Chapter 319: The Fan of Death

Before long, seven or eight hundred conscript laborers were marched up under guard.

These were laborers seized from counties like Longquan, Taihe, and Wan'an, men meant to carry the army's baggage and grain and to build its camps.

In the Jiajing era and before, conscript laborers were organized, something like a reserve force—each county had a fixed quota of how many it had to supply, and the households that provided men received some tax relief as compensation.

After Wanli, the conscript labor system gradually collapsed. By now, laborers were seized at will—grab as many as you need, and when they die, grab new ones.

Chu Shixun looked at this batch of men and frowned slightly. "Is this all there is?"

His household retainers' commander, Wu Yi, said in a low voice: "Master, the rebel troops scattered all the common folk within thirty li. These were recruited in Longquan County, Huangtianduan, and other places."

Longquan County, Huangtianduan, and the rest were under Ming control, so the Xia army couldn't evacuate them.

Chu Shixun cursed their cleverness inwardly, but his face showed nothing. He gave the order: "Split these laborers into two groups—fathers and sons,

uncles and nephews, grandsires and grandsons, brothers, and so on—separate them into two places."

"Yes!" The retainer Wu Yi clasped his hands in acknowledgment and called his men to work.

Before the Jiajing era, conscript labor generally meant one or two men per household. But this batch had all been seized, so naturally they grabbed everyone they could, and most of the men were related to one another.

The Ming soldiers didn't know these laborers, but they had their own method of telling who was connected: they'd whip and beat them at random. If one man was struck and another came to block the blow, then the two were clearly related, and they were split into separate groups.

By this method, the laborers were soon divided into two batches.

Chu Shixun pointed. "This batch digs earth; the other batch fills the ditch!"

"Yes!" The retainer Wu Yi clasped his hands in acknowledgment and hurriedly shouted orders for the laborers to get to work.

The laborers all understood what they were being made to do, but facing the Ming soldiers' blades and spears they had no choice but to obey.

These laborers all made their living farming, and each household had hoes, bamboo baskets, grain hampers, and the like. When they were seized, the tools had been brought along too, and now they were just right for digging earth.

At first the laborers dug very slowly, and the Ming soldiers kept beating and cursing them until the pace picked up considerably. Several hundred baskets were quickly filled.

The Ming soldiers ordered the other group of laborers to carry the baskets on their backs to the foot of the Yellow Earth Rise and fill the ditch, while a squad of soldiers was sent to stand behind the ditch-fillers with blades and spears, supervising the work.

The laborers had no other recourse; sobbing and wailing, they trudged forward.

On the Yellow Earth Rise, Zhang Moye watched from afar as the laborers were driven forward, and gave the order: "No shooting. Send men to shout and drive them off!"

With no gun or cannon fire to hold them back, the laborers soon moved the chevaux de frise aside, walked to the ditch, and dumped basket after basket of earth into the pit.

Only when the Ming supervising squad behind checked and confirmed a laborer's basket was empty did they allow him to flee back to the rear.

Then, from the Xia army's position, someone suddenly shouted through an iron megaphone: "Fellow villagers, run to both sides! We're only shooting at the ones in back holding blades!"

The words were shouted in the southern Gan dialect, which all the laborers understood. For a moment they stood frozen in place, while the Ming supervising squad cursed: "Hurry up and dump the earth! You don't care about your own lives, but what about your fathers' and brothers'? Dump the earth, now!"

Chastened by the shouting, the laborers remembered their kin held hostage and could only keep filling the ditch. Those who returned to the Ming ranks were loaded with fresh earth and sent back out to keep filling.

The ditch was very deep, but the Ming army didn't need it filled completely—just three or four earthen bridges wide enough for soldiers to cross would do.

Seeing basket after basket of earth dumped into the ditch, the Vice Regional Commander in the ranks could no longer sit still. He said: "General, let's open fire!"

Zhang Moye said sternly: "Nonsense. Have you forgotten why we fight?"

The Vice Regional Commander said: "These people are stubborn to the death—they can't be treated as common folk at all!"

The military academy had taught how to handle an enemy using civilians as human shields. Now Zhang Moye said: "Give me the iron megaphone!"

"General——"

"Give it here!" Zhang Moye barked, and his personal guardsman could only hand the megaphone over.

Megaphone in hand, Zhang Moye threaded his way through rank after rank of flintlock musketeers to the very front, crouched behind a breastwork no more than fifty paces from the enemy, and shouted: "Fellow villagers, we are the Great Xia army—the former Nan'ao army.

We've come to save you. Under Great Xia rule, there is no Liaodong levy, no bandit-suppression levy, no powerful clans swallowing up land, and no forced conscription of laborers to be cannon fodder for filling ditches.

Once this ditch is filled, the enemy will charge straight up. If we lose this position, will the Ming army spare you? Will the fighting be over? Will you make it home alive?"

The laborers never stopped dumping earth, but their movements gradually slowed, and no matter how desperately the Ming supervising squad shouted and urged them on, it did no good.

Zhang Moye continued: "My family is from the mountains of Fujian—farmers too. For us farmers to survive, there's only one road: drive out the Great Ming.

If we win this battle, the Ming army will be trapped and die in this river valley. You yourselves, your families, your fellow villagers—all of you will be saved!

Fellow villagers, you can't dump any more earth!"

As his words fell, the laborers were still dumping earth without pause, and the guardsman beside him couldn't help cursing: "A pack of ungrateful wolves!"

Another guardsman said: "Open fire! If we don't kill a couple, they'll think we don't dare!"

Zhang Moye shook his head. "Let's move closer and shout it again!"

A guardsman said: "I've got the hang of the dialect—let me go say it."

Someone else said: "General, any further forward and we're in bow and crossbow range. Too dangerous."

Zhang Moye was about to speak when he saw a guardsman point into the distance: "General, look!"

Zhang Moye followed the pointing finger and looked. The laborers were still dumping earth—but all of it was landing two or three paces short of the ditch. None of it was going in.

"The common folk listened!" Zhang Moye said excitedly.

Before long, a row of earthen mounds had piled up in front of the ditch. The Ming supervising squad caught on, and beat and cursed the laborers into dumping the earth into the ditch, even hacking down three laborers to make an example.

The laborers had no choice but to dump into the ditch again—but whenever the supervisors weren't watching, their hands would tilt, and all the earth went outside the ditch.

They stalled like this for a full two hours, until noon, and the bottom of that ditch still held only a thin layer of mud. At this rate of work, it would take half a month more to fill a road for marching.

When Chu Shixun heard the report, he flew into such a rage that he had ten hostages killed on the spot—but it did no good at all.

He couldn't kill all the laborers. Someone still had to carry the army's grain and baggage, and someone still had to do the work.

The Xia army had evacuated the local people in advance. If too many laborers died, there would be nowhere left to grab new ones.

It was already past noon. If this earthen slope wasn't taken before sunset, the joke would be on them.

Chu Shixun hardened his heart and ordered the ditch-filling laborers pulled back, then set them to cutting bamboo and wood to make wooden shields.

According to reports from the frontline officers, the ditch was only five chi wide—a plank laid across would let men cross, and soldiers charging with thick boards could even shield themselves from gun and cannon fire.

The laborers, having heard Zhang Moye's speech, were all shirking badly. With a supervisor watching, they'd swing the axe with force; with no one watching, their strokes were so light they couldn't even break the bark. A whole crowd of them in the forest, looking busy as could be—yet after half a day, they hadn't felled a single tree.

Chu Shixun had no choice but to send camp soldiers to do the work. Four hours later, they finally cut out five or six hundred planks.

With the sky darkening, this was the last gamble. Chu Shixun gathered all the household retainers of the entire army into one place—over two hundred men in all—and took personal command.

At the same time, he ordered a thousand men across the river to the east, a thousand over the hills to the west, two thousand pressing up the middle, and a thousand held in reserve at the rear.

The moment the great horn sounded, the entire army raised a battle cry and charged forward.

Chu Shixun personally led the central force, pushing the conscripted militia to the very front.

When they advanced to within five hundred paces, cannon fire erupted from the Yellow Earth Mound, and the militia scattered in all directions.

The Battalion Commanders and Company Commanders ordered the execution squads to cut down the fleeing militia, but most soldiers turned a blind eye and let them run.

Before long, the militia were either dead or gone, and the Ming army used their bodies as cover to advance to within three hundred paces.

"Boom! Boom! Boom——"

A dozen or so cannonballs slammed down, sending severed limbs flying amid mud and water, yet against a formation of two thousand men arrayed head-on, these few shells were like a clay ox plunging into the sea—utterly ineffectual.

The Ming soldiers formed several loose ranks and advanced step by step under the cannon fire. At around two hundred paces, it was the same old routine—gunners and arquebusiers fired their weapons to bolster their courage while the soldiers behind slowly moved forward holding up large wooden boards.

"Raise your guns!" Shouts rose and fell across the Xia army's position.

The musketeers, formed in dense ranks, cocked their hammers, and hundreds of mainsprings let out a hair-raising creak.

At the command, countless tiny flashes of light flickered across the Xia army's position, followed by a row of smoke billowing from their muzzles, shrouding the entire line of soldiers.

All around the Ming soldiers, countless lead balls whizzed past. Their ears filled with a constant buzzing, and shields occasionally took hits with dull thudding sounds, the soldiers behind them unharmed.

Many wooden boards were also pierced through, and the soldiers behind them burst into a spray of blood mist before collapsing limply.

These boards had been hastily made from different types of wood with varying thicknesses—whether they could stop a bullet was pure luck.

The arquebusier Ma An advanced with the formation to a hundred paces. Around him, comrades kept falling. Every volley from the Xia army brought down five or six Ming soldiers, and the air was thick with the salty, coppery stench of blood.

Ma An's heart pounded wildly and his hands shook terribly. Urged on by his superior, he finally managed to load his weapon, but when he pulled the trigger—another misfire.

Ma An could only slam the barrel against the ground to shake out the damp powder. Just then, he heard a whistling sound.

Then came a wet thud, like a knife plunging into a water-filled leather skin—short and forceful—followed by the crack of breaking ribs.

Ma An was utterly astonished. He looked down and saw a flower of blood blooming from his chest.

The sound of a weapon clattering to the ground came from behind him. Ma An turned to look and saw a Ming soldier with a face covered in blood, bits of flesh clinging to his clothes, his expression one of terror—scared out of his wits.

Only then did Ma An feel the searing pain in his chest. He tried to scream, but a gush of blood surged from his mouth, and his body went limp as he collapsed.

"Fill in the trench quickly!" Ahead of the battle line, the Company Commanders of each unit shouted loudly.

The soldiers set down their boards, quickly turning the trench into a level path, then immediately retreated to hide behind their comrades' shields. Those with bows or crossbows exchanged fire with the Xia army; those without ranged weapons cowered behind the shields and didn't come out.

At this point, the Ming and Xia armies were still over a hundred paces apart. Each side could only vaguely make out the other's formation—human figures appeared about the size of soybeans in each other's eyes, making precise aiming impossible.

It wasn't just the Ming army firing blindly—the Xia army was only suppressing fire toward the Ming formation, which was also guesswork in essence.

But in terms of firepower density, the Ming army was far inferior. Not only did they have few arquebuses, but they frequently misfired, and cannonballs kept raining down on them.

Even though charging in for close combat would clearly be more advantageous, each unit would rather stand in place and be shot to death than take a single step forward.

He Guodian, the Jiangxi Regional Military Commissioner's Assistant, who was overseeing the rear, said: "General Chu, send in the household retainers!"

Chu Shixun slowly shook his head. It was true that each of his retainers had the courage to charge into enemy ranks, but they weren't meant to plug gun barrels. With the enemy's frontal firepower so ferocious, recklessly sending in the retainers—wasn't that just sending them to their deaths?

Even if the retainers pressed forward and won a pyrrhic victory, once casualties grew too heavy, his strength would be greatly diminished. Then he'd have nothing but the empty title of Assistant Regional Commander without the corresponding power—sooner or later he'd be reduced to cannon fodder.

So Chu Shixun gritted his teeth and said: "Have the brothers advance another fifty paces!"

"What?" He Guodian was astonished. "If casualties are too heavy and the whole army collapses, everything will have been for nothing!"

"Press forward!" Chu Shixun repeated the order.

The Regional Military Commissioner's Assistant was a military officer subordinate to the Regional Military Commission, ranking below the Assistant Regional Commander. Moreover, since Zhu Dadian had personally appointed Chu Shixun to command this battle, He Guodian could only comply.

Moments later, a messenger galloped to the Ming front lines and shouted: "The general orders all units to advance fifty paces!"

The Company Commanders, squad leaders, and common soldiers alike burst into curses, but with the execution squad watching with drawn blades behind them, they had no choice but to obey, cautiously crossing the trench and pushing forward.

The two armies gradually closed the distance, entering the effective killing range of the flintlock muskets. With one volley, the front ranks of the Ming army fell like wheat before a scythe, and screams erupted across the battlefield.

At the same time, the Ming army's Folangji cannons and tiger-crouch cannons, protected by the soldiers, also reached firing range and opened fire on the Xia army's formation.

This time it wasn't just for show—it inflicted real casualties on the Xia army.

For ease of marching, Chu Shixun had brought only light cannons that four men could carry. They had low power, short range, and many misfired, but there were simply too many of them, and they came in a bewildering variety of models. When they all fired at once, the Xia army's position suddenly became very lively indeed.

Besides conventional cannons, the Ming army also had rocket weapons called "Yiwofeng"—a swarm of bees.

A squad of Ming soldiers pushed a two-wheeled handcart to the front, then lit it. With a great crackling roar, thick smoke billowed up, and dozens of rockets streaked out from the smoke, trailing tails of fire like a meteor shower falling upon the Yellow Earth Mound.

This weapon had absolutely no accuracy whatsoever. The rockets' impact points covered dozens of paces around the Yellow Earth Mound, but there were so many of them that someone was bound to get unlucky and be hit.

Moreover, the gunpowder in the Yiwofeng rockets was specially formulated, mixed with all sorts of strange ingredients like rosin, tung oil, dried dung, and realgar.

Though the rockets didn't explode on landing, they produced enormous amounts of smoke that choked the flintlock musketeers into constant coughing. The toxic smoke mingled with the gunsmoke, plunging the entire Yellow Earth Mound into a fog where enemies could barely be seen.

Seeing the rebel soldiers suppressed by the toxic smoke, the Ming army's morale surged. They advanced a bit further, and their arquebus fire became much more frequent.

"Now!" Chu Shixun drew his blade from its sheath and said to the two hundred household retainers behind him: "My brave lads, follow your general to kill the enemy and earn glory!"

"Kill!" The retainers let out a roar and spurred their warhorses forward in unison. The thunder of hooves beat like war drums, making the ground tremble.

A mere two hundred men—yet they charged with the momentum of a mighty host.

"Clear the center formation!" The Ming central army's Company Commander shouted loudly.

He didn't need to say it. The soldiers heard the thunder of hooves and instinctively cleared the path. Two hundred warhorses charging at full gallop presented a terrifying spectacle—no one dared stand in their way.

The distance of several hundred paces was crossed in an instant.

They had charged to within a hundred paces before the gunsmoke on the Yellow Earth Mound began to clear somewhat. The flintlock musketeers hurriedly raised their guns and fired a volley.

Two rounds of shots sent bullets whistling past Chu Shixun's helmet. His ears were filled with the rush of passing shots, and around him came the dull thuds of men and horses falling.

The retainers then raised their three-barreled muskets and returned fire at full gallop. Some charged with long spears tucked under their arms, while others swung their cavalry sabers.

Every Ming household retainer was trained as a potential general. There were no regulations on what weapons to use—it was entirely personal preference. In battle, they followed no great tactical doctrine, relying instead on small-unit engagements and ferocious individual combat.

The enemy had already fired their volley and had no time to reload a second. As long as the retainers could break into the rebel formation, it would be a one-sided slaughter. Chu Shixun grinned savagely and shouted: "Kill!"

"Swish!" The sound of cloth being thrown aside—and there, on both flanks of the Xia army's formation, stood four twenty-four-pounder cannons, their muzzles aimed directly at the charging retainers.

These four cannons had been placed there long ago, shielded by breastworks of piled earth, covered with cotton cloth and oilcloth, then smeared with mud and scattered with dead leaves until they blended seamlessly into the surroundings. This was Zhang Moye's prepared countermeasure.

The four cannons' barrels had long been loaded with grapeshot, with a maximum lethal range of two hundred paces. The Ming vanguard had already entered firing range long ago, but Zhang Moye had held back, waiting for this very moment.

Chu Shixun stared at those four thick black cannon barrels, his heart seizing with dread, but an arrow loosed cannot return—he could only roar at the top of his lungs and spur his warhorse to its absolute limit.

Jiangxi had seen days of heavy rain, and the surrounding ground was all mud. The warhorse surged forward, its hooves slipped, and it crashed to the ground. Chu Shixun, caught off guard, was thrown down with it and slid five or six paces through the mud before coming to a stop.

At the same time, shouts rang out from both flanks of the Xia army's position: "Fire!"

Four bursts of orange-red flame flared.

Four twenty-four-pounder cannons fired almost simultaneously. The grapeshot tore through the air in a fan pattern, and the center of those four fans was precisely this force of over two hundred household retainers.

Chu Shixun only saw black smoke surge in from all sides, and then blossoms of blood burst open across the retainers and warhorses, with pinpricks of fire flashing on arm guards and helmets.

The retainers on the outside were dragged by tremendous force, entire ranks collapsing inward upon the formation—it looked less like being hit by cannon fire and more like being crushed together by some invisible giant hand.

It all happened in a flash of lightning and spark of flint. In an instant, over two hundred lives were reduced to ashes.

Men and horses alike were struck by at least five or six shot each, torn open with wounds the size of rice bowls. Organs, blood, and bone fragments exploded outward, forming a thick red mist in the air that instantly shrouded the entire battle line.

Only now did Chu Shixun hear the thunderous roar of the cannons and the tearing shriek of grapeshot through the air. The sound rattled his ears with searing pain and endless ringing—he could not even hear his warhorse's dying whinnies.

After the grapeshot pierced through the retainers, its momentum unchecked, it spread outward carrying chunks of flesh and severed limbs, killing over a hundred more Ming soldiers—arquebusiers and sword-and-shield men alike.

Wang Ge, the Ji'an Roaming General stationed in the central army, took a grapeshot round to the head. His brains splattered on the spot, and he collapsed, never to rise again.

The entire battle line instantly became a slaughterhouse. The corpses of retainers and warhorses were piled together, reduced to a heap of shredded meat—not a single intact body remained.

Ming soldiers wounded by grapeshot in the distance let out inhuman, bloodcurdling screams.

Finally, rain began to fall from the sky—all of it crimson droplets.

Chu Shixun was utterly stunned by this thunderous might. Not just him—the thousands on the entire battlefield stood frozen.

Even Zhang Moye had never witnessed a twenty-four-pounder firing grapeshot.

Even battle-hardened veterans, seeing the manner of death of those two hundred retainers, could not help but dry-heave.

The Ming army was shaken for a moment, then broke into an undisguised, headlong retreat. Officers and soldiers alike—everyone threw down their weapons and fled.

Zhang Moye snapped back to his senses and ordered his soldiers to pursue.

The Xia soldiers did not count heads for merit, nor were they permitted to stop mid-chase to pick up weapons or loot. Everyone simply pursued and killed.

The Ming army suffered a great defeat; the Xia army won a great victory. With morale swinging so decisively, the pursuit became a one-sided slaughter. In a full day of fighting, neither side's casualties matched the number killed in this pursuit.

An hour later, the Xia army had chased over a thousand paces out, just as the sun was setting in the west. Throughout the river valley, Ming corpses lay thick upon the ground.

A tattered Ming sun-and-moon banner stood askew amid the pile of corpses, its long shadow stretching beneath the setting sun.

Zhang Moye's mission, after all, was to hold Yellow Earth Ridge. Worried that pursuing too deep might lead his men into an ambush, he ordered the chasing soldiers to fall back.

The several hundred conscripted laborers who had been pressed into service by the Ming army were also rescued by the soldiers and now looked at the Xia troops with trepidation.

Zhang Moye walked before them and said, "Your villages are now occupied by Ming troops. If you go back, you'll likely be seized as conscripts again. Better to take shelter in Nankang for now."

The laborers had no ideas of their own and replied, "We'll do as the general says."

Among the laborers, several had kin killed by the Ming army and clamored to join the Xia army to avenge their families.

Zhang Moye told them to also take shelter in Nankang for now. The Xia army's recruitment standards were extremely strict—they did not just grab any able-bodied man and hand him a gun.

Chu Shixun had broken one leg in the fall and lay pinned beneath his horse's corpse, his mind in a daze. As the Xia army began clearing the battlefield, a military doctor came to his side, and several men worked together to drag him out from under the dead horse.

The doctor examined Chu Shixun's broken leg and shook his head: "Too badly wounded. He won't make it."

A nearby Xia soldier drew his bayonet without hesitation.

"Sorry about this, brother."

With that, he stabbed Chu Shixun dead with a single thrust.

On the other side, He Guodian fled over ten li in one breath before he could catch his wind, gathering the remnants of his troops. By the middle of the night, barely a few hundred remained. He sent men to report to Zhu Dadian.

Zhu Dadian had spent the entire day with his staff officers and military advisors deliberating strategies for suppressing the rebellion, preparing responses for every possible move the Xia army might make after entering the Ganzhou basin. He had just fallen asleep when his subordinates shook him awake through a haze.

"Your Excellency—Your Excellency! Wake up, Your Excellency! Something's happened at the front!"

The advisor's voice was choked with tears.

"What is it? All this panic—where are your manners!" Zhu Dadian roused himself slowly, his tone impatient. "Has Chu Shixun gone to seize more conscripts again? If he hasn't—"

The advisor was frantic and cut him off: "Your Excellency! A disastrous defeat at Yellow Earth Ridge! Chu Shixun is dead! Only He Guodian escaped with a few hundred broken soldiers!"

"Disastrous defeat?" Zhu Dadian shot up from the bed. "Where's He Guodian? Bring that He fellow here! Five thousand men against a thousand—failing to take the position would be one thing, but a disastrous defeat? How could it be a disastrous defeat? Are those rebel soldiers reincarnated immortals? Where's He Guodian? Tell him to get his ass over here!"

The advisor hurriedly said, "Your Excellency, calm yourself. I've already sent men to summon him. Your Excellency, put on your shoes first—"

"Shoes?" Zhu Dadian bellowed. "Five thousand elite troops—"

Mid-sentence, Zhu Dadian remembered that this matter should not be broadcast—the damage to morale would be too great—and stopped himself. He paused, then lowered his voice: "Have that He fellow get over here! You go at once to calm the broken soldiers. They are not to speak a word of this!"

Moments later, He Guodian, covered in blood, walked into the tent and knelt: "Your Excellency, this officer is guilty—this officer—"

"Silence!" Zhu Dadian barked sternly. "Tell me exactly how Yellow Earth Ridge was lost, from beginning to end. Conceal a single word, and you die on the spot!"

He Guodian's body trembled, and he began his account from start to finish.

The more Zhu Dadian heard, the more suspicious he grew. He confirmed: "You're saying the defenders at Yellow Earth Ridge had heavy cannons?"

"Yes! When those cannons fired, heaven and earth shook. Within several hundred paces, nothing that stood before them was not ground to pulp!"

Zhu Dadian rose from his seat and paced back and forth, the unease in his heart growing ever stronger.

From He Guodian's description, the rebel troops on Yellow Earth Ridge were few in number, yet all elite. They had carefully constructed fortifications, and their firearms and equipment were all top-notch—they must have been stationed there for some time.

Why would such an elite force be sent to defend a small earthen mound?

Zhu Dadian stopped mid-step and said to his officers: "Send out all mounted scouts and Night Scouts to reconnoiter our rear and the surrounding hills!"

"Yes!" The officers did not understand, but they clasped their hands in acknowledgment and went down to relay the order.

At the same time, Lei Sanxiang led the main force of fifteen thousand infantry, traveling light, crossing ridge after ridge, until they reached a point five li east of the Ming army's main camp.

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen