The wide, open expanse of the mountain pass was bathed in sunlight, the sun already halfway up the sky. The weather was ideal—no strong winds, no heavy fog, with excellent visibility. Yesterday’s sleet seemed to have washed the world clean. Looking out, the heavens and earth were pristine and clear, allowing one to see from one end of the pass to the other.
On the vast, boundless plain, a solemn atmosphere prevailed as two armies faced off, positioned at the northern and southern ends, the air thick with the scent of impending battle.
The Zhejiang army was arrayed north of the pass. Eight thousand soldiers stood in neat formation, arranged in the classic line infantry formation of the musket era. Three rows of soldiers formed a single unit, standing so close they nearly touched, with a two-meter gap between units to allow the front unit to fire and then rotate with the one behind.
Unit after unit formed a long, flat line infantry formation.
In the ranks, every Zhejiang soldier was fully armored in padded cotton, their red-tasseled, pointed helmets and nail-studded armor gleaming under the sun, resembling a sea of black iron with red waves leaping across it. Their muskets were loaded, bayonets fixed, held upright like a forest of blades. Their sharp gazes fixed on the pirates opposite.
At the center of the Zhejiang formation, a large banner stood tall, fluttering in the breeze, bearing a bold “Zhe” character.
Zhu Ping’an stood beneath the banner, clad in Zhejiang army cotton armor—slightly more ornate than the standard, with a blood-red cape that made him look imposing. He glanced at the sky—clear, cloudless, with barely a breeze—and tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Fine weather indeed.”
Opposite, the pirate formation was less orderly but overwhelming in numbers—13,000 strong, a dense, dark mass. Unlike the Zhejiang army’s flat, elongated line formation, the pirates had arranged a more complex, large-scale Heaven-Earth-Three-Talents formation, roughly shaped like the character “品” (pin).
In simple terms, 5,000 handpicked elite pirates formed the front, equipped with the best weapons and armor—iron or leather—and wielding sharp Japanese swords, long blades, axes, and spiked clubs. They glared menacingly at the Zhejiang soldiers.
The remaining pirate forces were split into two wings, positioned slightly behind, forming an irregular “品” shape from above. The pirates’ thick, heavy formation was far less disciplined than the Zhejiang army’s, their scattered ranks appearing more than twice the size of the Zhejiang formation. If the Zhejiang line resembled a ribbon fish, the pirate formation was like a massive snapping turtle.
Their numerical advantage bred confidence, and the pirates jeered arrogantly, brimming with killing intent.
“Hahaha, look at the Zhejiang army’s formation—thin, stretched, like a malnourished stick figure, weak as a reed. They should thank the heavens there’s no strong wind today, or it’d snap their formation in half!”
“Now look at our formation—thick, sturdy, bursting with power. Fighting them is like a father beating his son!”
“With a setup like that, they dare face us in open battle? They’re tired of living! One charge, and we’ll break their waist, surround them, and enter slaughter mode, chopping them up like vegetables! ‘You want to fight? Then fight!’ Seeking death, huh? I’ll grant your wish soon enough.”
Seeing the Zhejiang army’s narrow, fragile-looking formation, the pirates grew even more confident, shouting taunts.
At the center of the pirate formation, two large banners stood—one with a blood-red “Wang” character, the other with “Otomo.” Mao Haifeng, adopted son of Wang Zhi, took the surname Wang after recognizing him as his foster father, named Wang Ao. His banner sometimes bore “Mao,” “Wang,” or “Wang Zhi.” Otomo Sadakawa’s banner, naturally, bore “Otomo” in the Japanese long-strip style.
Mao Haifeng and Otomo Sadakawa stood at the center of the pirate formation on a wooden platform, overlooking the battlefield.
“Hahaha, the sun is high, the sky clear, not a cloud in sight—perfect weather!” Mao Haifeng pointed at the sun, laughing heartily.
“Yoshi, yoshi, excellent weather today! The sun’s up, warming things nicely. Our men were frozen stiff yesterday—couldn’t draw bows or grip swords. Today, with warm hands and feet, they can shoot arrows and swing blades at full strength, unleashing one hundred percent of their power! I believe we’ll dominate the battlefield!” Otomo Sadakawa said confidently, smiling.
“Well said. Great minds think alike—we’ll dominate today! The ancients spoke of the three treasures of war: heaven, earth, and man. Today, all three are ours. Heaven is on our side, as we’ve discussed. Earth is too—Zhu Ping’an’s Zhejiang army relies on fortified cities and defenses, not open-field battles. But us, my brother, are there any better at close combat than we pirates? In which open battle haven’t we left government troops’ heads rolling and rivers running red?”
“And man—you and I work seamlessly, closer than brothers. Our men are united, burning to slaughter the Zhejiang army and avenge yesterday’s dishonorable ambush!”
“With heaven, earth, and man in our grasp, if we don’t dominate the battlefield, will the Zhejiang army?” Mao Haifeng said, one hand on his sword, the other on his hip, brimming with confidence.
“We’ll definitely dominate! Brother Haifeng, look at their formation—what is Zhu Ping’an even doing? My family may have declined, but we’re well-versed in learning. I’ve never heard of their formation, but it’s visibly weak! Brother Haifeng, with your vast knowledge, have you seen it before?” Otomo Sadakawa pointed at the Zhejiang formation, sneering.
“Hahaha, I’ve seen this kind of formation,” Mao Haifeng burst out laughing.
“Oh? Where? Is this some ancient Chinese formation? Am I that ignorant?” Otomo Sadakawa asked, surprised.
“Hahaha, it’s the kind of formation a greenhorn fresh out of the gate would set up—a one-line snake formation, looking just like this,” Mao Haifeng said, unable to stop laughing.
“Huh? Hahaha, you’re right! Zhu Ping’an’s set up a one-line snake formation! Hahaha, he tried to paint a tiger and ended up with a cat. The one-line snake relies on cavalry on the flanks, but his is all infantry. This formation just puts them on the chopping block, like fish ready to be gutted!” Otomo Sadakawa joined in the laughter.
“Exactly! As the ancestors said, ‘Hearing is false, seeing is believing.’ They say Zhu Ping’an is a master of strategy, with unmatched civil and military prowess. I thought he’d at least pull out an Eight Gates Golden Lock or a Big Dipper Seven Stars formation, or maybe a Five Tigers and Sheep array. But look at this garbage formation! Playing with noodles? This is a life-and-death battle, no room for sloppiness. His military skill is clearly just this!” Mao Haifeng shook his head, scoffing at Zhu Ping’an’s abilities.
“And that’s another reason we’ll dominate the battlefield, isn’t it?” Otomo Sadakawa and Mao Haifeng exchanged a smile, their confidence soaring.
