MLMD -Chapter 345 Pursue or Not

The acrid smell of gunpowder hung heavily in the air, mixed with the metallic stench of blood. Under the scorching sun, an indescribable odor filled everyone’s nostrils.

The battlefield was littered with corpses and injured soldiers. Many were covered in blood and flesh, rolling on the ground and screaming in agony.

Shield carts were pushed forward one after another. At this moment, Dorgon had already unleashed everything he had. He both redeployed troops for a desperate assault and pushed the remaining shield carts onto the battlefield. Experience had shown that no matter how many layers of armor soldiers wore, they were still vulnerable; the only weapons that could counter the Yingzhou army’s muskets were these thick, reinforced shield carts. Thus, whether shield carts, large carts, or push carts, Dorgon ordered them all to the battlefield. Many Qing soldiers hid behind the carts, pushing them forward step by step.

In response, the Yingzhou army had a single strategy: bombard them with artillery. Under Zhao Yongxin’s command, over a hundred six-pound cannons and several dozen twelve-pounders continuously unleashed fire, sending heavy cannonballs hurtling across the field.

Boom! A cannonball struck a shield cart from a distance, shattering it into pieces with splinters flying everywhere. The ten or so Qing soldiers behind it scattered in terror.

But their screams quickly intensified. As the projectile pierced the cart, countless shards and splinters struck nearby Qing soldiers. One unarmored auxiliary soldier was impaled with sharp wooden splinters all over his body and face, blood gushing out. He was still alive but rolled on the ground, screaming in sheer agony.

“Load! Fire!”
“Aim at the Tartars’ shield carts, fire!”

All the gunners on the ramparts were drenched in sweat. Many stripped off their upper garments and armor to reload, ignoring the sparks that occasionally scorched them during firing. In that moment, there was only one thought in their minds: get the artillery loaded and fired as fast as possible.

Amid the chaos, someone ran up to report to Yue Yang: “My lord, the cannons are overheating. Minister Zhao recommends pausing fire!”

“What? Overheating?” Yue Yang, tense while directing the battle, was momentarily stunned. He realized the cannons had been firing for nearly an hour; their barrels must be extremely hot. Though they could be forcibly cooled with water, doing so would greatly reduce their lifespan—after this battle, the cannons might need to be recast. Yue Yang also glanced at the smoke-filled battlefield; after so much firing, the muskets in the infantry’s hands were undoubtedly overheated too.

After a moment of thought, Yue Yang issued orders: “Cease cannon fire. Start launching fire-oil projectiles with the catapults.”
“Yes!”

At his command, dozens of small catapults positioned behind the infantry squares sprang into action. By one catapult, a gunner carefully placed a small bucket-sized jar onto the tray and quickly stepped back.

“Fire!” shouted the captain.

Another gunner pulled the rope. Levered into the air, the jar arced high and landed about a hundred steps away. Upon impact, it cracked with a sharp “pop,” splashing a large amount of black liquid over a dozen nearby Qing soldiers.

“By the gods… what is this?”

The sudden attack startled the Qing soldiers. The black liquid and its acrid smell immediately made them realize what it was.

“Fire oil!”

“Danger! It’s fire oil!”

Some knowledgeable soldiers shouted in panic.

Soon, the air was filled with flaming projectiles, bundles of burning cotton wrapped around stones, hurled by the catapults. Anyone or anything touched by the black liquid ignited instantly, and thick black smoke rose into the sky.

“Ah…”

“Help me! Put out the fire! Somebody help!”

“Quick, save me!”

As jars continued to shatter, spilling their viscous contents, every jar weighed around ten jin (≈5 kg), and the liquid was no ordinary oil. Yue Yang had brought a modern-era concoction—gasoline mixed with potassium chlorate and sugar in a specific ratio to create improvised incendiary bombs. Compared to gasoline alone, these burned hotter, longer, and far more viciously.

Soldiers doused in this sticky mixture were immobilized; the more they flailed and rolled, the larger the flames spread. Many inadvertently set themselves fully ablaze while trying to extinguish the fire, turning themselves into human torches—and in the process, they often set fellow soldiers on fire as well.

“Crack… crackle…”

Once the fire reached full intensity, the artillery crews stopped launching flaming bundles and focused on hurling the jars in all directions. Within less than half an hour, a lethal zone of fire formed seventy to one hundred twenty steps in front of the infantry square. Thousands of Qing soldiers screamed and writhed in agony. These men, once confident that their swords and horses could conquer the world, realized their utter vulnerability against the raging inferno.

The fierce flames snapped the Qing soldiers out of their madness. Those lucky enough to escape the fire looked on, horrified by the burning bodies and scorched corpses. Commanders—Yueto, Engetu, Buyandai, Dudu—stood pale and trembling before the smoke and flames. Even Dorgon, nicknamed “Merken Daiqing” by the Manchus, muttered in disbelief, “How… how can there be such a vicious fire?”

Not only the Qing soldiers were stunned; even the Yingzhou musketeers and artillerymen who had started it all were dumbstruck, ceasing their throwing and staring ahead. Human torches screamed in inhuman agony—a sight so shocking that many gunners simply reached out in disbelief, unable to comprehend the devastation they had wrought.

A thick, strangely fragrant smoke wafted across the battlefield, causing everyone who inhaled it to gag violently. Many vomited, doubling over as their stomachs revolted.

“Ugh…”

Yue Yang steadied himself against a wooden post, having emptied his stomach completely. Nearby, other gunners and Chahar herders helping in the artillery line also vomited.

The inferno continued unabated, forming a deadly barrier only several dozen steps wide that completely blocked the Qing army. Not a single soldier could breach the fireline.

This terrifying display finally sobered many Qing commanders. As the senior Beile of the Qing, Daisan bitterly said to Dorgon, “Fourteenth brother, stop—this battle is lost!”

“How is this possible… impossible!” Dorgon ground his teeth, face twisted with confusion and rage. “Yingzhou’s army was supposed to be out of ammunition! How do they have such deadly weapons? Why didn’t they use them earlier?”

Seeing Dorgon dazed, Daisan grabbed his collar and slapped him sharply. “Fourteenth brother, I don’t care if you understand it or not. The most important thing now is to retreat immediately, or once the Yingzhou army surrounds our camp, we won’t be able to leave!”

Pain shot through Dorgon’s face, bringing him back to his senses. Momentarily stunned by the sudden blow, his rational mind returned. He shook his head vigorously and nodded: “Second brother is right. We must retreat—immediately back to Shengjing, or once the Yingzhou army encircles us, not one of us will escape!”

Though his words seemed absurd, the reality was undeniable. Despite suffering heavy losses, the Qing still had tens of thousands of troops. The Yingzhou army and Chahar forces combined were at most forty thousand. To surround seventy to eighty thousand Qing soldiers seemed impossible—but facts spoke otherwise. Even Dorgon and Daisan had to admit that Yingzhou truly had the power to overwhelm them.

Orders went out swiftly. Dozens of Goshha officers, carrying joint commands from Dorgon and Daisan, began withdrawing the pale-faced Qing soldiers.

“Retreat! Use the fire to cover your withdrawal!”

Terrified, the Qing soldiers fled under their commanders’ guidance toward their main camp.

The Yingzhou army watched this retreat with some desire to pursue, but the fire barrier now blocked their path—a twist of fate.

At some point, Hu Laosan appeared beside Yue Yang with a sigh: “Alas… it’s a pity. If we could pursue now, we could deal the Tartars a devastating blow.”

Yue Yang glanced at the hastily retreating Qing and shook his head with a cold smile: “No need to lament. There will be more battles. The Tartars won’t escape so easily. Immediately order Wu Chengfeng to clear the battlefield and Bater to bury the dead. The weather is warming—if we leave corpses, disease will follow. Tell Wu Qing to tally the casualties and equipment losses; report to me before dinner.”

“Yes!”

Hu Laosan hurried off. Yue Yang, exhausted from moving hundreds of tons of supplies overnight and commanding a battle all day, finally returned to his tent to rest. He slept until dinner, when Chen Dazhi awoke him:

“My lord… the Dowager Empress Doro requests an audience.”

Half-awake, Yue Yang rubbed his eyes and signaled them to enter.

Soon, a beaming Namuzhong hurried in, flinging herself into his arms, tears streaming as she kissed him passionately. Yue Yang understood her emotions—she had almost given up hope, then witnessed his arrival and the crushing of the Qing in one day. The emotional rollercoaster was extreme; anyone with a weaker heart might have collapsed.

Once she calmed, she teased: “You finally got up! Your captain kept me outside for two whole hours. If you hadn’t risen, I’d have brought troops to get in!”

Yue Yang smiled, gently stroking her hair: “Dazhi was just doing his duty; don’t blame him. I’ll speak to him later.”

“Mm!” Namuzhong pouted playfully. This was natural for women—no matter their age, they enjoyed a little indulgence around their men.

Patting her rounded, firm hips, Yue Yang said, “Alright, let’s eat. I’ll settle tomorrow’s plans first, then come back to you.”

“Mm!” Namuzhong obediently helped him tidy his clothes and followed like a dutiful wife.

After dinner, Yue Yang summoned his officers to discuss military matters. Looking around the crowded tent, a surge of pride welled within him. His gaze swept across each face before he spoke loudly:

“Brothers, today is a remarkable day for the Yingzhou army. We have defeated the once-unstoppable Qing! From now on, we can proudly say: the Tartars are nothing—they are our defeated foes!”

“Good!”

The officers shouted in unison.

Yue Yang continued: “Today, the Tartars left behind over thirty to forty thousand corpses. Today, we have crushed their spirit! From now on, they will only avoid the Yingzhou army!”

“Good!”

Excitement lit every face. Armies feed on victories; their hunger for honor is insatiable.

Yue Yang raised a hand, calling for silence: “Now that the Tartars are defeated, who can speculate on their next move?”

Wu Chengfeng immediately stepped forward, bowing: “My lord, I believe the Tartars are badly weakened. Though they still outnumber us, their morale is broken. After witnessing the destructive power of our fire-oil bombs, they will surely abandon their camp. I boldly predict they will retreat overnight.”

Hu Laosan immediately echoed: “My lord, I second General Wu’s assessment.”

“I second it!”

“I second it!”

Seeing the consensus among the generals, Yue Yang nodded approvingly. After years of hard battles, these officers had matured. He believed no one was born a warrior; even legendary generals were exceptions. Most developed skill and strategy through countless battles.

“I agree as well,” Yue Yang said with a smile. “Since the Tartars have suffered such losses and seen the might of our weapons, they will not risk staying on this defenseless steppe. Retreat is inevitable. What we need to consider now is how to press the advantage and add salt to their wounds.”

Hearing this, the officers fell into thought. Despite the Qing defeat, they still had seventy to eighty thousand troops. The Yingzhou army could not realistically annihilate them. The Tartars’ mobility outmatched their infantry-heavy force; sending infantry to pursue cavalry would be laughable, yet sending cavalry risked a counterattack. To chase or not to chase—that was the question.

The tent fell into contemplative silence…