Chapter 9: The Jingkang Crossbow Shows Its Might

The massive bed crossbow was hauled up onto the city wall by Song troops with the help of carts and horses. The soldiers gathered around stared at this contraption as if it were some kind of monster. It looked like a crossbow, but was several times larger.

“What strange device is this?” one of the gate guards asked curiously.

“This is the Jingkang Crossbow, a miraculous weapon invented by His Majesty himself to break the enemy. Make way so we can install it,” replied one of the soldiers who had brought the weapon, speaking to the defenders.

“This thing is so enormous—no man could ever draw it. Don’t tell me it’s just for show again,” a burly man remarked with a coarse laugh.

“Yang Zaixing, mind your tongue!” another soldier hurried to cover the burly man’s mouth.

“I’m only speaking the truth. If these odd contraptions could truly defeat the enemy, the Jin army wouldn’t have reached Kaifeng,” Yang Zaixing snorted, his words dripping with disdain for the bed crossbow.

“How dare you disparage His Majesty! Seize this insolent fellow at once!” The guards who had escorted the bed crossbow, all members of the Imperial Guard, rushed forward in outrage at Yang Zaixing’s bold words.

“Enough!” At this critical moment, Zong Ze intervened. Although the weapon had already been tested at the drill grounds, he knew only the heat of battle would prove its worth. Over the years, too many empty titles and projects had eroded the army’s trust in the court—a demonstration like this was the perfect chance to restore confidence.

“His Majesty, moved by the soldiers’ valor and sacrifice, has commissioned the Arsenal to develop this Jingkang Crossbow to help us defend Bianjing. As for its effectiveness, let us all witness it together,” Zong Ze announced, ordering a warhorse to be brought forward. The bow was too heavy for human strength alone; only a horse could draw it.

Ten arrows in a single volley!

Below the walls, the enemy forces were densely packed. There was no need to aim. At Zong Ze’s command, “Loose!” ten thick, bowl-sized arrows shot out.

A series of sickening thuds followed.

The arrows tore through the enemy like reapers of life—nothing, man or horse, survived their path. Each victim bore a gaping, bowl-sized wound. In an instant, over a hundred men fell.

Silence. The once tumultuous battlefield was suddenly still.

The carnage was overwhelming. Some unfortunate Jin soldiers had their heads pierced clean through, collapsing into headless corpses as blood spurted several meters into the air.

“Witchcraft! The Song troops are killing with sorcery!” someone shouted. The panic spread like wildfire; soldiers who had not witnessed the carnage with their own eyes fled in terror. The sight of heads exploding would leave a lasting scar on any soldier’s mind.

Gulping nervously, the Song officers atop the wall struggled to swallow. This was truly a terrifying weapon.

Zong Ze, a scholar by background, had resolved to break the enemy, but confronted with such brutality, his stomach churned. The thick scent of blood in the air was too much to bear. He gripped the parapet and vomited violently.

He was not alone—many of the new recruits, who had joined the army full of youthful passion, were also confronted for the first time with the true horror of war. Only in such a place could one truly feel how close death lay.

“Well done! Hahaha!” Yang Zaixing clapped and cheered. Seeing the others still stunned, he hurried over, nocked another volley, and—astonishingly—drew the bow himself without the horse, roaring as he did so. The bow bent to his raw strength, and he let fly.

Ten more arrows shot forth.

The Jin troops, now in full retreat, heard the arrows whistling toward them; but by the time they turned, all they saw was the rapidly approaching arrowhead.

Another swath of Jin soldiers fell.

Yang Zaixing, amazed by the weapon’s power, felt his spirits soar. Energized, he barked at the others, “What are you gawking at? Hurry up and reload! Let’s slaughter these bastards!”

His words snapped everyone to attention. They rushed forward to help. With Yang Zaixing’s prodigious strength, three volleys were fired in quick succession.

Looking out from the city wall, the ground was now littered with mangled bodies. The Jin forces had abandoned over a hundred corpses in their panic. The stench of blood hung in the air.

“Hahaha! That was the most satisfying battle I’ve ever fought against the Jin!” Yang Zaixing exulted, relishing the chaos. He was a born warrior, intoxicated by the scent of battle.

Zong Ze shook his head. Seeing the Jin troops had retreated, he wanted nothing more than to leave this place at once. He turned to Yang Zaixing, saying, “Hold the walls well. The Arsenal will redouble its efforts to produce more Jingkang Crossbows. Once they’re ready, we’ll send them immediately.”

Gone was Yang Zaixing’s earlier arrogance. He knelt and bowed in gratitude. “Thank you, my lord. Rest assured, with such a weapon, not a single Jin soldier will breach our walls.”

In the Jin camp, Wanyan Zongwang listened to the reports with a furrowed brow.

“When did the Song army acquire such a powerful weapon? I’ve never heard of it before,” he asked Wanyan Chang, who had just retreated.

Wanyan Chang, commander of the Northern Route, had experienced the terror firsthand. “At first, the Song troops didn’t seem to have such weapons. Our vanguard had nearly reached the top of the walls when, at the decisive moment, the Song unleashed this killer trump card. Hundreds of our leading men were cut down like wheat—the rest dared not advance.”

A sense of foreboding crept over Wanyan Zongwang. He turned to his deputy. “Any word of similar situations on the other three fronts?”

“A scout just reported—all is going smoothly for our three generals. If nothing changes, we should break through Bianjing’s gates before nightfall,” the deputy replied.

Relieved, Wanyan Zongwang quickly ordered, “Send word to the other generals—beware the Song’s new giant crossbow. If encountered, avoid it at all costs.”

The deputy saluted and departed. He had just reached the tent’s entrance when a scout burst in, breathless and urgent.