Chapter 173: The Great Affairs of the Realm: Loyalty and Treachery Turned Upside Down

Ma Shilong's defense zone was called Ligantan, about a dozen li from the river mouth, located on the south bank of the Fudu River; the scout had crossed back from the north bank.

Yesterday's fighting downstream had been extremely fierce—especially the great fire in the latter half of the night, which had burned half the sky red—so he had sent scouts to investigate the situation.

According to the scouts, wherever the great fire had passed yesterday, there were countless charred corpses of men and horses, many burned to complete carbonization, fused together so that no intact body could be distinguished. Added to that, the toxic smoke in the fire zone was heavy, so the scouts could not linger long and could only roughly estimate that nearly a thousand had died.

In addition, along the coastal official road, there were over a hundred Tartar corpses, along with even more horse carcasses, ruined tents, and scattered grain, attracting large flocks of crows and seagulls to peck at them.

Ma Shilong mused to himself: according to the original division of orders, the Nan'ao naval force was meant to delay the enemy—holding the pursuers at the Fudu River for half a month would have counted as complete success.

But now, the Nan'ao naval force had directly inflicted heavy casualties on the pursuers, who had fled back to Gaizhou City in disarray, abandoning their armor and weapons.

By the time the Tartars regrouped and returned in force, not just half a month—probably a full month would have passed.

Back at the Supreme Commander's headquarters, that young officer surnamed He had dared to sign a pledge of responsibility; he truly did have real skill.

Ma Shilong was still sighing in admiration when a soldier came to report: "General, a column of men has arrived from the south, flying Ming army banners."

Everything south of the Fudu River and along the west coast of the Liaodong Peninsula was now under Great Ming control, so the column from the south was most likely friendly forces—but being deep in enemy territory, Ma Shilong dared not be careless and ordered his men to conceal themselves and take up defensive positions.

His defense zone was flanked east and west by two stretches of rolling mountain ranges, with an open band of over two hundred zhang between them. Whether on slopes or flat ground, the area was thick with trees, with only a single wild mountain path running through the middle—extremely conducive to concealment.

His four hundred men dispersed among the forest and vanished without a trace, like clay oxen entering the sea.

After a while, the column from the south advanced close, and one of them shouted: "We are under Regional Commander Man Gui! Sent by order of the Supreme Commander to assist in defending this position."

Ma Shilong recognized the man leading the troops, and only then ordered his men to show themselves and greet their comrades.

"Regional Commander Ma, the Supreme Commander knew you were under heavy pressure holding against the Tartar attack, so he specially ordered my unit, plus part of Assistant Surveillance Commissioner Yuan's forces, to come in support—over two hundred men in total."

Man Gui looked around and saw no traces of major battle, then said with a smile: "I hurried along the whole way—at least I've arrived in time."

Ma Shilong smiled bitterly: "You've worked hard on the journey, General. You can rest for a few days now."

"What?" Man Gui didn't understand.

Ma Shilong pulled him to the western hilltop and pointed at a stretch of scorched black forest to the northwest: "Please look."

Man Gui's eyes went wide. Across the entire northwest, as far as the eye could see, wherever vegetation had been lush, almost everything was scorched black, with wisps of blue smoke still rising.

"This—what happened here?" Man Gui was utterly astonished.

Ma Shilong recounted yesterday's achievements of the Nan'ao naval force.

Man Gui waved his hand dismissively: "Impossible! On my way north, I saw standing water in the woods and along the roadsides, which shows this area had several rains recently. How could a great fire have started so easily?"

Ma Chenglie said: "That's where General He's brilliance lies. Last night I saw it with my own eyes—the fire not only spread quickly but burst out in all directions, and in no time at all it had burned a huge area.

If it hadn't spread so fast, given how familiar the Tartars are with mountain forests, they could never have suffered such heavy casualties."

Man Gui felt a chill run through his body. Liaodong was vast and sparsely populated, with abundant forests; apart from the official roads, all the dirt paths ran hidden among the trees and grass, and even cutting straight through the woods was a common occurrence.

If General He's fire attacks were this formidable, wouldn't that mean they could never march through forests again?

For a moment, Man Gui felt rather fortunate that General He was on his side—if one were to oppose such a man, it would be truly troublesome.

In the blink of an eye, the half-month period had passed.

The Gaizhou army had still not come south again, and the Fudu River defense line was perfectly stable.

