Chapter 174: The Ancestors Look Down From Above

Two days later, below the walls of Fuzhou city.

Liu Xingzuo led his troops there in person, calling on Zu Dashou to abandon the city and withdraw.

Zu Dashou gathered the soldiers and officers within the city, exited the gates, and retreated in the direction of Niangniang Palace.

On the road, Zu Dashou saw many footprints and cart ruts but not a single traveler, the road surface extremely empty. He asked, "General Liu, have all the common folk been evacuated to the island?"

Liu Xingzuo was somewhat ashamed: "They've all been transported to the island. Only you and I and our men remain. I'm embarrassed to say it—we said half a month, but what with one delay and another, we dragged it out to nearly a full month before finishing the evacuation."

Zu Dashou said, "With days of torrential rain, and the common folk being no match for soldiers—the old and weak among them—half a month was indeed too tight. Finishing within a month already counts as very fast."

Liu Xingzuo sighed, "It's been hard on the soldiers at Fudu River, holding on so long for our sake."

At these words, Zu Dashou's face showed admiration, and he praised the soldiers on the front line a few times.

He had originally been certain that Fudu River could not hold out for long, and had already resolved to die defending Fuzhou city.

But unexpectedly, not only did he not have to die, he never even laid eyes on a single Tartar—defending the city for nearly a month had been extraordinarily easy.

All enemy forces had been held north of the Fudu River.

Born into a military family, steeped in its ways from the womb, he had always known that the Ming army was deficient in coordinated operations—allied forces either failed to arrive on time or collapsed at the first clash.

Apart from the Qi family army, he had never heard of the Ming having such reliable allies.

Zu Dashou asked again, "General, have all the soldiers of your command boarded the island?"

Liu Xingzuo nodded, pointing his horsewhip around him: "Only these personal guards remain, along with my brother Liu Xingren's unit."

"Why haven't they boarded the island yet?"

Liu Xingzuo grinned, pointing behind himself: "They're covering the retreat."

Zu Dashou said urgently, "No, this sort of thing can't be left to General Liu's own brother. Hu Qi!"

Zu Dashou wanted to order his own soldiers to relieve Liu Xingren's unit, but Liu Xingzuo stopped him.

"Covering the retreat is a job that only someone familiar with the local area can do. General Zu doesn't know this, but some of the common folk live in the mountains, stubborn as mules—no matter what, they refuse to withdraw back to the Great Ming together. My younger brother still has to go door to door, persuading them one by one."

Zu Dashou was startled at first, then understood the meaning of "persuading," felt a shock in his heart, opened his mouth as if to advise against it, but made no sound.

These common folk lived by fishing and hunting, knew the terrain intimately. If left to scatter and dwell in the mountain forests, nine times out of ten they would become guides for the Tartars.

What Liu Xingzuo and his men were doing was a matter involving the life and death of six or seventy thousand common folk—they had no choice but to harden their hearts.

The two set that topic aside, and the conversation turned back to the Fudu River. Liu Xingzuo recounted how the Nan'ao navy had bombarded with cannon fire, and how they had burned the Gaizhou army.

Zu Dashou listened, stunned.

Fudu River and Niangniang Palace were nearly a hundred and sixty li apart, and the direction ran against the southwest monsoon, making communication extremely inconvenient—a round trip took a day or two.

Thus, battle reports between the two places were infrequent. Liu Xingzuo knew only the barest outline of those two battles, and Zu Dashou knew nothing at all of the front-line situation.

Both men understood war. Faced with a vague battle report, they could not help but begin to reconstruct and fill in the details.

Just as they were chatting and laughing, Liu Xingzuo's expression suddenly changed. His face cold, he said, "Everyone, halt!"

Then he rolled off his horse in one motion, lay flat, pressed his ear to the ground, listened for a moment, and said, "A troop of cavalry is coming—no small number. Prepare for battle!"

His personal guards obeyed the order, drawing their sabers, turning their horses, and facing rearward in alert.

Zu Dashou also ordered his infantry to form ranks.

At this moment, a plume of dust could already be seen rising from the direction of Fuzhou, its approach seeming formidable.

Seeing Liu Xingzuo's expression, Zu Dashou knew the arrivals were certainly not the rearguard unit.

The other side's horses were fast—within a few breaths they appeared in view. It was a large troop of cavalry, some two to three hundred strong, chasing a dozen or so men ahead of them.

As they drew closer, it could be seen that both groups were dressed as Tartar soldiers in fur armor, though those being chased had thrown away helmets and armor, in a miserable, bedraggled state.

When Liu Xingzuo saw the arrivals, his eyes changed, and he cried out in a low voice, "Xingren?" He hurriedly ordered the soldiers not to loose arrows, to let Liu Xingren's unit into the formation, and then to shoot down the pursuers.

Those pursuers were dressed as ordinary Tartar soldiers, yet they were extremely valiant, shooting arrows back in reply even at full gallop, with excellent accuracy, not yielding the upper hand.

A dozen or more of Zu Dashou's men were shot dead on the spot, and morale could be seen wavering.

Liu Xingren said weakly, "Brother, go quickly—these are only Tartar scout riders; the main force is still behind!"

Hearing the odd quality of his voice, Liu Xingzuo only then noticed that his brother had three arrows in his back. The leather armor had stopped them from penetrating deep, but blood had already flowed until the saddle was covered in it.

With a great enemy at hand, Liu Xingzuo had no time to ask questions. He said a word to Zu Dashou, and the two groups retreated toward Niangniang Palace while shooting arrows as they went.

The Tartar soldiers were few in number after all, only harassing with arrows, not daring to charge the formation.

By the time they withdrew to Niangniang Palace, forty or fifty of Zu Dashou's men had died, and five or six of Liu Xingzuo's personal guards as well.

Morale had sunk to rock bottom. Had the two commanders not been there to hold things together, the troops would surely have scattered in a rout on the spot.

At Niangniang Palace harbor, a dozen or so boats of various sizes were moored, prepared precisely to take on Zu Dashou's unit.

Originally, his men could have boarded in an orderly fashion and completed embarkation in less than an hour.

But now, with pursuers behind constantly loosing arrows, the soldiers were all seized with fear, scrambling to board the boats first, and the dock fell into chaos in an instant.

Zu Dashou beheaded three men in succession before the chaos was brought to a halt.

He glanced into the distance and saw that far behind the Tartar scout riders, another plume of dust rose at the horizon—judging by its size, this troop numbered at least a thousand.

Zu Dashou looked at the ferry crossing. The surrounding terrain was completely flat, with no defensible position at all. Once the Tartar main force arrived, there would likely be no path to survival.

Liu Xingzuo sent his brother and the other wounded aboard the boats, then said to Zu Dashou, "General Zu, you board first. I'll cover the retreat!"

Zu Dashou hesitated a moment, then said, "No—if we go, we go together!"

Seeing that Ming soldiers were already boarding boats to flee, the Tartar scout riders grew anxious. They pressed their horses forward, riding to within a dozen paces before loosing their arrows—each arrow carried tremendous force, and even through leather armor could penetrate two or three inches into the flesh.

Wounds of that depth were almost certainly fatal.

For a time, the Ming formation was battered until it swayed precariously. No matter how Zu Dashou berated them for discipline, it did no good—the battle line retreated step by step toward the gangplank.

Suddenly, Liu Xingzuo took up a great water-buffalo-horn bow and loosed three arrows in succession. Those arrows were heavy and powerful, surpassing even those shot by the Tartar soldiers.

Three Tartar soldiers who had pressed close to shoot were immediately struck from their horses. Seeing this, the remaining Tartar scout riders dared not press too near.

At last, Zu Dashou's unit caught its breath and steadied its footing.

Zu Dashou could also see that his subordinates were no match in an archery duel, so he ordered his men to board the boats.

At this moment, the main Tartar force in the distance was also drawing very near. Liu Xingzuo saw their exquisite equipment, their stern and orderly formation, and that they were entirely cavalry, and his heart sank—he knew this must be the main force of the Eight Banners.

Looking again at the color of their clothing, it leaned largely toward blue—this was probably the Plain Blue Banner.

The Plain Blue Banner's banner master, Manggūltai, had a fearsome reputation. Liu Xingzuo knew full well he was no match. He thought to himself: "I never imagined that after a lifetime of heroism, I'd end it all here today. But that's fine—family, brothers, all the people of Fuzhou are on the island. Trading this one life of mine for theirs—worth it!"

Just as he was issuing orders to his personal guards, preparing for a counter-charge, he saw a rocket dragging a dazzling trail of light land before him, then burst with a crack, blasting out a foot-wide pit in the earth.

Liu Xingzuo looked up in bewilderment—the sky was filled with such rockets trailing streaks of light, falling like a meteor shower across the heavens, a truly beautiful sight.

These arrows landed on the ground and burst with a bang; some also exploded in mid-air, and those that burst among grass and trees would occasionally catch fire.

Not many Tartars were actually killed by the blasts. If the Tartars had charged straight in, Liu Xingzuo still couldn't have held them back, but the Tartars seemed quite wary of these rockets, falling back one after another and constantly beating out the flames that had caught.

Liu Xingzuo's eyes lit up. He thought to himself: "That's it—though these rockets do limited harm to the enemy, they can start fires. Even though the woods are damp now and a mountain fire won't easily take hold, the Tartars have the lesson of the burning Fudu River as a warning and won't dare take the risk. So I've got the Ming army of the Fudu River to thank again!"

"Board the ships, quickly!" Zu Dashou seized this opportunity and shouted urgently, pulling Liu Xingzuo's reins as he ran toward the gangplank.

Liu Xingzuo turned back and saw, at the bow of a naval vessel, a box-shaped object angled toward the beachhead, continuously spitting tongues of fire.

When one box burned out, soldiers took out another and lit it, just like setting off fireworks.

Zu Dashou said: "The Dragon Emerging from Water can't hold out much longer—hurry and board the ship."

Liu Xingzuo dismounted and boarded the ship together with Zu Dashou. By now, few Ming soldiers remained on the shore.

The Tartars also realized that this Dragon Emerging from Water had little real power, and hastily spurred their horses forward.

The soldiers who hadn't boarded were thrown into chaos, with no will to resist left. The Tartar troops cut them down like reaping wheat with their curved sabers.

"Whoosh—thunk!"

A sharp arrow flew from the shore and struck squarely into the deck of the ship Liu Xingzuo was on.

Tartar soldiers ran onto the gangplank, drawing their bows without cease. More arrows flew toward the seagoing vessel, and quite a few Ming soldiers were hit and fell into the water.

They only stopped once the ship was beyond bow range. The Tartar soldiers then cut off the heads of the dead Ming soldiers, stuck them on the pilings of the gangplank, and laughed and joked without end.

Liu Xingzuo clenched both fists and roared in a low voice: "Animals!"

An hour later, the ship came ashore at Changsheng Island, and the party disembarked.

Shen Yourong came forward to greet them, and the men exchanged courtesies.

Zu Dashou said: "How did the Tartar troops come from the direction of Fuzhou? When was the Fudu River defense line broken?"

He didn't even bother with proper forms of address as he spoke—clearly he was nursing considerable resentment.

Shen Yourong's expression turned awkward: "We haven't actually received any news from the Fudu River."

Zu Dashou gave a cold snort: "I knew that fellow wasn't reliable. Breaking the defense line is one thing, but not even sending word—and because of that we've lost so many soldiers for nothing!"

Shen Yourong suppressed his anger and said: "The Fudu River was jointly defended by General He and Regional Commander Ma. How does General Zu know the line was broken at the Nan'ao naval forces' position?"

Zu Dashou's heart felt hollow, but his mouth remained tough: "If Regional Commander Ma had lost the position, surely there'd be at least one messenger. Regardless, that fellow signed a pledge of responsibility—if he knew and didn't report it, he can't escape military discipline!"

Shen Yourong flew into a rage: "That fellow? General He held the front line for a month for the soldiers and people of Fuzhou, and he can't earn even a word of 'General' from you?"

Seeing the two on the verge of open conflict, Liu Xingzuo hurriedly played peacemaker: "General He's righteousness is something I deeply admire. The casualties at the Niangniang Palace riverbank were quite heavy—General Zu was just speaking in anger.

But this isn't the time to argue about such matters. Changsheng Island is too close to the shore—the Tartars can swim across using sheepskin floats. We'll need to hold the line from here on."

Shen Yourong took a deep breath and said: "I've already sent men to the Fudu River with word, but the distance between the two places is great, and the Nan'ao naval forces still have the task of transporting Regional Commander Ma's troops—the earliest they can return to defend is five or six days."

With the Tartars now breaking through the Fudu River and pushing south, seizing Fuzhou, they had effectively cut off Ma Shilong's retreat. His forces were in extreme peril—without naval support, they would surely be annihilated.

The Nan'ao naval forces could not possibly abandon Ma Shilong to come directly and defend Changsheng Island.

And for transporting civilians to Liaoxi, the Denglai naval forces had already dispatched nearly all their warships. The remaining ships still had to guard the strait and couldn't go to the Fudu River to pick people up either.

Zu Dashou thought it over repeatedly, then said: "What about Mao Wenlong? He reports great victories every day and demands this and that from the court. When it comes to the critical moment, surely he should contribute his share?"

Shen Yourong said: "He's in Jin Prefecture, responsible for evacuating the civilians there to Denglai. The winds are somewhat contrary this season, and the sea route isn't easy to navigate."

Zu Dashou had nothing more to say. It seemed the Supreme Commander had truly mobilized every resource for this campaign—there truly wasn't a single man more to spare.

Liu Xingzuo clasped his hands in salute: "In that case, for these next few days, my men are willing to follow Regional Commander Shen's orders."

Liu Xingzuo had developed a good personal relationship with Shen Yourong during this period, and besides, he didn't understand how to arrange the island's defenses—he might as well let Shen Yourong direct things.

Shen Yourong didn't respond immediately, and asked: "How many Tartars came ashore?"

Liu Xingzuo said: "The cavalry vanguard numbers over a thousand. If the Plain Blue Banner's main force is following behind, there should be around eight thousand in total."

Liu Xingzuo then went on to explain the matter of Manggūltai, the banner master of the Plain Blue Banner.

Manggūltai was indeed cruel by nature, but he was by no means a reckless brute. He was extremely cunning in warfare—back in the Battle of Sarhu, the idea of luring Du Song into advancing rashly had been his.

Shen Yourong's face showed worry.

Right now the Denglai naval forces were busy transporting civilians, and there were only a little over a hundred men on the island maintaining order.

Zu Dashou's troops had suffered heavy losses on shore, with only about two hundred men making it onto the island. Freshly defeated, their morale was very low.

The only force that could be counted on was Liu Xingzuo's troops, but they too numbered only a thousand or so, with very few elite soldiers—most were impressed laborers or surrendered Ming troops.

At the very most, that made around thirteen hundred men.

Moreover, because the Plain Blue Banner had struck suddenly without warning from the Fudu River front, Shen Yourong had few warships at hand—only twelve bird boats.

Trying to hold back Manggūltai's main Eight Banner force with that was almost a pipe dream.

Liu Xingzuo said: "Do you have any more of those fire weapons like the Dragon Emerging from Water?"

Shen Yourong: "Quite a few still, but they're meant for naval combat—not very effective against infantry and cavalry on shore."

Zu Dashou said: "Better than nothing. I refuse to believe that with a strait between us, we can't hold Changsheng Island."

The three then discussed the details and decided that Liu Xingzuo and Zu Dashou would each lead a force in shore defense, while Shen Yourong commanded the navy.

At dinner, the officers and soldiers on the island saw an enormous number of cooking fires on the opposite shore, spreading out for several li—too many to count.

Liu Xingzuo and the others all knew this was the ruse of increasing cooking fires—Manggūltai was putting up a false show of strength.

But seeing it, the officers and soldiers couldn't help feeling uneasy, and the mood in camp was extremely oppressive.

That evening, as Shen Yourong and the other two were discussing military matters, a commotion arose outside the tent.

Zu Dashou's expression changed. He thought to himself: "Could the troops be mutinying?!"

Before long, a soldier walked in, his face beaming with joy: "Commander, General, it's the common folk—they've come to help us!"

The three exchanged glances, and Shen Yourong rose abruptly: "Let's go see."

They walked to the camp gate and saw a vast expanse of torches spreading out into the distance; beneath the torches were dense crowds of figures.

Looking closely, they were all common folk dressed in clothes of every color, holding torches and farm tools—mostly able-bodied young men, but also women and elders, all with resolute expressions.

Seeing the three come out, someone among the crowd said: "We know the Tartars are about to land on the island. Death is death either way—might as well fight them!"

