Volume Two: My Swing Shakes Heaven and Earth Chapter Three: Kou City III

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What Lu Qianshi'er charged into was not the true city gate, but rather a barbican. Upon entering, he looked up and saw three large characters: "Enemy of Ten Thousand." These words hung high above a protective gate wall, the wall itself several zhang tall and dozens of paces long, standing before all the men and horses, blocking their sight and obscuring what lay behind. By convention, the entry of a barbican was not aligned with the main gate. In other words, though Lu Qianshi'er entered from the west, the actual city gate might be to the east, south, or north.

But this posed no difficulty for Lu Qianshi'er. With Hong Jixun's city defense map, he knew the precise location of the gate. As he tried to skirt the wall, the ground was strewn with chevaux-de-frise, deer antlers, and iron caltrops, making movement impossible. The vanguard of a hundred men dismounted and began to clear obstacles, but had barely moved two before a shout rang out.

Everyone looked up. On both sides of the barbican wall, torches swayed as enemies rolled up cannons. Goryeo archers crowded the ramparts, unleashing a volley of arrows and stones. From beneath the wall, hidden soldiers emerged—lifting stone slabs, hundreds of ax-wielding infantrymen swarmed out, hacking at chests and slashing at horse legs.

Lu Qianshi'er was beset on both sides, unable to shield his men.

Fortunately, only two or three hundred cavalry had charged into the barbican, and they were agile enough to maneuver. Leaving behind a dozen corpses, they retreated in haste. Watching from the drum tower, Deng She felt a chill in his heart. After fighting through a day and night, with seven or eight hundred casualties, it had been hard enough to break into the city. If they failed to advance now, morale would suffer greatly. Should this assault fail, organizing another would be even harder.

If it came to the point of being trapped outside the city, once the surrounding counties recovered, they'd be in grave danger. From his observations, Deng She judged that the enemy's forces in the surrounding regions were not numerous. Coordination and massing of troops would take about ten days. Reinforcements from the capital would take even longer. Thus, he had ten days. As for provisions, at most half a month; they had to take Twin Cities within that time.

Hong Jixun claimed the city could be taken in three days, but Deng She had planned for six. One day for encampment, then a day and night of assault; at dawn, it would be the third day.

He set aside the drumsticks and focused again on Zhang Daier. Encouraged by the breach at the gate, more and more Red Turbans were climbing the wall, now numbering forty or fifty. But the fighting was fierce, and the ground was littered with corpses. If they could not make further gains at the gate, he feared the men would lose heart.

Morale must be raised, never allowed to flag. He decided to lead the troops personally back into the barbican.

"The commander's duty is to hold the center and direct the armies. How can you risk yourself? Should anything happen, the whole army is lost," Hong Jixun protested repeatedly.

"If the gate falls, the wall cannot be held. A great advantage lost in an instant will ruin all. Another failure will damage morale and embolden the enemy," Deng She said, pointing at the thousands attacking the city. "Sir, tell me: what is the best way to rally the troops?"

Hong Jixun fell silent.

Chen Hu rode back upon hearing the news and could not stop him either. Zhao Guo, who had been resting at the rear, hurried up and insisted on accompanying him. He donned his armor and brought several dozen personal guards. Deng She rode out of camp. When the army learned their commander would fight in person, Hong Jixun led the cheers: "Cut bamboo, join bamboo; raise dust, pursue the foe!"

On the wall, Zhang Daier saw Deng She himself charging forward and felt a sudden surge of strength. Dodging Li Chenggui's spear, he plunged into the Goryeo soldiers, exchanged his saber for a spear, stabbing and thrusting, hoisting two or three men and flinging them down the wall.

Remembering Deng She's promotion and gift of a spear, he was both grateful and angry, eyes red with fury: "To let the commander risk his life because we cannot break the enemy—what a disgrace! Soldiers, would you not give your lives?"

They had fought on the wall for a quarter of an hour—any new recruits would have broken already. But Zhang Daier was valiant, his men well-trained, handsomely rewarded, urged on by the drums, officers, and Deng She's tireless encouragement. Thus, they held their corner of the wall.

Against the current, one must advance or be swept back. Now that they held, the enemy began to falter.

By the time Deng She reached the gate, the Red Turbans on the wall had grown to about a hundred. Forming a dozen circular formations, they advanced step by step, expanding their hold towards the last remaining ladder. They supported the soldiers climbing that ladder as well.

Li Chenggui no longer sought a duel with Zhang Daier. Initially, he aimed to capture the leader first, and now, seeing a more prominent officer at the fore, he would not miss the chance.

Though there were many Red Turbans on the wall, the Goryeo soldiers were even more numerous. Jiang Zhongxiang mustered four or five reserve teams, about seven or eight hundred men, forming dozens of wedge formations, spears in front, axes behind, and launched wave after wave at the Red Turban positions. The fighting was savage, with heavy casualties on both sides.

As Deng She passed Yang Wanhui, he shouted, "Wu-tou, can you still fight?" Wu-tou was Yang Wanhui's childhood nickname, as Chen Paizi had told him.

Yang Wanhui said nothing, kicked aside the medic tending his wound, hefted his axe, and followed on foot. Chen Paizi quickly gathered the refugees holding shields by the gate, following. Lu Qianshi'er, mortified, charged ahead, scattering the Goryeo soldiers at the gate, leading the second assault on the barbican.

Deng She directed the cavalry to form ranks at the entrance, bows at the ready, aiming up and down. Yang Wanhui and the rest raised their shields, rolled into the city, and hacked apart the deer antlers and obstacles. Goryeo soldiers appeared on the walls; at their first sign, Deng She ordered a volley. A swath of enemies fell at once. They targeted the archers, while Chen Hu coolly aimed only at the gunners.

His archery was superb, and at such close range, even with shields, any gap was enough for his arrows to find their mark. Once the shield dropped, the gunners were exposed. In this way, he shot two gunners in quick succession.

From the hidden passage, more Goryeo soldiers emerged. Yang Wanhui led a detachment to pin them back. Chen Paizi continued clearing obstacles. Two squads, carrying a battering ram and bundles of firewood, hoisted a half-boat, shielded by Lu Qianshi'er and others, circled the wall, and found the true city gate—reenacting the storming of the barbican.

Before the gate fell, the ground was cleared of obstacles.

Zhao Guo spurred his horse, dashing through the barbican. None of the enemy soldiers could withstand him. Yang Wanhui, unwilling to be outdone, raced him—one on horseback, one on foot—slashing through the enemy, leaving a trail of chaos and corpses.

Deng She, radiant with spirit, leveled his spear and laughed aloud.

Since taking command, his heart had grown hard, but he found himself laughing more often. He realized laughter was a weapon to mask his inner thoughts and bolster his soldiers’ confidence. As Hong Jixun said, a commander’s duty was to sit and direct—but that was only half true. Deng She, through experience, believed a commander's most vital role was to steady the army’s morale. So long as the men trusted him, no hardship was insurmountable.

Amid his laughter, he glimpsed a figure flashing across the barbican wall: young, valiant, resplendent in armor—a man he remembered from Hong Jixun’s introduction, named Li Chenggui. The name was familiar, and he was momentarily distracted. Suddenly, a whistling arrow shot directly at his face.

He dodged aside, but a second arrow immediately followed, striking his horse in the left eye. The beast reared in agony, Deng She was thrown to the ground. His guards leapt down to rescue him; chaos ensued. Amidst the turmoil, Chen Hu remained mounted, nocking an arrow to find the hidden archer.

A third arrow came, relentless. Deng She rolled on the ground, but could not evade it. The arrow slipped through the gap between helmet and armor, piercing his neck.

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Blood sprayed forth. Deng She cried out and reached to pull the arrow, but a guard grabbed his hand. If he pulled it out now, without a medic nearby, he would bleed to death.

He had not slept for two nights, and now, gravely wounded, could not stay conscious. Darkness closed in. He vaguely saw Zhao Guo galloping back, heard Chen Hu’s furious roar, something about slaughtering the city for three days once it was taken.

He tried to raise his hand to stop Chen Hu, but lacked the strength; his arm dropped weakly.

Deng San, countless mounted bandits, old brothers of the Red Turban Army who had died—vivid faces, near and far, appeared in the void, their voices and smiles as real as life. Burning villages, fleeing and weeping civilians, friend and foe locked in deadly combat on plains and city walls—he gazed down on the Mongol besiegers. Ten years of struggle for survival became piercingly clear in that moment.

Am I going to die? he asked himself. I cannot die! There is so much left undone. His will to live surged, but he was too weary. It seemed he heard Deng San whispering at his ear: "Brother She, take this chance—rest a while." His last thought: by all means, do not slaughter the city.

But the city was slaughtered.

When Deng She awoke, he found himself lying on an ornate bed, covered in silk quilts, black sable curtains hanging around. The warmth inside was like spring, with a faint, sweet scent wafting in the air. His whole body felt limp; when he touched his wound, he found it securely bandaged.

With effort, he lifted his hand and parted the curtains.

His eyes met carved beams and painted rafters. Mirror stands, wash basins, porcelain vases, bronze tripods—an opulent array of furnishings. Red candles burned on the table, wax pooling thickly. A censer wafted blue smoke. Two girls in black skirts, about fourteen or fifteen, stood nearby. Seeing him awake, one ran out, while the other stood bewildered, then remembered to kneel, head bowed low.

Soon, the curtain lifted and Lady Wang entered, dressed in Goryeo attire—a short, tight jacket hugging her body, a white robe embroidered with gold thread, long and full, tied under the arms, draping to the floor.

Her face was haggard, as if she had not slept for days; yet, at the sight of Deng She, genuine joy shone through. She hurried to the bed, deftly fastened the curtains, knelt by the bed, and felt Deng She's forehead.

Deng She tried to avoid her hand but lacked strength. The cool touch lingered as she murmured, "Thanks to the Bodhisattva, the fever has finally broken." Then, solicitous, she asked, "General, you must be hungry—would you like some soup or porridge? Your body is weak, let me bring you some fresh ginseng broth." Without waiting for a reply, she instructed a maid to alert the kitchen, then took a towel from the basin, tested the water, and began to wipe Deng She's face.

He was ill at ease with her care and waved the towel away. "How many days since the city fell?" he asked, judging from his surroundings that he was still within the city.

"Three days." Lady Wang obediently put down the towel.

"And General Wen, General Chen?"

"They have kept watch at your side these days. It’s now the third watch; they only just went to rest. As there was no personal servant, I volunteered to serve you." She pressed her chest, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thankfully, you are strong. Such a wound, yet you woke in three days." Her eyes shone with heartfelt admiration.

The room was quiet, the incense hissing in the censer. Deng She listened intently; faint sounds of weeping, shouting, running, and pursuit drifted in from outside. He sat up at once, strength flooding back; barefoot, he strode to the window and flung it open.

A cold wind swept in, heavy with smoke and the scent of burning.

He was atop a pavilion. Under the dark sky, streets like a spider’s web spread below—brick houses, clay huts, thatched cottages, all divided into districts. Now, rich or poor, all was indistinguishable; everywhere, flickering torches, squads of soldiers, the occasional squadron of cavalry thundering past, black smoke curling up from many places, shrouding the sky.

Especially in the brick districts, many places had been burned to ruins. Here and there, corpses sprawled across the ashen ground.

In the distance, soldiers with spears battered open a hut, dragged out a Goryeo woman, laughing as they seized her by the limbs and lifted her high. The woman struggled and cried out; their shadows vanished behind the house. A troop of cavalry, jeering among themselves, galloped past the cordoned off pavilion, each horse carrying a bulging sack whose contents were unknown.

Deng She felt as though he had fallen into an icy cavern; his hands and feet turned cold as he gripped the window frame. Only one thought echoed in his mind: My grand design is ruined, ruined!

"How long has the slaughter lasted?"

"At dawn, it will be three days." Lady Wang thoughtfully draped a sable cloak over him, glancing at the city’s devastation outside, unperturbed. Such things, Wang Shicheng and Xu Jizu had done after taking cities; this was the way of the world: the strong rule, the weak are prey.

Deng She clenched his fists, then slowly released them, again and again. His neck ached; unable to speak loudly, he motioned a guard outside to enter: "Summon Generals Wen, Chen, and Zhao."

The guard bowed. "Upon seeing you awake, I have already sent word to the commanders. I will go and urge them again."

Deng She stopped him. "Take these two girls away."

The guard hesitated. Lady Wang explained, "Don't worry, General. They are not Goryeo, but Han girls who surrendered with the city. During the slaughter, all Han were spared. In gratitude, they sent over a dozen pretty girls. General Chen arranged for them to serve in shifts. With your injury, someone must attend you."

She glanced at the two frightened girls and added, "I hear all the girls sent were from good families. General, rest assured, they are clean." She smiled demurely. "With my instruction, they will serve you to your satisfaction."

Deng She had no interest in such comforts and waved them away impatiently. He cared only for how to handle the aftermath. The guard led the girls out.

"Madam, you should rest as well. It’s late, and I do not dare trouble you further," he said as Lady Wang helped him back to bed.

She, sensing his mood, did not insist. She was clever enough not to invite annoyance. Though reluctant, she curtsied and said, "Let me check if the broth is ready. If so, I’ll bring it to you." She tidied his quilt, retreated to the door, then turned and left gracefully.

Worried, she recalled that since the siege began, Deng She had grown distant—cold, even. He had mentioned sending scouts to investigate Wang Shicheng’s fate; could it be that Wang Shicheng and Xu Jizu had met disaster? The officers, too, had treated her with indifference. The more she thought, the more likely it seemed. Distracted, she tripped on her skirt, nearly falling, and steadied herself against the wall, glancing back at the door, troubled.

Heavy military boots echoed on the stairs; the officers were coming up. She did not want to see them, so she quickened her pace and slipped down the other side.

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During this time, Deng She gathered his thoughts. Were it not for their concern and anger at his injury, Chen Hu and the others would not have ordered the slaughter. They were avenging him, though he did not approve of their methods. Still, both Wen and Chen were his uncles; his position owed much to their support. Openly rebuking them was not the solution.

He recalled his earlier thought during the village massacre—since forming his army, he had never truly enforced discipline. Now the time had come.

When the officers entered and saw him awake, Wen Huaguo burst out laughing, touching Deng She's head, checking his wound, boasting, "See? Didn't I tell you all? Three days at most, and the young master would wake. Born for battle, such a wound is nothing!" He ordered a guard, "Get a piece of silver for the damn doctor—have him come check the young master again."

Chen Hu and the others were overjoyed. Zhang Daier and Lu Qianshi'er, though happy, bowed and begged forgiveness.

He Guangxiu dropped to his knees, wailing, "General! You nearly worried me to death! At last, you’re awake—tomorrow I’ll fulfill my vow at the temple." He pointed at his head. "I prayed so hard for you, my forehead is swollen!"

Deng She saw the black bruise on his head and couldn't help but smile. "Get up." He encouraged Zhang Daier and Lu Qianshi'er: "You all fought bravely, risking your lives—what crime is there? Not only innocent, but deserving great reward for taking the city. I’ll see to it." Then to Chen Hu: "When did the city fall?"

"Not long after you were wounded. The city fell soon after," Chen Hu said, calling to a guard, "Bring the heads in for the general."

Two guards carried in a large wooden tray, three rows of heads neatly arranged, at least twenty. Foremost was Li Chenggui, followed by Jiang Zhongxiang, Zhao Duchu, and others. Sprinkled with lime, their eyelids rolled back, hair in disarray, covered in blood—faces of anger, calm, pleading, terror, eyes wide or mouths agape—a horrific sight.

Chen Hu said, "All the Goryeo officers above the rank of centurion are here."

Deng She’s gaze lingered on the heads. "And the soldiers?"

"Fourteen hundred surrendered, all beheaded the night we took the city—their heads are at the gate. Should you wish, when you recover, I’ll accompany you to see." Chen Hu spoke lightly; vengeance for the commander was only right. "As for the seventy-three personal guards who entered the barbican with you, General Zhao has them bound at the execution ground, awaiting your orders."

The law: if the commander falls in battle, his guards are executed. Though Deng She had not been captured, his serious injury and their failure to protect him meant they were forfeit.

He was silent a moment. "The ambush was not their fault. We need every man—release them." He asked, "Our casualties?"

"Five hundred fell in the assault, three hundred in street fighting—eight hundred dead. Three hundred seriously wounded, more than two thousand lightly injured."

"Are there enough medicines?"

"With our own supplies and what we captured, more than enough." During Deng She's three days of unconsciousness, Wen Huaguo and Chen Hu handled all matters. Wen was rough, Chen more meticulous, so it was Chen who answered.

Deng She nodded. "Bury the dead with military honors. Those who suffered for their merit, treat generously. As for those whose families were executed by the Goryeo due to Master Hong’s letter, give them rich burials and reward any surviving kin." He continued, "Any movement in the neighboring counties?"

Chen Hu’s scouts patrolled a hundred li night and day. "None. We took the city too quickly for them to respond—they were likely shocked as well."

With all major affairs in order, Deng She was reassured. He pointed outside. "How long has the slaughter lasted?"

"Three days."

Deng She sighed. "Cease the killing. Now. Sheathe the blades."

"The men were promised three days. If we go back on it, they’ll lose faith. Wait until dawn," Chen Hu said, glancing at the sky.

Deng She said nothing, then nodded, his tone firm: "When the blades are sheathed, any who disobey are to be executed."

To "wash" the city was to slaughter it; to "sheathe the blades" meant the slaughter was over.

Since he chose not to blame Chen Hu and the others, he had to find ways to mitigate the consequences. He recalled the method used with Liu, the commandant of Yongping: slaughtering was like displaying corpses, rich burials like lavish rewards. He planned to reward the Goryeo civilians who labored during the siege, to show that those who submitted would be generously treated, but those who resisted would face death.

He had not seen Hong Jixun or Wu Henian in the crowd, so Chen Hu and the others must still have considered them outsiders. He ordered, "At dawn, have Master Hong and Master Wu come." When it came to governing the city, gathering taxes and grain, only Hong Jixun and Wu Henian would do. Since this place was to be the foundation for growth, careful planning was needed.

The officers stayed for a while, chatting idly. When Lady Wang brought the ginseng broth and watched Deng She drink it, and the doctor checked his wound and declared it healing well, they all took their leave, letting him rest. As they withdrew, Deng She told them to take the heads away; the sight had frightened Lady Wang and the doctor enough.

Lady Wang did not want to leave, arguing that with the girls gone, he’d have no one to attend him. Deng She, helpless, had the guard fetch the girls back, and only then did she leave, still unhappy. When he suggested a separate residence for her, she said she was afraid alone, so he let her stay.

The window left open, unused to comfort and warmth after so long in the field, Deng She let the cool breeze ripple the curtains. He stared at the fire and smoke outside, sleep far from his eyes. The night faded silently; as the sky paled, the order rang out: "By the general’s command, three days are up—sheathe your blades. Any who disobey will be put to death."

Gradually, the city grew quiet. Deng She closed his eyes, feigning sleep, thoughts racing.

How to govern Twin Cities, how to proceed—all manner of plans crowded his mind. He touched the wound on his neck; the pain was intense, and he wished it would heal at once. Footsteps sounded quietly outside, pausing at the door. Someone whispered to the guard, "Is the general awake?"

He opened his eyes. Though he had not slept all night, he felt refreshed, a new strength filling him. In the light of dawn, he raised his voice: "Is that Master Hong? Please, come in."