Chapter 169: Please, Listen to the Thunder

At these words, the main hall of the Supreme Commander's residence fell silent, so quiet that a dropped needle could be heard.

If this plan truly succeeded, it would be a great victory on par with the Battle of Zhenjiang.

Draining all the manpower of southern Liaodong and leaving the Jianzhou barbarians two empty cities—though not many of their soldiers would be killed, it would still be a heavy blow to the Tartars.

Under such circumstances, the Jianzhou barbarians would certainly muster their main forces and march to the rescue—a classic case of "besieging Wei to rescue Zhao," relieving the crisis in western Liaoning.

Even if the Jianzhou barbarians were stubborn and insisted on attacking western Liaoning first, handing the Ningyuan city under construction to the Tartars, in terms of results, the Great Ming would still come out ahead.

However, good as the plan sounded, it would be extremely difficult to achieve.

Fifty days—nearly two months. How would the people's food be supplied during that time? How would the people of Fuzhou be relocated to Jin Prefecture? And after being shipped to western Liaoning and Denglai, how would they be settled?

Problems everywhere.

And most importantly, holding Fuzhou and Jin Prefecture for two months against the iron cavalry of the Jianzhou barbarians was simply impossible.

Yuan Chonghuan immediately asked: "Setting aside the food and supplies along the way, just speaking of this near two-month deadline—how does the General plan to hold the line?"

Lin Qian smiled faintly: "Very simple—rely on natural defenses, use cannons."

Yuan Chonghuan was taken aback, secretly glancing at Sun Chengzong, thinking to himself that this strategy was quite similar to the Supreme Commander's own views and his as well.

But Sun Yuanhua had also said earlier that western Liaoning currently had only thirty Folangji cannons—barely enough to defend Ningyuan, let alone spare any for natural defenses.

This method, when all was said and done, was still just empty theorizing, a shallow view.

Yuan Chonghuan shook his head with a sigh and said no more.

Seeing this, Lin Qian smiled mysteriously: "Setting aside the cannons for now—if Fuzhou and Jin Prefecture could be held, would the Supreme Commander and all you colleagues have confidence in properly settling the people of southern Liaodong?"

Shen Yourong was a man who understood warfare and spoke up first: "Assuming the people of Fuzhou can reach Changsheng Island, transporting them to Denglai and western Liaoning would be no problem.

On the return voyage, the fleet can load grain to supply the two prefectures. In addition, there is grain in the two prefectures' storehouses—the food for this month-plus should be able to be prepared in full."

Lin Qian: "Supreme Commander?"

Sun Chengzong gave no indication either way, his two eyes sizing up Lin Qian's face as if trying to see through him.

After a long while, Sun Chengzong slowly spoke: "The matter is urgent—there is no time to petition the court. A portion of the military grain from both prefectures can be temporarily allocated for the arriving people. After we report to the court later, we will request additional grain and pay, and settle them on military farmland."

"Let the people of Liaodong defend the land of Liaodong; let the land of Liaodong nourish the people of Liaodong." This had always been Sun Chengzong's consistent policy.

At present, the vast majority of farmers and craftsmen along the line from western Liaoning to Ningyuan were Liaodong people Sun Chengzong had taken in.

And the western Liaoning corridor was all wasteland—when the people of southern Liaodong arrived in western Liaoning, it would be no more than registering a few more farming households.

But the problem was—this young officer before them acted recklessly, spoke flippantly, and had an unclear background. Could he truly bear such a heavy responsibility?

Sun Chengzong shifted his tone, staring hard at Lin Qian: "However, this is a matter of great weight. Mobilizing ships, weapons, and provisions all require tremendous effort. Should anything go wrong, the situation in western Liaoning would be lost entirely—this Commander cannot gamble."

Historically, Sun Chengzong's early defensive strategy of constructing Ningyuan city had been correct.

Nurhaci, dim-witted in his old age, made blunder after blunder, watching with his own eyes as Ningyuan was built without reacting. Only when Yuan Chonghuan had already mounted the cannons on Ningyuan's walls did he think to attack—and the result was the most devastating defeat of his life.

