012 The Blood Battle of North City

The next morning, as the first ray of sunlight touched the walls of Huaining City, a cloud of dust billowed in the distance to the north. The heavy thudding of hooves shook the faces of those atop the city walls, filling them with the dread that heralds the arrival of death. They had come—the Great Shun army had finally arrived.

The bustling streets that once thrived with life were now deserted. The shops lining the streets were shuttered, and a few swift horses burst forth from the county office, racing toward the northern city gate tower.

Wang Lanping was clad entirely in armor, his face unreadable—neither betraying worry nor calm. Before the gate, five hundred soldiers of the Feng Regiment stood in formation, most bearing the unmistakable fear of death on their faces.

Behind them, two hundred deserters hastily gathered the previous night, led by Magistrate Kong, stood on the other side. These men hailed from various military units but shared one name: deserters. Wang Lanping rode past this ragtag group, resembling beggars more than soldiers. If not for sheer exhaustion and hunger, they would never have remained within Huaining’s walls. Their clothes barely covered their bodies, most lacked weapons, and even Wang Lanping found it hard to believe they could face battle—at least not yet.

Spurring his horse forward, Wang Lanping’s gaze swept over both groups. He wanted every man to remember his face—for he was the martial champion of the Ming Dynasty, the man who would stand with them in this battle, sharing victory or defeat.

Outside the city, the thunderous drums ceased. Wang Lanping knew the Great Shun army had formed their ranks.

A flash of cold steel—Wang Lanping drew his long sword, reined his steed, which let out a long neigh and reared its forelegs. Pointing his sword at the seven hundred soldiers before him, he shouted, “Outside the walls stand six thousand iron cavalry. Inside, only seven hundred of you, trembling cowards. Among you are those who have fled a thousand miles, some who wished to run before even seeing the enemy. Now you stand here—tell me, are you afraid of death?”

Silence fell. The dread of death was etched deeply on every face.

“Are you afraid of death?” Wang Lanping repeated, but no one answered.

Clamping his legs around his horse, he slowly rode before the assembled troops. “Good. Fear of death means you still want to live. Why live? Because at home wait your wives and children, your parents longing for reunion. You can return, hide in a woman’s embrace, tremble, and pretend as if nothing ever happened, living out your days in peace. When others ask what you did in Huaining City, you can proudly tell them—you were a deserter. You abandoned your brothers, abandoned fifty thousand Huaining citizens, all for the sake of your own life. Someday you can tell your son that his father was nothing but a coward, desperate to run.”

His words, laced with shame and scorn, echoed through the ranks. The entire army fell silent; some bowed their heads in quiet shame.

Wang Lanping sheathed his sword and continued. These men were deeply fearful of battle, and he did not expect a single speech to turn them into warriors who could face ten foes at once. But if they dared to face the enemy, that alone was enough. That was all he asked.

“I, the Ming martial champion, stand here today with you. I feel shame because I do not want to tell my future sons that their father was a coward. If I die, my family will proudly engrave on my tombstone: ‘Died in battle beneath Huaining City, the seventeenth year of Chongzhen.’ Years from now, Huaining’s people will carve my name into the city walls, while yours will forever be cursed. Do you wish to be pointed at and called deserters? Do you?”

Perhaps all men fear death, but as men—and soldiers of the Ming—they once dreamed of glory and honor. They did not want to be branded cowards or deserters. The seven hundred stirred, voices rising like a tide, “No, we do not!”

Wang Lanping laughed heartily, took a spear from his attendant, and shouted, “Today, I do not wish to die here, nor do I want to see you perish. But today, I offer no hope of life—only the honor of dying a soldier’s death on the battlefield. I want future generations to raise their thumbs and say, ‘This man was a hero.’ If we fail to make our mark today, we will be wrapped in leather and buried far from home. The six thousand iron cavalry have trampled the banks of the Yellow River, but they shall not scale Huaining’s walls. Kill! Kill! Kill!”

His words rang with heroic fervor and solemn resolve. The seven hundred pairs of eyes, once shrouded by the specter of death, now blazed with fierce determination. Their seven hundred crude weapons flashed in the air as they cheered, “Kill! Kill! Kill!” The stirring battle cries echoed above the northern city.

At that moment, a figure appeared atop the city tower, shouting, “General, a rider approaches the city gate!”

Wang Lanping swung his spear. “Magistrate Kong, the city tower is yours.”

Kong Rushong straightened his official robe, clasped his hands, and bowed deeply to Wang Lanping. “There are soldiers willing to die, and there are magistrates willing to die. Brothers, follow me to the walls!” Two hundred eighteen men surged behind him.

“Open the gates!” Wang Lanping shouted.

The creak of the city gate echoed as it slowly swung open. Wang Lanping rode out alone.

Beneath the sun outside, six thousand riders of the Great Shun army stood four hundred paces from the gate, arrayed in left, center, right, and vanguard divisions. The left and right each held about a thousand cavalry, the center three thousand, and the vanguard split into two units of five hundred apiece. Their formation was imposing, majestic—like a towering mountain before Wang Lanping.

He halted a hundred paces beyond the gate, spear held level beneath his arm, eyes fixed on the approaching rider.

The rider stopped a dozen paces away, glanced up at the city tower, and proclaimed, “By decree of the Great Shun Emperor: The Ming Dynasty’s fate is sealed. The Great Shun dynasty follows Heaven’s will and serves the people. General Yuan commands one hundred thousand troops pacifying Jiangnan. All provinces and counties along the way are urged to surrender, keeping their ranks and titles. Those who resist will see their officials slain when the city falls.”

Wang Lanping listened to the recited surrender terms and smiled bitterly. Perhaps these Great Shun soldiers did not yet know that their emperor, Li Zicheng, had been soundly defeated by Wu Sangui and the allied Manchu forces. Having set fire to the Forbidden City, he fled with his scattered remnants toward Xi’an. These hundred thousand southern troops remained ignorant of that fact. But soon enough, the news of defeat in the north would reach their ears.

Then the Qing army would march south—the true enemy to face in the days ahead. If he wished to one day square off against the Qing, this battle must be fought with such thunder and fury that all heroes would rally under his banner.

Wang Lanping said nothing. A grim tension tightened his jaw. Suddenly, the spear in his hand was hurled with fierce force—piercing the rider’s chest. Blood sprayed in the sunlight as the spear’s tip embedded itself in the earth behind the man. The startled horse bolted, carrying the lifeless body back toward the Great Shun ranks.

This was Wang Lanping’s answer.

Cheers erupted from the city tower. Spurring his horse forward, Wang Lanping retrieved his spear, held it horizontally, and shouted, “Sally forth and meet the enemy!”

Four hundred soldiers of the Feng Regiment flowed out in an orderly line along the city walls. Shield bearers formed the front, followed by spearmen, archers, and broadsword wielders. The musketeers, however, remained behind the walls. Due to the corruption of Commander Liu Zeqing, gunpowder had long since gone stale, rendering most firearms useless. Even the blades and arrows were hastily sharpened the previous night. Thus, the musketeers did not take the field.

The city gates closed once more. Wang Lanping took his place at the rear of the formation, eyes sharp, awaiting the enemy’s every move. Four hundred and one men against six thousand cavalry—that was courage.

Watching the execution of the envoy, Li Laixiang, vanguard officer of the southern army, could not help but admire the martial champion’s extraordinary spirit. Yet his face brimmed with arrogant certainty—they were going to win this fight.

“Overestimating yourselves. Charge!” Li Laixiang issued the order, dismissing the few hundred Ming soldiers as inconsequential. Though such an attack was disadvantageous, any literate officer knew that charging cavalry against a well-formed infantry square was suicide. Yet Li Laixiang gave the command nonetheless. The vanguard’s five hundred cavalry surged forward, shouting, aiming straight for Wang Lanping’s four hundred men.

Hooves thundered, dust swirled—the enemy drew near. Death approached.

As the cavalry neared the archers’ range, Wang Lanping swung his spear. “Form ranks!”

The shield bearers at the front quickly split their shields into two layers. The lower ranks crouched, bracing their shoulders against the long shields, while the upper ranks stood firm. To withstand the cavalry’s tremendous charge, the spearmen pressed tightly behind the shield bearers. Over a hundred spears, each over three meters long, thrust through the gaps with a chilling gleam.

Arrows flew in a deadly arc from behind the spearmen, whistling through the air. Several Great Shun riders fell, pierced by shafts, their screams echoing.

At eighty steps, fifty steps, thirty steps—the cavalry slammed into the wall of shields and spear points. Men and horses were thrown back, blood spattering the ground.

This was a suicidal charge. Until the infantry’s formation was broken by ranged weapons, the cavalry could not penetrate this wall bristling with long spears. The Great Shun riders crowded together at the spear tips, shot and trampled, screams and neighs blending into a horrific cacophony.

The spearmen withdrew and thrust their spears repeatedly, each strike drawing blood. As long as the cavalry’s momentum slowed, they faced slaughter.

Seeing the enemy trapped at the shield front, Wang Lanping smiled coldly. “Attack!”

The shield bearers thrust forward with their shoulders, stepping over the bodies of men and horses. Spears stabbed relentlessly between the shields. Fallen Great Shun soldiers still struggling to rise were cut down by broadsword men who trampled over the carnage. Blood pooled thick and the metallic stench was overpowering.

Some enemy cavalry attempted to flank around the sides to the rear of the shield wall. But the main body was compressed by the shield bearers, packed so tightly that neither man nor horse could move. The dozen or so who reached behind were quickly cut down by the broadsword men in a frenzy of steel and blood.

Seeing their numbers dwindle, Wang Lanping called, “Withdraw!”

At his command, the double-layered shield wall compressed into a single layer and rapidly spread outward, encircling the Great Shun cavalry. The cramped horsemen became easy targets for the archers, who unleashed volleys. Riders fell one after another.

As the encirclement tightened, the five hundred cavalry shrank to a mere handful in less than the time it takes to burn half a stick of incense. This brutal scene stunned the civilians atop the city tower and deeply shook Li Laixiang under the Great Shun banner. Having fought over a hundred battles with Li Zicheng, he had never witnessed such bloodshed. These men were madmen. Only now did he realize he had severely underestimated them. But it was too late; few riders remained alive, and the enemy’s formation showed no sign of faltering.

To avoid a chaotic melee, Wang Lanping ordered his men to withdraw to their original positions and reform, preparing for the second wave of attack.

Li Laixiang, a seasoned and ruthless general, would not foolishly repeat the same tactic and waste his soldiers’ lives. After a brief adjustment, the Great Shun flag fluttered again. The remaining five hundred cavalry charged forth swiftly, with the left wing clearing paths for over a hundred mounted archers. They intended to disrupt the Ming formation with arrows before the cavalry struck again.

Wang Lanping watched the renewed assault with a faint smile. With a wave of his hand, the city gates opened once more. One hundred musketeers, long waiting behind the gate, rushed out to take position behind the shield wall, each bearing a bag of gunpowder on their backs.