MLMD – Chapter 26 Training

In the seventh month of the fifth year of Chongzhen (1632), Kong Youde gathered followers in Laizhou under the pretext of demanding unpaid rations and rose in rebellion. The court immediately ordered Zhu Dadian to serve as Governor of Shandong and relieve Laizhou. Zhu Dadian led tens of thousands of troops, together with elite forces from Guanzhong, to Dezhou, where they killed the rebel Chen Youshi. After that, the army split into three columns: Jin Guoqi advanced on Changping from the central route; Commander Chen Hongfan advanced from the southern route; and Assistant Commander Wang Zhifu and others advanced from the northern route. All the forces carried three days’ rations and converged at the Sha River. Kong Youde came out to meet them in battle and was defeated. On the twentieth day, the siege of Laizhou was lifted, and Kong Youde was forced to lead his remaining troops to surrender to the Later Jin.

Just as the coastal regions of the Great Ming had only recently emerged from the smoke of war, another conflict was quietly brewing. By mid-August, the climate in Shanxi was still pleasant. A sudden downpour alleviated the continuous drought that had lasted for more than half a year. Countless tenant farmers and peasants cheered this timely rain, bringing out their farm tools and treasured seeds from their homes, preparing to sow the hope of the coming year.

The farmers were satisfied—but someone else was not.

On the sixteenth day of the eighth month, three groups of men arrived at a small hill outside Daning City. Their leaders were named Gao Yingxiang, Luo Rucai, and Zhang Xianzhong.

“King Chuang, say something already. Should we strike Shanxi immediately or not? I’ve heard the situation in Shanxi isn’t good right now—it hasn’t rained for more than half a year. I reckon the common people must be longing for our righteous army to come and save them, right?”

The speaker was a middle-aged man, tall and thin with a slightly sallow face, a beard over a foot long, and an air that mixed coarseness with cunning. His name was Zhang Xianzhong. He was born in Liuqu Village, Haotan Township, Dingbian County, Shaanxi Province (anciently known as Liushujian Fort). Though he looked rough and came from a butcher’s family, Zhang Xianzhong was no illiterate brute. He had studied as a youth, later abandoned literature for the military, and enlisted in the Yansui Garrison. After violating military regulations, he was expelled from the army and drifted among the common people. In the third year of Chongzhen, while wandering in Shaanxi, Zhang Xianzhong saw people everywhere shouting slogans and rebelling. An opportunist at heart, he gathered several hundred like-minded brothers and launched his own vigorous rebellion, styling himself the “Eighth Great King.” Having read a little and received military training, he was shrewd, decisive, and brave, quickly demonstrating command ability. His forces grew from a few hundred to over ten thousand, making him a notorious rebel leader in the Shaanxi region.

Zhang Xianzhong spoke up because, the previous afternoon, a border army of over a thousand men had suddenly arrived in Daning City. The unexpected appearance of this force put the peasant leaders on high alert. Unsure of the situation, they convened this meeting to discuss their next move.

Zhang’s words made Gao Yingxiang—the man standing in the middle, in his forties with a long beard—hesitate. He shifted his gaze to Luo Rucai, nicknamed “Cao Cao,” and after studying him for a moment said in a deep voice, “Brother Luo, what do you think? Should we attack Daning, Xizhou, Zezhou, and Shouyang—or not?”

Since Luo Rucai was nicknamed “Cao Cao,” he naturally had a sharp mind for strategy, which was precisely why Gao Yingxiang valued him. Hearing the question, Luo Rucai smiled faintly and said, “King Chuang, have you forgotten? Indecision is a great taboo in warfare. Didn’t we come to Shanxi to find a way out for tens of thousands of brothers? Now that we’re here, why are you hesitating instead?”

“But now Daning has over a thousand troops from the Xuanzhen Prefecture,” Zhang Xianzhong cut in irritably. “If we attack head-on, won’t we crash right into them? Most of your men, Cao Cao, are starving refugees padding the numbers—you won’t feel the loss. If we lose, you can just go ahead with your men. But my troops are elite, forged blade by blade. How can that be the same?”

Luo Rucai flew into a rage. “Hey—listen to you, Zhang Xianzhong! You’ve only just put down your butcher’s knife, and you already think you’re the Eighth Great King?” Even with his patience, Luo snapped back angrily. “Let me tell you, Zhang Xianzhong—if you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But everything in Shanxi will have nothing to do with you. Understand?”

“Bullshit! You want me to give up Shanxi? Not a chance!” Zhang Xianzhong’s face flushed as he sprang to his feet, ready to fall out with Luo Rucai.

“Enough! What are you arguing about? Sit down, all of you!” At that moment, Gao Yingxiang, who had remained silent, suddenly slapped his palm onto a nearby sapling. With a sharp crack, the arm-thick tree split in two. Zhang Xianzhong and Luo Rucai were so startled that they immediately shut up. Though both were powerful figures from Shaanxi, they were still far inferior to Gao Yingxiang. Since the death of Wang Ziyong, leader of the Thirty-Six Camps, Gao Yingxiang had become their de facto head.

Gao Yingxiang swept them with a cold glance and said, “If any of you lack the guts, say so now. I, Gao, will not force anyone. But if you stay and then refuse to do your best, don’t blame me for showing no brotherly mercy. Now, in the name of King Chuang, I order: the entire army eats its fill tonight. At first light tomorrow, the whole force begins the assault.”

“Yes!”

Zhang Xianzhong and Luo Rucai responded in unison.

On the eighteenth day of the eighth month of the fifth year of Chongzhen, King Chuang Gao Yingxiang led Zhang Xianzhong and Luo Rucai as three columns of peasant troops—seventy to eighty thousand strong—into an attack on Daning City…

Daning lay about three hundred kilometers from Wuli Village. In modern times, that distance would be nothing more than a phone call. But in this era, it represented the entire lifetime range of most peasants. Under such conditions, the isolation of information was easy to imagine. Thus, Yue Yang knew nothing of what was happening hundreds of li away.

After dawn that day, Yue Yang—clad in armor—stood as usual on the earthen platform of the drill ground, hands clasped behind his back. Looking at the several hundred soldiers before him, motionless in their armor, he nodded with satisfaction.

Two months was neither long nor short, but for Yue Yang it was the most important period of his life. During these two months, he had practically lived in the camp, eating and sleeping there. What puzzled everyone was his method of training. He spent most of the time drilling formations and marching in step; only the remaining time was devoted to spear and sword practice.

Influenced by modern military doctrine, Yue Yang believed that discipline was the most important thing in an army. Once an army had strict discipline, it would not be far from winning battles time and again. Conversely, a force with lax discipline might win a battle or two by chance, but would ultimately flare and fade like a mayfly.

“Young master, the brothers have been training all morning. Shouldn’t you let them catch their breath and rest a bit?” Shunbao, also in armor and panting, whispered to Yue Yang.

The blazing August sun hung high in the sky, pouring down heat without restraint. Yue Yang’s Gothic plate armor from the modern era made him look imposing, but the weight borne by the soldiers—and the stamina it consumed—was enormous. With heavy swords and shields in hand, each soldier carried over forty jin in total. That was a frightening load; anyone who doubted it could try carrying an eighty-pound pack and standing under the sun for a few hours.

“If you can’t take it, you can go down yourself. But don’t call yourself my man ever again,” Yue Yang said coldly without turning his head.

Shunbao stuck out his tongue and fell silent. If the young master really sent him away, his father, Yue Laifu, would break his legs for sure.

After reprimanding Shunbao, Yue Yang continued to stare unblinkingly at the soldiers, who remained motionless on the field, and nodded inwardly with satisfaction. These were troops he had trained with his own hands. Turning a group of farmers who had just put down their hoes into soldiers who obeyed orders without question in two months was something to be proud of—though the process had not been gentle. During those two months, Yue Yang’s only punishment for soldiers who failed to grasp commands or made mistakes was the wooden baton in his hand.

Yes—just a wooden baton.

During training, Hu Laosan would lead over a dozen retainers around the recruits, shouting constantly. Anyone who lost focus, talked, or performed a movement incorrectly was struck without a word. The blows sent the green recruits howling in pain. Thanks to Hu Laosan’s ferocity, the recruits gave him a nickname: Lord Hu Yama.

Strict training brought rich results. After two months, although their actual combat effectiveness was still unknown, their formation drills and discipline were unquestionably among the best in the Great Ming.

Yue Yang looked up at the sky, then nodded. “All right. Next, it’s time for combat drills.”

“Now I command: all hands—attention!”

“Boom—”

A unified thunderous sound rang out as over four hundred soldiers lifted their right feet and stomped heavily on the ground.

“Now, on my command, everyone prepare—”

“Young master, urgent news from Yingzhou Prefecture—Daning City has fallen to the roving bandits!”

Just as Yue Yang was about to issue the next order, a retainer rushed over and whispered a shocking piece of news into his ear…