Chapter 131: The Great Victory at Zhenjiang

Meanwhile.

On the stern deck of the Santa Ana on the Yalu River, when Lin Qian saw the west gate tower of Zhenjiang catch fire, he could not help but let out a slight sigh.

Chen Liangce was determined to defend Zhenjiang to the death, and Lin Qian could not persuade him otherwise, so at their final meeting, he proposed this plan to bombard the city of Zhenjiang with cannon fire.

Specifically, Chen Liangce would use himself as bait to draw the Tartar soldiers into gathering before Tong Yangzhen's residence, and use the sky-flower fireworks and gunpowder as the signal to open fire, killing as many Tartar soldiers as possible.

To lure the Tartars into the trap, they had to evade the eyes of the Tartar scout riders.

Lin Qian ordered the Santa Ana to anchor in a bay within Joseon territory, leaving only a bird boat on the Yalu River to keep watch on developments in Zhenjiang.

All Chen Liangce needed to do was delay for as long as possible before the Santa Ana sailed in.

To that end, Lin Qian gave Chen Liangce all the thermite agent carried on this voyage, along with a barrel of gunpowder mixed with lead shot.

Although the Santa Ana had conducted many practice drills to accurately bombard Tong Yangzhen's residence, there were simply too many factors affecting naval gun accuracy in this era, and the shells were all solid iron shot with limited killing power.

Lin Qian could not guarantee that one or two volleys would blast the Tartar commander to death, so he also devised a plan to set the gate towers ablaze.

Lin Qian had Chen Liangce block the city gates with flammable materials, and also had him hide one soldier in each of the four gate towers before retreating into the city—when the cannons in the city sounded, they were to use thermite agent to set fire at the gates.

If they saw the Tartar commander fleeing, they were to ignite the gate towers.

This was the last trump card Lin Qian had kept in reserve.

As things stood now, the Santa Ana's fourteen guns on a single broadside ultimately delivered too little projectile volume—they had failed to blast the Tartar general dead on the spot, and he had still managed to reach the west gate.

Although the west gate was also within cannon range, it was a full kilometer from the Santa Ana—already at extreme range.

Whether a shot could hit its target at that range was almost entirely up to heaven's will.

Lin Qian issued no new orders, so the gun deck kept firing toward the west gate at extreme range.

The distance was too great, and with darkness falling, Lin Qian could not even make out where the shells landed through his telescope.

After five more volleys, Lin Qian finally abandoned his illusions and ordered Lei Sanxiang to fire into the city of Zhenjiang.

Even if they could not blast the Tartar general to death, killing some Tartar soldiers would still be worthwhile.

By now all four gates of Zhenjiang were blazing with fierce flames, and the Tartar soldiers trapped within the city had nowhere to go—perfect for shutting the door and beating the dog.

On the gun deck, Lei Sanxiang kept urging the gunners to load and fire; the bronze cannon barrels were frighteningly hot, and one could feel the searing heat even with a hand held nearby—a careless touch would likely cost a layer of skin.

One gunner used a cotton cloth stick dipped in fresh water to swab the barrel and found that water droplets could not stay on the cannon at all—they slid back and forth with a sizzling hiss before being steamed dry in no time.

The gunner hastily reported: "Boatswain, the cannon barrels are overheated!"

Lei Sanxiang's head was already burning hot from the killing, his eyes red; hearing this, his heart jolted, and he hurriedly called for a cease-fire, personally holding his hand above the barrel to test it—in but a moment, his palm was already burning with pain.

With the barrel heated to such a degree, reloading gunpowder could easily ignite it directly and burst the cannon.

Lei Sanxiang hurriedly shouted up to the upper deck: "The cannon barrels are overheated!"

Bailangzai relayed the situation on the gun deck to Lin Qian.

Lin Qian: "Order the ship to turn—starboard side to the enemy!"

The orders passed down layer by layer, and after a little under half an hour, the galleon completed its turn, and the starboard guns roared.

Over the following hour, the starboard guns fired more than twenty more volleys.

Lin Qian again ordered the ship to come about, switching to port-side bombardment.

