Volume Two: I Come to Stir Heaven and Earth Chapter 16: The East Wind (Part I)

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The third day of the siege. At dawn, the mountain pass was taken.

Good news arrived, and Deng She was overjoyed.

“All arrangements are as per the general’s orders. General Wen has sent a secret report.” The messenger handed over the sealed letter. Deng She unrolled it. Wen Huaguo was illiterate, so he dictated and Luo Guoqi polished and wrote it down. It read: “Most respectfully to the General: The mountain pass is secured, with our casualties over four hundred. The majority of the Liao army has fled in disarray. After searching the battlefield, we found three hundred and thirty-four of their dead, and over three hundred wounded; all were executed on the spot and their heads hung from the trees. According to your orders, everything has been arranged. My unit is set to enter the mountains in an hour. Two hundred men remain to guard the pass. With you, General, in peril, we who remain in the distant woods are deeply uneasy. As soon as we receive the signal, we swear not to fail you in your great cause.”

Deng She closed the letter and rewarded the messenger handsomely. With the mountain pass taken and the main force about to emerge from the mountains, six tenths of his plan was in place. What happened next would depend on the enemy’s moves. Ideally, the enemy would come to attack the city—then, with assaults from both the mountains and the city, six thousand against five thousand, victory would be almost certain. If not, it would be a desperate measure: abandon both cities, cross the mountains with the entire army, and wage a bloody battle for Dingzhou.

The latter was a last resort. Whether they could rescue Chen Hu was uncertain. Even if they succeeded, with the cities lost and Dingzhou hard to defend, all the efforts since crossing the Yalu would be wasted, the soldiers’ morale broken, and recovery nearly impossible.

Would the enemy attack? The answer would be revealed that afternoon.

Report after report arrived from the west and from the mountain pass. First came news that the cavalry guarding the north-south route had been attacked by three hundred elite enemy horsemen. In accordance with orders, they offered token resistance and withdrew into the city. Soon after, the southern camp of the enemy broke camp and a long column came into Deng She’s line of sight.

They halted five or six li from the city, arranged their wagons in a camp, and stationed them outside. Cavalry, archers, axemen, and shield-bearers lined up behind the wagons in defensive formation. Catapults and crossbow ballistae stood behind the archers; they loosed a few test shots, gauging range and trajectory.

Protected thus, large numbers of soldiers began building new fortifications. Watchtowers and the like rose quickly; four or five enemy generals climbed up to survey the distance. The command banner waved, and a detachment of two thousand men split off, circled the twin cities, and headed straight for the mountain pass.

“Send word: the enemy is attacking. All troops, stand ready. City guards above, reserve forces below, each to their posts. No one leaves their position without orders—no one climbs up or down the walls. Any disorder, any shouting, any panic—execute without mercy!”

He Guangxiu and Zuo Che’er went to carry out the order.

Han soldiers and enemy soldiers were separated, with Han soldiers supervising the others; among the enemy troops, slaves, outcasts, and commoners were further divided into squads of ten, with collective punishment for any offense—whistle-blowers rewarded and pardoned; people from the same hometown or county were forbidden to guard the same place.

In other matters—food, bedding, rewards and punishments—Han and enemy soldiers were treated exactly the same.

All elderly and weak enemy civilians were driven back into the city. Wu Henian was ordered to patrol day and night with strict orders: no civilian was to step outside their door. Households were grouped into fives—if one violated orders, all five would be executed. Whistle-blowers would be pardoned and rewarded.

The two hundred cavalry who had withdrawn requested permission to sally out and attack. Deng She encouraged their courage but refused. With so few troops inside, defending the city was paramount. The stronghold must be used to wear down the enemy.

All defensive equipment had long been prepared. Deng She, accompanied by his personal guard, braved the rain to inspect the walls. When he reached the north wall, he heard drums—a sign of enemy approach. Looking up, he saw the troops who had earlier gone toward the mountain pass had returned, now even more numerous. Most likely, they had seized the pass, left a garrison, and brought the rest to aid the siege.

Among them, a hundred or two enemy horsemen, showing off, galloped to the walls, shouting loudly. Deng She didn’t understand their tongue, but could imagine the boasts, insults, and calls to surrender.

He took a strong bow from his guard, drew it, and loosed an arrow. Like a shooting star, it grazed a man’s neck and buried itself in the ground. The man, startled, turned his horse to flee. Deng She nocked another arrow and shot, striking the horse’s haunch. The beast neighed in pain, kicked wildly, and threw its rider, who fell in the mud, floundering and scrambling away in disgrace.

Deng She had done this deliberately—killing and wounding had very different effects. As expected, the soldiers on the wall—Han and enemy alike—burst out laughing at the spectacle.

Deng She too laughed heartily, returning the bow and glancing around. “Cowardly rodents, and they dare challenge me?” He let fly a curse. “Eight hundred men took Yongping; five thousand smashed the enemy’s best in Liaoxi; ten thousand entered Koryo, and in less than half a month, we’ve seized two major strongholds!” Pointing at the fleeing enemy cavalry, “What are they worth? Dingzhou’s report arrived yesterday—another hundred heads taken. The enemy has retreated thrice now. Watch, soldiers! Within a few days, I guarantee a great victory!”

A Han soldier, plucking up courage, asked, “General, that braggart said we lost the mountain pass—what will we do?” He was in his thirties or forties, with a Liaodong accent. There were many Koryo people in Liaodong, and many Han could understand some of their tongue.

He couldn’t tell him the truth—that the pass was deliberately abandoned, for without that, the enemy would never come to attack. Nor could he lie. Deng She answered with a question: “Brother, you fought at Yongping, didn’t you?”

The word “brother” left the soldier both flattered and surprised; but Deng She was always approachable, so it didn’t seem forced. He quickly replied, “I did. If you hadn’t taken me in, General, I’d have starved to death long ago.”

Deng She was filled with emotion, looking at the soldiers on the wall—their wrinkles and calloused hands bore witness to hard years. Each of them had a story to make one weep.

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Not only the Han soldiers, but also the enemy troops, were the same. In fact, most of the enemy soldiers had lived even worse lives before joining the army.

Now, mixed together, all eyes were fixed on Deng She, listening with complete attention. What did they want to hear? After endless hardship and hunger, though their eyes were clouded, Deng She could clearly see a glimmer of light within.

He recalled the dream he’d had a few nights ago. That light, countless points of it, all silently crying out: “Let us live!”

What should I say? Deng She saw one of the enemy soldiers, cowering at the back, without a rain cloak, drenched and shivering, constantly wiping rain from his hair. Deng She took off his own cloak, silently walked through the ranks, and put it on him. There were many guards without rain gear, since the craftsmen were busy making weapons and could spare none for cloaks.

The enemy soldier, trembling and grateful, spoke up. Someone nearby translated: “He’s an outcast. He doesn’t dare accept the general’s gift.”

Deng She helped him up gently and said, “In my army, there are only warriors—no outcasts.” This man’s status at birth had doomed him to slavery, but now, receiving Deng She’s kindness, he was so moved that tears filled his eyes.

Deng She ordered: “Collect clothes from the townsfolk. Any guard whose clothes are soaked gets two spares. Tell Wu Henian to find me enough rain gear, whatever it takes!” Looking back, he saw the enemy army retreating from the walls. Of the four gates, only the north gate was left unguarded.

He raised his voice: “In troubled times, life is cheap. I know you follow me because you want to live. These cities were never Koryo land. I led you here to win a place for you. The Koryo people are harsh and brutal—” He pointed at the outcast, “They oppress you, enslaving generation after generation, and now they deny us all a way to live. If this is not intolerable, what is? This is a battle for survival!

“The enemy leaves the north gate open, as if offering us a way out. But brothers, if the skin is gone, where can the hair grow? If we lose these cities, we have no shield; the enemy will cut us down wherever we flee.

“There is no choice but to fight to the death! But you need not worry. I have a plan—within ten days, we will win a great victory!”

He looked to his sides: “By nightfall at the latest, the enemy will storm the walls. I need a hundred brave men to fight by my side—who among my brothers will come?”

The two soldiers—one Han, one enemy—were the first to step forward. The rest surged ahead, eager not to be left behind. Deng She’s earlier words, downplaying ethnicity and emphasizing survival, resonated deeply; then, with a call for “warriors,” “followers,” and “brothers,” he stirred them to trembling excitement. In moments, a hundred stood ready.

“Raise my command banner over the south gate tower!” Deng She laughed, his spirit soaring to the heavens. “With you brave men, the enemy is nothing but a troupe of clowns! In this battle, I say we have already won without fighting.”

He had worked tirelessly to balance the odds, and now the situation had tipped slightly in his favor. Watching the enemy step step into his trap, his feelings defied description—like crossing a single-plank bridge over a bottomless abyss, with the far shore finally in sight.

The enemy moved faster than Deng She had anticipated. Before night fell, the first assault began.

Catapults and ballistae rolled up before the moat and fired in turn. The largest catapults required more than a hundred men to operate, hurling stones nearly a hundred pounds each. When they struck the walls, a thudding impact shook the earth. Some sailed over the parapets and crashed into the corridors beyond.

All along the walls, the defenders ducked behind cover. The city’s walls were solid—when Deng She had used cannons and muskets on them before, he’d barely scratched them. To be sure, he ordered barricades of forked timbers lashed together, like a fence, braced from within with slanted posts.

This reduced the threat from the stones somewhat.

Deng She ordered his men to drag makeshift stone-throwers to the parapets and return fire with rocks—small and light compared to the enemy’s, but better than nothing.

Zuo Che’er, crouching low, came to him: “General, this won’t do. Their catapults are fierce, we can’t use fire in the rain, and we’re short on archers. I’d like to lead a sortie from the hidden tunnel and shoot them at the base of the outer wall.”

“There’s no cover out there, you’d just be targets for their stones. With so few men, we can’t afford to waste lives. The battle’s just begun—we must be cautious. Just hold this stretch of wall.”

Even as he spoke, the enemy rolled out a dozen moat-filling carts, linking them across the moat, three or four side by side, spanning several yards. Waves of enemy soldiers swarmed across, charging the wall.

The stakes before the walls caused them trouble. Shield-bearers braved stones and arrows, axemen chopped and dug, clearing several paths. Ladders and siege towers advanced along these routes.

The enemy siege towers were custom-built, matching the city walls in height. Each tower’s platform was broad, with forty or fifty soldiers atop. Archers and crossbowmen in front, arrows flying thick as locusts, exchanging volleys with the defenders on the wall.

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Deng She ordered the catapults to lower their range and focus on the enemy soldiers and ladders below, leaving a few to target the moat-filling carts.

Days of rain had left water in the moat and mud everywhere. Stones splashed mud over the enemy troops; if mud got in their eyes and they lost focus, the defenders’ archers would immediately seize the chance to bring them down.

The defenders had spiked clubs and other weapons at the ready, waiting for the ladders to come close. Deng She stood firm atop the tower, unmoved by the hail of arrows and stones. Dozens of personal guards and a hundred chosen followers stood behind him, holding the banner and awaiting his orders.

The enemy’s ladders reached the wall but hesitated to bridge them, seemingly waiting for something. Deng She saw long, sturdy planks being hoisted with ropes onto the siege towers. Suddenly he understood, gauged the enemy’s position, and slowly asked, “They mean to use a sky bridge to storm the wall—we must break it. Which of my brothers will do it?”

The Han soldier from Liaodong leapt forward, face red with anticipation. Deng She gave him twenty men and sent them to the stretch of wall opposite the siege tower. On the tower, the enemy soldiers hauled up the plank, raised it with pulleys, and began to lay it across the parapet. The defenders tried to tip it away, but the end was wrapped in iron and bristling with spikes—nowhere to grab, and it was heavy. The enemy shot a hail of arrows, downing three or four in quick succession. A dozen enemy soldiers crossed onto the plank.

The Han soldier, roaring, ignored the arrows and spikes. Squatting low, he braced one end of the plank with his shoulder. His comrades joined, pushing up from their side. The enemy atop the tower struggled to hold it down, pouring arrows on them.

Some fired quick, powerful crossbows, one bolt striking a defender square in the forehead—blood and brains sprayed as he fell without a sound. Another defender instantly took his place.

The defenders’ archers noticed the struggle and laid down covering fire, suppressing the enemy atop the tower. At last, the plank was tipped away, sending the enemy soldiers tumbling down with screams.

But there was more than one plank; the enemy soon raised another, aiming it for the parapet. The Han soldier’s shoulder was already a bloody mess from the spikes, but he seemed not to feel pain. Staring at the enemy, he spat on his hands and wiped them off: “Curse you, you braggarts—come on, let’s see if you have more planks or I have more strength!”

He must not disgrace the general’s name—after all, he was his brother.

As the flying bridge went up, the scaling ladders followed. Battle raged across the southern wall. Deng She watched in all directions, tracking the enemy and his own defenses. Zuo Che’er led from the front, dashing about with a dozen men to command and support, repelling each assault and rushing to the next threatened point.

He Guangxiu was elsewhere, defending the east and north walls.

Wave after wave of enemy soldiers, under cover of bridges, ballistae, and catapults, swarmed up the ladders. The assault on the city had begun in earnest. On and below the wall, the clash of arms thundered, fire and smoke filled the sky. Night had long since fallen.

A Koryo general, helmeted and masked, clad in two or three layers of iron armor, with two swords on his back and one in hand, led the charge up the ladder. The defenders’ arrows bounced off his armor, unable to pierce it. He was unstoppable, step by step nearing the parapet.

A spiked club rose and fell, but the general dodged deftly; the club struck the ladder with a crash but didn’t break it—only made it sway. The Koryo general steadied himself and climbed on. The defenders looked at each other in horror; the club was raised again and again, missing each time. By the fourth blow, the general had reached the top. The club hit once more, and with a crack, the ladder finally snapped, sending the enemy soldiers tumbling down with screams.

But the general was agile as an ape—quick as lightning, he jammed his sword in a crack in the wall, swung himself up, abandoned the sword, hooked a hand over the parapet, and vaulted onto the wall. A fierce warrior atop the wall was gravely dangerous; in two or three moves, he cut down four defenders, and a dozen more couldn’t get close.

Deng She had watched him for a long time and, seeing the danger, was about to join the fight himself. But Zuo Che’er arrived first, didn’t attack right away, but found an opening, quietly circled behind the general, leveled his spear on the man’s shoulder, and suddenly shouted aloud.

The general, weighed down by armor, didn’t feel the spear at first—he turned his head to look. Zuo Che’er’s spear slid down, brushed aside the block, and struck the throat—the only unprotected spot.

The spear was withdrawn, spraying blood. The Koryo general fell. The surrounding defenders surged forward and hacked off his head, mounting it on a spear; Zuo Che’er raised it high.

From a distant watchtower, Qing Qianxing saw it all. The assault had barely begun; he could not allow it to falter. Ever proud of his courage, the fiercer the enemy, the stronger his resolve. He straightened his armor, took up his long spear, called for his personal guard, and prepared to lead the next charge himself.