Year Three of the New Ming calendar.
Within the Mongolian Wushen Tribe, the last wandering minor chieftain who had stubbornly refused to return finally answered the call of the tribal leader, Zhebu. He brought his followers to the border between Mongolia and the New Ming, settling down in a newly established city that had only just begun to take shape.
With that, every branch of the Wushen Tribe under Zhebu's authority had fully gathered along the frontier of the New Ming state.
At this moment, there was no doubt that the Wushen Tribe stood at the top among all Mongolian tribes. They were wealthy, far more educated than their peers, and equipped with weapons supplied by the New Ming. On the vast Mongolian Steppe, they shone like the brightest star.
"Report!"
A scout came running at full speed and dropped to one knee before Zhebu.
"The Zunghar Tribe has suddenly launched an expedition against Tibet."
Zhebu paused, frowning slightly. "Tibet?"
For a brief moment, he looked confused. Then it clicked.
The Zunghar had ambition. They wanted to make a move, to stir trouble, to expand. But they did not dare attack fellow Mongols, and they certainly did not dare provoke the New Ming, both of which had become iron-hard targets.
So instead, they turned their eyes toward Tibet.
If they succeeded in swallowing Tibet whole, their strength would surge dramatically.
And once they had strength…
Of course they would start eyeing Zhebu's position as the head wolf.
That was how things worked on the steppe. No philosophy, no pretense. Strength collided with strength, and whoever stood stronger became the leader.
Zhebu's expression darkened.
"The Zunghar dared to march on Tibet without my approval, creating a new enemy for both Mongolia and the New Ming for no reason at all. Ridiculous."
He waved his hand sharply.
"Send a messenger. Tell them to withdraw immediately. They must request my permission first. Only after I approve can they proceed with any campaign."
The messenger departed at once.
Several days later, the reply returned.
The Zunghar vanguard had already pushed deep into Tibet. Withdrawal was no longer possible. And besides… Zhebu was not the Great Khan of all under heaven. The Zunghar had no obligation to obey him.
That answer nearly made Zhebu explode.
"Fine," he said coldly. "They want a reason, do they?"
He immediately wrote a letter to Er'zhe.
At that very moment, Er'zhe was nowhere near the steppe. He was out on the southern seas, commanding a warship of what was grandly titled the "Mongolian Navy," fighting Western forces for control of the southern islands.
The warship he commanded was a first-generation steam-powered vessel "gifted" by the New Ming. The technology was already outdated by New Ming standards, but to Er'zhe, it was a treasure beyond compare.
He had personally selected seven soldiers from Mongolia to serve aboard.
These men were masters on horseback, but complete novices at sea. They spent a long time learning how to sail, how to swim, how to survive on water. Eventually, they became barely qualified sailors.
With those seven men, Er'zhe formed what he proudly called the First Division of the Mongolian Navy.
The name sounded impressive.
The actual combat strength… less so.
Because of that, this so-called First Division never dared operate alone. It always moved alongside the fleets of Zheng Chenggong and Shi Lang, relying on them in the southern campaigns.
For Zhebu's messenger to find Er'zhe across such distances was no easy task. After countless detours and delays, the letter finally reached his hands.
Er'zhe, however, had his mind entirely on naval warfare. The affairs of the steppe felt distant, almost irrelevant.
He casually drafted an imperial decree, ordering the Zunghar Tribe to obey Zhebu's command without defiance.
That decree began a journey of its own.
From the southern seas, it drifted back toward the New Ming, then to the capital, where it landed in the hands of Flat Rabbit, the Grand Chancellor in name.
Flat Rabbit, being Flat Rabbit, did not handle it himself and passed it along to Shan Shier, who actually ran things.
More days passed.
At last, Shan Shier retrieved the Mongolian imperial jade seal and stamped the decree.
Only then did it begin its journey back to the steppe.
More days.
By the time the decree finally reached Zhebu, and he slammed it down in front of the Zunghar Tribe…
Everything was already over.
Tibet had fallen.
The effects of the Little Ice Age had not spared Tibet either. While the Ming lands suffered drought and internal chaos, Tibet had faced the same disasters. Population dropped, internal stability collapsed, and the region weakened to the point of near helplessness.
The Zunghar barely had to try.
They crushed Tibet with ease and forced its submission.
With Tibet now under their control, the Zunghar immediately felt bold again.
They mocked Zhebu openly, and even tore Er'zhe's decree into pieces.
"We don't listen to you anymore. So what if you're the Great Khan? Come fight us if you dare."
Zhebu smiled.
He had been waiting for exactly this.
Before, he lacked a proper reason to strike.
Now, he had one.
"Good," he said. "Let's give them what they want."
He marched.
Year Four of the New Ming calendar.
Zhebu launched an expedition into the Zunghar Basin and beat the Zunghar forces into complete submission.
Year Five.
The remnants of the Zunghar fled into Tibet. The basin was pacified and returned to Mongolian control.
By the end of that same year, Zhebu and Er'zhe, together with dozens of tribal leaders, submitted a joint memorial to the New Ming.
The message was simple.
Though the two nations were friendly, the separation between states caused slow communication and inefficient governance. The delay had directly contributed to the Zunghar rebellion.
Therefore…
They proposed merging the two nations into one.
Year Six of the New Ming calendar.
The first agenda of the People's Congress was to elect a new Grand Chancellor.
Shan Shier replaced Flat Rabbit and took the position.
The second agenda was the proposal from Mongolia.
It passed unanimously.
Shan Shier immediately drafted the official decree, incorporating the Mongolian Steppe into the territory of the New Ming as the Mongolian Province.
At last, the northern frontier stabilized completely.
Aside from the distant threat of the Russian state, no enemies remained.
And yet, both sides were held back by the same force.
The frozen wastelands.
Neither the New Ming nor the Russians could effectively operate across the permafrost. The vast frozen plains became a natural buffer, maintaining a delicate peace between the two powers.
"First Division of the Mongolian Navy, charge!"
Er'zhe raised his command sword and roared toward the enemy ship ahead.
A sailor beside him coughed lightly. "Boss… we've merged with the New Ming now. We probably shouldn't call ourselves the Mongolian Navy First Division anymore. Sounds… politically sensitive."
Er'zhe blinked.
Then immediately corrected himself.
"First Division of the Mongolian Ethnic Navy, charge!"
See?
Add one word, and suddenly everything made perfect sense.
Er'zhe had an education now. Studying in Gao Village Family really did make a difference.
Ahead of them was a Western light sailing vessel, likely a scouting ship. It carried only a small number of enemies, which gave Er'zhe and his seven men just enough courage to face it head-on.
"Fire!"
At his command, the seven Mongolian sailors fired their cannons with all their might.
The enemy ship took several hits below the waterline. Water rushed in, the hull tilted, and the captain made a decisive call.
They beached the ship and fled onto a nearby island.
The island looked like paradise itself. Blue skies, white clouds, swaying coconut trees, clear water, and soft sand.
The Western pirates stood on shore, waving their blades and shouting.
"Damn you! Relying on your cannons to bully us at sea. If you've got guts, come fight us on land!"
"On land?" the Mongolian sailors burst into laughter. "That's exactly what we want."
"At sea we're a bit nervous," one of them added, grinning wide. "But on land…"
Er'zhe threw his head back and laughed.
"Good. Let's go ashore. Show them what the Seven Warriors under the Mongolian King can do."
And so they did.
In that battle, the so-called Seven Warriors became a nightmare once more, reminding the Westerners exactly what it meant to face the "Scourge of God."
That engagement would later be recorded as the most glorious victory of the First Division of the Mongolian Ethnic Navy.