Chapter 297: Bursting Forth at Phoenix City

Xiong Beizi stopped his hand: "Ying what?"

"Enggedei! Senior Secretary of the Great Jin Ministry of Revenue! That's right, Longguda—the Joseon barbarians call me Longguda!"

Seeing that Xiong Beizi's fist had never been lowered, that Tartar loudly protested in Chinese, then, seizing the moment while Xiong Beizi was distracted in thought, abruptly pulled his hand free—yanking his right hand out with such force that several of his fingers were scraped raw.

Seeing this, Xiong Beizi inwardly cursed the missed opportunity, picked up the bayonet, wiped the dust off it, sheathed it back into its scabbard, and asked those around him: "This Ying-something dog Tartar—heard of him?"

His men all shook their heads.

Seeing Xiong Beizi's gaze growing ever more hostile, Enggedei angrily said: "You southern barbarians... southerners, not having heard my name is only to be expected. Find a Joseon man—find a Joseon man and ask, and you'll know!"

The Zhongjiang frontier trade market generally ran continuously for half a month, and during that time, the big merchants from either side all stayed on the island.

With a single look from Xiong Beizi, his men went to find someone, and before long, they dragged back a Joseon man.

Though that man was covered in dust and grime, he wore silk clothing and his beard was trimmed neatly—clearly a great merchant—and he was ceaselessly begging for mercy. Xiong Beizi reassured the merchant a few words, then pointed at Enggedei and asked the Joseon merchant whether he recognized him.

The moment the Joseon merchant heard that name, he froze, his face filled with terror, and said in Chinese: "Longguda? He's Longguda?"

Xiong Beizi revealed a smile, thinking to himself that this was indeed a big fish.

The Joseon merchant, in Enggedei's presence, stammered and dared not speak, and only after inviting Xiong Beizi aside did he whisper the information.

"This man is an official merchant of the Plain White Banner, gifted in both letters and arms. The entire Jin state's finances, trade, and taxation are all managed by him. He also oversees our country's diplomatic relations and trade, and is deeply trusted by the Young Khan..."

The so-called Young Khan was Hong Taiji, as distinguished from the Old Khan Nurhaci.

During the Yichou chaos, the two northern provinces of Joseon suffered catastrophic disaster, and having truly been terrified by the Jurchen killings, the common folk no longer dared to use contemptuous epithets like "little bandit chief" or "old bandit chief."

Xiong Beizi asked in confusion: "He said he's some kind of official in the Ministry of Revenue?"

The Joseon merchant continued: "He is the Senior Secretary of the Ministry of Revenue. Ever since the Young Khan took power, the Jin state has imitated the Great Ming, establishing Six Ministries at the center. The Senior Secretary of the Ministry of Revenue is equivalent to the Great Ming's Minister of Revenue!"

Xiong Beizi mocked: "Didn't expect this dog Tartar to be a Minister—a big official!"

Hearing the teasing in his tone, the Joseon merchant added: "It's true. The Young Khan not only established the Six Ministries, but also the Censorate and the Three Inner Courts. In the provinces he even held the imperial examinations, and he built a Confucian temple, offering sacrifices to Confucius!"

As they were speaking, a messenger ran up to Xiong Beizi and said: "Squad leader, the general orders the marines to collect more Tartar heads."

"Understood." Xiong Beizi acknowledged.

The Joseon merchant said cautiously: "General, that Enggedei must not be killed. This man holds a very high office—keeping him alive might prove useful." Though the Joseon people harbored fear of the Jurchens, they resented them even more, and so took the initiative to offer Xiong Beizi counsel.

Xiong Beizi laughed: "Naturally. There are many other captives too—I can't tell which ones are the big fish. You help me identify them."

Half a day later, a string of Jurchen captives was brought aboard the Zhulong, kneeling together on the open deck.

Wang Ruzhong came up with them, introducing the captives with a beaming face: "Commander, this one is Enggedei, the Tartars' Minister of Revenue. This one is Wang Chaotao, an official merchant of the Plain Blue Banner.

This one is Wu Liu, a market merchant of the Plain Red Banner.

This one is..."

Wang Ruzhong introduced more than a dozen people in one breath, all of them named individuals with official positions—great figures.

