Chapter 130: The Fall of Wuchang City

A sharp whistle pierced the air as an arrow flew up from beneath the city walls. It was aimed with lethal precision at Yelu Hong.

Yelu Hong had never imagined that anyone could shoot an arrow from such a distance; caught completely off guard, his only reaction was an instinctive dodge.

With a dull thud, the arrow slammed into his shoulder, sinking more than an inch deep and forcing him to stumble back a step.

"Hiss!" A piercing agony shot through him. Yelu Hong felt as if his shoulder blade had shattered, and cold sweat instantly streamed down his face. This sweat was born not only of pain but of lingering terror; had he not dodged by instinct, he would surely be a cold corpse by now.

The archer was none other than Yang Zaixing. Possessing the strength of eight stones, Yang had spotted the commander on the ramparts and realized the man felt secure enough to neglect his defenses. Seizing the moment, he had let fly a surprise shot.

Yang felt a faint pang of regret that he had missed the kill. Had he taken down the enemy commander, the battle would have been far easier.

Yelu Hong collapsed to the ground in agony. Nearby soldiers rushed to support him. "General Yelu, are you alright?"

"I am... I am fine," Yelu Hong gritted out. Every word sent fresh waves of pain through him. He gasped for air and commanded, "Go... go and fetch the General."

"General Yelu, the General has already fled in terror," the soldier replied, hesitating before adding, "Besides, he is nothing but a useless drunkard. Even if we found him, it would be to no avail. General, I think we should just open the gates and surrender."

Yelu Hong shook his head. "Absolutely not. Shangjing lies behind us. If we surrender now, the Song army will reach the capital in mere days. Would that not be sentencing Shangjing to death?"

The soldier, a former Liao warrior who had defected to the Jin, retorted, "Let it be sentenced to death. Shangjing was never the true capital of our Great Liao. If the Song and Jin fight to the death now, perhaps our Great Liao could rise again in the chaos."

Yelu Hong quickly covered the soldier's mouth. "Speak no more! Keep your voice down, or you will lose your head."

"Humph, am I wrong? Look at the likes of Shanyuxiong, who somehow became a general; he fled the moment the Song army arrived. If we are to be led by such men, what difference is there between us and the dead?" the soldier continued.

"Say no more of this," Yelu Hong insisted. "Reinforcements must be on their way from Shangjing. If you can hold out for just half a day, the crisis here at Wuchang will be resolved."

"General, I have heard the Song army brought a force of one hundred thousand. With the Jin armies away in the south attacking the Song, our homeland is empty. Shangjing has only thirty thousand Imperial Guards. Can you truly hope to hold off one hundred thousand Song soldiers with that?"

Yelu Hong had heard these rumors, but in their hearts, the Song army had always been viewed as weak. He refused to believe this raid could succeed. "The Song army has pushed too deep into our territory; they cannot win. Just hold them for half a day, and help will come."

Inspired by Yelu Hong’s resilience, the Jin soldiers found their courage renewed, especially seeing their leader’s side soaked in blood, a sight that burned with intensity.

They hurled logs and rocks down upon the attackers, temporarily stalling the Song advance. But Wuchang’s supplies were meager, and within an hour, they were exhausted.

Below the walls, the Song army surged. They brought up massive siege engines, including tall scaling ladders that reached even higher than the ramparts of Wuchang.

With a sharp clap, the ladders hooked onto the walls. The true assault had begun.

"General, what do we do? We cannot hold them!" a soldier cried out.

Yelu Hong looked around to see many enemy soldiers already clambering over the parapets. At their head was the very general who had shot him.

As Yelu Hong caught sight of Yang Zaixing, the Song general spotted him in return. Yang flashed a grin and charged straight toward him.

Yang Zaixing was ferocious. He moved like a god of war, his red-tasseled spear acting like a soul-reaping demon; no Jin soldier who crossed its path survived.

In the blink of an eye, Yang was less than a hundred paces away.

Yelu Hong turned pale with shock. Even at full strength, he was no match for Yang Zaixing, let alone while nursing a grievous wound.

"Get him! Kill him! If you kill him, we win!" Yelu Hong screamed, rallying his men to surround Yang. "Whoever slays him shall be promoted three ranks! Attack!"

The Jin soldiers realized that this fierce warrior was the backbone of the Song force, and they swarmed toward him.

Facing a sea of hundreds of Jin warriors, Yang Zaixing felt no fear. He let out a thunderous laugh and charged even more recklessly into the fray.

Yang was a man addicted to battle; the sight of blood did not terrify him—it only fueled his frenzy.

Facing a hundred men alone, he roared, "Well come!" His spear danced—thrusting, parrying, and sweeping. Every movement claimed a life. Those caught by the shaft of his spear were the most unfortunate; even if the blow did not kill them, it sent them flying off the walls to their deaths below, where the waiting Song soldiers finished them off.

As more Song troops poured over the walls, Yang Zaixing was no longer fighting alone. Seeing the tide had turned, Yelu Hong shook his head in despair. "Retreat," he whispered. "Everyone, retreat at once."