Chapter 721 - Liu Deshan's Backyard
After Shi Zhiqi was struck by the arrow, fighting briefly paused, but the assault quickly resumed. According to the chain of command, the 2nd Marine Company commander took over squadron command. He surveyed the surroundings. The blockhouse stood isolated on all sides, surrounded by open ground—impossible to approach covertly. The defenders apparently had abundant projectile weapons. When the blockhouse was built, to prevent tunneling tactics, the foundation was laid with roughly a man's height of heavy stone blocks—very sturdy. Even 12-pounder mountain howitzer shells might not breach it. The only weakness was the blockhouse door—very heavy, iron-clad, studded with large iron nails. This door was the blockhouse's main vulnerability—no door, however thick, could withstand 12-pounder solid shot.
The two howitzers were dragged to the blockhouse's south side. Marines used bayonets to clear the few militia and household guards still resisting in these streets, then hauled the cannons through. An artilleryman borrowed from the army climbed onto a rooftop, observed briefly, and decided to use a civilian house's backyard as the gun position.
This house belonged to a man named Liu Deshan—tall and sturdy by contemporary standards, bearded. Though he had a northern frontiersman's appearance, at this moment he huddled deep in his inner quarters, listening to the gunfire and battle cries outside, praying incessantly. He hoped neither crop-heads nor militia would visit his modest but comfortable little residence. This small house protected not only his life but the Shandong specialty goods piled in his side rooms. These he had painstakingly transported a thousand li from Shandong, intending to sell here in Sanliang. With the proceeds, he would buy local rush-mat products and Guangdong specialties to transport back north—this was an important trade center in Dongguan County. He had traded here for years, roughly half the year in Shandong, half in Guangdong, business going quite well. He loathed bandits above all—several times his cargo had been lost to them, nearly driving him to despair.
When news of the crop-head attack reached Sanliang, Liu Deshan had wanted to flee with his goods. But the crop-heads came fast, with all sorts of rumors swirling—crop-heads here, crop-heads there, crop-heads taking this village, that town. Liu Deshan hadn't dared act rashly and stayed put.
"Heavens preserve me." Liu Deshan huddled in the back hall, surrounded by trembling servants and clerks. "These cursed crop-heads—they could have just sold their Australian goods. Why take up robbery..."
A clerk asked: "So the crop-heads are the Australians?"
"That's right. The Australians who make Australian goods." Liu Deshan muttered. "Who knows what demon possessed them to become bandits..."
"I heard they were forced to rebel... some bigwigs in the provincial and capital authorities coveted their businesses."
"These damned officials, all black-hearted money-grubbers. In the end, it's us little people who suffer..." Before Liu Deshan finished, a boom outside and something clattered onto the roof. Liu Deshan shuddered again. The battle cries, gunfire, and running footsteps were getting closer. The fighting was moving their way. If crop-heads broke in, he would lose not just his goods but probably his life. His whole body trembled like a sieve.
His servants were shaking too. One clerk had crawled under a table, head covered, backside exposed. Liu Deshan cursed: "Look at you useless lot..."
Before he finished, the front courtyard erupted with chaotic voices and footsteps, then bang—the courtyard gate was thrown open. Liu Deshan's soul nearly left his body. Besides another "Heavens preserve me," he couldn't speak.
Footsteps multiplied in the courtyard; then someone shouted to saw off the door threshold. Liu Deshan thought: robbers who saw off thresholds? Before his mind could process this, the room door was suddenly burst open. Three or four figures in blue cotton jackets leaped in.
These must be the crop-heads. Though terrified nearly to death, Liu Deshan couldn't resist peeking at these legendary figures. Each wore a brazier-like iron helmet, carrying an Australian musket. Their faces were swarthy and they were breathing hard, but their spirits seemed high.
The marines didn't waste time chatting. After a quick check of the room, one shouted: "All clear!"
"Good—everyone to the backyard!" The leading crop-head was small but had a booming voice. He held a pistol in his left hand and a strange saber in his right, shouting orders. Then he told the shivering group: "Don't be afraid. We need to borrow your place to fire cannons. Stay inside and don't go out—you might get hurt!"
With that he hurried out with his saber. Liu Deshan relaxed slightly. Seeing the door left open, he quickly crawled over to close it, then peeked through a window overlooking the backyard. Twenty or thirty crop-heads were bustling about. They had knocked down a section of the perimeter wall. Through the gap, several crop-heads lay behind the rubble, firing muskets at the blockhouse outside—the reports clear and crisp. Then, with rhythmic chanting, a two-wheeled cannon was pushed through and positioned at the gap.
"Heavens preserve me. They're going to shell the blockhouse..." Just as Liu Deshan said this, someone nudged him. His servants and clerks, who had been shivering with him, were now all craning to peek through windows.
"You useless lots!" Liu Deshan couldn't help cursing. "I feed you for nothing..."
Suddenly his face froze. Soldiers were carrying bundles of rush mats and sacks of trade goods into the yard—apparently to stack as a gun platform, not to steal. Liu Deshan squealed: "Heavens preserve me! My dried tangerine peel! My donkey-hide glue! My rush mats..."
Before he could finish his inventory of soon-to-be-ruined goods, the small officer stopped his men from moving more. He seemed to scold them; they began carrying things back. Liu Deshan relaxed slightly, then thought: the crop-head officer must want to keep the goods intact as spoils, so he wouldn't let subordinates ruin them. They were probably taking everything out as loot now...
Liu Deshan's heart sank again. He thought of the five hundred taels of silver hidden under the brick floor beneath his bedroom. If crop-heads demanded silver, what then? He had heard stories of soldiers and bandits torturing for ransoms: forcing people to sit on latrines with lit candles inside, roasting bare feet over fires... all sorts of horrors. With so much merchandise, he obviously had silver. If the crop-heads figured that out, they would torture him...
Imagining these terrors, Liu Deshan nearly lost bladder control. Just as he considered finding somewhere to hide, the cannon in the courtyard fired.
The 12-pounder mountain howitzer belched a cloud of smoke. The earth shook; walls, windows, even the ground trembled. For an instant Liu Deshan felt unable to breathe. In the red flash he glimpsed a black iron ball flying out. The heavy double-wheeled cannon actually jumped backward two zhang.
The shot missed the door but hit the projecting gallery above. Bricks exploded; the thick brick wall shattered and collapsed. Two mangled corpses fell from inside—apparently the gallery had contained a heating stove, and the bodies were on fire.
Besides gunpowder smoke, a thick stench filled the air—the gallery had been heating a large pot of excrement. If attackers reached the doorway, defenders would pull a lever and boiling excrement, water, or oil would pour down, scalding them horribly.
Above the door a hole now gaped. Immediately militia tried to fill it with buckets and sandbags. Some militia leaned recklessly out to shoot arrows and matchlocks; one after another, those hit by gunfire fell from above.
The small officer rolled up his sleeves and waved his saber: "Another shot! Aim better!"
The next shot hit the door squarely. The massive door was instantly blasted apart. Another solid shot flew straight through the doorway, plowing through the militia gathered inside preparing for a last stand—knocking down a swathe of them.
A bugle sounded the charge. Marines rushed forward, seizing the blockhouse's first floor instantly. Militia and household guards refused to surrender, continuing to throw wanrenji and bricks from the stairwell. The marine company commander ordered fires set on the ground floor. The blockhouse had stored explosives: sulfur, powder charges, and wanrenji. Marines piled combustibles on the ground floor and lit another blaze. Smoke and flames quickly filled the first floor; explosives detonated repeatedly. White and black smoke billowed from every window and opening.
Defenders lost their ability to resist. They began jumping from the second floor. Some broke legs; some died on impact. Most survived and were taken prisoner.
After the blockhouse fell, the soldiers dragged the cannon out of the courtyard. A young soldier even poked his head into their room:
"Sorry, sir—we knocked down part of your wall."
"Oh, it's nothing, nothing. I was going to tear it down anyway..." Liu Deshan babbled.
"Also, our comrades broke quite a few of your roof tiles. It'll probably leak when it rains."
"Doesn't matter. Tiles... broken is broken... leaking would be nice."
"And the threshold—"
"I've been meaning to saw it off."
"You're quite funny, sir. Don't worry—we'll fix everything in a few days." The young man smiled, shouldered his musket, and left. After a while, the courtyard was completely quiet. Liu Deshan and the others still didn't dare go out. Worried about his merchandise, Liu Deshan kicked a clerk's backside:
"Go! See if the... the Australians have left..."
The clerk reluctantly went. Soon he returned to report the Australians were gone. They had even closed the front gate.
Liu Deshan hurried out. Indeed, everyone was gone. One storeroom's lock was intact; the other's had been broken but now bore a fresh paper seal—still damp. Liu Deshan was startled, thinking his goods had been impounded. Then he read: "Private property, belonging to original owner, do not open without authorization." He quickly had someone peel off the seal.
Many items had been moved out earlier for the gun platform, then returned on the officer's orders, so things were somewhat disheveled. But a quick survey showed nothing missing. Liu Deshan exhaled, his whole body going limp as if drained. He almost wept with joy.
He had survived military conflict without a single loss! Liu Deshan felt like he had escaped from the jaws of death itself. Fear and terror toward the crop-heads suddenly transformed into overflowing gratitude. The demolished wall and broken roof tiles seemed utterly trivial.
"If the Australian military acts this righteously, their business dealings must be honorable too." Liu Deshan's merchant brain began turning.
He quickly directed clerks to temporarily block the backyard wall gap with stones and bricks, and to nail the sawed-off threshold in place with a wooden strip—otherwise the door wouldn't close properly. Then he had water boiled and dumped all their stale tea leaves into it.
"Sir, should we take this to the Australians now?" a clerk asked.
"Not yet." Liu Deshan's eyes shifted. Better not stick his neck out. Wait until Sanliang's battle ended and the situation was completely clear before going to "express condolences."
After the blockhouse fell, Sanliang's defenses were mostly shattered. The conscripted laborers had lost all will to fight; many dropped their weapons and fled home. Only the Militia Bureau, two other blockhouses, and the Luo family compound still resisted. These were defended by militia and various magnates' household guards. Their fighting spirit was stronger. With the patriarchs promising large bonuses, defense was remarkably stubborn.
The squadron organized battlefield cleanup while collecting gunpowder—after intense fighting, the squadron was nearly out. Mountain howitzer shells were almost exhausted too. The acting commander sent men to escort wounded to Shigang and resupply ammunition, while salvaging gunpowder and weapons abandoned by militia, preparing to systematically reduce remaining strongholds.
Jiang Suo and Qingxia hadn't been captured from the blockhouse. During the battle, Qingxia had almost no chance to display her archery. The crop-heads took cover carefully, moving in low crouching runs, suddenly stopping to hide, disrupting her aim. Dense return fire prevented her from staying at or even peeking through loopholes—one militiaman had his head blown open by a bullet through a loophole. She could only snatch glimpses through loopholes and shoot roughly at targets. Only when Shi Zhiqi climbed onto the roof waving his command saber did she seize the opportunity to bring him down with one arrow.
She had expected that with a major leader down, the crop-heads would pause or even withdraw. Instead, they continued their methodical assault as if the man didn't matter. Qingxia fired a dozen more random arrows without knowing if she had hit anyone.
When the cannon smashed the door, Qingxia knew the blockhouse was lost. She and Jiang Suo rushed to the northeast corner. Jiang Suo had prepared a hidden rope coil; now he lowered it from the blockhouse and slid down. Slipping through a gap in the marine cordon, they escaped.
Sanliang's streets were now deserted—every household shuttered. The streets were littered with abandoned weapons, occasional corpses lying across the paths.
"Senior Sister! Where do we go now?"
"I'm going to the Luo ancestral hall to get Father!" Qingxia said. "You go north quickly and find the children and Uncle Zhou! We'll meet at the inn."
"Alright!" Jiang Suo nodded, tucked his sword behind his back, and sprinted away.
Qingxia ran desperately. The Luo ancestral hall was almost in sight—but the street ahead was crowded with crop-head soldiers. Her heart sank—the Luo ancestral hall stood right next to the Luo compound, now the crop-heads' main target.
Thinking of her father trapped inside, life or death unknown, Qingxia was frantic with worry. Ahead, gunfire and battle cries continued without pause. She knew forcing her way through meant death—she had just witnessed the lethality of crop-head muskets.
She quickly retreated, circled around, and tried approaching from another direction.
But every intersection was held by crop-heads. Afraid of being spotted and unable to explain herself, Qingxia dared not linger on the streets. She hurried back to the inn.
The innkeeper had vanished. Jiang Suo, dust-covered and shaken, reported that only Aunt Jiang had returned—wounded. According to her, when the crop-heads broke in, they had been leading militia in a melee. She had barely escaped, but Uncle Zhou was missing. As for the three adolescents, they had been trapped at the Militia Bureau. Word was the Bureau had fallen with many casualties; survivors were being marched to the threshing ground as prisoners.
"I didn't dare get close. The crop-heads have ordered: anyone on the streets will be shot on sight. They're shooting at everyone now. I almost got hit myself..." Jiang Suo's body trembled as he spoke, clearly badly shaken. Seeing Qingxia had arrived alone, he asked: "What about Master?"
"Father's trapped at the Luo compound too!" Qingxia's tears fell—Uncle Zhou was missing, three young disciples' fates unknown, Aunt Jiang was wounded. The sky seemed to collapse. Her vision darkened and she fainted.
(End of Chapter)