Chapter 349: Birds and Beasts Scattered

The Daxia army advanced slowly, clearing away corpses as they went.

Qin Liangyu had deliberately left the riverbank precisely to lure the enemy into attacking.

Moreover, the mortars, six-pounders, and three-pounders were slow to cross the river in the rear; if the line infantry marched too fast, the infantry and artillery would become separated. For Daxia, victory in this battle was already a foregone conclusion—what Qin Liangyu wanted was to annihilate the entire enemy force, not letting a single Luoluo soldier escape.

After marching for a long while, they saw the Sha-Pu allied army array stir into commotion, followed by cheers growing louder and louder, and within their formation, plumes of smoke and dust could clearly be seen rising.

Zhang Fengyi sat on her horse, straightening her back to gaze into the distance, but her height was limited and the distance too great—she could only see that north of the flatland stretched an endless sea of Luoluo troops.

Seeing this, Qin Liangyu said calmly, "It is the Bimo performing a ritual."

The Bimo were the priests and shamans of the Luoluo people, and in wartime they could also serve as military medics.

Whenever a battle went poorly or they encountered a powerful enemy, the Bimo would come out to perform rituals and boost the army's morale.

This practice was not unique to the Luoluo people—all the native chieftain troops of the southwest did the same. Even in the armies of Luo Daoqi and Wei Wenkui there were accompanying military priests, only called by different names.

Qin Liangyu had been preparing for the Yunnan campaign for a long time; she knew every card the Sha-Pu allied army held, and so when she saw the smoke and dust rising, she knew exactly what the enemy was doing.

Zhang Fengyi asked, "General, should we attack?"

Qin Liangyu shook her head and said, "Use this opportunity to adjust our formation. Pass the order: right wing to the front, left wing to the rear, and urge the artillery to hasten their river crossing." In the city of Amizhou, Wan Cailian stood before the gate of the chieftain's residence, staring intently at her own army's formation, and saw that within the surging black mass of humanity, more than twenty open spaces had been cleared.

Bonfires had been erected in the open spaces, and beside each flame, Bimo danced without cease.

The Bimo wore ritual headdresses, held bronze bells and staffs in their hands, and continuously cast pine branches and mugwort into the bonfires, causing thick white smoke to billow up. The tens of thousands of troops around them all bowed low in silent waiting, so quiet that the Bimo's chanting of incantations and the ringing of the bronze bells on their staffs could be faintly heard even at the chieftain's residence.

Pu Zuoyong stood beside his mother, also kowtowing devoutly in the direction of the bonfires.

In Wan Cailian's view, these Bimo were nothing more than witch doctors—in the Central Plains they would be almost equivalent to street charlatans—yet the Luoluo people held the Bimo in the utmost reverence. From birth, sickness, and death to weddings and funerals, every milestone of life could not be separated from the Bimo.

In many remote villages, the word of a Bimo carried even more weight than that of the chieftain.

At such a moment of crisis, letting the Bimo perform their ritual might truly work some wonder.

Before long, the ritual was nearing its end, and Sha Dingzhou had someone lead three black oxen and twelve black sheep to each Bimo.

The Bimo slaughtered the livestock on the spot, catching the bubbling fresh blood, then dipped pine branches into the blood and splashed it toward the surrounding crowd, muttering incantations all the while. Combined with the white smoke continuously rising from the bonfires and the bronze drums beating in rhythms that alternately quickened and slowed, there was indeed a strange and mysterious feeling to it all.

The surrounding Luoluo soldiers erupted instantly, vying with their bodies to catch the splattered ox and sheep blood.

In their ritual, catching ox blood would summon the ancestral spirits into one's body, making one fierce and invincible; being touched by sheep blood granted one skin of bronze and bones of iron, rendering the Daxia army's guns and cannons useless against them.

After the blood had been splashed, Sha Dingzhou also had some deserters seized and brought before the bonfires, where he ordered them executed.

The Bimo proclaimed, "These men did not revere the spirits—they are the root cause of this morning's unfavorable battle. Now that we have offered them as sacrifices to the ancestral spirits, the fighting ahead will surely go smoothly!"

Hearing this, the Luoluo soldiers all roared with burning fervor, waving their weapons without cease, and some even shouted that they wanted to eat the flesh of Daxia soldiers raw. While the ritual was underway, Sha Dingzhou also ordered rations distributed to replenish the soldiers' strength.

In cold-weapon combat, physical exertion was enormous. Soldiers who had just killed did not feel hungry, but once they withdrew from the front line and their adrenaline subsided, they would become so hungry their hands and feet went weak. If they did not eat lunch, by the afternoon the entire army would be nothing but soft-shelled shrimp.

At the same time, Sha Dingzhou also sent cavalry scattering across the battlefield to monitor the Daxia army's movements.

For the allied army, the farther north the Daxia army marched, the more room the cavalry had to maneuver, and the greater Sha Dingzhou's advantage—so long as he did not let the Daxia army seize Longtan Shoal. Before long, the ritual concluded, and the soldiers of the various tribes re-formed their ranks. Nearly every soldier had ox or sheep blood on his head and shoulders, and all of them were howling at the top of their lungs without stop.

Sha Dingzhou sent fast riders galloping back and forth before the formation, shouting loudly, "The General-in-Chief has decreed: one head, ten taels of silver! The General-in-Chief has decreed: one head, ten taels of silver!"

Hearing these words, the allied soldiers grew even more frenzied, almost unable to restrain themselves from charging forward.

Moments later, the ox-horn trumpet in the army sounded, and the other ox-horn trumpets followed suit. The allied army trampled over the corpses of their comrades and advanced once more.

At the same time, the Daxia army's war drums had not ceased either. The line of infantry had been slowly advancing and had already moved beyond the artillery range of Phoenix Ridge.

They were now less than five hundred paces from Longtan Shoal.

Seeing this, Wu Bikui said with uncertainty and alarm, "Could Qin Liangyu have seen through the General-in-Chief's plan?"

Sha Dingzhou smiled smugly: "Even if she saw through it, it's too late! Brother Bikui, Phoenix Ridge is yours—go!"

Wu Bikui readily acknowledged with a good shout, then gave a whistle and spurred his horse forward, with five hundred Bo people cavalry following close behind.

The Bo people revered the color white—nearly every one of them wore white garments and white turbans, and even Wu Bikui's great banner was a black dragon on a white field. These cavalrymen had not fought all morning, their horses were at peak strength, and once they galloped, they were as fast as thunder and lightning. Longtan Shoal was reached in the blink of an eye, and the Daxia army truly had no time to intercept them.

Wu Bikui led the way across the river on horseback. The Wumeng horse of northern Dian he rode was even smaller than the Zhongdian horses and Dianchi ponies found near Dianchi Lake—the water reached his feet—but precisely because of this, the Wumeng horse had a low center of gravity, with hard hooves that gripped the ground well, and crossing through such currents was almost like walking on flat ground.

The Bo cavalry following behind could cross the shoal four or five abreast, regrouping on the opposite bank with almost no obstruction at all.

By the time all five hundred Bo cavalrymen had crossed the Lujiang River, Wu Bikui looked back and saw that the Pu army's vanguard had only just made contact with the Daxia army's right wing, and the sound of gunfire had only just begun.

The artillery on Phoenix Ridge that had not yet been moved was already his for the taking. After killing the artillerymen, he could also cross back over the river via the Daxia army's pontoon bridge south of the city and advance north, striking the Daxia army's formation from the rear.

No matter how powerful Daxia's firearms were, they could not withstand an attack from directly behind. In this way, he could turn defeat into victory, and he, Wu Bikui, would be the greatest contributor to this battle!

Thinking of this, Wu Bikui swung his blade and directed his men to advance on Phoenix Ridge.

The eastern bank of the Lujiang River was covered in paddy fields, crisscrossed with ridges and ditches. Cavalry moving through such terrain had to carefully control their horses, or they could easily stumble and fall. Just after crossing the river, Wu Bikui had cautiously scanned his surroundings, fearing an ambush of Daxia troops. Only after confirming it was safe did he relax, at the same time curling his lips in a contemptuous smile, privately thinking that Qin Liangyu truly did not know how to command—she thought she could sweep across southern Dian with nothing but superior firearms. How foolish.

He then ordered his men to drop their guard and ride at full speed toward Phoenix Ridge. Just then, he heard the muffled sound of hooves from his right rear—by the sound of it, no fewer than a thousand riders.

He turned back in surprise and saw that Sha Dingzhou had sent another thousand-plus cavalry across the river at Longtan Shoal.

Wu Bikui was stunned for a moment, then suddenly understood: Sha Dingzhou had worried that the Daxia army had an ambush on the eastern bank, so he had sent Wu Bikui across first to test the waters. Only after the test proved safe did he dispatch his own main force.

Though the two called each other brothers, theirs was but a brief alliance, and in secret they still guarded against each other.

Wu Bikui was furious enough to grind his teeth, but with a powerful enemy before him, he could not afford internal strife. He could only spur his war horse onward, seeking to claim more achievements before Sha's cavalry arrived. On Phoenix Ridge, Luo Daoqi hid among the trees, so nervous his palms were sweating, and whispered, "Incredible—people really did come!"

When he saw Sha Dingzhou's thousand cavalry also crossing the river one after another, Luo Daoqi was overjoyed: "Excellent! Wonderful! Come more, come plenty more!" On the plains, infantry feared cavalry, but in mountain forests and hills, the tables turned—especially since Luo Daoqi was lying in wait against an unsuspecting enemy. As long as the enemy dared enter the woods, however many came, that many would die!

The Bo cavalry drew closer and closer, the thunder of hooves making the leaves in the forest tremble. Luo Daoqi said to the new army artillery crew beside him, "When the fighting starts, don't you fire your cannon behind us—friendly fire would be a disaster."

The crew leader patted his chest and said, "Rest assured!"

Then he said in a low voice to his men, "Canister shot, load and prepare!"

The hoofbeats were like thunder. Wu Bikui, charging forward, did not feel his blood boil—instead, cold air seeped from the marrow of his bones, and a powerful unease gripped his heart. But with Sha Dingzhou's cavalry behind him vying for the same glory, there was no time to hesitate. In an instant, Wu Bikui led his men charging into the forest. Reaching the mountainside, the sneer on his face instantly turned to shock.

In the shadowy gloom of the forest, four dark-red match cords dropped, followed by four flashes of bright light. The glow illuminated the touch holes and barrels, along with four gaping black muzzles.

Then four enormous bursts of light flared up, turning the world within the forest bright as day. All around the cannons, countless Wolf soldiers crouched hidden among the underbrush, clutching long spears, their faces filled with excited, expectant smiles.

Then four clouds of black smoke swept in, Wu Bikui's world went dark, and he knew nothing more.

Because it was an ambush, the new army gunners had timed their moment perfectly—they had waited until the Bo cavalry were practically on top of them before firing.

The four twelve-pounder cannons, loaded with the smallest grade of canister shot, unleashed a storm of metal that was poured into the Bo cavalry with almost no waste. The foremost riders were blasted into pulp the instant the cannons fired.

In Luo Daoqi's eyes, what the cannons fired was not canister shot but solid flesh and blood—a fan-shaped spray of gore that swept several hundred paces up the slope in one breath. Such was its power that even the shreds of flesh that flew into his face carried force, and droplets of blood and bone fragments could sting the skin painfully.

The entire forest seemed to be caught in a torrential downpour; after the cannon thunder faded, the dense pattering of rain striking leaves filled the air on all sides—but that sound was the flesh and blood of the Bo cavalry. The cannon's power was immense, even shearing away great swaths of distant treetops, sunlight pouring through the gaps like a skylight opened in the forest. Within twenty paces of the artillery position, there was not a single living thing, nor any intact clump of corpse—flesh and blood were splattered across the ground in spray patterns.

Farther out, intact corpse fragments gradually appeared, but the pieces were too small to distinguish man from horse. Only beyond fifty paces did nearly complete mangled remains emerge, and only at a hundred paces were there survivors of that single volley's fury—dozens of wounded soldiers missing arms or legs wailed amid the mud and pine needles, while several dozen war horses lay toppled, their bodies covered in ghastly bullet holes, bleeding and struggling.

Anyone who could still move, no matter how grievously wounded, was utterly terrified out of their wits, scrambling desperately downhill. Some Bo warriors had been blown clean away below the waist, dragging themselves out of the forest with their arms, intestines trailing two or three meters behind them.

Of Wu Bikui's five hundred Bo cavalry, fewer than two hundred survived that round of cannon fire.

Of those two hundred, the majority were gravely wounded—doomed to die without question.

Those fortunate enough to have escaped the shot were only the small number of cavalry at the very rear of the column, fewer than eighty men.

The survivors had been scared out of their wits—let alone continuing to fight, it would be a miracle if their minds remained intact.

Such a gruesome scene shocked even the Diliang soldiers, who dared not move for a long while—let alone the Bo cavalry.

Luo Daoqi was utterly dumbfounded. Witnessing the power of these cannons from a distance was one thing; the visceral shock up close was something else entirely.

He finally understood why General Qin hadn't sent him into battle. Under such terrifying firepower, if friendly forces made even the slightest coordination error, they were dead. If they blocked a friendly cannon's line of fire, they wouldn't even leave behind a complete corpse—not even a personal effect to be found.

In the eyes of the Sha army cavalry crossing the river, the Bo cavalry surged up Phoenix Ridge like an unstoppable silver-white torrent.

A moment later, a thunderous roar erupted from Phoenix Ridge, and severed limbs shot into the air from the mountainside like a volcanic eruption. Flesh, blood, and tree branches rained down together, pattering across the surrounding li like a downpour, the sound echoing without end.

Soon after, the routed Bo soldiers fled from Phoenix Ridge like madmen—even when questioned, they wouldn't answer; when stopped, they only shrieked in terror, unable to utter a single word.

The Sha cavalry had never seen anything like this. A thousand horsemen stood frozen in place, hesitant to advance.

Meanwhile, the Pu army and Xia army were locked in fierce combat. The Luoluo soldiers, empowered by the Bimo's blood-sprinkling rites, charged forward fearlessly, only to be mowed down row after row by volley fire and tiger-crouch cannons.

Because Qin Liangyu had deliberately advanced slowly, the mortars and three-pounder cannons had also been rapidly brought up. Explosive shells smashed into the masses with far greater destructive power than solid iron shot—Pu army casualties skyrocketed in an instant.

Seeing that solid iron shot had limited killing power, while the tiger-crouch cannons interspersed among the ranks were proving effective, Qin Liangyu had a sudden inspiration and said in a deep voice: "Pass the order—all three-pounder and six-pounder cannons are to redeploy to support the left wing, push to the front of the formation, and meet the enemy with grapeshot!"

"Yes!" The messenger spurred his horse into a gallop.

Before long, the direct-fire cannons fell silent, and the gun crews swiftly hitched tow ropes to the artillery pieces, having them pulled toward the left wing by Jeju horses.

Thanks to Qin Liangyu's foresight in having corpses cleared in advance, the cannons followed the cleared paths and quickly reached the left wing.

Per Qin Liangyu's orders, the new army's right wing was deployed forward while the left wing held back—because the left wing had suffered significant casualties from the Sha cavalry's morning charge, while the Sixth Battalion of the new army on the right had spent the morning watching from the south bank of the Lu River, well-rested and suited for the main assault.

Bai Cha had also noticed this, positioning his elite troops on the western side of the battlefield, preparing to break through the Xia army's left wing.

Empowered by the priests' battle rites, the Luoluo soldiers were utterly fearless, repeatedly charging through casualties to engage the new army in bayonet melee, and repeatedly being driven back. Enraged, Bai Cha led his Juke elites forward, personally charging into the fray. Seeing this, the surrounding Luoluo soldiers' morale surged, and they pressed forward with renewed ferocity. Just at that moment, fifteen three-pounder cannons and twenty-five six-pounder cannons arrived in succession. The gunners unhitched the tow ropes, manhandled the wheels into position in the gaps between the banner companies, loaded grapeshot as Qin Liangyu had instructed, and waited silently for the Luoluo soldiers to enter optimal range.

"One hundred paces!"

"Fifty paces!"

The range-finders called out distances without pause.

"Forty paces!"

"Fire!" The gun captains of each battery heard "forty paces" and shouted in unison.

In that instant, along the entire Xia army left wing—a front roughly two li long—dozens of cannons roared in succession.

In a flash, a leaden-black storm erupted from the Xia army's left wing. Wherever the storm passed, no matter how many soldiers stood, they became a shattered mass of blood-red pulp. The Luoluo soldiers charging in front were literally blasted into meat paste, scattering backward through the formation along with the grapeshot.

The Luoluo soldiers had always maintained loose formations—having fought the Xia army for so long, they knew that standing densely made them targets, so their ranks were even more spread out. The tiger-crouch cannons were weak, each shot killing at most a single layer of men—the Pu army could withstand that.

But the firepower of the three-pounders and six-pounders carved a crimson fan directly through the crowd—the fans even overlapped, creating a vast swath of fresh red several li long and a hundred paces wide.

The screams of the wounded were piercingly shrill. Such a horrific scene chilled even the hot-blooded Luoluo soldiers—their charge came to an abrupt halt as they hesitated, and the cattle and sheep blood the Bimo had splashed seemed to crust over and fall away.

Bai Cha shouted hoarsely: "Charge! Charge! Break through and we win!"

Even as he yelled, he ordered the Juke to execute any soldier who stalled. Under threat of death, the remaining Luoluo soldiers could only press forward at the risk of their lives. It was the dry season now—Ami Prefecture hadn't seen rain in days, and the wheat fields on the west bank were already cracked and dusty. Now soaked with flesh and blood, the ground became a single stretch of reddish-brown mire, so saturated that stepping on it squeezed blood up from beneath.

The surviving Luoluo soldiers charged forward another few dozen paces, barely reaching the Xia army's front line—only for the cannons to finish reloading one after another, thunderous reports echoing across the battlefield in succession.

Seen from above, every time the Xia army's cannons fired, they painted a blood-red fan across the human tide.

Soon the blood-red would be filled in by the surging crowd, then new cannon thunder would ring out, and another fresh fan of crimson would appear—over and over in endless cycle.

Even the most fearless Luoluo soldiers, even with their numerical advantage, could not withstand such casualties.

Sha Dingzhou watched the eastern side of the battlefield—the Pu army showed signs of collapse. He looked toward Phoenix Ridge and saw nothing happening—no dust rising behind the Xia army's lines either. Anxiety consumed him, and he roared in fury: "Useless! What are Wu Bikui and his men doing? They still haven't seized the pontoon bridge and launched a rear attack! Even if we'd sent a thousand hunting dogs across the river, they'd have bitten a few hundred enemies to death by now!"

Sweat beaded across Sha Dingzhou's forehead. Every second of waiting was agony. The Luoluo forces attacking the Xia army's right wing were clearly outmatched, and those attacking the left wing had suffered catastrophic losses. If Wu Bikui didn't launch his rear attack soon, the entire campaign would collapse in failure.

At this critical moment, Sha Dingzhou said: "Pass the order—all cavalry, follow me across the river!"

All Sha Dingzhou had left at hand were a little over a thousand cavalry. He led them to Longtan Shoal, only to discover the front line had been pushed back to the shallows—the entire western bank of the shoal was completely packed with Pu soldiers, making passage impossible.

"Get out of the way! Get out of the way!" Sha Dingzhou bellowed, but it was utterly useless. In the cacophony of gunfire and cannon thunder, his voice could barely carry ten paces.

Moreover, the Xia army's right wing was the Sixth Battalion of the new army—fresh and rested after a morning of waiting, now advancing with tremendous momentum, supported by relentless mortar bombardment. The Pu army was already on the verge of collapse. When Sha Dingzhou brought his cavalry forward, some Pu soldiers assumed their retreat was cut off and immediately turned to flee. One man's flight triggered his whole unit, which triggered the entire army—the whole right-wing front collapsed like a breached levee, pouring away without end.

When the Pu army attacked in force, they were like a boundless ocean; when they routed, they scattered across every mountain and field.

Many soldiers fled toward Longtan Shoal, hoping to cross the river and survive.

But while horses could ford the crossing easily, for men on foot the water reached thigh-deep—for shorter men, even up past the navel—and the current was swift, making progress agonizingly slow. Those in front couldn't move, those behind were desperate to escape, and in the frantic shoving, large numbers of routed soldiers were knocked into the river channel and swept away by the Lu River, while an endless stream of fugitives kept pouring in.

Sha Dingzhou's eyes blazed with fury. He drew his blade and cut down three fleeing soldiers in succession.

But it was completely useless. The routed soldiers had lost all courage—they even deliberately crowded toward Longtan Shoal to avoid the Sha cavalry.

Massive numbers of fugitives were literally squeezed into the Lu River. Within moments, the river was dotted with floating heads, carried downstream by the raging current—the human tide stretching three or four li in no time.

On the western battlefield, Bai Cha's forces, battered by grapeshot, could no longer hold—soldiers fled in droves. Only the Pu army in the center still struggled to hold on, but even there, scattered deserters had begun to appear—collapse was imminent.

Ma Xianglin was about to order a pursuit when a messenger galloped up and said: "General Qin's orders—drive the enemy fugitives toward the center formation!"

Ma Xianglin arranged his forces accordingly, having Wei Wenkui's unit and You Shunfa's Fourth Battalion of the new army push forward like arms, herding the routed soldiers toward the middle. Those who fled toward the surrounding hills were not to be pursued.

Among the wolf cavalry, someone watched the Luoluo soldiers escaping up the slopes and asked in confusion: "Just letting them go like this—isn't that a waste?" Wei Wenkui snapped: "What do you know? General Qin is going for one big bite!"

In the Pu army's left-wing formation, Bai Cha shouted in a completely hoarse voice: "Don't retreat! Come back! Break through the enemy's left wing and we win!" Around him, countless routed soldiers ran past like madmen—he couldn't stop them, and even the Juke soldiers were scattered by the fleeing tide. Unable to find Bai Cha, the Juke were swept along in the general retreat.

Moreover, with Ma Xianglin's herding, all the Pu soldiers were driven toward the center formation. The crowds grew ever denser—many were knocked to the ground, trampled under countless feet, never to rise again.

Bai Cha was old and frail. Bumped by the surging crowd, he fell, his face pressed into the bloody mud. In panic he gasped a deep breath, sucking the blood-soaked mire directly into his nostrils. He tried to cough, but countless feet stomped on his back—within moments, he was drowned alive.

Struck by the flood of fugitives, the Pu army's center formation collapsed as well. On the west, Ma Xianglin's troops closed in, wolf cavalry galloping about like shepherds driving sheep, herding the Luoluo soldiers eastward. In terror, the Pu soldiers could only flee east as well.

And east lay the Lu River. Over a hundred had already died at Longtan Shoal, nearly filling the shallows with corpses—the Pu soldiers behind crossed the river by stepping on their comrades' bodies. But the Sixth Battalion of the new army advanced swiftly and soon choked off this sole escape route.

Under Qin Liangyu's orders, the six battalions were responsible for driving the people from east to west, and tens of thousands of Pu soldiers were being herded back to the central pen like fat pigs. Sha Dingzhou looked again toward Phoenix Ridge, only to see that Wu Bikui's cavalry had vanished without a trace—clearly, seeing the situation turn bad, they had already fled. Suddenly, two thousand Wolf Soldiers burst out from the jungle of Phoenix Ridge and charged toward the thousand Sha cavalry he had sent across the river.

Those thousand Sha cavalrymen, already terrified by the miserable fate of their allies, saw that there were indeed ambushers on Phoenix Ridge, and dared not resist in the slightest—they turned their horses and fled. In their panic, several hundred riders tumbled directly into the ridges and ditches of the paddy fields.

War horses snapped their front legs and collapsed, neighing in agony, while their riders, thrown dizzy and disoriented, struggled to rise—only to be pounced upon by the Wolf Soldiers, stabbed to death with blades and spears, and have their heads severed.

The cavalrymen who were fortunate enough to escape the paddy fields dared not linger for even a moment, scattering like birds and beasts.

Sha Dingzhou's face was ashen, his jaw clenched tight, his body trembling—he simply could not believe this was real. Before this battle, he had been the commander of a coalition of nearly forty thousand men, the Governor-General of Yunnan, poised to sweep across the Southwest and establish his merit.

And now, a full army of forty thousand had scattered like birds and beasts!

Fenyuan

Pen