Chapter 463: Like Fire

Thunderous cannon fire echoed across the parade ground.

Beyond the perimeter wall, sky-splitting shrieks erupted; the neighing of horses merged into a single din. The abducted commoners wailed as they fled in panic, and the terrified mules and horses struggled desperately, dragging their carriages into violent collisions with one another.

Inside the parade ground, chaos had already descended. Disheveled Qing soldiers fled in every direction, horses bolted everywhere, and squad-based dismounted rangers were attacking in different directions, hacking down the bewildered Qing troops. Mounted rangers had already penetrated deep into the encampment.

Manda'er, gripping his waist saber in his right hand and controlling the reins with his left, galloped between the tents. He bowled over a Qing soldier in front of the south gate, then gave the reins a slight tug; his mount swerved into a passage near the south side and raced toward the east.

In the passage, many Qing soldiers shouted in alarm. Most of those who burst out wore only their cotton coats; some clutched waist sabers, others held only bows without a single arrow. A few had hastily thrown on a helmet, standing helpless and at a loss in the passageway.

Manda'er squeezed his horse's flanks and tightened his grip on his saber. Suddenly, a tent flap to his right front was thrown open, and a disheveled Qing soldier rushed out, not even wearing a hat. Manda'er was upon him in an instant. The Qing soldier's face was a mask of terror and bewilderment as he saw Manda'er bearing down on him, utterly failing to grasp the situation.

In his haste, Manda'er leveled his right hand. His mount swept past the Qing soldier; he felt resistance against the saber's handle and used his wrist strength to maintain the blade's angle.

Man and horse crossed paths in a flash. The waist saber slashed across the Qing soldier's chest. Driven by the galloping horse, the blade was incomparably sharp. The cloth split instantly under the blade's edge; cotton scraps mixed with droplets of blood sprayed out from left to right, following the saber's arc and leaving behind a long, deep wound.

The scream fell behind the horse's body. Manda'er let out a strange whoop into the wind. His mount swiftly overtook another Qing soldier ahead. Manda'er expertly leaned down to the right, flicked his waist saber lightly, and with a soft *shnick*, the blade traced across the Qing soldier's neck. Manda'er, man and horse, flashed past in an instant.

The Qing soldier's body was pulled askew by the blade's force; before he could steady himself, blood had already appeared on his neck. Nearby Qing soldiers shouted in panic, but by then Manda'er was already twenty paces away.

He slashed open another Qing soldier's neck, this time striking the cervical bone and chipping two notches into his waist saber's blade. Then he spotted a Qing soldier ahead drawing a bow at him. He immediately pulled the reins and veered north, ducking behind a tent. The bow-drawing Qing soldier instantly vanished from sight.

This passage was likewise lined with tents on both sides, with a few campfires still trailing white smoke. Most of the Qing soldiers here were carrying weapons. One soldier who looked like an officer was rallying men; as he hung his bow case on his waist, he bellowed at a group of Tartars.

These Qing soldiers were all in a wretched state. Several men still had no weapons. Some were helping others don their cotton armor. Half of them were bareheaded, having had no time to grab their helmets. A few noticed the mounted Manda'er, but no one had the leisure to pay attention to this leather-jacketed Mongol; each was preoccupied with his own affairs.

The officer had his back to Manda'er. In front of him, two Qing soldiers were holding up a suit of silver-white lamellar armor, preparing to assist him in putting it on.

Manda'er glanced back. The bow-drawing Qing soldier had not yet followed. He immediately sheathed his waist saber and took out his bow with his left hand. Steering his horse with his legs, he reached a spot between two tents. The Tartar officer had just raised his arms, ready to don the armor. Manda'er drew an arrow with his right hand, abruptly stood up in his stirrups, and swiftly drew the bowstring back. Amid the chaos, only two or three of the Qing soldiers noticed him, and before they could react, a light arrow had already left the string and *thwipped* into the Qing officer's back.

Manda'er had no time to observe the effect. He squeezed his horse's flanks and veered between the two tents. The Qing soldiers' screams and furious roars were cut off by the tent walls.

Emerging from between the two tents, Manda'er pulled the reins to the left and swatted his horse's rump with his bow. His mount immediately accelerated, leaving the pursuing Qing soldiers far behind.

After rounding another corner, none of the Qing soldiers he encountered knew what Manda'er had just done. Manda'er rampaged onward, galloping and cutting down foes, occasionally leaning down to use his waist saber to flip over the burning campfires.

Suddenly, the view opened up before him. He had charged out of the tent area. The east side of the parade ground was densely packed with horses.

Around the north gate, battle cries shook the heavens. There were Qing soldiers near the horse enclosure as well, but they were equally in a state of panic. One Qing soldier stood among the herd, shouting at Manda'er and asking him what was happening.

Manda'er did not reply. He dismounted and walked into the herd. The Qing soldier stared at him blankly. Manda'er reached him and thrust his saber straight into the Qing soldier's abdomen.

The Qing soldier was completely off guard, his eyes bulging wide. Manda'er stabbed him again, then withdrew his waist saber, turned, and left. Behind him, the Qing soldier let out a loud, agonized scream.

Manda'er ran back to his mount. Several fires had already broken out within the tent area. Manda'er had no time to look; he leaped onto his horse's back, spurred it on, and charged back toward the north gate.

On the way, he encountered two other mounted rangers. The Qing soldiers along the path were terrified out of their wits, scurrying around the encampment like headless flies. As he galloped past, Manda'er easily slashed two more men. A moment later, he spotted a squad of dismounted rangers; they had already thrust deep into the parade ground, the ground behind them littered with Qing corpses.

Manda'er galloped past the rangers without slowing down. The nearest ranger suddenly raised his blade staff high and charged in Manda'er's direction. Manda'er instinctively pulled his horse's head to the right. The blade staff came smashing down from above, whistling through the air as it grazed past the horse's head and *thwacked* against the ground.

Manda'er broke out in a cold sweat from the shock. His horse swiftly carried him past the ranger. Gasping for breath, Manda'er found himself back at the north gate.

There were surprisingly few rangers at the gate. Four artillerymen were pushing a cannon cart southward, and two or three dismounted rangers were nearby. Upon seeing the mounted man, they immediately turned around, all their weapons aimed at Manda'er.

Still shaken, Manda'er dared not linger here. He hastily spurred his horse to speed up. As he swept past the north gate, he just caught a glimpse of Yang Guangdi's figure.

……

Yang Guangdi, biting down on a half-section of fire rope, ran and burst through the camp gate. Ahead, someone on horseback flashed past. Yang Guangdi lowered his head to reload and did not recognize who it was.

His first shot had been aimed at a Qing soldier who appeared on the right flank of the formation, fired almost simultaneously with the cannon. Immediately after, the crowd had descended into chaos, and he had no idea whether that Qing soldier had been killed.

The ranger formation had already swarmed in. Yang Guangdi had stopped in place to reload. After the rangers passed through, the road was flooded with fleeing crowds and carriages, blocking Yang Guangdi behind them.

Yang Guangdi dodged and weaved while reloading. His waist saber was knocked off, his fire rope was struck from his hands several times by fleeing commoners, and he dropped his lead bullets twice, falling to the very rear of the formation. By the time he reached the north gate, only a few rangers cutting down grooms remained nearby.

Inside the parade ground, battle cries shook the heavens. Several plumes of thick black smoke rose from the east side. The stone slabs at the north gate were covered in flowing blood. Several Qing corpses lay in pools of blood. The Qing officer's eyes were wide open, staring at the sky as he lay on his back, a thick armor-piercing bodkin arrow embedded in the center of his chest.

*Boom! * A cannon fired. Yang Guangdi's body jolted. He looked up and saw the cannon crew twenty-some paces ahead; they had just completed a shot. The white smoke from the cannonball drifted from south to north, the acrid smell of gunpowder brushing past his face. The artillerymen were loudly repeating their commands.

"Canister shot loaded!"

Amid his frantic haste, Yang Guangdi muttered the phrase along with them, while simultaneously loading his priming powder. In the confusion, he spilled a great deal of it, but he paid it no mind. After closing the fire gate cover, he carefully removed the fire rope from his mouth and clamped it onto the dragon head rod. His firearm had finally regained its combat capability.

Yang Guangdi did not open the fire gate cover, to prevent an accidental discharge. He ran a few more steps, gradually closing in on the four-man cannon crew.

Since this was an improvised raid, the pre-battle briefing had been extremely rushed. Chen Rulie had ordered the rangers to split up and attack after breaching the north gate, to magnify the raid's effect and prevent the Qing forces from regrouping, leaving one squad to cooperate with the cannon crew in guarding the north gate and keeping it clear.

At the time, Yang Guangdi had thought too few men were left to guard the north gate. But now the north gate was completely empty; even the cannon crew was moving south, and he had only three dismounted rangers beside him. Yang Guangdi had no idea where the others had run off to.

Between the tents, he could glimpse attacking ranger squads. Some Qing soldiers darted in and out of sight nearby. Twice Yang Guangdi raised his gun but failed to get a bead on a target, so he had to lower it and keep moving forward. Two mounted figures flashed past ahead. Yang Guangdi immediately raised his gun, but before he could distinguish friend from foe, the riders had already crossed the passage and vanished behind a row of tents.

Yang Guangdi caught his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his fire rope had burned shorter. Just as he lowered his gun, a figure suddenly burst out from the tents beside him, appearing almost directly in front of his face.

Both men froze for an instant. A shiny, shaved bluish scalp, a few sparse whiskers above the lip, narrow eyes filled with panic and ferocity.

Yang Guangdi did not think at all. As he swung the muzzle around, his finger flipped open the fire gate, and his index finger immediately pulled the trigger lever.

The gun kicked in his hands. White smoke from the fire gate billowed upward into Yang Guangdi's face. The Qing soldier was engulfed in the muzzle's gunpowder smoke.

With a loud shout, the Qing soldier lunged at him, bringing his waist saber down in an overhead chop. Yang Guangdi raised his Lumi gun horizontally, just managing to block the blade. The Tartar braced his left hand against the Lumi gun, pulled back his waist saber with his right, and thrust it under the gun toward Yang Guangdi.

Caught off guard and with no other weapon on him, Yang Guangdi hastily dropped his Lumi gun and stumbled back a step. At that moment, two more Qing soldiers emerged from between the tents. Yang Guangdi turned and ran for his life, shouting a warning to the cannon crew ahead.

The cannon crew halted and began turning the cannon's muzzle toward the north. Yang Guangdi was directly in front of the muzzle. He heard the footsteps chasing him from behind and saw that Zeng Baci ahead was bringing his fire rope toward the fire gate. He sprinted with all his might. The moment he cleared the muzzle, he heard a thunderous roar beside him.

Yang Guangdi twisted his head to look back. White smoke billowed in front of the cannon's muzzle. The lead Qing soldier's limbs were scattered across the ground. The wooden stock of the Lumi gun had been blown to splinters. The waist saber lay beside him, only half of it remaining. The Qing soldier behind him had his intestines spilling from his abdomen and was groaning in agony on the ground. The last Qing soldier stumbled and fled back into the tent area.

Yang Guangdi gasped for breath. Zeng Baci paid him no attention. This time they did not reload, but still turned the cannon cart around and pushed it south. Yang Guangdi stood dazed for a moment before getting up. He picked up a broken line spear from the ground and followed the cannon crew onward.

As he walked, he kept glancing back at the north gate. The main road outside the north gate was crowded with livestock and carriages. A few commoners were struggling to drag their oxen. Two Qing soldiers ran out from the gate and disappeared among the carriages, but he saw not a single ranger standing guard. He had no idea whether the cavalry led by Battalion Commander Chen had arrived yet.

Yang Guangdi dared not stay behind; he could only follow the cannon crew. His eyes darted constantly, scanning everything that appeared nearby. Not far ahead was the south gate; they had already cut straight through the parade ground.

There were no rangers blocking the south gate either. Qing soldiers kept appearing from between the tents, some on foot, some on horseback, running out the south gate and then veering west. Not far beyond the south gate was the Dong'e city wall. The sound of gongs came from the wall in waves, and many figures were peering over the battlements.

The cannon crew stopped. Zeng Baci reached out to touch the cannon barrel and yanked his hand back as if shocked.

He waved his hand, and the swabber inserted the cleaning rod into the muzzle, from which white smoke sizzled out. The other artillerymen scooped up snow from the roadside and smeared it directly onto the cannon barrel; it began melting rapidly.

Zeng Baci kept his eyes fixed on the south gate, where the number of fleeing Qing soldiers was increasing.

Finally, he said calmly, "Load!"

The cannoneer stopped cooling the barrel. The loader took a cannonball from his back, and the artillerymen resumed their fixed routine, loudly reporting each command.

Yang Guangdi gripped his line spear, vigilantly scanning his surroundings. Black smoke was rising from both the east and west sides of the parade ground, and the fierce battle cries were deafening.

Seven or eight mounted Qing soldiers fled from the tents on the west side, immediately veering toward the south gate, turning their backs toward the cannon's muzzle.

The cannon crew moved with lightning speed. Amid the frantic rush, Yang Guangdi still followed up in a low voice, "All cannons loaded with canister shot."