Throughout the entire night, this turning and coming about was done fully three times, with the guns on each side taking turns cooling and firing—over eight hundred rounds of solid iron shot were loosed in total, and the crewmen hauling gunpowder from the hold up to the gun deck were exhausted to the point of collapse.

In truth, Lin Qian knew that after so long, the Tartars in the city were either dead or fled, and any Tartars still trapped within were certainly scattered—forcing fire now would yield limited kills.

But this chance to kill Tartars had been bought with the lives of Ming soldiers.

The mere expenditure of shells and gunpowder was utterly insignificant compared to the lives of Chen Liangce and the hundred Ming soldiers under his command.

As long as even one Tartar remained in the city, his cannon fire would not stop.

The sun rose in the east, illuminating the banks of the Yalu River.

In the light of dawn, the town of Zhenjiang could be seen riddled with holes and wounds, thick with the haze of gun smoke.

The entire eastern city wall had collapsed in great sections, and even the rammed earth beneath the wall had sunk a full measure lower.

Looking with the naked eye, scarcely a single intact house could be seen in the city—even most of the streets were buried under rubble and ruins, truly like a land of utter desolation.

Lin Qian took out his telescope and looked toward the city. This spot had once been Tong Yangzhen's residence; now only a stretch of broken walls and collapsed beams remained, almost impossible to recognize—not even the bodies of Ming soldiers or Tartar troops could be seen, all buried beneath the ruins and debris.

Lin Qian then looked toward the west city gate. This was the extreme limit of the Siren cannon's range, so it had suffered lighter damage—the entire gate tower had collapsed, and scattered severed limbs and mangled corpses could be seen around it, while the barracks and civilian houses on either side were not badly damaged.

Throughout the entire city, and across the surrounding wilderness, not a single Tartar soldier could be seen.

Presumably, after a night of relentless bombardment, they had already retreated.

Lin Qian lowered his telescope and looked up at the sky: "Brother Chen, rest in peace."

Then he gave the order in a low voice: "Set course for Guanglu Island."

Bailangzai, who had taken over the first mate's post, relayed the order: "Raise the sails, heading southwest, port tack into the wind!"

After leaving the Yalu River, the Santa Ana rendezvoused with the fleet at Guanglu Island, and together they sailed in the direction of Nan'ao Island.

Meanwhile, on the post road west of Zhenjiang, a ragged remnant of the Bordered Blue Banner was riding forward on horseback.

This troop numbered about a dozen men, their morale low, heads bowed as they rode—every one of them covered in dust and grime, most of their armor in tatters, and some bearing wounds.

At the center of the troop was a simple cart frame pulled by a single horse; the frame was spread with straw, and upon the straw lay a man.

This man had a shaved head with a queue, wore the cotton armor of the Bordered Blue Banner, his face covered in soot-black, eyes closed, expression serene.

He was none other than Amin, one of the Four Great Beiles of the Later Jin, banner master of the Bordered Blue Banner.

Amin had no wounds on his upper body, but from the chest down he was burned to a charred black, and from the lower abdomen down his body was simply gone—only half of him remained.

The advantage of having only half a body was that the horse pulled the cart easily, and the pace was not slow.

The disadvantage was that the man was as dead as dead could be.

Last night, Amin had already fled to the west gate, only to have his path blocked by the great fire at the gate, and then be suddenly struck by cannon fire.

The entire west gate tower collapsed, burying Amin and his Baryala bodyguards completely beneath it.

Amin's horsemanship was superb—the instant the tower began to collapse he threw himself backward, and so was not entirely buried in the rubble, leaving half a corpse behind.

The Tartar cavalry around them, seeing that their banner master, the Beile, was buried beneath the rubble of the city tower, rushed over to rescue him.

But a great beam lay across Amin's chest, weighing no less than a thousand jin—they simply could not lift it, and atop it blazed a fierce fire.

The Tartar soldiers strained with all their might, yet could only drag out a small part of Amin's body. It was clear that unless they made a snap decision, Amin would be cremated on the spot.

They had no choice but to take out hand axes and cut Amin's body off below the lower abdomen, then carry the half corpse through the city in frantic flight, until finally the fire at the city gate died down and they escaped.

Amin's body, escorted by cavalry, traveled swiftly—in only three days, it was delivered to Nurhaci's field camp at Liaoyang.

When they saw Amin's half corpse—

Shock filled the faces of every Beile and minister in the camp.

For among the Four Great Beiles, Amin had always been renowned for his prowess in battle and his fearless courage. He was skilled in every aspect of archery and horsemanship—a Baturu among Baturus.

In his early twenties, he had led five thousand troops alongside Nurhaci's eldest son, Cuyeng, to conquer Hanshan City; at twenty-seven, he had annihilated the Ula tribe.

At thirty-three, he had routed the Ming army at Sarhu and Shangjianya, crushed Liu Ting's forces, and driven the Ming Mobile Corps Commander Qiao Yiqi to hang himself. That same year, he followed Nurhaci in destroying the Hada Jurchen Yehe tribe.

His record of military achievement was truly illustrious.

Moreover, in battle he most loved to lead from the front, often personally charging with his Bayara bodyguards. He had endured countless battles great and small, repeatedly placing himself in danger, and had miraculously survived every time.

A man like this should have been an eagle soaring the heavens, a tiger that shakes the mountains and forests.

How could he have died in battle at a tiny place like Zhenjiang?

Compared to the brilliant first half of Amin's life, dying at Zhenjiang was too great a contrast—too absurd, so much so that it was hard to believe.

Even the Fourth Beile, Hong Taiji, known for his steady counsel and strategy, wore a look of astonishment, confirming Amin's corpse twice before he could accept the fact.

Compared to the shock and panic of the assembled ministers, Nurhaci remained relatively composed. He asked about the details of the Battle of Zhenjiang, then inquired about casualties on both sides and the movements of the Ming army.

The Jurchen soldier who had brought Amin's body back said: "The Ming troops defending the city numbered over a hundred, and all fought to the death. The Bordered Blue Banner's dead and wounded... number about five hundred or more, most of them blasted by the Ming cannon ships."

The moment these words were spoken, the temperature in the tent seemed to drop several degrees. The surrounding silence grew deeper—one could hear the breathing of every Beile and minister.

"After the banner master fell in battle, the Bordered Blue Banner army withdrew from Zhenjiang City. According to scout reports, the Ming cannon ship bombarded Zhenjiang for an entire night. Because the banner master was dead and no niru had a commander, no one knows where the cannon ship went afterward..."

The atmosphere, already suppressed to its breaking point, grew even more terrifying.

The Ming cannon ship had appeared outside Zhenjiang City as if by magic, then vanished just as inexplicably—did that not mean every coastal fortress in Liaodong was now under threat from that ship?

Would Jin Prefecture, Fuzhou, and Gaizhou no longer be safe from now on?

Their Great Jin had fought countless bloody battles against the Great Ming, finally conquering Liaodong, hoping to use it as a foundation to contend for the empire.

Yet now, this foundation they had just seized, barely warm in their hands, was to be harried by Ming forces on every side?

At this moment, despair rose in the hearts of all the Beiles and ministers. Their Jurchen people were few in number; their only advantage over the Han was in archery and horsemanship.

Now that the Han possessed such cannons, how could they possibly contend with them in the future?

The bloody battle at the Hun River was still vivid in the minds of all the Beiles and ministers. In that battle, the Ming army had not yet possessed such cannons, and already they were terrifyingly strong—now would they not be like a tiger with wings added?

Moreover, after winter set in, the Khan would most likely march on Guangning. If such great cannons were stationed on the walls of Guangning, then never mind whether they could take the city—

Even just defending Liaodong would become a problem.

Nurhaci took in the expressions on everyone's faces and sneered with contempt: "No matter how powerful the bow, in the hands of a monkey it is only a piece of wood; no matter how smooth the pebble, in the hands of a warrior it is a weapon that can take an enemy's life!

The Han rely on nothing but their navy and cannons for victory. If it truly comes to real fighting on land, the Han are no match for us. Is the victory at Sarhu not convincing enough?"

