Chapter 650 - Chengmai Opens Its Gates
"No surrendering! Anyone who surrenders will be beheaded!" A few officers still threatened the defeated soldiers. But the men had lost all will to fight. Imperial troops blocked the landward routes; naval warships waited offshore, gun ports open, black muzzles pointed at the beach. They had no provisions, barely any weapons—even if they tried to hold out, they couldn't.
As propaganda personnel continued to shout "lenient treatment for prisoners" and "surrender and live" through their loudspeakers, nearly all the soldiers on the beach gave up resistance. Those at Xiao Ying Field grew increasingly shaken.
The veteran soldiers whispered among themselves about surrendering, the voices gradually growing louder. Officers and commanders dared not scold them for fear of mutiny. By noon, with the sun beating down mercilessly, several thousand men stood without shelter, struggling even to find water. Chaos erupted as men cried that they wished to surrender. Even the officers finally gave up, heads bowed in dejection as they followed the soldiers out.
Chen Renjie refused to surrender. He stripped off his armor and, with a dozen strong swimmers among his guards, slipped away from Xiao Ying Field into the water, attempting to swim past the encirclement. He was quickly intercepted by small naval boats, the crew knocking them senseless with boat hooks before hauling them aboard.
Most soldiers who attempted to swim away met similar fates. The alternative was to be shot or drowned.
"Ten men to a line! Remove your armor, raise your hands above your heads, and come out single file!" Several workers in gray uniforms—without collar insignia—ran back and forth with loudspeakers, giving commands in Mandarin. Behind them stood ranks of soldiers with fixed bayonets, and rows of Typewriters.
Officers of waiwei, bazong rank and above exited through one channel; common soldiers used another. Each group of ten was roped together, then marched up a hastily built pier where transport ships waited. Each ship departed as soon as it was full. The wounded were kept behind for treatment.
Jia Mofei supervised the entire process. He needed precise counts of prisoners "departing offshore" so that Lingao could prepare to receive them.
By noon, 5,700 prisoners had been processed from Xiao Ying Field and the beaches. The area around Chengmai, from the county seat to the shore, was littered with bodies and abandoned equipment. The sea breeze dispersed the smoke and the smell of blood.
Units that had been fighting since dawn began to sound the assembly drums. The battalions reformed at their standards. Occasional gunfire still echoed in the distance. Squads of infantry converged from every corner of the battlefield, faces blackened by smoke, uniforms torn and bloodstained, chests heaving—yet every man shouldered his weapon proudly, singing battle hymns with rapturous expressions.
Piles of captured banners were thrown down before the main camp: the tattered "Three Armies Commander" great standard, the leopard-tail flag marking military importance, the Twenty-Eight Constellations flags, the Five Elements flags—down to the personal name-banners of qianzong and bazong. Flags of silk and cloth covered the ground.
Columns of prisoners, roped together, were marched past the camp toward the shore. Captured weapons and equipment arrived by the cartload, heaped into veritable mountains. Only the haul of livestock was disappointing—the Guangdong army, unlike northern forces, did not march with large herds of mules, horses, or camels, and their cavalry was scant. Many horses had also been lost in the fighting.
To the strains of military songs, officers giddy from their first great victory found a fine Mongolian horse and invited He Ming to ride through the battlefield "to raise morale."
He Ming modestly declined: "I can't ride."
But he did accept their request to stand on the camp wall and acknowledge the cheers of the troops. As he stepped up and waved, all the cannons in the camp fired in unison. Then, from the naval ships offshore, ceremonial cannons boomed. The thunder rolled across the battlefield.
Complete victory. Wei Aiwen, Dongmen Chuiyu... and so many other transmigrators serving in logistics or directly commanding battalions, companies, and warships—all felt a heady intoxication. The army they had built with their own hands, armed with modern industrial weapons and a powerful logistical system, had unleashed unstoppable force. That power, transcending time itself, would carry them to conquer Guangdong, revitalize China, and eventually bring the entire world under the new order.
There was no time to tally spoils in detail, but the most critical figure—the prisoner count—was in: besides those captured on the beach, 2,200 had been taken elsewhere. Combined with previous battles, the total exceeded 10,000. Over two hundred horses were captured, along with countless swords, spears, and armor, and more than three thousand firearms. The baggage was beyond calculation.
But He Rubin and Zhao Ruyi remained at large. Near noon, word finally came: He Rubin had escaped.
He Rubin's column had exhausted its horses during the flight toward Qiongshan. As horses collapsed one after another, his retainers and guards surrendered their mounts for him to switch, each man staying behind to fight. They battled and fled for over twenty li. When the secretaries could endure no more and the sounds of pursuit faded, He Rubin knew the enemy hadn't given up but would certainly have forces blocking the road at Shishan. With only a hundred-odd men and thirty or forty scholars, there was no chance of breaking through. Thinking of his twenty-two thousand men now reduced to this handful, and knowing the court would never forgive him, he considered suicide again.
Before he could decide, agricultural vehicles roared up behind them. The M240s sprayed bullets, and the resting cavalry and secretaries fell in droves. Amid screams and chaos, guards hurried He Rubin and Zhao Ruyi onto horses. Song Ming led a dozen riders in a volley of arrows to draw the vehicles' fire, creating just enough of a gap for the others to escape.
But flesh and blood could not outpace machines. Before long, they were caught again—this time by several vehicles. Machine guns and semi-automatic rifles cut the little band apart. Zhao Ruyi, protected by his retainers, abandoned his horse and escaped into the jungle. He Rubin's horse was shot dead; with his guards dead or fled, he drew his sword to end his own life. Then Song Ming galloped up and surrendered his own mount.
"General, ride now!" Song Ming's face was covered in blood, his helmet gone. "Leave the road—head for the coast!" He slapped the horse's flank and turned to meet the enemy with bow and arrow.
A few more guards charged the mobile squad, drawing fire long enough for He Rubin to escape once more.
The surviving secretaries scattered—some into the jungle, some playing dead, some sitting by the roadside feigning madness and wailing. Lü Yizhong, having twisted his ankle, buried himself headfirst in the brush like an ostrich.
The mobile team swept the area, capturing LĂĽ Yizhong and thirteen more secretaries, finding nineteen bodies, and noting that over a dozen had escaped. He Zhangran was killed in the melee; Song Ming somehow escaped again with a handful of guards.
Thus fell the curtain on the Battle of Chengmai. Of the twenty-two thousand troops Wang Zunde had assembled from all of Guangdong, fewer than four thousand remained.
...One hundred fourteen officers of waiwei, bazong, qianzong rank and above killed in action; 6,157 soldiers killed; 10,825 scattered or missing. Nine hundred thirty-five horses, mules, and oxen lost. Equipment and baggage beyond count.
—Chronicle of Events in Qiong During the Chongzhen Era
That afternoon, He Ming ordered the soldiers to rotate for meals while dispatching one battalion to press Chengmai town. All gates were sealed; a pall of dread hung over the city. The populace had witnessed twenty thousand imperial troops shattered before their eyes—so swiftly, so utterly—that no one harbored any illusions about Chengmai's fate.
Now the city garrison amounted to five hundred soldiers and a few hundred militiamen. Propaganda personnel shouted through loudspeakers beneath the walls, promising to spare civilians if the gates opened, and guaranteeing safety for any soldiers who laid down their arms.
Of course, there were threats: "Open the gates before nightfall, or no one in the city will see tomorrow."
The gentry met at the yamen to discuss their options—which came down to surrender or fight to the death.
Neither gentry nor common folk had any wish to resist. They had seen clearly enough: if the imperial army couldn't hold its fortified camps, how could tiny Chengmai stand? Better to surrender now and pay in grain and silver than wait for a bloody sack. The qianzong in charge of the garrison said nothing to oppose surrender, remaining silent throughout.
Seeing that the officer would not block their plans, the gentry decided to send an envoy over the wall to negotiate—ideally to persuade the Australians not to enter the city. Whatever provisions they needed, the city would provide. Song Zonghui volunteered.
Shortly after noon, he and a boy servant went to the wall and were about to be lowered in a basket when Magistrate Liu Jingxuan appeared.
Liu whispered that he should try at all costs to negotiate terms that kept the bald bandits out of the city.
"I have heard that Magistrate Wu of Lingao has coexisted peacefully with the bald bandits all along. The bandits never enter the city, and Master Wu continues to hold his post for the dynasty. Agree to whatever they say."
"Yes. But if they demand the soldiers surrender and Commander Zhou refuses?"
"If Commander Zhou refuses to surrender, can Chengmai hold out?" Liu said quietly. "Even if he plundered every bit of gold and silver, it would only end up with the Australians anyway... Commander Zhou isn't so foolish. I spoke with him last night. I promised one tael of silver per soldier as a bonus, double for officers, five taels for bazong. I also promised him two hundred taels. He agreed to maintain order."
Song Zonghui did a quick calculation—about a thousand taels. He knew the bulk would fall on the gentry's shoulders. But now was no time to be stingy; all he wanted was to be rid of these plagues inside and outside the city.
"Also, rest assured," Liu continued, his voice barely a whisper, "Commander Zhou hopes you can ask the... Australians to let him leave with a dozen of his guards. In exchange, he'll hand over the five hundred soldiers."
Song Zonghui nodded. "Good. With those words, I am reassured. Your Honor, await my good news." He climbed into the basket and was lowered slowly down.
Song Zonghui and his servant crossed the moat and advanced cautiously, shouting all the while. A patrol brought him to the headquarters of the 6th Infantry Battalion, which was besieging the city. Zhu Quanxing was busy directing the cleanup of stragglers and the collection of bodies and weapons. Hearing that someone had come to discuss surrender, he had the man brought in.
Song Zonghui was startled when he entered. The "headquarters" was nothing but a hastily built grass lean-to with a red banner outside and somewhat heavier guard—no tent, no fanfare.
Before entering, guards searched him thoroughly.
"This is Battalion Commander Zhu!" the orderly announced.
Song Zonghui didn't know what rank "battalion commander" corresponded to, but from the walls he had observed that a battalion numbered about a thousand men—roughly equivalent to a youji. The officer before him was tall, bearded, and small-eyed, wearing the same gray uniform as the common soldiers, his calves tightly wrapped. The only distinction was the saber at his waist. Song Zonghui had not expected a bald bandit leader to be so austere. Secretly impressed, he bowed deeply:
"Citizen Song Zonghui of Chengmai County greets the general."
Zhu Quanxing saw a well-kept middle-aged man, clothes stained but of fine cut—clearly a gentleman. He replied politely: "I'm a Major, not a general."
"I come on behalf of all the gentry and common folk of Chengmai to request an audience with the general..." Song Zonghui explained his mission, then bowed again. "I humbly beg the general's indulgence!"
"Mm." Zhu Quanxing felt this was beyond his authority—it involved civil administration, and even He Ming might not be able to decide on the spot.
"I'll have to report up the chain," he said, and ordered an officer to escort him to the main camp command post.
At the main camp, Song Zonghui was led to a private shelter and treated well. The camp's strict order impressed him; he had assumed the bald bandits relied solely on superior weapons, not realizing they possessed such military discipline.
Wei Aiwen handled the negotiations. The terms Song Zonghui proposed largely aligned with the Executive Committee's policy of "Ming facade, Australian core"—not absolute but well-suited to this opportunity where the other side was eager to cooperate.
But remaining outside was absolutely unacceptable—it was a matter of actual control.
"What difference does it make whether we enter or not?" Wei asked. "I know what you're worried about—Magistrate Liu doesn't want to hang himself. Rest assured, we'll let Master Liu serve out his term in peace."
Such bluntness left Song Zonghui speechless, though it was true.
"I still ask the general to be lenient." Song offered private bribes of silver and women.
Wei declined. Recent regulations from the Political Security Bureau required that all negotiations with natives be recorded with witnesses and signed afterward—transmigrators included. He ignored Song's hints and stated his terms plainly:
All soldiers must exit the city and disarm. Commander Zhou could leave. All equipment and supplies must be surrendered—no concealment.
Chengmai must open its gates unconditionally.
Afterward, the yamen would continue to handle municipal administration and security.
The Fubogun would send units into the city to clear stragglers, disarm the populace, and disband the militia.
Chengmai County must provide a substantial amount of grain and supplies; specifics to be negotiated after the city opened.
Song Zonghui knew the figure would not be small. He winced inwardly but had no room to haggle. He agreed to everything, asking only: "If your troops could avoid entering the city proper, Magistrate Liu would be able to explain things..."
"The troops entering will wear plain clothes and carry no banners," Wei said. "Surely Master Liu can manage an explanation now—no need to kill himself?" He chuckled. "I know you want to bargain to keep us out. But you must also know that if we wished, we could be having this conversation in the yamen's main hall right now."
Song Zonghui shuddered and quickly replied: "Yes, yes, the general is magnanimous. I am deeply grateful." He added: "Magistrate Liu will also be grateful."
"Whether he's grateful or not doesn't matter," Wei laughed. "We have a long road ahead."