Chapter 647 - Setting Fire to the Camps

The granaries of Chengmai County had once held tens of thousands of jin of grain. Now the imperial troops had commandeered every last kernel for military use and issued orders demanding that wealthy households "contribute" their stores. Song Zonghui, the county's richest man, had naturally been the prime target. He'd been forced to donate a hundred shi of grain and "voluntarily contribute" five hundred taels of silver—a financial bloodletting that left him hollow with bitterness. Troops from outside Guangdong were notorious for their poor discipline, and despite the generals' efforts at restraint, extortion of shops and wealthy families had become a daily occurrence. There had even been killings and robberies. If Zhao Ruyi and the military secretaries hadn't been staying at his residence, Song Zonghui—Chengmai's wealthiest household—would long since have been picked clean by the junior officers like fat carcass at a feast.

"The bald bandits at Shishan are isolated deep behind our lines," Lü Yizhong declared, eating half a pastry and brushing crumbs from his sleeve. "Once their grain runs out, they'll retreat of their own accord. And once our supply route reopens, provisions will no longer be a concern. Stop fretting over nothing!" He turned to Song Zonghui with an air of condescension. "You're the deputy commander of the county militia. Exert yourself, and when merits are tallied, commendations will surely follow."

Despite He Rubin's string of defeats, Lü Yizhong remained unperturbed. He considered these merely temporary setbacks caused by initial overconfidence. At every meeting, his argument was simple: wage a war of attrition. With all of Guangdong's resources brought to bear against a single Lingao, time alone would grind the bald bandits into dust.

"Yes, yes." Song Zonghui's face remained clouded with worry. The burden of his reputation as the county's wealthiest man meant every costly obligation fell upon his shoulders. If he hadn't secured a jiansheng degree years ago, his modest fortune would have been bled dry by the authorities long before now.

Gou Chengxuan sat silently at Qian Taichong's table, saying nothing. His status was low, and he held no formal position among the secretaries, so few paid him any attention. He was by nature a calculating man. Knowing that these men thought little of him—and knowing he had escaped from the territory of the bald bandits—he understood that if the campaign went poorly, he might well be executed as a "spy." Throughout the journey, he had adhered to the principle of speaking as little as possible. Among the secretaries, only Qian Taichong, who harbored plans for the "restoration" of Lingao, ever bothered to discuss the local geography and conditions with him. Otherwise, it was as if he didn't exist.

His spirits had sunk to their lowest ebb. Gou Chengxuan had originally placed great hope in the imperial expedition: he had believed that the bald bandits were few in number, and that the people of Lingao wouldn't dare continue serving them once the imperial army arrived. Isolated and outnumbered, the bald bandits would be forced to retreat. He had grand plans. Once the imperial forces reached Lingao, he would step forward to rally the gentry and organize militia to aid the campaign. He intended to humbly request that Huang Shoutong assume the position of militia commander and ask Liu Dalin to head a "Restoration Bureau." By assuming the role of "assistant director" for himself, Gou Chengxuan had calculated he could not only seize a portion of actual power but also lay the groundwork for rebuilding his authority in Lingao.

But after several head-on clashes with the bald bandits at Chengmai, Gou Chengxuan had come to realize that the best outcome would be a stalemate. Reaching Lingao and forcing the bandits to retreat was now beyond hope. He was deeply troubled and worried about Lai Da—afraid that Lai Da might return to Lingao, find his father and Uncle Hu, and raise a banner to support the imperial forces, only for the army never to arrive, bringing death upon himself and everyone with him.

He sat alone, drinking tea in silence, pondering what to do after this expedition failed. General He could no longer be relied upon—he had never taken Gou seriously in the first place, and once the court investigated the defeat, He would be finished. Any hope of revenge and restoration through General He was now impossible...

A sudden boom from outside shattered his thoughts. The sound was clear and distinct—the muffled report of artillery. It wasn't the sharp crack of the bald bandits' guns, but the deeper voice of the imperial army's Red Barbarian cannons.

Two more shots followed in quick succession. Everyone at the table listened carefully; the gunfire seemed to come from the direction of the south gate. The secretaries froze, ears pricked.

