The Qing Eight Banners forces, after being subjected to repeated saturation bombardment from both aerial units and artillery, had already lost more than just formation. Their command structure had disintegrated into fragments, their chain of response severed, their morale collapsing not in a single dramatic moment, but in layers, like a structure eaten hollow from within.
What remained was not an army in the traditional sense, but a collection of scattered survivors clinging to instinct.
And then came the fatal contradiction.
Cold weapon warfare demanded formation. Discipline. Cohesion. A line that held, a shape that moved, a structure that turned individual strength into collective force. But in order to defend against iron war wagons, firearms, and artillery, they had dug.
They dug desperately.
They tore apart the ground, carving trenches, pits, makeshift shelters, anti-blast holes, turning the battlefield into a broken landscape of uneven terrain and fractured earth.
In doing so, they had erased the very foundation of their own combat doctrine.
No formation could stand on such ground.
No charge could maintain cohesion.
No command could propagate across a shattered surface.
They had, with their own hands, strangled the method that once made them formidable.
The balance shifted.
Not gradually. Not subtly. But decisively.
And once that balance tipped, the outcome was no longer in question.
---
The trench fighting did not last long.
What followed was not a battle of equals, but a process of elimination.
The remaining Qing soldiers were swept away in segments. Those who leapt out in desperation, trying to resist with raw courage, were cut down within moments. Those who hid inside their makeshift "bomb shelters," hoping to outlast the storm, found themselves facing a different inevitability.
A grenade tossed inside.
A dull, contained explosion.
Silence.
Resistance, in any form, had become meaningless.
---
When the battlefield finally fell quiet, it did so not with peace, but with exhaustion.
Smoke lingered. Dust settled in uneven layers. The air still carried the burnt scent of explosives and scorched earth.
Ming soldiers spread across Dalinghe City, moving through ruins and trenches, clearing the battlefield while simultaneously searching for one man.
Aji Ge.
"Damn it… can't find him. Not even a corpse."
"He probably ran when the fighting started."
"What a waste. Not taking down the enemy commander… it feels incomplete."
"Yeah. That bastard led raids before. Did god knows how many atrocities. I wanted to kill him myself."
Their voices were casual, almost conversational, but their hands did not stop working.
They flipped corpses one by one, examining armor, checking insignia.
Most of them did not know Aji Ge's face. But rank had its symbols. Equipment had hierarchy. A commander could be identified, if not by face, then by what he wore.
"Here's one in general armor!"
"That's just a thousand-man commander. Not Aji Ge."
"Still counts, right? That's some merit."
"Who knows? Blown apart by artillery. No way to claim individual credit. This goes into collective merit, hahaha…"
Laughter broke out.
It was not cruelty. It was fatigue mixed with relief, the kind of laughter that comes after surviving overwhelming force.
---
At that moment, Lu Xiangsheng and Gao Qiqian stepped onto the battlefield.
Lu Xiangsheng moved steadily. His tall frame and disciplined physique allowed him to navigate the uneven terrain with controlled ease. The craters and trenches slowed him, but did not disrupt him.
Gao Qiqian, on the other hand, struggled.
Every step was uncertain. He stumbled repeatedly, nearly falling more than once, his robes gathering dust as his balance betrayed him.
"What kind of damned place is this? A broken hellhole," he muttered, irritation leaking into his voice.
Lu Xiangsheng shot him a glance, voice cold.
"This is Dalinghe City. Territory of the Ming. Calling it a hellhole… is that appropriate?"
Gao Qiqian snorted.
"Just because it belongs to the Ming doesn't mean it isn't a hellhole. Everything outside the capital is a hellhole."
Lu Xiangsheng fell silent.
There was no point arguing.
Speaking with this eunuch did not produce understanding. It only raised blood pressure.
He turned away.
Distance, in this case, was wisdom.
---
Gao Qiqian wandered the battlefield with his entourage, two young eunuchs and several palace experts trailing behind him. From time to time, he would step on a corpse, curse, and move on, as if venting irritation onto the dead.
No one liked him.
The Gao Village militia kept their distance instinctively, creating a visible empty radius around him, as if he carried something contagious.
Gao Qiqian, however, did not mind.
In fact, he preferred it.
Isolation meant privacy.
And privacy, in war, often meant opportunity.
---
Then he stopped.
In front of a stone structure.
"Hmm?"
The building stood out. Solid. Reinforced. Its entrance partially buried under collapsed debris, stone and dirt sealing it shut.
"This doesn't look like an ordinary house," Gao Qiqian murmured.
A young eunuch leaned closer.
"Indeed. Not something common folk would build."
Gao Qiqian's eyes sharpened instantly.
"What kind of people build something like this?"
The answer came in a whisper.
"Rich people."
A slow grin spread across Gao Qiqian's face.
"Smart. This… must be a treasury."
Interest ignited immediately.
The surrounding eunuchs and palace guards closed in, their attention snapping into focus.
Gao Qiqian lowered his voice.
"Keep this quiet. If others find out, they'll split the loot. We take it ourselves. Afterwards, I'll make sure you get your share."
Excitement flickered across their faces.
"Understood!"
"Good."
He straightened, tone returning to casual indifference.
"Not now. We wait. I'll arrange it."
They dispersed instantly, pretending disinterest, but their eyes betrayed them, lingering on the stone structure.
---
The battlefield cleanup continued.
Bodies were stripped of usable equipment, armor removed, weapons collected. The dead, now reduced to logistics, were transported outside the city for mass burial.
War consumed not only lives, but resources.
Everything was processed.
Everything was reused.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the work was finally complete.
Fatigue settled over the troops.
It was time to rest.
---
Gao Qiqian approached Cao Wenzhao.
"Everyone's settling down. Camps need to be assigned. I prefer to stay inside the city walls."
Cao Wenzhao glanced at him, assuming mere arrogance.
"Fine. Stay inside. Makes no difference to us."
The Gao Village militia carried advanced field gear. Comfortable tents. Feather-filled sleeping bags. Their operational flexibility rendered such distinctions meaningless.
City or field, it was all the same.
But for Gao Qiqian, it was everything.
His lips curled slightly.
"I'll take that section," he said, casually pointing.
"And my sleep is light. Tell your men not to disturb me."
Cao Wenzhao rolled his eyes.
"My men follow discipline. No one wanders at night, and no one trespasses into another unit's camp."
"Good."
The trap was set.
---
By nightfall, Gao Qiqian's personal camp was established directly beside the stone building.
Tents were arranged deliberately, blocking the entrance.
Cloth screens were erected.
Layers of soldiers were stationed outward, forming a perimeter.
The outer ring consisted of regular capital troops, unaware of the truth. They were ordered strictly to keep their distance at night, no matter what they heard.
A perfect isolation zone.
---
Night deepened.
Third watch.
The city fell into darkness.
Patrols moved only at the edges. Inside, each unit remained within its own controlled space.
Gao Qiqian stepped outside his tent, scanning the surroundings.
Satisfied, he let out a low chuckle.
"Time to begin."
His selected group gathered immediately.
Two eunuchs.
Six palace experts.
And himself.
Nine people.
No more.
Profit divided among too many became meaningless.
Nine was acceptable.
Barely.
He glanced at the sealed entrance, calculating.
If not for the need to break it open, he would not have shared even this much.
But labor had its price.
He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper.
"Start digging. Quietly. Not a sound."