Volume Two: With a Single Trigger Pull I Shake Heaven and Earth 18. East Wind III

Smoke rolled in from the city, enveloping the soldiers of both the desperate defenders and the fleeing, pursuing attackers. Many coughed harshly, choked by the thick haze. A fine rain began to fall, gradually washing the smoke away. Twenty or thirty horsemen followed the earth-moving carts across the filled-in trenches, circled through the chaos between the battered walls and the moat, and finally reined in at the breach in the fortifications.

All the riders were shaven on the crown, with braids hanging over their shoulders and golden hoops in their ears. They parted to either side, making way for a man in immaculate white, his folding fan in hand and every inch of him spotless. It was none other than Hong Jixun.

He leapt from his horse and bowed deeply. “General, I have fulfilled your orders. I have led eight hundred Jurchen cavalry here.” He pulled down the man who had dismounted with him and introduced him, “This is Tong Doulan, a Gold Seal Commander of the Jurchen from Sansan, descendant of the King of Yue.”

The man was in his twenties, tall and rangy, with a long, narrow face and a prominent, slightly hooked nose. He stood there, scrutinizing Deng She up and down, and with a curt gesture said, “I wear my armor and cannot bow properly, but I greet you nonetheless, General.”

Deng She, during idle moments in the past, had asked Luo Lilang and others about the notable figures in Helan Prefecture, and had heard of Tong Doulan’s reputation and origins. Thus, it was not surprising to him that a Jurchen would claim descent from Yue Fei.

After a brief rest, his vigor had somewhat returned. He promptly handed his spear to a bodyguard. “Truly, a descendant of the King of Yue is remarkable indeed.” Without further pleasantries, he continued, “Gentlemen, I have a force lying in wait at the mountain pass to the northwest. They will need an hour or two to arrive—by then it may be too late. I must trouble you to drive the Goryeo forces north so we can crush them between two fronts and annihilate them completely.”

Hong Jixun had heard the news of the sieges at Shuangcheng and Dingzhou just yesterday on his way back to Shuangcheng, and had urgently persuaded the wavering Tong Doulan to ride through the night to the rescue. Hearing Deng She’s words, he immediately grasped the overall plan: first, destroy the Goryeo army facing Shuangcheng; then, move south to relieve Dingzhou.

It was a bold plan—one he admired greatly. Without wasting words, he said, “General, you are wounded. Please return to the residence and rest. Leave the pursuit and destruction of the Goryeo to me.”

Deng She smiled, “With you here, sir, I have nothing to fear.” Yet he would not rest as suggested. He left Tong Doulan’s cavalry in Hong Jixun’s charge, summoned Zuo Che’er, He Guangxiu, and two hundred cavalry, left three hundred infantry to keep order in the city and guard against remnants of the Goryeo army, and sent the rest out of the city in units of a hundred, to sweep through the scattered enemy, driving more and more northward—not seeking to kill, but to see who could drive the most men north; the greatest contributor would be rewarded.

As for the Goryeo troops left in the southern camp, he had no worries; as soon as the fires started, Zhao Guo and Huang Luge would attack in force.

He climbed to the battlements and gazed out. The air rang with cries of terror, Goryeo soldiers fleeing in all directions, casting aside weapons and uniforms in chaos. Among the panicked throngs, siege engines, ballistae, assault towers, and earth-moving carts were abandoned to the rain.

In the Red Turbans’ pursuit, two hundred cavalry led the charge, hacking a bloody path that soon swept behind the enemy lines. Turning, they spread out in a long cordon, herding the Goryeo soldiers north like so many ducks. The enemy, leaderless and confused, fled blindly with the crowd. At the broken road ahead, a few tried to break through, only to lose their heads to veteran Red Turban blades.

He Guangxiu, quick-witted, ordered his Korean subordinates to shout, “There’s an ambush to the south—the north is safe!” Their Korean was flawless; none could tell if it was true. At first, a few turned back, then a dozen, then hundreds and thousands, trampling one another in their rush north.

Tong Doulan’s men, all cavalry, didn’t cut in from behind but fanned out on both flanks, ensuring none strayed from the intended route.

Deng She watched as chaos gave way to order. Waves upon waves of Goryeo troops, swarming across the muddy hillsides, broke into two streams, passed Shuangcheng, and, pressed by the Jurchen, merged again before disappearing into the distance.

His guards were all beaming with joy, elated at the sweeping victory. Deng She sent men to haul in abandoned siege engines, tend to the wounded, clear the dead, and clean the battlefield.

The wound on his neck, nearly healed, had been reopened in the last battle, bleeding copiously. Though he did not witness the final annihilation, the outcome was no longer in doubt. Once his adrenaline ebbed, he could barely stay upright, and ordered a folding chair brought so he could rest on the tower.

Reflecting on the recent battle, he was left shaken. If not for Hong Jixun’s timely arrival, he might well have lost his head. Wen Huaguo had always said he took too many risks, and now he saw the truth of it.

As the saying goes, “Victory comes by surprise,” but excess brings disaster; not every surprise leads to triumph. He resolved to be more cautious in the future.

Military reports from Hong Jixun and Zuo Che’er arrived in constant succession. Fifteen miles north of the city, they met Wen Huaguo’s division. The Goryeo tried to break south, but Tong Doulan sent his men to bolster Zuo Che’er and He Guangxiu, holding the lines firm. Wen Huaguo and Luo Guoqi, well-rested, cut through the enemy like chopping melons, scattering the Goryeo in utter confusion. Hong Jixun raised the banners of clemency, sparing those who surrendered. Seeing escape was hopeless, the Goryeo surrendered in droves.

The tally: over 1,400 enemies killed, nearly 2,000 captured. By dusk, the victorious troops returned.

Deng She went down to greet them, ordered a banquet to celebrate—both for the victory and to welcome Hong Jixun and Tong Doulan. Couriers were dispatched to Dingzhou with news of triumph.

At the banquet, Hong Jixun toasted, “General, your strategy was brilliant—truly a masterstroke. Such a victory must be celebrated with a full cup!”

His words were rather lacking in humility, and his tone lofty. Some, like Wen Huaguo, didn’t grasp the subtlety and showed no reaction; others, like Luo Guoqi, frowned. Deng She was the main architect, and it was the blood and toil of all that secured victory. Though Hong Jixun had rendered timely aid, there was no need for such arrogance.

But Hong Jixun was always thus. Deng She paid it no mind. He replied, “Had you not arrived, we might have failed at the last. Had I had you by my side, I’d never have fallen into such peril.” He raised his cup to Wen Huaguo and the others, “All of you led by example, storming passes, holding the city, destroying the enemy—without you, there would be no victory. Let us drink.”

Wen Huaguo, finding his cup too small, switched to a bowl and drained it. “Splendid! General, today was truly glorious! My pair of golden hammers must be thick with Goryeo blood!” Then he asked, “With the southern camp destroyed, when will you march to relieve Dingzhou?” His concern was for his comrade Chen Hu.

“The sooner the better. Generals Huang and Zhao have seized the southern camp; I’ve ordered them to hold fast. The southern approach is ours—any Goryeo survivors will not escape. Let the troops rest tonight; at the third watch, prepare rations; at the fifth, set out. The Dingzhou enemy is exhausted from failed assaults; we, fresh from victory, will find them easy prey.”

Hong Jixun agreed, “Precisely. In my opinion, we need not even wait for dawn—let us march tonight.”

Deng She shook his head, “Our defenders are spent; Wen, Luo, and Lu’s men have fought all day and must rest. The latest report from Dingzhou says the enemy is flagging—today they attacked only once. The city will hold; let us rest and win all the more easily tomorrow.”

One more night made little difference, so Hong Jixun did not press. With the topic raised, Deng She turned the banquet into a council of war, assigning troops to the relief of Dingzhou. The main force would be Wen Huaguo, Luo Guoqi, and Lu Qianshi’er; He Guangxiu’s detachment had also distinguished itself and was ordered, “Choose three hundred Goryeo prisoners for Wen’s use—let them speak in their own tongue to undermine enemy morale, as in the tale of ‘Songs of Chu’.”

He Guangxiu responded loudly. As an acting vice-commander, his status was high, but his sharp voice was grating. Across the table, Tong Doulan glanced up, his expression odd.

Deng She noticed but offered no explanation, merely smiled and changed the subject. “Commander Tong, your fame has long reached my ears—today, at last, my longing is satisfied.” Rising formally, he toasted, “We owe today’s victory to you, General. Please share a drink with me.” Tong Doulan stood, and the two drank together. Seated again, Deng She added, “Once news reaches the court that the descendant of the King of Yue has won a great victory over the Goryeo, they will be overjoyed. Perhaps you will be summoned to the capital at once.”

The Young Ming King claimed descent from the Song imperial house, thus Deng She spoke so. It was a bluff; with his low rank, his reports could never reach the court, nor would the ministers know who he was. But without such pretense, local powers like Tong Doulan would hardly heed him.

Tong Doulan smiled modestly, “Hong and I have known each other since childhood; I have heard much of your exploits and admire you greatly. Next to you, I am nothing.” He paused, “There is a Goryeo general named Yi Seong-gye, a native of Shuangcheng. Did you encounter him when you took the city?” Shuangcheng and Sansan were both in the north; Yi Seong-gye was well-known, and their paths had crossed.

Hong Jixun interjected, “In the heat of the assault, steel knows no friend. General Yi fell in the battle.” Tong Doulan exclaimed his regrets. Deng She touched the wound on his neck, “He was indeed a valiant man—a true hero. This wound was his doing.”

Hong Jixun raised his cup, “Enough of war at our victory feast. General Wen, let me toast you, and wish you victory tomorrow.”

As they would march at dawn, the banquet was brief. Deng She arranged quarters for Tong Doulan; his troops would remain in the barracks, not needed for Dingzhou’s relief. Afterwards, he received Wu Henian and Luo Lilang, offering praise and comfort, kept the city under martial law, and ordered the breach repaired through the night.

He was busy until late, finally returning home. As he reached his chambers, he encountered Lady Wang. Since the siege began, Deng She had lived atop the walls, never returning. She had spent days in fear and anxiety; now, seeing him, she could not help but burst into tears.

Exhausted, Deng She had no choice but to comfort her. She clung to him, asking endless questions, feigning interest in everything. Listening to the tale of the defense, though already knowing the victory, she gasped at the perils, rejoiced at the rout, and beamed with pleasure.

He had never seen her so persistent, and found it overwhelming, but, for the sake of Wang Shicheng and Xu Jizu, did his best to oblige.

The night drums sounded again and again. Near the third watch, Lady Wang finally, reluctantly, left, glancing back at every step. Deng She had a strange feeling—something about her was off, but the thought seemed impossible. Sleep came quickly, and he dozed off.

He woke before dawn, even before his guards called him, to see Wen and Luo off.

Reports from Dingzhou made things clear: the Goryeo commander was timid, his troops demoralized. Apart from numbers, they were inferior in every way. Deng She believed that once news of the southern camp’s destruction spread, the enemy might even surrender without a fight.

Even so, he cautioned Wen Huaguo and Luo Guoqi, “Do not underestimate them. They are numerous—contempt is dangerous. Zhao Guo’s force is also under your command, General.”

The officers saluted and departed.

Thousands filed out in succession, and by the time the last left, the sun was high, the rain ended, and the wind chill.

Deng She lingered, watching, when suddenly two or three guards came hurrying over. “General, the Goryeo commander has awakened.”

It was the Goryeo general who had led the charge the previous day; tough as iron, he had survived. The prisoners said his name was Gyeong Cheonheung, commander of the southern camp. Another, Kim Deok-bae, had escaped north.

Since arriving in Goryeo, Deng She was a stranger to the land. He had learned the lay of it, but knew little of the royal court. Gyeong Cheonheung, as vice-marshal of the northwest, was a prize. Deng She ordered, “Bring him to the hall—I will question him myself.” Then he called Zuo Che’er, whispering instructions.

He had little experience with interrogation, but had seen Deng San extort many a rich man, and knew a few tricks. A fierce enemy would resist torture; better to attack the mind.

Soon, two squads brought in Gyeong Cheonheung, hair disheveled, his forehead caked with dried blood, face and body smeared with mud, tightly bound, head held high, defiant.

Stopped in front of the dais, the soldiers tried to force him to his knees. He refused, cursing, “I kneel only to heaven and earth—never to bandits!” A soldier, enraged, struck him twice, knocking out a tooth. He spat blood and laughed, “Insect thieves! When my king’s armies come, not a one of you will be left for burial!” He glared, “Kill me now!”

Deng She gestured for restraint, speaking gently, “General, you are a brave man—a hero. But do you not know, ‘A wise man submits to fate’? Now that you are in my hands, why persist in this stubbornness?”

Gyeong Cheonheung mustered his strength and spat at Deng She, but missed. Zuo Che’er leapt up, sword drawn, “Defeated dog, how dare you!”

Gyeong Cheonheung sneered, “You little wretch, aping your betters. Go on, take my head if you dare!” The last was in Korean, calling Deng She a child.

Deng She did not anger. “You’ve just awakened, General, and may not know—my army left the city last night and will reach Dingzhou by afternoon…” Gyeong Cheonheung fell silent. Deng She watched his reaction, then continued, “Ten thousand of my best, fresh from victory—Dingzhou’s fate is sealed.” He sighed, “A shame. If Dingzhou’s general had your courage, things might have turned out very differently… Fifteen thousand men, besieging a small city for days to no avail!” He shook his head in disbelief.

Gyeong Cheonheung agreed bitterly. Once the Red Turbans moved, Dingzhou was doomed—not just defeated, but utterly routed. If Li Yan survived, he would surely shift all blame to him. Outwardly, at least, the fault was his, for advancing rashly against orders. But if he had not attacked, only held the southern camp, what then? Li Yan was weak, retreating nightly. When would he ever take the city? The Red Turbans grew only stronger; perhaps he might even have broken through. The thought made him indignant.

None is without weakness—be it for fame, fortune, or desire. Deng She intended to probe one by one; he had just touched on “fame” and already saw a reaction. He signaled Zuo Che’er with a glance.

Zuo Che’er protested, “General, don’t belittle yourself before him! What’s so heroic about this Goryeo runt? I caught him just the same.”

Deng She replied solemnly, “Victory and defeat are soldiers’ lot. I have fought many battles, read many histories—invincible generals are rare. I too have suffered wounds in the fray.” He turned to Gyeong Cheonheung, admiring, “You command decisively, seize your chances—truth be told, you nearly took Shuangcheng from me. I still shudder to think of it.”

So close! One step more and he would have triumphed. Gyeong Cheonheung did not fear death—soldiers are born for the field. But to die branded a fool, a scapegoat for Li Yan, was unbearable. The thought gnawed at him.

Deng She ordered the guards to loosen his bonds, brought a chair and invited him to sit. He snorted and refused, “Kill me if you must—spare me your hypocrisy. I know what you want—my surrender? Never!”

“You wish to die a loyal subject, your name remembered. I would not tarnish your honor—only to speak with you before your journey. In truth, I found in you a worthy opponent.” Deng She adopted a posture of humility, “Tell me, General—how did you know I would sortie and attack the pass? Had you delayed the assault by a day, things would have been very different.”

Gyeong Cheonheung tilted his head high and ignored him. Deng She continued, recounting the battle, highlighting Gyeong Cheonheung’s finest moves, asking for details. Zuo Che’er left to have maids bring wine and meat. The aroma filled the hall, the maids carefully chosen for their beauty, moving with grace and subtle fragrance. For a moment, the hall seemed more a place of spring revelry than a prisoner’s court.

At last, Deng She asked, “You saw through all my feints, General. But did it not occur to you that I might abandon the city, and that the feints were just a ruse to buy time?” He could not fathom it. “Perhaps, General, you never even considered it.”

Gyeong Cheonheung could not bear condescension, and laughed, “You came from afar, traveled hundreds of miles—having taken Shuangcheng, how could you give it up so easily?”

Deng She understood at last, mutual respect shining in his eyes. “To have you as my opponent is a joy.” He ordered a maid to fill his cup. “This drink, General, is not for you, but for your prowess in command.”

The maid knelt, holding out the cup. “Please, General, drink.”

His execution wine? Gyeong Cheonheung looked down—the girl smiled like a blossom. He had joined the army young, seldom near women; his life was war. To die in battle with a hero’s name would have satisfied him, but now, that was impossible. Now he would die, and be remembered as a failure—scorned by all. He drained the cup in silence. As death approached, his words grew gentle, “You call me a hero, but I am unworthy. I am defeated, and I accept it.” Yet, stubborn to the end, he muttered, “Heaven did not aid me—what else could I do?” He tossed the cup aside, closed his eyes, and stretched his neck for the blade.

Deng She said, “As you wish. At noon, I will personally send you on your way.” Then, “Bring out all the prisoners—let them be executed together, to accompany the general in death.”

Gyeong Cheonheung started, eyes snapping open, “Accompany me?”

“You are a hero; even in death, a king among ghosts. I would not have you lonely on the road to the afterlife. Two thousand prisoners shall be your retainers.”

Gyeong Cheonheung flushed scarlet. Had Deng She said nothing, the prisoners’ fate would not have been his concern; but now, two thousand would die with him, the blame squarely on his head, denying him even a fool’s reputation in death. Word would spread, and even infamy would be denied him. He stammered, “You, you…”

“If it’s not enough, once Dingzhou falls, I’ll add those prisoners as well.”

Gyeong Cheonheung, beside himself, shouted and tried to lunge at Deng She, only to be blocked by Zuo Che’er. Unarmed, he could not get close. He turned and tried to dash his brains out against the wall, but, remembering that his death might doom the prisoners, he stopped in despair. Neither able to die nor live, he glared, eyes blazing. “What do you want?”

Deng She rose, heartfelt. “Do not be hasty, General. My words were not in earnest. I truly admire your courage and wisdom. For a general, understanding the times is key. Your talents deserve better—why not serve our Song and accomplish great things?”

“Foreign thief! Such shameless talk.”

“Goryeo and our China have always shared culture and dress; China is elder, Goryeo the junior. Where is the foreignness? Since the Mongol Yuan usurped our land, your court has forced you to shave your heads and wear foreign dress, submitting to the barbarians. All Goryeo resents this, longing for change, hoping for Song’s restoration.

“My lord is of the Song imperial line, risen in Huai, with millions at his back, striking north and south, assailing the capital at will. Soon, a hundred thousand troops will descend upon Liaodong and enter Goryeo. To do what? To help you cast out traitors and barbarians, to restore our ancient ways and attire. And when the deed is done, we will withdraw. I am but the vanguard.

“When that time comes, General, will you not wish to leave your name in history?”

Though not wholly true, Gyeong Cheonheung knew the arguments well. Goryeo had always seen itself as a “Little China”; whether or not the Young Ming King was truly of imperial descent, who could say? He wanted to argue, but found no grounds. In his heart, he did not wish to. He stared for a long time, speechless.

To be a famed general was his life’s goal. To die with a fool’s name, he could not accept; but to betray his lord and risk infamy, he dared not. What should he do?

Deng She did not pressure him, but sipped his wine lightly. “You have just awoken, General, and must be weak. Prepare a comfortable chamber—let the general rest.” Gyeong Cheonheung said nothing, allowing himself to be led away.

—

1. Sansan: Modern North Pyongan, Korea.
2. Tong Doulan: The Jurchen commander’s full title was “Sansan Grand Commander Guron Temur,” his father being a Gold Seal Commander named Alaobuhua. Sansan is the place; “Grand Commander” is equivalent to a thousand-household leader. “Guron Temur” is his Jurchen name; since the Jin dynasty, Jurchens often also had Chinese names, “Tong Doulan” being his.
One legend holds that Yue Fei fathered a child with a Goryeo woman while campaigning in Liaodong; Yue Fei returned to the Southern Song, but the woman remained in Liaodong, and her child became Tong Doulan’s ancestor. Another version says that after Yue Fei was murdered by Qin Hui, his fifth son Yue Ting fled to San Shui in southern Hamgyong. At the end of the Song, the Mongols occupied Ezhou, and Yue’s grandson Yue Fuhai (fourth generation) served under Li Bai, was granted five thousand households, and later became an official under the Yuan, renamed Sanshan Mengyai Temur. The fifth-generation Yue Afu served as a commander of a thousand; the sixth generation, Yue Yayuan (Alaobuhua), was a Grand Commander stationed in Qinghai, whose son Yue Doulan (seventh generation) inherited the command, took the name Guron Doulan Temur, and, by Jurchen custom, followed his mother’s surname, thus called Tong Doulan.