Chapter 643: Collapse

When mounted riders saw someone blocking the way ahead, they charged straight into them without a moment's hesitation — never mind if the person's bones snapped, never mind that in a rout like this, anyone who fell would be trampled into bloody pulp, never mind that the person ahead might be their own comrade or subordinate.

As for those on foot who still had blades and spears, the moment they saw anyone in their path, they struck out with cold steel without a second thought. If they spotted anything of value on someone, they killed and looted on the spot. And those with old grudges — now was the time to fight to the death.

"Li Rubai, I **** your eighteen generations of ancestors! I've fought and bled for your Li family for decades — the brothers have earned your Li clan so much glory and wealth, and you just run? These are tens of thousands of men!" Someone was shouting through tears, but who would pay any heed? Run, flee fast, or it'll be too late...

After Du Song's column was surrounded and annihilated at Sarhū, Ma Lin's column immediately dug in for a static defense, but was swiftly defeated by the advancing Jianzhou Jurchen army. Apart from the commander and his personal guards who escaped, the entire force was wiped out.

When word reached Yang Hao, the only response he could make was to order an immediate withdrawal and preserve the remaining half of his forces. But before Yang Hao's order could be issued, deserters had already brought the news to Li Rubai's column. The moment the news arrived, the troops' morale began to waver. When Yang Hao's order finally came, Li Rubai, utterly terrified, fled with his personal guards without a care for anything else — he didn't even bother with the several battalion commanders who were his own Li family direct-line men.

With the commander-in-chief fleeing, military discipline and morale collapsed entirely. Worse still, Li Rubai had been in the central army, and his flight was witnessed by the majority of the troops. Once he bolted, the camp erupted in chaos. Not a single sentry post in this column could have possibly seen any Jianzhou Jurchen soldiers approaching, yet every man in the army was shouting, "The Tartars are upon us!" Everyone ran wildly, heedless of all else.

This column was defeated without a fight...

Corpses lay strewn across the ground in tangled heaps. Scattered curses and agonized cries rose here and there, but they could no longer affect the larger outcome.

An old Ming army general with white hair lay fallen on the ground. The left side of his face had been cleaved open, leaving a hideous wound, but the blood had already frozen — or had nearly drained dry.

His white beard and white hair were soaked in blood — some his own, some the enemy's. Among the jumbled corpses were many Jianzhou Jurchen soldiers in leather and cotton armor, and even the body of a Niru Commander.

"You damned old dog! I'll chop you to pieces and feed you to the wolves! I'll chop all your men to pieces and feed them to the pigs! May you never reincarnate for all generations!" A wounded Jalan Commander cursed furiously, staggering forward with a large blade in hand. The several bannermen beside him all wore expressions of deep hatred.

Reaching the corpse, the Jalan Commander raised his blade and hacked down, cursing as he hacked, weeping as he cursed.

"Man of the Hešeri clan, that old general was a hero. Don't..." A big man in dark blue cotton armor called out gruffly. He stood not far away, his armor bearing few bloodstains.

He had only gotten halfway through his words when the big man in white cotton armor beside him tugged at him, and he fell silent at once. The white-armored man waved a hand toward the front, signaling them to carry on.

"Fifth Brother, this Liu Ting killed so many of our men. If we don't let the servants vent their rage, how can that be? Let them be!" the big man in white armor said in a deep voice.

The blue-armored man grunted, then said with lingering fear, "If Liu Ting hadn't had only a thousand or so capable fighters with him, and those on empty stomachs, we might never have taken this column down. Three columns we've fought, and this one was the damnedest trouble — over a dozen Niru were mauled..."

At this, the blue-armored man glanced left and right. Seeing that his personal guards were all standing far away — even the nearest bannerman was more than ten paces off — he felt somewhat reassured.

Though he was overthinking it. In the Jianzhou Jurchen army, who would dare eavesdrop on a private conversation between the Third Beile, Plain Blue Banner Lord Manggūltai, and the Fourth Beile, Plain White Banner Lord Hong Taiji?

"Eighth Brother, isn't the Ming supposed to be failing? How do they still have fighters like this — so old and still so fierce? If we keep pushing south, what happens when we run into someone even tougher?"

"Fifth Brother, you can't look at it that way. According to our intelligence, this Liu Ting was one of the Ming's few famed fierce generals, a renowned commander. Think about it — if they're forced to send a general this old into the field, doesn't that prove they have no one left to succeed him? Kill this old one, and there'll be no capable fighters left behind him."

Plain White Banner Lord Hong Taiji said this leisurely. Manggūltai chewed on the thought, then burst into a chuckle. He clapped Hong Taiji on the shoulder and said gruffly, "Of all us brothers, you're the clever one, Eighth Brother!"

Just as they were speaking, they heard footsteps approaching from behind. Hong Taiji turned his head to look — it was a Niru Commander of the Plain White Banner running over. He dropped to his knees while still far off and reported, "Master, those Korean surrendered troops are starving. They're begging us to allocate grain for relief."

Manggūltai curled his lip and said disdainfully, "I can't tell if those Koreans are clever or stupid. The Ming told them to send troops, so they scraped together ten thousand or so men, and then the Ming didn't even provide them rations. Were these starving beggars sent to fight a war or to drain our grain supplies?"

"Fifth Brother, don't look down on these Korean beggars. Back when Eldest Brother led the campaign against them, it was a Korean soldier who shot Fiyanggû dead with a musket. They've got some skill with firearms — perfect to take in and put to our own use." Hong Taiji laughed aloud.

Manggūltai shook his head and said, utterly baffled, "You and your crafty schemes, Eighth Brother. But those beggar soldiers — one of our Eight Banners warriors can take on ten of them. Why bother?"

"Fifth Brother, weren't the men under Li Yongfang cowards too? Yet they serve us just as well when we put them to use," Hong Taiji answered with a smile.

Liaoyang Commander-in-Chief Liu Ting died in battle, his entire army annihilated. The Korean forces surrendered to the Jianzhou Jurchens.

Liaodong Military Commissioner Yang Hao had overseen four columns. Shanhaiguan Commander-in-Chief Du Song fought to the death at Sarhū, his entire army annihilated. Kaiyuan Commander-in-Chief Ma Lin's fortified camp was overrun; Ma Lin fled under the protection of his personal guards, his entire army annihilated. Liaodong Commander-in-Chief Li Rubai fled first with his personal guards, his entire army collapsing in rout. Liaoyang Commander-in-Chief Liu Ting advanced three hundred li alone, fell into an ambush, fought to the death, his entire army annihilated.

From late February to mid-March, from the march out to defeat and destruction, the actual time did not exceed seven days. The Ming army of one hundred ten thousand, together with eighteen thousand from the Yehe tribe and twenty thousand Korean troops — all annihilated, either dead or surrendered. Afterward, only the scattered remnants of Li Rubai's column, nearly twenty thousand men, could be gathered...

When the news broke, the entire realm was shaken.

Zhao Jin read the letter by the flickering light of torches, while Wang Zhaojing stammered through an explanation beside him. The letter had already been punctuated. In the past, letters from Wang Youshan had been beautifully penned throughout, looking like a piece of calligraphy — a pleasure to behold. That was only natural; a scholar who had earned the Presented Scholar degree could hardly have poor calligraphy.

But this time the writing was hasty and scrawled, with traces of corrections visible here and there. Even someone like Zhao Jin, who knew nothing of calligraphy, could see the turmoil in Wang Youshan's heart as he wrote.

"... Over a hundred thousand troops, all veteran generals and seasoned commanders — and they were defeated just like that..." Wang Zhaojing still looked utterly distraught, his voice drained of strength.

Zhao Jin set the letter aside and looked at Wang Zhaojing expressionlessly. "I told you long ago that Yang Hao would be defeated. In the capital, Sun Chuanting also said Yang Hao would be defeated. We've been saying this for so long — why are you still so shocked?"

Without waiting for Wang Zhaojing to answer, Zhao Jin continued on his own: "In your heart, you still held a sliver of hope. You thought that with over a hundred thousand troops, a campaign mustering the entire nation's strength, against barbarian Tartar scum like the Jianzhou Jurchens — maybe they wouldn't lose, maybe there was even a chance of victory. Isn't that right?"

Wang Zhaojing nodded instinctively. Zhao Jin went on: "You also thought that even if they lost, it would only be a minor defeat, nothing that would break bones or sinew — maybe they'd even reach a stalemate. Isn't that right?"

Zhao Jin didn't want Wang Zhaojing to answer: "But you never imagined the defeat would be this total — an entire army annihilated, beaten without the strength to fight back. You know that for the Great Ming to scrape together this many troops was already the limit, that the forces that could still be dispatched on campaign were already the elite. If even they couldn't defeat the Jianzhou Jurchens, then what hope can you see going forward?"

"You say our Great Ming has tens of millions, nearly a hundred million people, and could raise a million-strong army. But you also know that these hundred thousand-plus troops already strained every last resource, that the cost of this campaign has already been like scraping marrow from bone. Any more and it will damage the very lifeblood of the nation. Isn't that right?" Zhao Jin pressed in rapid succession.

"Big Brother... Big Brother..." Wang Zhaojing stammered a few times but couldn't get a complete sentence out.

Zhao Jin fixed his gaze on Wang Zhaojing and asked, "This was all perfectly predictable — why are you so distraught, so panicked?"

After asking this, Zhao Jin pressed no further. He simply watched Wang Zhaojing in silence. Wang Zhaojing opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, mumbling and hesitating. In the end, he too fell silent.

For some reason, it was as if something inside Wang Zhaojing had been hollowed out. His face was haggard, his body limp. Without a care, he simply sat down on the ground.

Read the sages' books, walk the path of official examinations — ten years of bitter study by a cold window, to bring glory to one's ancestors. Every step of this path the scholars walk, from the bottom to the very top, clings to the foundation of the Great Ming. Their glory and disgrace are one.

All these years together, training in martial arts, clashing with various factions, facing life and death — they had carved out this sphere of influence. Yet Wang Zhaojing had never once set aside his books. He had passed the county exam to become a Licentiate, passed the provincial exam to become a Provincial Graduate, and even gone to the capital for the Metropolitan Examination. Unlike the other companions, Wang Zhaojing had benefited from this Great Ming. Studying and climbing the examination ladder had planted deep in his heart what he believed to be true and legitimate.

For two hundred years, the Ming had weathered storm after storm, wave after wave. It made him feel that this dynasty ought to endure forever, eternal and everlasting. But Wang Zhaojing was not like other pedantic scholars. Having followed Zhao Jin for so many years, he understood military strategy and tactics, understood the principles of statecraft and economy, and even consciously contemplated the great trends of the realm.

Moreover, under Zhao Jin's guidance and with Wang Youshan's deliberate gathering of information, Wang Zhaojing understood the Jianzhou Jurchens better than most.

Understanding the Great Ming, understanding the Jurchens, and then witnessing a defeat of this magnitude — with Wang Zhaojing's intelligence, he could already deduce a great many things. And that made something deep inside him collapse.

He sat there in a daze. Before long, Wang Zhaojing raised his hands and covered his face.

Thanks to the three old friends "Mu Ming," "123*," and "Yuan Heng Li Zhen" for their tips, and thanks to everyone for your subscriptions and monthly tickets.