Chapter 1360: A Familiar Banner

Loud shouts of agreement rose from below, but at that moment, the Jianzhou Jurchens' cannons roared again, drowning out the crowd's cries completely.

"Anyone willing to fight the Tartars to the death, grab your weapons and get on the wall! The rest of you, stand ready inside the city—your turn to fight will come. Those who want to live, I won't force you. Find somewhere to hole up on your own. But anyone thinking of running now or switching sides—there's only a dead end waiting for you!" someone bellowed through the city streets.

After repeated seesawing bloody battles, with Ming forces and Jianzhou Jurchens trading control back and forth, few civilians remained in the city. Hearing these words, many went to take up their weapons. Others wore complicated expressions; after hesitating and wavering, they turned and headed home. Some cast contemptuous looks, some shouted rebukes, but they were quickly stopped by others. At a time like this, those who stayed were enough—nothing more could be demanded.

The Jianzhou Jurchens divided into three units. One stayed to guard the main formation. Another clustered around the cannons and moved toward the city's northwest corner, launching an assault once they'd battered it down. The third unit faced Jinzhou's front directly—battering rams and scaling ladders already advancing. Anyone moving too slowly while carrying ladders or pushing rams was cut down on the spot. The entire battlefield surged into motion.

The sky-blotting dense fog was thinning rapidly now, everything on the battlefield growing clearer by the moment. The Jinzhou defenders atop the wall watched the Jianzhou Jurchen battle formation pressing closer, and every man felt a suffocating dread.

"These cannons are too deadly. If not for them, we could still sally out and fight a round. As it is, we can't move!" Chen Jisheng said through gritted teeth. Zhang Pan nodded, his face equally grim.

"Let the Tartars charge in and fight them inside. They can't deploy properly in the city streets—we'll meet them there!"

"No. The Tartars have too many men. If we let them rush in, we might not be able to close the city gates again!"

Everyone knew that defending a city to the death was a poor strategy, but at this moment, there was no other choice. They could only fight to the bitter end.

The Jianzhou Jurchen formation had finished assembling. The drawn-out process only made the waiting more agonizing for the defenders—like watching someone sharpen a blade meant to kill you, powerless to do anything but stare. The Jurchen cannons fired at a very slow rate, and adjusting their aim made it slower still.

Even so, the defenders watching the Jurchen cannon positions were cursing furiously. Those Ming artillerymen had always been half-hearted and sloppy, yet here serving the Jianzhou Jurchens, they were so diligent and earnest. Where had all that dedication been before?

The cannons finally began bombarding the corner of the city wall. The rate of fire remained painfully slow, and some shots even missed entirely. But every hit tore away a chunk of the wall corner. If enough shots landed, the corner would collapse, and then they could charge up the rubble slope.

Everyone could foresee the outcome and was prepared to face it. That was why Kong Youde and his men had already climbed onto the wall, lying in ambush behind cover, enduring each earth-shaking impact. They thought of nothing else—only of engaging the moment the Jianzhou Jurchens launched their assault on the city.

Lying there was miserable. Cannonballs screamed through the air, shaking the wall—neither thick nor tall—to its foundations. The long intervals between shots only intensified the mental torment. No one knew whether the next shot would land directly on the parapet. Some had already been too slow to dodge, struck by flying brick and stone fragments, their bodies suddenly riddled with bloody holes.

"Soon, soon!" Kong Youde kept murmuring unconsciously. A thought suddenly struck him: if he truly died in battle and went down to the underworld, how would he tell his family what had befallen him? It would be a dignified account. He had killed quite a few Tartars, after all. He could hold his head high before kin and friends.

Now he only wished the bombardment would end quickly. Face-to-face slaughter—that would ease his heart. This stifling waiting was unbearable. Every shot that struck made him long for the next, longing for it all to end. Kong Youde curled his body tight behind cover, clutching his head, unable to see anything outside.

This method of taking cover had been taught by the Zhao Family Army on Pi Island. Though the posture was unsightly and lacked any heroic bearing, it was remarkably effective at protecting against truly lethal firearms.

Every time a cannonball struck, a cheer rose from the Jianzhou Jurchen formation opposite, as if they had already won a great victory. This only enraged Kong Youde further. You haven't even climbed the wall yet, he thought. Jinzhou is still in Ming hands. What are you so happy about? We'll settle this for real under my blade soon enough.

But why was the next shot taking so long? Why was it so quiet outside? Kong Youde finally sensed something wrong. He raised his head to look. He couldn't make out much beyond the wall, but he saw someone standing on the parapet. Fury surged through him, and he immediately roared, "Little Geng, have you lost your goddamn mind? Get down!"

Geng Jingzhong had simply risen to his feet in a daze, staring motionlessly toward the west. One more shot, and the flying brick shards could easily strike a man. Worse, if the Jianzhou Jurchens below drew close and loosed arrows at the wall, Geng Jingzhong would be a sitting target.

The shouting had no effect whatsoever. Geng Jingzhong remained standing there, stupefied. Now Kong Youde was truly anxious. Seeing no one near Geng Jingzhong, he crouched low and rose, ready to dash over and tackle him down.

Kong Youde had just taken two running steps when he saw the dumbstruck Geng Jingzhong turn around. There was no trace of madness on that face—only sheer shock.

"... Ships... ships... ships..."

Geng Jingzhong muttered under his breath, then suddenly his voice swelled, shifting from mumbling to a full-throated roar. He thrust his finger toward the harbor in the west and bellowed with every ounce of strength: "Ships! The ships are here! Big ships, huge ships!"

Everyone on the wall rose to their feet. Regardless of whether more cannon fire might come from below, regardless of how close the Jianzhou Jurchen formation was, they all turned to look toward the harbor. There were indeed ships—and not the small vessels that had departed the day before. These were great ships, like floating sea-fortresses. And there was more than one. Ten, dozens—no, it had to be nearly a hundred!

Because of the obscuring fog, no one had spared a thought for the sea. With the Jianzhou Jurchens now fielding cannons, even if those ships returned, they could no longer change the larger situation.

Now that the wind had swept the mist away, this was the sight that met their eyes. Not the small ships that had left, but great ships—and so many of them.

"Could this be a mirage..." someone said, his face full of disbelief. Everyone who heard him rubbed their eyes by instinct. No one could believe it. Hallucination and illusion were the easiest explanations.

It wasn't just the defenders on the wall who were frozen. Even the Jianzhou Jurchen army below stood equally dumbstruck. Both sides had been utterly focused on the battlefield moments before, and the fog had veiled their sight. No one had expected a sight like this.

The Jianzhou Jurchen formation stirred into commotion. Even if the shouted orders below couldn't be heard clearly, the direction of the signal flags was plain to see. The unit originally poised to assault the wall's front had halted. Siege engines were abandoned where they stood as the main force converged toward the cannon position at the northwest corner.

Even the cannons were being turned. But these general-cannons were immensely heavy—setting them in place and securing them had already taken tremendous effort. Moving them again would not be so easy.

Even now, no cheers rose from the wall—not even from those who had grasped what was happening. No one knew how to explain the sight before their eyes. The imperial court certainly had no ships this large, nor could it muster a fleet of this scale. Just who had come?

With such a monumental shift unfolding, Chen Jisheng, Vice General of the Dongjiang Garrison, and Zhang Pan, Jinzhou's Regional Commander, both strode swiftly onto the wall. When they saw the fleet at the harbor, their reactions were no better than those of the common soldiers below.

"That's the Xuzhou fleet! It's the Zhao Family Army!" someone on the wall shouted.

The fog was dispersing quickly, and sunlight now broke through. Everything was clearly visible. Atop the masts of those great ships, some flew banners, others did not.

But certain banners were recognized. These were banners that the men of the Pi Island Dongjiang Garrison all knew. These were the banners of Xuzhou. Back then, quite a few had secretly laughed—a countryside local lord with treacherous ambitions actually having his own banner. They'd figured he was just taking advantage of Pi Island's remoteness from the interior to put on a sham.

Who could have imagined seeing them on a day like this, and flying from a fleet of such scale? Only now could they begin to fathom what kind of monster the Xuzhou Zhao Family Army truly was.

Chen Jisheng was the first to recover his wits. He turned to Zhang Pan and said, "We can't let the Tartars' cannons reach the harbor. We need to send men out now to tie them down!"

The general-cannons had a long range, and Jinzhou's western harbor was close to the battlefield. If they opened fire, they could easily seal off the harbor and prevent the ships from landing.

But Zhang Pan did not respond immediately. He hesitated, then said in a muffled voice, "Old Chen, this Xuzhou Zhao Family Army—they're rebels. We're imperial troops. Are we supposed to help them?"

Chen Jisheng fell silent, but only for a moment. Then he spoke with finality: "We help! They are Han commoners. That alone makes them better than barbarian Tartar slaves!"

"The court couldn't send reinforcements, yet the rebels come instead. I wonder how much longer this realm can hold." Zhang Pan did not answer Chen Jisheng's question directly, merely speaking with a cold sneer.

After saying this, Zhang Pan turned and bellowed: "Kong Youde, take your—"

His shout was cut off by a thunderous roar. Cannon fire? Had the Tartars' cannons opened up again so quickly?

Every defender who heard the cannon fire felt their heart clench. If the harbor was sealed off by Tartar cannons, then no matter how many ships came, it would be useless. Jinzhou would remain a death trap.

Then they realized the sound was still somewhat distant—it seemed to come from the sea. The Xuzhou ships had cannons? And they were firing from the sea? Was this a show of force? At this range, there was no way they could reach here. Such cannon fire was utterly pointless.

The screaming whistle of cannonballs grew louder and louder. The thunderous booms sounded one after another, and the shrieking in the air grew denser. They were actually firing this far.

The first cannonball struck the ground, throwing up a pillar of dust and smoke, sending earth and stone flying—but it landed wide. The Jianzhou Jurchen ranks were already descending into chaos. The first shot had missed, but it was clear they could reach this far. And it wasn't just one cannon firing—not even just ten.