Chapter Sixty-Six: The Sensation of Death

When it came to defending a city, both Wang Sili and Tian Liangqiu possessed considerable experience. The rebel assault on the city of Tongguan had persisted for nearly six months, and during that period, there had been no fewer than a hundred battles for control of the walls. Most commanders within Tongguan had already directed counterattacks against the rebels, and even those previously lacking such experience had become seasoned through months of relentless fighting. Furthermore, all these officers hailed from the ranks, many like Wang Sili and Pang Zhong had served at the frontiers of Anxi or Longyou, earning promotion step by step over the corpses of countless soldiers. Their combat experience was extensive, no less than that of any rebel leader attacking the city. Whatever formation the rebels devised, these commanders could respond appropriately to actual circumstances.

The rebels began their assault in dense formation, not in staggered waves, but in a relentless, continuous offensive, one wave following another. From the rebels’ tactics, Geshu Han, Wang Sili, Tian Liangqiu, and the other commanders atop the city walls quickly deduced that the enemy was eager to storm Tongguan. They had abandoned the strategy of wearing down the defenders’ strength and arrows with small, repeated attacks. Instead, relying on their overwhelming numerical advantage, they intended to exhaust the defenders through sustained assault, determined to seize the walls at any cost.

The rebels no doubt knew that reinforcements from Chang’an had already arrived at Tongguan, with further troops on the march. For them, the arrival of reinforcements was a dire turn. Having come emboldened by their great victory at Lingbao, their aim was to take Tongguan in a single surge before the main body of reinforcements could reach the city—a swift, decisive campaign.

The false Crown Prince of Great Yan, An Qingxu, commanded a force of 150,000 men. According to the rebel officers captured in yesterday's ambush, An Lushan himself was hastening with 180,000 troops in support. Such deployments made it clear the rebels were intent on capturing Tongguan at any cost, and once the city fell, their next target would be Chang’an.

Both An Qingxu and An Lushan were determined to take Tongguan and Chang’an, no matter the losses.

With this realization, every Tang commander felt the weight of the battle ahead; they knew the coming fight would be extraordinarily difficult.

Yet, as the rebels commenced their assault, Geshu Han, Wang Sili, Tian Liangqiu, and the other principal leaders remained untroubled. They knew the rebels’ initial attack could be repelled with ease. Geshu Han sat calmly atop the gatehouse, observing the battle, while Wang Sili, Tian Liangqiu, and several other leading officers directed the defense from the ramparts, all maintaining composure.

"Archers, begin firing!" Wang Sili’s command was not a shout, merely spoken louder than usual. At his order, over a thousand soldiers drew their bows overhead, and at the powerful command to "Release," the whistling of arrows filled the air. A thousand arrows wove into a rain, flying toward the rebels who had reached the bottom of the forbidden ditch, preparing to scale its western edge, and at those still pouring into the ditch.

A few shields were raised to intercept the imminent arrows, but many rebel soldiers had no chance to defend themselves. Some were shouting as they surged into the ditch, others kept their heads down, wary of the uneven stones, a few were erecting ladders for climbing, not even noticing the arrows falling. The rebels were densely packed, with not enough shields to go around, allowing the Tang archers to inflict maximum casualties. With the cries of agony, many soldiers were struck and fell in the ditch. Those rushing in from the eastern edge, when hit, tumbled headlong.

The lethality of arrows was not so great, far inferior to firearms of later ages; unless struck in a vital spot, most wounds were not immediately fatal. Those unlucky enough to die at once had been hit in a critical area.

Yet the ditch was deep, and some wounded soldiers were killed outright by the fall.

Zhao Long had once been a captain under Feng Changqing, but during the defense of Luoyang, he was captured in defeat and soon surrendered to the rebels. He and his men were assigned under Cui Qianyou, taking part in the attack on Tongguan and the subsequent battle at Lingbao. He distinguished himself there and was promoted to lieutenant, receiving rewards of money and goods.

With his new rank and rewards, Zhao Long was now wholly committed to serving the rebels, hoping for further advancement and greater rewards. His motivation was common among soldiers: war meant opportunities for reward, and it mattered little whose banner they served. Should the Tang forces prevail and capture them, they would likely switch sides again, firing fatal arrows at their former comrades in the “Great Yan” army.

This was the character of soldiers in these times; during civil war, mass surrenders often occurred, and some surrendered more than once, as fickle as grass on a wall. Even in wars against foreign foes, defeated troops would surrender in droves and immediately fight for their new masters.

Zhao Long was experienced in battle. Upon hearing the arrows slicing through the air and seeing them fly into the ditch, he quickly raised his shield and crouched beneath a rock, his quick thinking allowing him to avoid the Tang’s first volley.

Just as he began to feel relief, the second volley of Tang arrows whistled overhead. He had just risen to look around when a fallen comrade from the cliff struck him, causing him to drop his shield and stumble. At that moment, tragedy struck: two Tang arrows descended rapidly and struck Zhao Long.

One arrow pierced his arm, the other embedded itself in his soft abdomen, hitting a major blood vessel.

He felt a chilling cold spread from his abdomen to his back, followed by a powerful surge of heat pouring from the wound. Suddenly, his strength drained away; he could no longer hold his sword, which clattered to the ground as his body collapsed forward. With the fall, the arrow buried itself deeper, its tip protruding from his back.

Zhao Long let out a piercing scream, blood gushing from both sides of his torso like a fountain. His once small eyes were now wide open, gazing at the spinning clouds overhead. Tongguan’s walls seemed to turn upside down before him, with the peaks of Mount Hua nearby appearing as if thrust headfirst into the earth. Then a layer of misty whiteness floated before him, his body grew light and began to rise, entering a narrow passage, then flooded with light—after that, he knew nothing.