Historically, in the seventh month of the third year of Tianqi, Ming general Zhang Pan had also successfully launched from Lushun, taken Jin Prefecture city, and held firm in southern Liaodong for over four months—before ultimately being defeated by the main forces of the Eight Banners, losing the battle and being killed.

But now, with Lin Qian's arrival, counting on the Jianzhou barbarians to behave exactly as they did in history was no longer realistic—tactics had to be adjusted.

Stubbornly defending Ningyuan was a dead end.

The Denglai navy had ships, Lin Qian had cannons, western Liaoning had troops—why not combine forces and seize the strategic initiative in their own hands?

So Lin Qian said: "With eighty red barbarian cannons, still don't dare to gamble?"

For a moment, every military officer in the room caught their breath. The fame of the red barbarian cannons had been heard of by most of the generals, more or less. At the urging of Xu Guangqi and others, the court was negotiating with the Macao barbarians to purchase them.

There were no actual red barbarian cannons in Liaodong yet, and the imitation red barbarian cannons Sun Yuanhua had spoken of—no one had seen those either.

Sun Chengzong was startled at first, then his expression grew agitated, beard and hair bristling like rows of spears and halberds: "Are these words true?"

Though he was a man of letters, he was powerfully built and spoke with a full, resonant voice that shook the walls. On ordinary days when he spoke softly and gently, one hardly noticed—but when excited, he truly had an imposing presence.

Lin Qian gave no reply. He picked up the thin wooden stick and pointed at Jin Prefecture city: "True or false—we'll see when the Battle of Jin Prefecture comes."

Sun Yuanhua said urgently: "Could we test-fire the cannons first?"

Lin Qian slowly shook his head. It wasn't that he was being overly possessive—the truth was that the Great Ming's interior had been infiltrated by the Jianzhou barbarians like a sieve. Cannons made such a thunderous noise that once test-fired, the Jianzhou barbarians would soon learn that cannon-armed ships had arrived.

Sun Chengzong's brows knitted tightly as he began to seriously consider Lin Qian's strategy: "Tell me your deployment."

"My forces will blast open the city walls with cannons. The Denglai navy will transport the land army to take the city. Then the cannons will be moved atop the walls to set up defenses—this should be enough to hold the city."

"That simple?" All the generals were stunned. This wasn't a deployment—it was like children playing house.

"And what about Fuzhou?" Yuan Chonghuan asked.

"Fuzhou is too far from the sea—beyond the reach of the navy's cannons," Lin Qian said. "However, given how at the time of the Zhenjiang victory, everyone within a hundred li surrendered at the mere sight of our approach, with the Great Ming's groundwork in Fuzhou, I believe taking the city won't be too difficult."

Sun Chengzong's heart trembled slightly. Liu Xingzuo was stationed at Fuzhou, and this man had long harbored intentions of returning to the Ming. As long as they contacted him beforehand and persuaded him to turn his coat and open the gates, it wouldn't be difficult.

But how did this young Mobile Corps Commander captain of the Fujian-Guangdong navy know about that?

"After taking Jin Prefecture, what about your navy?" someone else asked.

Lin Qian smiled slightly, extended his wooden stick, and tapped a point on the sand table.

"Hiss—" A sound of drawn-in breaths suddenly filled the hall, as if everyone had a collective toothache.

After a long moment, Shen Yourong frowned: "Your forces holding this place—isn't it too perilous?"

Ma Shilong, Regional Commander of Shanhai Pass, said: "This place is indeed important—not something the navy can handle. Let my household troops defend it."

Shen Yourong was greatly displeased. His reason for not letting Lin Qian hold it was out of care for his junior—but what was Ma Shilong's meaning with these words? He was about to retort.

But then they heard Lin Qian say: "If the General wishes to help, this place is just short of men for an ambush."

With that, his wooden stick tapped another point on the sand table.

The generals looked over and thought in unison: "How arrogant!"

The place Lin Qian pointed to was in the mountain gullies beside his own defense sector.

Having Ma Shilong go there to lie in ambush—the subtext was that the Jianzhou barbarians would not only fail to break through his defensive line, but would actually have to go around it!

Wasn't that the most absurd joke in the world?

