Huangming

Chapter 300: Flags Fall, Soldiers Collapse, Victory Over Shenyang
The sounds of battle echoed across the wilderness for two full hours before the sky finally began to lighten with the first light of dawn.

The dawn, like a blunt knife, slowly cut through the smoke that shrouded the battlefield, revealing the bright flag on the city wall of Shenyang, stained with blood.

Xiong Tingbi stood atop the highest point of the city wall, his official robes already soaked with morning dew, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield below like that of a hawk.

He stood there all night, his eyes bloodshot, yet still sharp as a blade.

Beneath the walls of Shenyang, the Ming army and the main force of the Jurchen Eight Banners remained locked in a stalemate.

In the direction of Andingmen, the infantry formation, though incomplete, still stood like a stubborn reef, resisting the repeated attacks of the Bordered Yellow Banner.

Led by Chen Ce, the cavalry at Deshengmen were engaged in a tug-of-war with the Plain White Banner, and the crisp sound of their sabers clashing could be heard from a great distance.

The most tragic scene was in the southwest corner, where corpses had piled up into small mountains. The remnants of the Ming army were clinging to a few abandoned shield wagons, fighting desperately against the Jurchen white-armored soldiers who were charging up.

The two sides fought back and forth, locked in a fierce and evenly matched battle.

Although the Jurchen cavalry were brave, they were never able to completely break through the Ming army's defenses; although the Ming infantry were exhausted, they relied on their formations and firearms to force the enemy back time and time again.

As the sun rose higher, it illuminated every bloody spot on the battlefield.

Broken spears, shattered armor, dead warhorses, and arrows embedded in the mud—they lay scattered like a dense forest of despair.

Xiong Tingbi's gaze fell on the most intense part of the battle:

Three Ming soldiers stood back to back, using broken swords and spear shafts to fend off the attack of seven or eight Jurchen soldiers. One of them had a broken leg, but he still used his body to protect his comrades until he was hacked down by the swords.

Not far away, several Jurchen soldiers were trying to drag their comrades' corpses when their battle robes were ignited by fire arrows shot from the city walls. They screamed and rolled into the pile of corpses.

"Both sides suffered damage..."

Xiong Tingbi muttered to himself.

The Jurchens did not demonstrate the legendary absolute advantage of being "invincible with ten thousand men"; their casualties were even greater than those of the Ming army.

At least judging from the number of corpses on the battlefield, that's the case.

At that moment, a sudden realization dawned on Xiong Tingbi, as if the fog that had shrouded Liaodong for many years had been lifted.

It wasn't that the Jurchens were truly invincible, nor that the Ming army in Liaodong was inherently cowardly.

He recalled the Battle of Sarhu: Du Song's western army was surrounded and annihilated by the Jurchens, who outnumbered him several times over; after Marin's northern army was defeated at Sarhu, how could the remaining remnants withstand the main force of the Eight Banners?

The same was true in the battles of Kaiyuan and Tieling. The Ming army defending the cities numbered only a few thousand, and it was already difficult for them to hold out for several days against the fierce attack of tens of thousands of Jurchens.

In those battles, the Ming army often fought hastily when its forces were vastly outnumbered, its supplies were insufficient, and even its commanders were hoping for the best. The so-called "defeat in open field battles" was more a double defeat in terms of troop strength and morale.

"The tactics were wrong, and morale collapsed."

Xiong Tingbi's voice was slightly hoarse.

In the past, the Ming army always thought of relying on fortified cities for defense. Once forced to fight in the open field, they were like frightened birds. The generals had their own thoughts, and the soldiers did not know why they were fighting. How could such an army, no matter how well equipped, resist the fierce Jurchens?
But the battlefield before us is different.

The Ming soldiers in Shenyang knew that if the city fell, their families would be destroyed and their land would be lost.

Xiong Tingbi personally oversaw operations from the city tower, ensuring clear rewards and punishments and maintaining strict military discipline. More importantly, they finally achieved a stalemate with the Jurchens in terms of troop strength.

Although it was a result of sending out all its troops, it proved that as long as the forces were evenly matched and morale was high, the Ming army might not necessarily lose.

As Xiong Tingbi was deep in thought, his personal guards suddenly cried out in alarm, their voices trembling with disbelief: "Lord General! Look! The Jurchen commander's flag has fallen!"

The shout was like a thunderclap on the city wall. Xiong Tingbi looked up sharply, his gaze shooting like lightning towards the high platform in the center of the Jurchen camp.

In the dawn light, the black banner that had been fluttering wildly in the wind the night before had truly vanished, leaving only a bare flagpole swaying in the morning breeze, like a broken bone.

"Good! Well done, You Shigong!"

Xiong Tingbi slammed his palm heavily on the crenellations, causing the gray bricks to tremble and fall into dust.

He understood instantly.

The five hundred elite troops who went out of the city to raid the camp did not die in vain; You Shigong's surprise attack was a success!
Although it is unknown whether the enemy chieftain was killed, the commander's flag is the soul of the army. If the flagpole falls, the morale of the Jurchen army will surely be thrown into chaos!
A glint flashed in his eyes, and he abruptly turned to his personal guards, ordering, "Pass on my password! Have everyone on the city walls shout at the top of their lungs: The Jurchen banner has fallen, Huang Taiji is dead!"

The guard was taken aback at first, then his eyes flashed with understanding, and he clasped his hands in a fist and replied, "Your subordinate will take care of it immediately!"

He turned and ran, his boots making a rapid "thump-thump" sound as they stomped across the stone slabs of the city wall.

Moments later, a deafening roar erupted from the city walls on all four sides of Shenyang:
"The Jurchen banner has fallen, and Huang Taiji is dead!"

"The Jurchen banner has fallen, and Huang Taiji is dead!"

The roars of thousands of Ming soldiers converged into a torrent, crashing onto the open fields below the city, then rebounding and echoing endlessly between heaven and earth.

What's even more remarkable is that dozens of veterans fluent in foreign languages ​​repeatedly shouted in broken but clear Tungusic, each word like a heavy hammer blow to the hearts of the Jurchens.

The Ming soldiers below the city heard it clearly. They were stunned at first, and then burst into a deafening cheer.

The soldiers who were fighting the Jurchens seemed to be injected with a powerful stimulant. Some brandished their broken swords and roared, while others charged straight into the enemy ranks with their spears, pushing the formation forward several steps.

"Did you hear that? Huang Taiji is dead!"

A soldier with a blood-stained face roared at his comrade beside him, his voice trembling with sobs.

"We won!"

His companion didn't speak, but simply swung his saber to cleave away the weapons coming at him, yet the light in his eyes was astonishingly bright.

The enemy commander is dead, and his flag has fallen.

There is no news more encouraging than this.

They seemed to see the dawn of victory, and the weapons in their hands became exceptionally sharp.

Unlike the high morale of the Ming army, the morale of the Eight Banners soldiers was low.

The Jurchens' defenses began to crumble.

Upon hearing the shout, the soldiers in white armor at the front visibly paused, and some subconsciously turned to look in the direction of the main camp, their eyes filled with surprise and doubt.

A heavily armored Niru Ejen roared, "Don't believe the Ming dogs' lies! The commander-in-chief is still here!"

But his voice sounded so pale and powerless amidst the shouts of the Ming army.

A Jurchen soldier who had just crawled out of a pile of corpses looked towards the high platform and suddenly threw away the knife in his hand.

He had seen the banner still standing last night, but it was nowhere to be seen now. The shouts of the Ming soldiers were so clear that he couldn't help but believe it.

Standing atop the city wall, Xiong Tingbi gazed at the increasingly chaotic Jurchen formation below, a cold, sharp smile curving his lips.

This is the effect he wants.

By mixing truth and falsehood, and deception and reality, they first threw the enemy soldiers into disarray, and then broke their formation.

"Keep shouting!"

He gave orders to the flag officer beside him.

"Let them shout it until the Jurchens themselves believe it!"

The shouts rose again, like countless sharp knives piercing the Jurchens' weak spot.

The Ming army below the city fought with increasing ferocity, launching a relentless offensive; while the Jurchen resistance gradually slowed down amidst these deafening shouts.

The scales of victory are quietly tipping.

And the other side.

In front of the Jiannu camp.

The place was now a complete mess.

Smoke and the stench of blood filled the air, and the cries of wounded soldiers, the chaotic footsteps, and the faint sounds of fighting in the distance intertwined, creating a suffocating atmosphere.

On the high platform, Huang Taiji stared intently at the black banner of the commander, charred black by explosives. The flagpole was broken in the middle, and the tattered flag lay on the ground, trampled into mud by several panicked soldiers.

"Trash! A bunch of trash!"

Huang Taiji kicked over the table next to him, and the bronze wine pot fell to the ground and rolled a long way.

His gaze, like a poisoned knife, swept over the silent guards around him, finally landing on Mele'ezhen beside him.

"Where's the secondary banner? Quickly put it on this prince!"

He knew very well that the commander's flag was the soul of the army, especially in this stalemate. If the flag fell, the soldiers would not be able to see the command center, and the morale of the army would collapse in less than half an hour.

Fortunately, the Great Jin Dynasty had a system in place that each banner, in addition to the main black banner, also had two slightly smaller secondary banners, which were managed by the Mele Ejen, in order to deal with emergencies in case the main banner was damaged.

As long as the secondary banner is raised, we can stabilize our position.

But Mele Ejen knelt down with a thud, his head almost touching the ground, his voice trembling with sobs: "Your Highness... the deputy... the deputy banner is still in the main camp's supply depot, it wasn't... it wasn't brought out with the army!"

Who could have imagined that the commander's flag on the high platform could be cut down?

The Ming army clearly lacked the capability for field battles.

"What did you say?!"

Huang Taiji's voice suddenly rose, like a wild beast whose tail had been stepped on. "Going to war without a secondary banner? Are you a pig-brain?!"

He kicked Mele'ezhen in the back, sending the man rolling twice on the ground.

"For delaying military operations, I, your humble servant, will chop you up right now! Go to the main camp and fetch it immediately!"

"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!"

Mele'ezhen scrambled to her feet, clutching her bleeding mouth, and stumbled down the platform, not even bothering to steady herself with her armor.

Huang Taiji's chest heaved violently. He took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to kill, and turned to Ajige, yelling, "Blow the conch shell! Three long and two short! Quickly!"

According to the military regulations of the Jin Dynasty, when the main flag falls, the bugler must immediately blow three long and two short conch shells to warn the entire army and indicate that the command system is still operational.

This is the last resort.

Just as Ajige was about to respond, the soldier in charge of blowing the horn hurriedly grabbed the conch shell, his cheeks puffed out, ready to play it.
"The Jurchen banner has fallen, and Huang Taiji is dead!"

A deafening shout suddenly erupted from the front lines of the battlefield, like a thunderbolt striking the camp.

Then, more voices joined in, layer upon layer, converging into a mighty torrent:
"The Jurchen banner has fallen, and Huang Taiji is dead!"

"Huang Taiji has been beheaded!"

"The Tartars have lost their head, surrender now!"

What's worse, the shouts weren't just in Chinese, but also in Tungusic, which was broken yet clear. Every word was like a heavy hammer, striking the hearts of every Jurchen soldier.

The trumpeter was so startled that his hand trembled, and the conch shell fell to the ground with a "thud".

The three long and two short whistles that were about to be sounded were completely swallowed up by the overwhelming shouts of battle before they could even make a sound.

Huang Taiji turned his head sharply, staring intently in the direction from which the sound came, his face ashen as if it were about to drip water.

He could see that the formation at the front was beginning to fall into disarray, and many soldiers stopped moving and looked blankly toward the camp, clearly having heard the deadly shout.

"Blow! Blow for me!"

Huang Taiji grabbed a conch shell from the ground and stuffed it into the trumpeter's mouth.

Blow hard!

The trumpeter was terrified and puffed out his cheeks, finally making a "whoosh~whoosh~" sound from the conch shell.

But the sound was as faint as a mosquito's hum in the face of the Ming army's earth-shaking shouts. It had barely drifted a short distance from the high platform when it was drowned out by the even louder roar of "Huang Taiji is dead."

Ajige rode his horse back and forth on the stage, shouting for the soldiers to steady themselves, but his voice was also drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

Several soldiers in white armor ran up to him and asked, "Your Highness, has the banner really fallen? What about Fourth Prince...?"

"Bullshit!" Ajige roared, swinging his knife at the air beside him.

"The coach is doing very well! It's just Ming Gou spreading rumors!"

But his explanation was weak and unconvincing.

More and more Jurchen soldiers saw the empty flagpole on the high platform and heard the shouts of the Ming army. Panic spread like a plague.

The soldiers in the front ranks began to retreat, and those in the back ranks, for reasons unknown, also began to stir. The originally orderly formation began to show signs of collapse.

Huang Taiji stood on the high platform, watching all this, his expression growing increasingly grim.

He knew it was over.

Even if Mele'ezhen flew back now to retrieve the secondary banner, it would be too late.

The Ming army's move was ruthless.

The collapse of the black banner triggered a chain reaction that created irreparable rifts within the Eight Banners army.

The Plain White Banner was the first to collapse.

The armored soldiers stared at the empty flagpole on the high platform, their ears ringing with the deafening shouts of the Ming army that "Huang Taiji is dead," and the last thread of their resolve snapped.

In the Eight Banners military system, the banner lord was the supreme ruler of the banner soldiers. If the banner lord died, the soldiers under his banner would be punished by being enslaved at best, and their families would be exterminated at worst.

Fear spread like a plague; some instinctively reined in their warhorses, while others' hands gripping their knives began to tremble.

"Run! Without the flag leader, we're all going to die!"

Someone let out a roar, like a bucket of water being poured into boiling oil.

The moment the first cavalryman turned his horse around, the entire Plain White Banner formation collapsed like a sandbar. Soldiers scrambled to flee to the rear, the clanging of armor, the neighing of warhorses, and the cries of men all mixed together in complete chaos.

Abatai watched from the high slope with eyes blazing with fury, but the soldiers of the Bordered White Banner beside him also began to stir.

"Lord Taiji, the Plain White Banner has fled! If we continue to hold out, we'll be left isolated!"

The Niru'ezhen beside him was so anxious that his face turned red.

Abatai stared at the Ming army lines drawing ever closer, then looked back at his men who were beginning to waver, his teeth grinding together.

He had fought all his life and had never seen such an absurd defeat. But now, continuing to hold on would only lead to the loss of all his wealth.

"withdraw!"

Abatai abruptly turned his horse around, his voice filled with barely concealed embarrassment.

His Bordered Yellow Banner had already suffered heavy losses, and seeing their commander retreat, they were immediately relieved and surged backward like a tide.

Even the nobles of Jianzhou have run away!

What are we, these bondservants, still holding on for?
Li Yongfang's men were already demoralized, and now that they saw the main force of the Eight Banners collapsing, they were no longer willing to fight to the death.
"General, let's go!"

Several guards helped the hesitant Li Yongfang up and fled with the crowd to the rear. The Han soldiers who had been temporarily conscripted abandoned their armor and ran faster than anyone else.

The retreat of the Plain White Banner and the Bordered White Banner tore a huge hole in the battlefield.

The Ming army, like tigers smelling blood, sent Chen Ce's cavalry to charge through the breach, their sabers slashing and scattering the fleeing Jurchens.

The infantry formation at Andingmen followed closely behind, their spears like a forest, advancing step by step and tearing the gap wider and wider.

The two red flags and two blue flags on the west side of the battlefield suddenly became isolated salients.

Although they did not immediately collapse, after the Plain White Banner retreated, their right flank was completely exposed to the Ming army's blades.

"Taiji, flank! The Ming army is attacking from the flank!"

A soldier in red armor roared and pointed to the side.

Daishan's second son, Sahalian, stared at the empty right wing, his face ashen.

If we don't retreat now, we'll be surrounded and wiped out by the Ming army!

"Retreat in an orderly manner! Form ranks and retreat!"

Saharan roared as he tried to regain his composure, but the fleeing tide had already swept away all order.

The defeated soldiers surged backward like a tide, knocking their formation erratically.

Many soldiers were knocked down by the fleeing troops, and just as they tried to get up, their legs were trampled and broken by the warhorses behind them. Their screams were drowned out by the chaotic noise.

"Kill them! Don't let the Tartars escape!"

The shouts of the Ming army were deafening.

The anger that had been suppressed for too long finally erupted at this moment.

The crushing defeat at Sarhu, the massacre at Kaiyuan, and the blood feud at Tieling—countless wronged souls seemed to have been attached to the blade.

With bloodshot eyes, the soldiers charged forward, stepping over the corpses of the Jurchens. Some were chasing so fast that they even lost their armor, yet they still brandished their broken swords and roared.

The Jurchens' rout quickly turned into a chaotic and disorganized escape.

Horses and men trampled each other, armor and weapons were scattered all over the ground, and many people panicked and rushed towards the Ming army, only to be hacked to death in the blink of an eye.

A soldier in white armor tried to rein in his horse, but was knocked off his horse by the fleeing soldiers surging from behind, and was trampled into a bloody pulp.

On the city wall of Shenyang, Xiong Tingbi gazed at the black torrent of fleeing people across the wilderness and slowly loosened his clenched fist.

His eyes were incredibly sharp.

We should press on with our remaining strength to eliminate the enemy, but we must not overdo it.

He immediately roared, "Pass on my order: pursue them for ten miles and then stop; do not linger in battle."

He spoke to the flag officer beside him, his voice tinged with weariness, yet unable to conceal the joy of victory.

"Leave some men behind to clean up the battlefield and treat the wounded."

He kept a close eye on the battlefield, vigilant for any unforeseen events that could be detrimental to the Ming army.

(End of this chapter)