Moreover, Matthew Young had already dispatched a fast rider earlier to the Emperor’s main camp to report the news, urging His Majesty to quickly move to Huailai. After all, although Huailai had few troops, they were all elite, and Huailai itself was a major stronghold of the Ming, with high walls and thick ramparts. If they defended it to the death, not to mention a few days, even half a month could be held. By then, troops from all over would surely come to the Emperor’s aid, and His Majesty’s safety would be secured.

However, a full hour had passed since the last messenger was sent, and still there was no reply. Matthew Young’s heart grew colder and colder. “Heavens, have mercy, protect our Ming Emperor.”

Matthew Young was a clansman of Empress Young, the grandnephew of the Emperor’s maternal grandfather Daniel Young, just past thirty years old. He was both skilled in military strategy and valor, deeply loved by Daniel Young, and favored by Empress Young. Thus, at the age of thirty, he became the commander defending Huailai.

By blood, the Emperor was his cousin. Matthew Young had opposed the Emperor’s rash campaign to the north against the Oirat, not only submitting a memorial but also writing a private letter to his granduncle Daniel Young. Yet the Emperor insisted on his course...

With a heavy heart, Matthew Young stood atop the east gate tower, his mind in turmoil, when suddenly he heard the thunder of hooves shaking the ground. His brows shot up as he turned around. Soon, he saw his trusted subordinate, whom he had assigned to guard the north gate, rushing up the tower with a look of panic. Matthew Young’s heart tightened.

The north gate commander leaned in and whispered in Matthew Young’s ear. Matthew Young’s face instantly turned as pale as frost, and he asked in a trembling voice, “What did you say?!”

The trusted subordinate glanced around, then lowered his voice even further: “General, this man claims to carry a blood edict from the Emperor. Fearing any mishap, I had him locked up first. He’s being held in an empty house inside the north gate. Please, General…”

Matthew Young took a deep breath and glanced around—only his most trusted guards were present, so he had no fear of the news leaking. With a grim face, he nodded, “All of you, defend the city with all your might. Do not let the Oirat barbarians sneak in. If anyone dares to slack off, they will be executed on the spot!”

Seeing the guards respond with solemn obedience, Matthew Young finally led his personal guards quickly down from the city wall, mounted his horse, and galloped toward the north gate.

A dim oil lamp flickered in the room. The tall and burly Stephen Grant was tied up on the bed. When the door was pushed open, Stephen Grant struggled to sit up. With the effort, the scabbed wounds on his body began to bleed again, but Stephen Grant paid no heed. His tiger eyes glared angrily, fixed on the grim-faced Matthew Young who had just entered.

“Stephen Grant?! It’s you?” Matthew Young could hardly believe that the man he saw upon opening the door was indeed the Emperor’s trusted bodyguard. His already anxious heart instantly felt as if it had fallen into an icy abyss. “Where is His Majesty? Damn it, where is His Majesty?!” Matthew Young rushed forward, grabbed the rope binding Stephen Grant, and suppressed his voice in a furious growl.

“His Majesty was captured by the Oirat barbarians.” Tears welled up in Stephen Grant’s tiger eyes as he choked out the words.

Hearing this with his own ears, Matthew Young nearly collapsed. Fortunately, the trusted subordinate who guarded the north gate had already entered the room and quickly reached out to support him.

“What exactly happened? If you lie to me, I’ll have your head!” Matthew Young shoved aside his trusted man, his eyes bloodshot, like a wild beast driven mad. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword at his waist, half the cold blade already drawn, chilling to the bone.

George Washington sat upright on a Mongolian covered wagon, the most common means of transport for Mongol migrations. However, he was not inside the wagon, but sitting beside the driver, ignoring the curious and wary stares of the surrounding Oirat soldiers, gazing off into the distance.

“Your Majesty, the sun is too harsh. Please go inside.” The driver of the wagon was covered in dust, with some parts of his clothing stained with the now-blackened blood of the Ming’s Jinyiwei uniform. He was in his early forties, with large, rough, calloused hands and a face tanned red-black, exuding an honest air—he looked every bit the simple Ming commoner. If not for the sharp glint in his eyes and his lean, tough build, no one would have guessed he was a highly skilled elite, once assigned as the Emperor’s bodyguard.

Chapter 10: I’ll Take the Blame for History

His surname was Cooper, given name Jason. He was a Jinyiwei bodyguard who had been wounded and captured in the Battle of Tumu Fortress. James Cooper had pulled him out of the POW camp to serve George Washington, the captured Ming Emperor.

Besides him, there was also the interpreter Patrick Hill. Interpreter Patrick Hill was a Mongol, who had lived in Han lands with his father since childhood. His father had served as an interpreter, and he inherited the position. A few years ago, he was detained while on a mission to the Oirat, and now he was assigned to serve George Washington.

At this moment, Patrick Hill, dressed in Mongolian robes, was walking slowly beside the wagon. Patrick Hill had the typical round face and narrow eyes of a Mongol, with a full beard, looking quite imposing and robust. Yet no one would have guessed that this rough-looking Mongol man was actually a scholar who had passed the county-level imperial exam.