The Jianzhou barbarians had been at war for forty years. In field battles against the Great Ming, they had never lost a single one—and the Ming army had never won a single one.

If the Ming army had any ability to stop the Eight Banners, then Liaoyang and Shenyang would still be in Ming hands, and Yuan Yingtai would not have burned himself to death.

Even though the assembled men could not readily refute Lin Qian without knowing his background, they could not help but regard him with some contempt, all feeling that this man was nothing more than a glib-tongued Zhao Kuo.

The generals all believed that, after all this talk, Lin Qian's only reliance was nothing more than those so-called dozens of red barbarian cannons.

But where were the cannons?

And where was his navy?

The generals had not even caught a glimpse of them—could this all be fabricated?

It was not impossible that another madman like Mao Wenlong had appeared—one who craved glory and padded his troop numbers.

Even Sun Chengzong's gaze turned scrutinizing. At this point he could no longer worry about intelligence leaking—if there truly were no cannons, there was nothing to leak.

So Sun Chengzong said: "General He, where are these red barbarian cannons you speak of? Might this old man see them?"

Lin Qian sighed.

Very well—it seemed he would have to show his hand.

"Geng Wu." Lin Qian said in a low voice.

"General!" Geng Wu stood at attention outside the hall, fist in palm.

"Send orders to the three ships Tianyuan, Changfeng, and Yunfan—at one thousand paces from the city wall, one volley."

"Yes!" Geng Wu snapped to attention and replied, then strode quickly out of the compound.

To avoid drawing attention, the three ships were currently anchored in the open sea. From Geng Wu crossing by boat, to delivering the order, to the three ships sailing close enough to Shanhai Pass to fire—it would take at least an hour.

By now the broad strategy had already been explained; if he went on to discuss implementation details, no one would pay attention anyway.

Lin Qian simply fell silent, surveying the generals in the hall. These were the men who would shape the Liaodong situation for the next twenty years.

Time passed minute by minute; the sun in the main hall gradually rose until it stood at its zenith.

Already some generals could not hold back and asked: "I say, General He, what exactly are we waiting for? We all have pressing military matters—we don't have time to waste with you."

Lin Qian: "Patience."

After much more time passed, Lin Qian asked his personal guard: "How long has it been?"

"About an hour."

Lin Qian cleared his throat: "Gentlemen, please listen for thunder."

"Thunder?" The generals were utterly baffled.

Ma Shilong looked outside the hall: "In this clear weather, where would thun—"

"Boom! Boom! Boom——"

Before he finished speaking, rolling thunder came from the distance.

The thunder was extremely dense, continuous and unbroken, overwhelming every sound between heaven and earth.

The generals' eyes went wide; they exchanged glances, breathing rapidly, not one of them daring to speak.

Only after several breaths did the thunder gradually come to an end.

Shanhai Pass returned to silence.

Everyone in the hall stared with wide eyes, their expressions turning quite colorful.

After a moment, a soldier came from outside the compound to report: "Supreme Commander, three great ships have appeared on the eastern sea at a distance of over a thousand paces."

Sun Chengzong said: "Understood. You may go."

He steadied himself, then looked at Lin Qian: "This campaign—how confident are you?"

Lin Qian's expression turned solemn, and he clasped his hands: "I am willing to sign a pledge of guarantee—should I fail to achieve complete victory, I will submit to military discipline!"

Sun Chengzong looked at the generals in the hall: "What do you all think?"

Shen Yourong: "The Denglai navy is willing to sail for southern Liaodong!"

Ma Shilong: "Supreme Commander, this plan of relieving the besieged by attacking the besieger—this general believes it is feasible."

Yuan Chonghuan: "If this plan succeeds, it can keep the Tartars from mounting a westward invasion for several years. It is worth the risk."

After a long deliberation, Sun Chengzong slowly rose from his seat: "In that case, return to your camps and prepare. In this battle, whoever delays the campaign—do not blame this commander for showing no mercy under military law!"

"As ordered!" The generals in the hall clasped their fists together, their voices shaking the very tiles.

That night, in the study of the Supreme Commander's residence, Sun Chengzong lit a lamp and wrote a secret memorial, laying out the battle arrangements and requesting that the court send additional grain and pay to the Liaoxi and Denglai regions.

After finishing, he summoned his subordinate and sent the secret memorial by four-hundred-li express to the capital.

In theory, a secret memorial could reach the emperor directly, minimizing the risk of leaks—but the current Son of Heaven was absorbed in carpentry and neglected state affairs, so this secret memorial would ultimately have to be delivered to the Directorate of Ceremonial, and the Directorate of Ceremonial would in turn consult the Grand Secretariat.

The risk of leaks increased greatly.

Sun Chengzong had no choice. As the court's Supreme Commander of Ji and Liao, he could not bear the responsibility of concealing such a large operational plan from the court.

The court's laws and regulations were what he valued most in his life—he could not be the one to break them.

After sending off the secret memorial, Sun Chengzong originally meant to blow out the candle and retire to bed, but after thinking it over, he took out another sheet of paper and wrote with his brush: "This one respectfully writes, to Your Excellency Elder Taiweng:"

The character "tai" was taken from the meanings of "taifu" and "taiheng," and in the Great Ming referred exclusively to Grand Secretaries of the Grand Secretariat.

"Weng" was a respectful term for an elder, and also conveyed intimacy.

At Sun Chengzong's age, and holding a position like Imperial Tutor, the only person who could merit his address of "Taiweng" was Ye Xianggao.

The two were not only fellow Hanlin scholars who admired each other, but close personal friends; Ye Xianggao, as the senior, had also greatly supported Sun Chengzong's career.

For instance, when Ye Xianggao retired from the Grand Secretariat, he petitioned the emperor to have Sun Chengzong fill the vacancy among the Grand Secretaries.

The emperor issued a special edict appointing Sun Chengzong to enter the Grand Secretariat in his capacity as Vice Minister of the Right of the Ministry of Rites, to participate in state affairs.

Without Ye Xianggao's recommendation, Sun Chengzong's meteoric rise from his position as a Daily Lecture official would have been absolutely impossible.

Only afterward came the events where the newly appointed Military Commissioner Wang Zaijin advocated defense, and Sun Chengzong requested to go beyond the pass to inspect, recommending himself as Military Commissioner of Liaodong.

It could be said that without Ye Xianggao's patronage, there would be no Sun Chengzong as he was today.

Today, Sun Chengzong would trouble this "Taiweng"—mentor and friend alike—once more.

Apart from the usual pleasantries and polite formalities, his letter focused mainly on asking about the Nan'ao naval forces, especially the situation of "General He."

A mere roaming general, holding three galleon-style vessels with over eighty cannons, intimately familiar with the bays, terrain, and coastal defenses of Liaodong, and possessing wildly imaginative strategic planning abilities.

Why had he never heard of such a man?

Was he a nail driven into Liaodong by the eunuch faction, or a reinforcement sent by the pure-stream officials to stabilize Liaodong?

Sun Chengzong weighed every word, not finishing the letter until the small hours of the night. He carefully sealed it, summoned a servant, and instructed: "Ride express to deliver this into the hands of Grand Secretary Ye in Fuqing."

"Yes." The servant acknowledged and departed.

Sun Chengzong washed his brush clean, blew out the candle, and prepared to rest—but his mind was a tangled mess, and he felt no drowsiness at all. He simply kept his clothes on and went out to the courtyard to admire the moon.

Thinking of how Jurchen cavalry were massing five hundred li to the northeast, he felt deeply troubled.

And thinking of the Han commoners across the sea, surviving miserably under the Tartars' blades and whips, his heart ached as if pierced by knives.

"With his plan, can these two dilemmas truly resolve themselves?"

Sun Chengzong muttered to himself, standing stock-still in the courtyard for a long while, until it all dissolved into one long sigh.

The first day of the fourth month, the third year of Tianqi. Early summer.

The weather was slightly cool, the sunlight bright.

For the Han aha at Muchang Station, it was just an ordinary day.

Before dawn, they were roughly roused from the communal sleeping platform by the Tartars, then assigned different tasks and set to work.

Those in charge of the orchard had to prune branches, spread fertilizer, carry water, and pull weeds.

Those tending the official horses needed to feed and groom the animals.

Others had to chop firewood, draw water, cook for the Tartar soldiers, and wash their clothes.

Muchang Station was a small fortress, surrounded by over a dozen mu of orchards, and doubled as a courier post, garrisoned by more than fifty Tartar soldiers.

There were only a little over twenty aha, and with this handful of people they bore all the work of the station, fortress, and orchards—an extremely heavy burden. Over the course of one winter,

five had already died from exhaustion.

It wasn't that the Tartars didn't want to capture more aha—it was just that since the Battle of Zhenjiang, the Jianzhou barbarians had begun relocating the coastal population inland on a large scale.

Jin Prefecture in particular, isolated in southern Liaodong and difficult to defend, had nearly all its population moved away, leaving only about a thousand soldiers garrisoned there.

If not for Lushun Port still being held by the Ming general Zhang Pan, the Jianzhou barbarians probably wouldn't have maintained even that thousand soldiers.

And Muchang Station lay south of Jin Prefecture and Lushun Port—a vital forward position for watching the Ming army at Lushun—which was why over fifty Tartar soldiers had been left there.

Fortunately, Zhang Pan was also isolated across the sea, with supply difficulties and insufficient troops under his command. Since seizing Lushun Port in the seventh year of Tianming, he had been unable to advance even one step northward—which had, in turn, maintained over a year of peace at Muchang Station.

On the walls of Muchang Station, a Tartar soldier stood atop the ramparts, urinating down below.

Directly beneath him was the latrine. As the Han aha queued up to use it, they were caught squarely under his stream of piss—daring to be angry but not daring to speak, they could only scatter in a fluster.

The Tartar soldier laughed heartily, gave himself a couple of shakes, and fastened his belt.

A companion beside him said: "You shouldn't piss on the aha. It'll make them hate you. If the southern barbarians ever attack, they might take the chance to kill you."

The urinating soldier was unconcerned: "The Khan has said this realm will sooner or later belong to us Jurchen. These Han are nothing but livestock, pigs and dogs—we can toy with them however we please."

His companion pursed his lips and said nothing more.

"Wooo—" The horn on the watchtower sounded without the slightest warning.

Everyone wore a bewildered expression.

A Tartar soldier shouted in the Jurchen language: "Dogtail, what the hell are you blowing for?"

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" The soldier on the watchtower shouted in panic, then took a deep breath and blew the horn again.

The urinating soldier cursed under his breath and turned to look beyond the walls—where in the world would an enemy attack come from? But then he froze in shock. On the official road not far away, a cloud of dust was rising.

The great Ming flame banner with its blue field and black characters fluttered proudly in the wind.

Within the dust, several hundred Ming soldiers were marching in formation toward Muchang Station. At the very front, a Ming general rode on horseback, raising his sword again and again, shouting and weaving through the ranks.

"Have the southern barbarians lost their minds?" the urinating soldier muttered.

There was no doubt the arrivals were Zhang Pan's troops—but they had no supplies, no warhorses, and no firearms. Were they coming to throw their lives away?

"Swoosh!" While he was still staring blankly, an arrow flew from afar and struck the urinating Tartar soldier square in the shoulder. With a cry of agony, he tumbled off the wall and landed directly in the latrine pit, unable to climb out for a time.

A nearby aha, seeing that no one was paying attention, grabbed a wooden stick and jabbed hard into the pit. The urinating Tartar soldier choked down several mouthfuls and soon stopped struggling.

Within the dust, Zhang Pan sat astride his horse, longbow in hand, and loosed several more arrows in quick succession—but with the earlier lesson fresh in mind, the Tartar soldiers now hid behind the crenellations, and none were hit.

Only then did the remaining Tartar soldiers realize Zhang Pan was in earnest. They shut the gates and moved to their defensive positions, while dispatching riders at full gallop to report to Jin Prefecture.

Muchang Station was no more than sixty li from Jin Prefecture city, all along the official road—a fast horse could cover it in half an hour.

The Jin Prefecture jala efu, E'erhe, was overjoyed at the news.

Jurchen warriors were poor at siegecraft, but unbeatable in open field battle. Zhang Pan had been holed up in Lushun city, where E'erhe truly couldn't touch him—but if he recklessly advanced and dared to besiege Muchang Station, this was the perfect opportunity to wipe the man out!

E'erhe immediately mustered his troops, personally leading over seven hundred cavalry and infantry out of the city, determined to eliminate Zhang Pan—this thorn in Liaodong's side—in one stroke.

Jin Prefecture sat on a narrow stretch of the peninsula, with the Bohai Sea to its west and Qingni Pool (Dalian Bay) to its east.

The city walls were only two or three li from the Bohai Sea at the closest point.

Thus, as Jin Prefecture's troops marched out in full force, the eagle boats lurking by the shoreline had already spotted the dust raised by the large column.

The eagle boat quickly hoisted its sails and set course southwest. Its speed increased with remarkable swiftness, its bow splitting the waves as deftly as a blade—before long, it had sailed a great distance.

On the open sea six or seven li east of the eagle boat, aboard the Denglai naval flagship Dingliao, a crowd of naval officers and men stared in disbelief.

"Ad—Admiral, that ship seems to be sailing against the wind—"

The Vice Regional Commander himself didn't know how he'd managed to say the words—they sounded as absurd as saying the sun rose from the west.

The wind blowing across the sea today was from the southwest, and the eagle boat's angle to the wind was so narrow it was almost the same as sailing directly into it.

Though inwardly no less shaken than his subordinates, Shen Yourong said calmly: "Those who have seen little make much of it."

After a moment, Shen Yourong said: "Send word to the deputy flagship—the landing operation from here on is under his command. The flagship will follow the eagle boat."

"Yes!" The Vice Regional Commander acknowledged with excitement.

With the main force of Jin Prefecture already out in full, all the Denglai naval forces had to do was advance, land on the beach, and put Yuan Chonghuan's troops ashore—having the Regional Commander direct this was like using a cleaver to kill a chicken.

It was the Nan'ao fleet's novel ships and bizarre tactics that had everyone itching with curiosity, eager to see their first battle.

E'erhe's force numbered over seven hundred, of which one hundred were Jurchen cavalry and the rest were all Han auxiliary troops.

There was no helping it—conquering the realm could rely on Jurchen warriors, but the Jurchen were few in number after all, and holding down the various territories meant they had to depend on these Han soldiers.

Nor were all the Han soldiers cut from the same cloth as Chen Liangce, men willing to be lapdogs for the Tartars—there were plenty of those too.

After all, a soldier eats his rations; whose life you risked it for made no difference, and selling your life to the Jurchen meant less skimming off your pay and provisions.

This was also the reason E'erhe could confidently lead Han soldiers into battle—these men were still useful for steadying the line when the wind was at your back.

After leaving Jin Prefecture, the force marched southwest along the official road, covering thirty li at a rapid pace, arriving in the Jinjiagou area by early afternoon.

This was a complex terrain of mountains and hills, the whole being Mount Anzi and its outlying ridges, covered in vast pine forests, rugged and hard to traverse, unsuitable for marching.

The official road had been built north of Jinjiagou, near the coast.

This coastal road was no more than ten li in total length, and a force moving quickly would pass through it in an hour or two.

Yet E'erhe still felt a nameless dread creeping into his heart.

He ordered the troops to rest in place, then personally went to the shore and gazed out at the sea—only to see a vast expanse of sky and water, with not a single sail in sight.

The shore here was all reefs, completely unsuited for a large force to land.

E'erhe turned to look at the official road—it was wide, allowing six or seven men to walk abreast, and flat enough; one glance showed no sign of an ambush.

E'erhe hesitated again and again. Judging from the current situation, taking the official road was a sure thing, yet he could not shake his unease. After deliberating for a long while, he summoned his scout riders.

"Along this road, search the mountain woods on the left flank thoroughly."

A dozen or so scout riders acknowledged the order and sped off toward the official road in a puff of dust.

An hour later, the scouts returned one by one.

"Ezhen, the woods around this road are empty—no ambush."

E'erhe's heart settled somewhat.

"However—" the scout shifted his tone, "at the end of the official road, there is a Ming force of about three to four hundred, with fine armor and equipped with firearms."

A smile curled at the corner of E'erhe's mouth—he thought to himself, just as I suspected.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen