Huangming

Chapter 285 Victory Without Arrogance, Gathering Strength for Another Battle
Liu Xingzuo stood in the open field, watching his guards lead the frightened warhorses back one by one.

The horses were exhaling white steam from their mouths and nostrils, and their manes were still stained with blood and grass clippings, clearly not yet recovered from the battle.

His own mount had suffered a minor injury to its front leg, which was being carefully bandaged by its groom. He had just received intelligence from the front that the Jianzhou Jurchens had attacked Shifang Temple Fortress the previous night.

"The main force of the two Blue Banners has crossed the northern pass of the Great Wall and fled into the depths of the grassland. They abandoned a lot of wounded soldiers and supplies along the way, and it seems that they are really panicked."

The handwriting on the scout report was messy, but every word was clear.

Liu Xingzu crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it on the ground. His shoulders, which had been tense all night, finally relaxed, and the heavy feeling of depression in his chest seemed to have been mostly blown away by the morning breeze.

He turned and walked toward Shifang Temple Fortress. In the morning light, the piles of Jin soldiers' corpses were being carried away to be burned, and plumes of smoke shot straight into the sky.

When he reached the camp gate, he saw Qi Jin standing there, still wearing his armor, his face covered in bloodstains and soot, only his white hair stood out in the morning sun, trembling slightly in the wind.

"General Qi."

Liu Xingzuo stepped forward, a smile of relief spreading across his face.

"We performed another great service last night, and we have finally lived up to His Majesty's grace of promoting us exceptionally."

Qi Jin turned his head, his face still streaked with gunpowder smoke. Hearing this, he grinned, revealing his teeth stained yellow by smoke: "I will not fail His Majesty's trust!"

Looking at the Ming soldiers resting, he sighed with emotion:

"This is the true fighting power of our Ming army."

"Without the obstruction of those civil officials and the blind command of the eunuchs, as long as the brothers are willing to fight with their lives, this is how the battle should be fought."

These words were like a stone thrown into Liu Xingzuo's heart, stirring up ripples.

He recalled the Liaodong Army from a few years ago.

At that time, he was still with the Jurchens, and his understanding was even more profound.

Soldiers in Liaodong would go weak at the sight of Jurchen cavalry, officers were busy embezzling military pay, and desertion was commonplace.

If such a surprise attack had occurred in the past, the defenders of Shifang Temple Fort probably wouldn't have been able to hold the fence. Before the Jin soldiers even reached the city walls, they would have lost their composure and might have surrendered the city gates before midnight.

Not to mention the cavalry flanking them from both sides.

In the past, the Liaodong cavalry would either charge in a swarm or scatter when things went wrong. They never used the method of firing in shifts and charging in formation like they do today.

Those were lessons learned through bloodshed outside Shenyang, and it was only through repeated drills led by Qi Jin that new tactics were developed.

"Yes, it's different now."

Liu Xingzuo looked at the soldiers on the city wall who were repairing the fence. Some of them had bandages wrapped around their arms, and some were panting with their swords, but no one was slacking off. Every one of them had a strong spirit on their face.

That's the confidence that comes from winning a battle, the sharp edge of believing you can win.

Qi Jin followed his gaze, a hint of warmth appearing in his eyes: "Look at those lads, their muskets were accurate last night, and their charge was fearless. In the old days, a soldier who could hold a sword and not run away would be considered a good soldier."

He paused, his voice becoming deeper.

"It's not that the soldiers are incompetent, it's that we went astray before. Now that we've straightened the path, the brothers will naturally be willing to fight to the death."

A commotion arose at the city gate as cooks brought over hot porridge. Soldiers lined up to receive it, some squatting on the ground, wolfing it down, others bandaging each other's wounds. Laughter, curses, and coughs mingled together, creating a lively scene like a bustling market.

As Liu Xingzuo watched this scene, he suddenly felt his eyes welling up with tears.

He thought of his brothers who died in the battle of Shenyang, and how happy they would be if they could see what was happening today.

As he pondered, the guards brought him hot porridge and dry biscuits.

Liu Xingzuo's Adam's apple bobbed, and he immediately began to wolf down his food.

He swallowed the last mouthful of hot porridge mixed with dry biscuits, then casually handed the rough porcelain bowl to the guard behind him.

It wasn't that the porridge and biscuits were particularly delicious; it was mainly because he was extremely hungry.

This meal was eaten.

The turbulent emotions he had just felt gradually subsided, but the wrinkles between his brows remained.

When the guards were cleaning up the battlefield, they mentioned that the Chahar soldiers who came back to reinforce the area last night had almost run all the way, and hadn't even had time to collect the abandoned tents, which was definitely not normal.

He gazed toward the northern entrance of the Great Wall, where morning mist was spreading from the depths of the grassland, like a gray silk ribbon obscuring the distant horizon.

There should have been Ligdan Khan's troops there to receive the supplies, but at this moment there was only the sound of the wind sweeping across the grassland.

"I wonder what the situation is like on Lindan Khan's side."

Liu Xingzuo's voice carried a hint of seriousness that was barely perceptible.

"The men he sent to receive the supplies rushed back like madmen last night, without even taking the list of provisions we had prepared. Something's not right."

Qi Jinzheng accepted the hot tea handed to him by the cook; the rough porcelain bowl looked particularly small in his calloused hands.

He blew away the foam, took a sip, and then slowly said, "The rule on the grassland is that the winner takes all."

The old general's gaze swept over the cremation pits outside the city; the smoke had thinned somewhat.

"If Ligdan Khan had suffered a major defeat or even died, his tribes would have long since fled to the Jurchens like wolves smelling blood, either surrendering or coming to seize the spoils. But last night, only two blue banners came, not even a single Mongol cavalryman. This shows that Ligdan Khan's banner has not yet fallen."

Liu Xingzuo was taken aback, then realized what was happening.

Yes, there is no true loyalty on the grasslands, only a balance of power.

If Ligdan Khan were to truly lose, the Mongol tribes that depended on him would immediately side with the winner. However, the Jin soldiers who attacked last night were all armored by the two Blue Banners, and there wasn't even a single auxiliary soldier who could speak Mongolian.

"Moreover."

Qi Jin put down his teacup and continued, "If Ligdan Khan had really collapsed, the Jurchens would never have just sent Mangultai to gnaw on the tough nut of Shifang Temple Fortress. Nurhaci should have brought his main force over long ago and swallowed up the remnants of the Chahar army along with our supplies."

Upon hearing this, Liu Xingzuo looked at the soldiers at the city gate who were counting their weapons. His premonition of something "wrong" faded a little, but a new worry arose.

Ligdan Khan was not defeated, so why were the Chahar soldiers in such a panic?
Is the battle at Osaka Castle at a stalemate, or has something else changed?
"We can only wait."

Liu Xingzuo took a deep breath, the morning dew dampening his temples.

"Send the scouts another thirty li ahead and keep a close eye on Lindan Khan's movements. Also, send someone to check on the Chahar tribe's camp. They retreated too hastily last night; they might have left some traces."

Qi Jin nodded, his gaze falling on the distant grassland.

The fog thickened, as if concealing countless secrets.

Although the battle was won, the situation inside and outside the Great Wall remains as shrouded in morning mist as the road ahead is unclear.

Time passed bit by bit.

From the morning of the first day after the great victory at Shifang Temple Fortress to the afternoon of the third day, Qi Jin and Liu Xingzuo hardly had a proper rest. Every hour, they sent scouts to search for news in the direction of Daban City. In the watchtowers on the city walls, there were always people holding telescopes, staring intently at the horizon deep in the grassland.

At noon on the third day, the sound of rapid hoofbeats finally broke the anxious wait.

A scout covered in dust tumbled off his horse and staggered to Qi Jin, holding aloft a mud-stained sheepskin letter.

That was a message delivered by a messenger from Ligdan Khan on a fast horse.

"Lindan Khan suffered a defeat at Daban City!"

The scout's voice was hoarse, carrying the panting of someone on a long march.

"The Jurchens burned down his Daban City, looted most of his grain and livestock, and even took away the silk and tea that the Chahar tribe had accumulated for three years! Fortunately, the main force of the Khan's court was not seriously injured, and Lindan Khan retreated to the other side of the Xilamulun River with his personal guards."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a group of Mongol knights arrived outside the city gate, led by none other than Ligdan Khan's envoy.

The man was wearing a mink coat and had a pale face. When he saw Qi Jin and Liu Xingzuo, he almost stumbled and fell when he dismounted, clearly having also come at high speed.

"General Qi, General Liu."

The envoy spoke Mandarin with a heavy grassland accent, and he bowed deeply while holding his chest.

"The Khan asked me to thank the Ming army for the supplies they provided. The grain and gunpowder arrived just in time. If it had been three days later, the Khan would have had to send the Otog (Mongol tribes) back to their pastures."

Qi Jin frowned slightly.

He knew the rules of the grasslands well: when a herdsman picks up a knife, he is a soldier; when he puts down the knife, he is a shepherd. But once he is called up to fight, the cattle and sheep on the pasture will be left unattended, the cheese will be left untanned, and the fodder will run out.

If Ligdan Khan cannot provide enough supplies to support these soldiers, the various units will collapse on their own within half a month and return to their own pastures to tend to their own flocks of sheep.

"Where is the main force of the Jurchens?" Liu Xingzuo pressed, his hand unconsciously resting on the hilt of his sword.

A hint of apprehension flashed across the envoy's face: "Huang Taiji has led his men to retreat inside the Great Wall. According to the scouts, they are heading towards Fushun."

"Fushun?" Qi Jin and Liu Xingzuo looked at each other simultaneously, their eyes filled with an almost palpable sense of gravity. Fushun was the gateway for the Jurchens to attack Shenyang.

Huang Taiji plundered so many supplies on the grasslands, clearly to replenish his military needs. His retreat to Fushun at this moment is definitely not a sign of withdrawing his troops.

"They've seized enough grain and fodder from the grasslands, and they're probably saving their strength to target Shenyang next."

The battle is not over yet. The smoke from the battle on the grasslands has just cleared, and the fighting inside the Great Wall will probably begin soon.

but
If the Battle of Shenyang is to be fought, the support of the Chahar tribe is indispensable.

Liu Xingzuo's eyes darted around, and he took a step closer, his tone deliberately provocative.

"Your Khan has suffered such a humiliating disgrace, with his golden tent burned down. Are you really willing to swallow this insult?"

"Moreover, what the Jurchens stole from Daban City was not just grain and fodder, but also the reputation of the Chahar tribe that had been built up over a century. If we don't take revenge now while they are still recovering, are we going to wait until the Jurchens have established a firm foothold before trampling your pastures?"

Liu Xingzuo's eyes were sharp; his words were both a question and a test.

If we could persuade Ligdan Khan to send troops, the chances of winning the Battle of Shenyang would increase. The impact of those Mongol cavalry would be perfect for dealing with the Jurchen heavy infantry.

The envoy shook his head abruptly.

He avoided Liu Xingzuo's gaze, his voice low and rumbling like thunder: "General, you may not know this, but the fire in Daban City was set by the Jurchens on one side and by our own people on the other."

Upon hearing this, both Liu Xingzuo and Qi Jin were taken aback.

The envoy of Ligdan Khan slowly explained:
"Among the various Mongol tribes, too many people secretly colluded with the Jurchens."

The envoy raised his head, a fierce glint flashing in his eyes, which was quickly replaced by helplessness.

“Some were sending intelligence, some were opening city gates without permission, and even three of the Great Khan’s personal guards were found to have corresponded with the Jurchens. The Great Khan said that if we do not take this opportunity to clean house, we will die a more miserable death in the future.”

He paused, then took out a roll of sheepskin from his bosom and presented it with both hands: "This is a list compiled by the Great Khan. Among the Taijis of the five Inner Khalkha tribes alone, seven were in league with the Jurchens. Now that the Jurchens have retreated, we can finally free up our resources to remove these thorns in our side."

Qi Jin took the sheepskin scroll, unfolded it, and saw that it was covered with names written in Mongolian script, each name marked with a blood-red cross, the ink still wet, as if it had just been written in blood.

It turns out that Ligdan Khan's defeat was not only due to the ferocity of the Jurchens, but also because of internal strife.

"If the Ming Dynasty is willing to provide another 20,000 shi of grain and 200 jin of gunpowder."

The messenger's voice suddenly rose, tinged with urgency.

"The Khan said that once the traitors are eliminated, he will immediately dispatch three thousand elite cavalry to reinforce Shenyang, with the best warhorses and the sharpest scimitars!"

Liu Xingzuo remained silent.

He knew this was the law of survival on the grasslands. If Lindan Khan did not first stabilize his internal affairs, even if he came, he would only be a rabble, and might even defect on the battlefield.

However, the Ming army's supply lines were long and its food supplies were already tight, so where could it possibly come up with another 20,000 shi of grain?
"That's a real shame."

Without recruiting the Chahar tribe, the Ming army would have lost a key force on the Shenyang battlefield.

The Jurchen cavalry were already fierce, and now they had plundered enough grain and fodder. If they really launched a strong attack, the Ming army would probably have no choice but to cower in the city and passively take the beating against the broken city walls.

"I will report the matter of provisions to the military governor's office."

Qi Jin returned the parchment to the messenger, his voice tinged with weariness.

"If your Khan is truly sincere, then first take care of your own people before sending troops over."

The envoy took the parchment scroll, bowed deeply, and mounted his horse.

"Then let's begin exchanging supplies!"

"As it should be."

Soon, the two sides began exchanging supplies.

At the training ground of Shifang Temple Fortress, the cavalry of the Chahar tribe were driving horses and wagons to transport the grain and supplies provided by the Ming army towards the grasslands.

The small mountain of grain and straw piled up in sacks gradually shrank in size.

At the same time, another group of Mongol soldiers led their warhorses, handing them over one by one to the Ming auxiliary soldiers.

Those were the agreed-upon five thousand warhorses, each with a different coat color, all snorting and digging deep holes in the ground with their hooves.

Liu Xingzuo stepped forward and pressed down on the neck of a chestnut horse.

The horse wasn't particularly tall; its back only reached his shoulders, making it nearly a head shorter than the Western Region horses commonly used by the Ming army. Yet, the muscles he could feel were as firm as iron, and the skin beneath its mane gleamed with a healthy sheen.

"His stamina is quite good."

He whispered, and his guards immediately brought over a warhorse from the Western Regions as a comparison. The fine steed from the Western Regions raised its front hooves and had amazing explosive power, but it would be panting heavily after galloping for a quarter of an hour, while these grassland horses could run for two days straight on the Gobi Desert without stopping.

“In Liaodong, endurance is more important than speed.”

Qi Jin also strolled over, his fingers brushing against the horse's ear, and the horse gently nuzzled his palm.

"From Shenyang to Hetu Ala, the whole way is mountainous wilderness. If a war really breaks out, the ones that can withstand a long-distance raid are these grassland spirits."

On the register at the edge of the training ground, the coat color and teeth of each warhorse were carefully recorded, with the corresponding amount of grain delivered next to them.

Various supplies were exchanged for 5,000 warhorses, and the deal was cancelled one by one under the supervision of the personal guards of both sides.

As the last warhorse was led into the Ming army's stable and the last bag of fodder was loaded onto the Mongol wagons, the commotion on the drill ground gradually subsided.

The Chahar envoy leaped onto a white-maned horse, raised his whip at Qi Jin and Liu Xingzuo, said no more pleasantries, turned his horse around, and joined the group.

The sound of camel bells faded into the distance in the wind, and the rising dust obscured the setting sun, leaving only messy hoofprints on the ground.

As Liu Xingzuo watched the group disappear into the gap in the Great Wall, he suddenly sighed: "After this defeat, Lindan Khan's prestige on the grasslands will probably be greatly diminished."

He kicked a pebble at his feet, which bounced a few times on the ground and rolled toward the stables in the distance.

“Even the five Inner Khalkha tribes dare to outwardly comply but inwardly defy them, not to mention the other small tribes. Don’t expect him to spare any manpower to help in the short term.”

Qi Jin's brows furrowed into a knot.

When he handed over the warhorses, he noticed that the armor of the Chahar knights was askew and many of their quivers were empty.

Clearly, the defeat at Osaka Castle resulted in significant losses for them.

"He is preoccupied with his own problems, and the number of warhorses he can produce is already the limit."

The old general's voice carried a hint of solemnity as he gazed toward Shenyang, where the skyline was being tinged with gray-blue by the twilight.

"The real concern is with Fushun."

Qi Jin and Liu Xingzuo exchanged a glance, both seeing a heavy worry in each other's eyes.

"Huang Taiji has plundered the supplies of Daban City and gathered many Mongol tribes. He is probably currently preparing for war in Fushun."

Liu Xingzuo's voice was very low.

"They knew that if they couldn't take Shenyang in this battle, the initiative in Liaodong would be out of their hands."

“The Jurchens will surely come out in full force.”

Qi Jin added.

“The Eight Banners soldiers, the Mongol auxiliary troops, and even the Ming puppet troops who surrendered will all be pushed to the front line.”

Smoke rose from the chimneys at the end of the training ground, carrying the aroma of rice porridge, but it could not dispel the heavy feeling in their hearts.

They all knew that although the walls of Shenyang were thick, they could not withstand the continuous bombardment of the Jurchen cannons; although the morale of the Ming army was high, its troops were ultimately nearly 30% fewer than the enemy's.

"Do you think the brothers in Shenyang can hold out?" Liu Xingzuo asked, gazing at the darkening sky, as if asking Qi Jin, or perhaps himself.

No one answered.

Only the wind whistled through the gaps in the stables, as if weeping for the impending bloody battle.

But no matter what.

Everyone has to experience the battlefield eventually.

Who can win this battle in Shenyang?

Who is in charge in Liaodong!
And victory should belong to my Great Ming!

(End of this chapter)