Who killed the Ming Dynasty?

"Creak—"

Suddenly, the gate of the stockade creaked open. The three-inch-thick wooden door had just cracked open a crack when the officer asked one last question through the opening:

"If you are truly General Sun's man, do you know the name of the deputy commander guarding the pass tonight?"

His response was a thunderous roar from Zhou Dingchang:

"Go ask the King of Hell!"

Before he could finish speaking, the crossbow bolts rattled.

"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!—"

Fifty crossbow bolts whistled through the air, and three three-eyed musketeers on the city wall fell to the ground.

Wang Ermazi's machete was the first to slash into the crack in the door, the flash of the blade accompanied by a short, bloody scream, and blood splattered on the wooden door.

"Capture the city!"

Amidst the long neighing of the yellow horse, Zhou Dingchang charged ahead and crashed through the crack in the door.

The embroidered spring knife grazed Chen Yaowa's scalp, severing the straw rope binding his hair, followed immediately by Zhou Dingchang's angry curses:

"Get the hell out of here, you son of a bitch!"

The horse feeder was terrified and scrambled into the shadows.

The village gate was completely smashed open by Wang Ermazi.

Zhou Dingchang swung his knife like lightning, cleaving the leading captain in two, armor and all, with warm blood splattering all over his face.

Fifty mounted assassins charged in like iron wedges, and the twenty guards behind the gate were swept into a bloody mist before they could even fasten their belts.

Zhou Dingchang picked up the torch beside him and threw it forcefully at the enemy tower. The triple-eaved enemy tower instantly burst into flames, and the raging fire illuminated the official road as bright as day.

On the official road, five hundred light cavalrymen lined up in a thin line, their horses' heads and tails held high, galloping along the Golden Ox Road.

The flag bearer at the front threw away Sun Kewang's banner and rushed into the wide-open gate.

In an instant, shouts of battle, the clash of weapons, the neighing of warhorses, and the dying cries merged into one, completely engulfing Tianhui Town.

In the brief chaos caused by the night attack, Zhou Dingchang's five hundred light cavalrymen wiped out the remaining enemy and occupied Tianhui Town in less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.

The last line of defense leading to the north gate of Chengdu was completely breached.

Zhang Wu spurred his horse southward, feeling the iron torrent of two thousand light cavalry rolling forward behind him.

When they passed through Tianhui Town, the horse traps that used to be densely distributed on both sides of the official road had already been filled in by Zhou Dingchang's men.

The army, like an unstoppable torrent of iron, tore through the heavy night, its advance pointing directly at the north gate of Chengdu.

......

The hour of Yin (3:15 AM).

Outside the North Gate of Chengdu, all was quiet.

Zhu Cilang's 20,000-strong army had quietly arrived, lurking in the darkness.

He had already received intelligence from Song An. At this moment, the entire army remained silent, hoping that the city gates would open at three-quarters past dawn.

If the plan changes, we will have no choice but to launch a full-scale attack and raze this gate to the ground!

Zhou Dingchang gripped the saddle bridge with his five fingers and rolled to the ground.

He looked around and saw five hundred light cavalrymen behind him spreading out in a semi-circle formation, their horses moving silently, with only the soft clanging of their armor.

In the distance, Zhang Wu's two thousand cavalry had disappeared into the black pine forest. The occasional clanging of iron bits startled night owls, which fluttered away.

"Commander Zhou, it's time to change your clothes."

An old soldier approached carrying a coarse cloth garment, the wrinkled fabric still stained with some wheat straw.

Zhou Dingchang deftly tore off his blood-stained armor and casually tossed it to the guards behind him.

As he put on his coarse cloth clothes, he turned to Zhang Wu, who was changing, and asked:

"Are you familiar with Song An?"

Zhang Wu was stuffing the iron helmet into a hidden compartment in the carriage when he chuckled:

"I drank yellow wine three times at the Drunken Immortal Pavilion in Nanjing."

He gestured with his chin toward the twelve soldiers of the Beijing garrison:

"These guys got drunk with Song An on the Qinhuai River three times!"

The twelve soldiers from the Beijing Garrison were also changing clothes around the two trucks.

A soldier said as he put on his clothes:

"Last time at Zuiyue Tower, Commander Song still owes me half a string of cash!"

Before they could finish speaking, everyone had quickly changed their clothes.

They subconsciously straightened their backs, imitating the mannerisms of ordinary laborers.

Suddenly, a messenger arrived on horseback, his token flashing in the night:

"By order of the Commander-in-Chief!"

"Break through the pass at the third quarter of the hour of Yin (3:45 AM); anyone who retreats even half a step will be executed!"

Zhou Dingchang pulled the bamboo hat over his head and glanced at the crowd:

"All of you, tone it down, and don't give yourselves away later."

"Yes, sir!"

The crowd lowered their voices and responded in a deep voice.

Two horse-drawn carriages, fully loaded with "goods," slowly started moving and headed towards the North Gate of Chengdu.

At dawn, the night outside Chengdu's North Gate was as dark as ink.

A pale moonlight filtered through the dilapidated battlements, staining the arrow tower and city walls a bluish-gray hue. The cowhide lanterns hanging atop the city walls swayed in the wind.

Zhang Wu gazed at the flat area below the city wall and muttered in doubt:

"The moat...has it really been filled in?"

The once wide riverbed had disappeared, haphazardly filled in with new soil, and covered with withered aquatic plants, with one or two white bones occasionally peeking out.

Sandbags, soaked by the rain, lay scattered about, and a faint smell of decay lingered in the soil.

Zhou Dingchang grabbed a handful of wet mud, dirty water seeping from between his fingers, and said hatefully:

"That damned Zhang Xianzhong, last month he used living people to fill the river, and he even smashed the stone bridge piers and rammed them into the mud."

He tossed the mud ball away.

"This moat is flatter than a coffin lid now!"

At this moment, on the city wall.

The night wind tore at the banners on the city wall, and the lanterns swayed on the bamboo poles, casting fragmented light and shadow.

Just then, a soldier on the city wall suddenly stopped, his armor clanging as he turned and rushed toward the guardhouse on the second floor of the arrow tower.

"Report—!"

The soldier knelt on one knee, panting heavily.

"Two horse-drawn carriages have been spotted arriving at the gate below the city!"

Inside the duty room, white steam rose from the rough porcelain teacups on the octagonal table.

Song An, who was drinking tea, paused. Chen Yingzong, who was sitting opposite him, turned around and asked:

"What's the panic?"

"Is there a red cloth tied to the carriage shaft?"

The soldier looked up sharply, his tone firm:

"Report to the commander, the red cloth has been wrapped three times!"

"We're here! We're here!"

Song An squinted his left eye, put down his teacup, and thought to himself that the Emperor was indeed punctual, but smiled and said:

"Commander Chen, look, our men are more punctual than a drumbeat."

With a clatter, Chen Yingzong knocked over the low stool behind him as he stood up.

He pressed his hand to his sword:

"Walk!"

"Let me inspect it myself!"

He waved his hand, and everyone immediately stood up.

Ten soldiers carrying torches surged out of the arrow tower. Song An slowly smoothed out the folds of his brocade horse-face robe, still dressed as a merchant.

Four strong and capable men followed closely behind; they were all soldiers from the Nanjing garrison that Song An had brought from Nanjing.

He held a jade gourd between his fingers, and cold sweat had already soaked through the silk sash on his wrist.

The group walked down the city wall and came to the gate below.

In the firelight, the outline of the city gate bolt became clear in Song An's eyes.

The North Gate of Chengdu is a vital strategic point for the ancient town. The city wall is 37 feet high and the gate is 50 feet deep. It is equipped with a heavy gate and three iron bolts wrapped in hardwood.

The bolt was as thick as a beam, pressed into a groove in the cast iron, and could not be lifted by less than ten strong men.

The leading veteran, his back hunched, slammed into a doorpost and stopped. He tilted his head and stuck the torch into the iron ring on the stone wall.

Six soldiers stood in a horse stance, while four others bent over to brace themselves against the crossbeams, their shoulder armor rubbing against the iron-clad oak.

The leading veteran shouted out a work chant:

"One, two, three—lift the lever!"

"Wait a minute."

Chen Yingzong suddenly placed his hand across the chest of the leading veteran.

The soldiers guarding the city froze instantly!

The heavy crossbeam slumped slightly, making a muffled "thud," and several pairs of puzzled eyes stared at Chen Yingzong.

Song An's facial muscles twitched slightly, and his heart leaped into his throat: What was Chen Yingzong up to? Had he gone back on his word? He strode forward.