Chapter 238: The Battle of Xiangyang

"Er... they just ran like that?"

"Hahaha, this is the Left Camp—what earth-shattering deeds could you possibly expect from them?" Looking at the stunned subordinate officer beside him who had no idea what was going on, Xie Yinglong burst into laughter.

To be honest, before coming here he'd had some doubts in his heart. The Left Camp had actually won battles over the years—after all, the reputation of being the strongest of the Central Plains' official forces wasn't entirely blown out of proportion.

For many years, although Zuo Liangyu had lost more than he'd won against the Dashun army, the moment they encountered Zhang Xianzhong's Western Army, it was as if they'd become a completely different force—they would often send Zhang Xianzhong fleeing in panic.

After all, prestigious court generals like the Elder and Younger Cao, Meng Ruhu, and others were now basically all dead and gone. Among the remaining ragtag forces, Zuo Liangyu was the only one who could still stand as a match for Li Zicheng and Zhang Xianzhong.

In the sixteenth year of Chongzhen, when Zhang Xianzhong had just risen again, captured Wuchang, and seen his prestige soar, the surrounding official forces dared not meet his edge head-on and all held back to watch how things developed. Only Zuo Liangyu, then stationed around Jiujiang, suddenly led his troops out.

No one had expected that the Left Camp, which had just suffered a crushing defeat at Zhuxian Town, would actually smash the rising Zhang Xianzhong at Wuchang.

And that wasn't all—just as Li Zicheng had hunted him down at Zhuxian Town, Zuo Liangyu vented all his fury on Zhang Xianzhong's head, slaughtering the Great Western Army into utter rout.

The fact that Zhang Xianzhong fled into Sichuan was actually in large part because Zuo Liangyu had hunted him down so mercilessly. There were even rumors that Zhang Xianzhong, famed for his wind-swift cavalry, had been reduced to only a few hundred riders fleeing desperately into Sichuan after the Battle of Wuchang.

So before riding out to meet the enemy, Xie Yinglong had made thorough psychological preparations and deployments. But he never expected that the moment the two sides made contact, the other official forces would scatter in all directions a step ahead of the Left Camp.

The other official troops' irresponsible scattering threw the Left Camp's officers into panic as well, and morale sank into the doldrums.

When the seemingly mighty officers of the Left Camp saw the "Great Shun" banner raised high, then looked back at the other official troops who had already fled far into the distance, in an instant not a shred of will to resist remained.

Even before Zuo Liangyu had fully realized he'd walked into an ambush, the Left Camp had already begun to collapse unstoppably.

"Brothers, follow me in hunting down the Zuo bandits! Let the men of the Five Training Camps see that you and I are no worse than them!" Xie Yinglong savagely yanked his reins, brandished his blade, and was the first to charge out.

"Kill the Zuo bandits!"

"Kill the dog soldiers!"

At this moment, deserters from the Left Camp and the other official forces covered the mountains and fields. The rest of the Great Shun troops paid no heed to any of that—they howled with excitement and charged out. Beating a drowning dog was always what they did best.

The armor on these scattering official soldiers, the gold and silver in their pockets, even the heads on their shoulders—all were rare and precious goods to these Great Shun soldiers who had long been garrisoned in the countryside.

"Whoever dares flee, I'll split him in two with my own hands!" Within the Left Camp, there were naturally some brave men willing to fight—Vice Regional Commander Ma Shixiu was one of them.

Seeing that the officers were about to scatter just as they had at Zhuxian Town, Ma Shixiu's anger flared. From horseback he glared at Xie Yinglong and shouted:

"These Shun bandits number at most ten or twenty thousand! Even if part of our Left Camp has run, there are still over a hundred thousand of us here! We outnumber the Shun bandits several times over—don't run! Follow me to kill the bandits!"

Ma Shixiu's prestige among the officers was considerable. After that single shout, many who had been about to flee looked at each other hesitantly and no longer dared to run so eagerly.

At this moment, Zuo Liangyu rode over, gave Ma Shixiu a look of affirmation, clenched his fist, and said: "This commander knew long ago those men couldn't be relied upon. To take Xiangyang, we'll have to depend on our Left Camp ourselves!"

"Bullshit! Zuo Liangyu, don't you dare lump me in with those rats!" The words had barely left his mouth when Ma Kuang shouted loudly and led roughly two thousand of his men back.

"Ma Kuang?"

Toward this man, Zuo Liangyu felt both respect and resentment. What he respected was that the Ma family were truly brave generals who dared to fight; what he resented was that Ma Kuang gave him no face at all—too rough and blunt, defying him on his own turf without leaving an ounce of dignity.

But at a time like this, whatever feelings he had were best set aside for now. After all, the Great Shun army was about to reach their very eyelids. If they didn't join forces to meet the enemy, both of them would die here.

The Great Shun soldiers, who had been killing with great relish, soon discovered that the official forces that had collapsed at first contact were beginning to counterattack.

"Kill those who dare stick their heads out first!"

"Well said!"

The main force of the counterattack was naturally the household retainers personally led by Zuo Liangyu and Ma Kuang, plus the scattered soldiers that Ma Shixiu and other Left Camp officers had rallied together. In numbers, they actually outnumbered the Great Shun forces.

The official side mustered their last courage and charged. After advancing some twenty-odd paces, they made contact with the Great Shun army. The ones at the head were veterans who had followed Ma Kuang and Zuo Liangyu for years. Once engaged, they fought with reckless abandon and actually routed a portion of the Great Shun forces.

But this was largely luck as well—the Great Shun troops who came to meet them weren't their main force. Many had been caught up in chasing deserters and charged straight in without any formation, so naturally they couldn't beat these battle-hardened veterans and household retainers.

Xie Yinglong naturally noticed this obvious shift on the battlefield. Without wasting time being surprised at the Left Camp's change, he immediately led the Xiangyang old camp troops over to support.

Xie Yinglong was truly unlucky. He'd just assumed the battle was over, so he'd let himself go and personally led the old camp charging down the hillside in pursuit. Now that fighting had suddenly broken out behind him, to bring the old camp back up he first had to reform his ranks and then climb back up the slope.

It was precisely this gap of reforming ranks and climbing the hillside that gave Zuo Liangyu and Ma Kuang enough breathing room.

Unfortunately, however, a portion of the Left Camp's officers thought differently from Zuo Liangyu and the others. They lacked both the courage and the strength to seize this gap and turn the tide. Before Zuo Liangyu could shout "Heaven helps me," they were already fleeing desperately backward in the interval while the Great Shun army was run ragged.

This flight genuinely shocked Zuo Liangyu. This was a perfect opportunity to turn defeat into victory—if he could defeat the Great Shun forces up on the slope, those below would be much easier to handle.

His own side had superior numbers. If the official forces saw that he had the upper hand, who knew—they might well turn around and charge back to fight for credit. At that point, even if he had to bury the enemy under sheer numbers, he could at least still win.

"Which blind bastard led his troops away? I'll chop him down myself!" Zuo Liangyu turned to look back, but his furious eyes suddenly froze. The one leading the officers in panicked flight behind him—who else could it be but his own worthless son?

It was almost laughable. Zuo Menggeng, the young commander of the Left Camp, had ridden on his father's coattails—without a single merit to his name, he held the seal of General Who Pacifies Bandits. Yet the first time his blade left its sheath on the battlefield, it was aimed at his own fellow soldiers.

Zuo Menggeng was scared out of his wits. At this point he fled without a care for anything, and anyone who stood in his way—official soldier or roving bandit alike—got a blade to the face.

Ma Kuang cut down a Shun bandit, glanced over, and said with a chuckle: "Commander Zuo, if your son put this much zeal for killing his own men into killing bandits, we wouldn't be in this situation now."

Hearing this, Zuo Liangyu turned to look at Ma Kuang, gave a cold snort, but had no rebuttal.

The situation now was indeed one where his own son had led the flight, causing the complete collapse of the Left Camp and the total disintegration of the official forces.

The blame for this great defeat would still have to be borne by him, Zuo Liangyu. Of course—that was assuming he could still flee back in disgrace like a woman, just as he had before.