Chapter 130: The Sun, Moon, Mountains, and Rivers Endure Forever

The Ming soldiers leaned out from atop the city wall and hurled down "wooden sticks," one end of each connected to a fuse. After landing, they first emitted a white flash and white smoke, then burned violently, and moments later a liquid like molten iron poured out.

That molten iron was scorching hot—the moment it touched the scaling ladders it set them ablaze, and soon three or four ladders were all burning.

Moreover, those burning sticks seemed to release poisonous smoke; soldiers nearby collapsed unconscious without appearing to be wounded at all.

The cavalry galloping and skirmishing before the wall saw this and drew their bows one after another, firing to suppress the defenders on the ramparts.

But these sticks were small and compact—the Ming soldiers only exposed a small part of their bodies, or even just their arms, when throwing them, so the arrows could not possibly hit.

The Jianzhou barbarian cavalry could only resort to lobbed volleys at the wall top, which had almost no accuracy.

Not all the "wooden sticks" ignited either—a great many burned their fuses to the end with no reaction at all.

But as the fire spread and the lead flowed, even the unlit "sticks" caught fire in turn.

Within the space of a single joss stick's burn, all the Jianzhou barbarians' scaling ladders had been set alight. That molten iron was fearsome indeed—sand and earth could not smother it, and dousing it with water only triggered small explosions that splattered everywhere. Barbarians who came close to put out the flames inhaled the poisonous smoke, grew dizzy and light-headed, and in severe cases simply dropped dead unconscious.

The Jianzhou barbarian infantry tried for a long while but could not extinguish the blaze, and could only watch their scaling ladders burn away.

Those barbarian infantry who had been lucky enough to climb onto the wall found no support behind them and were swarmed by the Ming soldiers, all dying under a flurry of blades.

After clearing away the ladders and the barbarians who had made it onto the wall, the Ming soldiers shrank back behind the crenellations, refusing entirely to exchange arrows with the cavalry.

The barbarian cavalry skirmishing at the foot of the wall scratched their heads in frustration, utterly helpless.

As the lead melted and the ladders burned to ruin, the fire before the wall grew ever larger, belching forth rolling black smoke.

On the east bank of the Yalu River, amid a dense thicket of reeds, a bird boat emerged at the sight of the smoke and, following the river's current, sailed silently downstream.

An hour later, before Zhenjiang city, the scaling ladders and corpses had been burned to charcoal—most had been burnt to death or suffocated by smoke, though some had fallen from the ladders and died from the impact.

These soldiers in the armor of the Bordered Blue Banner lay sprawled in every direction at the foot of the wall, gradually being devoured by the flames, giving off sizzling crackles of frying fat, while a faint smell of scorched flesh hung in the air.

Sabingga, a niru commander of the infantry, knelt before Amin with a face smeared in ash and dirt.

Beside him knelt Akdun, a niru commander of the cavalry. His face and body bore no smoke or dust, and he did not look particularly disheveled.

Amin's face was livid, his jaw clenched tight, and he barked coldly: "Ten lashes each!"

The two men had lost the battle and had nothing to say for themselves. They let the soldiers drag them away, and moments later the crack of whips and muffled grunts sounded out.

A regiment commander said: "Banner master, the Ming firearms are formidable—why not wait until the battering rams and shield carts arrive?"

Amin neither agreed nor disagreed. In his heart he was pondering that with the ferocity of the Ming incendiary weapons, even the battering rams and shield carts would likely be set alight.

Fortunately, this assault had let him probe the Ming army's true strength—there were at most no more than two hundred Ming soldiers in the city.

With so few men, they could not possibly hold the entire wall.

So Amin ordered the whole army to attack at three points simultaneously: the west gate, the south gate, and the north gate.

That way, the Ming soldiers inside the city would surely be stretched thin and expose their weaknesses.

In the gate tower of the west gate, Chen Liangce saw the movements of the Bordered Blue Banner.

He said to his subordinates: "The Tartars seem to be splitting their forces. Third Brother, you take twenty men to hold the north gate; Old Knot, you take thirty men to hold the south gate; Goudan, you take twenty men to hold the east gate."

"Yes!" The men all clasped their fists in salute.

