Shengjing.
The news of Dorgon's death tore through the palace like a blade carried by the wind, reaching the inner court far faster than any official report could ever manage.
Hong Taiji listened without interrupting. His face darkened as the final words were spoken, and when the messenger withdrew, he let out a long, controlled breath that carried more calculation than grief.
The situation had shifted.
He was not a mediocre ruler who reacted blindly to battlefield losses. He was a strategist who saw patterns where others saw chaos, and right now the pattern in front of him was tightening like a noose.
If Zhu Youjian were to analyze this situation, he might still hesitate or misjudge the direction. Hong Taiji did not have that luxury, nor did he make those mistakes.
He remained silent for a long time, brows furrowed, mind moving rapidly through layers of military pressure, supply constraints, and future capability.
Finally, he spoke.
"From today onward, we shift to strategic contraction and defense. All offensive campaigns are suspended. We hold our territory and stabilize our lines."
He paused, then turned slightly.
"Fan Wencheng."
Fan Wencheng stepped forward immediately, bowing. "Your Majesty."
Hong Taiji's gaze sharpened.
"Send people to establish private contact with the Ming court. We will pursue negotiations. Stall for time until our iron war machines are completed."
There was no hesitation in his tone, and more importantly, no shame.
In the Ming court, officials obsessed over appearances, disguising negotiations as 'pacification' to preserve face. Hong Taiji had no such weakness. He called it exactly what it was, a delay tactic.
Fan Wencheng nodded with full understanding.
"The Ming court has many who favor peace. Among them, the grand eunuch Gao Qiqian is a particularly useful entry point. I will arrange contact through him."
Hong Taiji gave a short acknowledgment.
"Do it."
Fan Wencheng withdrew.
The hall returned to silence as Hong Taiji looked out the window, eyes fixed on the distant sky, his thoughts still moving.
Then, suddenly, his expression shifted.
"…Damn it."
He frowned slightly.
"I forgot to assign a codename to the operation."
For a brief moment, the tension of war strategy collided with something absurdly trivial, and then the moment passed.
---
Near the imperial estates of Shuntian Prefecture, a small fertilizer plant was running at full capacity.
Not far from it, a newly constructed steam engine workshop had begun operations, its structure still smelling of fresh timber and hot iron.
Inside, a group of blue-hatted technicians from Gao Family Village were guiding newly recruited craftsmen through the basics of industrial work.
"This section needs to be monitored carefully. The technical parameters here are critical, so do not make adjustments casually."
One of the craftsmen scratched his head awkwardly.
"I cannot read."
The technician did not show even a hint of frustration.
"That is not a problem. We use Arabic numerals to simplify measurement. Look here, this is one, this is two, and this is three."
He demonstrated patiently, guiding the man step by step while others gathered around, watching and learning.
The atmosphere was active, almost lively, filled with the sound of instruction, confusion, and gradual understanding.
Then the main gate burst open.
An official stormed in, voice loud and sharp.
"Hey! What is going on here? How dare your factory poach government craftsmen like this?"
Everyone turned at once.
The Prefect of Shuntian had arrived.
Although technically just a prefect, his authority in the capital was immense. He could argue face to face with provincial governors without losing ground, and very few people dared to provoke him.
Liang Shixian, serving as the deputy prefect, was naturally a rank below him.
Seeing his superior, Liang Shixian stepped forward with a polite smile.
"Prefect, we are not poaching anyone. We simply posted recruitment notices. The craftsmen came here of their own accord."
The prefect's expression darkened.
"Your notices are the problem. The wages you offer are absurdly high. Are you hiring blacksmiths or raising fathers? My government workshops have been emptied. Every rotating craftsman paid their exemption fee and ran off, and now the master artisans come to me daily complaining that they cannot complete their assigned tasks."
Liang Shixian maintained his composure.
"Rotational craftsmen have always been allowed to pay the fee and leave. That is established policy. Surely this does not violate any rules, so there is no need to direct your frustration at me."
The prefect snorted.
"That would be tolerable if it were only rotational workers. Even the registered resident craftsmen are fleeing. They abandon their household registration and become unregistered drifters. Do you think I cannot see what is happening? I suspect your factory is hiding a large number of illegal craftsmen."
The moment those words landed, several workers nearby went pale.
They were exactly that.
Runaway craftsmen who had abandoned their status for higher wages, hiding inside the factory, working day and night without stepping outside.
They had believed that with Liang Shixian backing the operation, no officials would dare investigate.
They had not expected the prefect himself to come.
If caught, they would not simply be fined. They would be sent into military servitude.
Fear spread through them instantly.
The prefect's eyes swept across the room, sharp and practiced, picking out nervous faces with ease.
He pointed.
"You, you, and you. And you as well. You are unregistered, are you not?"
The accused craftsmen immediately ducked their heads, some even crouching behind tables as if that might make them invisible.
The prefect let out a cold laugh and prepared to order their arrest.
At that exact moment, the door to the reception room opened.
A man stepped out casually.
The prefect turned to look, and his expression froze.
It was the Grand Secretary, He Fengsheng.
"…Ah?"
He Fengsheng smiled lightly, as if he had just wandered into the situation by accident.
"What is all this commotion? This factory belongs to me."
That single sentence hit harder than any official decree.
The prefect was instantly stuck between authority and reality.
The factory had been funded by Liang Shixian, but on paper it was registered under He Fengsheng's name. In the capital, that distinction meant everything.
Without a powerful patron, a small official could be crushed at any moment. With one, even a questionable enterprise became untouchable.
And He Fengsheng, despite his reputation for avoiding trouble, was still the Grand Secretary.
That title alone carried weight that the prefect could not casually challenge.
Seeing the situation stabilize, He Fengsheng gestured calmly.
"Come, come, let us have some tea."
The prefect had no real choice. He followed inside and sat down.
Tea was poured, a fragrant Bi Luo Chun steaming gently between them.
Only after a sip did He Fengsheng speak again, his tone unhurried.
"You know me. I have no interest in stirring trouble. This small factory is nothing more than a way to earn a little silver."
The prefect remained silent, watching carefully.
He Fengsheng continued.
"Every coin this factory earns includes a tax. I assume you do not understand what a value-added tax is, so let me simplify it. For every product sold, a portion goes directly to the national treasury."
The prefect inhaled sharply.
"To the treasury?"
He Fengsheng nodded.
"Yes. To the treasury. This factory is earning money for the Emperor."
The implication landed instantly.
Offending He Fengsheng might be manageable. Offending the flow of money into the treasury was not.
That meant provoking the Ministry of Revenue, and beyond that, provoking the Emperor himself.
The Emperor was known for being ruthless in matters of finance. Even trusted officials could be dismissed, punished, and exiled without hesitation.
The prefect's attitude shifted almost immediately.
"I see. In that case, there is no issue. These craftsmen are serving the state regardless of where they work. We can consider them transferred from the government workshops. There is no need to call them runaways."
Outside the room, the craftsmen who had been listening secretly let out a collective breath, relief washing over them as the system bent just enough to let them survive.