Unfortunately, heaven did not cooperate—the Liaodong Peninsula saw several consecutive days of heavy rain during this period.

The good side was that it would likely extinguish the wildfire Lin Qian had set.

The bad side was that the evacuation of Changsheng Island's populace was greatly affected; amid the high winds and heavy rain, the naval vessels had to stop ferrying and take shelter in port.

Because the port was closed, more and more people were stranded at the Niangniang Temple ferry crossing, and during this time drinking water, food, camping, and sanitation all became problems.

Shen Yourong's and Liu Xingzuo's soldiers were run ragged every day dealing with these matters.

At the same time, they sent fast riders one after another to inform the Fudu River front line of the situation at Niangniang Temple, asking the front line to hold on for a few more days.

Sun Chengzong, far away at Shanhai Pass, also received the report from Niangniang Temple; though burning with anxiety, he was helpless.

Even the Tianjin naval force, which focused on coastal defense and was not skilled at ocean voyages, had transferred the majority of its warships to support Liaodong.

There were also chartered merchant vessels, mobilized civilian fishing boats, and a whole host of others—one could say that every force he could muster had already been sent to Liaodong.

He himself had not personally gone to Liaodong, but that was only because Shanhai Pass was too important and had to be guarded.

If this evacuation of Fuzhou's populace failed, it would pull one hair and move the whole situation: not only would he be dismissed as Ji-Liao Supreme Commander, but the construction of Ningyuan would collapse at the final hurdle, the strategy of holding the pass exterior to defend the interior would become a dream shattered, and his dream of pacifying Liaodong would be even harder to realize.

At this moment when the situation beyond the pass in Liaodong hung by a thread, what was the imperial court doing?

Not long ago, a batch of Donglin Faction members had jointly submitted memorials impeaching Wei Zhongxian, listing twelve great crimes outright—each one taken alone was a crime worthy of death by slow slicing and the extermination of one's clan; every word stabbed at the heart.

Among them were several such as "seizing civilian property," "extortionate taxation," and "fabricating auspicious omens"—all misdeeds committed by the tax supervisors Wei Zhongxian had sent to Jiangnan.

Wei Zhongxian had used some means or other to hoodwink the Emperor, actually getting the Emperor to issue an edict rebuking the Donglin Faction for "chasing shadows and catching wind," and

The eunuch faction bluntly declared that with the great battle in Liaodong imminent, all military supplies and expenditures must be provided in full.

The two factions argued back and forth in court, and no matter the topic, they could not stay away from the ongoing Battle of Fuzhou in Liaodong.

If this battle was won, the eunuch faction won—one beauty spot covering a hundred blemishes, concealing the crimes of extortionate taxation, leaving only the merit of raising military funds.

If this battle was lost, the eunuch faction lost—one flaw overshadowing great virtue, and with the defeat came accountability; they could press the advantage and dig up the whole series of Wei the Eunuch's crimes: contempt for imperial authority, driving out the loyal, indiscriminate killing of the innocent, and so on.

In this way, Sun Chengzong was pushed to the very crest of the wave.

The eunuch faction showered him with solicitous care—money when he wanted money, grain when he wanted grain, ships when he wanted ships—that went without saying.

Letters from the Donglin Faction also poured in; on the surface they discussed the current situation, but they constantly used the parable of "Mencius's mother cutting the loom" to urge him to "rectify the source and clear the root."

The story of Mencius's mother cutting the loom comes from the Biographies of Exemplary Women; its original meaning is that Mencius's mother cut the cloth on the loom in front of her son to teach him that learning is like weaving—once interrupted, all previous effort is wasted.

In truth, they meant to say that to make the Emperor see Wei the Eunuch's true nature, cutting the cloth of Liaodong was worth it.

"Rectifying the source and clearing the root" comes from the Book of Han, originally opposing the approach of "treating the head when the head aches, treating the foot when the foot hurts." At this present moment, which was the root—Wei the Eunuch or Liaodong—was naturally quite clear.

There were even blunter ones who directly used analogies like "the brave man cutting off his own wrist," "scraping the bone to cure the poison," and "removing the rot to grow the new."

Openly and covertly, they urged Sun Chengzong to set aside the Liaodong campaign and deal with Wei the Eunuch first.

