Chapter 40: Zhong Shidao

On the other side, in Zhendin, the army led by Zhong Shidao was in a much better position. As the saying goes, a famous name casts a long shadow; Zhong Shidao, a renowned general of the Northern Song for many years, was held in high esteem by the common people. So, when he arrived at Zhendin, five separate volunteer militias came to join him. With this, his forces were instantly bolstered by twenty thousand men, swelling the Song army's numbers to seventy thousand. The numerical disadvantage against the Jin forces was no longer as pronounced.

Three days after Zhong Shidao’s arrival in Zhendin, the Jin army arrived at the city’s gates. The deputy general under Wanyan Chang rode forth and challenged the Song army to come out and fight. Zhong Shidao, a seasoned veteran, did not even bother to ascend the city tower; he simply allowed the Jin army to shout and provoke as they pleased outside.

The Jin general bellowed for over an hour, hurling every insult imaginable—calling the Song soldiers cowards, likening them to women, cursing their ancestors—yet not a single person on the city wall deigned to respond. Finally, exhausted from his tirade, the Jin general returned in a huff to Wanyan Chang’s side.

“General, the Song army must be terrified of our iron cavalry. They’re cowering like turtles in their shell. I even insulted their ancestors all the way back, but they didn’t react at all,” the deputy reported, looking disgruntled.

This was Wanyan Chang’s first time facing Zhong Shidao. As a famous Jin general, he didn’t believe the celebrated Song commander could be truly afraid, but Zhong Shidao’s response left him puzzled.

“We must not underestimate him. Zhong Shidao is an old fox—cunning and sly. He’s lying low for a reason,” Wanyan Chang muttered, rubbing his chin as he studied the map of Zhendin, feeling as though he was overlooking something crucial.

“General, whatever schemes he has, I say we press our advantage. Once we capture him alive, we can force him to speak,” the deputy suggested.

Yet Wanyan Chang felt an uneasy void inside. As a battle-hardened commander, he had an instinctive sense for danger.

“Very well, let’s do as you suggest. Yelü Yuanyi, I order you to lead thirty thousand men and attack Zhendin from the north,” he commanded his lieutenant. It was clear that this assault was a probing one; Wanyan Chang did not intend to act as recklessly as Wanyan Zongbi.

Yelü Yuanyi accepted the command and departed.

With the urgent beat of war drums, thirty thousand Jin troops surged forward. There is an old saying: “If the Jurchen do not exceed ten thousand, they are nothing to fear; but if they do, they are unstoppable.” Such was the might of the Jin army—thirty thousand men, charging like a pack of tigers down the mountainside, stormed toward Zhendin.

News of the Jin assault quickly reached Zhong Shidao. Surrounded by his officers, his face betrayed not the slightest hint of panic. Upon hearing the report, he calmly and methodically ordered his generals to prepare for battle.

From a distance, the Jin troops looked like swarming ants, sprinting at full speed and rapidly entering the Song archers’ range.

“Loose arrows!” At Zhong Shidao’s command, a dense rain of arrows descended from the sky.

The Jin army was no stranger to these tactics and had prepared well. In unison, they raised their rattan shields, and the arrows struck with a crisp crackling sound. Not every soldier could escape unscathed, but the rattan shields intercepted the vast majority of arrows.

Thus, under cover of their shields, the Jin soldiers advanced slowly toward the city. Their pace was sluggish, but casualties were minimized, and they steadily closed the distance.

As the Jin soldiers reached the base of the wall, Zhong Shidao ordered his men to release the rolling stones. The archers withdrew, and the infantry stationed atop the walls hurled down the stones they had prepared long in advance.

The rattan shields could deflect arrows, but not the massive stones crashing from above. Soon, many Jin soldiers were struck down. Still, in the chaos, the Jin’s scaling ladders were brought up to the walls.

“Pour the boiling oil!” Zhong Shidao commanded once more.

Boiling oil was heated to scalding temperatures and poured over the city walls onto the attackers below. Its effect was far more devastating than rolling stones.

“My face! Ah!”
“Hot! It burns!”

Agonized screams echoed without end.

But the boiling oil was not the end—it was only the prelude to greater horror. Zhong Shidao gave the order to fire flaming arrows.

He truly deserved his reputation as a veteran commander; he was never rash, always advancing carefully and methodically. His tactics could be used as a textbook example of defensive warfare.

The flaming arrows ignited the oil, and in moments, the foot of the city wall became a sea of fire. Jin soldiers drenched in oil fled in terror, trying to escape the inferno, but the blazing oil clung to them, and they were soon engulfed in flames.

Yelü Yuanyi could not bear the sight and ordered his men to put the flaming soldiers out of their misery.

The battle raged from noon until well into the night, when Wanyan Chang finally sounded the retreat. Though it was only a probing assault, the Jin suffered more than two thousand casualties—a heavy price. In contrast, the Song defenders, protected by their walls, came off far better, with relatively few wounded or dead.

The next day, Yelü Yuanyi returned to the field to hurl insults. This time, he brought a group of soldiers, and together they shouted every vile slur imaginable at Zhong Shidao in an effort to provoke him. Yet Zhong Shidao remained impervious, feigning deafness.

But while Zhong Shidao could ignore the taunts, his subordinate generals were not so patient. Wang Yan, leader of the Eight-Character Volunteers who had recently joined the Song, sought out Zhong Shidao to request permission for a sortie. The words “Utter loyalty to the nation, sworn to slay the Jin foe” were tattooed on his face, giving his force its name.

“Marshal, allow me to lead a sortie beyond the walls. I’ll bring you the head of that Jin dog,” Wang Yan declared, bristling with anger.

Zhong Shidao, though well into his seventies, was still hale and hearty. He appreciated Wang Yan’s spirit and chose the moment to offer some advice. “Young man, don’t be so hot-blooded. Let them shout if they wish; it won’t cost us a thing. If anything, let them wear themselves out with rage.”

But Wang Yan, still young and impetuous, protested, “You’d have us just sit here and let the Jin call us cowards? I cannot swallow this humiliation.”

“Let their mouths say what they will—it’s not our concern,” Zhong Shidao replied unconcernedly.