In this realistic war game, only I understand the course of the battle.

It was only after the Yan army captured Yangzhou at the end of June that they truly turned their attention to Lingbi.

The distance from Guazhou Ferry to Yangzhou was only forty li. The vanguard of the Yan army reached the gates of Yangzhou the day after crossing the river. The southern army's adjutant, before receiving any news of reinforcements, received Zhu Di's letter of surrender. The letter contained only four sentences: "If Yangzhou surrenders, Zhenjiang will not be fought; if Zhenjiang surrenders, Nanjing will not be defended. The choice is yours." The Yangzhou defenders raised a white flag on the city wall.

With the fall of Yangzhou, the last Southern army stronghold on the north bank of the Yangtze River vanished. Zhu Di rested in Yangzhou for two days, leaving all the ferries he had brought from Beiping in Yangzhou port, before turning back north—not to retreat to the Huai River, but to march straight for Lingbi. He Fu was still in Lingbi. Ping An was also in Lingbi. The Jianwen Emperor's last main force in the field, the exhausted army left behind by Xu Huizu at the Qimei Mountain front, received no retreat orders or reinforcements during the time the main Yan army crossed the river south. They were trapped in Lingbi for two whole months, their food supplies exhausted, their warhorses emaciated, and the soldiers subsisting on wild vegetables and tree bark. Dysentery was rampant in the army, and the wounded soldiers' wounds festered and infested with maggots in the humid heat. He Fu sent three groups of messengers to Nanjing every day for help, but Nanjing was in chaos over the news that "the Yan army has crossed the river," and no one cared about Lingbi.

When the Yan army besieged Lingbi, there wasn't a single intact elm tree to be seen in the fields outside the city—the bark had all been stripped off by the Southern army.

"The horses in the city are almost all eaten." Shen Du stood on a small earthen slope outside Lingbi City, looking at the city walls through binoculars. The Southern Army's banners were still there, but the colors had faded from the wind and rain. The defenders behind the crenellations were scattered about; some were dozing off, leaning on their spears, while others squatted below the crenellations, staring blankly at empty food sacks. He Fu had reinforced the city walls with dense talons, exactly like at Qimei Mountain—two talons, a shallow moat, and sandbags piled at the city gate. But the defenders behind the talons were no longer the elite troops who could ambush and fire poisoned arrows in the valleys two months ago. They were starving soldiers. Starving soldiers cannot hold a city.

Old Zhao squatted at the foot of the earthen slope, oiling the iron hoops of the battering ram. A pipe bowl dangled from his mouth, the tobacco freshly obtained from the supply depot, coarsely chopped and crackling as it burned. He tightened the last rivet with a wrench, stood up, and patted the battering ram's fender—this ram was newly built in Beiping, its chassis widened by half a foot, and the iron fender still bore dents from arrows fired from the opposite bank during the river crossing. "Master Li, when are we going to attack?"

"No rush." ​​Shen Du put down his binoculars and turned to look in the direction south of Lingbi City. There was a low earthen mound there, and behind it, one could vaguely see the camp of the Southern Army cavalry—the remnants of Ping An's forces. He Fu had handed over all his cavalry to Ping An, stationing them behind the mound outside the city, forming a defensive triangle with the city wall defenders. But Shen Du noticed a detail: there had been no smoke from the cooking fires in Ping An's cavalry camp for the past few days.

"Ping An's horses are out of food too." Shen Du handed his binoculars to Gu Zhang beside him. "Look at those horse posts in his camp—there are more than a dozen fewer horses tied up than yesterday. It's not that the cavalry ran away; the horses were killed and eaten. Ping An's cavalry have already dismounted. When cavalry dismounts, they become infantry; when infantry are hungry, they become routed soldiers." He pulled his sword from the ground, turned, and walked towards the central command tent. "It's time to close the net."

That evening, Zhu Di finalized the siege strategy. When Shen Du entered the central command tent, it was brightly lit with candlelight. Zhu Neng, Chen Mao, Huo Zhen, and several deputy commanders were gathered around a map. Zhu Di sat behind his desk, with a map of Lingbi's defenses spread out before him—a map that Shen Du had repeatedly surveyed over a month, clearly marking every alley, every granary, and the height and thickness of every section of the city wall.

"He Fu has arranged for Ping An to break out tonight." Shen Du walked to the map and pointed to the location of the south gate of Lingbi. "Our scouts intercepted He Fu's messenger. The letter stipulated that at midnight tonight, with three cannon shots as the signal, Ping An would attack from the south earthen mound, while He Fu would break out from the north gate. The two groups would move simultaneously and run towards the Huai River."

Zhu Neng's eyes lit up: "His decision to open the city gates saves us the trouble of attacking it."

"But he chose a bad time." Shen Du drew a line on the map between the north and south gates of Lingbi. "It's the third watch of the night, dark and windy, and the breaking-out troops are prone to confusion. He Fu agreed to fire three cannon shots—we can also fire three cannon shots. Our cannons will fire first, and the defenders will think the breakout has begun and open the city gates in advance. Once the city gates are open, our cavalry will go in first to occupy the gate openings, and then the infantry will push in."

Without hesitation, Zhu Di stood up and slammed his sword onto the map: "Order—the artillery battalion to take their positions ahead of time, and move the cannons to the north gate of Lingbi before midnight. At midnight, fire three shots. Cavalry prepare to charge the city gate, and infantry follow. Huo Zhen will lead the mounted archers to ambush outside the south gate. Once Ping An leaves the camp, push him back. Don't pursue him, just push him back—let them huddle together with the fleeing soldiers outside the south gate and trample each other."

It was past midnight. No moon hung over Lingbi, only a thin layer of clouds overhead, and the torches atop the city walls flickered in the night wind. He Fu stood atop the north gate tower, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white from the force. Inside the city walls, over two thousand soldiers still able to walk had formed a breakout formation, all their shoes wrapped in rags, their sword sheaths bound with hemp rope. The wounded were left in the barracks—no one spoke of it, but everyone knew what being left behind meant.

"Open the city gates immediately when the cannon fires," He Fu whispered to his adjutant. "Follow me and charge north without stopping."

The lieutenant nodded. He Fu turned to look at the south-facing hill—Ping An's cavalry should have already mounted their horses.

Three cannon shots rang out in the night sky. They weren't He Fu's cannons, but the Yan army's. After the three shots, the defenders of the north gate opened it without hesitation. Outside the gate, He Fu led his breakout infantry out of the gatehouse, their warhorses neighing as they charged forward in the darkness. But waiting outside the gate weren't Ping An's support cavalry, but the iron cavalry of the Yan army. Zhu Neng charged into the gatehouse first, the copper rings on his sword jingling in the night wind. He cleaved down a Southern army centurion blocking the way inside the gatehouse with a single stroke. Behind him, the Yan cavalry filed in, their torches burning like a fiery dragon in the narrow gatehouse.

"The city gates have been breached!" The shouts of the Yan army echoed across the city walls.

He Fu had run less than three hundred paces outside the city when he ran headlong into the Yan army's infantry formation. Shen Du's vanguard had already circled around to the wheat fields on both sides of the official road outside the north gate. Swordsmen and shieldmen erected a shield wall in the front ranks, and spearmen's spears protruded from the gaps in the shields, aimed at the Southern army infantry charging in the darkness. He Fu's breakout force was scattered by the shield wall. The Southern army captain at the forefront was speared and his horse was thrown off, both man and horse falling into the wheat field. The infantry behind him huddled together, some throwing down their weapons and running into the wheat fields on either side, only to be stabbed down one by one by the spearmen hidden there.

Outside the south gate, Ping'an's cavalry had barely charged out of their camp when they were met head-on by Huo Zhen's mounted archers. Recurve arrows rained down from both sides of the earthen mound in the darkness, throwing the lead riders' horses to the ground, while the horses behind them stumbled over the corpses on the ground, the entire cavalry force becoming a tangled mess between the mound and the city wall. Huo Zhen did not charge—he strictly followed Zhu Di's orders, only firing arrows and avoiding close combat, pushing Ping'an's cavalry back into the city gate. The fleeing soldiers poured into the south gate, mingling with the city's defenders, men trampling men, horses trampling men, screams and the clanging of weapons blending together indistinguishable.

As dawn broke, the shouts of battle in Lingbi City finally ceased.

Zhu Neng stood atop the North Gate tower, planting the Yan army's black flag atop the crenellations. His sword was still dripping blood, and the old wound on his right arm had reopened, but he stood there, motionless, letting the morning wind chill his sweat-soaked armor. Shen Du stood beneath the city gate, his horizontal sword planted in the ground for support. The old wound in his left leg, repeatedly flared up during the days of siege and forced marches, was now excruciatingly painful, but he did not sit down. Zhao Laoliu squatted beside him; a battering ram lay askew at the base of the city wall, its wheels still entangled with broken spears that had tripped the Southern army during their breakout. His pipe had been extinguished by the wind of the previous night, but he didn't light it, simply holding it in his mouth, watching the mountain of weapons piled up inside the city gate. The captured swords, spears, muskets, and arquebuses had been moved by the Yan soldiers to the open space outside the city gate, forming an iron mountain.

Ping An was captured. Chen Hui was captured. Thirty-seven generals and over one hundred and fifty civil officials were captured. More than twenty thousand warhorses were seized, less than half of which were still rideable—the rest were either emaciated or had their thighs slashed. He Fu, with only a dozen or so personal guards, took advantage of the chaos to break through the gaps in the fleeing troops outside the south gate, disappearing into the wheat fields and escaping towards the Huai River.

Shen Du walked up to the city wall and stood beside Zhu Neng. The morning mist was dissipating, but the smoke from the battle in Lingbi City was still slowly rising, and the wheat fields in the distance shimmered with golden light. The captured Southern Army generals were being escorted by Yan infantrymen through the city gate, with Ping An leading the way. This veteran general, who had retreated all the way from Zhen Ding to Lingbi and fought the Yan army for months, was unusually calm at this moment. He paused when he reached the foot of the city wall and glanced up at it. Shen Du was also looking at him.

Ping An didn't say anything, and continued walking forward with her head down.

When Zhu Di entered Lingbi City that evening, he did not ride a horse. He walked step by step from the north gate, passing through the still-smoking ruins inside the gate, past the Southern soldiers kneeling in surrender on both sides of the street, and finally to the county government hall in the center of the city. He stood in front of the hall for a long time, and then said to Zhu Neng, "Release Ping An."

Zhu Neng was stunned. Ping An was the commander of the Southern Army, an old adversary who had fought the Yan Army for several years. He was captured in the Battle of Lingbi and was the biggest loser in that battle.

"He won't surrender, but he won't surrender to the enemy either," Zhu Di said. "Give him a horse and let him return to Nanjing." Zhu Neng was silent for a moment, then clasped his hands and turned to leave. Shen Du stood outside the yamen listening to these words without saying a word. Zhu Di walked into the main hall and sat down, the oil lamp casting his shadow on the wall. From the Baigou River all the way here, he had finally wiped the last field army of the imperial court off the map.