When disaster strikes, everyone flees for their lives. This is not an exaggeration to describe the remnants of the Jianlu.
When they retreated to the far north, they had a good idea, training themselves in the bitter cold environment and regaining the bravery of the Jurchens.
Naturally, under the circumstances at the time, this was the best option. Otherwise, they would have been wiped out by the Ming army a few years ago.
But Daishan, Dorgon and others never imagined that the intensification of the Little Ice Age disaster would completely shatter their dreams.
The increasingly cold weather and the drastically shortened planting season have made the original lifestyle of combining farming, fishing and hunting almost impossible.
Traditionally, a total crop failure or even a poor harvest was considered a good thing, as even the seeds were often lost. After a few years, the food they had brought with them had already been consumed.
Relying on fishing and hunting to support a small number of people is fine, just like the Oroqen, Hezhe, etc. But the remnants of the Jianlu are already in the hundreds of thousands, and survival is extremely difficult. How can they talk about sleeping on straw and tasting gall, and making a comeback?
From concentration to dispersion, and then to gradually dispersal to a wider area, this is the inevitable survival model. It is also the same method adopted by ethnic groups that cannot farm.
Planting ten acres of land can feed a family; fishing and hunting in a large area can barely provide enough food and clothing for a family, and it also depends on luck.
Living in towns and cities is no longer possible because the population is too concentrated to be supported; the scattered small tribal model has become the only option that can be adopted.
In other words, the remnants of the Jianlu had dispersed to the former Heilongjiang Province and the vast area in northern Heilongjiang within a few years.
Faced with the relentless advance of the Ming army, even if they wanted to concentrate their forces to resist, it would be difficult to do so. Dorgon, who inherited the Khanate throne, could only muster 3,000 to 5,000 men.
The spring sunshine, although warm and cold, still brought some vitality to the struggling remnants of the Jianlu.
The mountains were blocked by heavy snow and it was difficult to get food and clothing. The arrival of spring meant that they had survived another winter and their hope of survival grew.
Fan Wencheng, leaning on a wooden stick and wrapped in animal skins, limped out of the cellar. The sun shone on him, and he squinted his eyes and looked up at the clear sky.
After another tough winter, spring finally arrived. Fan Wencheng scratched his hair, which was as tangled as a grass nest, turned around and shouted to the cellar, "Old Ma, come out and bask in the sun!"
Not long after, Ma Guozhu, looking like a beggar, came out. He looked around and sat down on a wooden block by the wall, basking lazily in the sun, his collar turned up to catch nits.
The two traitors shared a common grievance. The Jianlu couldn't even take care of their own people, so how could they care about their lives? In this harsh living environment, their knowledge was useless.
If they could grow food or hunt more game, perhaps they would look upon them with a higher regard. Their dependence, like that of a beggar, had already annoyed the Jianlu.
After Daishan's death, the traitors' life became even more difficult. They had no choice but to scatter and seek their own livelihood.
Fan Wen's companion was in good physical condition and could go hunting in the mountains and fishing in the river with others. However, during a fight over prey, his leg was broken and he had to live a miserable life on his own.
My wife ran away a long time ago, and I don’t know who she went with. As long as someone has a stutter, I don’t care whether he is ugly or handsome, or whether he is educated or not.
Ma Guozhu was also in a miserable state, but fortunately he knew some medicinal herbs and could barely treat headaches and fevers for people, and he survived half-hungry.
These two traitors, when they were together, were always companions. If the strong and healthy didn't want them, they could only look after each other, living day by day.
"Old Fan, don't bother looking." Ma Guozhu said impatiently as he saw Fan Wencheng limping off into the woods, "Without bait and traps, what can you catch?"
Fan Wencheng stopped, shook his head, walked back with a wry smile, and sat down next to Ma Guozhu.
"Let's wait until the sun rises higher and dig up some wild vegetables!" Ma Guozhu crushed the nits with his fingernails, sighed, and said, "I heard the Ming army has crossed the Songhua River?"
Fan Wencheng nodded and said, "That happened last year. The Ming army crossed the Songhua River but did not advance further. They established a few strongholds."
Ma Guozhu frowned and said, "Where can we get enough money and food to support the army's continued northward advance? How did the Nurgan Dusi give up? Isn't it more difficult now than it was then?"
What is more difficult is the environment. The climate is colder, and planting is more difficult. Food cannot be obtained locally, so it can only be transported from behind.
What's more, the Ming army was not a small force, and even the Jianlu did not dare to touch it easily, and could only conduct reconnaissance from a distance.
"The Emperor of the Ming Dynasty is determined to wipe out the people and leave no survivors." Fan Wencheng wanted to stroke his beard, but it was all over his face, making him look like a savage.
After a pause, Fan Wencheng continued, "This emperor is truly remarkable. He managed to eliminate accumulated problems and build a strong army in just a few years. Furthermore, he saw through the Jin Empire's weaknesses at a glance. Simply by blockading and cutting off supplies, he forced the Jin Empire to launch an offensive, resulting in ever-greater losses."
Ma Guozhu lowered his eyes and said weakly, "In the final analysis, the Ming Dynasty has a strong foundation, which is not comparable to the Great Jin."
Fan Wencheng remained silent. Even though the Ming Empire was a huge empire, it was plagued by internal corruption and ills, and was far less vibrant than the newly emerging Later Jin.
But he was still wrong. In a short period of time, the Ming Emperor used an iron fist to clean up the court, raised funds for war, and suppressed the development of the Later Jin.
As one side gained strength while the other side lost strength, when the war entered a state of attrition, the defeat of the Later Jin was basically certain.
Fan Wencheng thought about it whenever he had nothing to do and found that even if he could see everything in advance, it would be difficult to find a solution.
This was an open and aboveboard conspiracy, like two people arm wrestling, relying on strength, no tricks. Whoever was stronger won, it was the fairest and most unsolvable.
"Old Fan, how long do you think Dorgon and his men can hold out?" Ma Guozhu coughed twice and spat. The gentle and elegant demeanor of a scholar was gone at all, and he became as rude as a ruffian.
Fan Wencheng narrowed his eyes and said in a deep voice, "One year, maybe two. It all depends on whether the Ming army continues to advance and puts the knife to their chests."
Dorgon and other high-ranking officials of the Jianlu Army were having a hard time. They couldn't get food or cloth, and they were hungry and naked. Who would obey your orders?
It wasn't just Han Chinese and Mongols who fled south; there were also quite a few Manchus. The Ming army even deliberately released a few of them, allowing them to spread the news. Those who returned south were not killed, but were given land and food and properly resettled.
But traitors like Fan Wencheng and Ma Guozhu also knew that they were on the blacklist and would not be forgiven.
The Ming emperor hated traitors even more than the Jianlu. He could spare people like Dorgon, but he wanted to kill people like Fan Wencheng as soon as possible.
"Live one day at a time!" Ma Guozhu stood up and walked towards the distant wilderness, where green had already appeared. Maybe he could dig up some edible wild vegetables.
Fan Wencheng looked at Ma Guozhu's thin back, sighed sadly, and lowered his eyes, not knowing what he was thinking.
Whether it was regret or some other emotion, it was now irrelevant. As the Ming army advanced, Fan Wencheng knew his death was near.
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