Chapter Fifty-Five: This Is Impossible

“We’re saved! Kill every last bandit!”
The surviving soldiers and civilians of Shizhou, young and old alike, roared in unison, “Long live the Great Tang!”
Perhaps it was a final surge of defiance, or perhaps the last desperate struggle before death, but under Pang Yudi’s command, the people of Shizhou slowly pushed the rebel forces led by Pang Qidi off the city walls.
Turning to look at the Eastern Palace army arrayed in the distance, standing still and immovable, Pang Qidi then glanced at his own rebel forces, now being forced off the walls by the Shizhou defenders. He watched as the women and spoils he thought were in his grasp slipped away like a cooked duck taking flight. In that instant, Pang Qidi’s eyes turned blood-red with rage.
The Tang reinforcements numbered no more than two thousand, and yet, this force brought with it a suffocating silence and an overwhelming pressure that struck Pang Qidi, a veteran of countless battles, with a hidden sense of dread.
“What formidable troops!”
Chen Ying’s palms were slick with sweat as he watched the right guard of the Eastern Palace, standing firm and motionless. In truth, their formation was little more than a façade—impressive in appearance, but lacking in substance. Only the first rank of just over three hundred men still possessed any real combat strength; the rest were new conscripts gathered along the march from Xixian, barely short of two thousand in number. Many of these green recruits, having only just taken up arms, already had trembling hands.
The formation’s imposing stillness was enforced by strict orders forbidding any noise or movement, and the unified armor and weapons created a powerful visual effect. After three days of forced marches covering a hundred miles each day, the men were close to exhaustion, having reached Shizhou’s gates without a moment’s rest.
Chen Ying had originally intended to wait until Pang Qidi’s force was worn out from the siege before launching a surprise attack, but fate had other plans—Shizhou’s defenders could hold on no longer. The rebels, climbing over heaps of corpses piled into ramps, no longer needed siege ladders or engines; they simply swarmed up the walls on foot. The defenders atop the walls were overwhelmed, and in no more than fifteen minutes, the north wall would fall completely.
Yet, if the rebels seized the walls and stormed into the city, it would spell total disaster for Shizhou.
Left with no choice, Chen Ying steeled himself and gave the order to attack.
“General Chen... how... how are we supposed to fight?”
Even Zhang Huaiwei, who had once slept amid corpses and bathed in blood alongside Chen Ying at Jingyang, was overcome with a sense of helplessness. He swallowed hard and blurted out, “There’s just too many of them!”
Indeed, the enemy was legion—thousands filling the city, tens of thousands covering the fields. When the numbers reach such a scale, they seem endless. The densely packed, surging sea of heads was enough to make one’s scalp prickle with fear.
Wei Wen-zhong watched the rebels charging and shouting, his face going deathly pale.
“Old Wei, what’s wrong? You’re not losing your nerve, are you?” Chen Ying’s own heart was knotted with anxiety, but he understood well: as commander, he was the pillar of everyone’s resolve. Anyone else could fear or panic—he alone could not. Forcing a relaxed smile, Chen Ying said, “Isn’t it good that there are so many? We’ll have a chance at fivefold military merit!”

In the Tang army, storming a city or array, defeating greater numbers with fewer was known as an “upper engagement;” with roughly equal numbers, a “middle engagement;” with more against fewer, a “lower engagement;” and with overwhelming odds, “much against few.” The highest reward was given for winning despite being outnumbered—killing or capturing at least forty percent of the enemy was “top achievement,” twenty percent was “middle,” ten percent was “lower.” A top achievement in an upper engagement earned fivefold merit; in a middle engagement or middle achievement, fourfold; while lesser achievements or lower engagements earned threefold.
Fivefold merit could earn a title or a civil or military office, a guard position, or honors.
“It’s not looking good,” Wei Wen-zhong muttered softly behind Chen Ying, shaking his head. “By my estimation, the enemy has at least forty thousand men. Most are coerced refugees, pressed into the middle of the camp, while the elite soldiers form the perimeter. The main rebel force numbers between eight and twelve thousand, and there are several thousand Tibetan cavalrymen lying in wait. This is a hard nut to crack.”
He sighed again. “General Chen, I admire your courage in the face of strong enemies. But our troops have marched three days straight, exhausted and hungry, numbering barely over a thousand. If we take the field now, we may not be their match. Forty thousand—forty thousand! Even if they just used their numbers, they could drown us in bodies.”
With that, Wei Wen-zhong’s face was the picture of dejection.
A scion of a military family, Wei Wen-zhong was an excellent commander and trainer. In recent days, Chen Ying would give only a rough outline of his plans, and Wei Wen-zhong would perfect them. On the training ground, he drilled and fought alongside the men—he was impeccable in all aspects, save one: he lacked the sheer, reckless courage required when rivals meet on a narrow path.
To put it kindly, he was steady and prudent; unkindly, he simply lacked the nerve.
“Warfare isn’t just about numbers. If numbers alone decided victory, there’d be no need to fight—just line up and count heads!”
Although Chen Ying did not come from a military background, he knew well that history was filled with victories against the odds. The Hegemon of Chu himself had fought several such battles: at Julu, Xiang Yu annihilated the Qin generals Zhang Han and Wang Li with just twenty thousand men against four hundred thousand; at Pengcheng, he routed Liu Bang’s force of five hundred sixty thousand with just thirty thousand. There was Xie Xuan, who, with eighty-five thousand of the Northern Army, crushed Fu Jian’s million-strong army at the Battle of Fei River. Most astounding of all, Wanyan Aguda’s twenty thousand Jurchen soldiers annihilated over seven hundred thousand Liao troops at Hubudagang.
Though Pang Qidi commanded over forty thousand men, only fifteen thousand could truly be called formidable opponents—the rest were mere cannon fodder.
Suddenly, Chen Ying raised his voice and shouted, “Vice Captain Wei says the enemy could drown us in bodies—do you believe that?”
The officers and soldiers, shamed, lowered their heads in silence.
Wei Wen-zhong grew anxious—how could Chen Ying say such a thing and sap morale? He signaled desperately with his eyes, but Chen Ying ignored him and continued, “Are you content with that?”
“No!” Zhang Huaiwei grinned wide. “Back when General Chen led us, just seven men, we took down over three thousand under Zong Luohou!”
“Exactly! Well said, Captain Zhang!” Chen Ying replied. “Do you know what I was just over a month ago? You’d never guess—like most of you, I was just an ordinary foot soldier. At Jingyang, I fought with my life, and after one battle, I was promoted ten ranks. Do you want to become generals?”

“Yes!”
“Do you want to rise ten ranks in a row, win glory and honor for your family, and provide for your wives and sons?”
“Yes, we do!”
“Good!” Chen Ying declared. “Then listen to my orders… Everyone, as we practiced—grip your reaping spears with both hands, form up in orderly ranks, and advance step by step.”
“One, two, one!”
“One, two, one!”
The formation of over fifteen hundred men advanced as one, their sharp reaping spears leveled like a moving wall.
The rebels, surging like a tidal wave, crashed headlong into Chen Ying’s spear phalanx.
Just as most of Chen Ying’s soldiers believed death was certain, the sound of spearpoints piercing flesh rang out—sharp, wet, and unrelenting. Cries of agony, the wet sounds of steel entering flesh, moans of pain, and the chattering of teeth in terror blended together.
But then, a sight that stunned all occurred: the endless throng of bandits, like moths to a flame, hurled themselves again and again onto the spearpoints. In no time, before the Second Merit Guard’s formation, corpses were piled in layers.
Pang Qidi, who had been so confident in his victory, now wore an expression as if he’d seen a ghost.
“This cannot be!”