Chapter 414: The Last Sun-and-Moon Banner

He heard the great horn sound.

Zhang Shitou let out a loud shout and charged forward, only to be yanked back by Wang Chengzu.

"You little bastard, do you have a death wish!"

Zhang Shitou fell to the ground, climbed to his feet, and pointed at the central command: "Squad Leader, they're sounding the great horn."

Wang Chengzu cursed angrily: "That's for the death-row convicts, damn it! You blockhead!"

Zhang Shitou was greatly puzzled. He looked around and saw that indeed every squad was hiding behind the wagon formation, no one moving.

Only the death-row convicts, clad in nothing but their prison uniforms, straw sandals on their feet and long spears in hand, charged forward.

The convicts quickly formed a dense wall of human flesh before the wagon formation, and the wagons pressed forward behind this shield of bodies, absorbing the gunfire and cannon fire.

Among the convicts, the densest cluster was around the horse bandit Lin Zhonghu and the motley crew he had hastily assembled.

Lin Zhonghu had over a dozen lives on his hands and a fierce, murderous look about him. On this battlefield of roaring cannon fire, he had instead become the convicts' pillar of support, and they all crowded toward him.

He had just advanced a hundred paces when he heard a burst of cannon fire in the distance, the thunder shaking his ears into a ringing hum, his chest tightening, his soles going numb.

Then came a shrill shrieking sound from the air above.

Lin Zhonghu looked up and saw dozens of iron balls weighing over ten jin each plummeting down with tremendous force.

With a tremendous "Boom!" the ground shook violently, and the three brothers to his left-front were turned into a mist of blood without even a cry of agony.

Shreds of flesh and splinters of bone splattered across Lin Zhonghu's face.

Before he could react, the rest of the cannonballs came crashing down one after another, the ground shuddering without cease, dust and blood spraying four or five zhang into the air together.

Lin Zhonghu felt wave after wave of warm liquid splashing over his body. Blood ran into his eyes, and the world turned bright red.

When the bombardment passed, he looked up and saw that two-tenths of the brothers who had crowded around him were dead, and over a dozen more were badly wounded.

Lost limbs were the lightest of injuries—some had everything below the chest obliterated, others had half their skull sheared away, the red-and-white wrinkled brain matter wobbling in the wound.

Looking around, the wounded were barely recognizable as human.

Lin Zhonghu struggled to his feet, eyes bulging, panting like an ox, his heart pounding so fast it ached.

From behind, the shouts of the Directorate of the Imperial Horses' battle-supervision team came: "Forward! No stopping! Death to those who disobey! Spread out, spread out now!"

Then came the screams of men being cut down from behind, and Lin Zhonghu was shoved forward by the press of convicts.

"Swoosh—" Another shriek came from the air.

Lin Zhonghu instinctively dropped flat. The man in front of him suddenly burst apart like a watermelon smashed by a hammer, juice mixed with rind and seeds flying everywhere, slamming into Lin Zhonghu's body with the force of the blast.

Splashed by the blood, Lin Zhonghu was seized by utter terror, and his breathing grew even more labored.

That man's chest had been blown open by the cannonball on the spot, and he toppled over right in front of Lin Zhonghu.

Lin Zhonghu nearly screamed aloud.

When he had been a horse bandit, he too had been a vicious brute, able to hack off a man's leg without changing expression and roast it to go with his wine—from swaddled infants to white-haired elders, he killed without mercy.

But after several rounds of cannon fire, watching men burst apart before his very eyes, his legs were shaking like sieves. He gathered his strength again and again, yet could not stand, his entire body of knotted muscle frozen stiff, as if pressed down by a nightmare.

"Get up, move forward! He who lags dies!"

The death-sentence voice of the supervision team came from behind, and the screams behind him grew closer and closer.

Driven by his will to survive, Lin Zhonghu leaned on his long spear and rose unsteadily. He took a breath and accidentally sucked a shred of flesh into his windpipe, a cloying, bloody sweetness shooting straight to the crown of his head.

Lin Zhonghu doubled over and vomited on the spot.

"No stopping, whoever stops—" "Crack, crack, crack—"

The supervision team's voice was drowned out by a volley of gunfire.

Lin Zhonghu emptied his stomach, then looked up to see that the layer of men blocking him had thinned by one rank.

Only a thin veil of blood mist hung in the air.

Lin Zhonghu stumbled forward in a daze, tripped, and fell. He turned back and saw the death-row convicts lying on the ground in a neat row of the dead, as if a low wall had been built there.

Lin Zhonghu could no longer hold himself together. Tears and snot streamed down his terror-stricken face.

He looked up—the supervision team had reached him. A soldier roared at him: "Get up, get back there!"

Then he made as if to raise his blade.

Lin Zhonghu was so frightened he could only shriek at the top of his lungs, piss and shit streaming down his trousers. Then the blade flashed, and his cries were cut abruptly short.

Wang Chengzu's ten-man squad followed behind a fully-enclosed wagon, advancing slowly. From the wagon's wooden panels came the occasional "thup-thup" of stray shots striking home, wood splinters flying off like rain.

Wang Chengzu's palms were soaked with sweat, wetting the waxed wooden shaft of his long spear, yet he still shouted orders to his men: "Everyone hold steady! No one leaves formation without permission!"

The further they advanced, the more death-row convict corpses there were. The ground, soaked through with blood, had become a dark red mire.

"Boom, boom, boom—"

Another volley of cannon fire, the sound like thunder from the highest heavens, echoing and churning between heaven and earth, pressing down on men's chests.

Chen Gouzi curiously poked his head out for a look, then froze and said: "Heavens above!"

"Get your head back in!" Wang Chengzu yanked him back, then his peripheral vision swept the front line. Every hair on his body stood on end, and he was frozen as if spellbound.

He saw the Xia army's cannons firing thick fog-like clouds of grapeshot, combined with unending volleys of musketry, blasting the death-row convicts into blood and water in swaths.

More than a massacre, the convicts seemed to be torn apart by a storm of lead. Piles of corpses quickly rose across the flat ground.

Even the Directorate of the Imperial Horses' supervision teams, unable to retreat in time, were mowed down in large numbers by the grapeshot.

"Fire the muskets! Fire the muskets!"

The Platoon Leader bellowed between the squads. Zhang Shitou finished loading his musket, took a deep breath, leaned out, and fired.

In that instant, a twelve-pound cannonball came screaming in, smashing away half his body, then caving in the fully-enclosed wagon behind him. The musket was crushed into several pieces of scrap iron and flew a dozen paces away.

"Shitou!" Wang Chengzu shouted and rushed over, dragging him back behind the wagon.

He felt that Shitou was terribly light. He looked closely and saw that Shitou's right arm, along with his right chest and heart, had completely vanished, leaving only hideous flesh and stark white ribs gaping in the wound.

The man was deader than dead.

On the city tower, Chongzhen could no longer remain seated. He stood at the window to watch the battle.

On the battlefield, the Ming death-row soldiers advanced like a tide, only to die wave after wave under the grapeshot.

The Xia army's cannons were packed densely together, firing in rotation like thunder grinding across the earth, blasting the death-row soldiers to pieces.

When the wagon formation made contact with the enemy, casualties eased somewhat, but the situation still saw the Ming army on the losing side across the board.

Not only did the wagon formation fail to stop solid iron shot, it was utterly useless against grapeshot as well.

Often a volley of grapeshot would strike—the wagon itself remained intact, but the soldiers behind it dissolved into a mist of blood.

Even someone who knew nothing of war could see the bursts of scarlet mist rising from the Ming ranks.

The atmosphere atop the gate tower dropped to freezing. The ministers dared not even breathe loudly; some were already glancing around, as if searching for an escape route.

Chongzhen felt his face burning hot. His thin frame trembled slightly within his dragon robe as he forced himself to demand: "The ambush

troops? Why haven't the ambush troops come out yet?"

"————" None of the ministers dared answer.

Then another rider was seen galloping swiftly toward the gate tower. The messenger rode into the city, dashed up the tower in a few steps, and knelt behind Chongzhen: "Reporting to Your Majesty, the battle between the two armies has reached a fever pitch. Whether the Divine Pivot Camp should deploy its ambush troops—please let Your Majesty decide."

The assembled ministers were all stunned. Was Liu Yuanbin truly so cowardly and incompetent as this?

Even Wen Tiren's expression changed. He looked at the messenger, seeing his face blackened by smoke, his uniform stained with blood, his whole body reeking of blood and sulfur.

The fighting at the front must be desperate beyond measure—and at a time like this, he was still asking for instructions on every matter?

Chongzhen roared in fury: "Absurd! Liu Yuanbin is the commander at the front! When facing the enemy, if he must ask for instructions on everything, then why don't I just go to the front and fight in his place?"

The messenger's body trembled. He hesitated, not knowing what to do.

Chongzhen barked: "Tell Liu Yuanbin—if he dares to shirk and defer again, delaying the opportunity for battle, I will have him punished!"

"Yes!" The messenger acknowledged, descended the tower, and relayed the order.

The ministers turned their gaze back to the battlefield. The Xia army's firepower was overwhelming, smoke and gunpowder fumes shrouding the field like clouds and fog.

The battle line of the Daizhou troops and the Capital Camps, stretching two to three li, was completely suppressed and falling back step by step.

The sky had grown increasingly overcast. Gusts of chill wind filled the Guangqu Gate tower with the stench of sulfur and blood.

Chongzhen could hear his own heart pounding in his chest. His fists were clenched tight, sweat beading on his forehead.

Just then, Zhang Fengyi let out a low cry: "The Daizhou troops have deployed their ambush!"

Chongzhen looked toward the southern road of the battlefield. A dense mass of troops emerged from the woods, striking at the Xia army's left flank.

Chongzhen felt his chest lighten, the pressure easing somewhat.

But Zhu Chunchen looked toward the northern road—the eight hundred cavalry of the Divine Pivot Camp were still nowhere to be seen.

According to the pre-battle plan, both ambush forces should have struck simultaneously, leaving the Xia army unable to defend both flanks. Who could have expected Liu Yuanbin to fear battle at the critical moment, hesitate and waver, and lose the opportunity?

Zhu Chunchen cursed Liu Yuanbin as deserving death in his heart, but since things had come to this, he could only wait and watch.

Behind the full-shield wagons of the Five Armies Camp, Wang Chengzu's squad had been beaten so badly they couldn't raise their heads.

The full-shield wagons had been riddled with countless lead shot, looking like a wasp's nest.

Wang Chengzu heard stray bullets whizzing incessantly overhead. One lead shot flew past so close to his ear that the gust of wind left it stinging even now.

"Squad Leader, look—the ambush is out!" Li Liu in the squad pointed toward the southern line.

The next moment, a stray bullet flew in. Li Liu's forearm suddenly burst apart, his hand carried flying far away—below the right upper arm, only the elbow remained.

Li Liu was dazed at first, then let out a shrill scream. The wound where the lead shot had struck was hideous—flesh turned inside out, blood flowing without stop.

Wang Chengzu pulled Li Liu to his side, tore a strip of cloth from his own clothing, and bound the arm to stop the bleeding.

"My hand, my hand————" Li Liu, driven mad by agony and terror, struggled and wailed without cease.

Wang Chengzu couldn't hold him down, and instead got sprayed in the face with blood from the wound.

He wiped the blood from his face and shouted to his squadmates: "Someone help————"

A thunderous boom drowned out the rest of his words. The full-shield wagon suddenly burst apart, countless iron pellets piercing straight through it.

Hu San, Wang Zi, and Liu Erbang, standing directly behind the full-shield wagon, were hit by a volley of grapeshot, blood spraying everywhere from their bodies.

By the time Wang Chengzu reacted, all three had collapsed, and the full-shield wagon itself had fallen apart.

Chen Gouzi was scared stiff by the thick mist of blood. He threw down his spear and scrambled backward on all fours.

Seeing this, Wang Chengzu shouted in a hoarse voice: "Don't run! Come back!"

But it was no use. Chen Gouzi fled, abandoning his gear as he went, only able to let out terrified howls. After running a few dozen steps, he was struck square in the face by a supervisor's sword.

"Ah——" Chen Gouzi let out one howl. Several more blades fell, and he was chopped into mincemeat on the spot.

"Gouzi!" Wang Chengzu cried out in anguish. Then he looked down—Li Liu, whose arm had been shattered, had also bled out and died.

At this point, counting Wang Chengzu himself, only four of their squad remained. The other three had been scared out of their wits and lay prone on the ground, not daring to rise.

Tian Mancang wept: "Squad Leader, Squad Leader, let's run. I can't take it anymore, I can't bear it————"

"Heh, run? Run where? Straight into the supervisors' blades?" said Zhao Laogun. This man was from a hereditary military household, an old veteran of the Capital Camps. He had no bravery to speak of, but plenty of skill at staying alive—at this very moment, he was already smearing Li Liu's blood onto his face.

Tian Mancang wept as he craned his neck to look at both sides. On the southern road, the Daizhou troops had already made contact with the enemy. The Xia army's left flank had turned to meet them, muskets and cannons firing together, the mist of blood raised visible from two or three li away.

After only brief contact, the Daizhou ambush force collapsed across the entire line. Even the whole Daizhou army fell into disorder, showing signs of imminent rout.

On the northern road, the eight hundred elite cavalry of the Divine Pivot Camp arrived belatedly. The Xia army also turned its flank to meet them. Muskets and cannons roared—for a moment, the outcome was unclear.

Tian Mancang seized his moment and ran toward the southern road. He had barely gone a dozen paces when blood burst from his head. He collapsed to the ground and never moved again.

The Platoon Leader's voice came from behind: "Get up! Charge forward, engage the enemy!"

Zhao Laogun finished smearing the blood and gore over himself, dragged Li Liu's corpse over, and covered himself with it like a blanket. He then pulled the other fallen squadmates' bodies around him, building himself a small pile of corpses. He said softly: "Sorry, brothers."

Then he lay down and played dead.

The footsteps of the supervisors grew closer. Wang Chengzu and the last remaining member of his squad, Chen Laoyan, were driven forward like livestock.

Just before leaving the cover, Wang Chengzu glanced back. The supervisors held long swords, stabbing every intact corpse they passed. Zhao Laogun, shielded by his comrades' bodies, narrowly escaped disaster.

Wang Chengzu stepped out from cover. He was still a hundred paces from the Xia army. Ahead, the battlefield was strewn with corpses in every direction, so thick there was no place to set a foot.

It hadn't rained in Northern Zhili for over a month. The ground was covered in fine dust—walking just a few steps kicked up enough dust to choke a man into coughing.

But at this moment, Wang Chengzu's feet were mired in black-red mud. With each step he took, blood welled up between his toes and over the tops of his feet, as if he were treading on a pile of rotting, oozing flesh.

The surroundings were pitch dark, thick with gunpowder smoke everywhere. The stench of sulfur and blood mingled together, nearly suffocating those who breathed it in.

Braving the hail of bullets, Wang Chengzu advanced to within fifty paces and could now clearly see the Xia army's formation—still maintaining its dense ranks, the bayonets of the front-line soldiers glinting coldly through the smoke.

The sky was overcast, making it impossible to discern the Xia soldiers' faces. Wang Chengzu could only see a group of crow-blue figures standing ramrod straight.

The sight was utterly staggering. Wang Chengzu had been a soldier his entire life and had never seen an army so unafraid of death.

On a battlefield swept by bullets, they stood upright, motionless, as if cast into the ground with molten iron. Were such ghastly apparitions even human? They were clearly ghost soldiers from the underworld!

Wang Chengzu's heart pounded like a war drum, his legs trembled uncontrollably, and all he wanted was to flee.

The next moment, a string of orange-red muzzle flashes erupted from the Xia army's line, and a wall of gunpowder smoke rose into the air.

Wang Chengzu heard a volley of gunfire like hail striking the ground, followed by the shrill whistling of lead shot tearing through the air from every direction.

Chen Laonian's body jerked to a halt, then a bloody hole exploded open in his back. Flesh and blood sprayed outward as Chen Laonian toppled over stiffly.

Before Wang Chengzu could react, a lead ball came straight for him. The egg hidden in his chest was shattered to pieces, mixing with his own flesh and blood as it sprayed backward.

Before the Zhou banner.

Ming army messengers came and went without cease.

"Report to the Regional Commander! Our southern ambush forces have suffered heavy losses and are already in retreat! Six officers, including Colonel Dong Yongwu, have died in battle!"

"Report! The Regional Commander's Divine Pivot Camp cavalry has been routed by several volleys of arquebus fire!"

"Regional Commander, the Capital Camps' wagon formation has been completely destroyed. The vanguard is retreating."

"Regional Commander, we—our vanguard brothers can't hold on any longer—"

Zhou Yuji remained silent, gazing at the battlefield. Beneath the gloomy sky, the Xia army stood like a jagged reef, while the two Ming forces' repeated assaults crashed against it like raging wind and towering waves, shattering themselves to pieces—yet the reef stood unmoved.

Directly ahead and to his side, a line of Capital Camps soldiers launched a suicidal charge, and then a string of orange-red flashes erupted from the Xia positions.

Lead balls and grapeshot mingled together, dense almost as black fog, crashing down upon the Capital Camps soldiers' heads.

The charging soldiers were instantly transformed into sprays of flesh and blood flying backward. The survivors, utterly terrified, turned and fled.

The execution squads could not cut down the deserters fast enough and were themselves scattered by the fleeing tide. Liu Yuanbin's banner swayed, and only when soldiers of the Directorate of the Imperial Horses personally stepped forward to execute the runaways did this wave of retreat finally halt.

But the entire Capital Camps army had lost its formation, morale was wavering, and casualties had been too heavy—they were spent arrows at the end of their flight.

The battle had lasted less than four hours, the Xia army's front line had barely moved a single step and was clearly not fighting at full strength, while the Capital Camps and the Daizhou army were on the verge of collapse.

Zhou Yuji knew in his heart that the situation was lost, and he raised his head to the sky with a long sigh.

One of his subordinate officers stepped forward and advised in a low voice: "Regional Commander, we've fought to this point—that's already more than enough to be worthy of the Emperor. Let us withdraw. There is still a path to survival in the south."

Zhou Yuji turned back and cast a glance toward the watchtower atop Guangqu Gate. Through the foul wind and gunpowder smoke, he seemed to glimpse a patch of bright yellow at the window.

He drew his waist blade with a clang, gritting his teeth: "The Emperor's grace toward me is as heavy as a mountain. Even if we lose today, this commander will die fighting—I will never cling to a shameful life! Pass my order: the entire army presses forward!"

"Moo—" The great horn sounded, its tone bleak and solemn, echoing endlessly across the land.

Several thousand remnants of the Daizhou army slowly advanced.

In the Great Xia central command, a group of staff officers raised their telescopes toward that location.

Someone said: "The southern Ming army is preparing to fight to the death."

Their expressions were relaxed, their tones calm—as if they were not in the midst of a great battle at all.

Lei Sanxiang lowered his telescope and muttered: "He's not afraid of death, that one. A pity. Order: the artillery regiment will aim all guns at the southern Ming army and blast them into minced meat!"

"Yes!" The messenger galloped off to relay the order.

On the artillery position, one hundred and forty-four cannons turned in unison.

On the infantry line, the Seventh Brigade's attached infantry-artillery battalion also aimed its guns at the Ming army's salient, its cannons positioned within the line itself, sandwiched between two infantry battalions.

The battalion commander judged the field of fire to be excellent—the enemy was at about two hundred paces—and seized the gap between volleys to order: "Load grapeshot!"

"Load grapeshot!" The company commanders repeated the order at the top of their lungs.

The order was then repeated by platoon leaders and gun crew chiefs. The gunners swabbed the barrels with cleaning rods, then stuffed the canvas-wrapped fixed grapeshot charges into the muzzles and rammed them tight with ramrods.

The gunner responsible for ignition jabbed a priming needle into the touchhole, piercing the canvas to expose the granular black powder within, then inserted a length of fuse into the vent.

The entire sequence flowed like water—precise and swift.

At the same time, the range-finders on both flanks of the artillery position raised yellow triangular small flags and shouted in unison: "One hundred fifty paces!"

"Boom boom boom————"

A series of earth-shattering cannon roars suddenly erupted from behind—the artillery regiment's one hundred and forty-four guns firing in overhead volley.

The ground around them trembled from the recoil, kicking up clouds of dust that engulfed the infantrymen up to their knees.

After the shells' shrieking had faded somewhat, the infantry-artillery battalion also received the order to fire, and then thirty-odd cannons roared as one, rattling the eardrums of every soldier nearby.

The ground shuddered violently from the recoil, and the dust grew even thicker, nearly obscuring the entire infantry line.

Every soldier squinted, watching for the effect of this volley.

One hundred and forty-four solid shot landed first. The carpet of corpses and mud greatly reduced ricochets, but still thirty-odd cannonballs bounced up and carved into the Daizhou army's formation, instantly slicing out dozens of bloody furrows.

Immediately after, more than a dozen fan-shaped sprays of bloody mist erupted across the front of their formation.

Solid shot and grapeshot arrived in succession, like a firework of flesh and blood exploding amid the Daizhou army.

By the time the smoke cleared, the Daizhou army's formation had completely disintegrated. Several thousand surviving soldiers turned and fled almost simultaneously, scattering in terror.

That Zhou banner toppled to the ground—but a moment later, it was picked up again, and the charge continued.

In the Xia central command, the staff officers had already shifted their gaze to the Capital Camps. Noticing something unusual, they swung their telescopes back.

"Regional Commander, look."

Lei Sanxiang raised his telescope and saw that amid the thousands of fleeing figures, a single rider bearing the great banner was charging fiercely forward.

Heaven and earth were gray and dim, yet the banner was red as the setting sun, its embroidered sun-and-moon pattern rippling and churning with every fold of the cloth.

Lei Sanxiang praised: "A true hero!"

That lone man and horse galloped forward several dozen paces—then the Seventh Brigade's artillery battalion fired another volley. Man and horse alike were reduced to pulp, and even the slow-fleeing Daizhou soldiers caught in the blast lost several dozen more to death.

The great banner pole was snapped off, drifting down through the air, returning to the dust.

From the Daizhou army sounding the great horn to the entire force collapsing and its commander falling in battle, less time passed than it takes to eat a meal.

Liu Yuanbin witnessed this scene, his face drained of all color, his breathing labored, his hands and feet ice-cold — he felt as if urine was about to seep out through his smooth incision.

The moment the Daizhou army routed, the Xia army's firepower all turned, aiming at the Capital Camps.

Before Liu Yuanbin could recover from the shock of the Daizhou army's annihilation, grapeshot and solid shot were already flying toward the front lines.

Another Capital Camps charge was beaten back, and the routed soldiers crashed into their own formation, pushing the already tottering battle line closer to collapse.

Even the Directorate of the Imperial Horses troops beside Liu Yuanbin wavered; the soldiers' faces were filled with terror as they glanced left and right, clearly searching for an escape route.

The Divine Engine Camp, serving as the vanguard, had all its firearms destroyed with grievous casualties; over a dozen red barbarian cannons lay scattered across the battlefield, surrounded by corpses.

The Five Army Camp had also lost most of its men, and the Divine Pivot Camp's eight hundred cavalry had long since scattered in flight.

The elite of the Three Great Camps had been nearly wiped out, and the Capital Camps could no longer organize an attack. Only the elite imperial guards of the Directorate of the Imperial Horses remained, and it was only by relying on them to hold the line that the great army had not collapsed entirely.

Additionally, Liu Yuanbin still had some depot and guard agents, eunuch household troops, and noble household retainers under his command — all of them elite, formidable in single combat or small-scale engagements. But facing the Xia army's storm of lead shot, they were utterly useless, and already large numbers of noble household retainers were scattering in flight.

Their flight made the already loosening battle formation even more fragile and vulnerable.

Liu Yuanbin grabbed a messenger and said: "Go! Go request instructions from His Majesty — ask whether our army may enter the city to rest and regroup! Go now!"

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen