In the narrow living room of the castle, the oil lamp is always on, and the room is filled with smoke and smoke.
Ngawang Daiben wrinkled his nose and carefully drew thangkas on the Tibetan paper spread on the kang table.
It was a drawing of anatomy of the human body, with bones and organs drawn. Ngawang Daiben used a Tibetan pen dipped in white clay paint to draw different surgical instruments, marking where the injuries should be and how to treat them.
It’s very cold at night in the mountains, so even though the castle looks very majestic from the outside, the largest living room inside is only two steps square, with only enough room for a small bed and two Buddhist niches.
Awang is his name, and Daiben is his official position.
As the highest officer sent by King Baili to garrison Nangqian, Awang is more like a monk than a general.
A long time ago, Ngawang was indeed a monk, and at that time his tongue was still in his mouth.
He was born in the Jiama Chikang Manor in Lhasa, which was once the birthplace of Songtsen Gampo. Ngawang's father was an official knight whose life was worth eighty taels of gold.
Ngawang is the smartest son in the family. When he was twelve years old, the Mongols entered Tibet. His father was called by the lord to fight bravely and was seriously injured. When he was dying, he donated the family property to Ganden Monastery and chose him from among seven sons.
Go to the temple to study.
Ngawang's background is considered to be above average, but in Ganden Monastery, such a background is not worth mentioning.
He was supposed to have a bright future. He might be able to become an iron monk with his martial arts and wisdom, or he might be able to travel around the world preaching with his medical skills and become a well-known monastery abbot.
It's a pity that Awang liked to quarrel with others at that time. In the debate with Zongben's son, he won the argument but lost his own tongue.
After that, he left Ganden Monastery.
In the following years, Uizang was in dire straits, and Monk Ngawang was like catkins floating in the wind. Sometimes he could get paid for treating people, but more often he could only use his cassock in exchange for donations from the people.
He tried to join the local nobles, hoping to exchange his knowledge for a middle-class job, but no nobles were willing to wait for a mute who had not obtained a Geshe degree to write - they would not recognize him even if he could write!
The world is so strange. Some people can speak but would rather not, and some people want to speak but cannot.
In order to make a living, Monk Ngawang decided to go into danger.
Wherever there was war, wherever he went to perform surgeries, he was still not appreciated by the nobles. Instead, he was shot out of one eye by the Mongols, and lost his left ear in a scuffle with bandits.
But it doesn't matter.
Except for his long-lost tongue, God gave him matching parts for most of his body.
I lost one, but there is another one.
Until four years ago, he wandered into Kham and met the first nobleman who appreciated him.
The nobleman's name was Dunyue Dorje, and he was willing to spend precious time waiting for him to write so that he could understand it, and he didn't mind that he was a fake monk who had not received a Geshe degree.
Very few monks are willing to go to the battlefield, and Monk Ngawang is one of them. He is more familiar with the battlefield than the temple, and has followed King Baili's army all over the world.
At first people called him Monk Ngawang, then they called him Doctor Ngawang, and then he became an officer.
Last autumn, he personally led the army to capture the fortress of King Nangqian, and now it is his turn to defend the fortress.
There was a gentle knock on the wooden door of the living room, and his white horse Ruben stepped forward to report: "Sir, all one hundred and twenty prisoners in the dungeon have been executed."
Awang nodded to indicate that he understood. Officer Ruben looked a little worried and said: "There are more troops under the city. At noon today, there were two loud noises from the bottom of the mountain."
Ngawang thought for a while, took out a pen and paper and wrote: "The Mongols' attack is like the wind of doomsday, blowing fiercely; but it burns like a cowardly magician setting fire. It won't take long for them to flee back to their homeland, with peace of mind."
."
The prisoners in the dungeon who wasted food have been executed. They have enough food to survive the warm season.
After ten months, the earth will freeze again, and the Mongols will run back to Qinghai. If they don't run, they will be beaten away by King Baili's army.
Although this fortress only has 600 defenders, it still has an absolute advantage over the tens of thousands of Mongolian troops below due to its mountainous terrain.
Awang's ease is not that he is sure of victory, but that he is confident after being fully prepared.
The foundation of the stone wall is difficult to destroy, the fluffy structure of the upper border wall can withstand arrows, and the narrow mountain road can ensure the defender's military advantage.
Just like the way he captured the fortress, it didn't matter what the enemy was in this strong fortress.
The defender's biggest enemy is himself.
So in the past half month, he ordered the army to melt ice and store water, inventory food, reduce the population, and arrange defenses. He even promised the soldiers in the army that when they returned to Malkang, he would treat their sick family members.<
/p>
After Awang finished writing that sentence, he saw that the general was still very uneasy, and he continued to write with a smile: "The three branches of the order are: if any soldiers are killed while guarding the city, I will look for the Sky Burial Master; if a hero is killed in battle, I will
Hold cremations for them."
Baima Zhiruben watched him write slowly with worry, his eyes widening little by little, and he stammered and couldn't form a sentence: "Fire, me, can I also be cremated?"
Awang nodded slowly, very satisfied with the general's reaction.
Generally speaking, the most well-known habits that can be passed down are the privileges that only a few people can enjoy in the past.
Farmers in the Central Plains cannot afford to wear silk and satin, young girls cannot afford to carry silverware, Mongolian herdsmen are reluctant to eat meat, hunters from the late Jin Dynasty cannot afford to wear mink fur, and Tibetan people are not qualified to be buried in the sky.
Only nobles and monks have power in sky burial, while cremation is more noble. Only great lords and eminent monks can burn the relics.
This is Awang's secret to winning people's hearts.
As early as when Ngawang Daiben was still a wandering Ngawang monk, he held funerals for serf soldiers who died in the war, and was almost supported as a regional leader... It was a pity that he could not speak, and the dozens of serf soldiers who were still alive were very difficult.
They were quickly taken away by their master.
The general ran out excitedly to convey the order. Not long after, Awang heard the soldiers cheering one after another in the castle.
He raised the corners of his mouth with satisfaction and continued to paint quietly.
Until the afternoon, the shin horns in the castle were blown one after another, and the three-story corridors were creaked by the urgently mobilized soldiers.
The accompanying horse soldiers knocked on the wooden door of the living room: "Dai Ben, the enemy is about to attack!"
Awang's hidden pen fell on the kang table, and he was full of doubts about the news.
It was almost evening at this time, and it would get dark later in the warm season here, but there were only two hours left before nightfall. The Mongols launched an attack at this time. If it was dark and they could not capture the fortress, they would be in an unfamiliar mountain alone.
If you go up, you can make the siege army collapse.
Not long after, Nga Wang, wearing an iron helmet with a peacock feather on his head and a chainmail armor with front and rear breast guards gleaming in the moonlight, climbed to the top of the fortress to look out.
The troops at the foot of the mountain were like a group of ants migrating to their nests, densely packed, advancing along the stone steps in the mountain towards the platform.
In the open space inside the castle, various units of the Bailey Army were gathering under the leadership of officers. Two Ruben officers with helmets decorated in different colors led the soldiers to climb the high outer wall.
Slingers, archers and thirty-two peasants and soldiers wearing tiger or lynx skins guarded the high wall, breathing out bursts of white breath, and the city was filled with a chill.
Those peasants and soldiers were the most elite force, wearing tiger skins. Each of them had won the title of Tiger Hero in battle. They were equipped with the best chain armor and four-dimensional armor, and held strong bows or matchlock guns from Tibet and the Central Plains.
, majestic.
Awang stared at the army struggling to climb down the mountain. As it climbed higher, he could already see the outline of the enemy gradually climbing up the mountain.
Awang frowned, those people...those people didn't seem to be the Mongolian army.
They were carrying square logs, which seemed to be shields to cover arrows, and they were wearing armor and carrying bowls on their heads, with tall spears stuck in the bowls.
It seems that except for the one carrying the shield, everyone behind is carrying a piece of wood on their shoulders.
In addition, there are bird guns, bird guns in Han Dynasty and large guns similar to those in the west, but they seem larger and longer.
The leading officer was carrying a flag. The flag had been blown up by the harsh mountain wind. The words on it could not be seen clearly. All I knew was that it was a red flag.
They are not Mongols.
The deputy general pointed at the mountain-climbing troops and said, "Daiben, they took wood and wanted to set fire to us?"
Awang shook his head and raised his hand to point to the hay beside him, his meaning was very obvious.
It is true that the upper half of the mountain fort is a border wall, but the fire cannot be set that big, not to mention that there is only firewood and no hay. It is not easy to set a fire on this bare earth mountain.
The lieutenant general looked at the hay, understood in an instant, and said categorically: "Dai Ben is right, I am too stupid."
Awang looked sideways at this, raised his right hand and rubbed it along the left cheek to his chin: I, what did I say?
This lieutenant general is probably what the scriptures say, laughing but not speaking is wonderful.
Have the root of wisdom.
Ngawang was very worried about those muskets and armors. From Weizang to Kham, he had never seen such a well-equipped army.
Soon, the leading troops occupied the platform, and the sound of shin horns on the high wall could be heard one after another. Military orders were passed down one after another. The archers were ready. With their height advantage, the enemies on the high platform were already very close to their shooting range.
But those troops did not continue to climb. Instead, they set up shields on the platform, and the people behind put down the wood and rested.
With a snap, the lieutenant beside Awang clapped his hands and said worriedly: "What Dai Ben said is indeed right. If they want to build a mandala out of wood, they must have brought a powerful magician to set it on fire!"
"The king didn't send a spell master here, Dai Ben, can you stop it?"
Ngawang Daiben opened his mouth, and the remaining tongue moved twice in his mouth, and finally he just sighed.
Over the years, Awang has been wandering around, going from one battlefield to another. He has seen many magicians and monks setting up mandalas, asking gods to cure diseases, subduing demons and slaying demons, calling wind and rain, or raining hail.<
/p>
Some people's magic weapons malfunction and their magic power is exhausted, and their success is on the verge of failure; some people can successfully cast spells.
Awang didn't understand the reason. Maybe he was using astronomy and geography for his own purposes, or maybe it was a blind cat that hit a dead mouse.
But he has never seen a spell master push the army in front of his eyes and then cast a spell.
What's more, the big red flag had been unfurled, and Ngawang didn't recognize the character. Based on his intuition, it should be a Chinese character. He had seen Geshe monks flipping through books like that in Ganden Monastery.
The Han people are coming.
The person holding the flag is Wang Wenxiu, the general of Liu Bu's battalion.
The defenders squatted in the fortress to set up defenses and did not block the attack on the platform, which made Wang Wenxiu feel more relaxed.
The infantrymen were panting from exhaustion. They put down their shields and carried light muskets to form a defensive line. They put down the wooden blocks they carried and rested briefly, waiting for reinforcements from behind.
It is said to be a platform in the mountains, but it is actually just a not-so-steep slope, measuring four feet square. It is still more than ten feet high from the castle. It is more than a hundred steps away, so it is not possible to gather too many troops.
Especially under the condition that the wooden blocks kept being sent upwards, except for the twenty soldiers holding light muskets, the others dispersed among the mountains without stone steps, looking for a relatively flat place to rest where the arrows could be shielded.<
/p>
Finally, the centurions at the front dispersed around, and Cao Yao, the artillery battalion commander of the second echelon, came up.
"You can't even place weapons in such a broken place, you're a fucking coward."
Cao Yao climbed up and was full of complaints. He threw down the iron pipe on his shoulder, took a few breaths, and then turned around and shouted: "Children, put up the generalissimo's gun and put together the six-piece cannon!"
"Yes!"
The Lion Army artillerymen, who were resting with their legs propped up, took the order in unison, and squatted on the ground to look for needed items from the three-foot-long iron pipes and the wooden blocks piled up into a hill.
The weapon Liu Chengzong prepared for this attack was the Liuhe cannon from the early Ming Dynasty, which was a wooden cannon.
The thin iron tube with the back cover is used as the core, the log is hollowed out and split into six pieces to make the shell, and two iron bars are used to make the circle, supplemented by cowhide straps and ropes to tie it up.
The charge is two and a half, the bullet weight is three and a half, and the range is far inferior to his big gun.
But the advantage is...the wood is thick and the barrels are many.
There are so many that they can be used as disposable muskets.
Cao Yao covered his brows with sunlight, looked up towards the mountain fortress, looked at the crowded fortress wall high up, and pursed his dry lips excitedly.
The five-barreled gun put away its tripod and set it up on a rectangular wooden shield. Cao Yao pointed to the heights and asked: "The rocks below this fort are covered with branches and mud walls. I will identify those people later and shoot them through the walls."
."
"General, the eighteen six-piece cannons have been loaded."
Cao Yao turned around and saw that the first batch of eighteen wooden cannons had been arranged in three rows in the open space behind him. He lowered his head and saw that the soldiers carrying the wood were still climbing up from the foot of the mountain.
Even the craftsmen in the siege camp continued to make iron tubes and split wooden tube shells.
"The commander-in-chief's words are that the Lions are here to show off their power."
As Cao Yao spoke, he used a fire sickle to light up the artillery fire hook. There was a lack of oxygen in this place, and the Lion Army's fire hook went out as soon as he took it.
He turned around and looked at the crowd: "Six gunners came forward and fired towards crowded places. Shoot low but not high until the city can no longer stand."
The six artillerymen carried wooden cannons less than four feet long and walked out of the shield wall as instructed. They staggered forward and backward along the stone steps, adjusted the angle of the wooden cannons, and stood up through the cracks.
The six artillerymen behind were ready with their loaded wooden cannons.
The musketeer who was in charge of the five-barreled rifle also raised the hammer, put the rifle on the shield, and lay down on the ground to take aim. When the aim was ready, there was an auxiliary soldier who held down the barrel on a felt pad to prevent a big blow.
The gun fell off the hand and rolled down the cliff.
As soon as the six wooden cannons were placed on the stone steps, a commotion broke out among the defenders on the city. A burst of arrows were thrown from a distance. Due to the different bow power, they were near and far, and they scattered in a piece on the mountain.
Cao Yao didn't even blink. The habit of using cannons for many years made him tilt his head to one side, raise his right arm and raise the flag.
Boom!
A big gun first made a muffled sound that was different from that of a gun, followed by three more. After the hammer was moved again, the last gun was also fired.
The smoke of gunpowder spread across the narrow mountain platform, and five lead rods weighing 20,000 and 20,000 yuan punched holes in the upper part of the city wall. After that, the soldiers were maimed and died if they touched each other.
Immediately afterwards, the six wooden cannons between the stone steps were also fired by the artillery one after another. Iron bullets or stone bullets in twos and threes were fired by the gunpowder and hit the stone wall or the border wall.
Before the smoke from the muzzle of the Liuhe artillery had dissipated, the artillerymen put it on the platform. The new round of artillerymen climbed up the stone steps again, took the fuse hook and prepared to launch a new round of bombardment.
The city wall that has stood for 400 years to defend the traditional siege method seems to be nothing. The wounded soldier Baili rolling around holding his wounds let the wailing sound resound over the fortress.