Chapter 298: The Phoenix Bathing in Fire

Under Shang Kexi's orders, the soldiers before the city gate, covered in dust, jumped into the trench to search for the black gunpowder chest.

Before long, someone at the bottom of the trench shouted, "Found it!"

"Pull it up, quick!"

At this moment, smoke and dust billowed across the battlefield. The enemy troops in the barbican were also stunned by the blast wave and thunderous roar of the explosion. Stray arrows and lead shot lost their aim, and the Dongjiang soldiers were actually able to haul the powder chest up by hand and shoulder.

Shang Kexi, amid the thick dust, roared, "Blow the inner city, now!"

A soldier hoisted the powder chest onto his back and was about to charge in when someone suddenly cried out in alarm, "It's leaking!"

Shang Kexi moved closer and saw that a corner of the powder chest had been smashed open, and a black stream was pouring out of it.

"Damn it!" In his desperation, Shang Kexi sealed the hole with his palm and roared, "Charge in!"

Seeing the dust beginning to settle, the surrounding soldiers all gritted their teeth, threw all caution to the wind, and plunged headlong into the gateway tunnel.

Shang Kexi, one hand plugging the breach and the other steadying the chest, sprinted at full speed. Entering the gateway tunnel felt like diving into a sandstorm—the air was so thick with gunpowder smoke and dust that he could not open his eyes at all and could only move by feel.

The great iron-sheathed wooden door was nowhere to be seen; only a mass of wood splinters and wreckage remained in the tunnel. Soldiers stumbled as they advanced, and a knee-deep crater had been blasted in the middle of the gateway, making their progress unsteady and chaotic.

After emerging, they heard voices on the walls around the barbican shouting in Jurchen: "Someone's gotten in—shoot them!"

Immediately, bowstrings and gunfire crackled. Shang Kexi heard a constant whizzing around him, and his cloth-faced armor gave off dull thuds as it was struck. Whether they were arrows or lead shot, whether they pierced his armor or not, his blood was up—even if he was hit, he felt no pain.

Around Shang Kexi, the Dongjiang troops who had charged into the barbican with him fired back with their bows, but the barbican was shrouded in smoke and dust, and shooting from low ground at high ground had little effect. Instead, many of them were shot down by the defenders on the walls.

The Dongjiang arsenal did include fire lances and Folangji cannons, but they were long neglected, and the gunpowder issued by the court was of such poor quality that the barrels either burst or clogged—utterly useless.

His men shielded him with their lives, and at last Shang Kexi reached the foot of the inner city gate.

The soldiers set the powder chest against the gate. Despite Shang Kexi's hand plugging the hole, the jostling along the way had spilled nearly half the powder—only about thirty jin remained.

Shang Kexi unspooled the fuse, retreated ten paces away, and prepared to light it.

A soldier shouted in terror, "General, that's too close!"

His blood boiling, Shang Kexi paid no heed. He took the fire striker and pressed it hard against the fuse, not running back until both fuses were fully burning, shouting as he went, "Cover your ears, ope—"

Before he could finish, a deafening explosion thundered behind him. Shang Kexi felt as if struck by a colossal force, pitched violently forward, his bones seeming about to break, the air squeezed from his lungs—he could not catch his breath for a long while.

A moment later, he felt the ground tremble slightly. His ears rang with nothing but a high-pitched whine; he could hear nothing at all. Smoke and dust rose on every side, sky and earth looked the same, and nothing beyond ten paces was visible.

Suddenly, two fast horses burst out of the smoke—it was Kong Youde and Mao Wenlong, shooting like arrows straight into the inner city.

Behind them came a great mass of Dongjiang infantry, roaring as they surged into the city.

The trench at Phoenix City was less than one zhang wide—just about the limit a cavalry horse could leap. To clear it required not only an excellent mount but extraordinary riding skill, and among the Dongjiang forces, only Mao and Kong had that ability.

The city gate had been blasted to pieces. Kong Youde took the lead and charged through.

Several Tartar soldiers stood dumbfounded behind the gateway, when out of the smoke Kong Youde burst forth like a demon. His great saber flashed cold light—one Tartar's neck blood sprayed wildly as his head flew into the sky.

The remaining Tartar soldiers, terrified by the sight, scrambled away in panic, fleeing into the alleys.

Mao Wenlong followed close behind, loosing arrows in rapid succession and shouting, "The grain stores are all in the south of the city—set them alight!"

The Dongjiang troops who had charged in with Mao Wenlong obeyed, pulling small clay jars from their persons. After lighting them, they hurled them into the houses in the southern part of the city.

These houses were ordinary civilian dwellings, temporarily converted into granaries. Some were packed full, some were empty. The Dongjiang troops could not search house by house—they could only burn every house they saw and trust to luck whether they hit the grain.

The Dongjiang forces were roughly equal in number to Phoenix City's defenders, and they had suffered heavy casualties in the assault. A troop of Tartar cavalry was still outside the city and might return at any moment, so they could not linger long. Trying to hold the city would be suicide—they had to burn and go.

If the Dongjiang troops had used torches and thrown them into empty houses, nothing would have caught—the flames would have died out on their own in a moment.

But what the Dongjiang troops carried was the latest incendiary weapon developed at Nan'ao, called the Fierce Fire Jar, made from pine resin, asphalt, tung oil, and black powder. At room temperature it was a viscous, oily paste stored in clay jars. Once the fuse was lit and the jar thrown, the paste would stick to its target and burn at extremely high temperatures. Not only would tables and chairs catch fire on contact—even door frames and pillars would ignite.

The most remarkable thing was that saltpeter in the Fierce Fire Jar served as an oxidizer, allowing it to burn even with air cut off. The oily substance could float on water and cling to surfaces—pouring water on it could not extinguish it or wash it away.

Once a great fire caught, splashing water on it would instantly vaporize, making the blaze burn ever more fiercely.

The Fierce Fire Jar also contained small amounts of hemp fiber and iron sand. The hemp fiber gave the paste form so it would not break apart; once thrown, the fibers melted from the heat and stuck to the target, extremely hard to remove. Moreover, hemp fiber was highly flammable, quickly igniting the entire jar and rapidly spreading the fire.

The iron sand conducted and concentrated heat, accelerating the burning through wooden planks, driving like steel needles deep into the grain of the wood.

Compared to the thermite agents Nan'ao had favored before, the Fierce Fire Jar was cheaper to make, ignited reliably, produced no toxic gases, and was better suited for close-range throwing in chaotic battle. Every Dongjiang soldier in this fight carried four or five Fierce Fire Jars, and once inside the city, they threw them at every house they saw.

The civilian houses were long neglected, their window lattices brittle—one smash and they broke. One or two Fierce Fire Jars could set an entire house ablaze.

As more and more Dongjiang troops poured into the city, flames rose on every side of Phoenix City. The fire spread, swallowing most of the southern quarter. Many Tartar corpses were also set alight, and the air filled with the scorched aroma of roasting grain and meat, making one's mouth water unbidden.

A "Woo—" blast of a conch horn sounded, deep and low, its tail note trembling.

That was Geng Zhongming's signal from outside the city, meaning the hundred-odd cavalrymen who had ridden out earlier were returning.

"Out of the city!" Mao Wenlong looked around and gave the order at full volume.

His subordinates relayed the order at the top of their lungs while hurling the remaining Fierce Fire Jars until not one was left.

Kong Youde asked his men for several Fierce Fire Jars, lit them, and threw them toward the northern city. His arm strength was astonishing, and with the momentum of his horse, he could hurl a jar over fifty paces. Before long, flames were also rising from the northern city and the government offices within.

Another blast of the conch horn sounded—this time shorter and more urgent, clearly indicating that the situation outside the city was not good.

Mao Wenlong roared, "Fall back, now!"

After throwing his last Fierce Fire Jars, Kong Youde snatched up his great bow and picked off pursuing Tartar soldiers one after another, bellowing, "Regional Commander, take the men and go first—I'll hold the rear!" There was no time for sentiment on the battlefield. Mao Wenlong gathered his troops and retreated toward the barbican.

When most of the soldiers around Kong Youde had withdrawn and the Tartars were gradually closing in, his strength had reached its limit—he had loosed over forty arrows since the fighting began. His draw speed had slowed noticeably, and his arrows flew weak and limp.

He swept his gaze around, saw that nearly everyone had gone, and returned his great bow to the saddle quiver. Wheeling his horse, he galloped back toward the city gate. At full speed, he bent low in a sweeping arc and snatched up his fallen saber from the ground. Man and horse alike were so fiercely formidable that none of the Tartar soldiers dared approach, and he simply burst through and rode out.

Behind him came shouts in the Jurchen tongue: "Put out the fire first!"

"Protect the army grain!"

"Bang!"—a sharp explosion.

"This fire won't go out... it's oil!"

Kong Youde's heart swelled with satisfaction, and he galloped away laughing.

On the other side, Mao Wenlong had already exited the city gate and leaped his horse across the trench. He saw a column of cavalry surging up the official road southwest of Phoenix City, every rider bearing a torch, like a procession of fire dragons.

Geng Zhongming had already led his cavalry into battle with them.

In raw valor, the Dongjiang elite were stronger, but having fought fiercely for a full day and night, they were now spent arrows at the end of their flight.

That they could still fight to the death was sustained by nothing but a single breath of will—they had to withdraw in time.

Mao Wenlong ordered a retreat toward the Nuan River, while he himself charged forward with Geng Zhongming to cover the rear.

The Dongjiang cavalry had long since embraced death by this point in the fighting, and seeing Mao Wenlong take the field in person, their morale soared, and for a moment they pressed back against the Tartar cavalry. When Kong Youde burst out from the city, swinging his great blade into the fray, they actually forced the Tartar horsemen to give ground.

Shang Kexi, meanwhile, led the infantry in a desperate dash toward the Nuan River.

After Mao Wenlong pursued the enemy with his cavalry for a stretch, he wheeled his horse around: "Retreat!"

Hooves churned the earth, and Mao Wenlong soon caught up with Shang Kexi's column. When they reached the Fenghuang Mountain lookout post five li out, Mao Wenlong reined in his horse and turned back to gaze. Flames raged skyward in the direction of Fenghuang City, dyeing a small half of the night sky orange-red, and even at this distance, the smell of scorched rice still drifted on the wind.

Against the blaze, the shadows of three rolling peaks truly resembled a phoenix reborn in fire, spreading its wings to take flight.

Mao Wenlong wore a satisfied smile. The final battle of the Dongjiang garrison — fought beautifully!

Another half hour passed, and the Dongjiang army withdrew to the banks of the Ai River, produced their boats, and boarded one after another.

When they had set out, Shang Kexi had commanded over six hundred men; now barely four hundred remained. Mao Wenlong's seventy-two riders were down to just over thirty.

Even those who survived were all wounded.

Mao Wenlong had no time for grief; he ordered the soldiers to board the boats with all haste.

Space on the boats was limited, and there was no time to carry the warhorses, so Mao Wenlong ordered the remaining thirty-odd horses killed and laid across the road to block the pursuers. By the time all was done and everyone had boarded, the sky was faintly lightening.

As they set sail, the ground suddenly trembled, and in the hazy dawn light, a cloud of dust could be seen rushing toward them — no doubt the defenders of Fenghuang City, having finally extinguished the great fire, coming grimy-faced to settle accounts.

But that cavalry column was delayed by the horse carcasses for a moment, and by the time they galloped to the riverbank, the Dongjiang army was already far away.

Only the sound of cursing in Jurchen speech carried across the water from the boats.

After cursing for a while, Shang Kexi had his personal guards help bandage his wounds. When he removed his armor, clumps of dirt and debris clattered onto the deck. Though he looked bedraggled, he had only a few superficial wounds — most of the arrows had been stopped by his cloth-faced armor.

Speaking of which, this cloth-faced armor had also been provided by the Nan'ao army. Though it still used Ming military technology, it excelled in solid materials. Had he been wearing the armor issued by the court, he would likely have been shot full of holes like a hedgehog.

But Mao Wenlong and Kong Youde, who had been charging and covering the rear the whole time, were far more seriously wounded — five or six arrows were stuck in each of their cloth-faced armors alone. When the Jurchen's powerful bows and heavy arrows were loosed at close range, even through cloth-faced armor they could penetrate over an inch.

With the help of their guards, the two men carefully removed their armor. The cloth-faced armor was soaked through with the enemy's blood, the lining a deep crimson. When the lining was carefully peeled away, their skin was also covered in bright red — fresh blood and old blood mixed together, making it impossible to tell where the wounds were.

The guards could only dip cloths in clean water and wipe down the two men's bodies before they could locate the injuries.

Clean water on the boat was limited, so they had to keep rinsing the same cloth in a single bucket of water. Before long, the entire bucket had been dyed bright red.

Mao Wenlong's expression did not change; he was still chatting and laughing with his officers, but his face had turned extremely pale, his lips completely bloodless, his voice growing fainter and fainter — until his head lolled to one side and he fainted.

At this, the Dongjiang soldiers all jumped in alarm. Some tended to his wounds while others urgently urged the boat to go faster.

Kong Youde was also covered in wounds, his vision darkening at the edges, but seeing Mao Wenlong collapse, he forgot himself entirely — he leaped up from his position, shouting and urging at the top of his lungs, as if he might take the oars himself.

Mao Wenlong had given him a second chance at life. Kong Youde came from a poor family, was illiterate, had never studied, and knew nothing of grand principles of state — but toward Mao Wenlong he was utterly loyal, prostrating himself in complete devotion. If Mao Wenlong were gone, he would not know what to do with himself.

Fortunately, the return route ran downstream, and the boats flew swiftly. Two hours later, the flotilla entered the Yalu River, and following it downstream, they drew near the Nan'ao fleet. Kong Youde stood at the bow, shouting at the top of his lungs for the Nan'ao men to come save them.

Within moments, a Nan'ao medical officer came aboard on a transfer boat.

This was the medical officer from the Zhulong, who had served under Su Kang the longest and had the richest experience in field wound treatment.

The moment he stepped aboard, his brow furrowed. He ordered his assistant to fetch more people — to summon all the marine corps medical officers as well.

Then the medical officer walked to Mao Wenlong's side. First he examined the wounds, then checked his breath, looked at his chest, all the while keeping one hand on his pulse — his movements fluid and practiced, dazzling all who watched.

"The Tartars' arrows all have barbs. He was lucky — the arrowheads didn't penetrate deep, and when they were pulled out, not much flesh was torn. He's just lost blood. As long as the bandaging is done properly, he'll be fine."

The medical officer spoke while rapidly scanning the boat.

Kong Youde was frantic with worry but dared not urge him on. He could only restrain himself and ask: "Sir, why have you not yet begun treatment?"

The medical officer's gaze fell upon the bucket of bloody water. His eyes sharpened, and he demanded sternly: "What is that?"

Kong Youde explained how they had used it to wipe away blood.

The medical officer cursed: "A pack of fools! Who else used that bucket of water to wipe blood?"

Kong Youde and Geng Zhongming raised their hands together.

Just then, the Nan'ao ships were pulling up one after another. The medical officer had his assistant haul aboard a huge wine jar. When it was broken open, a thick aroma of alcohol filled the air.

This was high-proof alcohol distilled multiple times from honey wine, used specifically for sterilization, and extremely expensive. Had Mao Wenlong and the others not deliberately infected their wounds, the medical officer would not have readily used it.

"Now — those who wiped their own wounds stay here. Everyone else with light injuries, go to Zhongjiang Island!"

Before surgery, the medical officer's word was law. Even though the Dongjiang soldiers were worried sick about Mao Wenlong, they could only obey.

The next day, in the city of Shenyang.

Hong Taiji convened a meeting of all the Beiles to discuss the strategy for attacking Dalinghe City.

The plan to attack Dalinghe was strictly confidential to outsiders, but among the Beiles of the Great Jin, it was far from the first time it had been raised.

As usual, the Beiles split into two factions. One faction, led by Daišan and Manggūltai, advocated a direct assault.

Since the Chongzhen Emperor had ascended the throne, the Great Jin had received intelligence reports that the young emperor had named Lin Qian of the southeast as his number one mortal enemy, and had sent Yuan Chonghuan to mobilize a great army to pacify him.

Correspondingly, investment in Liaodong had been drastically reduced. Zu Dashou's construction of the city walls was proceeding at a snail's pace, and there was much grumbling in the Guanning army. This was the perfect moment to strike with full force and crush them — and Manggūltai could also avenge the defeat at Changsheng Island all those years ago.

The other faction, led by the young Beiles Dorгон and Dodo, advocated besieging the city to draw out and destroy the relief forces.

Dalinghe was not being built from flat ground — the place had originally been a guard station fortress, abandoned after the Battle of Guangning. Zu Dashou had been ordered there to repair it. The Eight Banners were not skilled at siege warfare; a direct assault would cost untold lives. Moreover, the value of a dead city was far less than the value of ambushing and killing the Guanning army. If the main force of the Guanning army were wiped out, then no matter how many strong cities remained, with no one to defend them, they would be useless.

"Hmph! Plainly put, you're all cowards afraid of battle! How did Father Khan produce two little cowards like you!" Manggūltai said contemptuously.

Dorгон was only eighteen, but already extremely mature. At these words, a flash of anger crossed his face, but he said nothing more.

But his full younger brother Dodo rose directly to his feet, his words like knives stabbing straight at Manggūltai's heart: "You're not afraid of battle, are you? The battle of Changsheng Island cost thousands of elite troops of the Plain Blue Banner. It's only been a few years — has the Plain Blue Banner recovered so quickly?"

"You little bastard, you're asking for death!" Manggūltai's face twisted savagely as he shot to his feet.

Though Dodo was only sixteen and his strength had not yet fully developed, he showed no fear. He stepped forward and said: "Oh? You want to test each other? Wrestling, or horse archery — I'll take either!"

"Silence!" Hong Taiji barked with authority.

Since taking charge of state affairs, Hong Taiji had won every battle, and the Great Jin's power had grown day by day. His brothers all deeply respected him.

Thus, the moment Hong Taiji spoke, Manggūltai and Dodo ceased their argument.

Daišan stepped in to smooth things over: "In the past, our campaigns were always swift victories. If we besiege the city to draw out relief forces, I fear we may not have enough provisions."

Hong Taiji said: "These past two years, through frontier trade with Joseon and the Mongols, we have stockpiled considerable provisions. It happens that the summer market is now open. Mafuta, how are our grain reserves?"

Mafuta was a Participating Councillor in the Ministry of Revenue of the Great Jin, equivalent to a Vice Minister of Revenue in the Great Ming, second in rank within the ministry only to Enggedei.

"By the start of summer, the granaries had already stored one hundred fifty thousand shi of grain, distributed among Shenyang, Liaoyang, Fenghuang City, and other locations. This official estimates that by next autumn, the granary stores will reach two hundred thousand shi."

Hong Taiji and Dorgon did some mental arithmetic.

The campaign against Daling River would require roughly forty to fifty thousand troops. Factoring in the consumption of grain transport laborers and the supplement of local supply, this grain could barely sustain the army's siege for three months.

Relying on three months to starve out Zu Dashou's grain supplies and force him to surrender the city was still somewhat inadequate.

No matter how stupid and incompetent the Ming army was, they would surely set aside two months' worth of grain during the city's repair period. For the remaining month, they could tough it out by eating horse meat and gnawing on tree bark.

However, for this battle, Hong Taiji still had a secret weapon — Tong Yangxing's Ujen Cooha artillery corps.

Hong Taiji had long wanted to establish a cannon corps. To that end, he had dispatched numerous ships to Macao to contact the Portuguese, but every single ship without exception had been intercepted by Lin Qian.

During the attack on the Joseon kingdom in the fifth year of Tianqi, he had captured large numbers of Joseon cannon craftsmen and artillerymen, placing them under Tong Yangxing's supervision and establishing the prototype of the Ujen Cooha. Later, through Yang Liu and Yang Qi, he absorbed some of Li Dan's former subordinates, obtained several Dutch iron cannons, and through smuggling, acquired Japanese kunikuzushi cannon craftsmen. During the Jisi Incident, Hong Taiji entered the pass and captured Yongping City — this city was the most important firearms base in the north of the Great Ming, with a complete military-industrial system. In the end, craftsmen and equipment alike were swept up in one net by Hong Taiji and hauled back to Liaodong.

A year later, he successfully produced forty copies of the red barbarian cannon, whose power was already on par with the Ming army's red barbarian cannons.

Perfect timing to test the cannons on Daling River City — if Zu Dashou was dead set on defending, they would blast him out with the big guns!

Ma Futa paused, then added: "There is also some good news, if this official may report. According to intelligence from a few days ago, a batch of Zhangzhou velvet and Chaozhou silk has appeared at the Zhongjiang frontier trade market — top-tier styles that even the Shanxi merchants cannot obtain."

"What is that?" Dodo asked in confusion. "Do silks come in styles too?"

Ma Futa explained with a smile: "If ordinary silk is a Jeju horse, then Zhangzhou velvet and Chaozhou silk are Tayouan horses. These two types of silk are produced only in the Fujian and Guangdong region, and are extremely precious even within the Great Ming."

Dodo sighed: "The Han Chinese really do have many fine things! One day, we must attack the Central Plains and seize all these fine things!" Hong Taiji, however, shook his head: "By looting, by killing, even if we can fight our way in, we cannot hold the Central Plains steadily."

Dodo said: "I know — we must learn the ways of the Han court!"

At that time, Nurhaci was still alive, Hong Taiji's position was secure, and there was no need to fall out with his brothers over the Khanate, so he and the Dorgon brothers bore no blood-grudge over a murdered mother.

Thus the two brothers both held Hong Taiji in great respect.

Hong Taiji said with a smile: "Not only must we learn from the Han court, we must also form an alliance with Lin Qian."

He had harbored this thought ever since Lin Qian raised his forces, but at the time his position was unstable, and he feared Manggūltai's opposition, so he had never raised it.

Now his position was secure, and he had promoted young Beiles such as Dorgon, Dodo, and Jirgalang to counterbalance Daišan and Manggūltai, so he no longer feared their opposition.

And the influx of Zhangzhou velvet and Chaozhou silk into the Zhongjiang frontier trade market, in Hong Taiji's view, was also a goodwill signal released by Lin Qian. So he took this opportunity to raise the matter and test the reactions of the various Beiles.

"What?" At these words, the Beiles' expressions varied.

Daišan was startled and uncertain, Manggūltai's face was full of anger, Dorgon nodded in approval, and Dodo was completely bewildered.

"Absolutely not!" Manggūltai roared angrily. "That swine Lin Qian shares a blood-deep enmity with us Jurchen!"

Dodo mocked: "I suspect the enmity is only with your Plain Blue Banner, isn't it?"

Hong Taiji promptly called a halt to the quarreling and said: "The Jurchen are brave and fearless, having campaigned for many years, yet we hold only the single province of Liaodong. The Great Ming is too strong — relying solely on spilling our Jurchen blood, who knows how long it would take to bring it down.

Lin Qian dwells in the southeast, while our Great Jin is in the north — together we would form a pincer attack on the Great Ming from north and south. If we can join hands against the enemy, then our entry through the pass might come within just a few years."

Manggūltai merely made a great clamor.

Dorgon, however, asked keenly: "To get Lin Qian to ally with us, what benefits will Fourth Brother promise?"

"If the Great Ming falls, the Great Jin and Lin Qian shall divide the realm at the Yangtze River — splitting the empire equally!"

Dorgon said: "And if that day comes, what if Lin Qian betrays us?"

Hong Taiji laughed: "Throughout history, Central Plains dynasties have only ever unified the south from the north, never attacked the north from the south. The Great Jin holds but a single province of Liaodong, yet can already match the Great Ming evenly. If we can seize the entire north, would Lin Qian even get the chance to betray us?"

As he spoke, a messenger entered from outside the door, walked quickly to Hong Taiji's side, and whispered in his ear.

Under the gaze of the assembled Beiles, Hong Taiji's forcibly maintained smile froze, his face turned iron-gray, and his eyes seemed about to spit fire.

Yahei

Pink Round