Volume Two: My Arrival Shakes Heaven and Earth Chapter 9: Dingzhou III

Presented before Deng She were two choices.

First, to abandon the assault on Dingzhou and immediately recall Chen Hu’s forces. Second, to grant Chen Hu the three days he requested, trusting his claim that the city could be taken in that time. After all, everything was still Deng She’s conjecture. His battlefield experience lent faith to his intuition; yet, compared to intuition, intelligence was more reliable.

And what if the Koreans truly showed no reaction? To panic without cause would only disrupt their own order. Dingzhou was only a few dozen li from Shuangcheng—a day’s ride at most. Even if his suspicions proved true, Deng She believed a day would suffice for Chen Hu’s troops to retreat.

He issued several orders in succession: reinforce the cavalry along the Dingzhou-Shuangcheng line, supplement the infantry at the western mountain pass, double the number of scouts, increase reports from three to four per day, halt construction of camps outside the city, and focus all efforts on repairing the walls.

To know both oneself and the enemy is the key to victory; to know only oneself is to win and lose in turn. At present, knowing the enemy was impossible—at least he could ensure knowledge of his own side.

The length of the walls was fixed, and thousands of strong laborers had already been conscripted. Halting encampment construction meant five or six thousand soldiers could not all be employed; small-scale drills continued.

Deng She remained busy at the training grounds. Throughout the morning, scouts and military reports arrived in an endless stream. Cavalry scouts reported peace in the southwest and northwest. The second wave of Chen Hu’s reports arrived: Dingzhou’s defenders were stubborn, fighting fiercely for three hours. Twice his men scaled the walls, only to be repelled by fire oil and failed to enter the city.

“The second assault was underway when I left,” the messenger reported.

In the assault on Shuangcheng, Deng She had adopted a tactic of continuous, unbroken attacks. Afterward, he and his officers had agreed the method had worked well. Therefore, Chen Hu repeated it in Dingzhou.

“How did the three hundred cavalry from the plateau fare?” Deng She asked.

“They were driven across the river by our troops. General Chen sent two battalions to garrison the riverbank, to prevent further harassment.”

“And the cities east of the river?”

“All is calm.”

Deng She nodded. He ordered the messenger to return at once and relay his commands to Chen Hu: “Vigilance in the west and south must not slacken. Building camps by the river is prudent. Burn all bridges. Strike while the iron is hot—if Dingzhou does not fall, the assault must not cease.” Until the city fell, he could not rest easy.

The messenger departed.

On the drill grounds, three companies trained in sections, their battle cries thunderous. Soldiers advanced to the sound of drums, moved with lowered banners, retreated at the clang of gongs. Left flags meant left, right flags meant right; when drum and gong sounded together, they raised their spears and sat.

Nearby, another group practiced formations.

Officers issued commands with colored banners, drums, and horns, directing the troops to form five basic shapes: square, circle, curve, line, wedge. Sometimes the square became a circle, sometimes the circle sharpened into a wedge. In more complex drills, a squad in the square held position while others stepped out to form a circle around them.

Each change was accompanied by a unified shout. According to the rhythm, they advanced, retreated, thrust their spears, raised their shields.

Deng She often organized such small-scale training during marches and encampments; veteran soldiers were dispersed among the units, sharing battlefield experience with the new recruits. Moreover, the army had endured two bloody battles, with two or three thousand dead; a host of weak or unfit men had been eliminated.

Thus, the troops appeared competent enough. In truth, most of the Red Turban armies trained by fighting rather than drilling—especially in places like Liaoyang, where they had always fought as mobile bands, lacking any long-term training.

It was cruel, but effective. Nothing teaches as deeply as experience gained in the face of death.

At noon, Deng She did not return to his residence. He ate a bit of army rations at the edge of the field, then hurried to inspect the progress on the city gates. The moat had been re-dug, deer’s feet and other obstacles planted, the gates replaced with thicker iron, the wall damage was not severe and had been eighty percent repaired, and the first level of the gate tower was finished.

It appeared another day would suffice for completion.

The second scout from Shanxi reported: the mountain pass was peaceful, no sign of the enemy.

The weather was ominously overcast; by afternoon, it was as dark as night. Deng She looked up. The clouds were dense and heavy, seemingly solid, unmoved by the wind. One could almost see with the naked eye as they thickened inch by inch, pressing toward the city towers. Black clouds weighed upon the city as if to crush it.

Near dusk, He Guangxiu’s troops returned. All three coastal islands had been taken. Over eighty enemies slain, more than three hundred casualties of their own. Along with a hundred fine horses, they brought back several carts of sea salt. Following Deng She’s orders, He left two squads to guard the islands, awaiting the arrival of Han troops to take possession.

Deng She forced himself to praise and encourage him, met with officers who had distinguished themselves, comforted the wounded, stored the sea salt, selected soldiers for the cavalry, and equipped them with the fine horses, merging them into the thousand-strong mounted force.

Busy with various matters, night had already fallen.

The third scout from Shanxi arrived: still no sign of the enemy, not a single Korean seen. The more peaceful things seemed, the less Deng She could rest easy. Unable to wait for Chen Hu’s report, he left his residence and climbed the city wall. The wind was fierce and the night pitch black. Torches were lit and placed in the embrasures, encircling the city in a ring of fire.

Under the dark clouds, the whole city seemed coiled by a fiery dragon, flames soaring skyward.

Laborers and craftsmen worked through the night repairing the walls. Outside the city, the soldiers’ shouts for drills were scattered by the wind. Deng She gazed into the distance; the black night veiled the land. In the fields, wheat seedlings and trees swayed like waves. The distant mountains stood silent and oppressive.

Deng She had never seen Dingzhou’s city in person. Before sending Chen Hu, he had questioned the gentry of Shuangcheng in detail. Its walls were lower and thinner than Shuangcheng’s; though he did not know its defenses, by all accounts it was inferior. The soldiers now had experience from one siege—taking the city should not be difficult.

Yet Chen Hu’s report was late. Deng She paced, anxious, the wind whipping his neck wound.

“The wind’s too strong; we may get rain. General, let’s return to the residence. If you’re worried about the wall repairs, I’ll stay and supervise,” said his captain of guards, Zuo Che’er, an old comrade of the mounted bandits.

Deng She fell silent, then nodded, taking a last look southwest and northwest. As he turned, someone called, “General, look!”

A point of fire raced toward the city.

It was Chen Hu’s messenger.

“The poor Han and Bohai folk of Dingzhou, hearing the general’s promise of land division in Shuangcheng, surrendered and acted as internal allies. The city fell; seven hundred enemies beheaded, four hundred twenty captured. General Chen’s message: I have fulfilled my orders, leaving a force to garrison the city as instructed, and will return tomorrow.”

A sudden bolt of lightning split the gathering clouds. The heavy burden in Deng She’s heart was suddenly lightened. He restrained his joy, helped the messenger up, rewarded him with wine and meat, and ordered the news of victory to be spread throughout the city. Triumph would not only boost morale, but also increase the Koreans’ respect.

He looked west; in another hour, the fourth scout report would arrive. As long as the report brought news of peace, and with some time to organize Dingzhou and firmly link it to Shuangcheng, then with effort, expand toward the northeast, to the land of the Jurchens, using Hong Jixun’s strategy to form an alliance. Connecting points into lines, he would have a solid foothold against the Koreans.

He had not slept for two days and nights; his greatest worry now resolved. Relaxation brought a wave of fatigue. Unable to hold out any longer, he instructed his guards to wake him in an hour whether the scouts returned or not. Back in his residence, he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Outside, the cold wind battered the window paper, howling and roaring like an enraged warrior charging the enemy lines with sword and blade.

Battle after battle, mountains and valleys covered in red banners, soldiers wrapped in red cloth surged like waves past him toward the enemy. Arrows flew like locusts, wild winds rose. Wen Huaguo hefted his great golden hammer, laughing to the sky, telling him, “General, this is the wind of victory.” Blood everywhere, corpses strewn across the land.

Suddenly the scene changed—floods of the Yellow River, scorched earth for miles. The poisonous sun hung high. A crowd surrounded a child with a shattered skull, eyes feverish and mouths drooling. Deng She saw Yang Wanhui—bare-chested, among countless ragged refugees, frantically tossing heads into the air, shouting wildly words Deng She could not understand.

He broke out in cold sweat. He realized that the enemies of the Red Turbans were not the Yuan army, but endless red clouds, surging toward the opposing black clouds made up of starving masses.

He tried to stop them, desperate, but none listened. He did not know what to do; everyone ignored him, as if he did not exist. Suddenly, he remembered: he was not of this era. Even Wen Huaguo, it seemed, could not see him.

He was desolate. Heartbroken, he felt a bone-deep loneliness. Yet he was also pained and angry at what he saw. Thunder rolled in the sky; startled, he looked up, determined to question it, to demand of Heaven: How could you do this? Leave him here, struggling to survive, witnessing scenes of human misery, yet powerless to help.

He saw Deng San, a giant face floating in the sky, smiling kindly, eyes full of warmth and concern. Suddenly Deng San seemed to spot something, his expression tense, mouth moving rapidly, trying to tell him something.

But Deng She could not hear. Another thunderclap; the Red Turbans and the starving masses collided—not fighting, but embracing. Countless people, maybe a hundred thousand, maybe a million—perhaps all the world was there. They looked up, raised their weapons to the sky like a dense forest, their voices rising like a stormy sea, shouting in unison, wave after wave shaking the heavens.

Deng She heard clearly: they were shouting two words, shouting, “Let us live! Let us live!”

“General! General!”

Urgent voices called Deng She from his dream. He opened his eyes to see Zuo Che’er’s anxious face. Sleep vanished; Deng She sat up. “What is it?”

“The road to Dingzhou has been cut off by the Koreans.” Zuo Che’er stepped aside, revealing Lu Qianshiyi behind him, his face smeared with blood, armor stained and still wet.

“I am unworthy—I could not hold off the Koreans.” Lu Qianshiyi knelt, ashamed and furious.

To lose the line between Dingzhou and Shuangcheng, cut by the Koreans, everyone knew what consequences that would bring.

Whatever one feared, came to pass. Deng She could hardly believe his ears.

With a crack, the wind shredded the window paper; cups and bowls rattled on shelves, ringing together in a cascade. Cold air flooded the room, clearing his head. He steadied himself and asked, “How many Koreans? When did they arrive? From where?”

“At least five thousand. Over an hour ago, taking advantage of the darkness and strong winds, they came from the southwest, from Dingzhou’s direction. We were caught off guard. By the time we realized, we were surrounded.”

“How far from Shuangcheng?”

“Twenty li.”

“What are their movements now?”

Lu Qianshiyi shook his head. “After I broke out, at first dozens of cavalry chased me, but I shot several and they all withdrew. The unit that surrounded me was a thousand-strong; from a distance, I saw their main force—it seems…” he hesitated, “the Koreans are making camp.”

“Making camp?” Deng She turned to Zuo Che’er. “Any news from Chen Hu’s troops?”

“None.”

“And from the scouts and soldiers guarding the mountain pass?”

“Also no reports.”

Deng She was silent. The Koreans had come from the southwest; Dingzhou lay along their route, Chen Hu’s troops had sent no word—so Dingzhou must be surrounded. The fate of the western mountain pass was unknown.

“Send orders: dispatch more scouts urgently to the pass. Summon Wen Huaguo, Zhao Guo, Luo Guoqi and others to the hall. Seal the city gates, assemble all troops.” Deng She threw on his robe and rose. “Bring my armor.” He glanced at Lu Qianshiyi kneeling, helped him up. “The enemy is strong, our forces isolated. The loss of the road is not your fault,” he said, pausing, self-reproach evident. “It is mine.”

He had guessed the enemy’s intentions, even their direction. But he had not anticipated… He turned, the wind howling outside, night so deep he could not see his hand before his face. In the battle for the camp, he had enjoyed the advantage of terrain; this time, the Koreans had it.

Lu Qianshiyi had fought his way through, wounded several times, never uttering a word of pain. Yet Deng She’s words of self-blame brought tears streaming from his eyes. The distinction of rank was clear; aside from Deng She, he had never seen a commander take responsibility.

Deng She called his guards to help him don his armor. The wound on his neck had just been dressed; the guards handled him with care, lest they touch it. The armor was cold, the iron plates clattering.

Deng She thought for a moment, then ordered, “Send several men to protect Lady Wang. Tell her that I swear to keep her safe, even at the cost of my life.”

“General, will you fight in person? Your neck injury…” Lu Qianshiyi watched Deng She fastening his armor, uneasy.

Deng She smiled. “Golden armor, sitting on a soft couch, watching the general fight—Confucius said, ‘Is this not joy?’” He borrowed Wen Huaguo’s drunken words. Lu Qianshiyi admired Deng She’s composure, and was infected by it, smiling in turn.

Whether Deng She truly felt composed, only he knew. His expression turned serious. “How is your wound?”

“A mere scratch, not worth mentioning.”

Deng She took his saber, sheathed it for him, and issued his orders. “Assemble the cavalry—will two quarter hours suffice?”

“One will be enough!”

“The first charge is yours.” Whether the Koreans were encamping or not, they had arrived at most two hours ago. Before they could settle, launch an assault. It would also test their strength and the enemy’s generals.

Lu Qianshiyi accepted the order solemnly and went out, vowing to wash away his previous shame.

His guards reported that Wen, Zhao, and the other generals had all arrived.