Chapter 129: Skull Mound

Bailangzai knew what Lin Qian was thinking: "Are we still looking for more wooden stakes?"

Lin Qian shook his head: "No. Impaling severed heads on stakes—that's the Tartar way. We build a skull mound."

When it came to cruelty, terror, and the display of military glory, nothing in history surpassed the skull mound.

Because it was too barbaric and did not conform to the Confucian ideal of a righteous army, after the Qin and Han dynasties, most Central Plains dynasties explicitly banned the construction of skull mounds.

But there were always remote barbarian tribes who feared might but cherished no virtue, taking benevolence and righteousness for weakness.

Lin Qian wanted to repay tit for tat while also letting the Tartars know that even in bloody terror, they were far inferior to the Central Plains dynasties.

Bailangzai did not understand the meaning behind the skull mound—when the helmsman said to cut off heads, he went and cut off heads.

Chen Liangce, on the other hand, was quite surprised. He genuinely approved of building the skull mound, but worried that once it was built, it might easily subject "Battalion Commander He" to criticism from the court and the public, turning a fine achievement into a disaster.

But before he could offer his counsel, Lin Qian spoke first: "Garrison Commander Chen knows how a skull mound is built, yes?"

Chen Liangce was startled, then nodded.

A skull mound, simply put, was piling up heads or corpses—but what shape to build it in, and how to pile it high and large, had its own intricacies.

If one did not know the proper method and just piled randomly, it would at best be a heap of corpses—how could that reflect the ritual propriety and bearing of the Central Plains?

Professional matters should be left to professionals.

"Then I entrust the building of the skull mound to the Garrison Commander," Lin Qian said.

Chen Liangce clasped his fists: "Yes."

Only afterward did he realize—hadn't he meant to dissuade them? How had he instead taken on this task?

And clearly his official rank was higher than a Battalion Commander's, so why did conversing with "Battalion Commander He" always give him the feeling of facing a superior officer?

Before Chen Liangce could ponder it further, Lin Qian continued: "One more matter—have your men ride fast horses and spread the news of Zhenjiang's fall along the Yalu River to every tokso, and bring the Han civilians who were taken captive to Zhenjiang city."

Chen Liangce's eyes lit up. He cupped his hands in acknowledgment, and at the same time asked: "May I ask how many troops the Battalion Commander brought to Zhenjiang, and how he intends to defend it?"

"Defend? Who said anything about defending?"

Chen Liangce's mind was full of land-warfare thinking; he simply could not understand what Lin Qian meant. If not to defend it, what was the use of taking Zhenjiang city?

Lin Qian said: "Just follow orders."

"Yes!" Hearing this, Garrison Commander Chen reflexively clasped his fists and accepted the order.

After clearing the battlefield, the Battle of Zhenjiang had killed a total of one hundred and fifteen Tartars, while Chen Liangce's forces suffered ninety-five dead and wounded.

Of those, casualties from cannon fire made up the majority; the rest were cut down by Tartar soldiers in hasty counterattacks.

Lin Qian ordered the Ming soldiers' bodies buried, while the Tartar heads were all sent to build the skull mound.

At the same time, Bai Qing led three Sea Wolf ships north along the Yalu River, coordinating with Chen Liangce's cavalry—the two forces advanced side by side, seizing the Jianzhou barbarians' farmsteads and rescuing enslaved Han civilians.

The Jianzhou barbarians ruled Liaodong through terror, and contradictions were extremely sharp—Han resistance rose one after another. Now hearing news of the great victory at Zhenjiang, they rose up en masse, and over a hundred li along the upper Yalu River surrendered upon sight of the approaching forces.

For a time, the post roads were filled with common folk fleeing to Zhenjiang.

The remaining transport ships shuttled frequently between Zhenjiang and Pidao, ferrying the people to the island.

Lin Qian's transport fleet in Liaodong consisted of six Haicang ships and twenty Cangshan ships. Packed tight, a single voyage could carry roughly twelve hundred people.

Zhenjiang and Pidao were not far apart—a round trip took at most two days, and with favorable winds, could be done in just one.

This transport efficiency was extremely high.

Within just ten days, five thousand refugees had gathered on Pidao.

