Withered grass blanketed the ground, autumn clouds rolled across the sky.
At the end of August in the second year of Jianshuo, the first clash between the Black Banner Army and the Jurchen western army broke out on the night of August 23rd, in the open country northeast of Yan Prefecture.
At the time, given the presence of sea eagles within the Jurchen ranks, and the blatant surveillance already directed at Xiaocang River, a surprise attack against the Jurchen forces was unlikely to succeed. Still, on the chance it might, the Black Banner Army’s senior command had prepared one attempt at a sneak strike before the main engagement began: the plan was to fly one of the hot-air balloons over the Jurchen camp, before they fully grasped its capabilities, and drop an explosive charge on Wanyan Loushi’s command tent.
The drop was scheduled for nighttime. If, by good fortune, it succeeded in killing Wanyan Loushi, the Black Banner Army could resolve the crisis in the northwest without further effort. And even if the explosion merely struck near the command tent, the sudden attack would certainly throw the Jurchen camp into chaos—at which point Han Jing’s four thousand troops could storm the camp, with a strong chance of shattering the Jurchen army entirely.
Hot-air balloons—no matter the era—had always posed a serious problem when it came to controlling their direction. But over these recent days of flight, the balloon operators at Xiaocang River had begun to grasp the basic tricks of the trade. Broadly speaking, the balloon’s flight path could still be controlled, since wind currents differed at each altitude—by exploiting this, the balloon’s general direction could be steered to some degree. But given the low precision involved, the balloon still couldn’t be launched too far from the Jurchen camp.
For this reason, before the balloon could even take off, it was ultimately spotted by Jurchen scouts—perhaps heaven simply wasn’t willing to let the Black Banner Army win too easily here. Chen Xing, the team leader of the Black Banner Army’s special forces unit, decisively chose to abandon the mission and withdraw at speed; naturally, Han Jing had no choice but to abandon the plan for a night raid on the Jurchens as well.
But after that, the Jurchen general Sahalin Kanmu, leading over a thousand cavalry, gave chase, and clashed with Han Jing’s forces that very night. What began as a tentative skirmish quickly escalated—perhaps something neither side had anticipated.
This Jurchen general, Sahalin, had originally been one of Wanyan Loushi’s personal retainers, commanding some of the elite troops of this western campaign. Throughout their march south, they had fought with fearless ferocity, and the Han armies they’d faced had, more often than not, collapsed after just one or two charges.
The two sides met head-on, forming ranks and charging, exchanging mounted archery. At first, things proceeded in an orderly fashion, but being nighttime, after two rounds of skirmishing, Sahalin, mindful of Wanyan Loushi’s order to retrieve that flying device, began probing tentatively toward the enemy’s flank—and the first real clash erupted.
Han Jing’s cavalry, for their part, were hardly pushovers—these were, after all, some of the most reckless, life-risking men from the Lüliang Mountains, men who had hung their heads from their belts when there was no food to eat, for whom mortal combat was an everyday affair, and not a few of whom had fought in the battle against the Grievance Army at Xia Village. Now that the Black Banner Army of Xiaocang River had crushed a hundred fifty thousand Western Xia troops, these men, already brimming with pride, had long been itching for a real fight of their own.
And what made things worse still was the propaganda Ning Yi had spread throughout Qingmu Stronghold and Xiaocang River over the past year regarding the battle at Dongzhi Plateau—how, when Yuzang Ma had led light cavalry in a threatening charge against their formation, Zhou Huan, staff officer of the special forces regiment, had led several hundred men in an astonishingly ferocious counter-charge, ultimately breaking the morale of several thousand cavalry with just a few hundred men. If Xiaocang River could do it, why couldn’t Qingmu Stronghold do the same!
With both sides already harboring pent-up aggression, and under cover of night, once that first “accidental” clash and skirmish broke out, the entire night suddenly erupted into full boil, hysterical war cries splitting apart the darkness. With the forward elements already tangled together, the commanders on both sides dared not order a retreat, and could only try to rein in their men as best they could—but in the dark, telling friend from foe was often impossible until men were right on top of each other. Within moments, the sounds of slaughter, shouting, collision, and struggle swept across the night sky!
Given the manpower and calculations on both sides, these two forces had only just made first contact—likely still front-line scouting units unclear even on each other’s intentions. That such a brief encounter could escalate tempers to their absolute peak and spiral into full-blown, tangled combat was, in truth, quite rare. But by the time either side realized what was happening, both were already locked in, unable to back down.
The soldiers caught up in that brutal night-melee numbered only around a thousand in total, but the rest weren’t idle either—both sides exchanged arrows, skirmishing back and forth, fire arrows and unlit shafts streaking chaotically through the dark. The Jurchen side was first to send up the retreat flare; Han Jing’s side then signaled withdrawal as well, but it was already too late.
The chaotic slaughter in the darkness had already spread far and wide, the large-scale confusion gradually breaking down into smaller bands, smaller skirmishes and clashes. That night, the units that remained locked in combat the longest ended up fighting their way roughly ten miles out from the original site. Bandits out of the Lüliang Mountains against hunters out of the Changbai Mountains—even once both sides had broken down into unstructured small groups, neither lost its fighting edge amid the dark mountain ridges. Through half the night, bloody skirmishes raged across the hillsides, barely pausing even as each side scattered, searching for their comrades and their main formations.
As midnight approached, the relief force sent by Wanyan Loushi arrived, and Han Jing withdrew his men in an unhurried, deliberate manner; the Jurchens chose not to pursue. Han Jing’s forces, after retreating several miles, made camp and settled in, with no intention of moving further that night.
This clash near Yan Prefecture kept things lively for the better part of that night. As for Yan Zhenguo, still leading his ninety-thousand-strong force in the siege at the time, he remained thoroughly bewildered about what exactly had happened. It wasn’t until the next day that his side pieced together roughly what had occurred—that Sahalin had clashed with some unidentified force the previous night, and that this force’s origins seemed to point, faintly, toward the mountains to the northeast.
Yan Zhenguo summoned his advisors Long Zhiyong and Mu Wenchang to hold a meeting in camp. Though he officially held the position of Military Commissioner of Qinfeng Circuit, the Qinfeng region itself had largely remained the domain of the Western Army, which left him with high rank but comparatively little real authority. When the Jurchens had come sweeping through, he’d found himself hemmed in on all sides, unable to escape, and had ultimately been captured and surrendered to Jin, then driven forward to attack Yan Prefecture—which, in a way, had left him feeling he had no path back anymore, and had made him bolder as a result. Even so, having spent this much time in the region, he still had a fairly clear grasp of the various forces around him.
“Right now in the northwest, the She family has already surrendered. If this wasn’t a false surrender, then whoever has just made a move is likely that devil-king from the Lüliang Mountains. This army is fierce—it might well be a match even for the Jurchens. If they’re truly coming, we’d best make preparations now.”
The siege was still ongoing outside at the time, and Yan Zhenguo, being of a scholarly temperament, found the whole matter rather a headache when he thought about it. His advisor Long Zhiyong offered reassurance: “Rest easy, my lord. Fierce as that Black Banner Army may be, their act of regicide plainly shows the limits of their vision. The Jurchens sweep across the realm, swallowing mountains and rivers whole; Wanyan Loushi is a peerless general of this age, and his steady, measured use of troops is precisely what his current inaction demonstrates. Should that Black Banner Army truly come, this student believes they will find themselves no match for the overwhelming might of the Jin army. My lord need only wait and watch how things unfold.”
Mu Wenchang added: “Our own hundred thousand troops are more than sufficient for this siege. If my lord is concerned, then first, we should press the assault and take the city as quickly as possible—that way, even should the Black Banner Army arrive, Yan Prefecture will already be beyond saving, with no support from the Western Army left to draw on, leaving them no reason to continue the fight. Second, we can spare twenty thousand men to form a defensive line to our rear as a precaution. That Black Banner Army may well be this devil-king’s own force, but their numbers are limited, and with Marshal Loushi close at hand—should they try to move against us to relieve Yan Prefecture, it need only take some brief entanglement, and surely Marshal Loushi will not fail to seize such an opportunity…”
When Mu Wenchang finished, Yan Zhenguo laughed and nodded in approval, then dispatched a general to peel off twenty thousand troops and establish a second camp behind the main formation, guarding against any threat approaching from the east.
It was now the afternoon of August 24th, and the assault on Yan Prefecture was still raging fiercely. Behind the besieging force, another formation of over twenty thousand troops had now been established. Atop the walls of Yan Prefecture, Zhong Lie, drenched in blood from head to toe, sensed vaguely that something was happening, and the morale of the defenders on the wall lifted noticeably as a result.
Toward evening, in the foothills to the east, an army had swiftly emerged from the mountains. This force moved with brisk, rapid steps, black banners snapping in the autumn wind—the five regiments of the Huaxia Army, over thirteen thousand strong, stretched across several miles of column. Once they cleared the mountains, they finally paused to rest for a short while.
The cooking staff distributed steamed buns and meat broth.
Zhuo Yongqing, a new recruit in the Black Banner Army and himself a native of Yan Prefecture, sat by the edge of a field, gulping down his bun and soup, most of his comrades in the row beside him doing the same. Night was gradually settling in, but looking around at the barren landscape, the sight of Black Banner Army soldiers lining the roadside, row upon row, rank upon rank, as though the wilderness itself no longer felt so wild, helped ease some of his tension.
The Black Banner Army trained hard on a daily basis, so a single day’s march left Zhuo Yongqing and the others only mildly fatigued—what weighed on them more was the tension of heading toward the battlefield. Even the veterans carried that same tension, though it rarely showed on their faces. Zhuo Yongqing’s squad leader, Mao Yishan, was an easygoing, plainspoken man, kind and considerate. Zhuo Yongqing asked him quietly: “Squad Leader, what’s it like, facing a hundred thousand men?”
Mao Yishan, still eating, glanced at him: “Food’s good. Don’t talk.” Then he went back to eating the meat in his soup.
Everyone wiped their bowls clean with their buns, and after a brief rest, the army set off again, marching another five miles or so before making camp. Along the way, Mao Yishan told Zhuo Yongqing: “Not much different from facing ten thousand.” In the darkness, an endless line of torches stretched out, soldiers marching in the same rhythm, comrades all around—this sense of unity, oddly enough, eased some of Zhuo Yongqing’s tension.
Aside from necessary rest, the Black Banner Army scarcely paused. The next day covered another twenty-five miles, and by afternoon Zhuo Yongqing could already make out the faint outline of Yan Prefecture’s walls. In the distance ahead, men and military tents covered the hills as far as the eye could see, and atop the city walls, streaks of red and black were faintly visible—clear evidence of just how brutal the siege had become.
Zhuo Yongqing’s unit paused briefly to regroup. Ahead, an army of unknown size was advancing slowly toward them. Zhuo Yongqing was called to attention as the troops began forming ranks; he took his place in the third row, shield raised, blade in hand, comrades all around him on every side, front and back—just as in every training drill, forming up and standing ready.
Beside him, Squad Leader Mao Yishan quietly let out a long, slow breath. Zhuo Yongqing followed suit. Up ahead, someone shouted: “Do you remember what was said before we set out!? When you meet the enemy, there are only two words—”
Zhuo Yongqing paused, then felt his eyes fill with a rush of blood, and he shouted with all his strength; in that instant, the entire formation roared out together: “Fierce! Merciless—” The plain shook with the reverberation.
He had no idea how many men surrounded him, but the autumn wind rose, and a massive balloon sailed overhead.
Atop the walls of Yan Prefecture, Zhong Lie lowered the crude telescope in his hand, brow furrowing slightly in confusion: “They’re…”
On August 25th, the Black Banner Army split into two columns. One, eight thousand strong, linked up with Han Jing northeast of Yan Prefecture, and the combined force of twelve thousand advanced slowly toward the Jurchen camp. At the same time, the Second and Third Regiments, over five thousand strong, took up position slightly to the south, facing off against Yan Zhenguo’s ninety-thousand-strong besieging army.
Wanyan Loushi ordered Yan Zhenguo’s forces to launch an attack against the Black Banner Army; Yan Zhenguo, not daring to disobey, ordered over twenty thousand men to advance. Yet even so, before the engagement began, he still hesitated: “Should we perhaps send an envoy first, to offer terms of surrender?”
His advisor thought it over and replied: “My lord’s suggestion is a wise one, entirely in keeping with the principle of courtesy before force.”
Toward evening, they sent an envoy toward the five-thousand-strong force. He had made it only halfway when three enormous balloons came into view, sailing overhead as the five thousand men advanced in formation. To the north, the two main forces stood locked in tense standoff—every movement here carried the risk of triggering a chain reaction—but the Black Banner Army, having marched all this way, showed not the slightest hesitation, even in the face of the Jurchen war god himself; they gave no ground whatsoever.
One of the hot-air balloons dropped an explosive charge directly onto the position of the command banner amid the twenty-thousand-strong force. Zhuo Yongqing charged forward alongside his comrades, following everyone else’s lead as the fighting broke out. As the vast dusk began swallowing the land, blood and fire bloomed across the field on a massive scale…