The Oirat vanguard moved like an eel, weaving through the wilderness beyond Soul-Breaking Slope, trying to shake off the Ming cavalry's "pursuit." What they didn't realize was that this "chase" was a trap carefully orchestrated by Li Ming. When the Oirat cavalry rode into Falling Horse Ravine and were ambushed by Tongzhou crossbowmen on the surrounding cliffs, chaos erupted. Arrows rained down—not enough to decimate them, but sufficient to throw their formation into disarray.
"Damn it! It's an ambush!" roared an Oirat commander, attempting to rally a counterattack. But the narrow gorge hampered their cavalry's mobility, and the anti-cavalry barriers and tripwires rendered them trapped, neither able to advance nor retreat.
Then, a thundering wave of cavalry burst from the mountain trail along the flank—like a sharp blade stabbing into the Oirat rear. It was Zhang Fu, the commander of Xuanfu Garrison, leading the main force himself!
Zhang Fu's face was ashen. When he had received Li Ming's harsh order—"Hesitate again, and I shall report you to His Majesty for dereliction of duty"—he nearly cracked a molar in frustration. A veteran of countless campaigns, he prided himself on experience, yet now found himself tightly controlled by a sickly crown prince. The humiliation burned within him. But military orders were absolute—he dared not defy them.
Yet as his cavalry thundered into the battlefield and he saw the Oirat elite flailing helplessly in the bottlenecked ravine, his heart jolted. Li Ming's prediction was… flawless.
"Kill them all! Leave none alive!" Zhang Fu roared, drawing his saber with fury. His resentment was replaced by awe and a dawning respect.
The Oirat elite had no way out. Blocked in front by Ming forces, flanked by arrow fire from both sides, and now sealed from behind by Zhang Fu's troops, their famed mobility became useless in the narrow valley—they were trapped rats in a jar.
The air filled with the clash of steel and cries of death. In under half an hour, the entire Oirat vanguard was annihilated—not a single survivor. Corpses littered the ground, blood ran like a river, dyeing the ravine a ghastly crimson.
Victory dispatches flew back to the imperial headquarters like snowflakes.
When Zhu Gaochi received the news in the central command tent, he was so moved he teared up. The first great victory under the new emperor's reign! And it was swift, clean, and decisive—elite forces utterly destroyed.
"Good! Excellent!" he praised again and again, then turned toward the Crown Prince's tent with a look of pride and gratitude. This son… truly is the chosen one of Heaven.
Meanwhile, in Li Ming's command tent, he quietly listened as Wang Zhen gave his report.
"Your Highness, the battle at Falling Horse Ravine is a complete triumph! The Oirat elite cavalry has been wiped out! Commander Zhang Fu personally wrote a memorial praising your ingenious strategy—he says he's in awe!"
Wang Zhen was babbling in excitement. He had seen it all with his own eyes. His fear of Li Ming's "prophetic" powers had now evolved into blind worship.
A cold, mocking smile curled Li Ming's lips. In awe? More like scared stiff. What he sought was not admiration—but absolute obedience.
"Transmit my order," Li Ming said with crisp authority, his eyes gleaming with the calculated chill of a ruler. "Zhang Fu is to forgo any rest. Lead the Xuanfu forces immediately, light and fast, in a covert maneuver to the north—intercept the Oirat main force's supply lines!"
Wang Zhen's heart skipped a beat. Another mission? Already? After such a brutal battle, now this—cutting off the enemy's supplies in hostile territory was suicide! Worse, if the Oirats learned their rear had been severed, they'd go berserk and strike back with everything they had.
"Your Highness, isn't that… a bit too risky?" he asked cautiously.
Li Ming's gaze turned icy. Just a glance from him made Wang Zhen shiver.
"Risky?" Li Ming sneered. "War is the art of deception. Toghon's main force has been assaulting Datong for days with no result—their morale is fraying. Once the supply lines are severed, their ranks will collapse before a single blade is drawn. That is the apex of strategy: attack where the enemy must defend, strike at the root, not the branch!"
He offered no more explanation. He didn't need to. In his "Super Library," he had detailed data on the Oirat tribes' winter livestock numbers, summer pasture layouts, and long-distance logistics. Toghon's force could not afford a prolonged war.
"Also…" Li Ming's voice took on a sly, almost roguish tone, "Tell Zhang Fu: among the Oirat supply caravans are some top-grade warhorses and fat herds of sheep. If he succeeds in severing the supply route—I might consider… giving him half as spoils."
Wang Zhen's eyes widened. The Crown Prince, bargaining with warhorses and sheep? Bribing Zhang Fu with loot? It was… unheard of. But then he pictured the luscious mutton and prime horses—and felt a stir of greed himself.
"Yes, Your Highness! This servant will deliver the order at once!" Wang Zhen bowed and left in haste. He understood: this wasn't just a carrot—it was also a whip. If Zhang Fu succeeded, he'd gain real profit. If he failed… well, delaying critical orders in wartime was not a light offense.
Li Ming watched him go, a winner's smile curling on his lips.
Zhang Fu, old fox… You think you're cunning? Then I'll lure you with the simplest greed, and drive you with the harshest threat, until you make the "correct" choice.
He wanted more than battlefield wins—he wanted total control of the Ming army. Each blood-soaked victory would etch his name deeper into every soldier's heart.
Far to the north at Datong, Toghon was still commanding his troops in their grinding siege, unaware that his treasured supply line was now in danger—from a ghostlike force riding under moonlight, fangs bared.
And back in the capital's field headquarters, the young "Crown Prince Regent," bedridden yet sharp as steel, was using a vision beyond his era—and the ruthlessness of a master manipulator—to draw the entire Ming Empire, and eventually the world, into the palm of his hand.