"What's happening?" someone whispered. They found it strange. Neither the bald bandits nor the imperial forces had engaged in combat these past few days, and no cannons had fired. It was now approaching the end of hai hour—deep into the night—and the moonlight was dim. Could the bald bandits be launching a night raid? Tension spread through the room.

"Boom! Boom-boom!" Several more muffled reports reached them. This time they could hear clearly: in addition to the cannons firing from the city gates, the camps outside the walls were also firing.

"Cannon fire! They're opening fire!" Qian Taichong was the first to stand, waving his arms as he shouted.

The others remained seated, motionless. "Cannon fire?" "Are you certain?" "Could it be—could it be that the bald bandits are raiding our camps?!" Finally, they could no longer maintain their composure. With a collective gasp, they rose to their feet.

"That's right, they're firing!"

"Quick, send someone to find out what's happening!"

They dispatched a servant to investigate. Everyone was uneasy—a sudden night raid by the bald bandits would be very strange indeed. Inside and outside Chengmai, there were still nearly twenty thousand imperial soldiers. The bald bandits' combined forces numbered no more than ten thousand. Had they suddenly received reinforcements? Hearts grew anxious.

"No cause for alarm," Lü Yizhong announced, projecting calm. "Our sentries are vigilant, and the city is as secure as iron, inside and out. If the bald bandits come raiding, they'll only bloody their own heads..." Just as he finished speaking, a sharp crack sounded from outside, followed by a whistling noise. Then came a tremendous explosion.

"The bald bandits are firing!" Five or six voices cried out at once. This was the very sound they had grown familiar with over the past several days—and the subsequent explosion was the distinctive report of the bald bandits' explosive shells. Everyone tensed immediately.

Lü Yizhong's face paled slightly, but he forced a calm expression: "The bald bandits are firing... Ha ha... Ha ha..."

Outside, cannon fire rumbled in succession. By now, no one could sit still. Qian Taichong waved his hand: "Come on, let's go outside and look!" Without waiting for a response, he strode out. The others hurried after him, leaving the garden and making for the main entrance of the Song residence.

By now it was nearly midnight. The moon hid behind drifting clouds, appearing and disappearing. A vast expanse of cloud was rimmed with an eerie silver edge. But no one noticed this sight, for their minds were wholly consumed by the sounds from beyond the courtyard walls, now growing clearer. Besides the continuous cannon fire, there were chaotic voices in the streets—shouts, barking dogs, a clamor of noise rising together.

Tense cries echoed through the thoroughfares, mixed with the clatter of armor and weapons, curses, and wailing. From the distance came the sound of a horn, its long note hanging in the air.

The servant they'd sent to investigate came running back in a panic.

"What on earth has happened?" Song Zonghui asked in alarm.

"Master, the streets are in chaos! They're saying—they're saying the bald bandits have brought up siege artillery and are about to bombard the army's camps!"

"What?"

"Oh, and others are saying the bald bandits from Shishan have attacked from another direction, planning to crush the imperial forces between two jaws at Chengmai!"

Both pieces of news seemed plausible. As everyone stood in confusion, Lü Yizhong dismissed the rumors:

"What siege artillery? If they had such guns, the bald bandits would have deployed them long ago—why wait until now? It's the middle of the night. Even if they had siege artillery, do these bald bandits all have night-vision eyes that let them see in darkness?"

"Right, it must be the bald bandits conducting a night harassment!" someone agreed.

"Ah, let's just go outside and take a look!" Qian Taichong had no patience for idle speculation. Without waiting for agreement, he led his servants toward the gate.

The streets were indeed in chaos. In the darkness, soldiers, militiamen, and conscripts ran about with swords, spears, lanterns, and torches. The city tower was already ablaze with lights. Knots of soldiers guarding the Song residence stood together, whispering among themselves, craning their necks to peer toward the sound of the cannons. The boom of artillery and the explosions of shells continued to reach them, now louder, now softer, from afar...

They stopped a bazong, who told them that many lights had appeared at sea—apparently the bald bandits' navy had come as reinforcements. The cannon fire just now was from the imperial troops at Xiao Ying Field attempting to intercept the enemy ships.

"What? The bald bandits are trying to take Xiao Ying Field?"

"I don't know, sir. That's just what everyone is saying." The bazong hurried off with his men.

Qian Taichong suggested going up to the city tower for a better view—standing in the street, they could see nothing. Some were too afraid of being hit by the bald bandits' artillery and dared not volunteer; others were willing to go. Half the group left.

As military secretaries, they were recognized by the bazong guarding the tower, who allowed them to ascend. Looking out from the top, the scene outside was dark and seemingly unchanged, except for the scattered lights along the coast—apparently many ships had arrived. Flashes of light and muffled cannon fire came intermittently. Xiao Ying Field also flickered with gunfire; both sides seemed to be engaged in an artillery duel.

"The bald bandits are sailing in the dead of night..." Before Chang Qingyun could finish, someone cried out in alarm. They followed his gaze: a bright streak of fire rose from the direction of the sea, like a ball of flame arcing through the sky.

"A comet!" someone shouted.

But they quickly realized this was no comet. The light moved slowly, losing altitude as it came, apparently heading straight for the county seat. Everyone stood frozen in terror. They watched the fireball streak over the city tower and crash somewhere beyond the walls. A violent explosion followed, fire spraying in all directions.

"What the devil is that thing?!" Chang Qingyun cried in alarm.

By now, more and more lights were rising from the sea, a dense swarm arcing toward Xiao Ying Field and the nearby camps.

"Enemy rockets!" Chang Qingyun had read several books on firearms and immediately grasped what was happening—the bald bandits were launching rockets. Apart from books, he had never seen rockets actually fired. Watching the lights grow ever thicker in the sky, falling like a rain of fire, he stood frozen in shock.

Trailing orange flames, the rockets rose continuously from the coast, falling in ranks and clusters upon Xiao Ying Field like a vast firestorm descending upon the camp. The originally dim encampment now blazed with explosions and leaping flames. Pillars of fire erupted against the dark night sky; in some places, fires had clearly taken hold.

Suddenly, a huge column of flame rose from Xiao Ying Field, followed by a deep, rolling explosion like thunder. The onlookers' hearts sank—almost certainly, the camp's powder magazine had detonated.

As the powder magazine exploded, the glow from Xiao Ying Field grew ever brighter, illuminating the entire coastline. Yet the rockets continued to rain down upon the camp, compounding the chaos. Qian Taichong cried out: "Xiao Ying Field is about to fall!"

Indeed, a great mass of men was streaming out of Xiao Ying Field. By the firelight, they could clearly see these were the soldiers who had been defending the position, now fleeing in disorder toward the main camp.

"The bald bandits mean to cut off our seaborne supply line!" Qian Taichong shouted. Although he had never thought sea transport a good solution, the bald bandits' sudden assault on Xiao Ying Field made their objective unmistakable.

"What—what are we to do?" Someone clutched the parapet, stamping his feet in agitation.

"It depends on..."

Chang Qingyun's words were cut short as more lights rose from the bald bandits' main camp, a dozen points of fire arcing toward the county seat and the imperial camps.

"Rockets!" The soldiers on the tower cried out in alarm, diving for cover behind the parapets. A rain of fire descended upon the camps outside the walls almost instantly.

Qian Taichong shouted: "Everyone take cover!" Even as he spoke, he ducked behind a parapet. Others scrambled for the tower gatehouse, some running down the ramp, trying to escape the walls. In the darkness and panic—the secretaries all dressed in flowing Confucian robes—some tripped over their hems, others had their sleeves caught; they tumbled and trampled one another, crying out in distress.

"What a disgrace to scholarship!" Qian Taichong watched his colleagues fall—topknots disheveled, some losing their shoes in their haste to flee, others missing their footing and tumbling headlong down the ramp.

The first volley of rockets hissed into the imperial camps, throwing them into chaos. Water-gongs clanged frantically everywhere as shouts of "Fire! Fire!" rose on all sides.

Qian Taichong peered out between the parapets. The camps were ablaze in every direction, already in complete disarray. Even as he watched in horror, more rockets screamed overhead. Now they came not just from the bald bandits' main camp but also from the ships off the coast.

For a time, rockets rained down like a storm, plunging the entire encampment into chaos. The soldiers could no longer attempt to fight the fires and scattered for cover. Qian Taichong watched with mounting dread: the bald bandits' rockets came in an endless stream, like ordinary arrows. In the camps, there was no question of assembling troops for battle—there was nowhere even to hide.

The rockets seemed deliberately aimed away from the county seat, but many strays still struck the walls. Some hit the watchtowers, some struck the gate tower, and quite a few sailed over the walls into the residential areas, starting fires within the city. The streets rang with gongs as people rushed to extinguish the flames.

Fortunately, the bald bandits did not seem to be targeting the city itself, concentrating their fire on the military camps below the walls. Many camps were ablaze; everywhere was pandemonium.

Qian Taichong observed closely. Although the rockets came in wave after wave, they appeared to vary in size, and their effects upon impact differed—some merely scattered incendiary sparks, setting things alight, while others detonated with thunderous explosions. He wondered privately: could there be two different warheads? And considering that the coastline was a full ten li from the city, yet the bald bandits' rockets could still reach them—if that were truly the case, wouldn't these rockets be devastating weapons for besieging cities and storming fortifications?

Suddenly, a figure came crawling up beside him. Looking closely, he saw it was Chang Qingyun.

Chang Qingyun's voice quavered with tears: "It's over... It's all over. Our army is finished! This time we're completely done for!"

The rocket attack lasted nearly half an hour before suddenly ceasing. But by then, the entire imperial encampment was engulfed in smoke and flames. Many camps, beyond saving, burned freely, and the officers could only pull their men back to less damaged positions. Morale had collapsed; no one still had the will to fight.

Qian Taichong saw that the flames were gradually dying down and the clamor subsiding. There was no sign of the bald bandits exploiting the chaos to storm the camps. Knowing there would be no further danger tonight, he quietly descended the walls with Chang Qingyun. Their colleagues were in sorry states—some had lost their caps and hairnets, some had lost their shoes, some had torn their robes. Under normal circumstances, they would have mocked one another, but now no one was in the mood for jests. Even those unskilled in military matters could sense the gravity of the situation.

On the ramp, Qian Taichong spotted a dark object—apparently one of the bald bandits' rockets that had landed inside the walls. He hurried over and picked it up; the casing was still warm. He examined it: a cylindrical object, perhaps two cun in diameter, made entirely of iron. The front had burst open, leaving only a charred cavity; the rear was perforated with small holes and fitted with three angled spiral fins. It was an intricate piece of work.

As he studied it, Chang Qingyun tugged at his sleeve: "What's there to see in that scrap of iron? Let's get back quickly!"

Qian Taichong had no choice but to carry the iron contraption as they descended.

At the base of the walls, they found the city gates tightly shut. Infantry from various units had arrived from throughout the city, armed and exchanging curses with the soldiers outside. The streets beyond the walls were in uproar. When the camps had been overrun, the soldiers outside had wanted to enter the city, but those inside feared that a flood of routed troops would throw the city into chaos. Using the pretext that no orders had been received, they refused to open the gates.

Returning to the Song residence, those who hadn't gone up to the tower were waiting anxiously for news. They had witnessed the ferocious rocket assault but hadn't seen it as clearly as those on the walls. Now, hearing how relentless and devastating the bald bandits' rockets had been, everyone's faces went pale.

"The bald bandits' rockets are terrifyingly powerful! They burned down many buildings in the city!" As the discussion continued, Song Zonghui hurried in. He had been leading the city militia in firefighting and maintaining order, and had only just finished. Covered in soot and grime, his voice trembled as he spoke.

"The bald bandits failed to exploit the chaos by storming our camps—a tactical blunder..." Lü Yizhong, who had only pretended calm after the attack ended, was still trying to critique the battle.

"You're wrong." Qian Taichong's reply was cold. "At dawn, the bald bandits will certainly launch a full assault. Can our men still fight?" He paused, letting the question sink in. "Our army has been defeated this time. Tomorrow, all forces must withdraw—or we'll die without a burial ground."