Volume Two: I Come to Shake Heaven and Earth 17. East Wind II

Qing Qianxing and Jin Depei had dwelled in the northern frontier for a long time. They had traveled between the Twin Cities countless times, well acquainted with the roads. Jin Depei had even participated in the siege three years prior, intimately familiar with every blade of grass and stone in the Twin Cities. Terrain was the ally of the soldier; with this advantage, their attacks often struck at the cities' weakest points. Qing Qianxing personally supervised the battle, and his troops fought valiantly. The defenders on the walls struggled to hold their ground.

Stone projectiles whistled overhead, while crossbow bolts and arrows flew underfoot. The Lih soldiers, urged by their officers, brandished swords behind the lines, pushing the troops forward in their assault. Several squads of brave men carried battering rams and siege equipment, shielded by trebuchets, advancing to smash the city gates.

Deng She stood atop the city tower, casting a glance downward. He issued orders: within the city, the carpenters’ battalion filled basins, jars, and vats with boiling oil, mixing in human excrement, and sent them to the walls. The defenders hurled these concoctions down onto the Lih soldiers at the gate.

Chaos erupted below. The boiling oil seeped through the gaps in armor, scalding flesh, while the toxic excrement brought agony beyond endurance. The weak-willed rolled on the ground in torment.

There was not much oil collected, so it could only be concentrated where most needed, not spread among all the battlements.

The Lih army's ladders were pushed forward from filling-trench carts, dense and numerous, with five or six flying bridges connecting towers. Almost every battlement on the southern wall was embroiled in fierce tug-of-war skirmishes.

Arrows and stones could not stem the enemy's onslaught; tiles and bricks were flung down in desperation. Those struck rarely died outright, but the unfortunate were left with broken heads, blinded eyes, and missing teeth. Heavy logs were rolled down the ladders, controlled by mechanisms, dropped a measured distance, then hoisted up again for another barrage.

The defenders could not withstand the sheer numbers of the Lih soldiers. Qing Qianxing was determined to take the city in one push. Of his five thousand men, five hundred were left to guard the southern camp; two thousand sent to the mountain pass, half of whom remained, gathering several hundred scattered county troops, all brought back to join the assault. Over four thousand attackers were split into three groups: one of two thousand held the other gates in reserve; the other two, each over a thousand strong, rotated in the attack.

Deng She commanded one or two thousand defenders, with eight hundred concentrated on the critical southern wall. The Lih army’s trebuchets and crossbows were formidable; by midnight, two hundred had fallen. If not for Deng She’s unwavering command and Left Cart’s desperate charges, the defenders would have collapsed long ago.

Even so, the troops were exhausted, and the Lih army slowly gained the upper hand.

Deng She’s expression was grave, his demeanor calm and controlled. The time had come for a surprise. He spoke slowly, “The Lih army grows arrogant, dreaming of breaking the city in one blow—foolish ambition! If we do not strike them hard, they will not know who the true heroes are. I need brave men to emerge from the hidden barracks and launch an assault. Who among my brothers will undertake this?”

His personal guards and attendants, now fewer than fifty, volunteered in turn. Among them, a Lih soldier, wrapped in Deng She’s cloak, did not understand Chinese and was often overlooked for assignments. This time, seeing Deng She’s lips move, he guessed another task was at hand and, without hesitation, leaped forward, kneeling and calling out.

Someone translated: “He says, ‘General, your kindness is great. I am willing to die for you.’”

Deng She helped him up. “I am here. Go break the enemy and return!” He selected ten volunteers, armored them heavily, armed them with sharp blades, and sent them down the walls, opening the hidden barracks and charging out with a roar.

Everyone knew that once they left the city and plunged into the enemy ranks, death was certain. Watching closely, it was clear that the Lih soldier had not learned martial techniques, his strikes lacked form, but he fought fearlessly to the death. One man’s sacrifice equaled a thousand. The enemy below could not stop him; he charged straight to a ladder, catching the enemy off guard, causing chaos.

As he fought, he shouted. Those above could not hear clearly. Deng She asked, “What is he saying?”

A guard fluent in the Lih tongue listened and replied, “He says, ‘I lived my life as a wretched dog; today, I want to be a man.’” Deng She was moved. Many enemies below were of lowly birth; seeing their kin, they retreated slightly.

Two or three officers arrived, killing two retreating soldiers to force the rest forward, surrounding the eleven defenders. Arrows and blades rained down. Outnumbered and overwhelmed, each fallen defender dragged one or two, sometimes three or four, enemies down with them.

The Lih soldier, pierced by four or five arrows, his arm and leg broken, refused to drop his blade. Covered in blood, he rolled on the ground, slashing at the feet of any enemy who approached. Officers oversaw the soldiers as they swarmed him, hacking his body to pieces. In his final moments, he looked to the city tower, shouting without end.

“He says: ‘I dare not call myself your brother, General. Only ask you not to forget your promise to grant Lih slaves citizenship.’”

For a slight kindness, he gave his life; in death, he remembered his kin. Such a man possessed the spirit of ancient heroes. Deng She could not help but admire him and regretted sending him out, thinking he might have been more useful kept close. He gazed long at the corpse, watching the Lih officers vent their anger by mutilating it. He issued a command: “Tell those below, the brave must not be dishonored. I am willing to exchange the head of the enemy general killed by Left Cart for the bodies of my eleven heroes.”

The enemy readily agreed.

Dawn approached. The Lih army had assaulted all night, now weary, and withdrew to rest. After exchanging the bodies, Deng She mourned sincerely, pointing to the sky and swearing, “I will take ten enemy heads for each soul of my heroes!”

He drew his saber, slicing open his arm until blood filled a bowl, climbed to the highest tower, and smeared it on the battle drum. Stripping off his armor, he took up the drumsticks and beat the drum, bare-chested. Fine rain fell, the sky was gloomy and windswept. Soldiers throughout the city looked up in awe. The Lih army outside was drawn to the scene; thousands of soldiers, friend and foe alike, fell silent, listening only to the drum’s mournful, heroic beat. Deng She sang loudly, offering tribute to the fallen souls:

“First you were born, yet had no form. After birth, you faced a hundred sorrows. Alas, now you are dead, your soul returns home. May you sleep without waking!”

He sang this song each time he buried fallen soldiers, and the troops understood its meaning, moved in their hearts. Even the lowliest Lih soldier remembered his kin in death, yet in this chaotic world, people slaughtered their own for survival. To live was a struggle amid wolves and jackals, but what was to be done? The drumbeat grew fierce, surging through the clouds, revealing the murderous spirit.

“Kill!” “Kill!” “Kill!”

Drums on all sides of the city walls joined in, the rhythm fierce and thunderous. The rain itself seemed to pause. The deaths of Deng San, countless brothers, the sight of starving corpses—all the injustices of the journey rose in Deng She’s mind. Heaven sent demon armies to avenge injustice; the wronged killed the wronged; the wronged slaughtered each other, until all injustice was wiped away for peace. He shouted: “Kill!”

A thousand voices answered: “Kill!”

The murderous spirit soared. The Lih army’s courage faltered.

“Where is Left Cart?” Deng She dropped the drumsticks and called out boldly.

“Here, General!”

“Take two hundred cavalry, ride out at once. Drive the Lih army from the trenches and destroy their siege equipment!”

The gates opened. Two hundred men rushed out in a whirlwind. The three or four hundred Lih soldiers guarding the siege equipment in the trenches never expected the Red Turbans to dare sortie. They were no match, and fled in panic, abandoning their weapons and armor. Left Cart galloped through the trenches, shooting arrows at the enemy cavalry that came to engage.

He dispatched dozens to cut the chains of the filling carts, tipping them into the ditch. The Lih army’s trebuchets and crossbows responded, raining bolts and stones. Task complete, Left Cart did not linger and circled back to the city.

This brief clash caused little actual damage—the Lih army had many filling carts, a few lost meant little—but it dealt another blow to their morale.

All day, the Lih army launched two assaults, including an attack on the eastern wall. Deng She, fearing He Guangxiu lacked experience, sent Left Cart to command there. The southern wall sustained heavy casualties, repeatedly reporting danger; Deng She, ignoring his wounds, donned armor and joined the fray, barely holding the line.

The Lih army's second assault lasted until midnight. The eastern wall was not a main target and suffered little. The southern wall’s barbican gate was breached, but the defenders blocked it with artificial hills and huge stones, safe for now.

Deng She ordered Wu Henian to gather the elderly Lih residents, assigning a hundred soldiers to oversee them digging a trench ten meters behind the city, knocking down houses, and building a high wall at one side. If the gate fell, this would be the final defense.

Two sections of the southern wall collapsed, but fortunately, they were not large. The defenders patched them with parapets, stones, and logs.

After a day and night of fierce battle, more than half the defenders had fallen. Deng She tore down the eastern wall to reinforce the west, calling two hundred from the north and west walls to supplement. The Twin Cities were like a battered, leaking jug, perilous at every moment.

Perhaps it was time to send the signal and recall Wenhuaguo’s forces? Deng She, exhausted, slumped onto a pile of rubble, letting his guards bind his wounds. Rain mingled with sweat, steaming from his body, cooling him comfortably; he pondered: the Lih army is not tired enough yet.

He assessed morale and wall strength, believing they could repel at least one more assault. Only then would he summon Wenhuaguo.

His estimate proved too optimistic. After two hours of rest, the Lih army launched a third attack at dawn.

Trebuchets lined up, crossbows covering the field. Three sites—the two collapsed walls and the gate—were targeted. Especially at one section, a Lih general in heavy armor led the charge, spear at the fore. In less than half an hour, the defenders’ makeshift walls and barricades were cleared.

A dozen fierce Lih soldiers howled, following the general into the breach. The defenders hauled crossbeams to block the gap, archers fired arrows, and the trebuchet shifted to lob stones. Several screams rang out as two Lih soldiers fell from the broken wall. Deng She, just descending the wall, looked up and saw the breach nearby had been seized by the enemy. The exhausted defenders were forced back, and soon the Lih soldiers stood firm atop the wall, their numbers growing.

Deng She realized his error and acted swiftly. “Light fires and smoke in the city!” They had collected much hay, wood, and dry dung for this purpose. His guards rushed to carry out the order.

No matter what, they had to hold until Wenhuaguo arrived. Calculating the distance from the mountain pass, Wenhuaguo needed two hours to return. If they could hold for two hours, they would win; if not, they would lose.

Urgent news came from the north wall: “Enemy spotted outside the north gate, about a thousand, probing our defenses.” Deng She’s heart skipped. The main Lih force was before him, so who was at the north gate? Could Wenhuaguo’s troops have arrived early? The numbers didn’t match, and they hadn’t helped—so it wasn’t them. Or perhaps his intelligence was wrong, and the Lih army had hidden reserves? No time to analyze; the southern wall was about to fall, and maintaining morale was crucial.

He laughed loudly, “The Lih army’s destruction is at hand. Soldiers, our reinforcements are at the north gate!” Quietly, he ordered his confidants, “Investigate immediately, prepare the gate. No matter what, hold for two hours!”

He glared fiercely, armor shining, spear in hand, and asked, “With reinforcements here, who will follow me to break the Lih army?”

Of his hundred followers, only thirty remained—the rest were fighting on the walls or already dead. They answered in unison: “We will follow the general to kill the enemy!”

Night faded, dawn broke. Rain had fallen for days, now light and drifting. Mud covered the ground, blood from the dead and wounded of both sides flowed down the walls, soaking into the earth. Two hundred cavalry stood ready inside the south gate, stamping impatiently, tasked with guarding the gate. If it broke, they must block the enemy from entering.

Deng She rushed past them. The riders stayed mounted, raising blades and shouting, “Fly earth, chase the enemy!” Their officers were all brothers of the eight hundred veteran soldiers, the most spirited in the army, ready to die.

Outside, the battering ram thundered against the gate.

Deng She did not look. At the breach, the Lih general, spear in hand, charged, tossing aside the crossbeams. Though short, he fought with fierce pride, and none of the Red Turbans could match him. Seeing victory near, the Lih soldiers pressed forward in frenzy.

Deng She arrived in time.

His spear met the Lih general’s, thrusting straight. The general, exhausted from a night’s fight, bit the spearhead, swept with his own. Deng She dodged, but a bodyguard threw himself in the way, his armor dented, blood pouring from his mouth.

Deng She sidestepped, looking toward the city center, where flames soared, painting the dawn crimson. Black smoke billowed, spreading across the city.

He laughed, “My reinforcements are here—why not surrender now?”

The Lih general, understanding Chinese, looked up at the flames and paused, startled. Lighting fires for no reason meant either a ruse or the truth. Reinforcements for the Twin Cities could only come from the mountain pass. But he had sent scouts for twenty miles after seizing it, finding no enemy; judging the tracks, the Red Turbans had gone to Dingzhou. Even if the Red Turbans hid in the woods, he had a thousand men at the pass—surely impregnable. Where else could reinforcements come from? Could the remnant force by the river, beaten and not returned to the city, be it? Three or five hundred would not make a difference.

Deng She saw the enemy gathering outside the wall, organized in rows, weapons gleaming. If the Lih general advanced ten more steps, he would open a path for them into the city—the city would be lost.

At the critical moment.

The gate crashed open—no need to look, it was broken. The Lih general, only pausing for a moment, rejoiced at the sound, raised his spear, and prepared to strike again.

Noise erupted outside. Hoofbeats mingled with shouts in Chinese and a strange tongue. The Lih general’s face changed, joy turning to doubt.

Deng She seized the opportunity, dropped his spear, and lunged. The Lih general, caught off guard, fell. He roared, abandoning his spear and drawing his blade. Lih soldiers tried to rescue him, but Deng She’s guards held them back, and a chaotic melee ensued.

Deng She pinned the general’s hand, preventing him from drawing his sword; with his free hand, he tried to grab his own, but could not reach it. The general was strong, struggling to rise. They rolled together. The general grabbed Deng She’s wounded neck, pressing his fingers into the gash—agonizing pain. At this mortal moment, a surge of strength came from nowhere; Deng She flipped atop him, yanked off his helmet, and smashed it onto his head.

Blood streamed. The general cried out in pain. Deng She smashed him three or four times; the cries faded, then ceased.

Deng She, raised in a bandit’s den and accustomed to killing, had never slain so desperately. Sitting atop the general, his body covered in blood and mud, his heart pounding, limbs weak, he rested, gasping, quickly bandaged his neck, and used his spear to stand.

Suddenly, cheers erupted. “Reinforcements!” “Reinforcements! General, reinforcements are here!”

The Lih main general was lost, Red Turban reinforcements had arrived. The Lih army lost heart and fled in panic. A guard ran up, joyfully reporting, “It’s Master Hong outside the north wall! General, the Lih army is routed!”

Deng She breathed easier—the Twin Cities were saved. And Dingzhou? He turned to the west, anxiously waiting, until finally a thunderous explosion echoed from the mountain pass. He knew Wenhuaguo had successfully ignited the gunpowder buried there. He laughed aloud—his opponent was now at a disadvantage. The heavy burdens of many days were swept away.

——

1. “First you were born, yet had no form. After birth, you faced a hundred sorrows. Alas, now you are dead, your soul returns home. May you sleep without waking!”

At birth, there was no war; after, disasters descended one after another. “Without waking”: meaning not to awaken. “May you sleep without waking”: eternal rest. The original poem reads, “At my birth, I had no form. After, I faced a hundred sorrows. May I sleep without waking.” Meaning: may I rest forever, never to awaken.