Chapter Fifty-Nine: Dumbfounded

Waiting outside the eastern gate of Han Tongguan, ready to charge, was another commanding officer named Wang Fei.

When Cheng Wei and Li Qian led their men to storm the walls of Han Tongguan and relayed news that the Tang army inside had already slipped away under the cover of night, Wang Fei was eager to lead his troops into the city at once. He wanted to be the first to seize this battered old city and press the attack toward the new city of Tongguan.

Most believed the Tang army had fled because they could no longer hold out, and with their departure, Han Tongguan would be easy to occupy. Whether the Tang army had abandoned it or not, taking the city—after so many months of failed assaults—would be a great and glorious achievement. The officer to rush in first and secure the city would surely claim the greatest merit.

So keen for glory was Wang Fei that he had forgotten the Tang army’s fierce resistance the previous afternoon. At the thunderous crash of the city gate falling, he cared not whether anyone was crushed, nor whether there were survivors beneath the wreckage. What mattered most was to storm into Han Tongguan as quickly as possible and seize the credit for its capture. He ordered his men to charge at top speed, secure the other gates, sweep the city for any remaining enemies, and collect anything of value.

But then, the unexpected happened. The collapse of the gate toppled many oil lamps and candles on the threshold and just outside, near the wall, and flames erupted. The liquid that Li Gui and the others had stepped in earlier—but could not identify—was oil, a layer an inch deep. The spilled lamps and candles instantly lit the oil, and small bundles of dry grass at either side of the gate caught fire, which rapidly spread.

Barrels of flammable oil stored under the wall inside the gate had leaked, soaking into the tangled heaps of dry grass. Now, a roaring blaze erupted. Many of the rebel soldiers rushing in could not halt their momentum and plunged straight into the inferno. Wang Fei, leading the charge, was among the “lucky” ones: his horse was first to reach the flames. The burning grass caught Wang Fei and his companions before they could pull back; thrown by their panicked mounts, they tumbled into the fire, shrieking in agony, dancing in the flames—doomed beyond hope.

Unaware of the danger, those behind continued to surge forward.

The fire spread further inside the city, burning and killing more soldiers. Those who had forced their way in now desperately tried to escape, while the oblivious outside pressed forward, the two tides of men crashing together, trampling one another in panic, causing yet more casualties.

Similar disasters unfolded at the south and north gates, where fires ignited in much the same way, devouring many rebels. The rush to enter the city turned into another massacre, with countless soldiers perishing in the sea of flames. Around the various gates of Tongguan, the stench of scorched flesh was sickening to the point of retching.

Oil had been poured along the ramps and stairs leading from within the city to the battlements, and soon these too were ablaze, the fire spreading to ballistae and wooden structures atop the walls, even engulfing the gate towers. Li Qian and Cheng Wei, utterly unprepared for such chaos, could only gape in shock before directing their men to extinguish the flames or seek whatever safety they could find. But water was scarce within Tongguan, while dry grass and oil were plentiful—stockpiled precisely for repelling invaders, to pour burning liquid down on attackers or to use fire as a weapon.

All over the city, dry grass was aflame and barrels of oil exploded, the firestorm growing ever fiercer. Even atop the walls, rebel soldiers were burned or scalded to death, scrambling for their lives, some so desperate to escape the flames that they leapt from the walls. The walls of Han Tongguan rose several stories high, with rocks below; such a fall was almost always fatal, unless one had the “fortune” to land on a pile of corpses.

Above and below the walls, the rebels’ cries of agony echoed, the raging flames transforming the city into a living hell.

In the chaos, even the last few Tang loyalists, death-defying warriors sneaking away through the west gate, escaped unnoticed.

Both Tang and rebel soldiers stared at the inferno atop Han Tongguan in stunned disbelief.

For one side, it was a moment of relief; for the other, a nightmare.

“Convey my orders at once: pull our men off the walls!” cried Cui Qianyou, standing on the same hillside as yesterday, watching the disaster unfold atop the battlements. He issued the command to retreat immediately.

His men quickly relayed the order to the panicked officers on the walls, Li Qian and Cheng Wei, who were desperately directing firefighting and evasive efforts. But with chaos reigning, fires blazing through several gate passages, and over two thousand men crowded atop the battlements, withdrawing them all was no easy feat.

The scaling ladders remained, but descending was far harder than climbing, especially now, with soldiers in blind panic. Many lost their footing and fell, while others slid too quickly, colliding with those below—resulting in more men tumbling and confusion mounting.

Cui Qianyou, watching the tragedy unfold, was furious and mortified. This campaign had turned into a humiliating disaster: not a single enemy in sight, yet his own men trapped in hell and suffering heavy losses. The city stood empty, but they could not take or pass through it. Most of the troops who broke in were dead or wounded—what could be more shameful than this?

He even began to suspect that the battle at Lingbao two days earlier had been nothing but a dream. The two hundred thousand Tang soldiers then had shown none of this cunning or valor; once encircled, they had only tried to flee, barely managing any organized resistance.

Yet now, just two days later, fortune had reversed, and disaster had befallen his own side.

How could such a thing have happened?

Fortunately, only a little over two thousand men had reached the battlements, with just a few hundred more entering through the east, south, and north gates—the losses were not catastrophic. Had he lost over ten thousand men, even a successful advance against Sui Tongguan would have earned him the wrath of Prince An Qingxu, perhaps even Emperor An Lushan himself. Even if not punished, any credit gained would have been wiped away.

Nonetheless, Cui Qianyou believed the fire would eventually die down. Once the flames subsided, they could storm the city and directly assault Sui Tongguan. As soon as he reached the base of Sui Tongguan, he was determined to throw everything into the attack, to seize it before the day was out, finally opening the way to Chang’an.

Cui Qianyou swore that if he took Sui Tongguan, he would slaughter the city, killing every Tang soldier and civilian within, to vent the fury and humiliation he had endured these past two days!