Sun Family Ravine, six li south of Pingyang Prefecture.
Commander Li Huai was running for his life.
His armor was gone—discarded somewhere along the road. His helmet too. Sweat, dust, and fear plastered his hair to his skull as he fled through the ravine with what remained of his troops.
Not long ago, he had fought Wang Jiayin's forces.
Or rather—he had been crushed by them.
This time, it wasn't Wang Jiayin's main host, but a detachment of ten thousand, led by Zhang Xianzhong, one of the infamous Eight Great Kings of the South Camp. There were no elderly, no women, no children among them—only prime-age fighters, hardened and vicious.
All the dependents had been abandoned back in Hequ County during the rebels' breakout from the encirclement. Imperial Censor Wu Shen was now shepherding those thirty thousand refugees toward Gao Family Village.
Gao Family Village, for its part, was about to gain another generous batch of labor reform candidates.
With their burdens gone and supply lines discarded, the rebel army moved like a released beast. Where before they crawled nine li a day, now they marched twenty, thirty—sometimes more—pulling off so-called "military miracles" like hundred-li forced marches.
Against this, Li Huai had eight hundred men.
None elite.
The result had been decided before the battle began.
His formation collapsed almost instantly. Casualties mounted. Discipline shattered. In the end, Li Huai had only one thought left—
Run.
"Through Sun Family Ravine!" his aides shouted. "Another six li and we reach Pingyang! Run!"
Men shoved, stumbled, and screamed as they forced their way through the narrow gorge.
They had no idea that at the northern exit of the ravine, death was already waiting.
Wang Er.
Shi Jian.
Two hundred militia soldiers.
They had sealed the exit into a killing pocket.
Two hundred smoothbore arquebuses were leveled calmly at the ravine's mouth.
No shouting.
No movement.
Only patience.
The noise of pursuit grew louder—boots, shouting, ragged breathing. Then figures burst out of the ravine.
Li Huai staggered into the open first, hair wild, eyes bloodshot, dragging a few hundred broken men behind him. Some glanced back in terror. Others didn't dare look.
Several hundred meters behind them, Zhang Xianzhong charged like a madman, laughing as he ran.
"You cowardly officials! Stop running!" he roared. "Turn around and fight!"
"When I catch you and break Pingyang Prefecture, I'll slaughter every last one of you!"
He laughed as he threatened—loud, theatrical, obscene. Only a bandit king could turn murder into performance.
Li Huai burst out of the ravine and saw woods ahead.
Without thinking, he plunged in with his guards.
He had hoped for cover.
Instead, hands seized him from both sides.
He slammed to the ground.
It's over, he thought grimly. A rebel ambush.
Then a calm voice spoke beside his ear.
"Commander Li, don't be afraid. We're government troops."
Li Huai froze.
He looked up.
Uniforms—proper ones. Armor in regulation style. Faces disciplined, alert.
Not rebels.
"Which unit?" he asked hoarsely.
The young man replied, "Shi Jian. Centurion under Grand General Wang Cheng'en of Shaanxi."
Relief surged—then immediately turned to dread.
"A centurion?" Li Huai blurted. "So… a hundred men?"
Shi Jian smiled. "I'm assisting with troop transport. I have a bit more."
Li Huai grabbed his arm. "How many?"
"Two hundred."
Li Huai almost choked.
Two hundred?
What could two hundred men possibly do?
Shi Jian, however, spoke evenly. "Commander Li, stop your banner here. Gather what men you can. Then—watch."
Li Huai hesitated.
If I run back to Pingyang like this, I'll still be punished. If I can delay the enemy even briefly…
He clenched his teeth. "Fine."
He planted his banner.
Some soldiers kept fleeing. Others, seeing the standard, instinctively gathered around it.
And of course—
The rebels charged toward it.
From afar, Zhang Xianzhong saw the banner standing still above the trees.
He burst out laughing.
"Not running anymore, Li Huai?" he shouted. "Planning to make a final stand in a patch of woods?"
"Your grandpa's here to take your dog life!"
The rebels surged forward.
They weren't entirely stupid. Woods meant ambush. They expected blades, shouting men, sudden charges.
What they didn't expect—
Was silence.
Then a voice cut through it.
"Fire."
The first hundred arquebuses roared.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Dozens of rebels at the front dropped instantly.
Zhang Xianzhong froze—then laughed again.
"That's it?" he mocked. "A hundred guns?"
"Don't be afraid! Charge!"
Before the words finished—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The second hundred fired.
Another swathe of rebels collapsed.
The ravine mouth was narrow. Men piled up. Momentum stalled.
Confusion rippled through the rear ranks.
And in that heartbeat of hesitation—
The first line finished reloading.
Less than thirty seconds.
They raised their guns again.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The ambush tightened its jaws.
Trivia :
Why Smoothbore Guns Still Dominate Choke-Point Battles
At first glance, smoothbore firearms look clumsy—slow to reload, inaccurate at long range, and technologically inferior to later rifled weapons.
So why do they absolutely terrorize enemies in places like ravines, gates, bridges, and narrow streets?
Short answer: geometry beats technology.
1. Choke Points Cancel Accuracy
In open fields, accuracy matters.
In a ravine? Targets line up for you.
When enemies are forced through:
narrow exits
gates
bridges
mountain passes
they cannot spread out. Even wildly inaccurate shots still hit something. Miss the man you aimed at, and the bullet finds his friend.
In historical terms: you don't shoot to aim—you shoot to fill space.
2. Volume of Fire > Precision
Smoothbores excel at one thing: putting a lot of lead downrange, fast.
No need to carefully aim
Fire, reload, fire again
Multiple ranks cycling shots
Against tightly packed troops, this creates continuous shock. Not just physical damage—but psychological collapse.
Historically, soldiers feared the sound of smoothbores almost as much as the bullets.
3. Choke Points Turn Casualties into Obstacles
In open terrain, fallen men are bypassed.
In a ravine?
They pile up.
Bodies block movement.
Wounded scream and panic spreads.
The rear ranks don't know what's happening.
Suddenly, the enemy isn't charging forward anymore—they're trapped behind their own dead.
This effect was famously exploited:
in mountain warfare
city gate defenses
river crossings
fortress approaches
4. Reload Time Becomes Irrelevant
Smoothbores are "slow" only when the enemy can keep advancing freely.
In choke points:
the enemy must slow down
even a brief pause is fatal
staggered volleys maintain constant pressure
That's why alternating fire (as used here) was historically devastating.
Two hundred smoothbores ≈ continuous death funnel.
5. Fear Multiplies Losses
Smoothbore wounds were horrific:
large-caliber balls
shattered bones
massive bleeding
In tight terrain, seeing comrades torn apart at arm's length breaks morale instantly.
Many historical routs happened before half the men were even hit.
Men run not because they're dead—but because they don't want to be next.
Fun Historical Examples
Swiss pike passes vs musket troops
Ottoman chokepoint defenses
Ming & Qing fortress ravines
European gate battles before rifled muskets
In every case:
A narrow space + crude guns = industrialized slaughter.