Chapter 388: A Bitter Victory

Seeing two Ming soldiers charging at him with blades, one in front and one behind, the unarmed Hushili showed not the slightest fear. He sidestepped to dodge the two pistols hurled at him, then lunged like a tiger at the Ming soldier in the lead.

That Ming soldier twisted his body and thrust his blade straight at him. Hushili shifted aside to evade the long knife, and before the other could withdraw his weapon for another move, Hushili stepped forward and drove a fist into the upper part of the arm gripping the sword. Under the tremendous force, the Ming soldier's right arm went limp, and the long blade clattered to the ground.

Clutching his right arm with his left hand, cold sweat streaming down his face, that Ming soldier had lost all ability to resist in an instant. Hushili followed up with a kick to his lower abdomen, sending him stumbling back several steps before he collapsed to the ground, bright red blood seeping from the corners of his mouth.

Taking advantage of the moment when Hushili was turned sideways, the other Ming soldier swung his blade in a horizontal cut at his ribs. Hushili hurriedly shuffled his feet and twisted aside to dodge, but the upper portion of the blade still sliced through his cotton armor, opening a long gash across his ribs. Blood instantly dyed half of his white armor red.

Under the searing pain, Hushili let out a grunt and, without breaking stride, dashed forward.

Though he was formidable in combat, the agony of his two wounds was draining his strength at a frightening rate, and he could not recklessly press against naked steel.

At that very moment, not far away, Gao Jin—with an arrow in his shoulder—was in a perilous situation.

Just as Cui Xingyun had cut down two Qing soldiers in succession, another Qing soldier spotted Gao Jin and charged at him. Unable to exert force with his right arm, Gao Jin could only grip his already-loaded pistol in his left hand and fire a shot at this Qing soldier—but the shot failed to hit the target only a few paces away.

Startled by the thunderous report of the pistol, that Qing soldier paused for a moment. Finding no wound on his body, he immediately charged forward again, his halberd-sword poised and thrusting straight ahead.

Seeing this, Gao Jin had no time to hurl the pistol away. He could only dodge aside with a quick sidestep, then push off with both feet and sprint forward, trying to use the cover of the trees to escape the Qing soldier's slashing pursuit.

But he was so focused on evading the Qing soldier chasing close behind him that he never noticed another Qing soldier had already crept up silently from the flank.

Just as he slowed his pace after a stretch of running to assess the situation, a tiger-tooth spear stabbed in from the side with lightning speed. With his attention divided, Gao Jin had no time to dodge—the sharp spearpoint pierced through his cotton armor and drove straight into his ribs.

Wracked with agony, Gao Jin's pistol dropped to the ground. He twisted sideways, stepped forward, seized the spear shaft with both hands, and let out a thunderous roar. Throwing all his strength into a horizontal swing, he sent the Qing soldier—who had been pushing forward—stumbling from the tremendous force transmitted through the shaft, the spear itself wrenched from his grip.

Enduring the searing pain, Gao Jin pulled the spearpoint from his ribs as a jet of blood sprayed forth. He cast aside the short spear and threw himself bodily at the Qing soldier, tackling him to the ground. The two rolled and grappled together in a tangle.

Seizing the advantage of the top position, Gao Jin wrapped both arms around the other man's head and slammed his own skull into it with all his might. A crack—the sound of bone breaking—and the Qing soldier's nose bridge was crushed flat, blood spreading across his face in an instant.

Before Gao Jin could strike again, the Qing soldier shoved a hand against his chin to keep him from generating force, while his other hand balled into a fist and hammered into Gao Jin's ear.

A buzzing clamor echoed through Gao Jin's skull, and in that instant his mind went hazy and unclear.

While a sliver of clarity remained, he bit down hard on the tip of his tongue. The sharp pain snapped his mind back into focus. Ignoring the pain of the Qing soldier's relentless blows, he freed his left hand, yanked the long arrow from his right shoulder, and in one fluid motion drove the triangular arrowhead deep into the Qing soldier's right eye.

The Qing soldier never even had a chance to scream. The razor-sharp arrowhead punched through his skull, killing him on the spot.

Gao Jin released his grip on the arrow shaft, panting heavily between rasping, gurgling laughs as blood trickled from his mouth. Then he toppled sideways off the Qing soldier's body and collapsed to the ground.

From the moment Gao Jin was stabbed to the moment he killed his attacker, no more than a dozen breaths had passed. And the Qing soldier who had been chasing him all along had now caught up, raising his blade in both hands to cut Gao Jin down where he lay.

At that critical moment, a fist-sized stone flew over with a whistling rush of air, striking the raised-blade Qing soldier square in the helmet. It knocked him stumbling to one side, and all his strength drained away in an instant.

A dozen paces away, Cui Xingyun—having just hurled the stone—came sprinting over with his blade held in both hands.

The Qing soldier struck in the head steadied himself. Seeing the incoming threat, he abandoned any thought of killing Gao Jin. With a low growl, he gripped his halberd-sword in both hands and charged to meet Cui Xingyun.

The so-called halberd-sword was actually a long-handled heavy blade, similar in style to Lord Guan's Green Dragon Crescent Blade—ideal for sweeping cuts from horseback, but clumsy and unwieldy in the forest.

The ten men Hushili led were all Qing scouts, skilled at fighting on horseback and accustomed to their favored weapons. Since this was a chance encounter, this Qing soldier hadn't had time to pick a weapon from his horse's saddle, and out of sheer habit he had grabbed the halberd-sword he always used.

Seeing that the enemy's weapon was long and massive, Cui Xingyun knew that if he met it head-on with force, he could never get within striking distance—and one careless slip under that long blade could prove fatal. Being an experienced fighter, he chose instead to turn and run.

That Qing soldier had been poised and ready to strike, but to his surprise the Ming soldier opposite him, who had seemed so ferocious in his approach, was in fact a coward. He must have realized he was no match and chosen to flee.

This was the typical style of the Ming army.

A sneer of contempt rising in his heart, the Qing soldier set off in pursuit.

Cui Xingyun deliberately slowed his pace. When he reached a thick, sturdy tree, he paused his steps for a deliberate moment—then whirled around in an instant.

The Qing soldier had just arrived at close range. Seeing Cui Xingyun spin about, he put his strength into a sweeping horizontal slash, intending to cleave Cui Xingyun in two.

Cui Xingyun saw the long blade sweeping toward his chest and abdomen. Just as the arc of the swing reached its end and could no longer change course, he suddenly dropped to both knees and let his upper body fall backward. The Qing soldier's blade whistled past over his face, then slammed heavily into the tree trunk behind him, the keen edge biting several inches deep into the wood—impossible to wrench free in a hurry.

In that instant, Cui Xingyun straightened his back and rose to his feet. At the same moment, his long blade shot forward in a straight thrust. The razor-sharp point tore through the Qing soldier's cotton armor, and the gleaming blade drove deep into the soft flesh of his belly.

That Qing soldier let out a miserable shriek. Releasing the halberd-sword's grip, he clutched with both hands at the blade buried in his abdomen, as if trying to stop the deadly steel from sinking any deeper into his body.

Cui Xingyun twisted the hilt and sliced horizontally. The Qing soldier, eyes wide open, slowly sank to his knees. From a distance, the two might have appeared to be bowing to each other in mutual respect.

With a crisp crack, Cui Xingyun rose to his feet and swung his blade in a horizontal cut. A jet of blood sprayed a foot into the air. The Qing soldier's head flew up, then dropped swiftly to the ground, rolling several times before coming to rest face-up. On a face frozen in utter terror, dead fish-like eyes stared up at the sky.

Cui Xingyun kicked the still-kneeling Qing soldier's body over, then shouted at Gao Jin not far away: "Hang on! When we get back, I'll find you a wife!"

Then, blade in hand, he charged toward Hushili, who was a bit farther off.

Hearing Cui Xingyun's shout, Gao Jin—who had been on the verge of collapse—suddenly roused himself. He laboriously rolled his body over, crawled with great effort to the base of a large tree, and turned himself around to sit propped against the trunk. Straining, he reached up to press on his wound, trying to stem the heavy flow of blood.

Hushili sprinted a few paces, then dodged behind a tree to catch his breath. The Ming soldier pursuing him also halted his steps, not rashly pressing forward to attack.

From not far away came several tremendous booming sounds mixed with screams of agony. Hushili could tell these were the voices of his own men.

This small band of Ming soldiers had far too formidable firearms.

Hushili had fought the Ming army for over a decade and had never seen this kind of short firearm—one that fired instantly with such devastating power.

Personal martial valor was worth nothing in the face of such terrifyingly lethal firearms.

It seemed that this time he would fall at the hands of the Ming army.

The men he had brought were now nearly all dead. There was no one left to carry his bones back to his homeland in Jianzhou.

Enduring the searing pain, Hushili pulled the short crossbow bolt from the hollow of his shoulder. The blood loss from his two wounds was rapidly draining his strength, and his injured arm could no longer exert any force.

He suddenly let out a great shout and stepped out from behind the tree. Scraping the ground with the toe of his boot, he flicked upward a great clump of rotting leaves mixed with dirt, sending it flying straight into the face of the Ming soldier only a few paces away.

While the man's vision was blocked, Hushili closed the distance and drove the short crossbow bolt deep into the Ming soldier's throat.

The long blade dropped from the Ming soldier's hand. His hands rose as if to claw at something, but after flailing in the air a few times, he finally collapsed and died.

Cui Xingyun, who had already drawn near, watched his man being killed before his eyes. His eyes split with fury. With a great shout, he accelerated his charge.

And just a dozen or so paces from him, a Qing soldier—seeing the situation turning sour—had already quietly turned around and, taking advantage of no one's notice, fled northward.

Hushili had just bent down to pick up the long blade the Ming soldier had dropped when Cui Xingyun thrust his sword forward with both hands. Hushili could only sidestep to evade, then prepared to use the same trick again—looking for an opening to kill his enemy while on the move.

But Cui Xingyun quickly stepped forward and slashed horizontally. Hushili couldn't turn around, so he could only shuffle backward in small steps to dodge again.

Seizing the moment when Hushili's footing was unsteady, Cui Xingyun shouted again, withdrew his blade, and leaped forward with a lightning-fast vertical chop. This time, Hushili could not evade.

The gleaming blade split him from the center of his brow all the way down to his chest and abdomen. A great torrent of blood sprayed forth. Hushili made no further move—he fell straight backward and crashed to the ground, face up.

Cui Xingyun's furious, full-strength blow had nearly split his face in two.

By this time, the five Night Scouts of the rear squad had finished off the three Qing soldiers with pistols and crossbow bolts and rushed over.

Gao Jin had already lost consciousness. After disinfecting and bandaging his wounds with powder made from boiled and dried willow bark, the Night Scouts cut branches with their long blades and daggers to fashion a makeshift stretcher, taking turns carrying him back.

Another wounded soldier with lighter injuries gritted his teeth and followed behind.

The bodies of several Night Scouts were also bound to horses and brought back to Desheng Fort together.

The Night Scouts found the Qing army's horses. After searching them, all the Qing soldiers' heads were cut off and tied beneath the horses' necks, while their armor and weapons were abandoned on the spot.

In this small-scale skirmish, the Ming army killed ten Qing soldiers including one White Armor soldier, while losing five of their own dead and two severely wounded—truly a pyrrhic victory.

Had each man not carried a hand cannon and a short crossbow, the final outcome would have been uncertain.