Chapter 1375: On the Run

The mood of the column was grim. Ever since Nurhaci raised his banner with thirteen suits of iron armor, united the Jurchen tribes, breached the border walls, and swept through the Liao garrison, the Jianzhou Jurchen army had never known defeat — every battle won, every assault taken. When had they ever fought such a frustrating campaign? At Jinzhou, a city about to fall was blocked by sea-borne reinforcements that appeared out of nowhere. After that brief skirmish, they could not even hold their camp, let alone continue the assault on Jinzhou. They were driven straight back to Fuzhou City.

After reaching Fuzhou, no one thought of retreating further. From the meiren-i janggin down to the niru ejen, everyone felt humiliated and dejected. Everyone else was winning victories, yet their own sweep-and-clear force had suffered so badly. How could they face anyone back home? They could forget about any prospects of rank and riches.

Fuzhou was an ordinary city with no defensible terrain and insufficient supplies to hold out for long. By standard military practice, they should have fallen back to Gaizhou for defensible depth. But this Jurchen force did not retreat. If they did, the enemy from Jinzhou could march straight to Gaizhou, and behind Gaizhou lay the heartland of the Jianzhou Jurchen Jin Kingdom — Liaoyang, Shenyang, and the Guangning area where the main western army was stationed. Allowing the enemy to threaten such vital points would be an unforgivable crime.

So the commanding officer, the right meiren-i janggin of the Plain Blue Banner, set up defenses while dispatching urgent requests for aid to Gaizhou and Liaoyang. Defeat already meant military justice, and their only chance now was to atone through merit. The elite of the Two Yellow Banners and the Bordered Blue Banner were committed on the major fronts; the mopping-up at Jinzhou would surely still fall to the Plain Blue Banner. That was their chance to turn the tables.

At first, the Plain Blue Banner troops in Fuzhou had managed to steady their nerves. The overland route from Jinzhou was difficult — provisions and baggage were a problem, and moving those terrifyingly powerful cannons was even harder. They had kept strict vigilance at first, fearing the enemy would press on without rest. But after twenty-some days, their alertness gradually faded. Word also came back from Liaoyang and Shenyang that reinforcements would arrive soon, and the garrison in Fuzhou began sharpening their blades, eager to wash away their shame.

But no one expected the enemy to come by sea. Just as Chen Jisheng and the others had said, the Jianzhou Jurchen had no concept of the sea in their eyes or minds. Because they understood nothing of it, they instinctively treated it as if it did not exist. Yet the enemy not only came by sea, they brought cannons and a great army. The shock they felt can well be imagined.

When the retreating Jianzhou cavalry described the terrifying power of those cannons, the Jianzhou officers in Fuzhou immediately recalled what had happened at Jinzhou. They had routed too early — though they had been under cannon fire, they had not fully grasped its power. Only after their rout did scouts report back that Jinzhou's walls had collapsed not long after the bombardment began.

The Jianzhou Jurchen had cannons of their own and knew their power. But the scouts' reports made it clear that these sea-borne reinforcements not only had far more cannons, but their firepower far exceeded anything they knew. Their own cannons could already breach city walls — what would happen against even greater power? Everyone understood the answer perfectly well.

When they saw the cannons being positioned outside the city one by one, the commander in Fuzhou quickly made his decision: flee. Abandon the city and run. At this point, preserving as much fighting strength as possible was what mattered most. If they fought to the death, the likeliest outcome was dying in battle. Lose the city, lose the unit — that would be utter ruin, and all the wealth and status accumulated over these years would vanish like smoke.

At this thought, Tanggūdai, the Right Meiren-i Janggin of the Plain Blue Banner, ground his teeth in fury. Beneath his rage, there was also bewilderment and alarm. Tanggūdai knew the sea-borne reinforcements were something called the Xuzhou Army, but he had never imagined they would be like this. It was not just that they were powerful — it was a kind of power beyond comprehension. Such firearms, such formations, such ships — he had never seen or heard of anything like them.

Tanggūdai had seen firearms before, had seen elite troops, had seen the Ming fleet that came to Jinzhou's aid. Every element of this Xuzhou Army looked similar, yet was something entirely different — all of it beyond his understanding.

This sudden encounter and irresistible defeat left him panicked and unsettled. Tanggūdai was no stranger to bitter combat. Back when Jianzhou was rising, they had fought the Ula tribe to the death — battle cries shaking the heavens, battle lines tangled together, the Jianzhou troops pushed to the brink before finally fighting their way back. That battle turned the river red with blood; the Koreans on the far bank were too terrified even to cross, for they had never witnessed such brutal fighting. In that battle, Tanggūdai's armor was slashed in several places, the padded cotton underneath soaked through with blood. Even so, he had held his ground and refused to retreat, because he felt there was still a fight to be had.

But against this Xuzhou Army, their cannons fired from hundreds, even thousands of paces away, and they fired fast and accurate. Before, you could rush in between volleys and scatter the gunners. Now, there was no way to close the distance — you would be shattered halfway. And if you did reach them, their firelocks were just as deadly. The old Ming firearms were good for little more than smoke and choking fumes; these new ones could punch right through iron armor. And then there were the troops clad head to toe in iron, the hedgehog-like forest of long pikes — you could not get close, and you could not fight them!

By now, all the confidence and hope Tanggūdai had built up through victory after victory had dissipated. He did not even dare think about the future.

"When I get back to the capital, I'll sell everything the family has and trade it all for that Hanjing Famous Liquor. Drink myself senseless, drink till I die — that'll be the end of it." On horseback, Tanggūdai was already thinking of Shenyang.

His mood was indeed foul. Each banner was led by a gūsa ejen, with two meiren-i janggin as deputies — effectively vice banner-commanders. The Right Meiren-i Janggin was the second-ranking deputy. The very foundation of the Jianzhou Jurchen Jin Kingdom was the Eight Banners, and to serve as the deputy commander of one banner made a man a figure of immense importance.

Yet Tanggūdai never thought much of this meiren-i janggin title. The Jurchen gave names but not surnames, and Tanggūdai's surname was Aisin Gioro. He was Nurhaci's fourth son. As the fourth son of the Great Khan of the Jin Kingdom, a meiren-i janggin post meant little. Though he did not think much of it in his heart, Tanggūdai treasured this position, because his other brothers did not have one yet.

The sons of the Ming Emperor were all enfeoffed as princes and enjoyed lives of luxury. The sons of the Jin Khan enjoyed no such treatment. Jurchen tradition in this regard was similar to the Mongols: a son's status came from his mother, and the power of her family determined his standing and prospects. From the executed eldest son Cuyen, to the Four Great Beile — Daišan, Amin, Manggūltai, and Hong Taiji — to the deeply favored young boys Ajige, Dorgon, and Dodo, all their mothers came from great Jurchen or Mongol clans and tribes. In the future, they would likely each command a banner, and the next Great Khan would come from among them. But for those whose mothers were of low birth, even the Khan's own blood meant little status.

Tanggūdai knew the greatest riches were not meant for him. But for the sake of his future standing and to grasp some real benefits from this ever-improving tide of fortune, this meiren-i janggin post was crucial. From this position, he could rise through military merit and perhaps even earn the title of beile someday.

In the Eight Banners today, military merit mattered more and more. Tanggūdai remembered clearly how he had once been despised by all, not even shown respect by the company commanders of the Two Yellow Banners. But ever since he took the post of Meiren-i Janggin of the Plain Blue Banner, with several thousand troops under his command, his status had changed at once. Even the great beile who used to ignore him now showed goodwill, and the Fourth Beile, Hong Taiji, was especially cordial.

This southern campaign to clear Jinzhou — though the mission was not as important as the one assigned to Donggo Hohori — would surely bring merit and advancement once Jinzhou was retaken, raising his standing another level. Before setting out, factions that had previously paid him no mind were sending intermediaries with messages and overtures, all eager to place their bets early.

But no one expected — not even Tanggūdai himself — that Jinzhou, which he thought could be taken in one charge after using worthless Han civilians to wear down the defenders, would be thrown into chaos by troops that appeared out of nowhere from the sea. And these reinforcements were not the Ming army, come to serve up easy merit — they were the Xuzhou Army, powerful beyond all comprehension.

Everything was ruined. The more Tanggūdai thought, the more despairing he became. Everything he had earned through blood and death was about to vanish like smoke.

"My lord, every niru is exhausted, and the pursuing troops haven't caught up yet. The men all want to stop and catch their breath!" As they fled, Tanggūdai's personal guard commander came to ask.

The Zhao family army had landed too suddenly and advanced too swiftly. The Jianzhou troops in Fuzhou had been utterly unprepared. After a hasty pack-up and driving some scapegoats out of the city, they had retreated in a rush. Under such conditions, both mind and body were even more exhausted, making it terribly hard to keep going.

Though they had left in a hurry, they still knew the Xuzhou Army was mainly infantry — a large force that moved slowly. With a city between them, the enemy could not possibly catch up now. Since they could not catch up, letting the men catch their breath seemed reasonable.

Before the guard commander could finish, Tanggūdai's riding whip lashed out at him. "Catch whose breath, you son of a bitch?" he roared. "No one rests until we reach Yongning Fortress! Pass the word — we are running for our lives! Stop to catch your breath, and when they catch you, there'll be no breath left!"

Yongning Fortress was a brick stronghold thirty li from Fuzhou. After Jianzhou took it, they turned it into a supply depot, garrisoned by two niru and several hundred newly submitted Han troops.

Back in Fuzhou, the plan had been to wait for the main reinforcements, then smash the Xuzhou Army and turn defeat into victory. Now, the only thought was to bring the main force back and minimize their culpability — to avoid losing everything and falling into utter ruin. But even a retreat had to be orderly; they still needed to halt and make camp at night. Having a walled stronghold for shelter was always better.

"... There are cavalry scouting around us. Not Ming troops — looks like that Xuzhou Army..." A report came in.

The moment he heard the word "cavalry," Tanggūdai felt as if the queue at the back of his head was about to explode. He could barely hold the reins. A moment later, he steadied himself and asked through gritted teeth: "How many cavalry? The main column must not slow down — keep moving!"