The firelight at the bottom of the ravine illuminated the rock walls on both sides, followed by several muffled loud bangs. The four wooden carts loaded with old rice were overturned high by the blast wave and blocked the narrow canyon road.
Flames leaped from the tails of the oxen pulling the cart, and the stench of burnt flesh mingled with gunpowder smoke.
The frightened bull charged wildly backward, its horns piercing the bellies of two Japanese soldiers, and its hooves, as big as bowls, trampled more than a dozen foot soldiers in the muddy ditch into a bloody pulp.
Pu Yunshan squatted on a large rock on the ridge, gripped the hilt of his knife with his right hand, and pulled it out, the gleaming saber flashing with a cold light.
He stuffed the ox horn whistle hanging from his chest into his mouth, puffed out his cheeks, and blew out two short and one long muffled sound.
As soon as the whistle blew, the three thousand cavalrymen who had been lying in ambush in the grassland split into two columns and lined up along the edge of the mountain ridge. The riders drew their bows to their fullest extent and a dense rain of arrows poured down the slope like water.
Screams echoed from the bottom of the ravine, but the Japanese army's sword-wielding squad escorting the grain carts did not retreat. More than sixty strong ronin tore off their cumbersome bamboo armor, revealing their muscular bodies. They gripped their four-foot-long katanas tightly and charged back up the slope, crouching low as the gravel rolled down.
"Let the horses go!"
Pu Yunshan spat out the ox-horn whistle from his mouth, flipped himself onto his warhorse, and squeezed his legs tightly around the horse's flanks as he charged down the slope.
The cavalry behind them pressed forward, but the hillside, soaked with blood and rain, was so slippery that they couldn't stand firmly on the mud. The two leading horses wobbled and slipped, and the two Great Yan cavalrymen tumbled down the muddy slope with their horses.
Several Japanese soldiers, their faces smeared with black mud, roared and pounced on the cavalrymen on horseback. They swung their nodachi (swords) and slashed at the horses' necks. Hot blood spurted high into the air. Two dazed cavalrymen were hacked to pieces in the mud before they could even get up.
Upon seeing his horse slip, Pu Yunshan used his left foot to step into the stirrup and leaped off the horse. His feet slid for about two zhang (approximately 6.6 meters) in the mud before he regained his footing.
He pulled another short sword from the side pocket of the saddle, gripped it with both hands, and charged forward. The ronin leader at the forefront raised his nodachi high and, using the momentum of his charge, brought it down on his head.
Two swords were placed against the back of the nodachi, and the heavy force caused Pu Yunshan's knees to sink down. Mud splashed onto his upper thighs, and the sharp tip of the sword slid down along the gap between the two swords, grazing his left cheek. The burning pain mixed with the strong smell of blood went straight into his nose.
"Die!"
Pu Yunshan's molars creaked as he pushed outward with a forceful wrist thrust. His personal guards on the flank reacted quickly, kneeling in the mud and firing a short crossbow bolt. The iron arrow whistled through the air and pierced the ronin leader's abdomen, the arrowhead protruding halfway from his lower back.
The ronin leader swayed slightly, and the grip on his nodachi loosened.
Using this momentum, Pu Yunshan spun forward and pressed against the other man's chin, severing his carotid artery with his right-hand saber, splattering hot blood all over his face.
The remaining dozens of Japanese soldiers transporting grain at the bottom of the ditch saw that the entire sword-wielding squad had been wiped out. They knew that losing the grain would also be a capital offense, so several sergeants, their eyes red with rage, reached into their pockets, pulled out their moisture-proof tinderboxes, blew on them, lit the short torches they carried with them, and turned around to rush onto the grain carts and sacks that were not yet on fire, intending to burn all the grain and be done with it.
"Keep them alive! Don't let them burn them!"
Pu Yunshan wiped the blood from his face and roared at those around him.
A dozen or so Great Yan sprang out of the bushes, their grappling hooks, still attached to iron chains, lashing out and catching the collarbones and calves of the Japanese soldiers. The scouts pulled them backward, dragging the torch-bearing soldiers into the muddy water, where the torches fell and splattered out.
Three thousand cavalry charged down the ravine and within half an hour had almost wiped out the remaining enemy troops.
"Take everything! Don't leave anything you can't take for the New Year!" Pu Yunshan sheathed his twin swords and waved to the supply troops behind him.
"Pour all the kerosene on it! Don't leave that bastard a single piece of old rice or salted fish for Inukami!"
Dozens of barrels of kerosene were smashed open and poured onto the baskets of salted fish that couldn't be taken away. A soldier threw in a torch, and flames shot up three zhang (approximately 10 meters) high. The aroma of burning kerosene mixed with the smell of burning grain filled the air, and thick, black smoke rose straight into the sky, visible from miles away.
Meanwhile, on the beach of Vanishing Shadow Island in Busan.
The tide was receding sharply; the water, which was originally knee-deep, had receded significantly, revealing a large expanse of dark, muddy beach.
The leather boots worn by the Great Yan private soldiers were so tight that they couldn't be pulled out once they stepped in, and every step required a great deal of effort. The reeds on both sides of the beach rustled loudly, and several hundred Japanese infantrymen on each flank, carrying bamboo spears, were stepping on wooden planks to surround the center.
Mei Boqian stood in the mud pit, his left arm armor pierced by a stray arrow.
The iron arrowhead pierced his flesh, but he didn't even blink. He grabbed the shaft with his right hand and snapped it in two. He tore a strip of blood-soaked cloth from his clothes, bit one end with his teeth, and wrapped the cloth around the hilt of his knife and his palm with his other hand, tightening it until his skin turned purple, so that he wouldn't lose his grip on the knife later.
"Your Highness! Retreat!"
An old subordinate of the Marquis of Luoyang's Residence, his face covered in blood, reached out and desperately pulled Mei Boqian towards the sea by his belt, his voice hoarse from screaming.
"The tide has gone out, and our ships, fearing they'd run aground, have already retreated to the open sea. They can't get here now! We need to retreat quickly to the reef area to the south and hide. If we stay on this mudflat any longer, all the brothers will perish here!"
Mei Boqian glanced back at his old subordinate, raised his right foot, and kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling into the mud, unable to get up for a long time.
"Refund my ass!"
Mei Boqian spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, raised his right hand, which was wrapped in bandages, and pointed it at the approaching array of Japanese spearmen, his eyes wide with shock.
"Cut one here and you'll break even; cut two and I'll make a profit on one!"
After shouting this, he pulled his leg out of the mud and stumbled towards an opening on the side of the Japanese army's spear formation.
Upon seeing that this man was a leader, the Japanese officer opposite him let out a strange cry, brandished a bamboo spear that was over ten feet long, and thrust the spearhead at Mei Boqian's throat.