013 Bloodstains Not Yet Dry

The five hundred saber cavalry of the Great Shun Army swiftly spread out, clearly preparing to encircle from both flanks, while over two hundred newly joined mounted archers charged directly toward Wang Lanping’s formation.

The morale of the Great Shun troops was noticeably diminished; the recent slaughter had left them shaken. The men shouted hoarsely as they split into three sides to encircle, seemingly believing this was the only way to muster the courage to fight desperately.

Li Laixiang was perplexed. Just a few hundred men, yet they showed no sign of retreat against his six thousand ironclad cavalry. The young general standing quietly at the rear of the formation was undoubtedly the military top scholar of the Ming Dynasty, Wang Lanping. From the start of the battle, he had not shifted his position once. Wherever his spear pointed, his men would charge forward without hesitation, even into a dense hail of blades. What commanding ability was this? His composure and calmness far surpassed Li Laixiang’s own. Having such a man at Huaining City was a rare blessing.

While Li Laixiang was still stunned, the Great Shun cavalry had closed to within two hundred paces of the Ming troops, soon entering the range of arrows from both sides. The encirclement was gradually taking shape, and the Ming army was soon to be caught in a three-sided pincer.

Li Laixiang thought bitterly: Even if you are a hedgehog bristling with iron spikes, this time I will crush you to pieces.

Wang Lanping remained calm in the face of all this. Having spent a lifetime practicing Sanda, and with hundreds of bouts in the ring, his experience taught him that panic only hastened defeat, especially when facing a much stronger enemy.

Dust billowed before Wang Lanping’s eyes, the thunder of hooves approached—the deadly aura of “either you die or I do” sweeping in from three sides. Even the fierce Wind Battalion, bloodied from battle, began to show a grim pessimism on their faces. Their hands trembled gripping weapons, sweat pouring like beads, soaking their bodies.

As the Great Shun cavalry drew nearer, many of their mounted archers had already nocked arrows, shooting rapidly. The arrows landed dozens of paces ahead of the Wind Battalion.

“Fall back to the city walls!” Wang Lanping finally gave the order at the last moment.

At his command, the Wind Battalion formed their square and retreated quickly toward the walls. Meanwhile, musketeers who had just emerged from the city shook out their canvas bags, scattering fresh green grass and bean sprouts across the ground. By the time the entire Wind Battalion had withdrawn to the base of the walls, the battlefield transformed instantly into a verdant oasis. The scent of fresh grass wafted through the air, stretching all the way to the city walls.

Leaning against the wall, the Wind Battalion reformed their square, using this formation to restrain the cavalry. Aligned in a single row at the wall’s base, they formed a low shield wall. With their backs to the wall, shields covered their front and overhead, making them invisible from outside—only the blood-dripping spear tips protruded ominously through the gaps.

The Great Shun cavalry charged swiftly, but with the Wind Battalion’s sudden retreat, the three-sided encirclement plan was foiled. Over seven hundred warhorses bore down like iron towers on the troops beneath the walls.

The Great Shun archers unleashed a barrage, but it was largely ineffective; arrows shattered against the walls or stuck in the Wind Battalion’s shields and the ground, creating a rain of arrows from all directions. Even the flanks several dozen paces away were peppered with arrows, leaving no empty ground.

Mounted archers were a formidable force on ancient battlefields, excelling in both speed and lethality—the Mongols had once dominated the world using exactly these tactics.

But the Mongols began horseback riding at three, archery at seven, and by eleven or twelve could shoot flying birds and beasts from horseback. This was no innate talent; it was the result of years of grueling training. Only those who endured over a decade of such practice could form mounted archer units that struck and vanished like the wind.

In contrast, the Great Shun soldiers had been peasants just a few years ago, many never having handled a bow before joining the rebels. To have formed a mounted archer unit in such a short time, their combat effectiveness was predictable: arrows flew everywhere but caused little real harm.

At that moment, the supreme commander Li Laixiang suddenly beat a swift retreat, shouting, “Bad! Quickly, order the troops to withdraw!”

The three-sided encirclement plan collapsed in an instant. The nearly seven hundred Great Shun cavalry no longer charged the Ming infantry squares but headed for the city walls. Without siege equipment, if they were caught in attacks from both above and below the walls, they would be trapped with no escape, doomed to die without burial.

Only now did Li Laixiang realize why Wang Lanping had remained still under the pressure of such a vast army—he was waiting for this moment, to lure his troops to the city’s base and then strike from above and below. Such cunning. Was he not afraid his troops would break under the overwhelming cavalry assault? As soon as the infantry formation faltered, the Great Shun cavalry could trample these few hundred men to death.

Despite Li Laixiang’s flag fluttering wildly, signaling retreat, the Great Shun troops nearing the walls did not pull back. Instead, the three dispersed cavalry groups merged into one, surging forward like a swarm, as if Li Laixiang’s orders were nonsense no one heeded.

But this was not disobedience. Following drums and bugle calls, disobedience was punishable by death—every soldier was trained to obey orders. Discipline was essential for effective command.

Yet the Great Shun cavalry had ceased firing arrows; the saber riders no longer swung their blades, and even their horses refused to obey commands. The riders clutched their reins tightly, fearing being thrown off by the horses’ sudden bursts of speed.

The horses bolted toward the green patch beneath the walls. To them, this was a feast. The fresh grass and bean sprouts intoxicated them so completely they forgot their riders’ commands.

It was now springtime, March or April—the season of growth and fresh shoots. This was not the season for cavalry warfare. Northern nomads attacking the Central Plains would always choose the post-autumn season, after spring and summer had fattened their horses. By autumn, the horses were strong and robust, like divine assistance on the battlefield.

But the Great Shun cavalry, undertaking a long-range march in the season when horses were still gaining weight, had made a grave mistake. After a winter of dry fodder, the sight of lush green grass was irresistible.

A warhorse fears neither the bloodbath nor the thunder of war drums—the fiercer the fight, the harder it charges. But when faced with abundant food just steps ahead, not even men could restrain themselves, let alone horses.

The Great Shun soldiers, carried by their steeds to the city’s base, were dumbfounded. Looking up, they saw arrows aimed straight at them from the walls. At this moment, they were nothing but targets. The horses, engrossed in feeding on the delicious grass, moved slowly and steadily closer to the city along this deadly green path. The riders tugged fiercely at the reins, but all effort was in vain.

From behind the shield wall, bowmen occasionally poked out to shoot arrows into the crowd. At such close range, no skill was needed—just fire into the mass of men.

County Magistrate Kong, who had never dreamed of setting foot on a battlefield, now realized that even a weak woman could kill with a thrown stone into that crowd.

Arrows rained down in waves, mixed with stones, bricks, and anything throwable—a relentless barrage.

The combined arrow fire from above and below the walls turned the Great Shun troops into howling ghosts. Fallen riders lay everywhere; some abandoned their horses to flee, only to be trampled by the rushing steeds, dying beneath their hooves within moments.

Li Laixiang, watching from afar, flushed red with anger, nearly bursting his lungs. Could Wang Lanping possess some dark magic, drawing his troops in to be slaughtered willingly? In all his years of battle, he had never seen such a thing.

Several Great Shun generals, sensing the worsening situation, gathered anxiously around Li Laixiang, debating the nature of this “Top Scholar of Huaining City.” Though their discipline was lax, none had ever defied orders. If this continued, the seven hundred would be wiped out by the Ming forces.

“Anyone who disrupts the army’s morale shall be executed!” Li Laixiang roared at the surrounding officers. Such talk that dampened his men’s spirit could not be allowed to spread.

The generals fell silent, but the reality was grim.

One asked, “General, what should we do now? If we don’t withdraw soon, they’ll all be killed.”

Li Laixiang gripped his horsewhip tightly, his anger blazing. Withdrawal was impossible. Gritting his teeth, he threw the whip to the ground and drew his long sword from his waist. “Order the entire army to storm the city. When the walls fall, spare no one.”

Li Laixiang was furious. His army had swept southward, conquering every pass and fortress without a fight or with minimal battle. Now six thousand men were held up by a small city like Huaining, defended by less than a thousand defeated and fleeing soldiers. Such humiliation was unbearable.

In his rage, Li Laixiang grew reckless. He knew attacking the city without siege engines was folly; catapults and cannons were hundreds of miles away with the main army. Charging on horseback against walls was like smashing one’s head against a stone.

Some generals still retained their composure and counseled restraint. “General, after two fierce clashes, our morale is low. If we become trapped under the city walls, even if we take the city, the casualties will be heavy. Moreover, without siege equipment, how can we breach the walls?”

But Li Laixiang was resolute, prepared to fight to the death. As the vanguard general of the Great Shun dynasty’s southern campaign, he could not fail, especially not beneath Huaining City. If he could not take it, how could he face the emperor?

At that moment, a sudden uproar of battle cries erupted beneath Huaining City. Li Laixiang scanned the scene with sharp eyes.

Behind the shield wall, Wang Lanping watched as the greedy horses dragged the Great Shun soldiers closer. The enemy grew increasingly disordered and clustered. If not now, then when?

With a fierce push, Wang Lanping threw aside the overhead shield, hoisted his horse—already chewing half a bag of bean sprouts—and with his spear pointed into the chaotic mass of Great Shun troops, he shouted, “Now is the time to prove if you are heroes or cowards! Break the enemy!”