The first half of the night was spent in dread, the second half in panic—none of the Jiaxing reclamation army slept soundly.
Thankfully, despite the wind and frost, no Japanese pirates rushed out from the city to ambush their camp.
Whether it was luck or Prefect Zhao’s empty city ploy working, they couldn’t tell.
The next morning, before dawn, with a howling cold wind, Prefect Zhao sent men to rouse everyone.
“By the Lord’s command, all of you, get dressed, grab your weapons, and assemble—now!”
The pirate-disguised guards were fierce, not bothering to wake people gently. They stormed tents, whipping anyone in sight.
Screams filled the camp, sounding like a slaughterhouse at dawn, chaotic and shrill.
Some in the reclamation army, fed up with the lashes, cursed and fought back, but they were no match for the disguised pirates. Beaten half to death, their defiance silenced the rest.
After a while, the army stumbled out, armor askew, standing haphazardly before the camp.
“Listen up, pull yourselves together! I’ll lead you to a final battle against the pirates! We’ll retake Jiaxing and save its hundreds of thousands of people!”
“Retake Jiaxing, report to the Emperor, bring peace to the masses—I’ll be remembered in history, and you’ll be richly rewarded!”
Prefect Zhao, like he’d been injected with vigor, was already decked in ornate armor, waving a gem-encrusted sword, shouting at the disorganized rabble.
What?!
No way! You’re serious?!
They’d thought he was just talking big, not actually planning to attack the city. They’d arrived dusty and exhausted late yesterday, barely slept, and now—assault the city?! Was he trying to get them killed?
With their meager gear—not even 200 bows, let alone firearms—attacking Jiaxing, held by over 10,000 fierce pirates, was suicide!
Before Jiaxing fell, the western armory alone had 700-800 suits of armor, nearly 2,000 longbows and crossbows, not to mention two massive cannons on the walls.
This wasn’t an assault; it was a death march. Was Prefect Zhao secretly working for the pirates, selling their heads?!
The order to attack didn’t just stun them—it scared their souls out of their bodies. Sleepiness vanished, replaced by fear he meant it. Some even suspected he was deliberately sending them to die.
“Lord, think twice! Attacking now is suicide!”
“Lord, a siege isn’t a game. We need a plan—there’re over 10,000 pirates in there!”
“Lord, retract the order! We need to drill for ten days, half a month, before attacking!”
They wailed, begging him to cancel the assault. No one wanted to die at the walls.
“Retract my ass! I’m telling you, not even the Heavenly King could stop me! I said we retake Jiaxing today, and we *will*!”
“I said yesterday, and I’ll say again: I’ll lead the charge to Jiaxing’s gates. You follow! If I’m not afraid to die, why should you be? Let me be clear—anyone who lags gets cut down, no mercy!”
Clad in armor, mimicking a stage hero, Prefect Zhao swung his sword fiercely, shouting with a look of facing death head-on.
“Feels like he’s acting in a play…”
They barely had time to mutter before Zhao, true to his word, raised his sword and charged toward Jiaxing’s gates, looking utterly fearless.
Like Lü Bu reborn.
Or Xiang Yu reincarnated.
“Follow him, or die!”
The pirate-guards drew their sabers, bellowing menacingly.
The morning’s whippings had cowed the men. Seeing the blades now, knowing these bastards would really kill, they grudgingly trailed Zhao, dragging their feet.
They’d made up their minds. Zhao said he’d charge first, and they’d follow. If he got killed, well, they’d turn and flee. Let the city’s pirates shoot him down, and they’d bolt.
One step, two, three…
Zhao, sword raised, was ten steps out, already in the city’s bow range.
Yet no arrows came from the walls.
What was going on?
Why no arrows? Were the pirates waiting for him to get closer for a clearer shot?
No way—when arrows rain, distance doesn’t matter.
Damn pirates, shoot him already so we can run! He’s seeking death, but we don’t want to be his cushion!
Oddly, Zhao charged another twenty steps, and still no arrows came.
What the hell?! Why weren’t they shooting? The men were baffled.
Were they not in range yet? Did the pirates want their heads too, waiting for them to get closer before loosing arrows?
Looking up, the dim pre-dawn hid the walls’ details. The battlements were eerily silent, like a beast’s maw waiting for them to walk in. Their legs trembled.
“Charge! Keep up, or I’ll cut you down!” the pirate-guards snarled.
Fearing for their lives, the men dawdled, too scared to match Zhao’s pace.
Zhao slowed, panting. A scholar by trade, he rarely exercised. His heirloom armor, ornate but heavy—forty or fifty pounds—left him gasping after a few dozen steps.
Still, this was his moment to shine. Though slower, he gritted his teeth and pressed toward the gate.
One step, two, three…
Less than thirty meters from the gate, still no arrows came. The silence was terrifying.
Why no arrows?!
It was too strange. Zhao was nearly at the gate—why weren’t the pirates shooting?!
And under the guards’ threats, they’d entered bow range too.
Why no arrows?
It was just too bizarre.
