Chapter 67: The Pinnacle of Evasive Footwork

Thwack!

A feathered arrow embedded itself in the mud wall, the raven-feather fletching still quivering. The soldier, who had intended to swing his blade, was startled. He kicked aside the man beneath his knife and turned his head to look. There, he saw a man holding a supple bow, wearing official boots and a plain inner robe.

The soldier found it odd and sneered, "You dare come out and fight your grandpa wearing just your underclothes?" Before he could finish his words, another arrow flew. The soldier clutched his throat, staggering backward, uttering guttural noises as he waved his blade wildly, trying to fend off the approaching Liu Chengzong. But his strength failed him; he soon couldn't even hold onto his one-and-a-half-pound waist saber. At last, leaning against the wall, he watched with wide eyes as Liu Chengzong pulled the arrow from the wall.

The last thing he heard was Liu Chengzong asking, "Are you a soldier or a bandit?"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three rapid gunshots rang out together. The sound of lead balls tearing through the air was like cloth being ripped right past Liu Chengzong's ear. In that instant, Liu Chengzong's heart pounded wildly—he thought he was dead.

In front of him, a musketeer was holding a triple-barrel musket, still trailing smoke. Behind him, the mud wall was riddled with dense lead marks. For a moment, both men, separated by seventeen or eighteen paces, stood frozen.

The musketeer stared at Liu Chengzong, who glanced down at himself, then looked up and sneered with contempt.

Enraged by his missed shots, the musketeer charged with his musket raised. Liu Chengzong met him with a blade, tossing the raven-feathered arrow he’d just picked up. As the musketeer dodged, Liu Chengzong stepped in, slashing at the man's leg. The musketeer retreated; Liu Chengzong advanced, hacking at his shoulder. A third step, and the musketeer fell.

Liu Chengzong finished him off, then signaled the cowering villagers to retreat further. He went back to retrieve his bow and arrows, unfastened the leather belt with its scabbard from the dead guard, and cast a wary glance at the bullet holes in the wall.

Nine lead balls had struck the wall in a triangular pattern—a standard Northern Ming army triple-barrel musket formation. There was no need to examine the gun; with such a spread, all three barrels must have been straight. The problem lay in the iron plate that fixed the barrels together—wider at the back, narrower at the front, causing excessive shot dispersion.

With such a weapon, it didn’t matter whom you aimed at; anyone near your target was doomed. The highest level of evasive skill was to stand perfectly still.

Li Wanqing arrived late, bow and arrows in hand, and said anxiously, "You're still stirring up trouble? There are only twenty or thirty of us. If we go in further, it’s suicide. Save a few people and run!"

Glancing back, they saw the villagers—men, women, and children—fleeing into the eastern hills. Only a dozen young men, led by Liu Guoneng, were heading their way. This had nothing to do with courage; ordinary folk, when faced with rogue soldiers, had no will to resist.

"The hills are only so big. Where the hell can they run?" grumbled Yang Yanchang. He had had no luck finding a suitable weapon, and only now noticed the two bodies by the wall. "Already two down?"

As he spoke, Liu Chengzong nocked an arrow and shot at a guard emerging from the courtyard gate, a dozen paces away. "Three now," he said.

The man was hit, but the arrow seemed only to lodge in his armor. Cursing, he dropped the woman he had been dragging, hefted his blade, shouted to his comrades, and charged. Li Wanqing shot him down, saying, "Brother Tiger General, your bow’s too light—shall we swap?"

"It may be light, but it does the job," responded Liu Chengzong. He wasn't using his own bow; having been summoned to the magistrate's office, he hadn't brought any weapons and had picked up this light bow in the village. It was so easy to draw it reminded him of his archery lessons with Li Hongji.

Taking a few steps, he kicked away the waist saber of the wounded guard, and said to the terrified woman hiding inside the house, "Tie him up."

Women of northern Shaanxi were indeed formidable. Frightened as she was, she obeyed without question. Moments later, not only did she bring a rope, but she also gripped a pair of scissors. "He killed my husband—let me stab him twice first!"

Just then, two more guards came running down the street. One, carrying a saber and shield, hurled a short spear as he ran; the other knelt, aiming his triple-barrel musket with a smoldering match.

The sight made Liu Chengzong’s hair stand on end. He quickly grabbed the guard, dragging him in front as a shield, blade at the ready, urging the woman holding the rope to hide inside the house.

Liu Chengzong didn't know how to use firearms. Though another part of his memory understood their principles, he knew little of this era’s weapons. To him, these things were beyond terrifying.

A weapon that aimed true was fearsome, but as long as it didn't target you, there was no need to fear. A weapon that missed was also fearsome, but as long as it aimed at you, you could relax. But this sort of weapon—sometimes accurate, sometimes not—left you nowhere to hide.

Such was probability; man cannot contend with chance.

Bang!

Lead whistled past his side as Liu Chengzong advanced.

Bang!

He felt a weight in his hand, and the guard in front of him cried out in alarm.

Bang!

The third barrel did not fire at him but instead, the guard in front suddenly shoved back, knocking Liu Chengzong off his feet.

Another guard, armed with shield and saber, rushed forward, bashing with his shield and slashing with his blade. Liu Chengzong swung his blade in haste but was solidly blocked, nearly unable to recover his weapon.

This shield-bearer kept his center of gravity low, a leather-covered round shield protecting both above and below, resembling a tortoise shell. His intentions were clear—use the shield to pin Liu Chengzong’s single blade, and when he couldn’t recover his weapon, stab him with the saber.

Liu Chengzong knew he'd met an expert. Outmatched in weaponry, he could not win head-on. He feinted a slash and retreated.

Luckily, Li Wanqing was at his side, loosing arrow after arrow at their foe. Each shot struck the shield, but this gave Liu Chengzong a moment to breathe—otherwise, the shield-bearer would have had a chance to throw a javelin.

Back in the Mizhi county jail, Gao Yingxiang had told him: when facing a shield or a spear with a single blade, run—but beware the javelin; shield-bearers always carry a few.

Doubling back into the courtyard, Liu Chengzong picked up the waist saber he’d earlier kicked aside, now wielding a blade in each hand as he strode forth again. Though still at a disadvantage, he darted and weaved about the shield-bearer, always attacking the man’s left flank. After several exchanges, he managed to gain the upper hand.

Especially with Li Wanqing providing cover and Yang Yanchang, having reloaded the inaccurate musket, ready at the rear. After a brief exchange, Yang fired a shot into the distance.

Of course, it missed; no one could hit a target with this musket. But the musketeer in the rear fled, and the shield-bearer, fighting Liu Chengzong, grew flustered.

In a flash, Liu Chengzong feinted with his dominant hand, slipping in with his left and slashing the man’s leg. He circled around, delivering two more blows to make sure his foe didn’t suffer.

The fight left Liu Chengzong drenched in sweat—partly from exertion, but mostly from the terror of facing a shield-bearer with only a single blade.

But now he felt better. He chose the better of the two blades, picked up the round shield, and carried it in his hand.

Li Wanqing and Yang Yanchang were quick-witted—one held a bow, the other a musket. Even the woman who had hidden inside now came out, picking up a knife and advancing at his side. Together, they moved forward along the village street, sweeping all before them. Some scattered soldiers, just emerging from houses, were shot down by Li Wanqing; others were wounded by Yang Yanchang’s random gunfire. Still others, so bold as to charge, met their deaths at Liu Chengzong’s hands.

In a matter of moments, the surviving villagers had all picked up weapons and gathered behind him; their numbers swelled.

At the end of the street, Liu Guoneng and the young men he led had finally completed their encirclement, trapping the remaining dozen or so guards in the village. With both ends sealed, they closed in for the kill.