Chapter Seven: Struggling Desperately for a Hopeless Life (Part One)

Moments later, a commotion arose outside.

“The Jin envoy has arrived!”

The Jin envoy was a Han man, clad in a brocade robe, his face full of arrogance. From beneath the city walls, he shouted loudly:

“City defenders, listen well! From the Great Jin Empire, fierce commander Balisu shows mercy—open the gates, and your lives will be spared! Resist, and you shall die...”

Before he could finish, Li Yi drew his breath deep into his dantian and shot an arrow straight through the envoy’s throat.

The envoy’s eyes widened in shock as he clutched his bleeding neck and toppled from his horse.

A deathly silence fell upon the city, then erupted into wild cheers—

“Well done!”

“We would rather die than surrender!”

Zhe Keyu laughed heartily, slapping Li Yi’s shoulder. “Inspector Li, that arrow was satisfying!”

But Li Yi could not smile. His gaze turned toward the Jin army’s ranks, where Wanyan Balisu slowly raised his hand.

In the next moment, the thunderous beating of war drums filled the air as the Jin forces advanced with ladders and a storm of arrows like a black cloud. The first wave of the siege had begun. The Yisheng army, dressed as defectors, took the lead in the assault, while the Jurchens, along with Khitans, Xi people, and Bohai tribesmen, watched from the rear, occasionally shooting any Han who tried to flee.

For the Jurchens, being a small population, every individual was precious; so the suicide tasks of storming the walls were given to conscripted troops.

“Brothers, rush in and make your fortune!” the Yisheng commander shouted.

Three rows of cavalry thundered forward, their hooves pounding the frozen earth so fiercely that even the city walls trembled.

The first rank dismounted, brandishing iron shields as they charged; the second raised their bows, arrows nocked; the third carried the siege ladders, following close behind. These deserters surged like a tidal wave toward the walls.

“Release arrows!” Li Yi’s roar pierced the biting wind.

From the battlements, divine-arm bows and heavy crossbows fired simultaneously, the dull thuds of arrows striking shields echoing repeatedly. The first dozen attackers were pinned to the ground, their bodies piling upon one another until they formed a low barricade.

Zhe Keyu wielded a broad sword at the East Gate, severing the heads of enemies who climbed the wall. Scalding blood splattered upon his face, freezing instantly, yet he seemed unaware, howling, “Push the ladders! Pour down the fire oil!”

The city militia trembled as they hurled pottery jars filled with burning oil over the wall. Flames roared beneath, and the screams of Yisheng deserters were more piercing than the north wind.

Li Song and Wang Tangchen coordinated the townsfolk at the South Wall, transporting huge stones.

An elderly man, carrying a boulder, had just climbed to the battlements when a stray arrow pierced his chest. His body fell from the wall, crashing onto a Jin battering ram.

“Kill! Annihilate their archers!” Li Yi’s voice was thick with bloodlust. Thirty paces away, Yisheng deserters were pierced through the throat by divine-arm bows; arrows emerged from their napes, blood and foam dripping. Their bodies collapsed, yet the ones behind trampled over their spines to press forward. The clash of iron shields mixed with the nervous chattering of teeth.

Zhe Keyu felled a third attacker climbing the wall, shouting, “Pour the Jin’s blood!”

He roared, kicking away grasping hands trying to climb, and the sound of iron pots clanging rang out—the brave men were dumping boiling excrement down the walls. The burning liquid splashed onto Yisheng soldiers, driving them mad like rabid dogs. One deserter's leather armor melted onto his flesh; as he tore it away, his entrails were pulled out, red and white spilling on the ground.

“Inspector Li! The West Gate can’t hold much longer!” Zhang Zhongfu’s shout came from the other side of the battlements, his left arm cleaved open, white bone exposed. Yet with his right hand, he swung a heavy mace, smashing down an enemy attempting to scale the wall. “These deserters have gone mad! The Jurchen dogs behind are shooting their heads off!”

Li Yi glanced outside. The Yisheng attackers resembled pigs driven into a slaughterhouse; the front ranks’ skulls were smashed by rolling stones, while those behind climbed over corpses, some even gnawing on the ladder rungs with their teeth to ascend.

A junior officer, his face drenched in Jin’s blood, blindly climbed the battlements only to be kicked back down. He fell atop a comrade, their skulls shattering with a dull crack, a sound piercing above the chaos.

Beneath the South Wall, a mountain of corpses had accumulated.

Li Song, directing townsfolk to haul stones, saw a local soldier pushing an enemy off the wall with a pitchfork. The man’s abdomen was impaled by a broken spear, intestines trailing over the bricks, yet he mechanically mimicked stabbing motions.

“Careful, old man!” Wang Tangchen suddenly threw Li Song to the ground as a stray arrow whizzed past, grazing the official’s cap.

Li Song was about to thank him when a spear suddenly thrust through the parapet, pinning a young man carrying arrows to a pillar of the enemy tower.

Even in death, the man clutched the bundle of arrows tightly.

By midday, the bodies of Yisheng soldiers beneath the city walls had piled nearly level with the ramparts.

The next wave of attackers climbed over these soft “meat ladders.” Wounded defenders suddenly surged, grabbing two enemies atop the wall and tumbling down. Three bodies skewered on sharp wooden stakes resembled candied hawthorn on a stick.

Such gruesome deaths naturally terrified some deserters, who were already a drifting “beggar army.” Having no future under the Liao dynasty, they sought refuge with the Song, yet now feared certain death even with the Jin. Some turned and fled; one’s flight led ten, then a hundred. No amount of commanders’ shouts could stop the retreat.

“Violation of military law! Execute them!”

The rapid thunder of hooves sounded as Jurchen cavalry charged, brandishing curved sabers—not toward the walls, but to cut down fleeing Yisheng soldiers.

The deserters were slaughtered instantly, blood spraying the snow like blooming red plum blossoms.

A shaven-headed Jurchen officer reined in his horse, shouting harshly in clumsy Han speech, “Retreat and you die!”

Seeing death both ways, cries and wails erupted among the Yisheng ranks. Some threw down weapons and knelt, begging for mercy, only to be struck down by arrows.

Li Yi watched this unfold, driving his broken spear into the ground and shouting to the soldiers and civilians atop the wall, “Do you see? This is what happens to those who surrender to Jin! We will die, but we shall die with dignity!”

As dusk fell, the Jin army temporarily withdrew.

Li Yi stood atop the wall, counting the survivors—two thousand defenders had lost three hundred soldiers and nearly a thousand militia in a single day; the carnage was horrific.

The corpses piled beneath the walls formed a small hill; broken limbs and shattered remains clogged the moat’s flow, dark red blood spreading over the ice in eerie patterns.

The ramparts were equally grim, bodies layered upon bodies. Li Song dragged his weary frame along the battlements, his official boots squelching in the thick blood, producing a sickening sound.

Women knelt amidst the corpse heaps, frantically searching for their husbands. Each time they turned over a body, a heart-wrenching wail burst forth.

“Master!” a woman collapsed onto a corpse, trembling fingers tracing familiar coarse cloth patches. “These... these were the mends I sewed for you...”

She tore open the garment frantically, spotting a familiar scar, then finally collapsed in despair.

“Lend a hand! Carry down the third son of butcher Zhang’s family!” Li Song shouted hoarsely. Behind him followed a dozen young men, faces smeared with blood and grime, their eyes shining fiercely.

A man in a coarse cloth jacket grabbed the corpse’s arm and retched aloud—the man’s belly was ripped open, frozen intestines dangling like dark red icicles from the bricks.

“Brother Zhang, that’s my father...” a youth cried, clutching a body in tears.

The corpse’s left hand still gripped half a carrying pole, calloused knuckles Li Song recognized—it was old Wang, the tofu seller from the east side, who had brought him hot tofu that very morning. Half his face was frozen purple; his eyes bulged wide, as if still gazing at the signal fire atop the wall.

County magistrate Li Song turned his face away, unable to look on.

He ordered Wang Tangchen to lead clerks to take the census while he directed the townsfolk to move the bodies.

A blind old woman fumbled her way up the battlements, clutching a half-embroidered talisman of peace—a gift for her son, serving as militia.

“Where is my son? Where is he?” Her cane tapped the corpse heap with a hollow sound. After long waiting with no reply, only sobbing echoed. Tears trickled down her wrinkles, yet no sound came from her throat, only hoarse gasps.

The medical clinic had long been packed like a steamer bursting with meat.

Over a dozen doctors circled the wounded, searing wounds with glowing irons, applying herbs to festering flesh. Their screams pierced the howling wind outside.

Several women assigned to help dabbed wounds with cloth soaked in alcohol. When the liquid touched broken bones, the injured writhed in torment. One soldier bit his teeth until they bled before releasing his clenched jaw, only to convulse and die, eyes still fixed on the window.

In a corner, Yan Cheng administered medicinal wine to the wounded.

A limping veteran grasped his wrist: “Yan overseer... give me relief...”

Yan Cheng’s hand trembled violently as the wine jar shattered on the floor.

County magistrate Li Song stood at the clinic’s entrance, gazing upon this hellish scene, bile rising in his throat. He had studied the classics for over thirty years—from the Analects to Mencius—every word preaching benevolence and righteousness. Yet now, all he wished was to seize a blade and charge into the Jin camp to wreak havoc.

“Tangchen, what use are all these books? We watch our people die helplessly, unable even to draw a bow.”

Wang Tangchen was giving water to a wounded man. He smiled bitterly, eyes reddening: “True gentlemen and heroes do not seek life at the expense of righteousness; they sacrifice themselves to uphold it. These Jurchen dogs are less than beasts! They burn, pillage, slaughter, and treat human life like grass. They defy Heaven’s order!”

Night winds swept sparks across the battlements, as if guiding the souls of the dead.

The defenders looked northward into the darkness, where the Jin camp’s lights blazed like a dormant giant beast.

The war drum sounded thrice, and a woman’s mournful song rose, carrying the tune of “Liao E,” its plaintive melody drifting through the bloodied night wind:

“Liao liao is the weed, not the mugwort so fair. Grieving parents, who bore me with care...”

In the Jin eyes, deserters were worthless, mere sacrifices to be cast away without pity. Thus, the Yisheng army still charged the front lines.

After three grueling days of defense, on the twenty-first day, the Jin employed catapults.

Massive stones crashed against the walls, scattering bricks and stones. Many militiamen had their skulls shattered.

Li Yi was struck in the chest by a shard, spitting blood, yet he remained on the arrow tower issuing commands.

“Dismantle the houses, haul up the timber and stones,” he shouted to his son nearby. “Even if we must tear down our ancestors’ tablets, we must hold the walls!”

Li Erlang wept as he replied.