Chapter 35: Follow Me, and Give Me Your Life!

He Shihui, the commander of Team Yi, spat out a mouthful of blood and charged back into the fray. Just then, an Alha from the opposing Qing forces hurled a javelin. It pierced the shield of the soldier in front of him and drove into the man's left shoulder. Carried by the momentum of the javelin, the soldier stumbled backward, knocking over another man before finally coming to a halt.

He Shihui rushed to steady the soldier with his left hand, shoving him toward the side of the street. As He Shihui looked up, everything went dark before him, followed by a loud "clang."

It was Xiang Jinbao, the commander of Team Bing, charging forward. Seeing a steel mace swinging toward He Shihui, he thrust his thick arm forward, using his shield to block the blow. He took two long strides, swung his chain-hammer with his right hand, and smashed it into the left foreleg of a warhorse. The leg shattered, and the horse collapsed with a mournful whinny.

The Qing soldier, a Fen-de-bo-shi-ku named Alha, rolled forward as the horse fell, using the momentum of the beast’s collapse. He swung a short axe with his left hand, burying it inches deep into the right shoulder of a Ming soldier. He held a javelin in his right hand, but instead of throwing it, he used it as a short weapon to lunge at Commander Xiang Jinbao.

The Ming soldier, who had been holding a three-eyed gun, dropped it the moment the axe struck him, instinctively clutching the axe head with both hands. Alha found himself unable to pull the weapon free.

Xiang Jinbao blocked the javelin with his shield and swung his chain-hammer at Alha. Meanwhile, He Shihui leaped from behind Xiang Jinbao, using his three-eyed gun to parry a short axe and save the commander. The Qing soldier Dashan, missing his mark, shrieked savagely and swung his steel mace at He Shihui. Reacting quickly, He Shihui rolled backward to avoid the blow.

"Bang!"

A javelin thudded into the dirt street right by He Shihui's ear. He jumped up, swung his three-eyed gun hard at Dashan’s face, and then turned to grab the javelin that had just landed in the dirt.

Another Qing warrior, a strong man named Baliba, lunged with a long saber to parry Xiang Jinbao’s chain-hammer, saving Alha. However, the chain-hammer wrapped around the saber, and neither man could pull his weapon free.

Alha released his axe from the Ming soldier’s shoulder, steadied himself with his left hand on the ground, and lunged at Xiang Jinbao with his javelin again. Xiang Jinbao was forced to let go of the chain-hammer, deflecting the javelin with his shield while drawing a short blade to stab a Qing auxiliary soldier who had just rushed forward.

A Ming soldier charged at Alha, swinging his waist saber at the man's head. Alha rolled, taking the blow on his back-mounted flag; though it nearly knocked the wind out of him, he was unharmed. Alha snapped his head up, thrusting his javelin into the Ming soldier's chest and straight through his back. The soldier died instantly, his body left propped up, leaning against the javelin in the middle of the street.

Baliba swung his long saber again. Xiang Jinbao raised his shield to block it, leaped forward, and thrust his short blade from beneath the shield into Baliba's chest. But Baliba was robust and wore double-layered armor; the blade could not penetrate. Baliba pulled back his saber, gripped both ends of the hilt, and slammed it into Xiang Jinbao’s back.

Dashan, having thrown his mace, saw the dark shape of the three-eyed gun flying toward him. He stepped forward, swung his short axe to deflect it, and roared as he threw his steel mace at He Shihui. He Shihui did not dodge; he leaned back slightly, channeled all his strength into his right arm, and hurled the javelin he had just pulled from the ground at Dashan.

The mace struck He Shihui in the left chest. There was a sickening crunch—likely a broken rib—but his life was spared. Dashan was not so lucky. He Shihui’s javelin flew true, piercing his throat and exiting through the back of his neck. His body tilted backward, but the javelin tip caught in the ground, propping him up at an angle, silent and still. Blood began to seep slowly down the shaft.

Alha, unable to pull his javelin from the fallen soldier, held it by the shaft and used his back to slam into the corpse, simultaneously grabbing the soldier’s dropped waist saber. Once the body was pushed aside, he whirled around and swept the saber, hitting two Ming soldiers; fortunately, their armor protected them from serious injury. Alha turned, raised the javelin, and prepared to throw it at He Shihui.

"Bang... bang... bang..."

Three soldiers fired their three-eyed guns at Alha. The immense impact sent him flying backward, crashing into a half-collapsed courtyard wall. He slumped to the ground, his head mangled and two bloody holes in his chest.

Xiang Jinbao, his shield lost, gripped his short blade with both hands, still pressing it against Baliba's chest. As the long saber’s hilt slammed into his back for the third time, he coughed up blood, using the force of the blow to finally drive his blade through Baliba’s outer armor.

Baliba gripped both ends of his saber, pulling back and slamming the hilt into Xiang Jinbao’s chest. But Xiang Jinbao held on, using the force of Baliba's counter-attack to drive his own short blade forward with everything he had.

"Puchi."

The blade finally pierced the inner armor, tore through flesh and blood, and drove straight into Baliba’s heart. It remained there, buried to the hilt, as blood sprayed from the wound.

...

About a hundred meters southwest of Mafang Village, there was a crude stable enclosed by a wooden fence. Outside the stable was a small square, currently filled with the clamor of people and the braying of mules and horses. Nearly a thousand captives stood in the snow, divided into three groups. Some were fellow villagers who had vouched for one another; others were families who had identified each other; those with no one to vouch for them or no family stood alone.

Their intention was clear: they wanted to follow Zhang Cheng and his Ming soldiers, believing they were the only ones who could protect them.

Earlier, several of them had knelt in the ice and snow, weeping and begging Zhang Cheng to grant them a way to survive. Once a few had led the way, the rest followed, and soon the entire crowd was on their knees, wailing and pleading. It was only when Zhang Cheng ordered Huang Daguang and his men to categorize and screen them that the crying ceased.

Zhang Cheng stood there, surrounded by his men, with Chen Zhong and a retinue of guards behind him. He understood their desperation. With the Tartars ravaging the capital region, even if he gave them food and money today, how long could they last? They would likely be captured again. It was better to stay together; there was strength in numbers. Even if they were to die, it was better than dying alone—at least there would be others to share the fear.

Zhang Cheng welcomed them. These were honest, hardworking, impoverished people. They might not be the most skilled, but they were certainly capable enough, or they wouldn't have survived this long. However, they had come too soon. Zhang Cheng had no territory of his own, and his influence was limited to the Xuanfu region. Here in the capital, he was a stranger in a strange land.

"I want to follow you and kill the Tartars."

The voice was low and gravelly, yet it carried immense force. The square went silent, and all eyes turned to a burly, broad-shouldered man. His dark face was splattered with patches of dried blood, and veins bulged on his thick arms.

"I want to follow you and kill the Tartars."

He repeated the words, staring unblinkingly at Zhang Cheng as he walked toward him. Chen Zhong stepped forward to intercept, but Zhang Cheng waved him off, keeping his gaze fixed on the man.

The man walked step by step, his eyes eventually dropping to Zhang Cheng’s feet, not daring to look up. When he reached a distance of two paces, he suddenly dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.

"I beg you, General, take me in. I want to kill the Tartars," he pleaded, his gravelly voice thick with tears.

Zhang Cheng remained expressionless, his gaze piercing. He said nothing, but the invisible pressure caused the man’s iron-like frame to tremble.

Huang Daguang, the commander of the Left Sentry’s Team Yi, trotted over and whispered to Zhang Cheng, "General, this man is reliable. He killed a Tartar himself."

Zhang Cheng remained unmoved, giving a single, noncommittal "Oh," his eyes still fixed on the man. After a long silence...

"Do you truly wish to follow me and kill the Tartars?" Zhang Cheng asked in a commanding voice.

The man snapped his head up, his tear-filled eyes wide as he gazed at Zhang Cheng. "I do. Please, take me."

"If you follow me, you must obey me!"

"I will. I will obey everything you say, General."

"And if I demand your life, what then?"

Zhang Cheng’s voice was deep, his gaze heavy with authority. The man froze and stood up, looking at Zhang Cheng in confusion. He didn't understand—he only wanted to kill the enemy; why would the General want his life?

Zhang Cheng ignored his confusion, his gaze shifting to sweep across the entire crowd. It was a cold, lethal look; wherever it fell, heads bowed, no one daring to meet his eyes.

"Follow me, and your life belongs to me!" Zhang Cheng shouted.

The man shivered, finally understanding.

Zhang Cheng continued, his voice resonating: "If you want to follow me, you must obey me. You must give me your life. You cannot hesitate, and you cannot betray me."

This time, the man understood completely. He dropped to his knees again, kowtowing repeatedly as he shouted, "I will follow you, General! My life is yours! I will listen to you and never betray you!"

Zhang Cheng ignored him, his hands behind his back as he surveyed the captives. The old man who had killed the Tartar alongside the burly man was the first to kneel and shout, "I give my life to the General! I am at your disposal!"

"Thud... thud..." The sound of hundreds of people kneeling filled the air. Over eight hundred and seventy captives, once held by the Qing, knelt one after another, crying out, "We follow the General... our lives are yours... we are at your disposal..."

Zhang Cheng stood still, expressionless, silent. He tilted his head slightly, watching the white snowflakes drifting down from the sky.

"Thud."

Chen Zhong, standing behind Zhang Cheng, suddenly dropped to his knees. "I swear to follow you to the death, General. I am at your command."

In an instant, the guards followed suit, then Chen Zheng, Hu Dake, and all the others. From the stable to the western entrance of Mafang Village, a sea of people knelt in the snow.

The roar of "We follow you, General... we are at your command..." shook the very heavens.