Chapter Eight: The Grand Administrator of Jingyang, Great Tang

Morale must not be lost; once it is gone, no matter how many men you have, they are nothing but sheep waiting to be slaughtered. Chen Ying repeatedly impressed upon the Jingyang Militia the ideals of defending their homeland and the nation, ensuring they understood why they fought and for what cause. He wasted no opportunity to train his soldiers; even the corpses of the Western Qin soldiers slain by the people of Jingyang were put to use. Though exhausted, Chen Ying personally led the militia in their drills.

With trembling hands, a recruit of the Jingyang Militia gripped a broadsword and, shivering, hacked off the head of a fallen Western Qin soldier. Standing behind him, Chen Ying shouted, “Don’t waste the corpses of the Western Qin soldiers in the city—these are worth money! We’ll preserve them with quicklime and later exchange them for silver with the imperial court!”

Another militiaman, clutching a wooden spear, hesitated to thrust it into the mangled remains before him. Chen Ying’s gaze grew fierce as he roared, “Think carefully! If you falter now, what will become of your parents? Your sisters? Your family’s grain? The invaders will seize all your food and wealth, and your loved ones will be slaughtered like livestock. Your sisters, wives, and daughters will be disgraced, condemned to a fate worse than death!”

Driven to rage by Chen Ying’s words, the young militiaman’s face twisted in a snarl. With a howl, he lunged forward and desperately stabbed the corpse with his spear.

Zhang Huaiwei, dissatisfied with these new recruits, grumbled to Chen Ying, “Brother Chen, these greenhorns are hopeless. They're nothing like our seasoned brothers—there’s simply no comparison…”

“There’s nothing for it,” Chen Ying replied. “Better to have them than none at all. Heaven willing, the Western Qin reinforcements will be delayed. If not, I truly don’t know how we’ll manage.”

Zhang Huaiwei muttered, “Most of them have never seen blood. On the battlefield, I fear they’ll wet their trousers…”

“That’s hardly a concern,” Chen Ying replied awkwardly. “They’ll get used to it soon enough. Brother Zhang, I’m thinking we should use Jingyang’s thousand-jin portcullis to trap some Western Qin soldiers inside the city…”

The so-called thousand-jin portcullis was an ancient defensive mechanism, deployed when the city gates were breached or couldn't be closed in time. Like a sluice gate, it was essentially another door, typically made of timber sheathed in iron and weighing several thousand pounds.

Zhang Huaiwei considered this. “Should we add something extra? Perhaps dig a pit trap at the inner gate?”

“Excellent idea,” Chen Ying agreed.

Under Chen Ying’s command, the people of Jingyang busied themselves clearing the battlefield, tending the wounded, and setting traps throughout the city—especially along the main streets. To guard against enemy cavalry, Chen Ying had ropes tanned and fashioned into horse-blocking cables.

...

“Hyah, hyah, hyah…”

Princess Li Xiuning of Pingyang repeatedly whipped her steed, but even at a breakneck gallop, she found the speed insufficient. Behind her, Tang soldiers ran breathless and complaining bitterly.

Much to Li Xiuning’s surprise, it was not the largely untrained Palace Guards or Zhao Prince’s attendants who first caused trouble, but the King of Qin’s personal guards, who were the least expected to rebel.

“To march in anger is a grave error in military affairs!”

“At this rate, we’ll be dead of exhaustion before reaching Jingyang, even if the enemy doesn’t kill us!”

“Exactly! What does a woman know of military strategy?”

“I’m not running anymore!”

As the commotion erupted in the rear, the King of Qin’s guards discarded their armor and collapsed in disarray, groaning on the ground.

Li Xiuning arched a delicate brow and asked her confidant Ma Sanbao, “Sanbao, did you see who’s stirring up trouble?”

Ma Sanbao replied in a low voice, “Your Highness, it’s clear—it’s Liu Jiale, captain of the Right Guard of the King of Qin’s household.”

Li Xiuning nodded. “My second brother’s man—how curious.”

Ma Sanbao said, “He’s Liu Wenjing’s nephew.”

“That explains it,” Li Xiuning frowned.

Ma Sanbao continued, “Prince Qin suffered a defeat at Qianshuiyuan and, being ill, cannot take charge. The true culprit is Liu Wenjing. If Your Highness relieves the siege of Jingyang with just five hundred men, Liu Wenjing’s reputation will be in tatters. His selfishness is obvious from miles away!”

Li Xiuning’s face turned icy. She commanded, “Seize him!”

No sooner had she spoken than Ma Sanbao darted forth like the wind, seizing Liu Jiale by the arm before he could react. With a twist, Ma Sanbao had Liu Jiale grimacing in pain. “Ma Sanbao, you scoundrel, do you know who I am?” Liu Jiale spat.

Ignoring his protests, Ma Sanbao dragged Liu Jiale before Li Xiuning.

Li Xiuning fixed her gaze on the defiant Liu Jiale and said crisply, “Sharp tongue and reckless slander—this is insubordination. To falter when called to action—this is mutiny. Such must be executed!”

Without hesitation, Ma Sanbao drew his blade and, with a swift stroke, decapitated Liu Jiale. The severed head tumbled to the ground as the assembled officers recoiled in shock, exchanging pale, fearful glances.

Li Xiuning remained composed. “Discipline the ranks—march onward!”

Having witnessed Li Xiuning dispatch Liu Jiale without hesitation, none of the soldiers dared voice their grievances. Even with an influential uncle in high office, Liu Jiale had not been spared; any others who dared challenge orders would surely meet a grim end.

That night, the exhausted five hundred soldiers finally arrived outside the east gate of Jingyang. The city lay shrouded in darkness, silent as a tomb—no sound of rooster or dog, a veritable ghost town.

Ma Sanbao frowned. “Your Highness, could our intelligence be wrong? Perhaps the Western Qin army failed to take Jingyang.”

Xue Wanche, captain of the Right Guard, scoffed, “Impossible. With only fifty defenders, they’d be lucky to hold out an hour!”

“Silence!” Li Xiuning bellowed. “Make camp where you stand. The army will rest.”

Just as Li Xiuning’s forces began to withdraw, the walls of Jingyang blazed with light, bright as day. Hundreds of soldiers in Western Qin armor stood atop the ramparts, blades drawn and arrows notched, ready for battle.

Seeing the approaching force from the direction of Chang’an, Chen Ying was uncertain if they were Western Qin or Tang troops. Noting their cautious retreat, he called out loudly, “Who goes there?”

Ma Sanbao rode forward to within a hundred paces of the gate and shouted in reply, “I am Ma Sanbao, vanguard of Princess Pingyang!”

Chen Ying recalled that Ma Sanbao was the foremost of the princess’s four champions—it was no surprise the Western Qin army also knew of him.

As Chen Ying hesitated, Princess Pingyang herself rode forward and addressed the wall, “May I know who commands within? Zong Luo Hou is not so young, if I recall.”

“I am Chen Ying, Prefect of Jingyang under the Great Tang,” came the reply.