Chapter 217: Three Ramshackle Houses of Tile Cannot Buy Peace for the Realm

The "relief and consolidation" storm grew ever more intense in Fujian.

At the end of the tenth month, the newspaper's front-page headline ran a bombshell story—the entire province of Fujian was carrying out a levy refund.

Specifically, it was refunding the Liaodong levy.

The refunds were expected to be completed before year's end.

The moment the news broke, the common folk cheered in unison—though far more people were half-convinced, half-doubtful.

In early winter, the first batch of Liaodong levy refunds was paid out in Zhangzhou, Quanzhou, and Fuzhou.

As the common folk watched copper coins return to their own hands, none of them could believe it.

From the forty-sixth year of Wanli to now, the Liaodong levy had been collected for nearly ten years—this was the first time anyone had seen the government pay money back.

Moreover, the gentry and common folk of Fujian discovered that the refunds were not being handled by the government yamen, but by the Civil Revenue Bureau, with the tax collectors merely playing a supporting role. When the newspaper reported the matter, it also clearly stated that the order to refund the Liaodong levy came from the Helmsman, not from the court, and further promised that in future years, Fujian would no longer collect the Liaodong levy at all.

Such a sweeping, loudly proclaimed reform could hardly avoid stirring up plenty of trouble—for instance, sloppy records during tax collection meant no one knew exactly how much each person was owed.

Or the Civil Revenue Bureau in each prefecture lacked sufficient staff and could not keep up with the workload.

There were also landlords who took advantage of the chaos to extort extra payments from the Civil Revenue Bureau, and so on.

But all in all, the refund was both a benevolent policy and a way of buying hearts with real benefits—the common folk all gained something, more or less.

Through this affair, Fujian was bound all the more firmly to Lin Qian's warship.

The weather grew colder, yet the hearts of Fujian's people burned hot—with an unexpected sum of silver in hand, everyone could enjoy a good New Year.

The newspaper ran endless reports on the refund campaign—today five households refunded in Zhang Family Village, tomorrow ten households in Li Family Village—truly a mighty display. So much so that in the neighboring provinces of Zhejiang, Jiangxi, and Guangdong, hearts were turning; the common folk went to the yamen one after another to ask when their own prefectures and counties would get refunds.

People do not resent scarcity, but they resent inequality.

After being roughly cursed back by yamen runners and tax collectors, one can well imagine how furious the common folk felt.

Complaints against the court, against the government, against the Helmsman for not having been born in their own province or prefecture—such voices now regularly appeared in the streets and alleys.

Among all these places, Chaozhou was the worst.

Chaozhou lay closest to Nan'ao Island and was most intimate with the Helmsman—it should have been the first to receive his care.

Yet the court had enfeoffed all the Helmsman's offices in Fujian, so even if he had the will to refund Chaozhou's levy, he was powerless to help.

Because it was close to Zhangzhou, the newspaper spread widely in Chaozhou.

The common folk watched the people of Zhangzhou, just across one mountain, use their refunded silver to stock up on New Year goods several months early.

While they themselves were still bitterly tilling fields, fishing, and weaving cloth—their hearts truly knew no bounds of misery.

Rumors spread that the reason the court did not carve out Chaozhou for the Helmsman to govern was entirely due to the Governor-General of the Two Guangs obstructing it from behind the scenes.

On top of that, for nearly half a year the Governor-General's standard troops had been garrisoning Chaozhou, and their military discipline was only marginally better than that of camp soldiers—every few days some incident of harassing the common folk would be reported.

Thus, from top to bottom, Chaozhou's popular resentment was at a boiling point, with faint signs of popular unrest brewing.

The standard troops' Battalion Commander sat on pins and needles all day long—he had only two thousand men under his command, and if a true uprising broke out, he might not be able to suppress it.

Moreover, east of the Fenshui Pass, the New Army's cannons thundered without cease day and night—if the New Army and the populace joined forces and came attacking together, Chaozhou would fall in an instant.

Therefore, every few days he sent official dispatches to Guangzhou requesting reinforcements.

In Guangzhou city, inside the Governor-General's residence.

Hu Yingtai's situation was really not much better than that of the standard troops' Company Commander.

How could he not know the current situation? How could he not know that hearts were turning? How could he not know that his two thousand standard troops could not hold Chaozhou?

And was he not likewise sending urgent memorials to the court one after another?

And what did he get in return?

Rumor had it that the court was studying giving Lin Qian a third honorary rank elevation, adding an Eastern Palace title to Ye Xianggao, and conferring an honorary title upon Ye Zhen.

Since the disastrous defeat at Liuhe, friction between the Jianzhou barbarians and the Ming army had gradually lessened. After Hong Taiji turned his forces against the Yi dynasty, he also formed an alliance with Khorchin and marched west to attack Chahar. Yan Mingtai seized the opportunity to order generals such as Zu Dashou and Man Gui to advance, occupying the three guards of Guangning and recovering vast territories in western Liaodong.

In the southwest, Zhu Xieyuan massed heavy troops and captured Zunyi, the rebels' key stronghold in the She-An rebellion, scoring a great victory.

The unrest in the northwest gradually subsided, Jiangnan's grain transport via the Grand Canal recovered, and Shandong's White Lotus sect stopped making trouble as well.

It seemed that the Great Ming Empire, under Wei Zhongxian's governance, was showing signs of resurgence.

Even in Guangdong, under Hu Yingtai's own suppression, there were still prefecture- and county-level officials secretly building shrines to honor the living Wei Zhongxian.

Rumor had it that the court's grandees were privately discussing whether Wei Zhongxian's honorific should be advanced another step—to ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine years being deemed appropriate.

At such a critical moment, how could the court possibly tolerate fresh unrest in the southeast, shattering the beautiful dream of a golden age of peace?

How short-sighted! How foolish!

Hu Yingtai also often wondered—what exactly was he persisting in guarding against Lin Qian for?

When the court is without the Way, the realm naturally ought to be taken by one of virtue—why play the mantis trying to stop a chariot, only to become a laughingstock?

As he drifted in these thoughts, a staff aide delivered an official document.

"Your Excellency, this is the latest issue of the Nan'ao Times."

Hu Yingtai sighed and took it. This newspaper's propaganda power was too strong—after reading it, the common folk could not help but yearn for "life under the Helmsman's rule."

In helplessness, Hu Yingtai had issued a ban across the Two Guangs strictly prohibiting its sale.

But at the same time, the Nan'ao Times was far more timely than the Capital Gazette, to the point that even Hu Yingtai himself bought every issue to keep abreast of world affairs. When those above do as they please, those below follow suit—the so-called ban became a dead letter, able to stop only those common folk who had neither power, nor influence, nor connections.

In the end, this affair became yet another classic case of "the magistrate may burn down the house, but the common folk may not light a lamp"—accomplishing nothing except deepening the people's resentment against the government.

Hu Yingtai unfolded the newspaper and saw there was nothing major happening at court.

In Shaanxi, the locust plague had subsided, but drought had arrived in its place—since winter began, not a single snow had fallen, and next year was clearly going to be another year of famine.

On the Mongolian grasslands, Hong Taiji, through plunder, offers of surrender, and marriage alliances, advanced with unstoppable momentum, subduing great numbers of Mongol tribesmen, livestock, and horses before returning victorious to Liaodong.

In Fujian news, besides yet more villagers in countless towns receiving levy refunds, transport ships carrying charcoal and native sugar from Dongning Island had recently docked at Yuegang and Fuzhou. According to the newspaper, this was the Civil Revenue Bureau's "Sweet Warm Winter Plan."

In winters past, poor folk trying to keep warm had resorted to every imaginable method—wearing paper clothes, covering themselves with paper quilts, sleeping in "chicken-feather inns" and "sand inns," and some, unable to bear the cold, even jumped into manure pits to preserve their body heat.

Never mind celebrating the New Year—they would thank heaven and earth just to avoid freezing to death.

This year's Warm Winter Plan was aimed precisely at preventing such tragedies.

Moreover, the newspaper also proposed that the common people should not only be able to "survive," but also "live well."

By selling low-priced native sugar, they would also let the people of Fujian enjoy a "sweet new year."

Hu Yingtai flew into a rage and slammed the newspaper onto the table: "Petty favors to buy people's hearts—truly the ambition of a wolf!"

Hu Yingtai's heart pounded with fury as he snarled: "Lin Qian colludes in maritime trade, earning silver that belongs to the court, and uses the court's own funds to build his own reputation—utterly shameless! And this 'Warm Winter Plan'—deceiving the world and stealing fame, disgusting!"

A staff advisor handed him tea, saying: "Rest assured, Your Excellency. I have ordered strict inspections at all ports and passes in Guangdong—not a single copy of the newspaper will be allowed into the Liang-Guang region."

"Mm." Hu Yingtai took a sip of tea, suppressing his anger. "Order the Three Offices to send men this afternoon for deliberation."

That afternoon, the Three Offices sent their men. The result of the discussion left Hu Yingtai utterly dumbfounded—some officials even openly declared support for Lin Qian, saying he was no rebel or traitor, but one who pleaded for the people.

Blood rushed to Hu Yingtai's head, his whole body trembling—he could no longer tell whether it was anger or fear.

In the end, within the Governor-General's residence, the Three Offices argued endlessly over whether Lin Qian was truly a rebel and traitor, and whether they should still oppose him.

As for countermeasures—not a single word was mentioned.

During the New Year period, east of Fenshui Pass, in the Zhangzhou region, the people's lives were thriving; the smoky scent of burning charcoal could be smelled ten li away. Meanwhile, the people of Chaozhou could only watch helplessly, stuffing more paper scraps into their clothes to keep warm against the cold.

The looks the common folk cast toward the model troops' camp west of Fenshui Pass were filled with murderous intent.

Chaozhou, driven by the Nan'ao Island trade, actually had a better life than in previous years—comparatively, the gap in perception was not yet great.

To the west, Huizhou Prefecture and Guangzhou Prefecture, increasingly less affected by trade, felt the disparity most acutely.

Compounded by the authorities' high-handed policies—even the Nan'ao Times was strictly banned—

the people felt that enduring hardship was one thing, but now even being allowed to see how their neighboring province lived was forbidden. Truly intolerable. Thus, before the New Year was even over, incidents of commoners besieging county and prefectural offices had already occurred.

Under pressure, the County Magistrates and Prefects, without time to seek Hu Yingtai's instructions, loosened the ban and permitted the Nan'ao Times to circulate within their jurisdictions—only then did the enraged crowds disperse.

This move was nothing short of drinking poison to quench thirst.

For the latest issue of the Nan'ao Times carried, in page after page, coverage of a new court policy—the court levying an additional "Three Great Halls Furnishings Levy" upon Jiangnan. The newspaper, in plain vernacular, laid out the entire matter from beginning to end.

The so-called "Three Great Halls" were the Huangji Hall, Zhongji Hall, and Jianji Hall—these three halls had been damaged by fire in the twenty-fifth year of Wanli and began restoration in the fifth year of Tianqi.

The total cost of the project exceeded five million taels, approaching six million, with the funds largely extorted from various regions.

Now the construction was essentially complete, but furnishings for the halls were still lacking, requiring roughly one hundred thousand taels of silver. This sum was directly apportioned to Yingtian Prefecture. The Governor of Yingtian was currently submitting memorials pleading for a reduction.

When the Three Great Halls were first being repaired, the methods of extracting wealth had been covert, so popular backlash had not been severe.

Perhaps because this was the final sum—a paltry one hundred thousand taels—the eunuch faction deemed it small change and apportioned it carelessly.

For the people of Guangdong, this news was like a bomb dropped into their hearts, sending their hot blood boiling.

Everyone had gone hungry to scrape together the Liaodong levy for the court, thinking it would be used to fight the Jianzhou barbarians—only to find it went to repairing the Three Great Halls?

The peasants tightened their belts, saving every copper coin of blood and sweat—not a single half-penny of it had ever reached the border troops.

The officials skimmed their cut, the eunuch faction skimmed theirs, and the rest all went to the dog of an emperor!

The Great Ming was on the verge of collapse—what use were three broken-down buildings?

Though the levy had not been apportioned to Guangdong's commoners, compared with Fujian, the anger in their hearts was like a mountain avalanche and tidal wave, desperate to erupt. Throughout the entire New Year period, central and eastern Guangdong passed in fury and suppression.

Local officials were all terrified, some even preparing fast horses in advance and packing their valuables.

The Lantern Festival of the seventh year of Tianqi.

Nine whale ships sailed slowly westward off the coast of Chaozhou, the Tianyuan leading the way, followed by fifteen Fujian junks, with nine Yahat ships escorting on either flank, ten Sea Wolf warships beyond them, and sixteen Eagle ships continuously patrolling the outermost perimeter.

At the same time, the newest issue of the newspaper arrived in Guangdong—the Prefects and County Magistrates no longer dared to prohibit its sale.