After Liaodong fell, the people either fled across the river to Joseon or died miserably under the Jianzhou barbarians' blades. Those taken to the farmsteads had never been many to begin with—with over twenty sea vessels plying the route, there were even ships to spare.

Lin Qian sent the Carrier Pigeon back to Nan'ao to dispatch more sea vessels and open a maritime supply route between Pidao and Nan'ao Island.

As for rations for the Pidao refugees, they came from Zhenjiang's granaries. After the Tartars breached Zhenjiang city, they had seized and concentrated all the grain in one place—which now conveniently fed the refugees.

Not only that, but Zhenjiang city—especially Tong Yangzhen's residence—contained great quantities of gold, silver, and treasure. Lin Qian confiscated these as well, sending small boats to sell them to Joseon border folk in exchange for grain.

Meanwhile, when the Santa Ana had sailed north to Liaodong, her holds had also carried large stores of dried provisions.

With this food supply, plus the court's grain shipments once Mao Wenlong landed on Pidao in the future, the refugees should have no fear of famine.

Just as the large-scale refugee evacuation was underway at Zhenjiang—

Liaoyang, the Military Commissioner's residence.

Nurhaci was having his primary consort Hahana Jacing massage his arm.

Since their eldest son Cuyeng had been caught up in the power struggle and executed on Nurhaci's orders, this was one of the couple's rare tender moments.

The muscles of Nurhaci's right arm were hard as refined steel—the result of his archery practice that day.

That day he had deliberated with all the Beiles and ministers on two great matters—moving the capital to Liaoyang and attacking Guangning—and was in high spirits, so in the afternoon he had led the company out hunting.

Nurhaci, past sixty, took up his bow and mounted his horse, and not a single arrow missed its mark—he bagged thirteen wild hares, two sika deer, and even shot a lynx.

His haul was the largest of the day, earning praise from the Beiles and ministers alike.

Of course, his right arm now ached and trembled slightly—that was the price.

After all, he was past sixty. Nurhaci keenly felt his advancing years—even with grand ambitions, he no longer had the vigor of his youth.

At this moment, Nurhaci, wearing no armor, lay in a rocking chair, eyes comfortably narrowed, looking no different from an ordinary Liaodong farmer.

His primary consort Hahana Jacing urged him softly: "Why need you do such things as riding and hunting yourself? Leave them to Daishan and the others. You are the Great Khan—Daishan and the rest are your hounds and your bows."

Nurhaci opened his eyes and chuckled twice, his voice hoarse and rough.

"That's exactly what the southern barbarian Emperor thought—so he sent a scholar to guard Liaodong.

The scholar Yuan Yingtai thought the same—so he accepted the surrendered Mongol troops, and I broke the city with help from within. He himself turned into a lump of charcoal!

One who commands armies must know war. Riding and archery are the very foundation of us Jurchen—we must always remember that. Even as Great Khan, I must hunt for myself. There is no principle of handing one's bow to another."

Hahana Jacing laughed: "You and your many arguments."

"Heh heh." Nurhaci chuckled smugly.

The two fell silent, savoring the rare moment of warmth.

Suddenly, footsteps ran up outside the door, and a voice tinged with panic called out: "Great Khan!"

Nurhaci sat up straight and barked sternly, "What's happened?"

"Zhenjiang... Zhenjiang city has fallen to the Ming army!"

"What?" Nurhaci's thick brows furrowed, and he immediately said in a deep voice, "Summon all the Beiles and ministers here for counsel!"

"Wait!" Hahana Jacing called out to the messenger, her voice trembling as she asked, "What of my uncle? How is Tong Yangzhen?"

The messenger replied, "Reporting to the Fujin, the Ejen... his fate is unknown..."

Hahana Jacing felt her vision go black, the world spinning around her.

Nurhaci rose and made to walk toward the main hall.

Hahana Jacing grabbed his sleeve and said, "Great Khan, you must avenge my uncle!"

Nurhaci, upon hearing the news of Zhenjiang's fall, wore a calm face but was already shocked and furious inside.

What shocked him was how quickly the Ming army had reacted — Liaoyang and Shenyang had only fallen to him in the third month, and before the sixth month even arrived, Ming retaliation had come.

And with their very first strike, they had hit the most vulnerable rear of the Great Jin.

If the other southern barbarians learned that the Ming army had returned, they would surely rise up in response, and then the hard-won stability in Liaodong would descend into chaos once more.

What angered him was that he had only ordered Tong Yangzhen to behead Han Chinese and mount their heads on stakes a month ago, and barely a month later, the city of Zhenjiang where Tong Yangzhen was stationed had been breached.

How was this any different from slapping Nurhaci himself in the face?

So when he heard Hahana Jacing's words, Nurhaci shook her off impatiently and said coldly, "Matters of state and military — you have no place to interrupt!"

With that said, he strode quickly toward the front hall.

The Great Jin's military discipline was strict, so the Beiles commanding troops arrived extremely quickly, and the important ministers soon gathered as well.

In the front hall, over a dozen soldiers who had escaped from Zhenjiang were already kneeling on the ground, awaiting the Great Khan's inquiry.

Seeing everyone assembled, Nurhaci said in a deep voice, "What exactly happened in Zhenjiang? Speak in detail."

The soldiers spoke all at once, relating the events of that night.

The more Nurhaci listened, the tighter his brows knit, and the Beiles and ministers around him grew secretly alarmed.

Could the Great Ming truly possess such formidable cannon ships? Capable of blasting an entire city into rubble?

In truth, saying "blasted into rubble" was somewhat exaggerated — the Santa Ana had only fourteen Siren cannons per broadside, and Zhenjiang city covered an area of nearly 1.26 square kilometers, over nineteen hundred mu. Though the cannonballs flew all night, only thirty to forty percent of the houses had been collapsed.

Lin Qian's capture of Zhenjiang had relied mainly on the terrifying thunder of the cannons, the panic of the Tartar soldiers, and Chen Liangce serving as an inside agent — that was why it had been taken so easily.

It was just that when the Tartar soldiers fled, not knowing the true strength of the Ming forces, fearful in their hearts, and with fires breaking out throughout the city and the sky dark, the claim that the entire city had been blasted into rubble had arisen.

Nurhaci looked toward the newly surrendered Han Chinese general Shi Tingzhu and asked, "The Ming firearms have such power — what kind of firearm is this?"

Shi Tingzhu steeled himself and said, "It should be a heavy Folangji cannon."

Nurhaci neither confirmed nor denied this, and asked again, "How many men were in the attacking Ming force?"

"I don't know, but the number was certainly not small. When I left the city, I could hear the sounds of Ming troops throughout the entire city!"

At these words, the surrounding Tartar soldiers nodded in agreement one after another.

"When I left through the north gate, I also heard the sounds of Ming soldiers."

"When I left through the south gate, I also saw Ming soldiers. There were also over twenty corpses of Great Jin cavalry on the road — clearly a fierce battle had just taken place."

The assembled generals pondered — to possess cannons of such might, to station guards at every gate of Zhenjiang city, and to intercept fleeing soldiers on the southern roads — the Ming forces could not possibly be few in number. They must number at least two thousand, and they were surely elite troops.

This Ming offensive was ferocious, and the excellent situation in Liaodong seemed on the verge of collapse — this had to be handled with great care.

Just then, another messenger arrived outside the hall.

"Great Khan, a report from the Fenghuang Fort Mobile Corps Commander."

"Speak." Nurhaci said in a deep voice.

"On the twenty-first of the fifth month, Zhenjiang city was breached by the Ming army. The Ming army sailed north along the Yalu River, breaching many tokso along the way. For a hundred li in every direction, forts and stockades surrendered at the sight of them."

After the messenger finished, no sound stirred in the great hall — a pin drop could be heard, and the atmosphere was suppressed to the utmost.

The thing the Jianzhou barbarians feared most had come to pass: Han Chinese commoners rising up with weapons in hand to resist their rule.

Even if Jurchen warriors were brave and could slaughter all the rebelling commoners, who would till the fields then, and where would military grain come from?

Everyone understood in their hearts that this trend absolutely must not be allowed to spread — the Ming army at Zhenjiang had to be eliminated as quickly as possible.

Nurhaci pondered for a long while, then said, "Amin!"

"Great Khan!" Amin, the Second Beile, stepped forward and performed a qianli salute.

"I give you one month to muster the Bordered Blue Banner and retake Zhenjiang!"

"As commanded!" Amin answered in a clear voice.

From mid-June onward, fewer and fewer Han Chinese commoners arrived in Zhenjiang each day — those who lived close enough and could flee had already fled to Zhenjiang.

Those who lived far away wanted to flee but were powerless to do so.

By the end of June, nearly all the commoners along the entire Yalu River coast had been ferried over to Pidao.

At this point, the total population of commoners on Pidao had reached nearly thirty thousand. The people felled timber and built makeshift shelters, eating only one meal a day, barely scraping by.

Though life was hard, at least they had escaped the Tartars' claws and no longer had to live in constant fear.

On the twenty-eighth of the sixth month, the Carrier Pigeon returned, bringing with it a great number of transport ships — a rough count put them at over thirty vessels, occupying a vast stretch of sea. Viewed from afar, they truly presented an imposing sight.

The fleet came ashore near Pidao, drawing refugees to the seaside to gaze at it.

The Carrier Pigeon, however, sailed on alone to Zhenjiang to report to Lin Qian.

That evening, in the captain's cabin of the Santa Ana.

The acting captain of the Carrier Pigeon handed Lin Qian the fleet manifest and supplies list for this voyage.

Written on it was that the ships sailing to Liaodong this time numbered four Haicang ships, nine Cangshan ships, and eighteen Bird ships.

This was already everything Nan'ao Island could field, apart from the three open-sea fleets of Chen Jiao, Bai Qing, and José.

Even the Bird ships, which were not really suited for open-sea voyages, had come along.

Counting this new batch of ships, Liaodong now had nearly fifty transport vessels — ten Haicang ships, twenty-one Cangshan ships, eighteen Bird ships, and the Carrier Pigeon barely counting as one as well.

Though the numbers looked intimidating, the vast majority were small boats with limited capacity; at most, they could only carry three thousand people away.

Even the largest Haicang ships, packed to the brim, could only carry a hundred people each.

And that was only with the Santa Ana and the other three Sea Wolf ships helping to load supplies.

There was no helping it—ever since the sea ban was enacted by the Ming, shipbuilding technology had plummeted, and even the navy's warships were mostly these small vessels.

According to rough statistics from these past days, the people of Pidao totaled twenty-eight thousand, plus two thousand from Guanglu Island, adding up to over thirty-one thousand.

There was certainly no way to transport them all back to Nan'ao.

Even if they somehow managed to bring everyone back, Nan'ao Island didn't have that much carrying capacity.

Choices had to be made.

Lin Qian pulled a roster from the table, containing the recently compiled information on the people of the two islands.

"Select people for the ships according to this list," Lin Qian said. "Start with the craftsmen and physicians; when those run out, pick farmers. Those chosen may bring their families along."

Of course, those not selected weren't being left on the island to die—counting the days, Mao Wenlong should be nearing Zhenjiang soon, and once he arrived on the island, these people would naturally receive relief from the Ming court.

Even if the court didn't bother, opening up Dongfan Island would require a great deal of manpower, and Lin Qian's fleet would still come back to pick people up.

The Pigeon Letter's acting captain took the roster, and Lin Qian instructed: "Tomorrow I'll have Bai Qing and Zhong Aqi return to Pidao with you to select the people for boarding. Move quickly—we must leave the island no later than the fifth day of the seventh month."

Lin Qian thought for a moment, then added a word of caution: "When the people see us leaving, they'll surely fight to get on board. This won't be easy to manage—you'll need to be hard-hearted."

"This subordinate understands!"

"Go."

The next day, at the west gate tower of Zhenjiang city.

Lin Qian saw the newly completed skull mound.

The skull mound resembled a grave mound, about half a zhang tall and two zhang in diameter, built from Tartar skulls, surrounded by compacted earth.

Rising abruptly from the flat ground, it was jarringly conspicuous, sending a chill straight to the heart of anyone who looked upon it.

According to Chen Liangce, this was only a small skull mound, containing fewer than two hundred skulls—if one were built from ten thousand heads, it would rise like a small hill, a truly awe-inspiring sight.

Hearing this, Lin Qian couldn't help but laugh: "Have you seen such a skull mound yourself?"

"I only read about it in books," Chen Liangce said. "Back then, when Emperor Yang of Sui suffered a disastrous defeat in his campaign against Goguryeo, Goguryeo built a skull mound like a hill."

Lin Qian withdrew his gaze, looked at the battered city of Zhenjiang, and said: "In a few days, the fleet will be withdrawing south. I estimate the Tartars' counterattack will come soon. Why not come with me?"

Chen Liangce smiled and shook his head.

Lin Qian was never one to persuade others, but having spent several days together, he'd found that Chen Liangce was skilled in both letters and arms, steady in temperament, and much beloved by his subordinates—Lin Qian couldn't help but feel a desire to recruit such talent.

A few days earlier, Chen Liangce's outriders had already spotted over a thousand Jianzhou barbarian troops on the northwest post road, presumably coming to retake Zhenjiang. Against such a force, Chen Liangce staying behind was nothing but a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

Lin Qian couldn't help but speak again: "What's the point? Hair can be shaved and will grow back. When you surrendered back then, it was forced by the tide of events—you had no choice... You know staying means certain death, so why throw your life away needlessly?"

Chen Liangce's gaze was resolute: "I am the Garrison Commander of Zhenjiang under the Ming. There is no principle of abandoning a city without a fight."

Lin Qian sighed, then lowered his voice: "If the Garrison Commander is worried about punishment from the court, I do have a place in mind."

Chen Liangce clasped his hands in salute: "The Battalion Commander's kindness is appreciated, but I must decline."

Then he pointed at the thin stubble that had just regrown on his scalp: "It's just that I've suffered this great humiliation, and having already lost my integrity before, I have no face to return to the Ming. I only wish to wash away this shame with a bloody battle. This time, I will not flee!"

Lin Qian was moved by his integrity and was silent for a long moment. He patted Chen Liangce's arm and said: "Good. Don't forget our agreement!"

Chen Liangce laughed heartily: "Hahaha, it's settled then!"

Lin Qian sighed, clasped his hands in farewell, and was just descending the city tower when Chen Liangce called out again: "Battalion Commander, I am a man already marked for death—would you honor me with your true name?"

"Lin Qian."

Chen Liangce silently repeated the two characters, then clasped his hands: "Brother Lin, take care!"

In early July, the Santa Ana departed from Zhenjiang.

The city of Zhenjiang fell into solitude.

In the city tower, Chen Liangce was sharpening his blade, his expression focused and meticulous.

Beside him were over a hundred Ming soldiers who had voluntarily stayed behind—these were the entirety of Zhenjiang's defensive force.

At the west gate tower, a great banner flapped fiercely in the wind.

The banner was triangular, with a red base, a ring of red flame patterns stitched around the edges, and in the very center, a large character written: "Ming."

The banner had been made by rough-handed border troops—not refined, with stitching still exposed and the flame patterns sewn crookedly.

But the materials were sturdy, and the entire banner had been soaked in Tartar blood.

The "Ming" character in the center was written by Chen Liangce's own hand—bold and fierce, with imposing grandeur.

Combined with the skull mound rising abruptly beside the flat post road outside the west gate, the scene was truly grim and murderous.

Even a single glance was enough to raise goosebumps from the cold.

A few days later, at noon, Amin, banner master of the Bordered Blue Banner, accompanied by his generals, rode to the northwestern hills of Zhenjiang and saw exactly this sight.

The generals saw the great banner and the skull mound—how could they not know what had happened? They flew into a rage and one after another begged Amin for permission to attack.

Amin, however, frowned deeply and pointed diagonally at Zhenjiang city with his horsewhip: "Send out one squad of outriders to circle the city for reconnaissance. Send two more squads of outriders to scout twenty li up and down the Yalu River."

His personal guards immediately relayed the orders.

One regimental commander said: "Banner Master, I see no cooking smoke or firelight in the city—surely the southern barbarians were scared off by us long ago. Why be so cautious? Just send men to attack the city directly."

Amin kept a cold face and did not reply.

Born into horseback warfare at his father's side, he had earned repeated military merits at a young age, victorious in a hundred battles, ranked second among the Four Great Beiles—how could he be a man ignorant of warfare?

Could he not see that there were actually very few Ming troops in Zhenjiang city?

It was simply that the power of that cannon ship was truly terrifying, and he had no choice but to be cautious.

Though there was no sign of the cannon ship on the river now, there was no guarantee it wasn't lurking upstream or downstream. Once battle was joined, if the cannon ship opened fire, wouldn't that just add needless casualties?

From his understanding of the Ming, Ming official troops would not easily abandon a city.

Zhenjiang was so important, and the Ming army had only just managed to retake it—if they weren't stationing heavy troops there, something was definitely amiss. Amin had no choice but to treat the matter with the utmost seriousness.

Two hours later, the scout riders returned one after another.

"Beile, ten li south of Zhenjiang city, no Ming troops were found."

"Beile, upstream of the Yalu River, there is no trace of Ming troops."

"There are no Ming banners in the city, and the walls are empty of people—can't tell how many men are there."

Amin thought to himself: "They really ran? These southern barbarians are truly timid as mice!"

The Bordered Blue Banner regiment commander said: "Banner master, don't wait any longer—let me take the men up!"

The Assistant Regional Commanders and company commanders around him eagerly volunteered for battle, while war horses neighed restlessly and pawed the ground with their hooves.

Amin glanced at the sky—it was already near dusk, only an hour or two before nightfall. Not a good time to launch an attack. To be safe, it would be better to wait until dawn tomorrow to assault the city.

Just as he was hesitating, he suddenly heard his subordinate say: "Beile, look!"

Amin followed the voice and saw a bamboo pole extending from the city wall, with something hanging from it—the rotting head of a Jurchen.

The queue behind the head was tied to the bamboo pole with rope, looking rather comical.

Below the head hung a vertical banner, both corners weighted down with stones. One could vaguely make out a string of bright red characters written on it, but it was too far away to read clearly.

Amin sent a scout rider to look.

A moment later, the scout rode back at a gallop.

"Beile, the banner has Jurchen script written on it: 'The head of the rebel chieftain Tong Yangzhen.'"

"This is going too far!" Amin flew into a rage. "Sabingga, take two niru of infantry and attack the main gate. Akdun, take one niru of cavalry and harass them with arrows from below the walls."

The messenger galloped off to relay the order. In no time at all, the main body of cavalry burst out from the woods, galloping freely beneath the city walls, bows in hand, glaring menacingly at the battlements.

At the same time, roughly four hundred infantrymen, shields overhead and scaling ladders on their shoulders, advanced slowly toward Zhenjiang city.

Amin was eager to claim merit. This expedition to Zhenjiang had been a light march—battering rams and other heavy siege equipment had not been brought along. He had only a little over fifteen hundred men, and the only siege equipment was scaling ladders.

Amin had not participated in the bloody battle of Hun River before, and still believed the Ming troops were nothing but chickens and clay dogs. Were it not for his fear of that cannon ship, he alone could have retaken Zhenjiang with his Bordered Blue Banner elite guards.

Now, beneath the walls of Zhenjiang, seeing that the cannon ship had withdrawn and no large force of Ming troops was in sight, he felt even more contemptuous.

On the distant city walls of Zhenjiang, the Ming troops were still playing the role of turtles hiding in their shells, letting the four hundred infantry march all the way to the foot of the wall, raise their ladders, and begin climbing.

A cold sneer spread across Amin's face. He thought to himself: "The Ming troops really are a pack of rats—only good for stealing grain in the barn, too scared to even fight back when they see a cat."

Then he called out loudly: "Pass the order to Sabingga and Akdun—after the city falls, do not harm the life of the southern barbarian commander!"

After all, the movements of the Ming main force and the situation of the cannon ship still had to be pried out of that commander's mouth.

"Yes!" The messenger galloped off, relaying orders brazenly across the battlefield.

In the blink of an eye, the infantry had climbed halfway up, the battlements within sight. It was at that moment that the Ming troops on the wall made their move.

(End of chapter)

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen