In the winter of the 16th year of Chongzhen, the deadline is approaching.
Zhu Cixiang, the soul of later generations, became the last helmsman on this sinking ship. Without a system or a prophet, he faced only a lifeless city of Beijing, a father who had been crushed by seventeen years of government, and a letter of defeat that sealed the despair.
Li Zicheng's army has passed Tongguan. The Jian slaves outside the pass are preparing their troops.
The civil and military officials of the Manchu Dynasty were still debating whether to "move south" or "defend", and the money in the national treasury was not even enough to feed the soldiers in the Beijing camp. Everyone knew that Ming Dynasty was exhausted.
Until that snowy morning, the prince, who had always been gentle, held the tablet of Zhu Yuanzhang, the great emperor of Taizu, in both hands, and stepped on the cold jade steps of the Ancestral Temple, step by step.
In the wind and snow, his voice was calm, but it overshadowed the despair in the city:
"Please, Emperor Taizu Gao's magic sword!"
The sword light was like snow, reflecting his young but determined face.
"From today onwards, there will be no one in the ban who talks about moving south, making peace, or abandoning the land——"
The sword pointed down suddenly, drawing a cold arc in the horrified eyes of the officials.
"Cut him with this sword."
That day, everyone thought he was just a young man who was driven crazy in the name of Taizu Wei.
No one knew that the one who would step down from the Imperial Ancestral Temple would be the most difficult prince to mess with in the three hundred years of the Ming Dynasty.
