tens of thousands of the Chahar tribe to welcome his arrival!”

“Understood. I take my leave, then.”

With that, Ye Bushou left the tent.