No sooner were these words spoken than the other folk responded, and the crowd roared in unison: "Fight them!"

There were also miscellaneous shouts mixed in—"Kill the Tartars!" "To hell with them!" and similar cries.

The roar of several thousand people shook the heavens in all directions.

In the latter half of the night, war drums sounded from the Plain Blue Banner's main camp.

The thumping beat struck at their hearts, agitating the soldiers on the island so badly that none could sleep through the night.

Before dawn the next day, the Plain Blue Banner soldiers began crossing the river on sheepskin rafts. Shen Yourong personally led over a dozen bird boats, attacking the rafts with firearms, bows, and crossbows. They fought a bloody battle until dusk, yet still could not stop the Tartars—in the end, two rafts made it ashore.

The soldiers and civilians on the shore outnumbered the enemy, yet still suffered heavy casualties before managing, with tremendous effort, to kill the Tartars.

That evening, the opposite shore again went through the same routine of adding cooking fires and beating drums.

The soldiers in camp were filled with dread—beyond the passes, Ming armies several times the Tartars' strength still could not defeat them; how much worse when outnumbered?

And the fact that the strait could not hold the Tartars back only deepened the soldiers' despair.

That very night, six deserters disguised themselves as common folk, planning to slip aboard a ship and retreat to western Liaoning.

Fortunately, Zu Dashou discovered the plot.

Early the next morning, the six deserters had their heads chopped off, and their bodies were hung up as a warning to others.

Before he could finish restoring discipline, the Tartar soldiers came attacking again on their sheepskin rafts.

Shen Yourong's naval force was already exhausted, and today they were clearly outmatched. By mid-afternoon the defensive line was broken, and over a dozen sheepskin rafts made it onto the island.

Liu Xingzuo led his personal guards forward to meet the enemy, charging at the head of his men, fighting the Tartars in bloody close combat.

The sheepskin rafts could hardly transport warhorses, and the Tartars, attacking across the sea, could not arrange their battle formations. Both sides were crammed together in chaotic melee, where the power of coordinated tactics mattered little—whoever had more men held the advantage.

The people of Liaodong lived in harsh conditions and were all somewhat fierce by nature. Added to that their hatred of the Tartars and the fact that they were fighting with their backs to the sea, they erupted with astonishing fighting power, managing to hold the battle line on the beach and preventing the Tartars from advancing a single step onto the island.

After a full day of fierce assault with nothing to show for it, the Tartars left a hundred or so corpses on the beach and retreated in haste.

Beneath the setting sun, the soldiers and civilians of Changsheng Island could hardly believe they had won, and cheered wildly at the figures fleeing on their skin rafts.

But Zu Dashou could not cheer. He knew in his heart that if they kept defending like this, the day the island fell was right before their eyes.

By dusk, Shen Yourong led his naval force back to the island—more than a third of the dozen-plus bird boats had been lost.

That night, it was the same routine again: adding cooking fires, beating drums.

On the third day, the Tartars attacked even more fiercely, sending out even more skin rafts.

The defensive line was broken through multiple times. Zu Dashou and Liu Xingzuo were stretched to their limits, barely managing to hold on until dusk, when the Tartars withdrew.

On the beach, the corpses of Ming soldiers and civilians lay scattered in every direction—a horrifying sight.

At night, Zu Dashou walked through the camp and could hear faint sobbing from every tent—men saying they were going to die on this island, that the Tartars would cut off their heads, and so on.

Others cursed the commanding general, cursed the Emperor, cursed the injustice of fate.

Zu Dashou heard it all and felt nothing but ice in his heart. He knew the army's morale was shattered; even if he came forward to suppress it now, it would do no good—it might only hasten the mutiny.

At this rate, never mind whether they could hold tomorrow—his own troops would mutiny tonight.

He hurried into Shen Yourong's tent and saw Shen Yourong bare-chested, with an arrow wound on his left arm still bleeding as a medic dressed it. Liu Xingzuo was also in the tent.

Zu Dashou was startled at first, then blurted out: "Regional Commander Shen, you're wounded?"

Shen Yourong forced a smile: "The Tartars can't brace themselves on the boats, so their arrows lack force. Otherwise this old arm of mine might not have been saved."

Zu Dashou offered a few words of concern, then reported the situation in the camp.

Shen Yourong let out a long sigh: "I thought that with the Denglai naval force, we could at least hold off the Tartars for ten-odd days—long enough to last until the western Liaoning fleet returned, or the Nan'ao naval force came to our aid. I never imagined we couldn't even last four days."

Zu Dashou said dejectedly: "The main strength of the Denglai fleet is all occupied ferrying the common folk across the sea. Old General need not blame himself."

In truth, he himself had been somewhat contemptuous of the enemy, thinking that even a mere Mobile Corps Commander had held the Tartars back at the Fudu River for over half a month—surely the Tartars couldn't be that formidable.

But the moment he actually clashed with the Tartars, he discovered that was not the case. Every Tartar was skilled in horsemanship and archery; they held their own in arrow exchanges and showed no fear in drawn-blade close combat.

His Ming soldiers, the moment they saw Tartars, were just like guard station troops seeing Japanese pirates—always on the verge of rout.

He thought back to how he had planned to hold Fuzhou City with these few hundred men. Now it was clear that without the Fudu River holding the Tartars back...

With his troops, slowing the Tartars was impossible—dying for the country, on the other hand, was a certainty.

The medic had more or less finished bandaging the wound and rose to withdraw. Shen Yourong pulled on his clothes and asked: "General Zu, when you came from Fuzhou, was there still standing water among the grass and trees along the way?"

Zu Dashou nodded: "Yes."

He knew Shen Yourong wanted to emulate the Nan'ao naval force's tactics—set another fire on the shore.

But for one thing, after the rain, the grass and trees were damp. For another, the area around Niangniang Temple near the coast was mostly saline-alkali soil, and with the common folk passing through frequently, there had never been much vegetation there to begin with. Moreover, the Tartars had learned their lesson after being burned once and had chopped down all the trees and brush near their camp—making it even harder to start a fire.

Shen Yourong pondered for a long while, then said in a hoarse voice: "In tomorrow's battle, even if this old man has to stake these old bones of mine, I will not let the Tartars set foot on this island. I ask you two generals to escort the common folk to North Lashi Mountain under cover of night to take shelter."

North Lashi Mountain was located at the westernmost tip of Changsheng Island—holding the mountain as a defensive position was a last resort. It seemed Shen Yourong already knew he could not hold back the Tartar soldiers and was resolved to sacrifice himself to leave the common folk a path of retreat.

Liu Xingzuo laughed: "Old General, that's not right. The task of covering the retreat should be mine. As Regional Commander of the Denglai naval force, you must take charge of escorting the common folk behind."

Hearing this, Zu Dashou was seized with bold spirit and said: "Let me cover the retreat instead—no one fight me for it!"

Shen Yourong sighed: "Stop arguing. Someone must go settle the common folk."

"Regional Commander Shen, you go."

"We trouble the Old General!"

Zu Dashou and Liu Xingzuo said in unison.

Shen Yourong's naval force had nearly been wiped out, and he knew that staying would be of little use. He could only sigh and say: "Very well, this old man will go settle the people now."

After Shen Yourong left, Liu Xingzuo said: "General Zu, do you still remember our pact in Fuzhou City?"

Zu Dashou laughed: "How could I not remember? Back then we agreed to meet again on the island, and now here we are, safe and sound on the island, aren't we?"

Liu Xingzuo said: "Why don't we make another pact — let us meet again before Shanhai Pass!"

He knew full well that both of them would die tomorrow, yet he still made such a promise. This bold spirit truly earned Zu Dashou's admiration.

So Zu Dashou burst into hearty laughter, the gloom of impending death swept clean away, and he declared in a clear voice: "It's a deal!"

Stepping out of the tent, Zu Dashou did not return to his quarters at once, but instead looked up at the moon and recited silently in his heart.

"Ancestors above, your unworthy descendant kowtows and reports: in tomorrow's battle, I will never disgrace the family name. May the shining spirits of our ancestors bear witness."

At the same time, twenty nautical miles southwest of Changsheng Island.

Bai Qing retrieved the sextant, recorded the coordinates of 39° north latitude in the navigation log, and took out the helmsman's hand-drawn chart to compare positions.

On the sea surface, ten newly built Sea Wolf warships lined up in a row, rising and falling with the waves.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen