Volume Two: I Arrive and Stir the Heavens Chapter 2: Kou City II

During the day’s battle, both sides exchanged blows and could be considered evenly matched for now.

Deng She ordered Zhao Guo and Li Monk’s units to retreat to the rear camp for rest, while his own troops and Zhang Daier’s men, having recuperated, sharpened their blades and prepared for the night assault. Since the plan for an inside response had failed, they had no choice but to face the enemy head-on.

Hong Jixun frowned deeply. “I did not expect the city’s defenses to be so tight. Judging by Jiang Zhongxiang’s abilities, it should not have been so. I suspect that Li Chenggui must have played a significant role.”

He explained, “This man’s grandfather migrated to China in the early Yuan and served as Darughachi at the Thousand Households Office in Nanjing (Kaifeng). His father also served as a Mongol Yuan Thousand Household officer, familiar with siege techniques in the Central Plains. Though young, he is skilled with bow and horse, and renowned throughout Goryeo.” He fell silent, pondering how to break the enemy. The attack on Shuangcheng had been his suggestion, and the pressure on him was even greater than on Deng She. If the city fell, his position as the army’s strategist would be cemented; if it failed, even if Deng She spared him, Chen Hu and the others would not.

Two waves of assaults had cost three to four hundred casualties.

Deng She’s face was calm as still water, but inwardly he was anxious. If the city could not be taken quickly, and the likes of Guicheng reacted and sent heavy reinforcements to cut off their rear, they would be attacked from both sides—a situation doomed to failure. Yet he did not regret following Hong Jixun’s advice to attack Shuangcheng instead of Yizhou.

Strategically, it was the right choice.

Hong Jixun’s analysis was sound: Yizhou was vulnerable, beset on three sides, and unstable as a base. Shuangcheng, on the other hand, was surrounded by mountains, fertile land, and once taken, would provide a foothold. Using it as a stronghold to gradually absorb the surrounding Goryeo counties, he was confident that within a year, it would become a new world.

As for the current difficulties, he differed from Wen Huaguo. He did not blame those who offered counsel—if others always thought and acted for you, what purpose would he himself serve? Good advice could be heeded, but at critical moments, he trusted no one but himself; one could only rely on oneself.

He spoke, “The two battles today were hard-fought, but we gained much. The Goryeo defenders number three or four thousand, but must guard all sides of the walls. We rotate attacks day and night, giving them no rest. This city will fall.” After rallying the troops, he asked, “Generals, what strategies do you propose?”

Chen Hu, sleepless for a day and night, his eyes bloodshot, said, “The night is dark, General—why not try a fire attack?”

It was a classic siege tactic. In every city assault they had participated in, fire attacks had been used—sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Deng She nodded, looked outside the tent. Night had already shrouded the land; flags billowed at the gate, a wind lamp hung atop a flagpole, brilliantly lighting the camp entrance.

Across the way, the city walls were ablaze with torchlight.

Deng She assigned the generals: Wen Huaguo was to return to camp immediately and, together with Guan Shirong who was guarding the camp, launch a feigned attack in three quarters of an hour. Lu Qian Twelve assembled the cavalry in formation for the charge. Archers were selected, ready to emerge as soon as Wen Huaguo’s attack began, to extinguish the enemy’s torches. Brave warriors were chosen to set fire at the city gate.

Cannons and firelocks had already been fired too long, some barrels had burst and needed cooling. The west corner of the city wall remained solid. Deng She sighed—what a pity there were so few cannons.

All torches in the camp were extinguished. In the pitch dark, cavalry, archers, and infantry assembled quietly and orderly. Occasionally the sounds of string adjustment, arrowhead sharpening, and blade grinding could be heard; the damp air carried a mingled scent of blood and the fresh aroma of nearby fields, drifting with the breeze throughout the camp.

Deng She closed his eyes slightly, inhaling this fragrance, feeling the foreign spring night. His anxious mood gradually relaxed.

Hong Jixun admired him sincerely: “The General is calm, steady in command—a true leader.” Though he had talent for adaptability and vision, he had never experienced battle. Apart from reading a few military books and knowing some theory, he was clueless about actual tactics. The two attacks in the day—one command and thousands rushed to death, brutal and stirring—had left a deep impression on him.

Outside the tent, the personal guard called softly, then entered to report: “General, Lady Wang has arrived.”

Deng She waved his hand, unwilling to deal with her, and ordered the guard to convey a message: “Battle is imminent. Lady, please retire to the rear camp and rest. Upon victory, I shall personally welcome you into the city.”

Before the words fell, Lady Wang entered, carrying a wooden tray. She wore military attire, wrapped in leather armor, no helmet, her hair piled up ingeniously in a skyward knot five or six inches high. Her uniform and high bun, with a clean, unadorned face, made her refreshing to behold—Hong Jixun was taken aback by her beauty.

He had never seen Lady Wang before and hurriedly rose, glancing at Deng She.

Deng She was irritated. Women were forbidden in the camp during marches and battles—not out of superstition, but because their presence genuinely affected morale. If the soldiers kept thinking about women, who would fight bravely? Thus he had always, sometimes by request and sometimes by order, demanded Lady Wang refrain from moving about.

Yet at the critical moment, she calmly dared to present herself in the main tent.

He nearly lost control of his temper, rising abruptly. Chen Hu coughed twice, reminding him not to forget the plan to win over Wang Shicheng and Xu Jizu. The scouts had not returned; the fate of those two was unknown. Deng She forced a smile. “Lady, why do you come here instead of resting in the rear camp? The battle below the city is dangerous.”

Lady Wang, in her uniform, moved like wind through willows, both valiant and charming. Despite his dislike of her, one had to admit—she was a beauty, pleasing to the eye.

She approached Deng She’s desk, raised the wooden tray overhead, and offered it with a gentle voice: “When Marshal Wang broke the rebels, I always attended him in the tent, chatting and drinking. The night is cold and windy; I have specially prepared wine and meat to bolster the General’s spirit.” Seeing others in the tent, she reverted to the self-address of a concubine—not out of shyness, but to leave herself an escape. If Wang Shicheng was alive and heard of this, it would not be good.

Among the Red Turban Army, it was uncommon to have military concubines accompany drinking before battle, though not unheard of. But Deng She was not one to be compared to those others. Lady Wang’s flattery missed its mark; Deng She refused, signaling his guard to take the tray. He turned to the desk, raised a wine cup, and toasted the newly arrived Zhang Daier.

“General Zhang, drink this cup in full—may your banner triumph! I shall personally beat the drum for you.”

Zhang Daier ignored Lady Wang standing by Deng She’s side, drank in one gulp, and declared boldly, “I shall repay the General’s kindness with the head of Goryeo’s commander.” With no further instructions, he saluted and departed.

Deng She turned and bowed to Lady Wang. “Lady, your kindness is appreciated.” He left her behind and, with the generals, exited the tent and ascended the drum tower. He requested the drumsticks, gazed toward Wen Huaguo’s camp to the west. The time had come. With a shout, he saw Wen Huaguo’s golden hammer gleaming at the vanguard.

Soldiers resting atop Shuangcheng’s walls immediately sprang to attention. Arrows flew in chaos. Soldiers on the other three sides of the wall all turned to watch the west. The night was torn open once more.

Several horse whinnies sounded below the drum tower. Lu Qian Twelve’s cavalry had assembled. Before the cavalry stood the infantry phalanx. Zhang Daier, armored and holding his spear, stared unblinking at the siege tower’s flag, awaiting Deng She’s drum. Deng She delayed, observing the battle on the western wall, waiting until Wen Huaguo reached the moat and began deploying the trench-filling carts. Only then did he shout loudly.

The red flag atop the siege tower suddenly unfurled; the drumstick fell.

The camp gates swung open. Archers at the front, shielded by half-boats, charged at a run. Four or five hundred loosed arrows together, extinguishing many torches on the city wall. After three volleys, the drumbeat quickened. The red flag atop the siege tower switched to black; Lu Qian Twelve raised his spear with a roar, and a thousand soldiers, recently converted from surrendered troops, poured out.

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This thousand-strong unit was much more formidable than Deng She’s original troops. He had put great effort into reorganizing them—from squad leaders to centurions, all were drawn from the bravest veterans, except for the newly promoted ones. Promised heavy rewards and pay before the battle, everyone was highly motivated and reached the moat almost instantly.

The defenders atop the wall barely had time to shoot before the trench-filling carts deployed. The fastest centuria had already crossed the moat; the siege ladders were within arm’s reach of the wall. Hong Jixun’s heart swelled with excitement and praise.

Deng She’s drumbeat grew heavier and faster. Ten or so small drums circled the main drum, accompanying Deng She’s rhythm like eagles in flight or dragons emerging from the sea—it shook the heavens. Hundreds of personal guards struck torches, lighting the drum tower so that the entire army could witness Deng She personally drumming to inspire the troops.

Drums and banners—one to stir the ear, one to stir the eye.

Under such encouragement, Zhang Daier needed no guards, wielded his spear and deflected the arrows that now rained down from the wall. The siege ladder clanged against the wall. He split his men: one team deployed a battering ram, ready to strike; another carried bundles of firewood soaked in vegetable oil, shielded, and rushed toward the gate.

Hong Jixun clenched his fists in nervousness, his fan dropped unnoticed, eyes fixed on the gate.

The leader of the fire-attack was Yang Wanhu. He had fought bitterly all day, had fallen from the siege ladder, nearly lost his life. Yet when he volunteered, he was as lively as ever, seemingly fearless. Deng She admired his spirit and granted his request.

Jiang Zhongxiang and Li Chenggui appeared again atop the wall.

They directed fire arrows at the bundles of firewood carried by the attackers, but most arrows were blocked by shields. A few slipped through, igniting a pile of firewood, and the soldiers carrying it, smeared with oil, became living torches.

Hong Jixun’s face showed pity as he watched these burning men dancing and running in agony. Yang Wanhu charged forward, without hesitation, and with a mighty swing of his axe, decapitated one of them. Shouting like a beast, he stripped off his armor, grabbed the burning head, and hurled it onto the wall—Goryeo defenders recoiled in horror.

From afar, he howled, “Kill a hundred! Avenge Brother Li!”

His followers echoed madly, “Kill a hundred! Kill a hundred!”

“Truly a band of wild men,” Hong Jixun murmured. The suffering of these outcasts was unimaginable. In places like Shui Dada, temperatures dropped dozens of degrees below zero. The court ignored them; they lived in barren mountains, lacking clothing and food, their neighbors either beasts or unrefined Jurchen. Those who survived had all endured primitive hardship—calling them wild men was not an exaggeration.

The gate’s iron spikes blocked Yang Wanhu’s path. He discarded his shield, climbed nimbly like a monkey, reaching the hanging chains. Steadying himself, he swung his axe fiercely. Jiang Zhongxiang and Li Chenggui, awed by his ferocity, ordered torches to illuminate the gate and concentrated arrows at him.

Three or four followers climbed after him, spreading their shields to protect him. Arrows thudded into the shields, which were soon bristling with shafts.

Chen Paizi, too bulky to climb, organized thirty men to try to move the iron spikes from below. But the structure was built of solid wood and iron, extremely heavy, covered in nails—there was no way to grip it, and they couldn’t budge it. Worse, they dropped their shields while trying, and lost five or six men to arrows.

Deng She ordered archers to target the tower, covering Yang Wanhu and his men.

Seeing he could not break the iron spikes, Yang Wanhu roared in frustration. Chen Paizi ordered outcasts to climb, pairing up—one held a shield against arrows, another passed firewood, relayed up to Yang Wanhu, who tossed it over the spikes to the gate.

Shuangcheng’s gate tower had two levels. The upper level wielded powerful bows and crossbows for distance; the lower level used spears and blades for close defense. Now, seeing the crisis, the attackers’ shields neutralized arrows; Jiang Zhongxiang summoned axe-men to the lower tower.

The lower tower, just above the gate, allowed defenders to reach Yang Wanhu atop the spikes with long weapons. Among the Goryeo defenders were some of great strength—several swings broke a shield protecting Yang Wanhu, and an archer seized the opportunity to shoot down a follower.

Yang Wanhu swung his axe, ignoring incoming arrows, battling the defenders reaching down. Though small, he was strong—one blow could shatter a weapon, and some opponents even dropped their axes. His shield bearer was hit by two arrows beneath the ribs.

Yang Wanhu roared, snapped them off, and fought on. Chen Paizi sent new shield bearers up to protect him. Others with long weapons joined Yang Wanhu in attacking the tower.

Yang Wanhu had never stormed a city—he didn’t know the intricacies of the gate tower. Seeing the defenders gathering, he was excited, thinking it a better entry point than burning the gate. He aimed for a spear, leapt to grab it, intending to climb the tower. The Goryeo spearman recoiled in fright, pulling back.

Chen Paizi below shouted repeatedly; he knew the plan wouldn’t work. Even if they climbed the tower, what could a handful of men do? The tower was so low, only half a person could fit—except for someone as small as Yang Wanhu, others could hardly enter.

At the moat, archers shifted under flag orders, targeting the tower, suppressing the defenders. Yang Wanhu continued to throw firewood.

The siege ladders had seen several waves of attackers, none successful. They had built three new ladders that day, plus those left from earlier, totaling six. One had just been destroyed. Zhang Daier grabbed a small round shield, drove off the guards, and charged up.

His armor was good; arrows could not pierce it—he reached the parapet. The defenders swung spiked clubs at him; he ditched his shield, aimed at the chain joints, and stabbed with his spear.

Deng She’s spearhead was heavy and razor-sharp. He was strong and experienced, knowing the clubs’ weak points. He snapped the joint in one thrust, ducked as the club, now hanging by a single chain, swung by.

The attackers cheered.

Deng She, invigorated, laughed loudly, his voice echoing through the camp. He shouted to Hong Jixun, “With such brave generals, how can we fail to take this city?” He ordered, “Beat the main drum, inspire our army’s courage!”

The drumstick struck hard—a resonant sound, echoed by surrounding drums. The main drum was played in the shang tone, one of the five musical notes. Watching Zhang Daier, Deng She, in rhythm with his ascent, beat out the marching drum—one drumbeat per step. Those who held the main drum were all brave warriors; under Deng She’s lead, they exerted themselves. The majestic drumbeats were urgent and resounding, like thunder rolling across the sky.

Lu Qian Twelve raised his spear and shouted, “Move earth, drive the enemy!” Thousands echoed, their voices so fierce that cowards would tremble.

Wen Huaguo’s camp continued its feigned attack, drawing enemy forces; hearing the shout, his whole camp joined in. Luo Guoqi remained in the east camp, not attacking but observing, recognizing Deng She’s efforts to boost morale and joining in.

For a moment, shouts surged around Shuangcheng. Most Goryeo defenders did not understand the words, but such momentum sapped their morale.

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Zhang Daier pressed close to the parapet, his spear thrust aside intercepting weapons. Seeing his ferocity, the defenders retreated, pushing forward a wooden barricade and switching to archers.

The wooden barricade was five feet wide and five feet above the parapet, made of six sturdy logs joined with gaps too narrow for a person, with two rolling logs fitted with bamboo spikes atop. With this cover, archers could shoot without worry.

Jiang Zhongxiang brought spearmen to stand by the archers, thrusting through the gaps to attack Zhang Daier.

Zhang Daier reused his old tactic, stabbing his spear into the barricade, trying to flip it away. But it was fixed to the ground, not like the airborne clubs—he couldn’t budge it. He thrust deeper, killing an enemy who tried to push down the ladder.

Suddenly, cheers erupted at the gate.

All the firewood was piled up; Yang Wanhu jumped down. The outcasts withdrew, fire arrows ignited the pile. Flames roared, driving defenders on the tower to flee.

Jiang Zhongxiang glanced only briefly, unmoved. He waved his flag, and on the gate and tower, five concealed pools were uncovered. The mechanism triggered, and pouring out just two pools’ water extinguished the fire completely.

Yang Wanhu never expected such a twist. He had failed with the ladders by day, and now, the fire attack at night was thwarted. Proud and hot-tempered, he could not swallow his anger; shirtless, he was about to charge the iron spikes again. Chen Paizi grabbed him—the spikes were red-hot and impassable.

Zhang Daier handed his spear to a soldier below, switched to a broadsword, and hacked at the barricade. After several blows, he broke through. The enemies dropped logs, but he was close enough to push them aside. Broadsword in hand, he leapt onto the wall.

Deng She was overjoyed; Hong Jixun praised repeatedly, “A true warrior, a true warrior.”

Seeing Yang Wanhu’s fire attack fail, he was about to rush to the ladders. Deng She waved the command flag, ordering the drum. Yang and Chen, having spent months in Liaoyang, could distinguish drum signals—they turned and began destroying the scattered caltrops.

Before the wall, in the moat, the enemy had planted many wooden stakes, chaotic as deer tracks. Each stake was driven fifty centimeters deep, forty centimeters above ground, about as high as a deer’s leg—hence called caltrops, used to block cavalry.

“The gate isn’t breached, cavalry is useless,” an armored guard remarked, not understanding Deng She’s plan.

“How much water can they store in those pools? The earlier fire attack shouldn’t have burned all the firewood at once—better to do it in batches, drain their water supply, and catch them unprepared. The gate will fall.”

Orders were given, firewood gathered and troops assigned. Divided into five groups, they attacked the gate in waves. Though Zhang Daier had seized the wall, only three of six ladders remained intact; the other two had not broken through enemy defenses. Deng She worried that Zhang Daier alone might not suffice, so prepared a backup plan.

Zhang Daier rampaged atop the wall, quickly clearing an area. A dozen soldiers followed him up. Jiang Zhongxiang withdrew, directing reserves to counterattack. Li Chenggui threw off his cloak, seized his spear, and fought Zhang Daier. Zhang Daier, exhausted from prolonged combat, could not withstand Li Chenggui’s fresh troops, and retreated two steps—the battle atop the wall stalled.

“Archers, target the Goryeo general.”

Chen Hu drew his bow, rode out of camp, and only stopped near the wall after crossing the trench-filling cart. Well-prepared, the cart was shielded by half-boats and unscathed.

He drew his bow, riding back and forth beneath the wall, shooting one enemy after another—four or five fell, those surrounding Zhang Daier. Li Chenggui was struck by an arrow, but his armor protected him. With Chen Hu and the archers’ support, Zhang Daier’s pressure eased slightly.

Five waves of fire attack followed, each climbing the spikes and igniting fires. Gradually, the water was drained from all five pools. The fourth wave finally set the gate ablaze. Archers rained arrows, suppressing defenders so they couldn’t douse the flames.

The fire raged, crackling audibly even to Deng She atop the drum tower. The charred gate billowed black smoke, its stench permeating above and below. Deng She’s heart pounded—after what seemed an eternity, he heard a muffled thud as the gate broke open.

The waiting battering ram charged. In a few strikes, it smashed through the now-rotten spikes and burst through the gate.

“Beat the drum! Cavalry, charge!”

Lu Qian Twelve turned his horse, rallying his men: “First into the city—who else but us?” Over a thousand raised blades and spears, shouting his words as they spurred their mounts. In moments, they crossed the moat, leapt over the destroyed caltrops, swept past Yang Wanhu and his men, and stormed into the city.

By now, night was nearly spent.

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1. Skyward Knot
In early Song, the region of Shu was not yet pacified. Local women favored the skyward knot hairstyle, which was thought to herald the coming of the Song.

2. Shang
One of the five musical notes, corresponding to ‘2’ in numbered notation.