Huangming

Chapter 370 Trapped and Killed, Disposal of Prisoners

On the snow-covered ground of the Red River Valley, the Ming army's defenses had been shattered, and scattered weapons and corpses were gradually buried in the wind and snow.

Nurhaci stood on the high ground in the valley, looking at the Ming army's ice city scattered in the surrounding mountains, his brows furrowed slightly.

Although Xiong Tingbi's 10,000 men were defeated, they did not scatter. The remaining soldiers relied on the ice fortresses they had built in advance to hold their ground. Each ice fortress was like a nail driven into the Red River Valley. It would take at least three to five days to completely remove them.

But what he lacks most is time.

Daishan in Fushun is still struggling between life and death. Every moment of delay increases the risk of Fushun falling.

He absolutely cannot miss the best opportunity to rush to the aid of Fushun in order to eliminate the remaining enemy forces.

"Relay my order!"

Nurhaci turned his horse around and shouted sternly, "Leave three thousand soldiers to guard the key points of the Red River Valley and monitor the remnants of Xiong Tingbi's forces to prevent them from harassing our rear! The rest of the army, break camp immediately and rush to Fushun at full speed!"

"Sweat!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than Jirhalang spurred his horse forward, his tone tinged with reluctance.

"Xiong Tingbi is in his mountain camp, with only a few thousand remaining soldiers. This is the best opportunity to annihilate him!"
He was the Ming Dynasty's number one figure in Liaodong. If we could take his head, the Ming army would be leaderless, and the Liaodong war would completely turn in our favor.
"If we miss this opportunity, killing him again will be as difficult as ascending to heaven!"

The surrounding generals echoed his sentiments, their eyes filled with longing.

Xiong Tingbi's head was not only a tremendous military achievement, but also a fatal blow to the morale of the Ming army. Who wouldn't want to take this honor with their own hands?

Nurhaci slowly shook his head, his gaze sweeping over everyone, his tone calm to the point of cruelty: "Xiong Tingbi is more than happy for us to attack him."

As he spoke, he raised his hand and pointed towards the camp on the mountaintop.

"Although that camp is small, it is easy to defend and difficult to attack. It relies on the ice city and the high ground to hold its ground. If we force an attack, we will have to pay the price of at least several thousand soldiers and it will take us a day or two to finish."

But if Fushun falls, Daishan is killed in battle, and the two Red Banners are destroyed within the next day or two, the overall situation will be unfavorable for us.

"Once Fushun falls, the Ming army can rely on the city to confront us. At that time, we will be attacked from both sides and will be put on the defensive."

Conversely, as long as we defeat the main Ming army force at Fushun and lift the siege of Daishan, Xiong Tingbi on the mountaintop will be nothing but a skeleton in a tomb. His remaining troops, without supplies, will soon collapse without a fight.

The reasoning was clear, but the temptation of "Xiong Tingbi's head" was simply too great.

Jirgalang wanted to persuade him further, but he saw a sharp glint in Nurhaci's eyes, and his tone suddenly became more forceful:

"No need for further words! The safety of Fushun is of utmost importance right now. Leading the troops to Fushun is a military order!"

Nurhaci certainly wanted to take Xiong Tingbi's head.

But he knew better than anyone that the worst thing in war is to be blinded by immediate gains; only by distinguishing between what is important and what is urgent can one control the situation.

He reined in his horse, pointing his whip in the direction of Fushun:
"All troops, listen to my command! Travel light and move at full speed! Whoever reaches Fushun first and lifts the siege of Daishan will be rewarded by me with one hundred taels of gold and a thousand head of cattle and sheep!"

"Whoo!"

Although the generals were still unwilling, they dared not disobey military orders and turned their horses around to begin rallying their troops.

More than 20,000 Eight Banner troops rushed towards Fushun like a black torrent, leaving only 3,000 soldiers to keep a close watch on Xiong Tingbi's camp on the mountaintop.

Nurhaci wanted to leave, but Xiong Tingbi refused.

In the mountaintop camp, Xiong Tingbi watched the departing Jurchen army, his eyes blazing with murderous intent.

Once Nurhaci arrives in Fushun, the Ming army's siege plan will be completely ruined, and all previous sacrifices and efforts will be in vain.

This is something Xiong Tingbi absolutely did not want to see.

Therefore.

The snowstorm in the Red River Valley had not yet subsided when Nurhaci's main army charged out of the valley entrance, followed by deafening battle cries.

Nurhaci reined in his horse and looked back.

On the mountaintop, a large banner bearing the character "Bear" fluttered in the wind, and three thousand Ming soldiers charged down the mountain like tigers, heading straight for the Jurchen soldiers left behind.

