Chapter 576: Curtain Fall

Old Bai Niu: Readers of *Xiu Xian Ren Sheng* have cast so many review votes, pushing it all the way to the front page’s weekly review vote chart. The review section is buzzing too — I’m delighted.

……

The advantage of the hundred-barrel cannon is that you can hold its tail stock, mount it on a war cart, and swivel it left, right, up, and down.

Of course, because of the recoil and possible muzzle blast leakage, the stock resembles a gunstock, extending long and slender to the rear. Each cannon can fire about a hundred canister shot pellets — it cannot match some culverins or red-barbarian cannons, but its value lies in being nimble, light, and handy.

And when Hong Chengchou and others had these hundred-barrel cannons delivered, the Jingbian Army inspected every one meticulously. Zhao Xuan and Sun Sanjie would not accept any whose quality failed inspection — this concerned the lives and safety of the soldiers.

The hundred-barrel cannon loads like a culverin, also using pre-loaded chambers. Several were placed at each passageway, firing in rotation. They blasted the front into an unstoppable, miserable howling. Every time after several volleys, the Qing troops attacking the passageways would hesitate and fall back, leaving behind a field of corpses, wailing wounded, and everywhere on the ground wooden shields either shattered or riddled with scars.

Of course, sometimes there were too many Qing troops for the firearms and cannons to fire fast enough, or certain Tatars were especially fierce, braving the casualties to rush right up to the artillerymen. Besides the arquebusiers on the flanking low walls firing at them, there were also some spearmen protecting these gunners. When the enemy numbers grew overwhelming, they also covered the gunners’ retreat.

Perhaps the Mongol troops of the Two Yellow Banners and this portion of Manchu troops had stouter fighting strength than those outer-submission Mongols. After a stalemate, a portion of the Tatars actually broke through some passageways in a death-defying charge. The remaining Qing troops’ spirits lifted, and they surged in desperately.

The arquebusiers on both flanks fired desperately from the indentations in enfilade. From behind the third low wall, myriad-men bombs and stones were hurled at them with all their might. The spearmen protecting the gunners fought them in desperate close combat. But the Tatars grew more and more numerous. Soon the central army’s horn sounded, and the supply corps soldiers and accompanying civilian laborers behind the first wave of low walls withdrew like the tide.

As they left, they did not forget to carry away the cannons and myriad-men bombs, leaving only baskets of stones sitting there.

The victory in seizing the passageways made these Two Yellow Banner Tatars extremely excited. They surged in through the various passageways, but after entering through the gaps in the first low wall, without exception, they all faced a thick earthen wall. Only after they slanted left or right for several paces, or a dozen paces, did they continue to see the passageway positions.

After walking in dizzy circles, the Tatars’ eyes suddenly brightened. Before them lay a broad open area, with a front-to-back distance of several dozen paces, extending far to the left and right. But then the Tatars’ hearts turned cold again. Before them was still a sloped low wall, and in front of that low wall, except at the passageways, there were likewise deep trenches.

Looking further, behind the low wall the Jingbian Army arquebusiers were even more numerous, because they had merged with the arquebusiers from behind the first and second waves of low walls, possessing even more formidable firepower.

Looking again at the passageways in that low wall, numerous hundred-barrel cannons and culverins were aimed at them. Many Tatars turned ashen-faced and howled wildly, “Fall back, fall back…”

But the men behind them still pushed and shoved desperately forward.

“Fire!”

“Fire!”

“Fire!”

A merciless, emotionless voice rang out, followed again by the thunderous roar of cannons.

Blood sprayed and drifted up like a rain-mist. Because the slope was gentle, the Qing troops who had charged and crowded in were quite numerous, and the distance between the two low walls was only a few dozen paces. Nearly all the cannon canister shot pierced through their crowd front to back. Many canister pellets struck the rear low wall, raising great clouds of dust and debris.

Along with the cannon fire, the dense, crackling rattle of arquebuses erupted — another volley of three-tiered rank fire from above and below — and a rain of myriad-men bombs and stones came hurling down.

Many of these Two Yellow Banner Tatars who had charged in could no longer hold back their howls and fled. And at that moment, the stirring beat of war drums sounded, and large numbers of ferocious, murderous-looking supply battalion spearmen, leveling their long spears, charged out from the various passageway openings.

These stout, brawny, muscle-bound heroes were no less formidable than the spearmen brothers of the cavalry and infantry battalions. They engaged the Tatars in brutal hand-to-hand combat, each side leaving behind corpses or wounded. Their scalding blood steamed with rising heat in the cold wind.

Perhaps some Tatars could endure the Jingbian Army’s arquebuses and cannons, but facing these spearmen, they fled in terror. Then the Tatars attacking the hill collapsed along the entire line. The supply battalion spearmen, howling and leveling their long spears, even chased them all the way down the mountain…

At the hour of Wei, the Manchu Two Yellow Banners moved out.

With the fighting having reached this stage, they had no choice but to move out.

Regarding their deployment, the Two Yellow Banner Mongol *gūsa ejen* Adai, **, and the various *jasag* of the outer-submission Mongols unanimously agreed, even with a hint of goading. Perhaps, while anxious about the battle at Mount Changling, they also harbored a dark thought: their own side had suffered grievous losses; if those Manchus did not lose some troops, how could they be content?

In truth, with the fighting having reached this stage, Bayintu was already somewhat hesitant. It was Ashan, on the contrary, who insisted.

The tenacity of this one small hill exceeded their expectations. How many troops had the grand army that set out from Baimiao Fort lost on this hilltop? If they gave up now, all their previous efforts would truly be wasted. If this nail was not pulled, the army’s plan to cut off the Ming forces could hardly be called complete.

Scout reports came in: the Two Yellow Banner grand army was sweeping all before it elsewhere, achieving considerable results. Near the hour of Wei, they had already successively captured Daxing Fort and Dongqing Fort, searching and slaughtering both forts clean. Cao Bianjiao and Wang Tingchen’s new army camp at Wudaoling could only rely on the mountain ridge defenses to hold out bitterly.

The Liaodong Regional Commander Liu Zhaoji’s division had initially entertained the idea of thwarting our side’s siege troops’ morale, marching out of Xingshan Fort to form ranks. They set up a stockade at the south gate, relying on the city wall and fighting with their backs to the city.

But after the Two Yellow Banners sent reinforcements in that direction, they were beaten back into the city. Apart from relying on the city walls for defense, the rest did not dare to stir recklessly.

Also, Cao Bianjiao, Wang Tingchen, and Liu Zhaoji led their respective main-division cavalry as reinforcements, rushing to the rescue everywhere, forming ranks and clashing with the Two Yellow Banner iron cavalry. After several back-and-forth engagements, they too quieted down, and the frequency of their sorties grew increasingly sparse.

The grand army had also routed the Ming Assistant Defense Regional Commander Meng Dao’s division, which was defending the trench works on the mudflats of Mount Bijiashan. The tide was already beginning to ebb.

They were about to break into Mount Bijiashan and seize their critical grain transport point — it was right before their eyes.

Moreover, detachment after detachment of troops were also heading to various places around Songshan Fort, capturing several merchant and civilian village stockades near Songshan Fort…

So many illustrious victories, and yet here at this tiny Mount Changling they were to break their heads and bleed?

Both Bayintu and Ashan were unwilling. The bondservants accompanying the army had already dug the trenches almost to the seaside. They only needed to capture Mount Changling to achieve complete victory. Therefore, the assault on Mount Changling would continue!

At the end of the hour of Wei…

Bayintu and Ashan looked like dead men. The Two Yellow Banner Manchu troops had launched attack after attack on Mount Changling, yet time and again they had collapsed and retreated. They fared no better than the outer-submission Mongols and the Two Yellow Banner Mongol troops. At most, they only pressed up close beneath the main stockade for a brief moment before screaming and fleeing back.

Neither he nor Bayintu dared to tally the Two Yellow Banners’ casualty count. They dared not imagine the Emperor’s thunderous fury at such enormous losses.

At this moment, the Manchu Two Yellow Banner *bayara* banner commanders Tulai, Yangshan, and Bayintu’s younger brother Gongadai were no longer at their side. They too had led the *bayara* up the mountain to attack. Watching that direction, where cannon and arquebus fire shook the heavens and the killing cries shook the heavens even more, the veins on Bayintu’s hands bulged as he fretted endlessly for his younger brother.

Ashan murmured, “Perhaps… both we and His Majesty were wrong. We should never have come to attack this Mount Changling at all…”

“Kill the Tatars!”

Earth-shaking battle cries rang out once more. Another wave of supply battalion spearmen charged out from the main stockade gate and clashed with the *bayara* troops of Yangshan, Gongadai, and others. Their tiger spears and armor-piercing long awl-spears thrust back and forth. One man after another fell. Corpses seemed to pile up outside the stone wall.

“Ah!”

Gongadai howled. The ferocity of those supply corps heroes had frightened even the *bayara* guards beside him into fleeing.