Sun Chengzong understood that the Donglin Faction's urging him to abandon Fuzhou was by no means intentional harm to the state—it was truly a last resort, a necessity to implement the strategy of scraping the bone to cure the poison.

The eunuch faction's support for his Fuzhou campaign was also by no means out of regard for Liaodong or the common people; if their positions were swapped, the eunuch faction's obstruction of him would only be harsher.

It was just that the savagery of court factional strife had reached such a point that loyalty and treachery were turned upside down—truly absurd beyond measure and utterly incomprehensible.

Thus it could be seen that the great affairs of the realm hung on the court, the court's affairs hung on Liaodong, Liaodong's affairs hung on Fuzhou, and the success or failure of the Battle of Fuzhou hung on the Fudu River defense line.

In the dead of night, Sun Chengzong stood atop the walls of Shanhai Pass, gazing at the bright moon and the sea, his eyes so eager they seemed ready to cross the waters and go straight to the Fudu River.

Ma Shilong and Man Gui were both personally promoted by Sun Chengzong. These two men defended the middle and lower reaches of the Fudu River, and Sun Chengzong trusted them—even if they could not defeat the Tartars, they would block the enemy even at the cost of their own lives.

Only the Nan'ao naval forces guarding the river mouth gave him worry. The burning of the Gaizhou army before might have been mere luck, and besides, most of the Gaizhou troops were surrendered Ming soldiers, not skilled in battle to begin with.

Now so much time had passed that the Tartars should have transferred their main forces and generals here. Could this young commander truly be relied upon?

Though summer had arrived, the nights at Shanhai Pass were still bitterly cold. Sun Chengzong could not help but shiver, yet he was still unwilling to leave the city walls, his piercing gaze sweeping toward the coast of western Liaodong, toward his beloved generals one by one.

Sun Chengzong murmured in his heart: "You need only engage the enemy in battle. As for the knives and swords of court politics, this old man will shield you from them! This old frame of mine, so long as it can hold out one more day, will never fail you—I pray you also do not fail the people of the two prefectures!"

Four more days passed in the blink of an eye.

North of the Fudu River, scout riders were gradually increasing in number, and their equipment and skill were clearly superior as well.

In the first few days, Ma Shilong's scouts could still operate on the north bank, trading blows with the Gaizhou scouts.

Now, when they encountered Tartar scouts, they could only flee—and sometimes could not flee at all, being shot dead by a single arrow.

As more and more scouts failed to return, Ma Shilong could only order that scouts operate solely on the south bank, while his heart grew increasingly uneasy.

He climbed the western hilltop and gazed at the scorched black forest, feeling that the heavens and earth were filled with the portent of an approaching storm.

A few days prior, word had come from the Niangniang Palace ferry crossing: the common folk would still need several days to reach the island, and after that, Zu Dashou, Liu Xingzuo, and their forces would need another day to board.

As for the troops of Ma Shilong and Man Gui, they would withdraw with the Nan'ao naval forces—of course, that was assuming they still had their lives to retreat with.

Judging by the current patrol density of the Tartar soldiers, the main Tartar force must have arrived at Gaizhou, and a high-ranking officer at that.

A bloody battle was now unavoidable.

The next morning, as dawn was just breaking, a red signal rocket shot up from the mouth of the Fudu River and burst with a boom.

Lin Qian was awakened by Geng Wu and immediately went to the ship's deck, pulling out his telescope to look. He saw large numbers of infantry pouring out along the riverbank.

These soldiers were organized in groups of about a dozen, carrying rafts made of inflated hides, and ran swiftly toward the riverbank.

There were several dozen groups in total, each standing far apart from the others—clearly a deliberate measure against cannon fire.

Lin Qian could not help but remark that these Tartar soldiers adapted quickly, and at the same time ordered: "Three rounds of cannon fire, then the bird boats will engage the enemy!"

Bailangzai relayed the order, and soon the three ships began a fierce bombardment.

When the gunsmoke cleared, Lin Qian raised his telescope. Only four groups of hide rafts had been hit by cannon fire, the Tartar soldiers reduced to shredded flesh and blood, stuck to the hide rafts.

The remaining groups, completely unimpeded, had already launched their rafts into the water and pushed out a distance. When the water reached thigh depth, the Tartar soldiers climbed onto the rafts and began paddling.

The hide rafts looked primitive, but with ten men paddling in unison and working in coordination, they were not slow—in just a moment, four or five rafts had reached the middle of the river.