The people scrambled to buy copies; some, upon getting one, read it aloud in the streets at the top of their lungs.

The newspaper carried the latest development in the Furnishings Levy affair: the Governor of Yingtian had agreed to build a living shrine for Wei Zhongxian at Huqiu Mountain in exchange for a reduction in the apportioned levy. Upon hearing this, the people cursed openly in the streets, their outcry astonishing in scale.

The yamen runners maintaining order, seeing this scene, trembled in fear and retreated over a hundred paces away.

On the front page, in the headline position of the new issue, an opinion piece was published.

Its title: "Three Tumbledown Tiled Huts Cannot Buy Peace for the Nation."

The article's language was blunt and biting to the extreme, utterly disregarding any notion of overstepping or offending superiors—comparing the Three Great Halls to three tumbledown tiled huts, and directly calling the Tianqi Emperor a mediocre carpenter-monarch and a nation-ruining brat.

It stated plainly that the emperor was without virtue, that treacherous sycophants ran rampant, that the court was benighted, and that the nation's fortunes were declining day by day.

It also enumerated, one by one, the various tyrannies and malpractices of the Ming court since the Wanli reign—including the debased-registry system, the feudal princes, cruel punishments, land annexation, imperial indolence, mining taxes, factional strife, powerful eunuchs, the Liaodong levy, and more.

Its conclusion read: "Since antiquity, has there ever been a Son of Heaven whose line lasted a hundred generations? Has any dynasty possessed foundations enduring a thousand years?

The people's hearts are the Mandate of Heaven—that which carries the boat can also capsize it; such is the constant order of things.

When the sovereign treats the people as straw dogs, the people regard the sovereign as foe and bandit. The Mandate of Heaven is not constant; it aids only the virtuous. A sovereign who loses virtue has cut himself off from the people—it is not the people who have abandoned him." The language of this piece was virtually indistinguishable from a declaration of war.

After reading the article, the masses clapped their hands in gleeful approval.

West of Fenshui Pass, the Battalion Commander of the model troops finished reading the newspaper—cold sweat soaked the clothes on his back. He hastily ordered the paper sent to Guangzhou and urgently arranged defenses.

Meanwhile, along the eastern and western defensive lines—the eastern line guarding Fenshui Pass, the western line guarding against the people of Chaozhou—

in the Governor-General's residence, the assembled officials of Guangzhou stared at the newspaper, all struck dumb as if hit by a thunderbolt from the blue.

This article—this—wasn't this simply a declaration of war?

Lin Qian truly dared to rebel!

Only now did the Three Offices officials of Guangzhou wake up as if from a dream.

Even Hu Yingtai, who had submitted dozens of memorials over the past half year, was now completely stunned. He had guessed Lin Qian would rebel—he just hadn't expected it so soon, so utterly without warning.

At Fenshui Pass, there were only his two thousand model troops!

How could they possibly hold against the Fujian army?

At this point, there was no room for hesitation. Hu Yingtai ordered the Regional Commander of Guangdong to mobilize the entire province's forces to reinforce Fenshui Pass.

At the same time, he issued orders to the naval garrisons of Guangdong, dispatching warships to defend the mouth of the Pearl River.

"Yes!" The Guangdong Regional Commander clasped his fists and withdrew to relay the orders.

Only then did the Three Offices officials snap back to their senses, one after another furiously denouncing Lin Qian as shameless, a traitor, a rebel and villain.

Some also repented, saying they should have heeded Hu Yingtai's warnings, and that their failure to do so had left them in a passive position.

Hu Yingtai waved his hand: "Enough. This is urgent—save those words for later. Let us first discuss our response."

He pondered for a moment, then had his aides bring paper and brush. He swiftly wrote a memorial reporting the situation, attaching the newspaper that had published the manifesto. Then he held out the brush and said: "Colleagues, let us submit a joint memorial to report the military situation in Fujian and Guangdong!"

One official still harbored illusions and said: "After all, it is but an article. The Fujian troops have made no move. To report this as a military situation—would that not be an overreaction?"

Hu Yingtai could not believe his ears. Before he could refute—

Another spoke up: "I have heard that the writers for the Nan'ao Times are all civilian contributors. This piece may not necessarily represent Lin Qian's intentions."

Hu Yingtai stared wide-eyed at the assembled men, unable to believe his colleagues could be such a pack of fools.

