Chapter Six: Defeated in Body, Unbroken in Spirit

Li Jiancheng spoke anxiously, “Zong Luo Hou is no small fry—he is one of Xue Ju’s most formidable generals. Last June, Huanfu Wan’s ten thousand elite Sui troops set up a strong defense, yet Xue Ju led only two thousand men and still managed to nearly wipe them out—almost total annihilation. Zong Luo Hou himself led three hundred death-defying warriors through a hail of arrows, was struck by dozens, but refused to retreat. He was the first to break into Pao Han City. San-niang, you must think this through. Can you really manage with just five hundred men?”

Li Xiuning looked at Li Jiancheng and sighed inwardly, “If Erlang were here, he would never say such a thing.”

Li Jiancheng was left speechless.

“We may lose men, but never our spirit. There is no place for undermining our own morale and exalting the enemy’s!” Li Xiuning declared. “Brother, just wait for my good news!”

Li Xiuning took up the fish-shaped tally bestowed by Li Yuan—a symbol used in the Tang dynasty to avoid using the character ‘tiger’ out of reverence for Li Hu. After Li Shimin ascended the throne, the Ministry of People was renamed the Ministry of Households for a similar reason. Gathering her officers, Li Xiuning set out with only light gear and three days’ worth of rations.

Within half an hour, she led her contingent toward Jingyang.

Her force of five hundred, though well-equipped, could not truly be called elite. The two hundred guards from the Princess of Pingyang’s residence and the Prince of Qin’s household were seasoned soldiers who had seen bloodshed, but the Eastern Palace’s Sixth Regiment and the Prince of Zhao’s guards were more ceremonial than battle-hardened. Still, with this motley company, Li Xiuning marched resolutely on Jingyang.

After a frantic rescue by the doctor, Chen Ying regained consciousness within half an hour. Fortunately, his injuries were not grave—only severe blood loss and exhaustion.

“What are our casualties?” Chen Ying’s first words, hoarse and strained, were directed at Zhang Huaiwei, who stood by anxiously.

Chen Ying could well imagine: a group of untrained farmers, however armed, would surely suffer heavy losses.

Zhang Huaiwei’s eyes reddened instantly. Choking back tears, he replied, “Liuzi is gone, Old Qiu is crippled. Except for the crafty one, everyone is wounded.”

Chen Ying remembered Liuzi, Guo Shuan—a former Sui garrison soldier at Tong Pass. After Qu Tuchong surrendered to the Tang, Guo Shuan was reassigned to Liu Hongji’s command. When Liu Hongji’s forces were routed at Qianshuiyuan, Guo Shuan escaped and was reorganized into Zhang Huaiwei’s squad at Jingyang—a simple, honest man, the only one in the group who had never bullied him.

Chen Ying thought to himself, “Truly, the good die young, while troublemakers live forever.”

He then asked, “What about the civilian casualties?”

Zhang Huaiwei replied instinctively, “I’m not sure, but probably four or five hundred dead, and over a thousand wounded!”

In a single battle, the fifty-man Tang garrison in Jingyang was reduced to six survivors, one of whom was crippled. Even with his stratagem, nearly fifteen hundred civilians had fallen, though they had managed to annihilate more than two thousand troops of Western Qin. The staggering losses weighed heavily on all who survived, marring any joy in victory.

Faintly, Chen Ying could hear the city weeping...

Most of those who died were natives of Jingyang—their kin, neighbors, companions, those with whom they shared their daily lives...

Chen Ying’s eyes trembled as he forced back his grief, suppressing his feelings with effort. His voice was low and steady, “Now is not the time for sorrow. These were only the vanguard of the Western Qin army. Until reinforcements arrive, we cannot let down our guard for even a moment. Gather the townsfolk immediately, clean the battlefield, strip the enemy dead of their armor—repair what can be repaired, and wear even the damaged pieces if necessary. Anything is better than nothing.”

Zhang Huaiwei, only a squad leader, was at a loss.

Seeing his confusion, Chen Ying sighed.

“Help me up, Zhang Huaiwei.”

“But, your wounds, Dalang!”

“I’m not dead yet!” Chen Ying insisted. “Is the county magistrate of Jingyang still alive? If he is, bring him out to preside over the situation. If he has fled or died, inform the local gentry and have them select someone capable to take charge.”

Half an hour later, Zhang Huaiwei had a door panel fetched and used it as a stretcher to carry Chen Ying slowly to the county office.

As they arrived, Chen Ying saw several arrows still lodged in the plaque above the entrance. Bloodstains and hacked marks marred the walls and floor—a testament to the violence that had overtaken the office when Western Qin troops stormed Jingyang.

Inside the inner hall, a dozen or so well-dressed gentry knelt and rose as one to greet Chen Ying.

Without wasting words, Chen Ying spoke directly, “Let’s dispense with formalities. You are all leading figures of Jingyang, no strangers to crisis. Let’s discuss what must be done for the county.”

A man of about fifty, surnamed Qin, given name Gu, courtesy name Zijian, spoke up, “Chen Dalang, whatever you say, we will do.”

The Qin family of Jingyang was a branch of the Tianshui Qins, once a powerful clan in the Eastern Han, famed as the ‘Ten Thousand Bushels of Tianshui’ for having five generations serve as provincial or ministerial officials, though they had declined since the Wei and Jin periods.

The others quickly voiced their agreement.

Now, having killed Western Qin’s Lord of Yixing, Zong Luo Hou, and over two thousand of his men, it was certain that Xue Renguo, known for his vengeful nature, would not spare anyone in Jingyang. In truth, the gentry and all the townsfolk were now bound to Chen Ying’s cause, with no choice but to follow him down this dark path.

At first, Chen Ying’s actions had been driven by righteous anger. But as events unfolded as he had foreseen, he began to consider how holding Jingyang might earn him merit and advancement.

Though Chen Ying was not well-versed in Sui-Tang history, he understood the grand tides of the world: Great Tang would inevitably unify the realm, and Western Qin was but a fleeting force.

He declared, “Since you are willing to follow my lead, do not act with divided hearts or play any tricks. Only by working together to defend our common home do we have any hope.”

Qin Gu replied, “Chen Dalang, just give the word. We dare not disobey.”

“Very well,” Chen Ying said without hesitation, “If the city falls, it is not the commoners who will suffer most, but you, the influential families. The poor have little grain at home, but the Western Qin army will strike the wealthy first. To protect our home, we must do three things. First, organize the able-bodied townsfolk into a militia. The Western Qin left us about two thousand sets of armor in Jingyang; after discarding the unusable, we can equip fifteen hundred men. No one is to hoard weapons—everyone must contribute their private arms. If that is not enough, we will craft wooden spears. We shall form the Jingyang Militia Battalion, divided into three regiments. Each five men will form a squad, two squads a section, five sections a platoon, two platoons a company, and five companies a regiment. I will personally command one regiment, with Zhang Huaiwei and You Ziying each commanding the others as acting captains.”