Gongadai was surrounded by several spearmen. A chaos of spears thrust at him from all sides, covering his head and face. Gongadai lost his composure. The ferocity of these supply soldiers utterly drained his courage. He had barely parried a few blows when a long spear broke through his armor and stabbed deep.

“Spare me…”

Gongadai, ordinarily so ruthless and vicious, now begged piteously for his life like a chick. But still, spear after spear thrust at him.

Large gouts of bloody froth gushed from Gongadai’s mouth. He heard the sound of squelching, stabbing continuously inside his own body. The chaotic spears brought out spray after spray of blood. Gongadai felt boundless terror and agony, felt the strength swiftly draining from his body, and finally collapsed limply to the ground…

“Kill the Tatars!”

Sun Sanjie was utterly heartbroken. His subordinates had suffered enormous casualties, and the spearmen in the battalion in particular had taken extremely severe losses.

Because too many Qing troops were attacking the hill, every arquebusier’s matchlock was overheating from constant firing and needed cooling. To prevent the Qing troops from scaling the stockade wall, the spearmen had to be sent out repeatedly. He suddenly drew his own sword and roared, “Where I stand, no enemy passes! All-out counterattack! Close quarters — kill the slaves!”

“Where I stand, no enemy passes! Kill the slaves!”

Even all the arquebusiers drew their own waist sabers.

“Kill the Tatars!”

Even the many civilian laborers on the mountain found all sorts of weapons and, following the heroes of the supply battalion, charged forward with battle cries.

The Two Yellow Banners attacking the hill finally collapsed along the entire line. They could hold no longer.

This tiny hill, with only a little over three thousand men, had claimed the lives of too many of their warriors, killing the courage of most of them. And now these men were rallying their remaining valor, all drawing blades for close combat. They admitted it — they were afraid. They wanted to flee for their lives.

In the chaos, the Plain Yellow Banner's Bayara Guard Commander Tulai threw himself to the ground, but was soon overtaken. Blades and spears slashed and stabbed at him without pause, and many civilian laborers swarmed in, wielding clubs and stones, smashing them desperately onto his body and head until they beat him into a pulp of mangled flesh…

It was finally over. Watching the tide-like, screaming, fleeing Tartar soldiers, and the corpses and blood covering the hills and plains, piled layer upon layer from the foot of the mountain all the way to the top, Sun Sanjie leaned on his long spear, swaying unsteadily. A great deal of blood seeped from the wounds on his body. Looking again at the many fallen brothers of the Supply Battalion, his eyes grew hot, and tears rolled down his face.

"Wuwuwu…"

Baiyintu wept bitterly, tears streaming down his face. He slowly drew the imperial sword bestowed upon him: "With troops lost and generals fallen, what face does this old slave have to see His Majesty? Better to end it myself."

A warm, large hand stopped his movement. He looked through tear-blurred eyes and saw Ashan's pale face, which seemed to have aged twenty years. In that short time, the hair that had been only partly gray was now completely white. Ashan sighed: "Old brother, why torment yourself? Let us go together to beg His Majesty's forgiveness."

At the hour of You, as the sky slowly began to darken, Huang Taiji, waiting in agony and unease at Songjiagou, finally received a report from the scout riders.

But the content of the report left Huang Taiji utterly stunned. He watched the scout rider's mouth open and close, yet his own ears roared. He seemed to hear it, yet seemed not to.

And everyone present, except for Dorgon, stood dumbstruck as wooden chickens. They could not believe their own ears.

In an instant, Huang Taiji aged countless years. He opened his mouth, but found only a hoarse rasp in his throat. He wanted to speak, but no sound would come out.

Just then, suddenly dust and smoke billowed, and another scout rider came rushing urgently from the direction of Jinchangbao. Huang Taiji started in alarm. He looked over, a premonition seizing him. He swayed unsteadily on his horse, his heart filled with extreme terror.

Finally, that scout rider galloped near, racing up the mountain ridge. From far off, he cried out in desperation: "Report, report! Military intelligence from Yizhou — of the utmost urgency! Tens of thousands of Jingbian Army troops have encircled it and are attacking fiercely, the momentum like raging fire… like raging fire!"

"Pfft!"

A mouthful of fresh blood spurted from Huang Taiji, and he toppled straight from his horse.

The assembled ministers cried out in alarm and crowded around. Amid the panic and chaos, they heard Huang Taiji's labored voice: "Issue… issue Our decree… retreat…"

His voice was faint, yet seemed to carry infinite unwillingness, infinite regret, infinite resentment. (To be continued.)