Further away, the Ice Castle strongholds scattered in the mountain valleys also opened their gates, and Ming soldiers, armed with weapons, rushed towards the Red River Valley's supply route and baggage camp, clearly intending to cut off his retreat and burn his provisions.

"Does Xiong Tingbi really think that I, the Khan, dare not kill him?"

Nurhaci's face instantly darkened.

Supply lines and baggage are the lifeblood of an army. If the rear is unstable and the supplies are burned, even if they reach Fushun, they will not be able to contend with the main force of the Ming army.

However, if they were to turn back and remove Xiong Tingbi, it would delay the time needed to reinforce Fushun, and Daishan's situation would become even more dangerous.

Caught in a dilemma, Nurhaci's gaze swept over his generals and finally landed on Jirgalang.

"Jirhalang, I'm giving you five thousand men. Go back to Red River Valley immediately!"

He paused, then emphasized, "I don't ask you to kill Xiong Tingbi. Just guard the supply lines and protect our rear baggage, so he doesn't cut off our army's supplies! We'll deal with him after we lift the siege of Fushun!"

"Whoo!"

Jirhalang immediately accepted the order, dismounted, and quickly went to gather his troops.

"Father Khan!"

Mangultai suddenly stepped forward, knelt on one knee, and spoke with intense resentment.

"Leave this matter to your son! In the Red River Valley, your son lost a thousand elite troops, and this grudge has not yet been avenged! If you can lead the army back to reinforce, you will surely take Xiong Tingbi's head and wash away the shame of the past!"

His eyes gleamed with ruthlessness.

Killing Xiong Tingbi would not only avenge the ambush at Honghe Valley, but also build prestige among the Eight Banners nobles, adding leverage for future competition for the Khanate.

He absolutely did not want to miss this opportunity.

Nurhaci slowly shook his head.

"No need, leave this matter to Jirhalang."

How could he not know his son's character?

Impulsive and easily angered, with revenge on his mind, once he leads his troops back to reinforce, he will disregard the safety of the supplies and insist on attacking Xiong Tingbi's camp. Not only will he fail to defend the supply lines, but he may also fall into Xiong Tingbi's trap and lose troops for nothing.

On the battlefield, losing one's mind is the worst thing one can do, and Mangultai's current state is completely unsuitable for leading troops.

Mangultai's face instantly turned ugly, a hint of resentment flashing in his eyes, but he dared not refute Nurhaci's decision.

He knew in his heart that since his father had already made up his mind, there was no point in saying anything more.

In the end, Mangultai could only kowtow heavily, his voice tinged with resentment: "Yes, Your Majesty, I obey your command."

Nurhaci stopped looking at him and waved to Jirgalang: "Go quickly and come back quickly, be sure to guard the supply route!"

"Your servant obeys!"

Jirhalang clasped his hands in acceptance, then led five thousand men, turned his horses around, and galloped towards the Red River Valley.

The horses' hooves pounded through the snow, the rising snowflakes creating a long trail behind them as they moved further and further away from Nurhaci's main army.

Nurhaci gazed in the direction Jirgalang had gone, a sense of unease creeping into his heart.

After the troops are divided, the number of troops that can rush to the aid of Fushun will be reduced, and the offensive capability will also be weakened.

Xiong Tingbi's persistent and tenacious tactics were undoubtedly aimed at buying time and creating an opportunity for the Ming army in Fushun to attack the city.

These actions undoubtedly demonstrate that Daishan's current situation is extremely dangerous!

"All troops, accelerate your advance! You must reach Fushun before noon tomorrow!"

Nurhaci turned his horse around and loudly gave orders to the main force of the army.

He had no time to hesitate any longer and could only hope that Jirhalang could hold the supply route and that Daishan could hold out until he reached Fushun.

And on the other side.

Fushun City.

The siege, which had lasted for several days, was already coming to an end.

Daishan huddled in a dilapidated ancestral hall. The roof of the hall had been mostly blown apart by artillery fire, and broken tiles fell from time to time, hitting the dusty ground with a soft "crackling" sound.

He leaned against the cold wooden pillar, his left arm grazed by a lead bullet, the blood soaking through his armor and congealing into a dark brown lump. Every movement aggravated the wound, sending piercing pain through him.

He could no longer fully draw his bow, and there were only three arrows left in his quiver. Through the crack in the ancestral hall door, he warily watched the outside movements, his eyes full of exhaustion, yet still retaining a trace of resentment.

At this moment, he was already all alone.

As more and more soldiers of the Two Red Banners surrendered, the streets and alleys they had defended were breached one by one by the Ming army. The number of his personal guards, which had initially been dozens, had been reduced to less than ten. These were all trusted confidants from the Jianzhou headquarters who had followed him for many years, and even if they were on their last breath, they were unwilling to leave him.

His son, Saharan, was among them, but his current situation is far from optimistic.

At this moment, Sahalian was leaning against another wooden pillar, a lead bullet stuck in his chest, blood flowing down his clothes and staining the bluestone slab beneath him.

"Father...it's all...it's all over..."

Sahalian's voice was as weak as a candle flickering in the wind, his lips were chapped and peeling, and his eyes were becoming increasingly unfocused. He struggled to raise his hand, trying to grab Daishan's clothes, but he didn't even have the strength to lift it.

"We've held out... long enough... but reinforcements... still haven't arrived..."

Seeing his son's pained expression, Daishan felt as if his heart was being torn apart.

“Saharan, you have done your best.”

Not only did Sahalian do his best.

He did his best.

Under the Ming army's relentless bombardment and desperate charges, they held out from the south city to the core streets and alleys, and from more than 20,000 men to only a few remaining. They had reached their limit.

However, Nurhaci's reinforcements never appeared, and there was not a single trace of them.

His defeat was not at the hands of the Ming army, but because reinforcements failed to arrive.

Hoo-ho hoo-ho~
Sahalian's breathing became more and more rapid. He pressed hard on the bleeding wound, but blood kept gushing out from between his fingers, staining his palm red.

He raised his head, gazing at the gray sky above the ancestral hall, his voice a desperate roar: "Could it be... that even Heaven... isn't on our side?"

These words seemed to have exhausted his last bit of strength. As soon as he finished speaking, his head tilted limply to one side, and the light in his eyes vanished instantly, leaving only an empty, gray void.

The hand that had tried to grab Dai Shan's clothes fell heavily to the ground, and there was no more movement.

"Saharan! Saharan!"

Daishan lunged forward and embraced his son's cold body, but received no response.

His body trembled uncontrollably, his eyes were red-rimmed, but not a single tear came out.

The days of fighting and despair had long since dried up his tears.

Yuetuo is dead, and now Sahalian is dead too. This calm and wise son died without ever seeing reinforcements.

The guards around him lowered their heads as they watched this scene, their eyes filled with grief, but no one dared to speak.

At this moment, any comfort is superfluous, because next, this kind of death will be their turn, the turn of the Great Prince.

The shouts of battle outside the ancestral hall grew closer and closer, the footsteps of the Ming army could be clearly heard, and their cries of "Capture Daishan alive" could even be heard.

Daishan gently laid down Sahalian's body, wiped the blood off his son's face with his sleeve, his movements as tender as if he were handling a precious treasure.

Then, he picked up the bow from the ground, drew the last three arrows, nocked them, and slowly stood up. In front of the ancestral hall.

Man Gui, Ma Shilong, and He Gang, three generals, stood side by side at the front of the battle, their armor still stained with wet blood and dust, their sharp eyes fixed on the rickety wooden door of the ancestral hall.

The surrounding Ming soldiers, armed with spears and muskets, had their gun tips and cannon muzzles all aimed at the ancestral hall, making it impossible for even a bird to escape.

"Daishan, surrender!"

Ma Shilong reined in his horse and took half a step forward. His voice carried through the cold wind, echoing inside and outside the ancestral hall, as he tried to persuade Dai Shan to surrender.

"You have no men left under your command, and Fushun City has fallen. There is no point in resisting any longer. If you are willing to surrender, we can send you to the capital and spare your life; if you resist to the end, today will be your death day!"

He spoke earnestly.

While beheading Daishan was a great achievement, capturing the Jurchen Grand Prince alive and presenting him to His Majesty was a far greater merit than the head. It would not only grant them higher ranks and titles but also deter the Jurchen forces in Liaodong.

Man Gui and He Gang nodded slightly, clearly agreeing with Ma Shilong's idea, their eyes fixed on the entrance of the ancestral hall, waiting for Dai Shan's response.

"Humph!"

A cold snort came from inside the ancestral hall.

Dai Shan's voice was hoarse and weary, yet still carried an air of arrogance: "You want this prince to surrender? You Ming dogs, you don't deserve it! In your next life!"

Before he finished speaking, three arrows suddenly shot out from the crack in the ancestral hall door, flying towards the Ming army's front line with a faint whooshing sound.

Ke Daishan was already at his last gasp.

After fighting for several days, he had not eaten a single grain of rice and had to rely on snow water to fill his stomach. The wound on his left arm was still bleeding, and even the hand holding the bow was trembling uncontrollably.

The arrows flew slowly and veered off course; one grazed the stirrup of a horse with a large laurel wreath and embedded itself in the snow.

The other two bullets landed on the Ming soldiers' armor, bounced off with two "clangs," and left not a trace.

"If you don't eat the toast, you will be punished with alcohol!"

Ma Shilong's face darkened, he gripped the sword at his waist, and gave a stern order to the soldiers behind him.

"Men! Break in! We need to see them alive or dead!"

"kill!"

The Ming soldiers shouted in unison, holding shields and spears, and surged toward the ancestral hall like a tide.

The heavy wooden door was pried open with a spear and crashed to the ground. Amidst the rising dust, Ming soldiers filed in, crowding the small outer hall of the ancestral hall to capacity.

Daishan's confidants rushed out of the inner hall to resist, but were quickly killed.

at this time.

Inside the ancestral hall, Dai Shan looked at his trembling hands, his vision blurring.

He could clearly feel life slipping away rapidly.

The dizziness from blood loss grew stronger and stronger, and the hunger in his stomach burned like fire. He even needed to lean on the wooden pillar behind him to support himself while standing.

He knew very well that he was finished.

He is going to die soon.

He has absolutely no chance of turning things around.

Surrender might offer a glimmer of hope.

But he was Aisin Gioro Daishan, the Great Prince of the Jin Dynasty, and a Baturu personally trained by his father, the Khan.

Dying on the battlefield is an honor for the Manchu bannermen.

Being captured alive, taken to the capital of Nikan, subjected to humiliation, and then executed was an ending he could never accept.

Dai Shan slowly raised his hand and touched the dagger at his waist.

The gems on the scabbard had long since fallen off during the battle, but the blade remained sharp, reflecting his blood-stained face.

At that moment, he briefly recalled his entire life.

After a while.

A sinister smile curled at the corner of his mouth, his laughter as hoarse as a broken gong: "You want to take your Grandpa Daishan? You lackeys of the Ming Dynasty don't even deserve it?"

The moment he finished speaking, he suddenly held the knife to his neck and slashed his wrist with force!
Bright red blood gushed out instantly, splattering onto the mottled walls of the ancestral hall, like blooming tragic blood flowers.

Dai Shan swayed and finally collapsed heavily to the ground, his eyes, once full of ambition and ruthlessness, completely losing their luster.

This is the scene that the Ming soldiers saw when they rushed in.

Dai Shan fell into a pool of blood, his knife falling to the side, the blood staining the surrounding bluestone slabs red.

Ma Shilong strode forward, knelt down, and checked Dai Shan's breathing. After confirming that he was dead, he couldn't help but spit on the corpse, his tone full of disgust:
"He plundered and murdered innocent civilians to defend the city, his hands stained with blood. To die so easily is too good for him!"

Man Gui also stepped forward, looking at Dai Shan's unseeing eyes, and sighed softly, her tone filled with complex emotions:
"He's quite a man. There's great terror in the face of life and death. To be able to commit suicide in a desperate situation without disgracing one's status as a prince, that kind of courage surpasses many cowards who are afraid of death."

In the Ming Dynasty, there were too many people who were as cold and indifferent as water.

They are not as good as this barbarian.

He Gang nodded silently and waved for the soldiers to carry Dai Shan's body out.

His body, naturally, was to be imprisoned and sent to the capital.

After all, Daišan could be considered the second most important figure in the Jurchens.

"It's not easy!"

Ma Shilong sighed.

With Fushun City fallen and Daishan dead, the siege that had lasted for several days finally came to an end.

however.

The Battle of Fushun has ended.

What awaited them next was an even tougher battle.

Therefore, no one slacked off in the slightest.

The work of clearing the battlefield and preparing for the main force of the Jurchens began almost simultaneously with the fall of the city.

Squads of Ming soldiers carried stretchers, moving through the streets and alleys, carrying away the bodies of their fallen comrades and Jurchen soldiers respectively.

The bodies of the Ming soldiers were carefully prepared and temporarily placed in an open space south of the city, awaiting their return to their hometowns.

The corpses of the Jurchen soldiers were piled up outside the city, ready to be burned to prevent the spread of plague in the spring.

Another group of soldiers carried timber and bricks to quickly repair the breaches in the southern city wall, rebuild the crenellations that had been destroyed, and set up the remaining breech-loading cannons on the city wall, all pointing towards the Red River Valley.

Although there weren't many shells left, just having them around was enough to deter the Jurchens.

General Chen Ce, the commander-in-chief who was assisting Liaoning, stood on the city tower, looking at the busy scene below, but his brows remained furrowed.

He gestured for two elite scouts and solemnly instructed them:

"You must set off immediately, gallop to the Red River Valley, and tell Commander Xiong that Fushun City has fallen and Daishan has been beheaded. Tell Commander Xiong that he no longer needs to hold them back and to quickly lead his army back!"
Be extremely careful on the road. If you encounter Jurchen cavalry, avoid them if possible. Your primary mission is to deliver the message!

"Your subordinate obeys!"
The two scouts leaped onto their horses, cracked their whips, and galloped off toward Red River Valley.

Half an hour later.

The adjutant in charge of counting the prisoners hurriedly climbed the city wall, holding a roster in his hands, and reported to Chen Ce:
"General, the prisoners have been counted, totaling more than 6,700. Most of them are remnants of the two Red Banners of the Jurchens, and there are also many surrendered soldiers from the Haixi Jurchens and Donghai Jurchens."

He paused, then added, "If we hadn't bombarded the inner city with cannons at the last minute, forcing them to have nowhere to retreat, the number of prisoners would probably have been even greater. Many Jurchen soldiers had actually wanted to surrender long ago when they saw that the situation was hopeless, but they were killed by the bombs."

"More than 6,700 people..."

Chen Ce repeated the number in a low voice, his brows furrowing slightly.

How to deal with these prisoners has become the current problem.

"General, in my humble opinion, they should all be executed!"

Tong Zhongkui immediately stepped forward, his tone resolute.

"Nurhaci's main force is about to arrive. These prisoners are all elite Jurchens. Keeping them alive is a hidden danger. If they mutini, we will be attacked from both sides, and the consequences will be unimaginable!"

"No!"

General Li Bingcheng of Fengji Fort retorted, "It would be a pity to kill them! It would be better to follow the example of the Jurchens and use them as 'human shields'. When we attack and capture cities in the future, we can let them clear the way, block arrows, and fill trenches, which will also reduce our casualties!"

"Moreover, killing those who surrender is an unjust act, and it will be difficult to persuade the Jurchens and other Mongol tribes to surrender in the future."

The two opinions were sharply opposed, and the generals under their command echoed each other, leading to a heated debate on the city wall.

Chen Ce remained silent for a long time before finally raising his hand to signal everyone to be quiet. He said in a calm tone, "To kill them all would risk losing the hearts of the people; to use them as human shields would damage the prestige of our Ming army. In my opinion, a compromise is better."

He pointed to the roster and continued, "Pass down the order to have the prisoners identify each other. All officers of the rank of squad leader and above should be dragged out and beheaded. These people are the backbone of the Jurchens. If we kill them, the lower-ranking soldiers will be without leaders and will find it difficult to organize a resistance."

In addition, a rule was established: if fewer than five hundred officers were identified, half of the prisoners would be randomly executed to force them to make the truthful identification.

Upon hearing this, all the generals nodded in agreement.

This method weakened the prisoners' ability to resist, avoided large-scale killing, and allowed the remaining prisoners to be used as laborers, achieving three goals at once.

After the order was given, a commotion quickly broke out in the prisoner-of-war camp.

Under the pressure of "death for not identifying them," the prisoners became suspicious of each other and exposed each other. In less than an hour, they identified more than 580 Jurchen officers of the rank of squad leader or above.

These people were taken to an open area outside the city. Although they cursed all the while, with a command, a flash of swords, heads fell to the ground, and everything quieted down.

The remaining prisoners were terrified by this sight and dared not make the slightest move.

Subsequently, Chen Ce ordered the prisoners to be divided into two groups:

Three thousand people were escorted by a troop of Ming soldiers to Shenyang for imprisonment, where they would later be used as laborers for farming in the border regions.

The other 3,700 men remained in Fushun, repairing city walls, digging trenches, and transporting provisions under the supervision of the Ming army, in preparation for the upcoming battle.

Just as Fushun was carrying out its post-war preparations in an orderly manner, a scout suddenly sped in from outside the city.

He was covered in snow, his armor bearing several arrow wounds. He had just reached the foot of the city wall when he tumbled off his horse, scrambling and shouting:

"General! Something terrible has happened! The main force of the Jurchens... the main force of the Jurchens has crossed the Red River Valley and is heading towards Fushun!"

Judging by the banners, there are at least 20,000 people, and they are less than 30 li from the city!

"what?!"

Chen Ce's expression changed drastically. He stood up abruptly, strode to the edge of the city wall, and looked towards the Red River Valley.

The main force of the Jurchens crossed the Red River Valley.

Is it
Has Xiong Jinglue died in battle?

PS:

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(End of this chapter)