Chapter Forty-One: Come With Me

At the hour of the dawn, when the first pale light crept over the eastern horizon, countless dark figures trudged in exhaustion across the boundless earth. From time to time, someone would collapse, only to be quickly hauled to their feet by comrades, who would then drag them onward.

In the initial flight, the Ming soldiers, like startled birds, would break into panicked sprints at the slightest sound from behind, scattering and losing their way in the chaos. Yet this confusion did not last long; once it became clear the Tartars were not pursuing, people began gathering up the scattered fugitives, consolidating them into a single group. A few dozen of the sturdiest soldiers were assigned to the rear; if anyone faltered from exhaustion, they would be lifted and supported, ensuring that those who had managed to escape would make it to safety.

After covering another mile or so, someone at the head of the group suddenly shouted, "A river ahead! There’s a river ahead!" Soon, the weary Ming soldiers beheld the clear, rushing waters of the River that flowed down from Felt Hat Mountain. With cheers, they rushed forward, plunging themselves into the river, drinking deeply, and immersing their bodies again and again in the cooling current.

At last, those who could go no farther staggered across to the grassy bank, where some collapsed onto their backs and refused to move another step. Seeing this, others followed suit, sprawling on the ground, impervious to the shouts of those urging them on. They were simply too exhausted; their feet were blistered, their legs numb and trembling, and had they not rested, their pounding hearts might well have burst from their chests.

No matter what, they had to rest. They could not take another step.

The organizers of the column, seeing this, abandoned any thought of urging the men onward. They themselves were scarcely less weary than those on the ground, and since the Tartars had not pursued them through the night and dawn was breaking, there seemed little risk of immediate danger. A rest would not cost them dearly.

To the north, the modest heights of Felt Hat Mountain remained shrouded in shadow, except for a pale glow above the summit. They were still four or five miles from Gentleman’s Fort. With a little more daylight, the Ming soldiers would be able to glimpse the distant, unbroken line of the border wall stretching across the vast plain.

That wall was the Great Wall.

...

Lu Qing could walk no further, yet unlike those who collapsed to rest, he kept his vigilance. As one of the organizers of the fleeing column, he had to remain alert. Once the last soldier had crossed the river, he and Zhou Yunyi joined several other Ming soldiers responsible for order.

Among them was an officer named Song Bangde, the commander of Miao’er Valley Fort in the Kaiping Garrison. After the Tartar incursion, he had led over sixty men to reinforce Dushi Fort, but when the fortress fell, he escaped with the others. On the road, upon seeing Lu Qing’s group gathering the survivors, Song Bangde, recognizing the safety in numbers, led his men to join them. As the only officer among them, he was naturally acknowledged as their leader.

However, Song Bangde did not use his rank to issue arbitrary orders or act high-handedly; instead, he consulted readily with Lu Qing, Zhou Yunyi, and the others, which won everyone's respect. Among the other men were two junior officers, the rest being common soldiers, each with their own small following—a gathering of small circles within the group.

When Lu Qing and his companions approached, Song Bangde and the others joined them. They all sat cross-legged beneath a riverside tree. Seeing this, Eunuch Guo, who had been washing his face, awkwardly shuffled over to join them, though he did not sit in the center, but rather off to the side. Only Lu Qing and Zhou Yunyi knew Eunuch Guo’s true identity; to the others, he was a mystery. They wondered at this old man, neither soldier nor commoner, so aged and frail, and puzzled that Lu Qing would bring him along in flight. Some silently guessed he might be a relative of Lu Qing.

But whatever his background, as long as he was not an enemy, no one objected to his presence.

Lu Qing asked, “How many of us made it out?”

Zhou Yunyi replied, “The men counted as we crossed the river. There are just over seven hundred.”

“Our Night Raiders number a little over twenty, Kaiping Garrison has more than four hundred, and the rest are from the Left Camp of Wanquan.”

The speaker was Fan Ruo, a Night Raider under Zhou Yunyi. Though not yet thirty, his hair had turned white in his teens, earning him the nickname “Young Whitehead” among the locals. After giving his report, Fan Ruo glanced at Song Bangde and the two junior officers, hesitating before adding, “Besides Commander Song and these two, there are three other junior officers, but they’re unwilling to step forward.”

Officer Lin, one of the juniors, interjected, “If they wish to keep quiet, let them. Once we reach Gentleman’s Fort, we’ll all go our separate ways anyway.”

The others nodded. Even Zhou Yunyi’s men agreed with Lin; after all, it was true—they’d disperse at Gentleman’s Fort.

Lu Qing changed the topic, asking Fan Ruo, “What weapons do we have left?”

“We were too busy fleeing; many threw away their weapons to lighten their loads. Now we have one hundred and twenty sabers, thirteen swords, more than eighty spears, eight crossbows, thirteen bows, and less than a hundred arrows.” Fan Ruo had tallied these supplies with Jiang Tong and was confident in the count.

Song Bangde added, “My men still have seven muskets, though we’re low on powder.”

“Good,” Lu Qing nodded. The number of weapons was less important than the fact that they had made it out alive; he had no intention of leading these men to fight the Tartars.

After a moment’s thought, Lu Qing said, “Though the Tartars haven’t pursued us, Gentleman’s Fort is only a small post. If they come, we can’t hold it. We must lead our men somewhere safe.”

Officer Ji, sitting beside Lin, quickly suggested, “Let’s go to Ma Camp.”

Lin immediately shook his head, “Brother Lu already said Ma Camp is too dangerous. After the Tartars broke Dushi Fort, they’re bound to head south. Going to Ma Camp is asking for death.”

“If the Tartars move south, Ma Camp, Half-Wall Fort, and Zhen’an Fort will be the first to fall. If those are lost, their next targets will be Chicheng and Longmen. We should go to Town City instead,” Song Bangde proposed, surprising everyone.

Town City was Xuanhua, the most heavily fortified town in the region—a true stronghold, and certainly the safest place to go. Yet at Song’s suggestion, the group fell silent.

After a while, Officer Lin spoke, “We all fled from Dushi Fort. By military law, we should assemble at the nearest stronghold. If we head to Town City on our own, it will arouse suspicion.”

“Even if no one suspects us, we’ll be taken for deserters and executed,” added Officer Ji.

Under Ming law, defeated soldiers were required to regroup at the nearest military post. Anyone retreating further to the rear would be executed as a deserter. With Dushi Fort lost, both Ma Camp and Gentleman’s Fort were now considered the front line, so reaching Gentleman’s Fort would not violate the law—but heading straight to Town City would be a death sentence.

Song Bangde’s suggestion, while seemingly safe, would send them all to the executioner’s block. Having barely escaped with their lives, none wished to risk it.

Still, Song Bangde persisted, “There were over ten thousand men at Dushi Fort, and Ma Camp is only a minor post. Commander Zhao and Chief Yang barely escaped with any troops. Ma Camp can’t be held. As Brother Lu said, after the fortress fell, the Tartars will head south. You all know it as well as I do: once the border wall is lost, our region is ideal for Tartar cavalry. Without the wall, they can come and go as they please—no one can stop them. The only place that can resist them is Town City; nowhere else can. We can either stay here and await death, or take our chances and head to Town City. Who knows? By the time we arrive, the Tartars may have already taken Longmen, and then we won’t be deserters, but defenders needed for the city. They might even rely on us to help defend the walls.”

Song Bangde’s words were persuasive. Everyone hesitated. Ma Camp was out of the question—too exposed, impossible to defend. Staying at Gentleman’s Fort was equally hopeless—a tiny fort, less defensible than Ma Camp. If the Tartars advanced quickly, they might reach Town City; then the survivors would be welcomed as reinforcements, not executed as deserters. Town City was no mere border fort, but a mighty stronghold, built over decades at great expense. With its defenses, the Tartars could lay siege for a year and still not take it, as long as order was maintained within.

This thought tempted not only Zhou Yunyi and the two junior officers, but even Lu Qing, who had already planned to escort Eunuch Guo southward to seek the imperial presence.

Seeing their wavering, Song Bangde was pleased and was about to settle the matter when Eunuch Guo suddenly stood, came among them, and declared, “If you want to die, go to Xuanhua. If you want to live, follow me!”

...

Author’s note: The Great Wall was not fully completed until the Wanli era. The term “Great Wall of Ten Thousand Li” was not in use at the time of this story; its appearance here is an anachronism for literary convenience.