Chen Liangce instructed them: "Listen well—once the wall is breached, do not linger in battle. Fall back into the city at once. We'll meet at the efu's mansion!"

The setting sun hung low, casting a sky full of rosy clouds. Chen Liangce watched his men's departing figures and knew that this parting might well be the last time he ever saw them.

Just then, two of his subordinates came running up in haste, setting two large bundles on the ground.

"General, all the surcoats of the Han army's Plain Blue Banner in the city are here."

"Mm. Everyone, put them on!" Chen Liangce said. With that he opened a bundle, picked out a blue surcoat, and put it on.

The Qing army's Eight Banners were distinguished mainly by the color of their surcoats—the Bordered Blue Banner's surcoat was blue with a red border.

Tong Yangzhen, however, belonged to the Han army's Plain Blue Banner, whose surcoat was pure blue—the two differed slightly.

But dusk was fast approaching, the light was dim, and the Tartars might not be able to tell them apart clearly.

Chen Liangce and his men had all shaved their heads, were deep in Liaodong, wore all manner of furs over their armor, and most could speak the Jurchen tongue. Dressed now in Plain Blue Banner surcoats, they truly resembled the Bordered Blue Banner soldiers outside the city by seven or eight parts.

After a long while, beneath the fiery red light of the sky, the Bordered Blue Banner army slowly pressed forward.

It was still the same tactic—infantry carrying scaling ladders with cavalry riding and shooting—only this time most of the men had been drawn away from the west gate.

The thermite that Lin Qian had provided was also nearly spent.

After barely managing to ignite two scaling ladders, the Tartar soldiers had already swarmed up the wall. The west gate could hold out no longer. Chen Liangce led his men down from the gate, fighting as they fell back, retreating into the city.

Before leaving, Chen Liangce gave all the remaining thermite to a small, thin soldier and had him hide it among the beams of the gate tower.

By now the Tartar soldiers had taken the wall. Seeing Chen Liangce leading his men in retreat, they shot arrows in pursuit from behind.

The Tartars were accurate shots—even with shields for protection, several men were struck and fell, were caught by the Tartars, and hacked into mincemeat under a storm of blades.

Seeing this, Chen Liangce said to his men: "All of you, split up, get into the alleys, and regroup at the efu's mansion!"

His twenty-odd remaining men scattered in different directions, turning into side lanes, and the Tartars split up to follow suit.

Behind Chen Liangce, five or six Tartars gave chase without letup.

The efu's mansion was already in sight. Before Chen Liangce could even breathe a sigh of relief, his right leg suddenly lost all strength and he tumbled to the ground.

The next instant, a searing pain shot up from his calf.

Chen Liangce looked down—a light arrow had struck him in the calf, and his trousers were soaked through with blood.

"Garrison Commander!"

"Protect the Garrison Commander—get him out of here!"

The soldiers beside him, seeing Chen Liangce fall, rushed to support him, while two men charged straight at the Tartars to cover his retreat.

The Tartars had greater numbers, but facing Ming soldiers who fought as if their lives depended on it, they found themselves momentarily held back.

At this time, behind the west gate, the Tartar soldiers had cleared a path through the debris blocking the city gate. Under the protection of his Bayara personal guards, Amin rode into the city on horseback and happened to witness the scene of two Ming soldiers fighting with desperate abandon.

Amin took bow and arrow from his saddle holster. Without any visible aiming, he drew and loosed.

With a crack, the arrow struck one Ming soldier dead in the throat. The arrowhead burst through the flesh of his neck, blood gushing like a spring. In an instant the soldier fell to the ground and lay still.

The other Ming soldier faltered for a moment, and a Tartar soldier nearby cut him across the back with a single stroke. He let out a miserable scream and crashed to the ground. Then a pack of Tartar soldiers surrounded him like hunting dogs, blades and spears falling—flesh and blood flew everywhere.

A subordinate came to report: "Beile, the Ming army has changed into our uniforms and is hiding in the city. Several left commanders are searching them out."

Amini tucked his great buffalo-horn bow back into his saddle quiver and asked: "What of the north and south city gates?"

"Already breached. The remnants of the Ming army are fleeing in disorder into the city."

"Beile!" A rider galloped up from afar, "We've captured a live Ming soldier. He says there's a trap, and he'll tell us if the Beile spares his life!"

"Bring him up." Amini ordered in a low voice.

After a moment, two foot soldiers escorted a wounded Ming soldier forward.

The man wore a Plain Blue Banner uniform, his body covered in wounds, his face drenched in blood. He kept begging for mercy in the Jurchen language, blood streaming from the corners of his mouth as he spoke.

"You said there's a trap. What do you mean?" Amini asked.

The Ming soldier said: "Gunpowder! The Garrison Commander buried gunpowder in Tong Yangzhen's residence. They want to lure you there and blow you up, Ejen."

Hearing this, the Jurchen officers and men around them cursed the Ming army for their treachery and baseness.

Amini narrowed his eyes: "Garrison Commander? This man was in charge of Zhenjiang's city defenses?"

The Ming soldier said: "Yes, his name is Chen Liangce, holding the office of Garrison Commander of Great Ming's Zhenjiang. Previously he was the middle army commander of Great Jin's Zhenjiang."

Amini thought for a moment, then said to those around him: "Songke, have your niru surround Tong Yangzhen's residence! Remember, do not act rashly, and do not kill that Great Ming Garrison Commander."

"Yes!" Songke clasped his fists and led over a hundred cavalrymen galloping toward the residence.

Amini asked the surrendering Ming soldier a few more questions, and the soldier answered everything he knew. At the end, he begged Amini to keep his promise and spare his life.

Amini tossed the words away like a dirty rag, sneering: "Kill him."

An hour or two passed, and the moon rose above the treetops.

In the city of Zhenjiang, the sounds of fighting gradually faded.

The Ming soldiers scattered through the streets and alleys had been almost entirely slaughtered by the Tartars.

Only Chen Liangce remained, holding the Tong Yangzhen residence with twenty-odd remnant soldiers.

The Tartars had completely surrounded the place, but for the moment dared not enter.

Seeing the Tartars so cautious, the men inside knew the gunpowder plot had been leaked, and they cursed the traitor who had revealed it.

In the main hall, Chen Liangce's calf had been simply bandaged. He asked the brothers who had fled back from the other city gates: "Where's Laogeda?"

One man said in a low voice: "When the city fell, he took a Tartar arrow and fell from the wall. He's dead."

"And Goudan?"

"On the way to the residence, the Tartars caught up with him and cut him down."

Chen Liangce's voice trembled: "Then... what about Old Three?"

"He's dead too..."

These three had been his sworn brothers since childhood. To lose them all within a single day, Chen Liangce felt his heart split with pain — yet thinking that he would soon follow his brothers, he found some comfort.

He recited silently in his heart: "You three rascals, wait for me by the Bridge of Helplessness. Once I finish my last task, I'll come find you!"

The hall fell silent, the atmosphere oppressive beyond measure.

Outside the residence, the Tartar troops gathered ever more thickly, yet still did not enter.

Everyone understood that escape was now impossible. In this desperate strait, they had instead come to regard life and death lightly, their faces calm.

Chen Liangce asked the men: "That fire-stick — do we have any left?"

All his subordinates shook their heads.

Chen Liangce felt somewhat relieved. When Lin Qian had given him the thing, he had urged him to use it all up and never let it fall into Tartar hands.

Now that was one worry settled.

Thinking it over carefully, in this battle, relying on the fire-stick Brother Lin had given him, he had killed who knows how many Tartars. He had already gotten his money's worth.

Chen Liangce's queue had been shaved off back when Lin Qian entered the city. Now he touched the prickly stubble of his hair and thought — his hair had grown out a bit. He could go down and face his ancestors.

Those countryfolk who died so cruelly — I, Chen Liangce, have avenged you.

And those border troop brothers! Chen Liangce thought of the days when he and his brothers served as Ming soldiers, garrisoning Zhenjiang. Though life had been hard — pay sometimes months in arrears — Liaodong was rich in produce, and his brothers were crack shots with the bow. A meal of roe deer meat here, a charcoal-grilled fish there — their bellies never went empty.

Remembering the bittersweet joys of standing guard and patrolling in those days, Chen Liangce could not help but smile.

In the great hall, someone softly began humming a tune — just a simple melody.

The hall was extraordinarily quiet, so even a low hum fell clearly upon everyone's ears.

Someone began to sing the words.

"With ten thousand hearts as one, mountains may be shaken."

"With loyalty and righteousness, our spirit pierces the stars."

This song was the "Song of Victory" composed by Grand Commander Qi. Grand Commander Qi had once garrisoned the Ji Garrison. In those days, how awe-inspiring the Great Ming's military might had been — all the barbarian tribes submitted in fear, and the Mongol tribes were so cowed they dared not invade for over a decade.

This song had spread during those ten-odd years, and every soldier of the Nine Border Garrisons could sing it.

Singing it now, the Ming soldiers each felt a peculiar ache in their hearts.

In the great hall, more and more soldiers joined the singing, and the martial song gradually swelled into something magnificent.

"Clear are our orders, sure is our reward and punishment."

"Through fire and water, who would dare delay?"

The singing grew louder and louder, until the very rubble trembled, and even the Tartar soldiers outside the residence could hear it.

"Report to the Son of Heaven above, save the common folk below."

"Slay every Japanese invader, and win a marquisate! Slay every Japanese invader, and win a marquisate!"

The Tartar soldiers holding torches and surrounding the residence looked at one another in confusion. Though they could not understand the lyrics, they could hear the majestic, tragic spirit within the song.

At the bloody Battle of the Hun River, the Bordered Blue Banner had served as the reserve, watching for remaining enemies — they had never directly faced the terror of Ming soldiers when their blood was up and they fought with their very lives.

But they had heard of it, more or less, from the soldiers of the Plain White, Bordered White, and Plain Red Banners who had served as the main force.

Now, hearing such a tragic and resounding song, it was hard not to think of the carnage of the Battle of the Hun River.

Amin noticed the soldiers' morale was wavering, so he sent his men forward to shout to the mansion in Chinese.

"Ming soldiers inside the mansion, listen! You are completely surrounded. Come out and surrender, and the Beile will spare your lives out of respect for your loyalty and righteousness!"

No one replied, but the soldiers' song grew quieter.

The man shouted the same words several more times.

In the main hall of the mansion, everyone gathered around Chen Liangce.

"Garrison Commander, what do we do?"

Chen Liangce said: "Tell them we wish to surrender, and ask the Beile to enter the mansion to negotiate."

His men went out and relayed the message in a loud voice.

But the Tartars were no fools—knowing there was gunpowder inside the mansion, how could they possibly come in?

The voice of the man shouting outside grew ever more intense: "The Beile says that as long as you come out, you will live, and Garrison Commander Chen Liangce will be appointed as the Zhenjiang Mobile Corps Commander. But if you do not come out, they will set fire!"

Hearing this, Chen Liangce knew the time for decision had come.

His gaze swept over the crowd, and finally settled on the youngest soldier. He said softly: "Xiaowu, are you afraid of death?"

Xiaowu was sixteen this year, still with some boyishness about him. Hearing this, he answered without hesitation: "I'm not afraid!"

Chen Liangce took a fire striker from his bosom and handed it to him: "Do you know where the fuse is?"

"Yes!"

"In a moment, when the Tartars charge in, you light it!"

"Understood!"

Chen Liangce patted his shoulder and smiled: "Good lad. When we get down below, we'll drink and eat meat together again!"

Xiaowu laughed and cried at the same time: "Brother Chen, we've agreed—when you get down below, you have to wait for me!"

"We'll definitely wait!" Chen Liangce nodded heavily, then, supported by his men, stood up, drew his blade, looked around at his comrades-in-arms, and declared in a loud voice: "Fight them to the death!"

With a great shout, everyone charged out of the mansion.

Xiaowu could only hear the sounds of bowstrings being drawn and screams without end from outside.

In but a moment, weapons clattered to the ground, and the cries of battle ceased.

He kept blowing on the fire striker, blowing it red and hot.

Then suddenly, from outside the mansion came a blood-chilling cry: "The sun and moon and mountains and rivers endure forever! The Great Ming's rivers and mountains endure forever!"

Xiaowu recognized it as Brother Chen's voice, and tears fell silently from his eyes.

Then came another dense volley of arrows.

A Tartar said: "Search the mansion. Don't miss anything."

Xiaowu knew the time had come. He walked behind the main hall, and with trembling hands, lit the fuse.

In the courtyard stood a rack of sky-rockets. The fire striker ignited them, and the sky-rockets launched one after another.

Fireworks rose into the sky, bursting into bright red spheres—a splendid sight. A moment later, another sky-rocket soared up and burst into a riot of colors.

Then Xiaowu returned to the main hall and lit the fuse of the gunpowder barrel. The force of the black powder explosion consumed him.

Countless lead shot blasted out from the gunpowder barrel, spraying in every direction.

The blast wave and lead shot reached a full two zhang. Seven or eight Tartars near the main hall were blown to the ground, spitting blood from their mouths.

Outside the mansion, the Tartars' warhorses were agitated and restless, shaken by the sound of the explosion.

Amin reined in his horse and gazed toward the mansion, sneering inwardly: "So this is the Ming army's last resort—hoping to blow me up with this bit of gunpowder. Truly as stupid as a roe deer!"

Not to mention that many Ming soldiers were spineless cowards—even if no one had leaked the secret, he would not easily enter such a mansion before the Ming soldiers in the city had been completely purged.

The sky-rockets continued to launch without pause.

Amin's contempt grew even greater. He thought to himself: if these southern barbarians could put the same effort they put into making fireworks into riding, shooting, and waging war, Liaodong would never have collapsed so badly.

He swept his gaze over the scene before the gate. More than twenty Ming corpses lay strewn about, bristling with arrows. The leading Han was tenacious indeed—with that many arrows in him, he still had a breath left.

This man must be Chen Liangce, the Garrison Commander of Zhenjiang.

Amin had thought this man was a talent, and wanted to capture him alive and put him to use—at the very least, to extract Ming military intelligence from him. But unfortunately, the man was stubbornly deluded, insisting on raising his blade and charging to his death. He could only oblige him.

The Han were weak and frail. Even without intelligence, fighting them would merely require a bit more effort in searching and hunting them down.

The only thing to worry about was that Ming cannon ship.

Wait—cannon ship?

Another yellow sky-rocket bloomed in the sky.

Amin stared at the sky and suddenly felt that something was terribly wrong.

Just then, a scout rider came galloping from the east side of the city to report: "Beile, on the river..."

Boom, boom, boom!

Before he could finish speaking, his words were drowned out by a string of cannon fire.

With a thunderous roar, a cannonball landed squarely in Tong Yangzhen's mansion. The main hall, already half destroyed by the blast, collapsed entirely, and even the western courtyard wall was blown open with a huge gap. Dust and stone fragments flew everywhere.

In an instant, within ten zhang of the mansion, explosions rang out in succession, houses collapsed one after another, and countless dust and debris rose into the air.

Chen Liangce, on the verge of death, heard the cannon fire and finally relaxed. He let out his last breath and departed from the world.

Because Amin was here, his Bayara bodyguards had formed several rings around him, packed densely together. Now that smoke and dust rose, with men shouting and horses neighing, they jostled and trampled one another, falling into chaos in an instant.

With a tremendous blast, a cannonball landed precisely in front of Amin. Five or six Bayara bodyguards were instantly turned into a mist of blood. Nothing remained on the spot but scraps of flesh and mangled corpses. Limbs of men and horses scattered through the air like rain in the direction the cannonball had come from—a truly bloody scene!

Amin was very close and was splattered all over with the blood and flesh of his guards. He was instantly stricken with terror.

His warhorse was struck by flying stones and spooked. It let out a long neigh, reared up on its hind legs, and threw Amin off, then galloped away.

Amin rose to his feet and murmured to himself: "So this is the power of that cannon ship?"

At the Liaoyang camp, he had heard the Zhenjiang routed soldiers speak of the might of the Great Ming's cannon ships, and had mentally prepared himself. But he never expected that experiencing it firsthand, the cannon ship was even more formidable than he had imagined.

These Bayara guards who had just died—called 'White Armor Soldiers' by the Han—were the strongest warriors selected from each niru to form this elite force. They could wear three layers of heavy armor, draw two-shi bows, and had fought through countless battles great and small, utterly fearless and unstoppable.

He had campaigned north and south under Amin, and even when he was the first to scale the walls or breach the formations, casualties had been rare.

Yet today, a single cannon blast had shattered five or six of his men alive!

Was the might of the Ming cannon truly so terrible?

If every Ming soldier had such cannon, what use would bows, horses, and mounted archery be?

Amin's heart churned with shock and awe. At the same time, he looked toward the east of the city, and a mad idea surged in his mind.

"If only such a fine weapon could be used by our Great Jin!"

The Jurchen cavalry were fierce and bold—in open field battles they did not fear the Ming army, but they were uniquely poor at besieging cities.

If they could use such cannon to bombard the city walls, and after the walls collapsed, send the cavalry charging in—would there still be any impregnable city left in this world?

Just as he was pondering this, a subordinate braved the dust and rubble to come before him, shouting: "Banner Master, leave the city at once!"

Amin pushed the subordinate aside and asked those around him: "How far is that cannon ship from the riverbank?"

No one answered. Amin searched among the rubble and found that the scout from earlier had been crushed beneath half a collapsed wall—already dead.

His subordinate urged him loudly: "Banner Master, the Han Chinese are loading their cannon with powder. Leave now while you still can—any later and it will be too late!"

Amin agreed. He mounted his bodyguard's horse and, under the protection of his personal guards, retreated toward the west of the city, while loudly giving orders: "Have all niru withdraw from the city! Have Songke lead troops to the riverbank and see if there is any chance to seize that cannon ship!"

At that moment, the sound of cannon fire rang out again. Around the mansion, it was as if heaven itself had delivered punishment—the thunderous crashes of cannonballs landing came one after another without cease, and countless civilian homes, alleys, tall walls, and great courtyards were reduced to ruins.

Countless fragments of stone were blasted into the sky, then came crashing back down to the ground like rain.

The Tartar soldiers around the mansion were packed densely—those not struck by cannonballs were hit by falling rubble. In an instant, the area was filled with cries of pain and wailing; the dead and wounded were beyond counting.

On the retreat route, Amin personally witnessed a small cavalry squad struck by a cannonball—the entire squad of seven or eight men, along with their horses, was turned into a spray of blood on the spot.

Even the least injured among them had lost an arm and fallen from his horse, screaming without cease.

Amin could no longer spare thought for the dead and wounded under his command—the entire chain of command had collapsed into chaos. He had to first withdraw beyond the cannon's range, then regroup his troops.

Fortunately, after moving far away from Tong Yangzhen's mansion, the cannon fire gradually could no longer reach them.

Amin and his party rode at full speed to the west city gate. Just as they were about to ride out, they saw that the gate tunnel had somehow already become a sea of fire.

What the Ming army had used to block the city gate were all flammable wooden materials—tables, chairs, carts, and the like—combined with thermite agents, producing an extremely fierce blaze.

At this moment, some Tartar soldiers spotted the figure of a Ming soldier atop the gate tower and shouted loudly: "There are still remnants of the enemy—protect the Banner Master!"

They immediately raised their bows and shot arrows at the gate tower.

That Ming soldier shrank back behind the crenellations, lit all his remaining thermite agents, and turned the gate tower into a single enormous torch.

Amin saw that the fire at the city gate was rising in an ominous manner and felt a sense of foreboding. The dread in his heart grew stronger and stronger, and he shouted: "Not good, we—"

Before he even finished speaking, a volley of cannon fire sounded from afar, and one of the shots struck the gate tower dead center.

Above the gate tunnel, the plaque inscribed with the words "Return Victorious" fell, crashing to the ground with a tremendous noise, and then the entire gate tower collapsed backward.

The Bayara bodyguards who saw this were all stricken with terror, their hearts and gallbladders splitting with fear.

Someone shouted: "Banner Master, run!"

In the next instant, the burning gate tower, like the descent of the Fire God himself, came crashing down with tremendous force.

(End of chapter)

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