Chapter 365: Marmara Sea

The nineteenth year of Hongwu, the third day of the fifth month.

On the third day after Bursa fell, eighty thousand Ming troops set up camp outside the city; the endless tents stretched like a gray sea, covering the whole valley.

Zhu Yong stood on the city wall, gazing at the western horizon.

There lay the Marmara Sea.

Beyond the sea lay Constantinople.

"Second Prince, the scouts have returned," Zhu Di said, striding onto the wall, a military report clenched in his hand.

Zhu Yong took it and unfolded it.

"The Ottomans have gathered twenty thousand troops on the eastern shore of the strait and built a defensive line on the Gallipoli Peninsula.

Reinforcements from Europe have also arrived—Serbians, Bulgarians, Wallachians—about forty thousand in total, assembling on the western side of Constantinople."

Zhu Yong closed the report, his expression calm.

Sixty thousand, plus the garrison inside Constantinople, makes eighty thousand without difficulty.

"Baye Zid?" he asked.

"He's locked inside the city, very honest, eating and sleeping day by day, freer than in the palace," Zhu Di hummed.

A faint smile curled at Zhu Yong's mouth.

That old fox, at least he's open‑minded.

"Send the order: the whole army rests for three days, then after three days advance westward, target the Gallipoli Peninsula."

"Understood!"

Zhu Di turned to leave, then stopped and said, "Second Prince, what about that kid Qiongjiong? Send him back?"

Zhu Yong thought, shook his head, and said, "Don't send him back; let him stay. Since he has entered the battlefield, he is a Longxiang Army man, and the Longxiang Army has no rule of fleeing the front lines."

Zhu Di opened his mouth as if to speak, then swallowed his words.

He recalled that years ago, beneath Kaiping City, the Second Prince was the same age, shouldering a Battering Ram to smash the city gate.

The two of them seemed carved from the same mold.

"Fine, I'll have someone assign him a fine horse," Zhu Di said, striding away.

Zhu Yong turned and looked at the sea of tents below the city.

Between the tents, soldiers were lighting fires to cook, thin smoke curling upward.

A boy a little over a year old squatted by the Fire Pit, holding an iron skewer with a piece of meat sizzling and dripping oil.

Zhu Qiongjiong.

The eleven‑year‑old, squatting among a group of hulking veterans, showed no sign of timidity.

When someone patted his head, he grinned.

When someone tried to snatch his meat, he kicked them away.

Zhu Yong watched, a slight smile at his mouth.

Just like him.

Back then, in Chang Yuchun's army, he was the same.

He feared nothing and dared to do anything.

On the sixth day of the fifth month, the great army set out.

Eighty thousand troops and horses marched westward in a grand procession.

Zhu Qiongjiong rode a dark‑red horse, a Wolf Fang Club hanging by the saddle, its head still stained with fresh blood.

Zhu Di rode over, glanced him up and down, and said, "Kid, your riding is fine."

"Taught by Fifth Uncle..." Zhu Qiongjiong grinned.

Zhu Di was startled, then laughed, "When did I ever teach you?"

"Last time at Yingtian Prefecture, you took me out of the city on horseback and we rode all afternoon," Zhu Qiongjiong said earnestly.

Zhu Di recalled.

It was last autumn, when he returned to the capital to report, and took the boy out of the city to ride.

Back then he couldn't ride steadily, fell many times, bruised his knees, yet never uttered a cry.

"Fine, you have a conscience," Zhu Di patted his shoulder.

The troops marched for two days; on the eighth day of the fifth month, the vanguard reached the eastern shore of the Marmara Sea.

The sea surface shimmered blue under the sun, sparkling, endless to the eye.

Zhu Qiongjiong halted his horse; seeing the sea for the first time, his eyes widened to the full.

"Father! Is this the sea?"

Zhu Yong nodded.

"Much bigger than a lake!" Zhu Qiongjiong perched on the horse's back, stretching his neck to look far.

Beyond the sea, faint land could be seen.

It was the Gallipoli Peninsula, the Ottomans' bridgehead in Europe.

Beyond the peninsula lay Constantinople.

"Second Prince, the Ottoman defense is at the narrowest point of the peninsula, built against the hills; the walls aren't high, but the terrain is treacherous, a frontal assault would cost heavily," Zhu Di said as he rode over.

Zhu Yong stared at that land, silent for a moment.

"Instead of a frontal assault, send ships around by sea to land behind their line, striking from front and rear."

Zhu Di's eyes lit up, "Steamships?"

"Yes, the fleet has set out from Izmir Port: twenty steamships carrying five thousand Longxiang Army troops, looping around from the south to land on the western coast of the Gallipoli Peninsula."

Zhu Di asked excitedly, "When do we strike?"

"Wait for the fleet to arrive; even at the fastest it'll still take three days. During these three days, you lead men in a frontal feint to draw their attention."

"Yes!"

Zhu QiongJiong, listening nearby, suddenly spoke, "Father, may I also take part in the feint?"

Zhu Yong glanced at him, "What would you go there for?"

"To fight," Zhu QiongJiong puffed out his small chest.

Zhu Yong said nothing, just continued staring at him.

Zhu QiongJiong felt a bit uneasy under his gaze, yet he forced himself not to lower his head.

A moment later, Zhu Yong nodded, "Fine, follow your Fifth Uncle, and don't run around."

"Yes!" Zhu QiongJiong sat upright on his horse.

Zhu Di, standing nearby, kept shaking his head.

On the ninth day of the fifth month, the feint began.

Zhu Di led twenty thousand men, pressing the Ottoman defenses from the front.

The defense line was built at the narrowest point of the peninsula, mountains on both sides and a city wall in the middle; though not tall, the terrain was treacherous.

The wall was packed with Ottoman soldiers, archers drawing bows and nocking arrows, spearmen forming a strict line in waiting.

Zhu Di halted his horse and glanced back at the massive army behind him.

Twenty thousand men, arrayed half a li, their iron armor glittering in the sun.

Zhu QiongJiong rode a reddish‑brown horse, the Wolf Fang Club slung over his shoulder, mingling within the central troops.

"Boy, are you scared…" Zhu Di asked.

"Not scared." Zhu QiongJiong gripped the Wolf Fang Club tightly.

Zhu Di laughed, "Alright, later follow me and don't charge too far ahead."

He drew his saber, clamped his claws onto the horse's belly, and surged forward.

"Kill!"

Twenty thousand roared in unison, their hooves sounding like muffled thunder.

The Ottoman archers began to unleash arrows.

Arrows fell like rain, shooting toward the charging Ming army.

But the Ming army wore plate armor; the arrows clanged off their bodies, unable to wound.

Zhu QiongJiong, mounted on his horse, experienced a real charge for the first time.

In his ears rang the whistling wind, the thunderous hooves, and the shouts of twenty thousand men behind him.

His heart pounded rapidly, yet his hands remained steady.

He gripped the Wolf Fang Club tightly; the bloodstains on its head glowed a dark red in the sunlight.

The city wall drew nearer.

Three Hundred Steps.

Two Hundred Steps.

One Hundred Steps.

"Fire!"

At Zhu Di's command, the front‑line Flintlock Gunmen fired in unison.

"Bang bang bang…"

Ottoman archers on the wall fell in droves.

The second line followed, another volley of simultaneous fire.

The defenders on the wall were pressed so hard they could not lift their heads.

Zhu Di halted his horse, not pressing forward.

It was a feint, not a real attack.

They must wait for the fleet to land from behind before launching the full assault.

"Retreat!" he turned his horse around.

Twenty thousand men all turned, stepped back three Hundred Steps, and reformed their ranks.

The Ottomans on the wall breathed a sigh of relief, yet dared not relax.

They knew the Ming army would come again.

Zhu QiongJiong rein in his horse, his palms drenched with sweat.

He had just nearly charged forward with the front cavalry, but Zhu Di grabbed him hard.