Still, among the Guangzhou officials, quite a few trusted Hu Yingtai's judgment and signed their names to the memorial one after another.

The matter was urgent, and Hu Yingtai had no time to spare for the others. He blew the ink dry and had a rider dispatch it to the capital at full speed.

Thereafter, Hu Yingtai issued a stream of orders—posting notices proclaiming Lin Qian's wolfish ambition to the world, closing the ports and refusing Fujian ships anchorage, and so forth. The discussion of countermeasures against Lin Qian continued until roughly the fourth watch. Only when Hu Yingtai saw that the officials were utterly exhausted did he wave them away.

When he returned to his private residence and finished washing up, attended by his wife, his head had barely touched the pillow before he fell fast asleep.

In his dream, a vast fleet was already sailing up the Pearl River, thunderous cannon fire assailing him without cease...

Just as terror seized him, someone shook him awake.

"Milord! Milord!"

"What is it?" Hu Yingtai started awake from his dream, only then realizing he was drenched in cold sweat.

His wife's face was pale with fear. She pointed toward the outside of the house and said in a trembling voice: "Listen."

The sky had barely begun to lighten. The room was dim, and the residence was utterly quiet.

Once the two fell silent, a faint rumbling sound could be heard, coming from the south.

The sound was extremely distant, impossible to make out clearly.

Hu Yingtai first took it for thunder, but it was denser than thunder, and continuous without end. Gradually, the footsteps of servants sounded, and his face changed. He did not bother to dress—in the dead of winter, he ran barefoot out of the house.

In the courtyard, the rumbling grew ever clearer.

That was unmistakably... unmistakably the sound of cannon fire!

"What is going on? What has happened?" Hu Yingtai shouted frantically at those around him.

But the servants all wore bewildered expressions, and no one answered.

"Summon Commander Li! And bring a ladder! Quickly!" Hu Yingtai bellowed at the servants.

The servants hurried to obey. One brought a ladder, and Hu Yingtai had him lean it against the gable wall of the house, then called for a young servant boy to climb up.

"Get up there and see what is happening south of the city!" Hu Yingtai's tone brooked no argument.

The servant grabbed the ladder, climbed to the rooftop in a few steps, glanced toward the south of the city—and froze.

"Well?" Hu Yingtai asked tentatively, his voice already trembling.

The servant stood dumbstruck, his face blank.

"Answer me!" Hu Yingtai snapped.

"Th-this, this this... this... fire, so much fire!" The servant was so terrified he could no longer speak properly.

"Worthless!" Hu Yingtai cursed, then began climbing the ladder himself. His wife rushed to stop him, urging him not to take such a risk.

Hu Yingtai shook her off and said: "Have someone hold the ladder steady!" Then he slowly climbed toward the rooftop.

In a moment of crisis, there was no room for feudal propriety or the separation of men and women.

Hu Yingtai's wife hastily called servants from outside the courtyard to steady the ladder, then had quilts and bedding from the house brought out to cushion the ground below.

Hu Yingtai, trembling, finally managed to climb onto the roof. Before he could even catch his breath, he looked toward the south of the city—and his face went white, he nearly choked on the spot. His gaze passed over the inner and outer city walls, and in the dim world before him, light kept flaring up in the south.

A few breaths later, another dense volley of rumbling cannon fire arrived.

The cannon fire continued for a long while. Scarcely had it paused for a moment when light flickered again at the edge of the sky, followed by more thunderous reports.

In the direction of the East Convenience Gate of the outer city, massive black stones and timber could be dimly seen being blasted into the sky again and again.

Only then did the panicked cries of the common people rise from the south of the city.

Hu Yingtai stared blankly for a long time.

A soldier covered in dust and grime came stumbling in, fell to his knees, and said in a tearful voice: "Your Excellency, this is terrible... The Nan'ao naval forces have attacked!"

Pearl River, aboard the Tianyuan, in the officers' mess.

Lin Qian stood before a table, surrounded by several standing signalmen.

On the table lay a huge sand table. The great river upon it was the Pearl River. North of the Pearl River stood a great city—this was Guangzhou.

Guangzhou had inner and outer cities, separated by a wall running east to west. The southern city was built on the banks of the Pearl River, right next to the docks.

Guangzhou's city walls stood about three zhang tall, with eighteen gates, each crowned by a tall gate tower.

For this attack, Lin Qian and the high command of Nan'ao Island had secretly formulated a half-year plan.