Hearing these words, the Beiles and ministers rekindled their hope.

Yes—back in the day, when the Khan raised his banner with thirteen suits of armor, did he not annihilate the fire-arm-wielding Ming army at Sarhu?

What decides victory or defeat in war is not weapons, but soldiers and generals. As long as the troops are brave and willing to die, and the commanders are strict in rewards and punishments, what does it matter how many divine weapons the Great Ming possesses?

Nurhaci said in a deep voice: "Hong Taiji!"

"Great Khan!" The Fourth Beile, Hong Taiji, stepped forward.

"I order you to lead troops to Zhenjiang. First, retake Zhenjiang. Second, investigate the cannon ship and cannons, and find a way to put them to use for our Great Jin."

"Yes!" Hong Taiji answered loudly.

The council concluded, and Nurhaci ordered that Amin be buried with full honors.

The Third Beile, Manggūltai, stepped forward and said: "Great Khan, what shall we do with these remnants of the Bordered Blue Banner? They failed to protect their banner master—they ought to be executed!"

Nurhaci's gaze swept across the room, and the Company Commander who had brought Amin's body back trembled all over in fear.

Nurhaci spoke: "They were not Amin's Bayara bodyguards, and they brought their banner master's body back. They should not be punished—rather, their bravery should be richly rewarded. Withdraw and receive your reward!"

"Thank you, Great Khan!" The Company Commander knelt and kowtowed.

Nurhaci then said to Hong Taiji in a cold voice: "When you reach Zhenjiang, kill every Han Chinese there—let them be buried with Amin!"

"Yes!" Hong Taiji answered bitterly.

After the Beiles and ministers withdrew, Nurhaci returned to the rear courtyard. At last he could no longer hold himself up—the world spun around him, his body swayed left and right, and he collapsed to the ground.

Attendants hurried forward to support him.

"Get away!" Nurhaci roared in fury. Then he gazed at the sky and silently swore an oath in his heart.

Whoever killed Amin—one day, he would have them cut into a thousand pieces!

Several days later, Hong Taiji rode at speed and, protected by over a hundred personal guards, arrived at Zhenjiang.

Along the way, he had already learned from scout reports that Zhenjiang was now a pile of ruins and that the Ming army had abandoned the city and departed.

That was why he dared to travel light with only a hundred or so personal guards.

Even though he had already heard the report from the Bordered Blue Banner's Company Commander, when he personally saw the destruction the cannon ship had wrought upon Zhenjiang, Hong Taiji could not help but feel a violent shock in his heart.

He did not accept the Khan's talk of "monkeys" and "warriors."

In Hong Taiji's heart, backwardness was backwardness.

To defeat the Great Ming, besides learning their culture and language, and winning over their officials and landlords, what mattered more was seizing control of the Great Ming's advanced firearms for themselves!

Hong Taiji reined in his horse outside Zhenjiang City as scout reports came in without cease.

"Beile, this slave scouted a hundred li north along the Yalu River. All the tokso along the way were destroyed and abandoned—not a single Han was seen."

"Dismissed."

Hong Taiji's face was expressionless, but his heart was bleeding.

The fall of Zhenjiang was a minor matter, and Amin's death was not a great loss either—but the destruction of the farmsteads along the Yalu River and the loss of population were a heavy blow to the Great Jin.

Though Liaodong's soil was fertile, the weather was bitterly cold, and grain production was already minimal; with the sparse population, it was even harder to supply a large army.

To reduce grain consumption, the Khan had even gone so far as to carry out "kill the poor wretches" operations in Liaoyang, Shenyang, and elsewhere.

One could say that those dozens of farmsteads along the Yalu River had been established by the Great Jin with tremendous effort—they were the Great Jin's grain-producing rear base, the key to military provisions for next year's campaign against Guangning and the future assault on Shanhai Pass.

And all of it was lost in a single battle...

This "cutting off the firewood from under the cauldron" move by the Ming army was ruthless indeed!

"Beile!"

Just as he was wailing inwardly, a scout rode up to report: "This servant found this in the city!"

The scout dismounted and took an object from his saddlebag.

Hong Taiji looked closely and saw it was a round lump of iron, the size of two fists—presumably a Ming cannonball.

Hong Taiji reached out and took it, hefting it in his hand—it weighed about ten-odd jin.

He had seen Ming firearms at Sarhu, Liaoshen, and the Hun River, but never one that could fire such a heavy cannonball.

Hong Taiji asked again: "Are there other firearms in the city?"

The scout said: "The town of Zhenjiang is buried under rubble. This servant only found this one. If the Beile so commands, this servant will send men to search more thoroughly."

Hong Taiji shook his head—the Great Jin's limited manpower was needed for farming and war; there was no time to sift through rubble. He handed the cannonball to the Bayara Guard beside him: "Take this to Liaoyang, find Han Chinese generals and craftsmen, and ask them what kind of firearm this is."

"Yes!" The Bayara Guard acknowledged the order and led his unit, galloping off in the direction of Liaoshen.

Someone beside him reminded him: "Beile, the Khan ordered us to slaughter all the Han Chinese in Zhenjiang..."

Hong Taiji said coldly: "Are there still Han Chinese in Zhenjiang?"

His subordinate wanted to say that while there were no Han Chinese left around Zhenjiang, they could go kill them elsewhere—in any case, the Khan's command could not be disobeyed. The Khan simply wanted Han Chinese dead; as for where they died, the Khan would not care.

But seeing Hong Taiji's icy expression, the words died in his throat.

While Hong Taiji's forces were investigating Zhenjiang...

More than ten naval warships quietly landed at Pidao.

Mao Wenlong, who had been ordered by Liaodong Governor Wang Huazhen to retake Zhenjiang, was utterly stunned after seeing the people of Pidao, learning of the great victory at Zhenjiang, and then witnessing with his own eyes the devastation of Zhenjiang town and the Tartar soldiers scattered about on patrol.

The Battalion Commander He that the people of Pidao spoke of was, from beginning to end, inside and out, thoroughly and completely, steeped in the bizarre.

First, Liaodong had fallen in the third month. Wang Huazhen had learned the news immediately, assembled troops and supplies, and dispatched Mao Wenlong to Zhenjiang.

How could this Battalion Commander He possibly have arrived a step earlier than him?

One had to know that assembling ships, preparing crews, and requisitioning provisions all took time.

Could this Battalion Commander He possess the ability to foresee the future?

Second, Battalion Commander He claimed to be a subordinate of Xiong Tingbi, the Military Commissioner of Liaodong.

Whether Xiong Tingbi had such a man under his command—didn't he, Mao Wenlong, know perfectly well?

Moreover, the discord between the Liaodong Military Commissioner and Governor was a matter of common knowledge. Governor Wang Huazhen advocated offense, so he had actively dispatched Mao Wenlong to Zhenjiang.

Whereas Xiong Tingbi, the Military Commissioner of Liaodong, advocated defense.

This was not merely a question of strategy—behind it all was entangled party politics. Wang Huazhen was opposed to the Donglin Faction.

In the Great Ming, everything under heaven could be muddled through—except factional struggle, which was conducted with absolute rigor and no ambiguity whatsoever.

If Military Commissioner Xiong had been willing to send men to Zhenjiang, he would not have been seen as an ambiguous fence-sitter.

Finally, and most shockingly to Mao Wenlong...

This Battalion Commander He, by his own strength alone, had blasted the town of Zhenjiang into ruins and transported over thirty thousand Liaodong refugees from the banks of the Yalu River to Pidao.

Who could have pulled off such a grand feat?

Even he, Mao Wenlong—the legitimate Mobile Corps Commander of Liaodong—had scraped together men and supplies in haste for this expedition and brought fewer than two hundred men!

This so-called Battalion Commander He... a mere Battalion Commander, yet capable of such a great deed—just who in the world was he?

At this point, Mao Wenlong sank into deep self-doubt.

He questioned the residents of Pidao, and all he heard was how approachable Battalion Commander He was, how he rescued the suffering, how extraordinary his bearing was, how he inspired admiration in all who saw him.

Truly useful information was few and far between.

The only thing he learned was that most of Battalion Commander He's subordinates spoke with southern accents.

That piece of information was essentially useless—the Great Ming's nine border garrisons saw frequent warfare, and there were many precedents of southern troops being transferred north.

Not to look far, take the recent bloody battle at the Hun River—Sichuan's White Pole Troops and Guangxi's Wolf Soldiers had both participated.

Especially in the navy, southerners were even more numerous.

Even Mao Wenlong himself was from Zhejiang, and most of his subordinates were southern soldiers.

In short, this Regional Commander He was a mystery in identity, a mystery in origin, and a mystery in destination. Having achieved this earth-shaking merit, he had left without a sound, taking only three-odd thousand refugees—even his motives were a mystery!

Mao Wenlong's heart was full of questions, and he felt an indescribable unease.

After hesitating for a long time, he was left with no choice but to report the truth to the Governor in his battle report.

He did entertain the thought of claiming this earth-shaking merit for himself, but the thirty thousand people of Pidao were all witnesses to Battalion Commander He's great achievement—he did not have the nerve to falsify military intelligence.

The battle report was quickly sent by ship to Guangning.

Governor Wang Huazhen's brows knitted into a deep furrow when he saw it. Had Mao Wenlong been before him, he would have cursed him out loud.

Factional strife was fiercer than ever these days, and he and the Military Commissioner were already at daggers drawn. At this critical juncture, an inexplicable "Battalion Commander He" appearing out of nowhere—wasn't that just adding chaos to an already turbulent situation?

So Wang Huazhen pondered briefly, then altered the battle report, attributing all the credit for the great victory at Zhenjiang and the transfer of refugees to Mao Wenlong.

This way, Mao Wenlong gained military merit, and he, Wang Huazhen, could also gain the upper hand over Xiong Tingbi in the Commissioner-Governor struggle!

Mid-July.

Governor Wang Huazhen's battle report reached the capital, and instantly the court and the country were shaken—the enormous gloom of the fall of Liaoshen was swept away, and officials and commoners alike rejoiced.

This was the Ming dynasty's only great victory since Nurhaci had raised his troops and sworn to campaign against the Ming.

In his memorial, Chief Grand Secretary Ye Xianggao compared Mao Wenlong to the ancients Ban Chao and Geng Gong, praising him as truly "a marvel of peerless chivalry," whose tactics "somewhat captured the art of the military strategists in using the unconventional and the few."

Minister of War Wang Zaijin lavishly praised this victory as "a sound in an empty valley," one that upon hearing set the heart racing with longing, making one forget food and tea.

Even the Tianqi Emperor, who long remained secluded deep in the palace, broke precedent to set down his carpentry work and exclaim that Mao Wenlong was a "loyal minister and good general."

The Grand Secretariat immediately followed His Majesty's grand policy guidelines in promoting Mao Wenlong by special exception to Vice Regional Commander, while also ordering the Denglai naval forces to coordinate with Mao Wenlong, and directing Liaodong Governor Wang Huazhen and Military Commissioner Xiong Tingbi to "deliberate on advance or retreat."

The so-called "deliberate on advance or retreat" was a euphemistic way of saying discuss plans for a counteroffensive, which also meant the court had in effect endorsed Wang Huazhen's strategy.

This also meant that the forces opposing the Donglin Faction had, through this campaign, seen their arrogance swell greatly.

At the same time, Wei Jinzhong, the brush-holding eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, was granted the name "Wei Zhongxian" because of his deep favor with His Majesty.

The anti-Donglin forces in court and countryside also showed a faint trend of gravitating toward Wei Zhongxian, and the appellation "the eunuch faction" gradually took shape.

The great victory at Zhenjiang was a good thing in itself, but because of the strategic shift it brought and the intensifying factional strife, it was a mixed blessing for the Ming court.

Only, this deep-seated crisis was completely concealed by the joy of the great triumph.

The entire capital was immersed in fantasies of a "glorious age of resurgence."

Just as the lords of the court were congratulating one another in celebration.

The Santa Ana had already returned to Nan'ao Island at the end of the seventh month.

(End of chapter)

Yahei

Pink Round

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