Chapter 1041: Reconnaissance of Jeju

Xue Ziliang's original plan hadn't called for entering Jeju City. But the pathetic state of its defenses compelled him to modify his approach. He decided to push deeper, infiltrating the city to probe conditions inside, then determine next steps based on what he found.

With no projecting towers along the entire wall, a gate tower so small and humble as to be laughable, and a mere handful of patrolling soldiers incapable of monitoring even a fraction of the perimeter—the full circumference of Jeju City stretched some 3,910 paces, far larger than many Ming Dynasty county and prefectural seats with much greater populations—vast sections of the wall stood essentially unguarded.

Xue Ziliang left his support team outside and led the assault team up using simple climbing poles.

If scaling the wall in broad daylight under the guards' noses wasn't surprising enough, what he discovered atop the rampart shocked him again: not only were the defensive works chaotic and amateurish, but the wall's very construction was bizarre. There were no horse ramps on the inner face for ascending and descending—instead, the interior was simply built up as an earthen slope. From the defender's perspective, once an enemy attacked, this made it convenient for troops to reinforce the walls, allowing them to go up and down anywhere along the circumference.

However, the same feature worked in reverse. Once attackers gained the wall, they could immediately rush down into the city's interior—eliminating the bloody battle typically required to seize the horse ramps and descend. Worse still, if an attacker employed the tactic of building earthen siege mounds, this design completely bypassed the need to fight for control of the gates. As long as the attackers secured a single section of wall, follow-on forces could cross continuously and effortlessly via the slopes on both sides.

This construction seemed designed less to aid defenders than to throw open the doors for attackers. Though Xue Ziliang had conducted no research on ancient Chinese city walls, the tactical principles of assaulting fortified positions were universal. Seeing this, he finally understood the Senators' attitude of utter contempt for the Joseon army's combat capabilities.

After entering the city, the assault team found themselves in what appeared to be walled farmland: inside were still fields, vegetable gardens, and small woods, with crude thatched huts scattered throughout. Xue Ziliang felt deeply disoriented. This hardly resembled a city at all.

From a concealed position in the trees, he spent considerable time observing through binoculars, marking the drill ground, government office, warehouses, wells, and roads on his map. His original plan—if enemy defenses proved strong—had been to stage a "center blossom" strike from within, destroying the local armory before conducting assassinations and arson to thoroughly disrupt defensive preparations. But now such measures seemed superfluous—they would only reduce the haul of loot and prisoners. Even leading his team into the city for reconnaissance had been unnecessary.

He was now fully confident of taking Jeju City, but the detachment lacked sufficient personnel. Even if they captured it, they couldn't control the whole city. Triggering a riot would yield far less than it cost. Xue Ziliang understood well how much the Senate valued population and supplies. Taking an empty city served no purpose.

The two Park brothers knelt on the ground, faces slick with nervous sweat despite the winter cold. Beside them stood a short-haired "Japanese pirate" in patterned camouflage, gesturing meaningfully with a sword. They were terrified that one careless answer might result in immediate execution. Jeju Island had long suffered from Wokou depredations—officials, commoners, soldiers, and slaves alike lost their souls at the mere mention of the word.

The Intelligence Bureau agent spoke serviceable Korean, though the local Jeju dialect created some friction. The Park brothers were so frightened and agitated that their speech came out garbled. Only after considerable back-and-forth did the interrogators establish that these were official slaves of the Jeju Government Office who had come to this spot to honor their ancestors.

The food and spirit tablets they carried confirmed their story. Xue Ziliang had initially been inclined to waste no time on them, but hearing they were official slaves—and recalling Feng Zongze's directive about finding "proletarian collaborators"—he decided to bring them along. They would need local assistance after entering Jeju City.

"Take the prisoners. Let's move." At his order, accompanying soldiers immediately produced gags and black hoods. Before the Park brothers could react, their mouths were stuffed, their heads covered, and their wrists bound behind their backs.

The prisoners slowed their departure somewhat, but the entire operation proceeded smoothly. The Special Reconnaissance Detachment then transported the captives to Biyangdo, where they had established a temporary forward reconnaissance base.

Biyangdo was a volcanic island formed by an eruption in 1002 AD—the youngest among Jeju's volcanic islets. It lay very close to Jeju Port, reachable in just fifteen minutes by motorized boat, making it ideal for staging an attack. The island had housed a beacon tower, now under the detachment's control. The five beacon soldiers continued their duties as a "zombie beacon tower" under Special Reconnaissance orders.

The Park brothers arrived in a daze. Over a dozen prisoners captured along the way were already detained in the secret camp concealed within the crater's woods. Most were local farmers with nothing useful to offer; they were held temporarily only to maintain operational security.

Here the Park brothers revealed more: the city's approximate population and garrison strength. But for Xue Ziliang, the most valuable intelligence was this—the magistrates of Jeongui and Daejeong counties had been in the city but had rushed back to their respective jurisdictions after receiving news of the "Wokou attack."

Xue Ziliang immediately dispatched two teams in pursuit along the roads, with orders that the magistrates must be intercepted and taken alive. If capture proved impossible, killing them on the spot was acceptable.

Though his teams traveled on foot while the magistrates and their escorts rode horses, men couldn't gallop continuously for extended periods—even if the riders could endure, the horses couldn't. But forced marches were no problem for the Special Reconnaissance Detachment. Moreover, they could use small motorized boats for portions of the journey: Jeju Island's official roads, like those on Hainan, ran along the coastline.

The Park brothers, having provided crucial intelligence, were transferred by ship to Seongsan before they could recover from their shock. As residents of Jeju City, they were exceptionally suitable candidates for collaboration. Feng Zongze had requested that selected prisoners captured around Jeju be sent to Seongsan for urgent indoctrination.

While the Special Reconnaissance Detachment conducted reconnaissance of Jeju City from Biyangdo, Nangong Wudi organized a combined task force of regular infantry, public security troops, and laborers to assault Jeongui County.

Jeongui County Seat occupied a coastal plain very close to Seongsan. The troops marched steadily forward. Apart from a single fishing village near Seongsan, they encountered not a single settlement along the route—only beacon towers, some long abandoned, others whose garrison soldiers had already fled.

Beside the road stretched vast coastal plains. Though the terrain was flat, no cultivated fields were visible—only dense coastal grasslands, withered stalks swaying in the strong sea breeze.

The wind carried the salt tang of seawater, biting sharply at exposed skin. Nangong Wudi recalled Feng Zongze mentioning that coastal pasture vegetation was rich in salt and minerals, highly beneficial for raising horses and cattle. Hokkaido had become a world-renowned ranching region partly due to similar geographical conditions.

Though Jeju Island lacked Hokkaido's unique natural endowments, it shared many favorable characteristics—a great pastoral expanse shaped by heaven and earth.

Only when Jeongui County Seat came into view did cultivated land appear beside the road. The harvested fields showed scattered straw—clearly dry farming.

"What a decrepit little county seat!" Nangong Wudi observed the settlement through binoculars. The dilapidated condition of several southern Hainan county towns had already surprised him, but Jeongui County Seat was obviously worse.

The so-called city wall was merely a barrier of volcanic rocks, three meters high at most. Many sections had collapsed. Korean walls were constructed by piling stones into rectangular shapes, leaving foundations unstable, incapable of great height, and structurally weak.

The city gate did feature a barbican for protection, but both gate and tower were absurdly low and cramped. Like Jeju City, there were no battlements or parapets whatsoever.

Though the wall was crumbling, its circumference exceeded a thousand paces—substantial even compared to ancient Chinese county-level fortifications.

This was characteristic of Joseon construction: the ambition to enclose as much land as possible within the walls, regardless of whether enough residents or buildings existed to fill the space. Most of the area within Korean cities was therefore farmland or wasteland.

The result was thin, overextended walls surrounding oversized towns, often garrisoned by insufficient defenders. Such fortifications might repel small bandit raids or peasant mobs in ordinary times, but against an organized army, they collapsed immediately. When the Japanese invaded Korea, they had swept through as if the land were uninhabited—no Korean city had held.

Nangong Wudi's thoughts echoed Xue Ziliang's: Damn, for a place like this, I might as well send the labor squadron—let them treat it as militia training.

Even so, he cautiously dispatched scouts for close reconnaissance. A small village sat outside the walls; beyond that, there were no other settlements.

The gates of Jeongui County were already shut, all soldiers having mounted the walls. But neither the commoners nor officials within possessed any will to fight to the death. First, the magistrate was still in Jeju, leaving no one in command—people's hearts were wavering. Second, Jeongui County Seat suffered a fatal flaw: there was no water inside the walls. The water source lay five li outside the city. Ordinarily, drinking water was transported in by people and oxen from springs beyond the walls. Water for daily washing came from "Heaven-Submitted Water"—pits dug into the ground where buckets collected rainwater. If left settling in bamboo tubes, such water eventually became drinkable. But autumn and winter were dry seasons with scarce rainfall, and stores of this collected water were running low. The only fresh water available to the entire city was whatever remained in household water jars—at most enough for three or four days.

Without food, they could hold out for some time. Without water, they wouldn't last three days. The soldiers and officials within the walls were frantic with anxiety, uncertain what to do, hoping only that the "Wokou" would withdraw quickly.

(End of Chapter)