As a prisoner of war, George Washington was rather carefree, letting his mind wander aimlessly. Around him, however, the Oirat cavalry dared not relax in the slightest, for this man was worth tens of thousands of times more than his weight in gold and gemstones.

Chapter Eleven: Whose Stray Dog Is This?

As dusk approached, the main force slowly came to a halt. There was no military fortress, only rows upon rows of tents. Clusters of campfires burned within the encampment, making the land look as if it were dotted with stars.

Meanwhile, George Washington truly showed no awareness of being a captive, strolling leisurely near the tents with his hands behind his back. The Mongol interpreter Patrick Hill was skillfully tending a campfire. Above the flames, a crude wooden rack held an iron pot, the water inside already beginning to boil. Large chunks of mutton and bones in the pot were releasing a savory aroma.

The surrounding Oirat soldiers were also busy with their own fires, roasting or boiling food. Some even sang Mongolian folk tunes—melancholic and far-reaching melodies that, paired with the scene, might have made the seasoned traveler George Washington feel as if he had set foot on the vast grasslands, if not for the dozens of Oirat soldiers gripping their knife hilts and watching him with wary, unfriendly eyes.

As for Jason Cooper, he stood behind George Washington, vigilantly observing the Oirat soldiers around them, continuing to fulfill his duty as the imperial bodyguard of the Ming emperor. The mingled stench of animal dung and the aroma of roasting and boiling beef and mutton filled the camp, causing Jason Cooper, unaccustomed to the nomadic lifestyle, to frown slightly.

Seeing the change in Jason Cooper's expression, George Washington thought he had aggravated his wound and asked with concern. Upon learning that it was the strange smell making him uncomfortable, George Washington's expression grew a bit odd.

To be honest, for George Washington, who had long been used to the pungent mix of gutter oil and burnt barbecue wafting up every night from downstairs in his rented apartment, not to mention the omnipresent car exhaust, the smell of renovation materials during the day, and the sandstorms that could ruin one's appetite for days, this odor was really nothing. In fact, it even reminded George Washington of his childhood days at his second uncle's rural home. The unfamiliar yet familiar sense of warmth almost made George Washington forget he was in enemy territory.

Do I really lack any sense of Han national pride or awareness of friend versus foe? Gazing at the endless campfires, listening to the occasional foreign tunes and hearty laughter, and smelling the rich aroma of mutton soup that nearly made his mouth water, George Washington couldn't help but ask himself.

"Your Majesty, please don't wander too far." At this moment, Jason Cooper noticed George Washington absentmindedly strolling straight ahead, and seeing that all the Oirat soldiers' eyes were now fixed on George Washington, he quickly pulled the distracted emperor back.

"Oh, alright." Snapping back to reality, George Washington awkwardly rubbed his nose and gently advised Jason Cooper, "You really don't need to be so tense. You're still not fully recovered; you should be resting in the tent."

"Your Majesty, attending to the emperor is my duty and responsibility. Now that we are in enemy territory, I must be even more vigilant."

Seeing Jason Cooper's uncompromising expression, George Washington could only wave his hand helplessly and continue strolling outside the tent as a pre-dinner exercise. As a seasoned foodie, George Washington knew that mutton was the most filling, so it was best to get some activity before eating, and not to eat until completely full—seven or eight tenths at most—to leave room for the mutton to expand in the stomach. Also, both before and after meals, moderate exercise was necessary to avoid bloating.

See, this is a transmigrator with absolutely no sense of friend versus foe or awareness of being a captive emperor. If Jason Cooper could have known the absurd thoughts running through the mind of the emperor he was guarding, he might have coughed up three liters of blood on the spot and ended his own life with a piece of grass rope.

Fortunately, while waiting for dinner and bored out of his mind, the captive monarch finally remembered something important. "By the way, in the camp, about how many captives are there?"

"Probably four or five thousand. Those who were badly wounded were either left behind or..." Jason Cooper's voice grew somber. Hearing this, George Washington felt equally uncomfortable inside. "All of this is my fault..." Now that he had become the Ming Yingzong, he naturally had to shoulder the blame himself. But admitting it in front of others still felt a bit strange. Damn it, what is this—am I being loyal to myself?

"Your Majesty, please don't say that. The defeat at Tumu Fortress was truly the fault of Wang Zhen." Jason Cooper was afraid George Washington would take it too hard and quickly tried to comfort him.

Hearing this, the previously guilty George Washington found it quite reasonable and nodded repeatedly, looking ready to unite against a common enemy. That's right—if it weren't for that useless bastard messing things up, I might still be in the capital, enjoying the good life, indulging in all the pleasures of the Ming feudal society, fulfilling my duties as a transmigrator, and maybe even doing a bit of farming on the side.