Chapter Eighteen

Though the Han army emerged victorious, it was a bitter win. After the battle, it was found that only a little more than six hundred cavalry remained, and the artillery regiment that had accompanied the army was nearly wiped out. Even the commanding officer, Shi Lang, had narrowly escaped with his life. The musket regiment, which had originally numbered just over seven thousand, was reduced to barely four thousand men, many of whom were wounded.

Fortunately, they managed to capture and accept the surrender of more than 3,700 elite cavalry, which offered Lin Feng some consolation amid the overall gloom. Among the officers gathered in the central command tent, their faces clouded with worry, only Zhao Guangyuan seemed in relatively good spirits. The entire army had suffered a devastating blow, but he alone had come out ahead; after the fierce battle, his strength had not only been preserved but actually increased. Yet, even so, he had little cause for joy—both of his brigade commanders had fallen in combat, and his junior officers had also suffered heavy losses. The core of his veteran troops had been gutted.

Seeing his men so dejected, Lin Feng forced a smile and turned to Sun Sike, who sat upright beside him. “Sike, there’s something I don’t understand.”

As if on springs, Sun Sike leapt from his chair, bowing deeply with anxious respect. “Please, Commander, speak plainly. I will answer without reservation.”

“No, no, no,” Lin Feng replied with a wry smile, waving his hand. In moments like these, he always felt the gulf between their values. In his mind, these officers were colleagues, but they always treated themselves as his subordinates. “Sit down, sit down—relax,” he said, glancing at the others with a smile. “Sike only recently joined us; he doesn’t know my temperament. Truly, we’re not like the Qing court, with its rigid hierarchy. Here, we’re brothers—don’t be so formal!”

The other officers forced smiles but no one dared to respond. Sun Sike managed a sheepish grin, bowed politely, and sat down carefully, half-turned as if still wary.

Lin Feng sighed. “Now, Sike, I don’t believe in empty words. Honestly, when it comes to warfare, I’m no match for Tuhai. We only won this battle because luck was on our side. If it were about real skill, your side was superior!”

Sun Sike was startled and quickly replied, “Commander, you give me too much credit. I was utterly defeated!”

Lin Feng waved him off with a bitter smile, then swept his gaze over the assembled officers. “Only now do I realize how reckless this campaign was—Tuhai had set his trap and waited for us to fall in, and we didn’t even pause to consider it before jumping right in. Looking back, it makes me break out in a cold sweat. Sike, you were a deputy general in the army—you held high rank and authority. Tell everyone about Tuhai’s plan, so we’ll remember this lesson.”

“Yes, yes,” Sun Sike bowed. “Marshal Tu—oh, no,” he glanced at Lin Feng, but seeing that Lin Feng paid no mind and listened intently, he relaxed a little. “At first, Tuhai advanced into Zhili. The so-called Qing governor Tong Dagang wanted us—to have Tuhai attack the capital immediately. But Tuhai judged that the Han army had occupied the capital for months, had forced the Manchu topknots to be cut, slaughtered the nobles, and turned the order of things upside down to sway the people’s will. The populace was set, and the capital’s defenses were strong. He feared it could not be taken quickly, so he preferred to lure the enemy out rather than attack—and…” Here he glanced at Lin Feng, hesitating for a moment.

The next day the army began its return to the main camp at Tianjin. Couriers had already ridden through the night to Beijing, bearing news of the victory. Due to exhaustion and the many wounded, Lin Feng was forced to slow the march, and the central column strolled leisurely along the road between Beijing and Tianjin, as if on a pleasure trip.

Because of limitations in communication, the Qing forces in Tianjin were not aware of Tuhai’s exact movements. However, when they saw the Han army fortifying their camp for three days without venturing out, the Qing commander immediately drew the correct conclusion. The main Qing force surged out and launched a fierce assault on the Han fortifications. The Han army, however, had anticipated this and made thorough preparations. Despite the ferocity of the Qing attack, the defenders remained calm and withstood most of the onslaught. In the four-day siege that followed, the artillery brigade left behind by Shi Lang was decisive; it proved once more that, behind solid fortifications, cannon fire is the bane of infantry. The Qing officers were unprepared for this and still pinned their hopes on the valor of their men. After sustaining heavy casualties, they were forced to withdraw in defeat.

With their attacking forces stretched thin, the siege ended in a Han victory. The Qing garrison in Tianjin suffered over five thousand casualties and captured only two small outer redoubts. Their only success came on the second night, when General Zhao Liangdong led a daring nighttime raid, using fire arrows to ignite a Han powder magazine. The resulting explosion killed more than four hundred Han soldiers and officers.

When the Han central command and cavalry reappeared before Tianjin’s walls, both sides knew the campaign’s outcome was already decided. Proud and tall, the Han standard-bearers raised the white “Lin” banners high, parading boastfully before the city. The morale of the tens of thousands of Han troops soared to its peak; their cheers rolled like thunder for miles. Zhao Guangyuan’s cavalry, not even entering camp, split off from the main force and, in full view of the Qing defenders, formed two columns and rode around Tianjin to strike at Jinghai, aiming to cut off the Qing army’s retreat.

Thousands of warhorses rumbled over the earth, swaggering along the official road by the city walls. The Qing troops atop the ramparts suddenly recognized their former comrades below and stared, dumbstruck. How quickly fate had turned: in a matter of days, old colleagues had become mortal enemies.

Just as the Qing garrison sank into despair, a detachment of fierce Han cavalry burst from the fortifications, dashed to the city wall, and, using the momentum of their charge, hurled Tuhai’s severed head onto the ramparts amid a hail of arrows. The filthy banner of the “Grand Marshal Pacifier of the Frontier” was slammed into the muddy ground, then the horsemen wheeled away and retreated.

A few lonely banners stood forlornly between the two armies.

Tens of thousands of Han soldiers burst into laughter. On a small hill across from the city walls, dozens of crimson cannons silently raised their muzzles and, as the Qing defenders hesitated in confusion, suddenly opened fire.

Huge shells shrieked through the air and crashed against the walls. With hard-won experience, the Han now concentrated all their fire on a single section of wall rather than targeting the defenders behind the parapets. The thunderous barrage was unbroken, the artillery positions atop the hill flaring like an erupting volcano; tongues of flame flashed amid the clouds of white smoke, outshining even the blazing sun.

Amid the cheers and jests of the Han soldiers, the bombardment raged for over three hours. Hundreds of strongmen dashed up and down the hill with buckets of water to cool the cannons. When the smoke cleared, it became horrifyingly clear: the massive city wall was shattered and breached, with rubble filling a section of the moat.

Lin Feng rode forward and shouted with all his might, “Tianjin—will you surrender or not?!”

Hundreds of his personal guards advanced and echoed the call, “Will you surrender or not?! Will you surrender or not?!”

Tens of thousands of Han soldiers fell silent for a moment, then erupted into jubilant cheers, raising their weapons and beating a resounding rhythm as they shouted, “Will you surrender or not?! Will you surrender or not?!”

The Qing defenders on the wall looked terrified, staring in despair at the overwhelming strength of the Han. Over ten thousand men stood dazed, at a loss for what to do.

Suddenly, Sun Sike spurred his horse forward, galloping to the base of the wall. He tore off his helmet and shouted, “Brothers, I am Sun Sike! Tuhai is dead—he’s dead! Surrender, all of you!”

From a distance, Lin Feng saw chaos erupt atop the wall—shrieks, curses, and the clangor of weapons echoed for miles as men shouted and struggled. After a long bout of fighting, the noise gradually subsided. Severed heads, still wearing the distinctive “lightning rod” helmets of the Eight Banners, were hurled down from the battlements.

Before long, the city gates swung open, and dozens of officers in gleaming armor emerged, their steps heavy. They slowly unbuckled their swords, tossed them to the ground, and fell to their knees in a thunderous crash.

Lin Feng glanced triumphantly at his fellow generals. With a flick of his riding whip, he pointed arrogantly at the imposing city. “Enter the city!”