Chapter 358: Zhu Di's Convergence

The nineteenth year of Hongwu, April 26.

West of Zahu City, on the banks of the Tigris River.

Zhu Yong stood before the hastily erected Central Command Tent, a freshly delivered military report clenched in his hand.

Zhu Di's 30,000-strong army had already reached eighty li east of Zahu City; the vanguard cavalry could arrive by tonight at the latest.

"Prince, the Prince has been swift this time—over three thousand li from the Western Regions to here in half a month."

Zhang Wu stood beside him, a smile on his face, and said.

Zhu Yong handed the report to the Imperial Troops behind him and said lightly, "They have had that temperament since childhood; when a battle is announced, they are more eager than anyone."

He turned and walked back into the tent; the sand table already displayed the latest enemy and friendly dispositions.

The Ottomans fell back east of the Anatolian Plateau, gathering their routed troops around Fan Lake; together with the garrison withdrawn from the Two Rivers Basin, they mustered another 60–70,000 men.

The Mamluks retreated even farther, pulling back directly into Syria and abandoning several cities in the eastern Two Rivers Basin.

The Jin remnants were the most decisive, fleeing north into the Caucasus Mountains, where no trace of them could be found.

"Prince, the Prince has arrived," a report from the Imperial Troops sounded from outside the tent.

Zhu Yong looked up and saw Zhu Di stride in.

He wore iron armor caked in dust, his face similarly dusty, yet his eyes shone terrifyingly.

"Second Prince… I finally caught up; the battle isn't over yet, right?" Zhu Di shouted as he entered, his voice brimming with uncontainable excitement.

Zhu Yong gave him a quick once‑over, a faint smile curling his lips, and said, "Just in time, it's not over."

Zhu Di chuckled, moved to the sand table, and asked, "What's the situation now, where have the Ottomans retreated to?"

"Around Fan Lake, 60–70,000 men, still led by Bayezid; that old fellow is bold—after a defeat he didn't give up, regrouped the routed troops, and wants to stall us in Anatolia," Zhu Yong said, pointing to Fan Lake on the sand table.

Zhu Di stared at the sand table for a moment, frowned, and said, "The Anatolian Plateau is high, riddled with mountain paths; cavalry can't maneuver, artillery is hard to use—he's trying to hold us up."

Zhu Yong nodded and said, "Exactly, so we can't follow his route."

He picked up a thin wooden stick from beside the sand table, pointed to a river valley east of Fan Lake, and said, "Here is Fan City, the Ottomans' stronghold in eastern Anatolia; Grain and Fodder are stockpiled here."

"Bayezid is holed up west of Fan Lake, expecting us to attack head‑on; we'll go around, seize Fan City first, and cut off his supplies."

Zhu Di's eyes brightened, "Make a show of attacking east and strike west?"

"It's not a feint; we smash his lifeline. If Fan City falls, his 60–70,000 troops will starve, and we won't need to fight—they'll disperse on their own."

Zhu Di nodded, then suddenly asked, "Second Prince, how many do you plan to take?"

"Twenty thousand Longxiang Army, your thirty thousand Yan troops, stay at Zahu City, watch the Two Rivers Basin, and prevent the Mamluks from slipping a rear route," Zhu Yong said calmly.

Zhu Di replied displeased, "Second Prince, I rode three thousand li to fight, and you make me guard the city?"

"Guarding is also fighting; though the Mamluks withdrew, they could reappear at any time. You stay here and I'll be at ease."

Zhu Di opened his mouth, seemed about to speak, then swallowed the words.

He knew the Second Prince was right.

The Two Rivers Basin had just been taken; morale was unstable, and the Mamluks could counterattack at any moment.

Someone had to stay here to hold the position.

And that person could be neither Zhang Wu nor Chen Heng; it had to be someone who could act alone.

"Fine, I'll follow the Second Prince, but when you take Fan City, be gentle—don't kill everyone, leave some for me."

Zhu Di gritted his teeth and said.

Zhu Yong smiled.

That night, twenty thousand Longxiang Army readied themselves for departure.

Zhu Yong rode his horse, glanced back at Zahu City's lights.

On the city wall, Zhu Di stood there and waved at him.

Zhu Yong nodded, turned his horse, and with a broad gesture said, "Depart."

Twenty thousand cavalry slipped silently out of the camp, heading north along the east bank of the Tigris River.

The moon was hidden by clouds, and the Gobi beach lay in total darkness.

No one lit torches, no one spoke, only the muffled clatter of hooves on sand.

Zhang Wu urged his horse beside Zhu Yong, lowering his voice, "Prince, the defenders of Fan City are said to number over twenty thousand; the commander is an old veteran named Murad, who has fought alongside Bayezid for decades and is extremely experienced."

Zhu Yong hummed, "Even great experience is useless; if the city falls, all that experience is for naught."

Zhang Wu said nothing further.

Having fought alongside the Prince for over a decade, he already knew a truth.

No wall, however sturdy, can stop the Prince's hammer.

April 28, dawn.

Fan City appeared on the horizon.

The city was small, but its walls were thick; it was the Ottomans' most important fortress in eastern Anatolia.

Lights blazed on the walls, and the defenders clearly had received word.

Zhu Yong halted his horse, squinting at the distant walls.

"Zhang Wu, take three thousand around the north gate; wait for the south gate to fire, then move in. Remember, don't rush the assault—wait until they're in chaos before charging."

"Understood."

Zhang Wu led three thousand cavalry into the night.

Zhu Yong dismounted, took two bronze war hammers from his saddle, and lifted them.

One weighed six hundred jin; together they weighed twelve hundred jin.

He carried them as easily as two firewood sticks.

"The rest, follow me."

He strode toward the city gate.

Seventeen thousand Longxiang Army followed behind, their Flintlock Guns loaded, bayonets drawn.

On the city wall, the Ottoman defending troops were already in chaos.

Arrows rained down, shooting toward the city below.

Zhu Yong neither dodged nor evaded; an arrow struck his body, was bounced off his iron armor, and the ding-ding-dang-dang rang out.

He walked to the city gate, raised the hammer in his right hand, and struck down.

"Boom!"

The city gate trembled, and wood chips flew everywhere.

Second strike.

"Boom!"

The latch broke.

Third strike.

"Boom!"

The city gate collapsed with a boom.

Zhu Yong stood at the breach, looking at the Ottoman soldiers inside whose faces were the color of earth, and said calmly, "Those who surrender will not be killed."

He was silent for three breaths.

Then, someone—unknown who—first dropped their weapon, with a clang.

Then the second, the third… the sounds of weapons hitting the ground rang out in unison.

Guard commander Murad knelt on the ground, trembling all over, and said, "We surrender, we surrender…"

Zhu Yong nodded, and hung the hammer back on his horse's back.

"Send the order: take over the city defenses, seal the granaries, and make no mistake."

"Yes."

Chen Heng led his men to rush into the city, secure the city gate, confiscate weapons, and take over the granaries.

Everything proceeded in orderly fashion.

Zhu Yong stood at the city gate, gazing at the western sky.

Fan City had been taken, and Bayezid's supply route was cut.

Next, they should force them out for a decisive battle.