016 The Setting Sun Bleeds Crimson

Immediately, roaring flames surged upward, spreading from the city tower along the walls in a continuous blaze. Thick black smoke billowed as the battlements quickly transformed into a towering wall of fire, instantly engulfing the enemy troops both atop and below the city walls. Their piercing cries, ghostly and chilling, sent shivers down the spines of all who heard.

“Push!” Wang Lanping narrowed his eyes, letting the flames lick at his brow and hair, the tip of his spear pressing against a screaming enemy soldier engulfed in flames. With a powerful shove, he sent the man tumbling from the city wall.

The spear soldiers of the Wind Battalion acted in unison; the battlements seemed to rain fire as one after another, the fiery figures twisted and flailed before being pushed off the wall. They fell to the corner below, igniting a fresh burst of flames upon impact.

Below the walls lay a sea of fire, as if trapped in the eighteenth circle of hell. Hundreds of enemy soldiers surrounded by raging flames flailed about like headless flies, their burned and withered arms clawing desperately, faces contorted in agony as they scrambled chaotically. Some, lucky enough to dash their heads against the wall, found an early release from unbearable torment, their charred bodies slowly turning to ash.

Song Dali grabbed a jar of oil and flung it forcefully into the outer city gate. The oil splattered and ignited; a towering column of fire surged out from the gate, instantly engulfing the dozen or so enemy soldiers pushing the battering ram.

The ladders meant for scaling the walls were also consumed by the flames, collapsing one after another at the foot of the walls. The enemy soldiers who had nearly reached the battlements now found themselves completely cut off—just one final push and Huaining City would have fallen to them. But this fire had sealed their fate beneath the walls. Countless soldiers, unable to withstand the scorching heat and the anguished cries of their comrades engulfed in flames, abandoned their weapons and fled in droves. It was a rout so complete that even the wounded were left behind, abandoned in their misery, cursing the legs they were born with.

“Damnable!” Li Laixiang glared at the thick smoke curling over Huaining City. Seeing the assault once more repelled, he seethed with hatred, wishing he could personally flay Wang Lanping alive. Watching his men retreat like lost dogs and hearing the wails of his brothers burning beneath the walls, his heart softened slightly—these were comrades who had followed him for years, now reduced to piles of white bones by fire. The scene was unbearably tragic. Yet he understood: if they allowed this retreat, they would never regroup for another charge. Their morale was shattered. The siege of Huaining City was a single decisive battle; even if it meant charging through fire and blade, they had to bite the bullet and press on.

Li Laixiang had already gathered some intelligence on Huaining’s defenses. This oil was likely Wang Lanping’s final gambit. Now, at the last moment, the city was making a desperate stand, and so was he. Neither side had any room for retreat; the outcome hinged on who could endure the longest.

Gritting his teeth, Li Laixiang drew his long sword. “Where are my guards?”

The dozen or so of his personal bodyguards behind him drew their sabers in unison. “Here!”

“Cowards who flee the battlefield shall be executed. Those who do not die in battle will die by military law.” Li Laixiang’s voice was fierce—no general under his command dared disobey.

At his command, fifty of his guards spurred their horses forward, charging headlong into the retreating enemy. They slew over a dozen deserters, shouting, “The general’s orders: deserters will be executed! Return to battle!”

The defeated enemy soldiers, terror-stricken and caught between a rock and a hard place, stood frozen in place, unable to move.

“Return!” The guards cut down several more.

The broken troops glanced back at the still-flaming walls, then at the bloodstained sabers in their comrades’ hands. Teeth clenched, they reluctantly turned and charged back. With death awaiting whether they advanced or retreated, they chose a more honorable end.

Wang Gangping had truly given his all—just seven hundred weary soldiers holding off six thousand elite troops through repeated assaults from dawn until sunset. Arrows were nearly depleted. The last twenty jars of oil were indeed his trump card, as Li Laixiang had predicted. If even this failed to repel the enemy, then they would be forced to fight tooth and nail.

The warriors of the Wind Battalion wept as they watched the enemy retreat once more. They mourned the charred corpses and the still-burning skeletons below the walls. Who could witness such horror without trembling in their hearts? They cried for the desperate struggle yet to come, knowing they would not rest until every last man was dead. But this was the battlefield; mercy was a luxury. The only language spoken was that of blades and spears sharpened and ready.

The smell of burnt flesh hung thick in the air, death’s shadow looming over every member of the Wind Battalion. Song Dali, wounded in multiple places but none fatal, limped to Wang Lanping’s side. Watching the enemy surge back, he shook his head and smiled bitterly. “General, we cannot hold much longer.”

Wang Lanping glanced at the barely one hundred Wind Battalion soldiers left on the walls. He wanted to rally them with words of encouragement, but none came. From seven hundred to now fewer than three hundred, including those guarding the gates below, they had truly exhausted themselves. If they retreated now, they would be cut down by cavalry before they got far. Perhaps by fate and skill he could carve a bloody path to escape, but then the sacrifices of those who died here would be in vain. The remaining three hundred had no chance of survival. Seeing the enemy enraged like wild beasts outside, who could guarantee they would not massacre the city’s innocent civilians? How could he live with himself then?

Wang Lanping looked at Song Dali and said faintly, “Commander Song, stay here with me to defend Huaining City. Do you regret it?”

Song Dali sighed deeply. Blood dripped from his chin onto his beard, his face etched with sorrow. “My first half-life was spent serving under General Zuo Liangyu, always seeking glory and honor on the battlefield. But the general was jealous and fearful of talent; no matter what achievements I earned, I had no chance to rise. Today, fighting under your banner at Huaining City—even if I die—I am honored to be remembered alongside you. I have no regrets.”

The words of a dying man are often heartfelt and true. Song Dali’s speech revealed his lofty ambitions and considerable ambition. A soldier who does not aspire to be a general cannot become a great commander. To die renowned through this battle would be a worthy end. It was a genuine expression from the depths of his heart.

Wang Lanping forced a faint smile. “Well said. Seven hundred weary soldiers wounding six thousand armored cavalry—that alone will shock the world.”

He glanced at the blood-red sunset spreading across the faces of the Wind Battalion soldiers on the walls. They yearned desperately to live yet would not take a step back. Their resolve rested solely on his presence.

“Soldiers, victory or defeat hinges on this moment. Fight to the death!”

“Fight to the death!” Song Dali echoed. With no retreat possible, all must muster their last strength to honor their fallen comrades. “Fight to the death!”

Outside the walls, the enemy surged forward once more. The oil had burned out, but with the few remaining ladders, they scrambled to climb. It was now a matter of life and death—no one could afford to retreat.

Wang Lanping roared, wielding his long spear to thrust down those climbing the walls. Yet the enemy’s fearless, desperate spirit drove them relentlessly onward. To die was to be freed; they were inexhaustible.

Fortunately, most ladders had been destroyed by fire. Nearly two thousand soldiers had to cram onto a few remaining rickety ladders—only a drop in the ocean. This allowed the dwindling Wind Battalion to hold on for a while longer.

In siege warfare, the greatest danger is being trapped beneath the walls with no way forward or back. Had the Wind Battalion still had arrows, they could have picked off enemies flawlessly. But alas, they had exhausted their bows and even their rolling logs and stones.

“General, look!” Song Dali suddenly shouted, pointing to a street inside the city.

Amidst the fierce battle, Wang Lanping turned to see County Magistrate Kong rushing toward the tower with several hundred civilians, clutching stones.

Suddenly, stones rained down like hail upon the crowded enemy below, splattering blood and eliciting screams of agony.

Despite this, the enemy’s determination to capture Huaining City remained unshaken. Over a dozen soldiers stripped their tunics, twisting them into strips to wrap around the charred, single remaining trunk of a battering ram. Shouldering the heavy timber, they crashed it repeatedly against the city gate.

The earlier fire had raged within the gatehouse for hours. Though the gate was sheathed in copper, the wooden interior could not withstand the heat and relentless battering. After dozens of strikes, the gate finally collapsed with a thunderous crash.

Seeing the gate breached, the enemy surged in like a flock of birds entering a forest, shouting as they poured into the city.

“Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh”—those who had just entered were swiftly cut down by a hidden squad of city defenders. One row loaded arrows, the next fired, repeating without pause. The invading soldiers fell in waves.

“Full assault!” Li Laixiang exhaled deeply upon hearing the gate fall and ordered all forces forward.

Hearing the gate’s collapse, Wang Lanping knew the situation was dire. Yet he refused to despair until the last moment. He dashed inside the tower, peered over the walls at the chaos below, gripping his spear tightly. “Commander Song, the tower is yours.” With that, he charged down to aid the defenders.

At that moment, Magistrate Kong Ruisong approached, tears in his eyes. He knelt, clutching Wang Lanping’s armor, choking with emotion. “General, you are a rare talent of the Ming. Please do not lose your life here. Think of restoring the Ming. Retreat swiftly now, so you may rise again one day to rescue the realm.”

Wang Lanping helped Kong up. In the face of overwhelming odds, Kong’s words were loyal and patriotic. But Wang could not abandon the city. If he left, Huaining would fall in moments. If the enemy raged unchecked, massacring civilians, how could he face Nanjing or restore peace?

“Magistrate Kong, if I cannot even hold Huaining, how can I hope to restore the Ming? But you may leave—you are a civilian, not bound to the fate of this city. Take my family and flee. Give up official duties. The world is changing.”

Wang knew that if he died, no one could stop the Qing armies from ruling the land. Officials who refused to serve might as well hide in the mountains, renouncing their names and living quietly for a few years.

Seeing Wang’s resolve, Kong knew persuasion was futile. Firmly he said, “General, if you will not go, how can I, a mere magistrate, cling to life? I have already sent your mother and Yunniang out through the east gate by rope.”

There was no time for delay. Wang Lanping picked up a bloodstained blade and handed it to Kong. “Thank you.”

Kong took the blade and shouted to the dozen pale-faced clerks behind him, “I, Kong Ruisong, have treated you well. Who among you will fight and die alongside me? Follow me—fight!”

When cornered, even a timid man can bite. Kong, who had never wielded a blade before, now dared to fight desperately. Bloodshed changes a person from within.

The clerks, already terror-stricken by the brutal battle, scattered at Kong’s cry. Whether fleeing or fighting, they rushed headlong down the stairs toward the gate, crowded among the chaos. Their sheathed blades never drawn before, they were hacked to bloody pieces by the enemy.

Wang Lanping paid them no mind. Without even descending the steps, he leapt from the tower, skewering an enemy soldier through and through with his spear. “Cut them down! Clear a path!”

The archers’ short arrows were spent; the recruits threw down their bows and drew waist knives and great swords, following Wang as they hacked the surging enemy. The narrow gate was packed tight with friend and foe; only their blades slipped between bodies, stabbing and slashing.

Enemy reinforcements kept pushing forward, clogging the gate with the living and the dead.

Still, stones rained down relentlessly under Commander Song’s orders. Over four thousand enemy soldiers were concentrated at the gate, trapped with no way in or out. Even a seasoned commander like Li Laixiang knew such attrition was unsustainable. Yet the battle was set—a fight to the death.

As dusk fell, a sudden clamor of battle cries rose from the west side of the city.

Commander Song looked up and his heart leapt with joy. A force was charging toward the city from the west, banners emblazoned boldly with the character “Ming.”

“General Wang, reinforcements have arrived!”