Yet most of the remaining rafts were trapped not far from the shore, and some even had hides leaking air, causing the rafts to capsize.

For a time, Tartar soldiers who had fallen into the water splashed back to shore, while those trapped scrambled frantically at their oars.

Lin Qian smiled. In this stretch of the Fudu River near its mouth, the channel widened and the current slowed, so much sediment had settled, and the riverbed's slope was gentle.

Therefore, during the time the Gaizhou army was retreating, Lin Qian had ordered men to fell trees and fashion sharp-pointed wooden stakes, planting them in the shallow waters near the bank, with the points hidden beneath the surface.

The river current here was gentle, and the waves were small, so the stake points sat extremely close to the water's surface without being spotted by the Tartar soldiers. By the time they struck them, it was already too late.

At this moment, alerted by the sound of the three rounds of cannon fire, five patrol bird boats had arrived from upstream.

The bird boats were nimble, and their sculling was far faster than the hide rafts. Every crewman aboard carried a matchlock musket.

At this range, shooting the Tartar soldiers on the river was little different from shooting at targets.

The bird boats stopped in the middle of the river mouth, their crewmen shooting left and right. Whether they were the ones paddling fast or those snagged by the wooden stakes and unable to move, none could escape the lead shot.

The Portuguese matchlock muskets were already quite accurate, and the soldiers aboard the boats fired in relentless, dense volleys. After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, several dozen Tartar soldiers on the water had been shot dead.

Some Tartar soldiers shot arrows back from their hide rafts, but with the footing swaying beneath them, their aim was off and they could not put their strength into it—many times they could only draw the bowstring halfway.

Lin Qian's crewmen, by contrast, were already skilled at shooting from the water, and with gunwales, mast poles, and cabins as cover, they held a complete advantage in the exchange of fire with the Tartar soldiers.

The Tartars who put up scattered resistance were quickly shot dead.

Moreover, a southwest wind blew that day, putting the bird boats upwind, so the gunsmoke from the matchlocks was continuously carried toward the Tartar soldiers.

The gunsmoke started as a thin mist, but as firing continued without cease, it grew thick as cloud layers, obscuring the Tartar soldiers' vision, making it hard for them to aim, and causing them to cough without end.

In the time it takes to eat a meal, the Tartars had fallen completely onto the defensive. The surviving Tartar soldiers scrambled and crawled back to the north bank, exchanging arrow fire with the bird boats.

At this point, the two sides were nearly seventy paces apart—about half the distance of the shot that felled the gate at Yuan's camp.

The accuracy of the matchlock muskets had certainly declined greatly, but not everyone possessed the skill of the Little Lü Bu.

Moreover, shooting arrows consumed physical strength, and the Tartar soldiers had already spent much effort paddling and swimming, and before that had endured marching, inflating hides, and lashing together rafts—they were long since exhausted, and most of the arrows they loosed were weak and feeble.

After exchanging fire for a while, the Tartar soldiers finally admitted defeat and fled hastily northward.

The bird boat crewmen cheered for a moment, then tallied their casualties, gathered the wounded in one place, and transported them to the Tianyuan.

At this time, in the bottom hold of the Tianyuan, Su Qingmei had already set up the operating table, waiting for the wounded to arrive.

By afternoon, there was movement on the north bank again—a dozen or so large carts were being pushed in from the official road.

The carts were about half a man's height and triangular in shape. The Tartar soldiers pushed them to a spot not far from the bank, stopped, turned their sides toward the enemy, and unfolded the triangles into sloped faces. The slopes were covered in layers of cowhide and thick wooden planks, looking like a large shield.

This thing was the Jianzhou barbarians' hide-covered shield cart, made specifically to counter Ming firearm troops.

Sure enough, the Tartar soldiers hid behind the shield carts and shot arrows, suppressing the bird boats for a time.

Seeing this, Lin Qian ordered the bird boats to withdraw and the ship's cannons to open fire, willing to expend ammunition to destroy these few shield carts.

Though the Tartars had done their best to space the shield carts far apart, under the relentless bombardment of cannonballs, the carts were ultimately reduced to piles of broken planks, and the surviving Tartar soldiers retreated with ash-smeared faces.

Twelve li behind the battlefield, the Plain Blue Banner's main camp stood imposingly. Within the camp, banners fluttered in the wind, strict discipline prevailed all around, and the soldiers all wore stern expressions. At the camp gate, large columns of scout riders came and went without cease.

At this time, Manggūltai sat upright in his tent. On the left and right of the table before him sat two bloody, ghastly pale heads—the heads of Yu Renlong and Mukun.

The generals within the tent were broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, their faces full of coarse flesh—all fierce and battle-hardened warriors—yet now they were all silent as cicadas in winter.

More than half a month ago, a messenger from Gaizhou had come to Liaoyang to report the rebellion of Liu Xingzuo.

Nurhaci had not believed it at first, and sent men to investigate from many angles before confirming the news. In a rage, he smashed his fist against the imperial desk, shattering the thumb ring on his hand and cutting his thumb so badly that blood flowed freely.

The Third Beile, Manggūltai, volunteered to go to Fuzhou to suppress the rebellion. The Plain Blue Banner he commanded had, on the Khan's orders, already been assembling at Haizhou, intending to march toward Shanhai Pass and destroy the Ningyuan city that was under construction.

Now, suppressing the rebellion naturally took higher priority.

Because all under the Plain Blue Banner were Jurchen elites, while Liu Xingzuo's command was mostly Han soldiers, destroying them would take no effort at all.

Therefore, Manggūltai boasted before his father the Khan that he would pacify Fuzhou within a month, and would slaughter every Han civilian in the city to the last.

Nurhaci then permitted him to lead the Plain Blue Banner's army of over seven thousand five hundred on the campaign.

Manggūltai had expected this march south to be a straightforward push, but not long into the march, he received a stunning blow.

As soon as the army reached Gaizhou territory, a thick plume of black smoke drifted over. The soldiers marched through the smoke—not enough to poison them, but tightness in the chest, shortness of breath, streaming eyes, and coughing were unavoidable, slowing their advance to a crawl.

Continuing forward, they ran headlong into a mountain fire. Though the official road had no trees around to fuel the blaze, the waves of heat made marching impossible.

The Plain Blue Banner could only halt in place and wait for the fire to die down. But the conflagration burned fiercely—not only refusing to go out, but showing signs of growing ever stronger.

Compounded by the seasonal winds, the fire kept spreading northward, and the Plain Blue Banner was forced to retreat over forty li.

Only after a heavy rain finally extinguished the mountain fire did things settle.

The Plain Blue Banner entered Gaizhou city, only to receive disastrous news: the Gaizhou army had been nearly annihilated by the Ming forces at the Fudu River.

When asked what the Ming casualties were—

The answer came: no casualties. The Ming first used cannon, then fire; the Gaizhou army never even laid eyes on the Ming soldiers.

Manggūltai was a man of violent, explosive temperament. In years past, when his mother incurred the Khan father's displeasure, Manggūltai killed her with his own hands.

Such an act of personally murdering one's own mother—even among the Jurchen—was an utter loss of humanity, a defiance of heaven itself, cruelty beyond measure.

From then on he earned a fearsome reputation for brutality, so much so that there was not a single Jurchen general who did not fear him.

Manggūltai was happy to be feared. Thus, upon arriving at Gaizhou city and hearing of such a disastrous defeat, he first beheaded the two incompetents Mukun and Yu Renlong, carrying their heads with the army as a warning to others.

Of course, his secure seat as one of the Four Beiles was not due to cruelty alone. Manggūltai was extremely skilled in the art of war—from Sarhu to Liaoyang and Shenyang, he had participated in nearly every major battle.

Even Nurhaci relied heavily on his military judgment.

Thus, even after killing in a rage, Manggūltai did not rashly advance. Instead, he sent out large numbers of scout cavalry to reconnoiter the surrounding terrain and the deployment of Ming forces.

He then dispatched two columns—one to feint toward the river mouth, the other toward Liguan Beach.

Now four or five hours had passed with no battle report returning. Manggūltai grew increasingly agitated, his face darkening by the moment.

The atmosphere inside the tent was suffocating; the generals dared not even breathe loudly.

At that moment, the sound of hoofbeats approached from outside, growing nearer. A scout dismounted and reported outside the tent: "Reporting to the Beile, the left column was soundly defeated by the Ming army at the river mouth."

The generals exchanged glances, each seeing shock in the other's eyes.

The left column had only three hundred-some men, sent purely to probe. If they couldn't cross the river or found themselves outmatched, retreating was only to be expected—how could they have been soundly defeated?

Manggūltai remained fairly composed. He had the scout enter and recount the entire engagement from beginning to end.

"Transmit my order—cut off the left column commander's head." Manggūltai said coldly after listening.

The scout acknowledged the order and withdrew.

All the generals felt the left column commander had known he couldn't win yet still fought stubbornly—his tactics far too rigid—and privately held him in contempt. Still, seeing him executed like that, they couldn't help but feel a sense of shared doom.

After much more time passed, the right column's report finally arrived.

"Beile, on the south bank of the Fudu River near Liguan Beach, Ming forces lay in ambush. The right column fell into the trap, suffering over a hundred casualties; the remainder has returned."

Manggūltai: "How many Ming troops were there?"

"Around a thousand or so."

"Go."

Manggūltai recalled the local terrain in his mind. The mountains and hills on both banks of the Fudu River were numerous; there were only two flat places where a large army could cross the river.

One was near the river mouth—now guarded by Ming cannon ships, absolutely not the first choice for a crossing.

The second was near Liguan Beach. This place was neither too large nor too small—if the Plain Blue Banner committed its full force, there was room to maneuver, and even if the Ming held the terrain advantage for an ambush, they could still be taken easily.

But that great fire truly gave him pause.

The forests on the south bank of the Fudu River were all perfectly intact right now. If they went through Liguan Beach, what if the Ming set another fire?

At this thought, Manggūltai felt a throbbing headache. The Haizhou-Gaizhou-Fuzhou-Jinzhou region was mostly flat land, but it was precisely around the Fudu River that ravines and gullies abounded.

Setting up checkpoints here truly made an army's advance inch by inch. This Ming commander truly understood the art of war.

Manggūltai could not think of a good solution for the moment, so he could only order scout cavalry to probe further upstream, searching for other suitable crossing points.

And so the Plain Blue Banner army was delayed another three days.

During those three days, Manggūltai continuously sent troops toward the river mouth—all small, dispersed forces, feigning crossing attempts, then shooting arrows to suppress the bird boats, and occasionally transporting a few shield carts.

Lin Qian knew the Tartars were trying to exhaust his ammunition, so he rarely fired the cannons, instead ordering the bird boats to exchange fire.

The Tartar soldiers had also learned to be clever—they knew to spread out and take cover behind obstacles. In this way, neither side gained much advantage, and casualties on both sides were light.

The Tartars, relying on their superior numbers and land-based supply lines, did not fear attrition.

And Lin Qian was merely delaying the enemy; once he had held his ground for the required number of days, he would withdraw. A few casualties were acceptable.

Manggūltai, however, grew increasingly impatient. His promise to his father the Khan was to pacify the rebellion within one month. Now nearly half that month had passed, and he had yet to even set foot across Fuzhou's border river.

During this period, Manggūltai had sent out countless scout cavalry, but none had managed to accomplish anything.

The area was covered in vast forests, the terrain rugged and difficult to traverse. The mountain valleys were winding and numerous—often one would follow a valley for several hundred paces only to find it a dead end.

Moreover, as rainfall increased, the Fudu River's water volume swelled, making it increasingly difficult for scout cavalry to cross.

Under such accumulating unfavorable circumstances, Manggūltai was nearly ready to make the decision to launch a full assault on Liguan Beach.

But that day, he suddenly received joyful news from his subordinates—scout cavalry had captured a hunter coming down from the mountains. Under interrogation, they learned that approximately twelve li east of Liguan Beach, there was a dried-up ancient river channel.

Following that channel as it wound southwest through the mountains for twenty to thirty li, one could emerge from this great mountain range. Then heading southwest, one would find the official road again, which led straight to Fuzhou.

Scout cavalry had already reconnoitered this route, and it matched the hunter's account exactly.

Moreover, because this path lay deep in the mountains, surrounded by desolate wilderness, even the local hunters were almost entirely unaware of it.

Manggūltai was overjoyed at this news. If the Plain Blue Banner advanced by this route, they could bypass the Ming forces at the Fudu River and appear before the walls of Fuzhou without anyone knowing—a surprise attack.

Steadying himself, Manggūltai immediately gave the order: "Leave three hundred men to continue the feint at the river mouth. Have everyone else pack up—we break camp at dawn tomorrow!"

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen