Chapter 1367: Loyalty on the Walls, Rebels Below

At such confidence and momentum, the garrison troops of Jinzhou all looked on with envy; the more seasoned ones like Chen Jisheng and Zhang Pan were left speechless.

"Old Chen, tell the brothers to get ready. Judging by the way the Xuzhou army is setting up, it might just..." Zhang Pan spoke a few tense words, then stopped with a bitter smile himself when he noticed the wry expression on Chen Jisheng's face.

Zhang Pan rubbed his face and said with a bitter, self-mocking laugh, "I even pity the Han who surrendered to the Tartars. Now that Han troops have come, what more can I say? Let's just keep watching!"

Standing on the high platform, Chen Sheng gazed into the distance to the north. His view was blocked by mountains and hills, but he knew that beyond the peaks and ridges a few dozen li away, the vast Liaodong plain stretched out—a land of fertile soil, millions of Han subjects abandoned by the Great Ming, rivers no lesser than the Grand Canal, and fine coastal harbors perfectly suited for the Xuzhou fleet.

At this thought, Chen Sheng inexplicably recalled what Wang Youshan and Wang Zhaojing had once said: Xuzhou was a land hub open to all directions, with no natural defenses, no fertile fields, no foundations to rely on, and no popular support—yet in that barren, destitute place, Zhao Jin had built a land of prosperity with his bare hands, gathered scattered hearts into soaring ambition, and from a single prefecture had seized control of two provinces. This was truly a peerless achievement, a great enterprise rarely seen from ancient times to the present.

Think of the Great Ming's founding emperor Zhu Yuanzhang, or any dynasty through the ages—to rise, one always needed a base territory. Zhu Yuanzhang had Jiangnan and the Huai region; the Mongol Yuan had the vast grasslands; Zhao Kuangyin of the Northern Song relied on commanding the Palace Army; the powers of the Five Dynasties either entrenched themselves in Hedong or seized the Central Plains; and in the Han and Tang eras, it was the Guanzhong and Heluo regions.

All those places could amass vast manpower and wealth, providing an endless supply, and each possessed a self-contained strategic advantage. But what they had, Xuzhou had none of. At the very start, Zhao Jin of Xuzhou did not even have the people's hearts—yet step by step, he had come this far.

If this land beyond the passes could be grasped in hand—these millions upon millions of acres of fertile fields, these millions of common folk, these rivers and seaports—then Xuzhou too would have the foundation for its own imperial enterprise.

At this thought, even one as composed and steady as Chen Sheng could not suppress the surge of emotion in his heart. He drew a deep breath and roared at the top of his lungs, "Now we have come! Now this land beyond the passes belongs to Lord Jin! It belongs to Lord Jin!"

The words were simple, but below, there was first silence—silence so deep they could hear the sea breeze sweep past. The sudden hush made the defenders on the walls uneasy, but before they could wonder, a roar like a mountain-toppling, sea-surging wave erupted. The Jinzhou garrison watched the orderly ranks erupt into frenzy; even from far away, they could see the men on the other side brandishing their weapons, cheering and shouting. Every man was shouting, the noise a chaotic din, yet from the walls they could not make out the words.

Before long, the sound gradually became uniform, and the shout of several thousand voices in unison reached the walls clearly.

"... Wansui, wansui, wanwansui..."

At this sound, the faces of many in the Jinzhou garrison changed, though there was not much shock or alarm—and then they heard the shout in full.

"Lord Jin wansui, wansui, wanwansui!"

Although Zhao Jin's current title was General of Xuzhou, everyone still habitually called him Lord Jin. Now they were unmistakably shouting "wansui." The Jinzhou garrison exchanged bewildered looks.

When they had first heard the cry of "wansui," they had not caught the specific person it referred to, so everyone had pretended ignorance. But now the troops below the walls were clearly shouting "Zhao Jin wansui." By all conventions, this was blatant rebellion—this was the mortal enemy of the Great Ming dynasty. The garrison on the walls were all former Ming regulars; by the rules, they should stand irreconcilably opposed to the rebels outside and fight to the death.

On the walls, some of the garrison coughed dryly, some smiled bitterly, but anger was nowhere to be seen. They glanced at one another, and in each other's faces they saw hesitation and embarrassment.

The great foe they had struggled bitterly against, the foe they were on the verge of being unable to withstand—these "rebel" troops had routed and driven them off in a matter of hours. And looking at this equipment, this military bearing, how could they possibly stand a chance? Now, far from feeling any courage, they instead felt that these Xuzhou soldiers were meddling. Some things everyone knew in their hearts and could have been glossed over—did they really have to pierce the veil?

The formation review of the Zhao family army opposite did not last long. After the mountain-toppling, sea-surging shouts of "wansui," the troops dispersed to their respective positions. Just as the Jinzhou garrison was at a loss for how to respond, a single rider came galloping toward the city.

At the sight of this rider, the garrison on the walls, who had been about to disperse, immediately perked up and crowded in place, unwilling to move, wanting to hear what the man had to say.

At this juncture, Chen Jisheng and Zhang Pan had no mind to maintain order either; they simply waited there.

Given the situation, the Zhao family army cavalryman was still very cautious. He halted beyond bowshot, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, "Everyone come down from the walls immediately and withdraw a hundred paces from the city wall. Otherwise, no quarter for the dead or wounded. Do not ascend the walls again until after the cannon fire."

No one understood the shout the first time. By the third time, the Jinzhou garrison on the walls finally grasped it, but they still did not comprehend the meaning of the words. Leave the walls and stay a hundred paces from the city wall? What was this about no quarter for the dead or wounded? What exactly were they going to do?

Their confusion, however, was soon answered. They saw several "General Cannons" of the Zhao family army begin to move in their direction.

"They're going to attack the city!"

Everyone understood at once, but after a moment's pause, their reactions were remarkably uniform—they immediately fled toward the bottom of the wall, scattering like a rout, with not the slightest thought of resistance. When the Jurchens attacked the city, even under cannon bombardment, some would grit their teeth and hide on the walls waiting to counterattack. But now, no one had any thought of fighting to the death.

Chen Jisheng and Zhang Pan were not really that old, but having led the men in battle for so long, they had cultivated a steady, composed bearing. So they walked at the very rear. Chen Jisheng wore a bitter smile as he gestured for Kong Youde to go on ahead. Zhang Pan's face bore the same helpless, bitter smile. Beyond the bitterness, both men also showed a relief they had not felt in many days.

"After the third horn call, withdraw beyond a hundred paces! After the fourth horn call, the bombardment will cease!"

As they were descending the walls, another loud shout came from outside. It seemed this Xuzhou force had made this decision on the spur of the moment; the planning was not entirely thorough, even somewhat slapdash.

Just as Chen Jisheng and Zhang Pan stepped down from the city wall, the sharp sound of a suona horn rang out from outside. The men, who had been feeling rather relaxed, all cursed under their breath and hurriedly quickened their pace.

The second horn, however, did not sound until a moment later. By then, everyone had already withdrawn beyond a hundred paces. Looking at the towering city wall before them, the Jinzhou garrison was speechless for a time. A few of the younger men, however, were indignant and grumbled, "What are they putting on this act for? We've seen the Tartars' General Cannons before—what other tricks can they pull?"

The others remained silent, the awkward self-mockery on their faces turning to unease. To make matters worse, their view was blocked by the city wall, so they could not see what was happening outside, which only deepened their anxiety.

Rescued from the brink of annihilation by reinforcements appearing from the sea—the ecstasy and relief brought by such a life-or-death reversal had already dissipated. What remained was confusion and unease about the future.

Originally, everyone had thought they would give their all in loyalty to the Great Ming, to be worthy of the fallen countrymen of Liaodong. Either they would die on the battlefield or return within the passes. The former would leave them with a clear conscience; the latter might hold the promise of wealth and a career. But no one had expected such a development. Reinforcements had come—and not the kind that merely added firewood to a blaze without effect, but a powerful army that had routed and driven off the Tartars the moment it arrived. Yet this was not the Great Ming's army, but "rebels."

They had been fighting and dying for the Great Ming all along, only to be saved by rebels. Where to go from here, what the future held—truly, they no longer knew.

The third sharp blast rang out. The garrison men subconsciously held their breath. The area near the northern wall instantly fell silent. The thunderous roar that followed did not disappoint their expectations.

The cannon fire boomed, and every man covered his ears. Then the city wall was struck. At the moment of impact, the garrison men even felt the ground tremble beneath them.

No sooner had one cannon blast ceased than another rang out. The cannon fire began to rumble continuously. The garrison men no longer felt their initial curiosity; all that remained was a terror that shook them from the inside out and an involuntary trembling.

When they had been on the walls, they had seen the "rebel" troops haul over five cannons. Even if five cannons fired in sequence, they should not have achieved such a rate of fire. Moreover, those cannons were relatively nimble when being moved, and their length and caliber seemed no more than that of a General Cannon—they certainly should not have had such power. After all, they had just experienced the Tartars' cannons...

No one knew how long it lasted—in truth, it was not long at all—when the cannon fire ceased. The garrison men were somewhat dazed, and there was undisguised fear on their faces. It was said that a single cannon blast could devastate several li or more than ten li, but what they had experienced before had been nothing like that. What they felt today, however, was different.

In truth, they had not seen the effects of the bombardment; they had only felt the trembling and the roar. But that alone was already shocking enough.

"Collapsed... it's collapsed... the corner of the wall has collapsed!" someone cried out in alarm. Everyone looked toward the northwest corner of the city and only then saw that a breach had been blasted open there. The city wall had collapsed.

How long had it been? Someone instinctively looked up at the sky, trying to judge the time by the sun's position. A quarter of an hour at most. When they absorbed this information, every man was speechless, every man drew a sharp breath. In such a short time, so many shells had been fired? The destruction was this great?

The fourth suona horn sounded. Some did not even hear it; those who had been a little careless or curious now had their ears ringing so loudly they could not make anything out.

No one rushed up onto the walls to look. The power of that bombardment had thoroughly terrified them; they feared the other side might open fire again. But after a moment, they all surged toward the walls in a swarm—every single man wanted to see the effects of the bombardment.

Had this been yesterday, Chen Jisheng and Zhang Pan would have long since barked angry reprimands and enforced order. But now, the two men could not be bothered, and even the guards and personal soldiers around them did not remind them to do so. Everyone had grown rather lax.

When the crowd surged onto the walls and looked down, they saw only five cannons below the city. Moving such heavy cannons left tracks on the ground that could not be concealed. And at the northwest corner of the city wall, the wall there had been completely wrecked. The corner had collapsed; the sight was utterly devastating.