Chapter 44: Long Smoke and Setting Sun, the Isolated Fortress Closed (Part 3)

The frozen earth of the West City military camp was pounded as hard as iron by the marching boots of passing soldiers. Amidst the ruined, half-collapsed walls left after the dismantling of the bustling commercial wards, a makeshift central military tent stood like a lonely boat shaken by a violent gale.

The sound of the bronze gong outside the tent had just faded when Zhang Xiaochun’s vermilion brush drew a third red mark on the city defense map. "The battlements of the North City have collapsed in several places. Take two hundred laborers to repair them; they must be solidly fortified before dawn!"

The candlelight inside the tent was pulled sideways by the draft sweeping through, casting its glow upon the piles of official documents stacked like small mountains on the desk.

The ink on the military report at the very top was still wet: "The Jin army has added two new catapults at the East Gate, destroying two watchtowers last night." Pressed underneath was a memorial from the Ministry of Revenue, recording in tiny, meticulous script the number of able-bodied men requisitioned daily from each ward—the three wards of the South City had provided three hundred and seventeen men, while the two wards of the West City had only mustered one hundred and ninety-four. Next to this, a red brush had scrawled the word: "Urgent!"

"Your Honor, the ledgers from the Granary Department have been checked."

A scribe trotted into the tent, his robes stained with ice shards, the ledger held tightly in his arms. "There are only nine hundred and twenty-six rolling stones left in the East City warehouse, and four hundred and ten rolling logs. At our current daily consumption, they will last at most half a month."

Before his voice had even faded, another scribe burst through the tent flap, holding up a slip of paper. "The workshop says the rice glue for repairing the city wall has run out. Can we use yellow mud instead?"

Zhang Xiaochun’s knuckles tapped a rapid rhythm on the desk, his gaze sweeping past the tent entrance where a dozen messengers stood in line holding tally tokens.

"Tell them to mix wheat bran with lime," he commanded. "And inform Vice-Prefect Wang to transfer half of the West City wall’s reserve force to the East Gate—the artillery fire is densest there!"

The civil and military officials and scribes outside the tent spun like whipped tops, rushing about without a moment to rest.

"The civilian laborers can no longer lift the rolling stones!"

The senior secretary of records stormed into the tent with melting snow clinging to him, the account books rattling against his chest. "The half-sheng of millet issued yesterday is simply not enough. A young man starved and fainted right on the city wall, and was almost crushed by a catapult stone!"

Zhang Xiaochun’s hand holding the vermilion brush paused, the tip leaving an ink blot over the words "The barbican needs a repaired watchtower."

"Open Granary Number Two. Issue an extra two handfuls of wheat bran to the laborers; it will suffice if they boil it into a paste mixed with melted snow."

Before his voice died away, the military physician lifted the tent curtain, the copper rings on his medicine chest clanging.

"The ointment for arrow and blade wounds is running out." He unwrapped a blood-stained cloth bundle to reveal a few pinches of withered herbs inside. "What’s even worse is the frostbite ointment. This morning, more archers had their hands frozen to the point where they can't even draw a bow."

"Confiscate all related medicinal herbs. Pass down the order: whoever has stored lard at home, bring it here in exchange for grain. Boil it into an ointment and give it to the archers first."

As the Jin army pressed their siege ever more fiercely, the supplies requiring coordination and command grew increasingly numerous—grain, iron, medicinal materials, and a host of other necessities. More importantly, the defensive forces at every section of the city wall needed timely deployment and arrangement. He was worked to the bone, with official business arriving every single moment.

There were only five thousand regular imperial troops left in the city, requiring the temporary conscription of commoners and local braves to fill the gaps. The Jin army’s catapults were continuously bombarding the city walls, necessitating organized repairs. Panic gripped the hearts of the common folk within the city; the impoverished fought over food, and lawbreakers were everywhere, demanding order be maintained.

A multitude of affairs were interconnected; pulling a single hair could move the entire body. Every thread was countless, and he dared not show the slightest negligence.

By the end of the Hour of Hai (11 PM), the candlelight grew gradually dim. Zhang Xiaochun slumped over his desk and dozed off, using an unread military intelligence briefing as a pillow, the corners of his mouth still stained with bits of rice from his cold porridge.

The shouting from outside the tent and the explosions of catapult stones merged together to become an inescapable nightmare.

"Terrible news! Disaster has struck!"

A harsh shout shattered the tent curtain, and Yang Zhen staggered inward, enveloped in wind and snow, the ice shards on his armor pattering onto the ground.

He tightly clutched a roll of blood-stained hemp paper against his chest. Without waiting for Zhang Xiaochun to open his eyes, he roared, "We vastly underestimated the enemy! Their siege intensity is ferocious! Their weaponry is fully complete, completely overturning our preconceptions about the northern nomads."

In the eyes of the people of the Central Plains, nomads were formidable in open-field charges, but when it came to besieging cities, they were utterly clueless.

Zhang Xiaochun abruptly sat up straight. "Make yourself clear!" He reached out to grab the military report.

"Their catapults! Five of them placed side by side outside the city!" Yang Zhen’s eyes were bloodshot. "I saw it with my own eyes at the North City wall just now. The wooden frames of those seven-lever catapults are taller than the city watchtower, and a swarm of black crows—the Jin soldiers hauling the ropes—stood densely packed. When the drum sounded, boulders the size of bushel baskets came crashing down like shooting stars. We deployed blue cloth screens and set up rope nets just as the *Essentials of Military Classics* instructs.

"Yet it couldn't withstand them at all! Their seven-lever catapults hurl stones weighing seventy to eighty catties, smashing right through the rope nets and the pillars of the towers behind them! This morning, the watchtower of the barbican was smashed in half by a single shot. The soldiers hiding behind the battlements had half their skulls sliced off by flying brick shards, and blood splattered all over my face!

"Their artillerymen change positions after firing a few rounds. The moment our counter-catapults took aim, they had already moved elsewhere. Are these barbarians? They understand tactical deployment better than our own ordnance officers!

"It is hateful that our catapults are constrained by the layout within the city; they lack flexibility and find it difficult to hit the enemy!"

***

The war of hurling stones relied on human strength and mechanical devices to hurl stone missiles in combat.

The device consisted of a throwing frame, a swinging pole, ropes, and other components, using stones as projectiles. Originally written as "礮" or "礟", it was also called a "stone-throwing machine" or "throwing cart", and later commonly known as a "catapult".

As a cold-weapon siege engine, catapult warfare had existed in history for a long time.

Especially in city defense and siege warfare, throwing devices became the foremost heavy weapon for long-range attacks.

The hemp paper unfolded with a rustling sound. On it, the shape of the siege engine was drawn with charcoal, accompanied by scribbled notes in the margins.

Yang Zhen’s finger jabbed heavily at one of the diagrams: "And this multi-stone cannon! A single machine can hurl five stones simultaneously! This morning, the brothers at the northeast city wall were swept down in batches by this contraption. The dead and wounded were piled on top of each other; people didn't even dare step forward to collect the bodies until the artillery fire stopped!"

The Jin army's catapult attacks rendered the Song troops' ordnance ineffective on the ramparts, destroyed the turrets and watchtowers, rendered official rewards useless, and caused heavy casualties. Even the hastily erected brick and mortar-ash shelters could not escape the calamity of flying stones.

He pointed again to something on the diagram that resembled a house: "And this tunnel-cart! Three of them charged toward the moat in a row! Sharp at the top and wide at the bottom, like clasped hands, wrapped in iron sheets on the outside and studded with iron leaves!

"Dozens of soldiers were hidden inside, pushing it toward the moat while the Jin soldiers shoveled dirt outward! We threw down rolling logs, and it didn't budge an inch; we poured molten iron, but it solidified the moment it hit the top; even divine-fire flying crows (rockets) couldn't burn through it! Only when we threw burning oil did one of them catch fire, but the rest kept filling the trench regardless. In less than an hour, the moat was leveled!

"You have no idea—while those carts were pushing forward, the Jin soldiers inside were actually laughing! They boasted that once the trench was filled, it would be our city wall's turn to be torn down!"

The so-called tunnel-cart was a flatbed cart outfitted with a house-shaped wooden panel structure on top, covered with iron-plated oxhide and secured with iron strips to prevent Song soldiers from attacking with bows and stones from the ramparts.

Another corner of the hemp paper depicted a towering, majestic beast with its head held high—the goose-cart.

"More than two zhang high! It's almost level with the city wall!" Yang Zhen’s voice trembled. "The body of the cart is wrapped in iron plates, and when we threw rolling stones down, they just slid right off! Arrows protruded from the observation ports on top of the cart, specifically targeting the laborers carrying stones! This morning, a young man was shot in the eye, and the rolling stone in his hands smashed down onto his own foot, causing him to howl in agony before a second arrow pierced right through his chest."

The goose-cart, as the name implied, was shaped like a goose. It also moved on wheels, its exterior covered in oxhide secured with iron strips, with each goose-cart pushed by hundreds of Jin soldiers.

"Shaped like a giant beast, its body wrapped in iron."

"The Tanguts also used goose-carts," Zhang Xiaochun said in a deep voice. "We overturned seven of them with hooked sickle spears."

"The Jin dogs' are different!"

Yang Zhen tore open the plates of his armor to reveal the bruised, purplish marks on his arm. "This was caused by the shock of the goose-head ramming the city wall! Their goose-head is made of cast iron, housing a windlass inside. The moment it approaches the city wall, it 'pecks' up and down, and every single strike feels like an earthquake! The iron shell is thick enough to serve as a shield!"

He caught his breath, and melted snow dripped from the tips of his hair onto the diagram of the cloud-ladder cart: "And this ladder-cart! It raises up almost higher than the city watchtower, pushed along by dozens of men! The fire-ladder at the top burns the moment it gets close. We poured molten filth, but they used shields to block it and climbed up regardless! A Jin soldier was almost to the top when he was cleaved down with an axe, but the man immediately behind him filled his spot instantly, acting like madmen!"

Zhang Xiaochun’s gaze landed on the edge of the paper, where two words were written: "Corpse-catapult."

"They... they hurled diseased corpses into the city."

"They threw in three bodies at noon yesterday, all of them captured brothers. The physician said it would cause a plague and ordered them to be burned immediately. It breaks our hearts."

"The Jin people are not only well-equipped with weaponry, but their military law is also extremely harsh! The assault teams are organized in squads of ten, with a blood-banner set up. If one squad retreats, the entire team is beheaded; if one wing retreats, the entire flank is beheaded.

"The督战队 (督战队 - supervisor squads) hold great broadswords at the rear; those who retreat are instantly cut in two in front of the formation. Your humble subordinate saw with his own eyes a man who grew timid and wanted to flee, only to be sliced in two by a supervisor. Among our brothers brought down from the North City wall this morning, less than half could still be recognized!"

He raised his head, his face a mess of blood, dirt, and astonishment. "A ruthless ferocity pervades their entire bodies! Those Jin dogs are nothing like the northern nomads we imagined! Their weaponry is methodical, their catapults have a longer range than ours, and the coordination between their goose-carts and tunnel-carts is smoother than the regular imperial troops' drills! The brothers are all saying, is this even a siege? We are fighting a group of cunning artisans wearing nomad clothing!

"Prefect Zhang, the Jurchen artillery is no longer the wild raiding of former nomads. The sophistication of their weaponry, the strictness of their discipline, and the ruthlessness of their hearts are a hundred times greater than the Liao, and a thousand times greater than the Tanguts! If Taiyuan continues to defend itself using old methods, I fear it won't last a month! This is not merely the loss of a single city; it is truly a crisis for the entire realm!"

Having spoken, Yang Zhen wore a look of profound grief and indignation, cupped his fists, and bowed deeply.

Zhang Xiaochun did not speak. He merely picked up the vermilion brush from his desk and drew a heavy vertical line on the blank space of the military report, adding two words: "Extremely urgent."

The candlelight shone upon his face, casting a glow upon the ravine-like wrinkles, where anxiety had quietly crept at some unknown moment.

The sound of artillery outside the tent rang out once more. This time, it sounded exceptionally close, as if it were crashing directly upon everyone’s hearts, shattering the Jin people's deeply rooted old perceptions.

The art of defending the city must undergo a corresponding transformation!

Moreover, after this military intelligence was copied and distributed not only to the commanders of every city wall section, it also carried an even more crucial mission!

***

The night was like a rag soaked in black ink, wrapping the city of Taiyuan impenetrably.

A pedestrian walked forward, stepping on the frozen-hard snow, every step sinking into the creaking darkness. The halo of the torch shrank into a ball near his feet, revealing fragments scattered across the snow—the remains of civilian homes smashed by catapult stones earlier in the day.

Under the tree at the alley entrance, two dark figures were squatting in the snow, tearing at something.

As one drew closer, it became clear it was a sheepskin coat. The two men pulled at the sleeves in opposite directions. Amidst the crisp tearing sound of the fur coat, mixed with lowered curses, one snarled, "I stripped this first!"

"Strew your mother's farts, it should have belonged to me since yesterday!" The man pulled out a dagger, its cold light flashing in the shadows. The other cursed filthily and bolted, leaving a trail of stumbling footprints in the snow.

The embers of the cremation ground were still smoking, and the yamen runners dozed around the charcoal fire.

In the ruins across the street, four dark figures surrounded a hemp sack, inside of which something was writhing.

"A catty of wheat in exchange for this girl," a hoarse voice barged in to bargain. "She can work, much better than the old woman." Another man kicked the sack, and a whimper came from within. "Deal, hand over the grain!"

At the same time, shadows fell upon the ruined walls of the Guanyin Temple. A dozen figures writhed in the snow like rags torn by a violent gale.

The ringleader wore a tattered cloak that was hard to tell whether it was leather or cloth, holding a pitch-black wooden board in his hand. A distorted symbol was painted on the board with pig’s blood, resembling a ghost with three open eyes.

Holding a white bone as a flute, he blew a low, mournful tune, the notes skewed and warped. Several others used stones to scratch the wall, mixing bloody handprints with dark characters: "Heavenly retribution! You all must die!"

"Sinners! Did you see the firelight outside the city? That is the fire of Heaven burning the sinners! The Jin army is Heaven's envoy! Only by burning away your sins can you enter the Pure Land!"

The people around kowtowed in response. One pious soul knelt before the wooden board: "If I offer my grain, can my sins be washed away?"

"Not enough! You must follow this teaching to wash away greed, anger, and delusion."

"You are all soaked in sin!" The man straightened up, spreading his arms like a crow preparing to fly. "Those who live in tiled houses have encroached upon the path of the cold wind; those who hoard grain have blocked the doors of starving ghosts; even your crying sounds worse than a funeral bell, disturbing the tranquility of the deities!"

"Beneath the Pure Land, all living beings are mere travelers. Heaven and earth leave only a single crack. Outside the crack is an endless cold prison, and inside is the wall of sins you have blocked up with tiles, grain, cloth, and copper cash."

Someone did not understand and asked with trembling trepidation what sins were among them.

"Those who live in tiled houses! Do you think gray tiles and green bricks are a blessing? You have occupied the path of the cold wind! The wind was supposed to wander freely through the halls and alleys, yet it was blocked by your three-room tile house, forced to turn into the broken straw hut of the poor, freezing the old and young until they shivered. Can Heaven tolerate this?"

He whirled around suddenly, his spear tip pointing toward the direction of the wealthy Dongxiang Ward: "That is why the Jin people's catapult stones specifically smash tiled houses! Splendidly smashed! Only when they are smashed down can the cold wind pass smoothly through without bullying the poor any longer!

"And those who hoard grain! The millet in your granaries is piled higher than mountains, and you think you can weather this catastrophe? Wrong! You have blocked the doors of starving ghosts! They could have sought a scrap of leftover slop, but were blocked by your granary, forced to crawl down the throats of the poor, starving children until they gnawed on the mud and bark of walls. Can Heaven forgive this?

"Families with many people also have sins! You have occupied the slots of the underworld, cutting off other families' incense and ancestral fire. Heaven has thus sent its executioners of blade and axe to even things out, hacking your family until it is as clean and empty as any other!"

Faint sounds of agreement rose from the crowd. They cast fearful glances at those nearby who were dressed slightly warmer, their eyes gradually breeding resentment. They screamed, "I understand now! These people are living in sin! They have taken up the life-breath that should have allowed others to survive!"

The odd figure had an iron chain wrapped around his left arm, a copper bell dangling from its end. With every step he took, the bell rang like a summons to death. His right hand held the wooden board high, his voice hoarse yet carrying a strange rhythm: "Catapult stones are Heaven's hammer, smashing your greed! Snowy blades are Heaven's sickle, severing your anger! Starving fires are Heaven's crucible, burning your delusion! Only by offering up your sins can you be reborn into the Pure Land!"

"The heavenly fire is about to merge, and the Jin artillery will cease its bombardment. All those whose shells are not burned shall turn into blood and mud. Only believers may tread the path of fire and step directly into the Pure Land—a realm of glazed glass where there is never hunger and never cold.

"To verify this period, observe the artillery fire every night: for every time the artillery booms, a section of human bones shall be added to the fire pile. The higher the tongues of flame leap, the closer the day is: 'The heavenly fire rises a丈 (zhang), and the appointed day draws one day closer.'"

The bewitching voice grew louder and louder, mixing with the barking of wild dogs and the screams of madmen, echoing far into the night sky: "Burn them! Kill them! Once all the sins in this city are burned away, we will tread upon blood and enter the Pure Land!"

Beneath the wall of a tenement district, the sobs of a woman drifted out.

Taking advantage of the firelight drifting from the ramparts, one could see a disheveled woman trying to strike up a conversation with the patrolling soldiers: "Have pity, kind officers, just half a cake. Your humble maid is starving to death."

The soldier frowned and shoved something into her hand. Just as the woman was about to thank him, the soldier grabbed her arm and dragged her into the shadows: "Come with me, I have good things for you."