Chapter 240: The Pursuers Are Coming

Solid iron cannonballs crashed down.

Dirt sprayed around the artillery position as the ground trembled.

Several cannonballs struck the ground, bounced up, and slammed into the ranks behind the cannons—a dark blur flashed, and soldiers in a single line fell together, sending up bursts of blood mist and screams.

The dirt thrown up by the impacts fell like rain, pattering down in sheets.

Five craters now pockmarked the ground around the cannons, the nearest barely a dozen paces away.

Balong's heart filled with dread. The Ming men's cannons were not only numerous but accurate—at this rate, in just a few more volleys, this Dutch cannon would be scrap iron. Balong steeled himself and said in a low voice, "Press forward! Full assault—press forward!"

They were clearly no match in an artillery duel; the only option was to close in for melee combat and win through numerical superiority.

The chieftains of each unit relayed Balong's order.

"His Highness commands—the army presses forward!"

"Prepare to advance!"

"Get your rattan shields and javelins ready, loosen up your shoulders!"

On the war elephant, Balong drew his sword and pointed forward. The two thousand royal guards of Zhenla shouted in unison and charged ahead with terrifying momentum.

"Boom, boom, boom..."

Along the charge route, the five cannons fired a volley. The shots landed to Balong's left-front, grazing the ground and kicking up great clods of dirt before bouncing up and flying diagonally into the Zhenla ranks.

Five bloody lines were carved straight through the Zhenla formation as a dozen or more warriors were torn apart, flesh and blood flying, their screams wretched and shrill.

This low, ground-skimming trajectory brought the solid shot's killing power to its absolute peak.

Once the enemy closed to within fifty paces, the cannons switched to grapeshot, each blast scything a cone of death.

At the same time, the Sea Wolf ships on the Mekong were also firing—the Folangji cannons normally couldn't reach the Zhenla army.

But once they charged and their formation loosened, the left flank drew near the river, just entering the Folangji cannons' field of fire.

The Folangji cannons' solid shot lacked stopping power on its own, but there was no accounting for the sheer number of shipboard guns.

A dozen or more opened fire together, combining with the three-pounder field guns' grapeshot—the battlefield bloomed like a goddess scattering flowers.

In the blink of an eye, the Zhenla army closed to within thirty paces, and rhythmic matchlock musket fire rang out from the Ming formation.

Zhenla soldiers in the lead fell one after another.

Over the soldiers' heads came the whistle of bullets streaking past, the roar of cannons, the screams of comrades—the cries of battle gradually fading.

The Zhenla left flank in particular suffered relentless pounding from cannon, shipboard gun, and musket alike. Casualties were heavy, and some men had already turned to flee.

Flight spread like contagion—soon the entire left flank was nothing but the backs of running soldiers.

Soldiers threw away helmets and armor, trampling their fallen comrades' bodies as they ran.

Even the center's charge began to falter.

Balong, atop his war elephant, brandished his long sword and shouted again and again, "Don't be afraid—charge! Warriors, throw your javelins!"

Within ten paces, the Zhenla soldiers halted and hurled their javelins.

The rainy season in the Zhenla region was muggy and damp, and bowstrings easily softened from moisture—which was why the Khmer mostly hunted with javelins, and every soldier in the army carried one. "Whoosh!"

A volley of javelins flew out, and cries of agony erupted from the Ming position. A dozen or more men were pierced clean through, blood spurting from their wounds; after a few moments of screaming, they lost their lives.

The matchlock muskets that had cost the Zhenla army so dearly were finally suppressed.

But before Balong could catch his breath—

An extremely shrill, piercing horn call rang out from the Ming ranks, its sound cutting through the entire battlefield and raising goosebumps on every listener.

Balong followed the sound and saw a row of soldiers standing in the center of the Ming formation, holding great signal horns—these horns were extremely long, nearly six or seven feet.

When blown, they produced a sound like weapons clashing that pierced the very sky.

This was the Ming army's charge signal.

"Kill!" The Ming center suddenly roared as one, and charged at the Zhenla army with weapons in hand.

Their spears were sharp, their bayonets gleaming, every man's eyes wide with fury, faces like wrathful demons.

The Zhenla army hesitated for but a moment before the forest of spears and bayonets crashed into them.

The two armies locked in savage close combat. The front ranks decided life and death in an instant—great numbers of Zhenla soldiers were gutted by bayonets, and before their screams could even escape, five or six more blades stabbed down in turn, reducing them to pulp.

The entire battle line was stained red with blood as soldiers surged forward wave after wave.

The Ming formation was tighter, and the coordination between sword-shields, spears, and bayonets was far smoother. Once the chaos of the initial collision passed, they immediately re-formed their ranks, several men working together against scattered groups of two or three Zhenla soldiers.

In a single exchange, large numbers of Zhenla troops began falling back. The front-rank soldiers tossed aside their sword-shields and ran without a second word. Seeing this, the rear ranks followed suit and ran too.

Within a few breaths, the entire battle line was collapsing. The rout flowed like a mudslide, sweeping even the still-courageous soldiers along in the retreat. Balong, frantic atop his elephant, shouted endlessly, "Turn back! Retreat means death!"

His personal guards had not yet scattered. Hearing Balong's cries, they rallied the remnants of the army.

At that very moment, the ferocious Ming army charged straight up to the guards' position.

These soldiers were mostly dressed in commoners' clothing, each skilled in martial arts, pressing the attack relentlessly—even their carefully maintained formation had broken apart.

Even so, the Zhenla army was collapsing like a mountain falling. They had no strength left to fight back, and like a herd of pigs could only turn their backs to the enemy and be slaughtered. Among the Ming troops, a scattering of sword-shield men and spearmen wore cloth-faced iron armor. They charged as if they had no regard for their lives, sprinting five or six paces ahead of the main formation, plunging deep into the Zhenla ranks and hacking wildly.

Even though their movements were wide and full of openings, they were drenched in blood like gods of slaughter, breaking the Zhenla army's spirit through sheer ferocity, cutting through as if no one could stand against them. The elephant handlers saw the tide turning and, without waiting for Balong's order, commanded the war elephants to turn and flee.

Balong sat atop his war elephant, watching his two thousand troops being brutally slaughtered, utterly shaken to his core.

From charge to rout, the Zhenla army hadn't even lasted an hour.

These were the royal household's most elite guards!

Even against the Siamese, they had only been at a slight disadvantage.

Who could have imagined they would be defeated so completely, with almost no ability to fight back!

Was the Ming really this strong?

If the Ming army was this strong and still being pushed back step by step by the Jianzhou barbarians, then were the Jianzhou barbarians even human?

Terror gripped the elephant handlers' hearts as they urged the war elephants to run faster. The elephants broke into a gallop, trampling many Zhenla soldiers in their path, crushing bones and tearing sinews. They could no longer spare a thought for the lives of common soldiers—saving their own hides was what mattered most.

After the gallop, the elephants slowed to a brisk walk and continued on for over ten li before finally shaking off the Ming pursuers.

Baron finally had a chance to catch his breath. Looking around, only thirty-five soldiers remained by his side.

Baron couldn't help but feel grief well up within him—this army had been placed in his hands, and now nearly every last man was lost.

Any thought of contending for the throne was out of the question now. He, Baron, was nothing less than a sinner against the royal house!

He looked up at the heavens, his guts twisting with regret, and muttered to himself: "Buddha, so this is how great the consequences of offending the Great Ming are. Had I known this would happen, I should never, ever have laid a hand on the Tang people!"

Before he could finish his repentance, a soldier behind him shouted: "Bad news—the Ming army has caught up! Run!"

Baron dared not delay. He scrambled onto the war elephant at once and urged the mahout to flee at full speed.

He did not dare look back. Behind him came the intermittent crack of firearms and screams of agony. His heart pounded wildly, beating as loud as the Ming army's war drums.

The war elephant fled through the forest for the better part of an hour until it was utterly exhausted. Its legs gave way, and it collapsed to the ground, heaving for breath.

Both Baron and the mahout were thrown from its back.

Fortunately, the forest floor was soft, and neither of them was injured by the fall.

Covered in mud from head to toe, Baron scrambled to his feet and cursed the elephant: "You damned beast!"

He swept his gaze around—only five or six men remained by his side.

These men were covered in wounds from being scraped by vines, their lower bodies caked in mud, their weapons all lost, and their faces twisted with utter terror.

They no longer looked like soldiers, but rather like wretched refugees fleeing famine.

Baron ordered his men to rest here for a while and recover their strength, planning to flee to Punon at daybreak.

They had fled in such haste that they had brought none of their military supplies or baggage—no food, no water, not even a single tent.

For fear of being discovered by their pursuers, they did not even dare light a fire.

Their throats were parched and raw with pain, their stomachs burned with hunger like fire licking at them, their bodies were cold and damp, their wounds ached and itched, and all around them was pitch darkness. From time to time, rustling sounds came from the forest, and their hearts were filled with fear and dread.

It was truly torture—an ordeal of pure agony.

All of them, almost as one, thought of those burned rice paddies, that scorching radiance and those flames…

And that fragrant smell of toasted rice…

Having fought a great battle and fled for their lives, they had not touched a drop of water or a grain of rice all day, yet their energy expenditure had been enormous. At this moment, they felt no different from having starved for days.

Their vision swam before their eyes, cold sweat broke out over their bodies, their fingers trembled uncontrollably, and their stomachs ached with hunger—now burning as if on fire, now stabbing as if pierced by knives. Their bodies grew colder and colder, until they no longer even had the strength to climb a tree.

They knew full well how dangerous it was to sleep on the ground, yet there was nothing they could do about it.

That was the nature of food—when you were full, you wasted it wantonly.

But when hunger drove you mad, you would gladly risk your very life for a single bite to eat.

"We have committed sins… this is all retribution…"

In the darkness, they could not see one another's faces. Someone spoke these words without beginning or end.

All of Zhenla was a nation of devout Buddhists who believed deeply in karma and retribution. Everyone knew he was referring to the destruction of the rice fields.

Though Baron was also starving to death, the dignity of a prince could not be violated. He forced himself to roar in anger: "How bold! Who said that?" No one answered.

Only the wind blowing through the jungle could be heard, leaves and vines rustling softly.

That voice spoke again: "It sounds just like the rice paddies…"

At these words, goosebumps broke out over every one of them.

On the one hand, they felt guilt for what they had done; on the other, that voice was faint and wavering, extremely weak, and no one could tell where it came from.

"Who—who's speaking?" Another man asked in a trembling voice.

Still there was no response.

Just then, a faint light appeared from the southeast.

Someone said in relief: "Daylight at last."

"No." Baron squinted his eyes, gazing toward the source of the light, then his face went pale with terror. "It's the pursuers! Buddha, what sin have I committed?!" "Get up, quick—the pursuers are here!" The mahout scrambled on hands and knees over to the war elephant.

The war elephant had been running all day without food, and now, just like the men, it was utterly weakened and refused to rise.

The mahout grew vicious and jabbed the elephant hook behind the war elephant's ear. The tip of the hook was razor sharp, like a short spear, and each jab left a bloody hole. The war elephant cried out in pain with a deep rumble from its trunk and struggled to its feet.

The commotion carried far through the jungle. In the distance, the torchlight flickered, and immediately began moving toward them.

Baron muttered in a low, furious voice: "You idiot!"

The mahout's body trembled, and he hastily said: "Your Highness, I—ah—"

"Rumble!" In the instant the mahout was distracted, the elephant curled its trunk around one of his legs and lifted him into the air.

The mahout hung upside down, feet in the air, utterly terrified. He jabbed the elephant hook at the war elephant's trunk, shouting frantically: "You beast, put me down!"

The war elephant's trunk stung with pain, making it even more enraged. A vicious gleam appeared in its eyes, and with a flick of its trunk, it slammed the mahout like a rag doll hard against a paperbark tree.

With a dull thud, the paperbark tree's branches shook violently from the impact, leaves rustling and fluttering down.

The mahout's screams stopped abruptly.

The war elephant went mad, swinging the mahout left and right like a broom, thrashing him against the trees without pause.

The mahout struck rocks on the ground, his flesh torn and blood flying everywhere.

Seeing this scene, the Zhenla soldiers scattered in all directions.

"Hurry up—don't let those bastards get away!" Behind them, torchlight through the forest drew steadily closer.

Baron ran alone through the forest on unsteady feet. Accustomed to a life of ease and luxury, his body was frail, and after a full day of terror, just a few steps left him gasping for breath. His lungs burned with pain, and his breathing sounded like a broken bellows.

The pursuers, however, were high in morale, full of energy, and physically strong from years of training. They quickly caught up.

Baron heard the footsteps behind him growing closer and closer. Then came a whistling sound—a searing pain shot through his cheek and shoulder as a tremendous force struck his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground.

The pursuers then rushed forward and delivered several more blows with their staves to Baron's chest and abdomen.

As a prince, he had never suffered such abuse from childhood to now. He was beaten nearly to the point of unconsciousness.

Seeing that he no longer had any strength to resist, the pursuers bound Baron's hands tightly behind his back and hauled him up, saying: "Walk on your own—hurry!" Baron begged: "I am the prince of Zhenla! Whatever you want—gold? Women? Official position? I can give you all of it!"

"Smack!" Baron received another vicious blow to his back. The searing pain made him arch his body backward like a shrimp, collapsing to the ground and rolling his eyes. The pursuer said: "I'll fuck your grandmother! You dog of a barbarian—get up, and stop playing dead!"

The pursuers pulled and dragged, making Baron, who had already lost half his life, stand up and walk back.

Only then did Baron notice the sharp pain in his right ear, and warm liquid dripping ceaselessly onto his shoulder, as if someone were tearing his ear off his head. He couldn't help but cry out in pain: "Ah—my ear, my ear…"

The pursuer mocked: "Your ear's already been blown to pieces, what's there to hurt?"

Baron's body trembled, his shoulder feeling the warm, slick blood, and he let out a blood-curdling scream.

The pursuers escorted him back to the previous camp.

Baron saw several of his subordinates had been captured, hands bound behind their backs, kneeling on the ground, surrounded by a ring of Ming soldiers holding torches. Seeing him arrive, one subordinate immediately jumped up and said: "It's him, his father is Chettha; his father is the King of Chenla, and he is the third prince of Chenla, Baron Chettha. Offending the heavenly troops and burning the farmland—all of it was done on his orders!"

At this point, Baron was utterly despairing and murmured: "Just kill me."

The pursuer studied him for a moment and said: "It won't be that easy. Take him away!"

While Baron was being escorted back.

Zheng Zhilong and the Nan'ao military commanders, militia leaders, and others were holding a meeting.

The Nan'ao Company Commander said: "In this battle, we tested the Ming army's drums and gongs, and the command transmission worked very well. The first half of the fight also went well, but after we won, the militia's performance, well…"

The militia leader Shitou's face was bright red: "Everyone was angry seeing the Chenla army burn the rice paddies and torture the common folk."

The Company Commander said with dissatisfaction: "That still doesn't justify disobeying orders and chasing down the fleeing enemy on your own! What if the enemy was feigning defeat to lure us in? Fortunately, the Chenla army was a bunch of rotten fish and shrimp, or this could have become a major mistake!"

"Yes!" Shitou lowered his head and said.

During militia training, this Nan'ao Company Commander served as the chief instructor, and was accustomed to disciplining these militiamen on a daily basis.

Now that they were truly on the battlefield, the Company Commander was both instructor and superior officer, so Shitou dared not contradict anything he said.

Zheng Zhilong mediated: "Enough. After all, the training time was short. Being able to do this well is already no small feat."

In this battle, the Nan'ao army and the Eighteen Stockades militia each sent half their troops, commanded by the Nan'ao Company Commander.

The militiamen were each brave and fierce, but when formed into battle formations, they became quite disordered.

The Nan'ao army was also newly recruited in the fourth month of the seventh year of Tianqi, and had trained for less than a year, having only fought bandit-suppression policing actions.

For such a mixed force, one could hardly call its combat power strong.

Fortunately, their weapons and equipment were overwhelming, and the enemy was weak enough—otherwise it wouldn't have gone so smoothly.

In the military tent, while they were discussing the pros and cons of this battle, someone outside reported: "Your Excellency, we've captured the Chenla prince."

Zheng Zhilong clapped his hands in approval: "Good. He's still alive, right?"

"Missing an ear, half-dead."

Zheng Zhilong frowned and said: "How did that happen? Send a military doctor to treat his wounds, and clean him up a bit. Don't let him look too miserable."

The subordinate withdrew.

Shitou said: "Your Excellency, why be so courteous to this beast? Let me go cut him down with one stroke."

Zheng Zhilong shook his head: "Chenla caused us so much trouble. Killing him with one stroke would be letting him off too easy."

The corner of his mouth curled up, and his gaze turned cold as he said: "Daring to offend the Han people—I will carve a huge chunk of flesh from Chenla itself!" In the Battle of Yong'an Fortress, of the two thousand Chenla troops, over five hundred were killed, over eight hundred captured, and the rest went missing.

Some fled along the river back to Phnom Penh, but most perished in the jungles and swamps, becoming food for crocodiles.

News of the third prince's disastrous defeat spread like wildfire throughout Chenla, causing panic among all classes, and soon shook the royal court.

Losing a foreign war and immediately negotiating for peace—this art of compromise politics was already quite familiar to the Chenla royal family.

Just five days later, an envoy delegation led by the second prince arrived at Phnom Penh, dispatching messengers to convey their negotiation requests to Zheng Zhilong. In the end, the negotiation location was set at the mouth of the Mekong River, in the cabin of the Candle Dragon.

Second Prince Kehya Chettha initially thought little of it—he had participated in many negotiations and understood the importance of bluffing.

For this reason, his entire delegation was adorned in gold and silver, dressed in dazzling finery, and even two war elephants were prepared.

He assumed the Ming army had chosen to hold the talks on a ship for the same purpose.

But on the Mekong River, seeing twenty Sea Wolf ships with his own eyes, Kehya still lost his composure.

The Haicang ships were six or seven zhang long—any single one was a giant crocodile of the Mekong—and when all twenty appeared together, lined up in a row across the river spanning over a li, they nearly blocked the entire waterway.

It wasn't just the number of ships—every Sea Wolf ship was equipped with six Folangji cannons, and nearly every sailor carried a matchlock musket.

The delegation's small boats, "escorted" by the Sea Wolf ships as they sailed between them, left Kehya drenched in sweat.

According to the accompanying Nan'ao naval captain, these ships were used for suppressing pirates—when fighting the Black Mast pirates, the Sea Wolf ships were deployed.

Kehya couldn't help thinking: "This kind of formation is for suppressing pirates? Did these pirates commit crimes against heaven itself?"

At the same time, he couldn't help feeling schadenfreude, and even a bit of sympathy for his third brother.

In Sanskrit, "Baron" means "great, weighty," and among the princes, Baron's martial prowess had always been the greatest.

His brilliance not only overshadowed the second prince Kehya, but even rivaled the first prince.

Naturally, this situation drove the second prince mad with jealousy.

Now, Baron had fought the most "great" defeat of his life—quite possibly his last battle.

Fool!

The fleet sailed downstream, moving quickly, and arrived at the mouth of the Mekong River just one day later.

From several li away, Kehya could see a sailing warship.

But since the ship was anchored out at sea, its size was hard to discern, and it didn't seem particularly impressive yet.

As the Sea Wolf ships filed out of the river mouth one after another, and the delegation's boats drew closer and closer to the Candle Dragon.

Only then did Kehya realize the ship's magnificence.

Its freeboard alone was nearly two zhang high, its masts pierced the sky like spears, and sailors moved among the rigging, appearing no larger than nutshells. Two rows of gunports lined the sides in dense formation, and the intricate, ornate gilded carvings on its stern gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight.

A massive crimson shield-and-halberd flag unfurled in the wind on the sterncastle deck.

Kehya was stunned—a great ship of this form, he had never seen before, nor even dared to imagine.

How was this like a ship at all? It was clearly a section of city wall floating on the sea!

The ship's freeboard was even taller than most of the city walls in Chenla!

Not only was this ship formidably armed, its wealth was astonishing—the gold and silver treasures of the Chenla royal family were worn on their persons and draped over their war elephants.

【181】 The delegation's small boats, escorted by the Sea Wolf ships, sailed between them, and Kehya couldn't help but break out in a cold sweat.

And the Ming people's gold was gilded directly onto their warships!

What bold extravagance was this?

As the embassy ships drew closer and closer, Queye looked up—the sun was gradually swallowed by the bulwark of the Candle Dragon, and they sailed into the shadow cast by its side. A rope ladder was dropped from the side of the Candle Dragon, and the embassy climbed up one after another.

The Zhenla embassy was decked out in gold and silver, wearing tube-shaped skirts below the waist—hardly suitable for climbing.

Moreover, making envoys climb aboard by ladder was hardly in keeping with the etiquette of peace talks, yet the embassy was so awed by the Candle Dragon's splendor that they forgot to protest and climbed up in turn. The Bai siblings and Zheng Zhilong were already waiting on deck; after exchanging greetings, they led the Zhenla embassy into the officers' mess.

Passing the mainmast, Queye's heart shuddered violently.

Seen from the small boat, the mast had looked as slender as a bamboo pole, but up close, it proved to be enormously thick—nearly two men could barely encircle it with their arms. The mast was made of fir, purchased at great expense from Hirado.

Even in Japan, which abounded in fir, such a giant timber was a strategic-grade resource.

Queye's gaze moved from the mast to the sailors and cannons, his eyes filled with shock and envy—and even a trace of inferiority.

If Zhenla could possess all that lay before him, surely it would no longer be bullied by the Siamese?

Entering the officers' mess, the two sides sat on opposite sides of the long table.

Queye's embassy sat near the door, somewhat uneasy.

Just three months earlier, in the very same seats, had sat the Spaniards, with the very same emotions.

Though the embassy strove to maintain its composure, their subtle shifts in demeanor were still caught by Bai Qing and the other two.

Bailangzai had witnessed this scene before; seeing it again stirred nothing in him.

But in the hearts of Bai Qing and Zheng Zhilong swelled pride and self-satisfaction.

See that? This is our ship!

This battle had been planned by Zheng Zhilong, and he had also been the principal figure in establishing the company; with his ruthless hand and silver tongue, he served as chief negotiator.

When Zheng Zhilong did not speak, the Bai siblings kept silent.

And Zheng Zhilong savored the shock and bewilderment of the Zhenla embassy, smiling as he appreciated it for a long while before speaking lightly: "Now, let us discuss the matter of compensation."

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen