Fighting in a battlefield of thousands upon thousands, chaotic and without order, rarely gives anyone cause to develop a taste for it.
Arrows flew, blades and spears crossed, and countless people with outstanding minds or bodies, men who might have become heroes, fell easily to one accident after another. The distance between one person and another was never great, and amid the various accidents of the battlefield, everyone was made equal in a particular way — it most often only made a man feel small.
Of course, there were exceptions.
The Jurchen Meng’an Wulitan had followed the great army into battle for nearly thirty years.
Across those thirty years, he had followed the rise of the Jurchen people, fighting his way through one victorious war after another.
The great victory at Chuhedian, the great victory at Hubudagang, the taking of the Supreme Capital, the strike on Yunzhong, the destruction of Liao, the campaign against the Wu Dynasty… Wulitan had witnessed Aguda’s world-swallowing heroism, had seen with his own eyes Wuqimai’s astonishing might as he wrestled tigers and bears, had experienced Wanyan Loushi’s fierce and unrestrained way of waging war, had witnessed Zonghan commanding troops with masterful strategy…
Over the course of his career, across large and small battles numbering in the hundreds, Wulitan had often served as the commander leading the charge to breach city walls or break enemy front lines. In theory, this was one of the most costly roles a soldier could hold, yet as if fortune itself favored him, in most of these battles the units he led had come away with real gains.
Even in the rare battles where he achieved nothing or suffered heavy losses, this fierce and valiant Jurchen warrior never once lost his life or failed his duty at a critical moment. And even when an assault failed, the ferocity and savagery of Wulitan’s unit in battle often left a deep impression on the enemy — sometimes even a lasting psychological scar.
Within the Jurchen army, he was in fact a general as senior as men like Zonghan and Xiyin. His rank had only ever reached Meng’an because his ability to command troops on a larger scale simply did not extend further — but purely in terms of skill at storming fortifications, in the eyes of his peers he was a match for the war god Loushi himself.
After a hundred or more battles, war had become the whole of Wulitan’s existence. In the gaps between campaigns he found other ways to occupy himself and unwind, but what this Jurchen warrior craved above all else was still that feeling of leading his troops in the fiercest possible assault, breaking through the enemy’s defenses, and setting foot atop the enemy’s walls.
It was much like the time Loushi had once stormed the city of Puzhou — when the vanguard’s assault failed to break through, Loushi himself, together with three armored warriors, personally scaled the wall. Just the four of them struck such terror into the Wu Dynasty soldiers atop the wall that the army behind them was able to swarm up after. Such an achievement, within the Jurchen army, was not even considered unique.
At Chuhedian, a little over three thousand men had broken an army of the so-called hundred thousand from Liao; at Hubudagang, twenty thousand had routed a supposed seven hundred thousand who turned and fled. Wulitan too had again and again broken enemies who claimed they would fight to the death, charging up walls that seemed formidable, and before him the enemy would be struck with terror. Moments like these were the ones that let a man truly feel his own existence.
Moments like these let a man feel that he truly stood at the summit of the world. That the Jurchens, ten thousand strong, could not be defeated — that the excellence of the Jurchen people was made plain and undeniable in exactly such moments.
This was what let him lay claim, with a clear conscience, to plundering and enjoying everything this world had to offer. For someone so exceptional as himself, was it not only natural to possess and enjoy everything?
The Black Banner Army was an enemy the Jurchens had rarely encountered in all their years of campaigning. Loushi had died to a battlefield accident; Cibushi had fallen for the enemy’s stratagem and had his rear line stolen out from under him. This enemy was indeed different from the pathetic dogs and chickens of Liao and the Wu Dynasty, yet it was also unlike the valor of the Great Jin — they had retained the cunning and calculation of the Wu Dynasty people.
Perhaps this was the very peak that the weak Wu Dynasty could reach, under the threat of national extinction. Facing such an army, Wulitan, like many other Jurchen generals, felt no fear. Having fought his way across a lifetime, now, to crush this still-formidable enemy and once again prove the invincibility of the Jurchens to the entire world — at forty-four years of age, Wulitan felt an excitement he had not known in a long while.
If it had been the Central Plains, the Wu Dynasty, or even that already-decaying, spineless court to the east waging this war, they might have driven countless cannon fodder ahead of them first, to wear the enemy down. But Zonghan had not done this, nor had Balishu — the ones responsible for breaching the walls, all the way forward, had always been true elite troops. This too satisfied Wulitan; he had asked Balishu for the honor and privilege of leading the charge, and Balishu’s nod of approval filled him with pride and glory.
These people, with their scheming and calculating hearts, were in the end no match for himself when it came to true valor. This time, the moment to break them head-on, to declare it openly and proudly to the whole world, had finally arrived —
On the twenty-second of October, past the half-hour of the Wei period, Wulitan climbed the wall of Huangming County, becoming the first Jurchen general to reach the top of a Huaxia Army wall in the entire Huangming battlefield — indeed, in the whole southwestern campaign.
The early winter midday sun hung high in the sky as if determined to assert its own presence, yet its light and warmth could do nothing to suppress the killing intent that had built up on this mountain battlefield.
Amid the chaotic scene of tens of thousands of civilians being slaughtered as they fled, the Jurchen troops carrying scaling ladders and wooden poles used the cover of the crowd to close in on Huangming County. As if wary of civilian casualties, the cannon fire from atop the wall remained restrained, firing shot after shot in an attempt to scatter the civilians.
The first ladder team to approach the wall was met with arrows and crossbow bolts from above, but two more teams nearby quickly pressed forward. The army’s most elite warriors climbed the ladders held up by their comrades, some simply clinging directly to one end of the wooden poles.
“First over the wall—!”
A thunderous shout rose from the crowd. The first four ladders, eight wooden poles, all bore soldiers, their heads already raised as they charged.
The wall stood three zhang high — impossible to climb directly — but with a ladder, pole, or bamboo stick raised up in the charge, one could reach the top in the blink of an eye.
Arrows and crossbow bolts filled the air, shells skimmed over the battlefield, the stench of blood spread thick, and the great trebuchets hurled stones through the sky, producing a terrifying roar as they whistled past. Men fell from the wooden poles. Faced with this disguised charge, the defenders atop the wall seemed almost not to notice, offering no full resistance — which left Wulitan faintly puzzled.
But in that moment, none of it mattered anymore.
“Charge—!”
“Glory for our wives and children lies just ahead—!”
In that moment, his heart held nothing but boiling blood. The truth was laid bare, and the charging army finally separated completely from the wailing civilians. To the east, in the camp, Balishu watched it all unfold; to the west, atop the wall, Pang Liu’an observed in silence, and the soldiers on the wall breathed in the scent of blood.
Inside the wall, a soldier gripped his throwing spear tightly, gathering his strength for a moment. The instant a figure clinging to a ladder came into view, he hurled the spear with all his might!
The spear flew over the parapet, over the heads of the men below, and drove straight into the face of the soldier on the ladder. Below the wall, the Jurchens let out a roar like thunder; atop the wall, someone shouted back in kind.
“Come on then—!”
Several Jurchen soldiers leapt over the parapet like tigers and wolves, only to be met by bared fangs of blade and spear. The Huaxia Army soldiers raised their shields and pressed forward; in the crash of impact came a thunderous boom, and one man was sent flying backward as if struck by a speeding cart, spitting blood as he fell.
The soldiers who scaled the wall in that instant feared nothing — they were men of great stature, the most vicious among the most vicious troops, and as they leapt onto the wall, bloodlust gleamed in their eyes, every motion of their bodies proclaiming fearlessness and savagery as they pushed forward.
But what awaited them were battlefield veterans of equal ferocity, men who had waited long for this moment, rested and ready.
“Draw — blood!”
The same cry erupted atop the wall, and the soldiers who had first scaled it were met instantly with a crushing counterattack. Some had their heads and faces split open under a downward stroke of a blade; others were run through by spear after spear, pinned against the wall — and even as they fell, some still shouted and swung their blades. Some were knocked down into the gaps of the parapet by massive shields, and as they struggled to resist, their arm bones were shattered by flashing blades; when the shield was pulled away, a great iron hammer swung down, and with a dull, heavy thud, their internal organs were crushed to pulp.
The first wave of men was swallowed by the wall in the blink of an eye, and a second wave came scrambling up just as swiftly and viciously. Wulitan, running forward, climbed to the front of a nearby ladder, clad head to toe in iron armor, wielding a spiked eight-sided iron hammer, roaring like thunder!
Amid the fighting atop the wall, Staff Officer Guo Chen strode toward the artillery position at the side of the wall: “Mark their retreat! Not one of them gets back!”
At the trebuchet position a little further along the wall, soldiers hoisted carefully weighed and polished stones into the throwing baskets, while on the Jurchen side, soldiers carried forward bombs known as “Scattering Blossoms.”
Before Balishu, a general already stood ready, awaiting the order to charge. Balishu gazed toward the wall.
Wulitan, half-crouched on the advancing ladder, was already being hoisted up high, and in an instant the top of the ladder rose above the parapet!
“I am Wulitan, vanguard of the Great Jin! Who among you wishes to die first—!”
The thunderous roar carried the same ferocity as Zhang Fei’s legendary shout that once broke the bridge at Dangyang. It rang out atop the wall, drawing every eye, and it gave the nearby charging Jurchen soldiers something to rally around as they pressed closer.
The instant he set foot on the wall, Wulitan swung his iron hammer — with a resounding crash, he shattered the shield of a Huaxia Army soldier ahead of him, sending the man staggering back. Nearby, someone fired a crossbow at him, but the bolts bounced harmlessly off his armor. Wulitan let out a great laugh, stepped forward, and swung again — only to find another sturdy Huaxia Army soldier ahead of him, holding up a shield with both hands, straining to block the crashing blow. The shield was built of wood reinforced with iron; splinters flew from its outer layer, but the soldier, bracing under the shield, forced his way forward and drove a heavy kick into the armor covering Wulitan’s belly.
“Hah—!”
Wulitan staggered back a step, feeling no pain at all. He reversed his grip on the hammer and swung again — before the blow could land at full force, another crash sounded as it was blocked by an iron shield from a Huaxia Army soldier. A flash of cold light suddenly slashed at Wulitan’s armor; it did him no harm, but his leg was struck by another hard kick.
Wulitan kicked away the soldier who had swung the blade and raised his hammer again to strike, but nearby, one of two shield-bearing Huaxia Army soldiers leaned in to slam his arm with the shield’s edge, while the other swung his shield straight at Wulitan’s throat. Wulitan blocked with his fist, released his grip on the hammer with his other hand, drew his blade in a reverse grip, and slashed hard — the blow landed on a shield once more.
At this point, Wulitan faced three Huaxia Army soldiers — two carrying large iron shields, and the one who had wielded the blade, now driven back. To the side, another Jurchen soldier who had scaled the wall leapt over to help; the soldier with the shield to that side swung his shield aside, drew his blade, and moved to meet him.
In these brief moments, Wulitan and the shield-bearing soldier before him exchanged blow after blow. Wulitan’s strength was immense and his attacks devastating, and his opponent could only block them fully with the iron shield — but every time he blocked one of Wulitan’s attacks, he also slammed his body forward into him. Wulitan, encased in iron armor, could not be brought down by this, and in these same moments, he too could not break through his opponent’s defense. In the space of a few breaths of exchanged blows, Wulitan’s left shoulder took a heavy blow — the soldier he had earlier kicked away had swung an iron hammer at him.
“Die!”
Wulitan charged forward with his blade, ignoring the shield before him, but the hammer-wielding soldier stepped back, then advanced and swung again — another heavy blow struck his ribs, followed by the flat edge of a shield striking his knee. Wulitan stepped back to the side, and the hammer came down whistling onto the top of his iron helmet.
“All soldiers—!”
His head rang with a dull roar; he swung his blade wildly, then took another hit, and another. His iron helmet offered him considerable protection, but somehow the soldiers pressing in around him never quite managed to reach his sides directly. He was forced backward against the parapet, and after his knee took several more blows from the shield, his leg seemed to give way beneath him. He swung his blade in resistance, but the hammer came down on his head again; through his blood-blurred vision, he could see the Jurchen soldiers on either side who had tried to reach him being cut down.
“Go to hell—!”
“Iron tortoise—!”
The soldier who had earlier struck down the Jurchen vanguard trying to come to Wulitan’s aid picked up the hammer Wulitan had dropped, and now, with two hammers and a shield, he and his comrades pounded down again and again on the Jurchen general curled against the inner wall — the sound like the ringing of a blacksmith’s forge.
These were, in truth, among the fiercest veterans in the Huaxia Army. They may not have worn full suits of armor, but their fighting technique was ferocious and practiced, and every one of Wulitan’s attempts to fight back was dodged or knocked aside. Less than a minute after scaling the wall, with his own thunderous battle cry still seeming to echo in everyone’s ears, Wulitan was pressed against the inner side of the wall as his iron helmet was beaten flat, blow after blow — and his skull, of course, was crushed inside it along with it.
The Jurchen strategy of leading the charge over a wall relied on their most steadfast elite soldiers overwhelming a weaker defense, holding a foothold atop the wall for a moment to open a breach for the troops following behind. But when the men scaling the wall faced defenders of equal skill, a handful or even a dozen men climbing up one after another, unable to form up or coordinate, could not even manage to hold their footing.
Balishu watched for a moment. Boulders came flying from the other side; two of his own trebuchets had already toppled in these brief moments, and now a third came apart entirely. In his heart, understanding was beginning to dawn.
The two sides had traded blows back and forth for two or three hours already, and on his own side only about five trebuchets had fallen — yet now, at the very moment the assault had finally begun in earnest, his siege engines were toppling one after another. The other side, it seemed, had also been waiting for him to fall into exactly this dilemma.
“Yu Xian.” Balishu pointed to a Han general. “Attack, at once!”
The order to charge rang out. By this point, nearly a hundred men had already been swallowed up along the stretch of wall where Wulitan had attacked, the killing intent rising to the sky. Only now did the defenders begin pouring down fire oil and filth, hurling down logs and stones. They had drawn enough blood already and had no intention of waiting for more men to climb up; more arrows now rained down from above, and the scaling ladders were smashed one after another, trapping the attacking troops below in an impossible position.
On the Jurchen side, the charge had already begun in earnest, and at both ends of Huangming County’s wall the artillery stood ready as well. Li Dong, the artillery regiment commander, spoke with burning intensity in his eyes: “Everyone get ready. The division commander’s orders are clear — if they’re coming over, and the ones over there try to run, we cook them all together—”
As the charging soldiers surged forward like a tide, the cannons atop the wall roared to life. Countless blossoms of fire bloomed across the charging crowd, and in an instant, hundreds upon thousands of men were sent to their deaths—
Amid the tremendous uproar, Balishu fell silent for a moment.
The Jurchens’ iron cannons could not reach the top of the wall. And so, moments later, he gave the order: open fire on the civilians on the battlefield with everything they had.