These were all Eight Banner official merchants. Since they were called official merchants, naturally they held official posts.

In this surprise raid on Zhongjiang, nearly half of the Eight Banner official merchants had been captured in one stroke—surely no small blow to the Jianzhou barbarians' economy and trade.

Wang Ruzhong continued: "Additionally, we seized over fifty thousand taels of silver, five hundred catties of ginseng, three thousand furs, twenty war horses, thirty draft oxen, and two thousand dan of grain.

Oh, and the Tartar heads the Commander wanted—three hundred and fifteen in total."

Bai Qing encouraged Wang Ruzhong with a few words, ordered the three hundred-odd heads to be piled into a skull mound, then asked: "What of the other merchants on the island?" Wang Ruzhong said: "As the Commander instructed, they were not harassed—all were sent back to their respective places. Any damaged property or accidentally injured persons were also compensated." Bai Qing nodded: "Order the four ships Zhangzhou, Chaozhou, Quanzhou, and Huizhou to stand by at the mouth of the Ai River to support the Dongjiang army.

These dozen-odd Tartar officials, along with the military dispatch, are to be transported back to the Helmsman by eagle boat."

A staff officer aboard said: "Commander, this Enggedei threw his weight around in Joseon, and the Joseon people hate him to the bone. Why not send him to Hanyang?" Bai Qing laughed once: "Even if I dared to send him, would they dare to accept him?"

Joseon's intelligence reports to Phoenix City were all sent secretly via coded letters, terrified that the Jianzhou barbarians would discover they were the ones tipping off the other side—how could they dare accept the Jianzhou barbarians' Minister of Revenue? The staff officer thought it over and realized this was so, and said no more.

While the Zhulong was busy writing the military dispatch and loading the captives aboard.

Mao Wenlong's Seventy-Two Riders had already arrived beside the Aiyang Beacon, ten li south of Phoenix City.

On the mountaintop, Mao Wenlong reined in his horse and gazed into the distance, seeing only continuous mountain ranges, verdant green and deep green interwoven and overlapping, boundless and endless.

Among the many mountains, three peaks to the northwest stood out as especially majestic—the main peak like a phoenix's head, the two ridges like phoenix wings, and the southern slope trailing down like a phoenix tail, as if a golden phoenix were spreading its wings, poised to take flight.

Beside him, Geng Zhongming removed his helmet, wiped the sweat and blood from his face, and pointed at those three peaks: "Regional Commander, that's Phoenix Mountain over there. Phoenix City lies on that mountain's eastern slope."

"Mm." Mao Wenlong nodded.

A mountain wind carrying moisture blew over—though muggy and damp, it at least dispersed the extremely heavy stench of blood atop the summit.

Beneath Mao Wenlong's horse's hooves lay a dozen or more corpses scattered every which way, most killed by arrows, though some had been disemboweled by long-handled sabers. The corpses extended all the way into the Nuanyang Beacon atop the summit.

This beacon was a signal fire tower south of Phoenix City, also a small fortress, built on the mountaintop with a view over dozens of li of surrounding terrain.

Due east of this spot flowed the winding Ai River. Had this beacon tower not been eliminated, Phoenix City would likely have spotted Shang Kexi's fleet's movements and used beacon fire to report in advance. Mao Wenlong's riders had come by fast horse, far quicker than Shang Kexi's force struggling upstream, and so had arrived at this beacon tower ahead of time.

His Seventy-Two Riders were the elite of the elite, each superb with bow and horse. They used arrows to suppress the beacon fire, preventing it from being lit, while simultaneously climbing the walls and breaking through the gate, slaughtering all thirty-odd beacon soldiers.

At this moment, Mao Wenlong's men were cleaning up the battlefield. These beacon soldiers were mostly Han troops, equipped with spears, waist sabers, and cloth armor—equipment that, back in the old days on Pidao, would have been excellent loot.

But now the Dongjiang army had the weapons Bai Qing had given them, and since this battle required deep penetration behind enemy lines with light loads, they only pulled out and recovered the arrows, discarding the spears and waist sabers entirely.

