Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

Huang Degong's face instantly broke into a smile:

"This humble general will lead his men to break down the city gates!"

He turned sharply, about to rush down the hillside.

Zhu Cilang's hand shot out in mid-air, blocking the momentum:

"General Huang, wait! My conquest of Linyi was not achieved through a direct assault!"

A direct assault would inevitably result in heavy casualties; a clever strategy was needed to break through. A siege plan gradually took shape in his mind.

Zhu Cilang's gaze shifted to Jiang Yueguang standing to the side:

"Jiang Qing is hereby ordered to immediately assemble 100,000 bundles of firewood from Dezhou and Wucheng. Anyone who fails to do so will be punished according to military law!"

"Dry firewood!"

Several surprised voices burst out almost simultaneously, and everyone looked at each other with puzzled expressions.

"Your Majesty's decree is obeyed!"

Jiang Yueguang did not hesitate at all, but a hint of confusion flashed in his eyes.

Zhu Cilang's gaze swept over the other three:

"General Huang led his elite troops to cut off the upstream supply route;"

"Generals Lü and Gao, immediately oversee the construction of canals to divert the river water. If the moat is not dry by sunset, I will personally enforce military law!"

"Your humble servant obeys!"

The three of them agreed in unison.

As the lingering mist rose in the early morning sun, Huang Degong's three hundred armored soldiers began to move.

The soldiers, carrying hammers and sandbags, quickly arrived at the upstream section of the river, hammered piles, threw sandbags, and did their best to block the water flow.

"Raise your shields!"

The sergeant's roar drowned out the sound of the water.

In an instant, the battlements were dotted with cold stars, and with a sharp whistling sound, the triangular arrows pierced the wooden shields with a "thud".

Caught off guard, a young soldier groaned and fell to his knees, the arrow shaft on his left shoulder trembling violently.

But he gritted his teeth, his right arm bursting with astonishing strength, and still managed to push the heavy sandbag down into the riverbed.

The soldiers, all hunched over and bent low, braved the relentless rain of arrows, doing their utmost to build the dam.

Three thick logs sank slowly to the bottom under the heavy impact, sacks were piled up in layers, and the river water began to recede in swirling motions.

Soon, a dam was erected, forcibly cutting off the flow of water into the moat from upstream.

At the same time, Gao Jie and Lü Daqi each led their troops and quickly moved along the moat.

The soldiers wielded shovels and dug more than a dozen deep trenches along the edge of the moat to divert the water to low-lying areas.

Two hours later, the moat reached its bottom, revealing a large area of ​​dark silt.

"Push the cart forward!"

At a command, the soldiers shouted slogans and pushed the trench-filling carts forward steadily.

A tall wooden canopy stood in front of the carriage, providing shelter. With each step forward, the carriage creaked heavily.

As they approached the moat, the soldiers quickly untied their ropes and dumped stones and earth into the trench.

The muffled thuds of earth and stones falling into the trench continued incessantly, and the planks on the trench-filling vehicles were subsequently erected.

Upon seeing this, the defenders on the city wall rained down arrows and stones.

Occasionally, soldiers were wounded by stray arrows that crossed the barrier, but the men did not back down and steadily pushed forward the trench-filling carts.

The moats on the west, east, and south sides of the city were gradually filled in, creating a passage nearly a hundred feet wide.

Afternoon, outside Linyi city.

Dust filled the open space leading to the military camp.

Heavy breathing, the creaking of the carrying pole, and the rattling of dry firewood rubbing together, mixed with the distant sound of horns.

The quartermaster's wooden plaque swayed in the dust, the charcoal residue glaring in the eye.

"Top-grade firewood: Seven cents silver per load—today only!"

An old farmer with white hair and beard carried a nearly tall firewood frame on his thin shoulders, on which were neatly bundled dry, hard purple firewood.

Beside him stood a burly, shirtless man with two large bundles of equally plump, dried purple firewood on his shoulders.

He walked steadily, drenched in sweat, his face flushed, and roared as he turned around:

"San'er! What are you dawdling for! Hurry up!"

"In the past, this bundle of firewood would sell for less than three cents, but today it's a full seven cents!"

"That's enough to exchange for half a bushel of polished rice! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"

The boy called "San'er" was so thin that his head was almost invisible under the weight of a smaller bundle of firewood, and his face was covered in sweat.

He gritted his teeth, struggled to keep up with the burly man.

A little further away, a thin woman was carrying a small bundle of firewood on her back and tightly holding onto a five or six-year-old boy.

The child peeked fearfully at the heavily armored soldiers.

The woman's eyes darted anxiously through the throng of people, searching for the quartermaster's figure.

The place where firewood was collected was bustling with noise.

The quartermaster shouted in a hoarse voice:

"Queue up! Dry firewood only! Purple firewood and old pine branches preferred! Inspection required!"

The clerks quickly rummaged through the bundles of firewood.

"Great quality ingredients! Full weight! Seven-tenths full!"

The quartermaster patted the burly man's bundle of firewood.

The burly man grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, and took the silver horn, weighing it in his hand.

The old farmer trembled as he unloaded the firewood rack. The petty official picked out a few pieces, tapped them, and said:

"Hmm... a little undercooked, six and a half minutes!"

The old farmer's calloused hands clenched tightly, his lips trembling. In the end, he could only bend down deeply and reach out his trembling hand to receive the money.

In less than half a day, the firewood next to the military camp had piled up like a mountain.

.......

The next day, at the beginning of Mao hour.

As dawn broke and Venus disappeared from sight, black banners fluttered in the wind on the high platform west of the city.

Zhu Cilang was clad in armor, and his sword-wielding hand was fair and slender, a stark contrast to the dark and rough hands of the soldiers around him.

His gaze was piercing, and he gave the order:

"Ditch-filling trucks, launch!"

A clear, crisp voice broke the silence of the early morning.

In an instant, dozens of trench-filling vehicles roared into action, like giant beasts awakening from their trance.

Eight soldiers lined up on both sides of each vehicle, their shoulders pressed against the shafts, veins bulging.

The wheels rolled over the filled-in ditch, making a dull creaking sound.

The truck was not loaded with soil and rocks, but with bundles of dry firewood with added sulfur, which was much lighter than soil and rocks.

The wooden canopy in front of the vehicle was nine feet high (about 3 meters), made of thick wooden planks, and wide enough to cover eight soldiers.

The soldiers hid behind wooden curtains and slowly advanced to the foot of the city wall where the moat had been filled in.

A furious roar in Tatar language came from the city wall, and in an instant, arrows pierced the air and stones whistled down.

Squad leader Zhou Wangjin pressed himself against the cart frame and clearly heard the muffled sound of an armor-piercing arrow piercing the wooden curtain.

He wiped the foul-smelling lime-manure splattered on his face, making his eyes bloodshot, and spat out curses:

"You damned Tartars! Today I'm showing you a show where your butts get burned!"

The 300 elite troops responsible for providing cover quickly moved forward.

The shield bearers erected a shield wall, followed closely by the musketeers and crossbowmen, launching a fierce counterattack against the city walls.

"Hold on!"

Squad Leader Zhou Wangjin's roar pierced through the rain of arrows.

The trench-filling vehicles finally reached the base of the city wall, and the soldiers moved swiftly and had a clear division of labor.

Two people unloaded the firewood, three passed it around, and three guarded it.

Bundles of firewood were quickly unloaded and piled up at the foot of the city wall, forming a pile as wide as ten feet.

The firewood piled up layer upon layer, resembling a small mountain.

The defenders on the city wall seemed to realize that something was wrong, so they fired arrows and stones even more densely, and even tried to push the pile of firewood with long poles, but they had little effect under the suppression of the Ming army's bows, crossbows and muskets.

A soldier, holding a torch, crouched low and rushed quickly toward the woodpile.

He raised his arm, threw down the torch, and the firewood instantly ignited.

Thick black smoke billowed into the sky, not only obscuring the movements below the city from the defenders' view, but also completely swallowing the rising sun.

A wave of heat hit us, and the stone city walls were scorching hot.

Simultaneous actions were taken in the east and south of the city, with flames shooting into the sky and thick black smoke billowing from the three sides of the city walls, obscuring half the horizon.

The high temperature continued to scorch the city wall.

When the fire subsided slightly and the base of the city wall was scorching hot, Zhou Wangjin personally led his elite soldiers to pour water from the moat onto the burning city wall.

"Sizzle—"

With a loud bang, the cold water met the hot stone and turned into a cloud of white steam, causing the surface of the city wall to cool down abruptly.

He then wielded an iron pickaxe and forcefully struck the cracks in the stone that had opened up due to the sudden cooling.

It turns out that Zhu Cilang used the method of "piling firewood to burn the city", first burning the city wall to crack it, and then using an iron chisel to break it.

On the city wall, the garrison commander chuckled, stroking his beard as he said to his deputy:

"These Ming barbarians want to use fire? Do they intend to scorch us, or do they hope to burn down this city wall?"

The lieutenant smiled in agreement and said:

"Our master is wise! They can't come up with anything new!"