Chapter 360: Westward Advance

The nineteenth year of Hongwu, April 28th.

Two hundred li west of Fan City lies the eastern edge of the Anatolia Plateau.

The sun had just risen from the horizon, dyeing the entire plateau a golden‑red.

Zhu Yong rode his horse, squinting as he gazed at the rolling mountains in the distance.

The Anatolia Plateau, the heartland of the Ottoman Empire.

The terrain here differs completely from Tie Mu Er's Gobi; the mountains rise and fall, ravines criss‑cross, the roads are narrow, and cavalry cannot maneuver.

"Your Highness, the scouts have returned," Zhang Wu urged his horse forward.

"Baye Jide has retreated a hundred li east of Ankara, gathering his routed troops. After losing Fan City, his supply line was cut; sixty‑seven thousand soldiers are starving, and I hear many have already fled."

Zhu Yong nodded, his gaze passing over the mountains toward the west.

Ankara, a key stronghold of the Ottoman Empire on the Anatolia Plateau.

Further west lies Constantinople, the Ottoman capital.

"Baye Jide will not gladly concede defeat; after losing Fan City he still has Ankara, and if Ankara falls he can still fall back to Constantinople. That old fox is trading space for time."

Zhu Di urged his horse forward and said, "Second Prince, what shall we do—pursue all the way to Constantinople?"

Zhu Yong glanced at him and said, "We must pursue, but not hastily; the Anatolia Plateau is mountainous and the roads treacherous, our cavalry cannot maneuver, and we cannot bring cannons up there.

Baye Jide withdrew into the mountains to wait for us to chase, then set an ambush for us."

He spread a map on his saddle, pointing to a river valley east of Ankara: "Here, the Kezile River Valley is the unavoidable route to Ankara.

The valley is flanked by high mountains; Baye Jide will set his ambush, and will certainly choose this spot."

Zhu Di leaned in to look, frowned, and asked, "Then how shall we get across—detour?"

"No detour; a detour adds three hundred li, and that side is also mountainous. We take the valley and strike head‑on." Zhu Yong folded the map and said calmly.

Zhu Di was stunned and said, "Second Prince, didn't you say he would set an ambush?"

"What does an ambush matter? His sixty‑seven thousand starving routed troops have little combat power. Moreover, if he plans to ambush us, can we not ambush him?" Zhu Yong's mouth twitched slightly.

That night, twenty thousand Longxiang soldiers slipped silently out of camp, marching north along the west bank of the Kezile River Valley.

No torches were lit, no one spoke, only the rustle of hooves on broken stone.

Zhu Yong rode at the front of the column.

Moonlight was hidden by clouds; the valley was pitch black, and the cliffs on both sides rose like black walls, squeezing the sky into a narrow slit.

After about two hours' march, a scout returned reporting, "Your Highness, five li ahead we have spotted an Ottoman camp of roughly three thousand men, holding the narrowest point of the valley."

Zhu Yong halted his horse and asked, "How many?"

"Three thousand, blocking the valley mouth; there are also ambushes on the mountainsides, their numbers unclear."

Zhu Di urged his horse forward, lowered his voice, and said, "Second Prince, let me lead men to creep up and eliminate the mountain ambushes first."

Zhu Yong shook his head, "It's too late; dawn is near. Before daybreak we must seize the valley mouth."

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

Each hammer weighed twelve hundred jin, yet he carried them as easily as two fire‑wood sticks.

"Zhang Wu, lead five thousand men up the left side of the valley, swing behind the ambushers; Chen Heng, lead five thousand men up the right side.

Fifth Brother, you take ten thousand men, wait until the ambushes on both sides are cleared, then charge the valley mouth head‑on."

He paused, "I will take a thousand men to draw their attention from the front."

Zhu Di grew urgent, "Second Prince, a thousand against three thousand?"

"It's not a head‑on clash, just a distraction. If you move fast, I'm fine here." Zhu Yong, still holding the hammers, strode toward the valley mouth.

A thousand Longxiang soldiers followed, their Flintlock Guns loaded, bayonets drawn.

At the valley's narrowest point, two cliffs squeezed a gap less than ten zhang wide.

The Ottomans piled stones and wood into a makeshift stockade wall; faintly beyond it one could see tents and campfires.

Zhu Yong rode two hundred steps to the stockade wall and halted.

"Light the torches..."

A thousand torches were lit simultaneously, flooding the valley with light.

The rear of the stockade erupted into chaos. Ottoman soldiers rushed out of the tents, fumbling to draw their bows.

A Turkic commander on horseback brandished a curved sword, shouting something loudly.

Zhu Yong, still holding the hammers, walked forward at a measured pace.

Two hundred steps.

One hundred fifty steps.

One hundred steps.

Arrows rained toward Zhu Yong.

He neither dodged nor evaded; the arrows struck his iron armor, clanging loudly, not even bruising his skin.

A few arrows aimed at his unarmored face; he swept a hammer across, snapping the shafts in two.

Fifty steps before the stockade wall he stopped, raising the hammer in his right hand.

Behind the wall, the Turkic commander's complexion changed.

He had fought half his life and had never seen anyone like this.

The two hammers, larger than a human head, he held as if playing; arrows striking his body felt like a light tickle.

Zhu Yong did not smash the stockade wall.

He was waiting.

After waiting about the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, simultaneous Flintlock Gun fire erupted from the mountains on both sides.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Gunfire echoed through the valley, followed immediately by the Ottomans' cries of pain and shouts.

The Turkic commander behind the stockade wall turned pale, spun, and tried to run up the mountain.

Zhu Yong moved.

He grabbed a hammer, rushed a few steps to the stockade wall, and swung the hammer down with his right hand.

Boom!

The Wooden Stake flew out, knocking down several soldiers behind it.

Second strike, half the wall collapsed.

Third strike, the entire wall crashed down.

Zhu Yong stood at the breach, looking at the Ottoman soldiers inside whose faces were ashen.

"Those who surrender will not be killed."

Zhu Yong fell silent for Three Breaths.

Then, no one knows who first dropped a weapon, with a clang.

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

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

The fighting on the mountains on both sides also ended quickly.

The Ottoman ambush troops were few to begin with; when the Longxiang Army charged from behind, most surrendered while a few fled into the mountains to hide.