A moment later, Kong Youde, stained dark red from head to toe in blood, cupped his hands in salute and reported: "Regional Commander, the brothers are ready."

"There are still two more beacon towers—we must hurry!" Mao Wenlong said, then squeezed his horse's flanks and led the way down the mountain.

An hour later, Mao Wenlong's force arrived at the Phoenix Mountain Beacon, five li east of Phoenix City.

The Dongjiang army was mostly made up of Liaodong men, many from hereditary military households. Some of the Seventy-Two Riders Mao Wenlong led had even served as soldiers in Phoenix City itself, and were extremely familiar with the local terrain, twisting left and turning right through the deep mountain forests without wasting a single step.

Mao Wenlong used the same method as before, relying on his men's individual valor to take the beacon tower, and captured five or six live prisoners to interrogate about the defending garrison's dispositions in Phoenix City and where the grain and weapons were stored.

These beacon soldiers were mostly Han troops, not trusted, and knew little. After they gave up the valuable intelligence they had, they too were all executed by Kong Youde. By now dusk was approaching, and Shang Kexi's fleet finally sailed near the Aiyang Beacon. Following the pre-battle plan, they steeled themselves and charged forward.

The Nan'ao fleet had already struck at Zhenjiang City, so this trip of his was no sneak attack. Rather than waste time eliminating beacon towers, it was better to have the fleet speed directly to the foot of Phoenix City.

The fleet drew closer and closer to the Nuanyang Beacon, and every man of the Dongjiang army held his breath in tense anticipation.

Yet even when they sailed within ten li, the Aiyang Beacon remained completely still.

Given this beacon tower's field of vision, their fleet should have been spotted from over thirty li away.

Shang Kexi thought to himself—could the enemies at the Aiyang Beacon all be blind?

The fleet, riding the favorable southeast wind, sailed past the Aiyang beacon station without seeing any sign of activity. A mountain breeze swept over them, carrying a faint scent of blood.

Shang Kexi took a deep breath and broke into a delighted grin: "Well, I'll be damned—the Aiyang beacon station's been taken out by friendly forces!"

His men also caught the smell of blood and exclaimed in shock: "Have the Nan'ao troops fought their way all the way here?"

Shang Kexi pondered for a moment, then shook his head. Taking a beacon station would be child's play for the Nan'ao forces given their tactics, but there had been no sound of fighting, the beacon tower stood completely undamaged, and the surrounding vegetation showed no signs of burning. That didn't add up.

At this time, the only forces in Liaodong were the Nan'ao army and the Dongjiang army. Shang Kexi's heart leaped with joy as he said: "It's the Regional Commander! The Regional Commander has come to help us! Brothers, step up the sailing!"

Hearing this news, the entire fleet's spirits soared, and everyone hurried to trim sails and man the oars.

By dusk, the fleet had reached Luofeng Shoal. This place was ten li from Fenghuang City—the closest point between the Nuan River channel and Fenghuang City.

Shang Kexi ordered the soldiers ashore. The boats were all dragged up onto the riverbank, concealed with tree branches and pine needles, with a hundred men left to guard them.

Regardless of victory or defeat in this battle, the Dongjiang army would have to retreat by boat, so the vessels had to be carefully protected.

He then led the remaining five hundred-plus men on the march toward Fenghuang City. After advancing about five li, the Fenghuang Mountain beacon station appeared before them.

But just like the beacon towers at the earlier stations, this one was shrouded in dead silence, and the air was thick with the stench of blood.

Shang Kexi's conviction grew even stronger. He led the men forward another two li and, in a wooded area, found Geng Zhongming waiting there for him. Shang Kexi exclaimed joyfully: "It really is you! Where's the Regional Commander?"

"The Regional Commander is up on the mountainside surveying the enemy's position—follow me!" Geng Zhongming said with a laugh. "You sail like an old woman, brother—you kept us waiting a good long while!" The two men climbed the mountain together and found Mao Wenlong hiding behind a boulder, peering at Fenghuang Mountain City through a telescope.

He had already heard detailed descriptions of the city's layout from his subordinates and prisoners, but seeing it with his own eyes gave him far greater confidence.

Through the telescope, the view was exceptionally clear. Looking down from their elevated position, he could see the city's entire defensive arrangement with perfect clarity.

Fenghuang City was a military fortress, roughly three li in circumference. Its walls were built of rammed earth faced with brick and stone, standing two and a half zhang high with a top width of one zhang. Crenellations, watchtowers, and projecting bastions—all were present in full.

Surrounding the city ran a moat less than one zhang wide and less than five chi deep.

The city was built along the contours of Fenghuang Mountain, with terrain higher in the north and lower in the south. It had only one gate on the south side, equipped with a barbican, and the gate itself was a solid wood door clad in iron—extremely sturdy. For such a small city, this defense could be called impregnable. After all, Fenghuang City had been built from the start for military purposes, specifically to protect the tribute route to the Yi dynasty.

Inside the city there were only four main roads, laid out in a well-grid pattern. Judging by the disposition of the garrison, the government office sat in the center, with granaries and fodder yards on the southeast and southwest sides. Mao Wenlong finished his reconnaissance, a plan already forming in his mind. Carefully, he returned the telescope to its place on his horse and secured it properly.

He had originally owned a telescope of his own, used for many years, but the lens had grown hazy, as if covered in a layer of water vapor—still, he had treasured it like a jewel. Ever since obtaining this high-grade one from Bai Qing, he had directly gifted the old telescope to Kong Youde.

Shang Kexi stepped forward and asked: "Regional Commander, when do we make our move?"

According to the original plan, this battle was meant to be a lightning strike. But Mao Wenlong had already neutralized the beacon stations along the approach route, and with dusk approaching, they could afford to wait for a midnight raid. Mao Wenlong had fewer than six hundred men under his command, and the Fenghuang City garrison also numbered six hundred. He had originally been prepared for a fight to the death, but now that all the beacon stations were wiped out and the enemy had no idea of their movements, perhaps he could gamble on it.

So Mao Wenlong gave the order: "All troops stand by. We strike in the latter half of the night!"

The Dongjiang army's main force was encamped across from Fenghuang Mountain, separated by a small peak.

Though they couldn't be seen directly, moving through the forest still required extreme caution, lest they startle birds into flight—let alone lighting fires for cooking.

Mao Wenlong's seventy-two riders had been fighting from dawn until now, their strength severely depleted, their stomachs long since growling with hunger.

Shang Kexi's men had been sailing against the current the whole way, their nerves stretched taut. They had only managed a couple of bites at breakfast and lunch, and hunger had left them listless. Fortunately, the army had the dry rations provided by Bai Qing, so the troops took this opportunity to share the food.

Shang Kexi wiped clean a section of a fallen tree trunk, invited Mao Wenlong to sit, and had his personal guards bring over the dry rations. Shang Kexi tore open the oil-paper wrapping, and a fragrance of sesame mixed with cloying sweetness immediately wafted out.

"That smells wonderful!" Shang Kexi's spirits lifted. He reached in and took out a piece of sesame candy stick, handed it to Mao Wenlong, then distributed more to Kong Youde, Geng Zhongming, and the other brothers.

Mao Wenlong received it in his hand and took a careful bite. The flavor of sesame, white sugar, maltose, lard, salt, ginger, and other ingredients all mixed together—a calorie bomb that hit him right between the eyes.

If this thing were given to some pampered Ming prince who dined on delicacies every meal and was bloated with rich food, he'd probably find it cloying and disgustingly common. But to these common soldiers whose bellies had not a drop of oil in them, it was nothing less than the most exquisite delicacy imaginable.

Never mind the common soldiers—even Mao Wenlong wore an expression of pure bliss, chewing slowly while tossing every last crumb of sesame from his hands into his mouth. He even picked up the few sesame seeds that had fallen to the ground and ate them.

Geng Zhongming swallowed a mouthful and felt a wave of warmth rise from his stomach. He said in astonishment: "This is what they call dry rations? They call this kind of confection dry rations?" Previously, Bai Qing had issued half-polished rice to the soldiers on Pidao as military grain—that matter had shocked Mao Wenlong's men so deeply that the army had taken to using "the half-polished-rice eaters" as a nickname for the Nan'ao army.

Kong Youde joked: "Military grain is half-polished rice, but dry rations are sweet confections! Which rich young master came to serve as a soldier?"

The assembled officers all burst into low laughter—but as they laughed, they began to feel a pang of bitterness, and the laughter died in their throats.

Compare themselves with the Nan'ao army, then look at their own lot—what kind of life was this they were living?

Someone asked: "Regional Commander, after this battle is over, do we count ourselves as Ming troops, or as Nan'ao troops?"

Mao Wenlong could not answer.

By sentiment, he did not want to betray the Great Ming. But by reason, he truly could not find a single justification to continue serving the Ming.

The Dongjiang garrison had managed to hold on through a situation where all three sides were against them, never wavering in the face of the Jianzhou barbarians' recruitment overtures or the Yi dynasty's threats. This was not because Mao Wenlong was particularly loyal to the Ming—he simply didn't want to see his men starve to death, and he certainly didn't want to surrender to the Jianzhou barbarians and lose the cause of righteousness.

Of course, there was also a measure of selfish ambition in commanding troops for his own leverage, plus a bit of pride in proving that he, Mao Wenlong, was not some petty schemer who fabricated military achievements.

But even if Mao Wenlong were willing to swallow his pride and defect to the Nan'ao forces, would Lin Qian even want him?

Between him and Lin Qian lay the great enmity of that fabricated military achievement!

Moreover, the tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians of the Dongjiang garrison were soon to be relocated to other islands. After this battle was over, he, Mao Wenlong, would become a general without an army—what value would he still hold for the Nan'ao forces?

Whether to surrender, and whether surrender was even possible—this was truly a tangled mess, and Mao Wenlong could not utter a single word.

Seeing Mao Wenlong's predicament, Shang Kexi came to his rescue: "Once this battle's over, maybe we'll all have closed our eyes and be resting in peace anyway—why trouble ourselves thinking about all that useless stuff!" The Fenghuang City garrison numbered six hundred men holding a fortified city, while Mao Wenlong had fewer than six hundred of his own. Even with gunpowder, a frontal assault would be extremely dangerous—almost certainly a trade of life for life.

The men had been eating half-polished rice for half a month and had long since made peace with the prospect of death.

When Shang Kexi said these words, the men didn't find them inauspicious—instead, they all burst into relieved laughter together.

Mao Wenlong cautioned them: "You sons of bitches—keep your laughter down!"

The officers chatted and laughed for a while, and one sesame candy stick had already been finished. They all looked on longingly, wanting another one but not daring to ask.

When Bai Qing had given him the dry rations, he had advised that while this food wasn't very filling, it was extremely high in calories—a single candy stick could basically substitute for a full meal. He told the Dongjiang army to ration it carefully and not to snack on it like treats.

After receiving the rations, Mao Wenlong had kept a strict watch over them, afraid his men might sneak bites.

But in a few hours, his men would be assaulting the city, and who knew how many would return in one piece. At the threshold of death, he couldn't let his men go to the grave with empty stomachs. So he declared: "Everyone in the army—one more stick each!"

A muffled cheer went up through the ranks. Every man gleefully collected another stick, faces wreathed in smiles.

The dying sun sank behind the mountains in the west, and the mournful red of the sky faded away.

The mountain air grew cold. As the wind blew through, many men found their sweat-soaked armor clinging to their bodies, making them shiver. Fortunately, with food in their bellies, it felt like a fire burned within them, and they could all endure it.

Mao Wenlong arranged for sentries to stand watch, then sat down with his eyes closed to rest.

Between waking and dreaming, scenes flashed before his eyes: his first arrival at Pidao, the fabricated great victory, and the years of building up the Dongjiang garrison.

Suddenly, an extremely soft call of "Regional Commander" woke him.

"What is it?" Mao Wenlong glanced at the sky. The moon had just reached its zenith—it wasn't yet time for the night raid.

Kong Youde said, "There's some commotion in Fenghuang City—I'm afraid a messenger has already been sent."

The Nan'ao warships bombarded Zhenjiang with such a great show of force that it couldn't possibly be hidden. It was only to be expected that Fenghuang City would learn of it. While the enemy was in disarray, it was the perfect opportunity to strike.

Mao Wenlong said, "Wake the brothers. It's time for us to take the field."

Mao Wenlong's officers and men mounted their warhorses and, together with Shang Kexi's infantry, crossed over the mountaintop. Sure enough, they could see torches being lit one after another within the city. "Regional Commander, let's go!" Shang Kexi said in a low voice.

Mao Wenlong furrowed his brow: "Wait!"

After a moment, they saw the torches in the city gather in one place, and then the city gate opened. A troop of cavalry actually rode out, heading southeast—most likely to reinforce Zhenjiang.

Judging from the torches, the force leaving the city numbered about a hundred men.

"Haha! These stupid Tartars!" Kong Youde exclaimed in a delighted whisper.

On the eve of battle, Fenghuang City splitting its forces to reinforce elsewhere only increased their chances of taking it.

"In one quarter-hour, we attack the city!" Mao Wenlong ordered.

Shang Kexi asked in confusion, "Regional Commander, shouldn't we wait for the enemy to get farther away?"

Mao Wenlong shook his head: "The enemy will pass by Nuanyang Post. When they see no firelight at the post, they're sure to turn back. We can't afford to wait." Shang Kexi suddenly understood, then moved into formation and, taking advantage of the darkness, led the infantry forward, getting as close as they could.

Mao Wenlong waited a while, estimating that enough time had passed. He took out a whistling arrow, nocked it on the string, drew his bow into a full moon, and angled it toward the sky. With a sharp "Swoosh," the piercing whistle sounded.

Shang Kexi rose from the ground, drew his blade, and shouted the charge. Behind him, the Dongjiang army infantry rose together, each gripping their weapons and shouting as they surged forward. The Han soldiers and Jurchen troops atop Fenghuang City's walls were stunned for a moment, then blew their alarm horns. Shouts in both Han speech and Jurchen tongue mixed together as they cried out to defend.

Several dozen archers and musketeers flooded onto the southern city wall, drawing bows and loosing arrows between the crenellations. The twang of bowstrings and crack of gunfire rang out without cease.

Five or six men of the charging Dongjiang army were struck by shot. With muffled grunts, they toppled to the ground.

"Quick, up to the south wall! Hold the city gate!" On Fenghuang City's battlements, a man who looked like an officer was shouting in the Jurchen language.

The next instant, the sound of an arrow cutting through air came at him. Goosebumps rose all over his body. He turned to look—his head had barely rotated halfway when an arrow flew in, piercing clean through his cheek. All his teeth were shattered by the shot, and the force of the arrow dragged him backward, sending him tumbling straight off the wall.

Immediately after, the sound of hoofbeats came from outside the city. Mao Wenlong led his seventy-plus cavalrymen in circling the city and loosing arrows, suppressing the fire from the walls. Three or four Jurchen soldiers were shot dead on the spot. The rest could only hide behind the crenellations, not daring to poke their heads out.

This tactic of mounted archery to suppress a city wall was pioneered by the Mongols and inherited and developed by the Jianzhou barbarians. Now Mao Wenlong was turning their own method against them. Every one of his seventy men was skilled in both horsemanship and archery—especially Kong Youde, whose archery was extraordinary, shooting both accurately and swiftly. Whenever an enemy showed his head, he would raise his hand and—seizing the gap while the wall was suppressed, Shang Kexi's infantry hurried forward, laying wooden ladders across the moat.

Before they came, the Dongjiang army had already thoroughly understood Fenghuang City's defensive structure. The wooden ladders had been prepared neither too long nor too short—just enough to span the moat. A dozen or so ladders were laid down, and in an instant the moat was bridged as flat as level ground.

Several infantrymen carrying boxes of black powder charged toward the city gate. The Dongjiang army's plan was to blast the gate open with explosives. This method dispensed with scaling ladders and battering rams—it sounded absurd, but it was actually a common Ming army siege tactic. It could blow open city gates or city walls alike, and even had a dedicated name: "digging the city to burst it open." Many Han soldiers on the city walls saw what was happening and knew that once the gate was blown, they were as good as dead. They hastily rose and fired through the rain of arrows. After Hong Taiji took power, he implemented a series of policies to ease tensions, greatly reducing the conflict between Jurchens and Han. Moreover, Liaodong had been lost for nearly ten years—those who wanted to flee had already fled, or were dead or nearly so.

The Han soldiers who remained were mostly those who had surrendered wholeheartedly to the Jianzhou barbarians.

After all, to these illiterate hereditary military households, lofty notions of loyalty to the state were too distant. Fleeing back to the Great Ming meant braving a thousand deaths, only to be oppressed by landlords and officials again. Better to stay under the rule of the Later Jin, where at least they could fill their bellies.

And so, for a time, arrows flew from Fenghuang City's walls like a swarm of locusts, and gunfire was so dense it nearly merged into a single continuous roar.

From time to time, Dongjiang soldiers were struck and fell. The smell of blood and the reek of sulfur intermingled.

Much time passed, and more and more Tartar soldiers flooded onto the walls to defend. The Jurchen archers were no slouches either—relying on the crenellations, they exchanged fire with the Dongjiang army. With advantages in both terrain and numbers, they soon suppressed Mao Wenlong and his men.

Before Mao Wenlong's eyes, arrows came pouring in like raindrops, so dense it made one's scalp crawl. At his ears came the constant sound of cavalrymen struck by arrows and falling, along with the mournful cries of warhorses.

"Hurry up with the blasting! We can't hold out much longer!" Kong Youde roared at the top of his lungs. Even with his extraordinary valor, he was now hard-pressed on all sides.

Mao Wenlong saw that he had already taken five or six arrows. Fortunately, he was wearing the cloth-faced armor given by the White Qing—though whether the arrows had penetrated the armor was anyone's guess.

At that moment, a soldier carrying a box of black powder was crossing the moat. An arrow flew straight at his face. The soldier was struck on the spot and toppled backward into the moat, man and black powder box together.

"Damn it!" Shang Kexi cursed under his breath.

Each of these black powder boxes weighed nearly sixty jin. On a battlefield filled with stray arrows, there was no way to retrieve it.

The other soldiers carrying black powder boxes had also been struck by arrows one after another earlier. In the pitch darkness all around, there was no telling where their bodies had fallen.

Just as Shang Kexi was hesitating over whether to risk searching for the powder boxes, he suddenly heard a voice calling out from beyond the moat.

"General, there's only one box left. Light it or not?"

Shang Kexi's heart leaped with joy. He recognized the speaker's voice—it was one of the soldiers who had been carrying a black powder box.

This single box contained fifty jin of powder. By the quality of the sand-mixed gunpowder that the Great Ming allocated to Pidao, blowing open Fenghuang City's main gate would require at least a hundred and fifty jin—ideally three hundred jin to be safe. That was why so many soldiers had charged forward carrying black powder boxes at once.

But now the soldiers carrying the powder were all dead, and only this single box had reached the city gate.

Since they had come this far, whether it worked or not, they had to give it a try.

Besides, this gunpowder was all given by the one who "eats half-polished rice." If these people ate such good military rations, their gunpowder probably wasn't bad either. Thinking of this, Shang Kexi shouted with all the strength in his body: "Light it!"

Immediately after, he saw a flash of fire in the darkness near the city gate. Two slender tongues of blue-red flame streaked past, hissing as they burrowed into the powder box. Amid the thunderous battle cries of the battlefield, that sound was extremely faint—completely inaudible.

After several breaths, a thunderous boom like a muffled clap of thunder sounded, overwhelming every noise on the battlefield and jarring eardrums with pain. At the gate tunnel, as if a volcano had erupted, a ball of orange-red fire burst forth, illuminating everything before the gate as bright as day in an instant.

The light flashed and vanished, and then billowing smoke and dust surged out like a mountain flood or a tidal wave, swallowing the entire battlefield and the whole barbican.

Shang Kexi felt a wave of force slam into him like a heavy hammer. Sand grains, clods of earth, and broken stones rained down around him, striking his cloth-faced armor with muffled thuds. Everyone on the entire battlefield was stunned by the power of the explosion.

Shang Kexi was the first to snap back to his senses. With smoke and dust rolling across the battlefield, this was the perfect chance to pick up the powder box and blast open the inner city gate.

"Go get the powder box!"

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen