Chapter 300: The Barbican Has Two Gates

The soldiers and militia guarding the battlements shouted at the top of their lungs, their weapons swinging forward without pause. Every refugee who clambered onto the battlements became a target.

As the dead piled up, more corpses served as stepping stones. Those behind trampled over them until they were level with the battlements. The refugees at the rear now had weapons too — they thrust their sharpened wooden stakes forward with desperate fury, some even hurling them outright.

The government troops and militia had no time to dodge now. Cold arrows were terrifying, but face-to-face melee was another matter entirely. With furious shouts and curses, they shoved forward with shields, spears and great blades striking relentlessly. The battlements at the wall's edge were already stained crimson with blood, yet still no refugee had gained the walltop.

But the refugees were simply too many. The dead became stepping stones for those behind. Sharpened wooden stakes could kill just as well — the padded cotton armor the soldiers wore was little more than a thick jacket, and the militia had not even that. Many were pierced through by the stakes.

Commander Wang, clad in a suit of chain mail, had already hacked down six men with his great blade. As he cut them down he cursed: "Your mothers — with skill like this, why come assault Xuzhou? There are plenty of county towns and manors you could have broken into along the way."

Commander Wang had never imagined the refugees would dare fight like this, so utterly fearless of death. But what he did not know was that what drove the refugees forward with such reckless abandon was not merely the despair of a life worse than death — there was also the press from behind. Wave after wave surged forward. Anyone in the front ranks who tried to turn, retreat, or flee would only be killed by those behind. Their sole path to survival lay ahead.

Even if those in front dared not move, their courage shattered by the blood and corpses, they had no choice at all. The people behind would shove them forward, forcing them bodily onto the enemy's blades.

The defenders on the walltop still held the advantage of terrain. They could strike from above without having to climb first. Though they too suffered casualties, the refugees could not break through. Under these conditions, Commander Wang still had the wherewithal to rotate his troops, cycling squads to the front so no one was exhausted past endurance.

Commander Wang was a man who had seen the battlefield. He knew that even a fight-to-the-death stance had its limit. Once that limit was passed, the enemy would collapse and scatter. The current situation greatly favored the defenders.

"Commander! There's trouble at the city gate!" Someone ran up onto the walltop shouting. Commander Wang froze. Amid the deafening battle cries outside the wall, he could faintly make out clamor and the sounds of killing — coming from inside the city. These damned bandits had reserves inside the city too. If the city gate was opened, all was lost.

In that moment of distraction, two soldiers in front of Commander Wang were struck by cold arrows. The refugees outside seized the opening and clambered over. This was the first time a refugee had set foot on the walltop. A frenzied cheer erupted from outside. The refugee stood there stunned for a moment, clutching a sharpened wooden stake several feet long, then let out a howl and charged straight at Commander Wang.

"Old Wang!" "Commander!" Shouts of alarm rang out across the walltop. Commander Wang snapped back to his senses, sidestepped, and brought his blade down in a backhand slash. The refugee had no time even to parry — his head was cleaved clean off, blood spraying wildly.

Commander Wang stepped forward again and ran another enemy through right at the battlement, then withdrew his blade and fell back. Several soldiers filled the gap. Commander Wang drew a deep breath and bellowed: "Zhao Dadao from the yamen! Chen Wu! Can you hear me?"

"Right here!" Zhao Zhentang's roar came back. He and his men — militia and able-bodied commoners — were waiting off to the side. The situation here was utter chaos; they could not even find an opening to join in.

"Get your men down there, quick! Seal the city gate! If that gate opens, we're all finished! I'll hold things here — you go, now!" Commander Wang's voice had gone hoarse.

Zhao Zhentang said nothing more. He simply swung the great blade in his hand and shouted at the anxious, terrified young men behind him: "Follow me! If that gate opens, every one of your families is done for! For your fathers and mothers — follow me down!"

Those words struck home. The reason they had all risked their lives to defend this wall was because their families were inside the city. If the bandits got in, everything was over.

Moments ago, watching the bloody slaughter on the walltop, they had all been trembling with fear. Hearing this gave them at least a shred of courage. Shouting battle cries, they followed Zhao Zhentang as he ran down.

Behind them, they could hear Commander Wang roaring himself hoarse: "Archers to the bastions! Loose your arrows! Don't hold back — get there, damn you!"

As it turned out, several dozen soldiers and over two hundred militia had been guarding the inner gate of the barbican. But by now, chaos reigned. Soldier fought soldier, soldier fought militiaman, militiaman fought militiaman. And there were also many men dressed in the commoners' garb of the city charging in with weapons.

Zhao Zhentang and his men, still on the steps, saw this scene from a distance. They all froze for a moment, then understood.

"Traitors inside the city!" Zhao Zhentang cursed. Hefting his great blade, he sprinted down the steps. Sandbags were already being hauled out of the gate tunnel.

"Master Zhao, they outnumber us! Call for more men from above!" someone behind him shouted. Zhao Zhentang had brought nearly a hundred men down, but the melee below involved far more than just a few hundred.

Zhao Zhentang halted for a step, then cursed: "You think they can spare more men? We settle things here, then we still have to go back up and help on the walltop! What the hell are you afraid of? There are still our own people down there!"

As they descended the steps, through the gaps in the battle cries they could hear the shrill whistle of arrows tearing through the air from the walltop. The sounds of shouting and charging had quieted somewhat — the archers on the flanking bastions must have suppressed the frenzied assault with their volleys. But there were never many archers to begin with. How many arrows could they loose? The refugees below had lost only a few thousand dead; they still seemed endless. A bitter fight still lay ahead, and they were waiting for reinforcements.

Zhao Zhentang descended with his great blade. Someone on the other side spotted their group too and began bellowing orders. Over a hundred men moved to intercept them.

At a moment like this, a man was either paralyzed with terror or his blood was up. Seeing Zhao Zhentang charge forward without a care, someone howled: "Master Zhao is that old, with a household that big, and he's not afraid of anything! What the hell are we scared of? Charge in and fight!"

"If we let these bandits outside into the city, everything's finished! Fight!" The yamen runners and able-bodied commoners all roared, gripping their weapons and quickening their pace to follow.

The man charging straight at Zhao Zhentang was a stocky fellow wielding a pudao. In the blink of an eye he was upon him. He swung the pudao and thrust straight for Zhao Zhentang's heart. Zhao Zhentang flipped his blade and knocked it aside, deflecting the attack, then took a sudden stride forward. The great blade in his hands moved as nimbly as a dagger, dragging straight across the man's neck. Half the throat was laid open in an instant, blood spraying everywhere.

Seeing what had happened to the man in front, the one behind let out a terrified yelp and dropped his axe to the ground. Zhao Zhentang showed no mercy — he brought his blade down in a chop. Another head fell, blood gushing wildly. The next moment, Zhao Zhentang roared: "Drop your weapons and get the hell out of here! Have you all lost your damn minds? You had decent lives — why come here to throw them away? Get out!"

Two men cut down, and those behind were all paralyzed with terror, their hands and legs gone weak. By now, the men charging in behind Zhao Zhentang could also see that something was off. Aside from a few capable fighters, the rest were commoners of Xuzhou. Some chopped and sold firewood every day; others hired themselves out for labor. Today, they had come here bearing weapons.

Normally they might have been acquaintances, people who would greet each other on the street. But at this moment, no one would show mercy. Their weapons struck straight for vital points.

These commoners, perhaps stirred up into coming here, had been running on hot blood. Now, seeing the blood, seeing their comrades die, witnessing this scene of slaughter, every one of them knew something was terribly wrong. Terror-stricken, at this point they could not even fight — they could not even run. Zhao Zhentang hacked down three more in quick succession. Throughout the fight he kept roaring at them to drop their weapons and flee. Finally, those who had come at him came to their senses. Shrieking in panic, they threw down their weapons and ran, cursing their parents for not giving them two more legs.

Zhao Zhentang gasped for breath several times. Though past forty was still considered one's prime, and he trained and practiced martial arts without pause every day, at this age he was nevertheless on the decline. The charge down and the killing had already left him feeling weary.

By now, Zhao Zhentang could read the situation clearly. Several dozen soldiers and several dozen men of unknown origin were holding the inner gate, blocking anyone from charging in. Sandbags were being tossed out of the gate tunnel without pause. The soldiers outside roared and charged forward but could not break through no matter what. Moreover, these soldiers outside were being harassed from behind by the rioting mob within the city and could not commit their full strength.

At the start, Commander Wang had still been considering sallying out for a field battle, so the outer and inner gates of the western barbican had merely been lowered on their winches. Only when the fighting outside the wall grew fierce and he realized the situation was dire did he send men to seal this inner gate. It had been no time at all. There were not many sandbags piled in the inner gate tunnel — it would be breached soon. Once they opened the outer gate as well, striking from within and without, Xuzhou would truly be finished!

Zhao Zhentang's eyes nearly burst with fury. He led his men in another charge. But the men in the gate tunnel were far more troublesome than that rabble from moments ago. Dozens of spears thrust outward relentlessly. Those several dozen men of unknown origin had real skill — they wielded pudao and saber-and-shield with practiced ease, constantly darting in and out in skirmishing attacks. Combined with the harassment from the rioting mob on the periphery, there was simply no way to break through.

"It's open!" "It's open!" Men inside the gate tunnel and outside were both shouting. Those inside were overjoyed. Those outside were terrified. If it truly opened, it would be too late for anything.

Zhao Zhentang roared and led his men forward, but the space around the gate tunnel was only so large. They could not press in. Several times he failed to dodge in time and was nearly skewered by a spear. He watched as the men inside removed the gate bar and turned the winch, slowly pulling the inner gate open.

Everyone who saw this felt their hearts clench with desperation. Worse still, some men simply threw down their weapons, turned, and fled into the city. They believed everything was about to end.

Even the soldiers still fighting could not hold the line. They were actually being pushed back outward by the enemy.

"Scatter at once! Anyone blocking the way will be cut down without mercy!" A great shout rang out, and the sound of hoofbeats rose from the direction of the city interior. Everyone locked in bitter combat paused and looked back. The rioters harassing the periphery were being driven off, scattering in all directions. Wang Zhaojing had arrived with his men.

"Young Wang, get your men and storm that gate tunnel! If they open the gate, everything is finished!" Zhao Zhentang roared, his voice raw.