Guangzhou's city defenses, the Pearl River's hydrology, and the river's defensive arrangements had long since been studied down to the last detail.

At the beginning of the yin hour, the fleet sailed from Lingding Bay into the Pearl River.

The Humen fort had only recently been constructed; its cannons lacked both caliber and range to cover the entire breadth of the river.

Speed was paramount in war. Lin Qian sailed directly along the southwest side of Hengdang Island, bypassing the fort.

The Pearl River waterway had long been traversed back and forth by merchant ships, and Lin Qian had charted it with complete clarity.

Today was the sixteenth of the first month—a spring tide. The Pearl River's water level had risen greatly, giving maximum navigability.

It was now the beginning of the mao hour. In another hour, the tide would reach its absolute peak.

At this moment, Lin Qian's fleet had already passed Huangpu and lay anchored in the Pearl River channel, southeast of the East Convenience Gate.

Ten gunboats formed a line abreast, and from the East Convenience Gate to the Yongxing Gate, they pounded the entire southern stretch of the city wall with relentless bombardment.

The ten gunboats, led by the Tianyuan, carried a total of one hundred and forty-two smoothbore cannons on their broadsides. A single full volley hurled over one thousand eight hundred jin of shot—ten volleys would yield enough iron to cast an extra Golden Cudgel.

Guangzhou's city wall was built of rammed earth faced with brick and stone—cannon fire could not breach it.

But the crenellations had no rammed earth, and the gate towers were of timber and stone construction.

Under such terrifyingly dense bombardment, it was soon destroyed completely, and a stretch of bare city wall had no defensive value whatsoever. A messenger entered to report the battle situation—the gate towers of Yongxing Gate and Dongbian Gate had been blasted down, and the stationed soldiers had withdrawn.

Lin Qian said in a deep voice, "Order the fleet westward, continue bombarding Yongqing Gate. The army will land within the safe zone and establish an artillery position." "Yes, sir!"

By the time the new army completed its landing, it was already noon.

Lei Sanxiang stood on a high point, gazing toward the southwest, and saw that Yongqing Gate had already become a ruin shrouded in green smoke. Naval gunfire was pouring toward Wuxian Gate. Guangzhou's city walls carried a large number of heavy Folangji cannons, along with a small number of muzzle-loading smoothbore guns—though their range and firepower were weak, they were not entirely without the ability to fight back.

However, due to design flaws in the battlements and gate towers, the cannons' field of fire was extremely limited, basically able to shoot only within a range of about thirty degrees directly to the front.

Therefore, whether it was the naval guns or Lei Sanxiang's artillery positions, both fired from the flanks of the gates.

Guangzhou had countless cannons to spare, yet could only be beaten passively.

At the same time, Lei Sanxiang also ordered soldiers to occupy the city wall and, from their commanding height, fire down at the defenders inside the city.

By the afternoon, the entire eastern side of the outer city—including Xiaodong Gate, which had not been bombarded—had fallen completely under the new army's control.

At midday, the naval bombardment slowed, and while the cannons were given time to cool, the crewmen took turns eating lunch.

Meanwhile, on the city wall stretching from Yongxing Gate to Xiaodong Gate, the new army soldiers were also taking turns eating dry rations.

These dry rations were made from sesame, seasoned with salt and dried ginger powder, bound together with large amounts of white sugar and a small amount of honey into block form. One bite and it was crisp yet sticky, sweet enough to be cloying.

A single small piece eaten into the stomach could directly stuff a person full, just like eating three bowls of rice.

When disembarking from the ships, each soldier had been given nine pieces of this dry ration, enough for three days.

After eating the dry rations, Lei Sanxiang ordered the artillery positions to be set up inside the city.

The positions had all been preselected, located at various major traffic thoroughfares, directly facing the two inner city gates—Zhengnan Gate and Wenming Gate.

The process of relocating the positions met almost no resistance from the Ming army.

It went so smoothly as to be unbelievable.

In fact, during the entire half-day since the new army came ashore, they had hardly seen any Ming soldiers at all.

All they saw were scattered, mutilated corpses and the fleeing backs of Ming soldiers over a thousand paces away.

The veterans who had returned from Jeju Island, having eaten their sesame sugar sticks, even had the leisure to gather together and chat and laugh.

Lei Sanxiang could not help but marvel—so war could be fought this way. He wondered what sort of scene the Ming army inside the city was facing right now.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen