Volume One: Is There a Road for Humanity Amidst Chaos? Chapter One: Fengzhou I

Year 19 of Zhizheng under the Great Yuan, the fifth year of the Young Ming King’s Longfeng era, third month. Fengzhou, Datong Circuit, Central Secretariat (modern-day eastern Inner Mongolia).

The Yuan army charged in swift assault, their halberds and spears bristling like a forest, carts and horses streaming like a river; outside the city, they methodically prepared their positions. The ranks of soldiers, stretching endlessly before and behind, wore mourning white, banners of purest white fluttering in the cold sunlight. The scene, bleak and solemn, sent a chill straight to the bone. From the banners, it was clear the commanding general was Borotemur.

“Damn it, the Tartars are out for a death match,” remarked Deng San atop the city wall.

Inside the city, the Red Turban Army consisted mainly of the eastern faction loyal to the Young Ming King and Liu Futong, with some remnants from other defeated rebel groups. Deng San was different. He was not a Red Turban, nor a White Lotus follower; he was a horse thief through and through. Even before Liu Futong’s uprising, he had roamed the banks of the Yellow River for years.

At his peak, he commanded several hundred men, each with a horse, swift and elusive. The Yuan court called them “Mounted Bandits,” and for three or four years could not subdue them. Eventually, the Yuan emperor himself was disturbed enough to issue direct edicts, establishing special military commands in every major city along the river to encircle and suppress them.

After many battles, his brothers grew ever fewer. It was then that Liu Futong rose in Yingzhou, bringing his movement into Henan, with such momentum that he even established the so-called Great Song dynasty. With nothing left to lose, Deng San led his remaining hundred or so brethren to join the newly formed Song under the Young Ming King. He was incorporated into the cavalry, but though his reputation was great, he was not among the inner circle, and so received only the rank of a commander of a thousand.

Not long after, for strategic reasons, Liu Futong dispatched three armies northward. Deng San was assigned to the central force under Master Guan Duo and Broken-Head Pan Cheng. They entered Shanxi and Hebei, but were blocked by the fierce Yuan general Chaghan Temur, trapped beyond the Taihang Mountains. Unable to support the eastern army’s assault on Dadu (Beijing), they were forced to move beyond the Great Wall, raiding the outer prefectures. Three months prior, they even captured Shangdu (in present-day Inner Mongolia).

Guan Duo and Pan Cheng’s intent was to seize the Liaoyang Province, claiming the Northeast and thus coordinating with the eastern army in Shandong across the sea. But Liu Futong sent strict orders for them to immediately march south, feigning an attack on Dadu to draw the main Yuan forces, thus relieving the intense pressure he faced in Henan.

Chaghan Temur and his allies, after repelling Guan Duo, massed their troops along the Taihang range, poised to strike south at any moment.

Master Guan sent three embassies hoping Liu Futong would reconsider, but the only reply was a terse proverb: “Without the skin, where can the hair attach?” Along with this, an edict from the Young Ming King and Chancellor Liu: the establishment of the Liaoyang Province, with Guan Duo, Pan Cheng, and a central army officer, Sha Liu’er, as ministers.

The meaning was clear: you may take Liaoyang later, but for now, you must return and fulfill your duty as Song subjects. This alone showed how dire matters were in Henan.

Left with no choice, prioritizing the greater good, Master Guan split forces with Pan Cheng. Pan Cheng pressed east towards Liaoyang; Guan Duo torched the palaces of Shangdu, then moved south to take the western stronghold of Fengzhou, preparing to assault Datong.

But the Yuan army moved swiftly. As they entered Fengzhou, the Yuan forces closed in.

After surveying the Yuan army’s formation, Deng San turned to look inside the city. On and around the walls, messengers on horseback raced back and forth, banners of all colors flying. The air was filled with the shouts of officers directing their men. The weary soldiers, hardly rested, hurried to their assigned posts with weapons and defensive gear, running along the ramparts. Clad in red tunics or with crimson bands, they surged like rivers of red, converging from all directions until the walls were awash in scarlet.

Fengzhou wasn’t large, its population always modest and now even fewer. Save for the Red Turbans, hardly a civilian was to be seen—landowners and most with wealth had fled long before the Red Turbans arrived. Those left behind were women, children, the old, the weak, and those with nothing at all—the very source of the Red Turbans’ recruits.

In the northwest corner of the city rose a famed white pagoda—the Ten Thousand Volumes Huayan Sutra Pagoda—built in the Liao dynasty, also called the White Pagoda. Master Guan’s command post was established in the main hall of the Great Ming Temple at its base. From the wall, one could glimpse the glint of weapons held by armored guards before the hall.

Between them, two great banners, each nearly ten meters tall, stood against the wind, snapping and fluttering. In bold black characters on red they proclaimed: “Three Thousand Tiger Warriors, Sweeping the Land of Yan; The Dragon Soars, Restoring the Song Dynasty.”

The forty-meter-high White Pagoda now served as a watchtower for reconnaissance and command. At its summit, a black banner was unfurled—signal for the cavalry to assemble. Deng San adjusted his breastplate and said to the youth beside him, “Let’s go down. Cavalry’s being summoned.”

Of the hundred brothers who joined him in the army years ago, less than half remained; those still with him included his adopted son. This youth, only fifteen or sixteen, bore his surname as was custom, but had no given name—everyone simply called him Deng She.

In Yuan custom, “She” was a term of respect for noble sons. Deng San had no ties to nobility, but among his men, he was certainly a lord.

Deng She answered and followed him down from the wall.

In this world, his birth father had been Deng San’s close comrade, second-in-command among the Mounted Bandits, who died covering the retreat of their main force in battle with the authorities when Deng She was barely twelve. Earlier, Deng She had suffered a mysterious illness; after recovering, his manner was oddly mature, as if aged beyond his years—those who noticed deemed him gifted. Deng San, childless and fond of the boy since he was little, adopted him. Since joining the army, Deng She had followed Deng San into every battle. Though young, he was already a seasoned soldier, and, by virtue of his adoptive father, held the title of company commander.

The title was nominal; he commanded only forty or fifty men, and only because he was Deng San’s son. At the height of Deng San’s power, his force never exceeded a little over four hundred.

“Who told you your old man wasn’t among the inner circle?” Deng San grumbled. “No one backs us, so we have to recruit our own. If it weren’t for my old reputation, we wouldn’t even have these few men.”

He was right—most followed him for his name, and most were outcast horse thieves with nowhere else to go.

Giving way to soldiers ascending the wall, father and son made their way down. Deng She looked around and asked, “Father, do you think we can hold?”

“Borotemur’s father was killed by Chancellor Liu’s intrigue, or so they say. Didn’t you see their white uniforms? They’re here for revenge. They have the numbers and horses; we’re barely settled. It’ll be a hard fight.” Deng San cursed, sighing, “Since we joined, it’s been five years. Fewer and fewer brothers left. At this rate, my supposed command of a thousand will soon be a real hundred, and your company down to a squad.”

Deng She was used to his father’s complaints; he only scratched his head and let the words pass by.

Being a commander was nothing compared to a free life as a horse thief, but in these times, only sticking with a large force meant survival. Return to banditry? The Yuan army would hunt them, and even the rebels wouldn’t tolerate them on their turf.

Change trades and go straight? War was everywhere, the land in chaos—look at the refugees from Fengzhou, uncertain if they’d survive the day. That was why, though Master Guan did nothing to replenish his numbers, Deng San could still gather men to barely maintain his force of two or three hundred.

The black banner atop the White Pagoda, once upright, now lay flat—a signal that the cavalry must assemble within the time it took to burn an incense stick, or face execution for tardiness.

“In such a rush? Damn it, we haven’t even finished our preparations. Don’t tell me…” Deng San looked again outside the city. By now, they’d reached halfway down the ramp, and could make out that the Yuan camp was still being set up, though the lookout towers were already in place and squadrons of cavalry patrolled beyond the moat. Behind them, teams were readying pontoon bridges to cross the moat, and in the western corner, batteries of cannons were nearly in position.

“They mean to strike before Borotemur’s camp is set, using cavalry to launch a preemptive attack,” Deng She concluded. Years of campaigning, countless sieges and defenses, combined with knowledge from another life—he could read the situation well enough.

They quickened their pace, moving against the tide of red, and soon reached the foot of the wall where two cavalrymen awaited with their horses.

Suddenly, thunderous booms erupted from the city’s western corner. “Damn Tartars are testing their cannons!” Deng San shouted. Deng She, quick as lightning, yanked him into a sheltered corner off the ramp, heedless of the melting spring snow. Chaos broke out among the Red Turban soldiers—shouts and cries, men diving for cover amid the confusion of horses and weapons.

The first few blasts were only sound and fury—no impact, the range not yet corrected. Then a stone shot whistled over their heads, smashing into a building fifty meters ahead; beams flew, dust billowed, the ground shook, the stone buried three feet deep.

Three or four more shots struck the wall, one bouncing down the ramp and crushing or injuring several unlucky soldiers.

Then silence fell outside—distance had been measured. After a moment, Deng She released Deng San, and they crawled out from cover. Luckily, the two cavalrymen and their horses were unharmed, though one young horse, new to the field, was panicked and struggling against its tether.

“Move!” Deng San, mud-splattered, vaulted onto his horse. The soldier let go of the reins, and Deng She followed, spurring his mount through the crowd toward the cavalry camp.

Half an incense stick later, the black banner atop the White Pagoda shifted from lying flat to slanting left—a sharp, swift movement in the wind. The wind had risen; this was the order for the assembled cavalry to prepare for action.

—

1. Mounted Bandits

“Mounted bandits, a hundred or so in a group, would burst into wealthy households, tally up their assets, and demand gold and silver for ‘flower money.’ Sometimes they’d sack official granaries, seize valuables, feast and make merry for three days before departing. The local authorities, unprepared for war, could do nothing.

‘Military commands were established in Nanyang, Daming, Dongping, Jinan, and Xuzhou to hunt the mounted bandits, but they could not be suppressed.’

‘The mounted bandits of the Central Plains plundered between Huai and Bian, in Qi by morning and Zhao by dusk—the court powerless to stop them.’ Not only did they loot treasuries, they also robbed grain barges. Their activity ranged broadly along both banks of the Yellow River.”