Chapter Thirteen: Abyssal Legacy

The Sui army's deployment along the Yalu River was intended to cut off the grain supply route to Liaodong, severing the defenders’ resolve to hold out. Yet Yang Guang had underestimated the tenacity of the Goguryeo people. The Sui forces launched a fierce assault for an entire day, suffering heavy casualties. Each time they assembled cloud ladders and nearly scaled the city walls, the Goguryeo defenders, braving a hail of arrows, would topple the ladders with long poles. The Sui soldiers below would scatter to avoid the falling ladders, causing the assault to stall. Any Sui troops who managed to clamber onto the ramparts were quickly wiped out by the defenders.

At this moment, Yeon Taijo sat anxiously in Liaodong City, awaiting his servants’ reports. He was meant to be in Pyongyang, commanding the defense of his nation and leading the armies, but his son, Yeon Gaesomun, had persuaded him to visit the frontline at Liaodong to encourage the soldiers to fight to the death. Just days earlier, he had handed over his duties to his son and arrived at Liaodong with his guards, only for the Sui army to lay siege as soon as he arrived. By the time he was ready to withdraw, it was already too late; the city was encircled thrice over by the Sui’s three hundred thousand men.

He had sent a message to Pyongyang with a carrier pigeon before dawn, asking for reinforcements, and thus should not have been so anxious today. Just as he was about to send another plea, he heard hurried footsteps outside. The servant he had dispatched earlier returned, knelt before him, and announced, “Great Daeduro, a letter from Pyongyang.” With that, he handed over the envelope.

Yeon Taijo opened it; it was in Gaesomun’s handwriting: “Father, be at ease. I am leading over a hundred thousand troops, marching day and night to Liaodong. Please hold the city at all costs.”

With renewed confidence, Yeon Taijo put away the letter and ordered his attendants to help him into his armor, preparing to inspect the ramparts. By this time, the Sui forces, exhausted from their morning assault, had withdrawn to their camp, preparing to eat before resuming their attack. Yeon Taijo had his men prepare food in large quantities and personally took it to the walls to share with the weary Goguryeo soldiers. To his shock, nearly all were wounded, their bodies wrapped in bandages. If they were in such a state after a morning’s defense, what hope would there be if the Sui seized the walls?

Noticing the vacant, hopeless gazes of the defenders, Yeon Taijo’s heart tightened. If the Sui mounted another ferocious assault that afternoon, the city might fall. He distributed food to the soldiers and, clearing his throat, addressed them: “Warriors, since our ancestors seized Liaodong from the Han, the Chinese have never taken it from us! Time and again the emperors of the Central Plains have waged war on our land, only to be defeated at these very walls. This time will be no different! I, Yeon Taijo, stand with you under the King’s orders, to hold Liaodong at all costs. My son, Gaesomun, is leading two hundred thousand troops here as we speak. Hold this city, and I will personally petition the King to reward you all!”

As the faint spark of hope rose in their eyes, Yeon Taijo himself helped treat the wounded and joined the soldiers in repairing the battered ramparts. Just as morale began to recover, the sound of drums thundered from below; the Sui were once again forming up for an assault.

The Sui troops reassembled, but did not attack at once. They rolled out more than a dozen great siege towers, which Yeon Taijo recognized. These “flying towers” were built of hardwood planks, fashioned into house-like structures, and covered in cowhide for protection, rendering them all but impervious to arrows.

Yeon Taijo suddenly recalled that, years ago, after defeating Emperor Wen of Sui’s eastward campaign, they had captured over a dozen great siege crossbows. Five had been restored and were now in Liaodong. Fortunately, the city’s walls, built during the height of the Central Plains’ power, were tall and broad enough to allow two carriages to pass side by side. Hastily, he ordered soldiers to fetch the great crossbows from the arsenal and mount them on the ramparts.

Below, the Sui troops finished their preparations, and the flying towers were rolled into position. Sui soldiers began to ascend them in formation.

Yeon Taijo’s anxiety mounted—the towers were taller than the city walls by several feet. If brought close, the Sui would not even need to bridge the gap; they could simply shoot down at the defenders from above, rendering resistance futile. As the Sui finished mounting the towers, they arranged them at intervals of a hundred paces, forming a line with the soldiers carrying cloud ladders, all moving forward to the beat of war drums.

From the walls, the defenders could not reach the soldiers behind the flying towers, and those exposed carried cowhide shields, protecting those bearing the ladders. Yet Yeon Taijo, undaunted, ordered his men to fire. To inspire his troops, he had already moved his command post to the gatehouse atop the wall, sharing every danger with his men. He had spent his personal fortune buying up every medicinal herb in the city’s pharmacies for the wounded, writing promissory notes if his funds ran short, and commandeered grain from the merchants, ensuring food for the populace and garrison so that no one would hoard supplies and disrupt morale.

The Sui advanced steadily, arrows raining down from the walls. Though shielded, there were gaps; many Sui soldiers fell to the arrows that found their way through. The cries of the wounded did not halt the relentless advance; war, after all, is bound by its own iron laws, heedless of individual suffering. The archers atop the walls, with pitiless efficiency, rained arrow after arrow, ending the pain of fallen enemies. Some Sui soldiers began to panic, their formation wavering, but the centurions moved among them, steadying the ranks and restoring order.

Yeon Taijo’s hands gripped the parapet until his knuckles whitened. He watched helplessly as the flying towers inched closer, arrows bouncing harmlessly from their hides, unable to stop the soldiers within. At last, the soldiers tasked with retrieving the great crossbows arrived, pushing them onto the wall. The ramparts had not been designed to accommodate such weapons, so they had to be fired through the crenellations. Yeon Taijo quickly ordered the crossbows set in place, aiming at the advancing towers.

Personally winding the winch, he drew the bowstring to its limit. A soldier brought up a massive iron bolt, placed it in the groove, and Yeon Taijo carefully took aim at one of the flying towers before releasing the trigger.

With a thunderous snap, the bowstring unleashed its force, sending the iron bolt hurtling through the air and straight into the tower. Though the towers could withstand arrows, they could not resist a siege bolt capable of piercing thick gates or even rammed earth walls. The bolt tore through, spraying blood and body parts from the shattered structure. The men pushing the tower staggered as it shuddered; looking up, they found themselves drenched in the blood of their comrades.

The remaining four great crossbows fired in rapid succession, destroying four more towers and causing untold casualties. Yu Wen Shu, observing from the rear, was shaken and himself took up the mallet, beating the drum to rally his troops. Led by their centurions, the Sui soldiers broke into an ancient martial song: “How can we say we have no clothes? We shall don our armor together—kill, kill, kill!”

Despite the loss of the towers, the Sui’s advance could not be halted. One of the defending crossbows, hastily wound and poorly maintained, broke apart, its splinters wounding nearby soldiers. Yeon Taijo, undeterred, destroyed another tower before returning to the gatehouse under guard. There was no time to reload—the Sui had reached the base of the walls under a storm of arrows and began to raise their ladders. Though most of the towers had been destroyed, three still reached the walls, their archers suppressing the defenders, who began to suffer heavy casualties.

The ladders were hoisted into place. Sui soldiers, shields in one hand and ladders in the other, climbed steadily upward. The defenders, unable to use poles to topple the ladders under such heavy fire, resorted to rolling logs and hurling stones, knocking many Sui from the ladders, though more pressed up behind them.

The archers atop the towers spent their arrows, then drew short swords, opened the upper doors, and hooked the flying bridges onto the parapets. Sui soldiers poured out onto the walls. Now free from suppressing fire, the defenders’ archers took aim at the Sui pouring from the towers, loosing volley after volley. Sui soldiers fell from the bridges, tumbling to uncertain fates below.

After incurring enormous casualties, the Sui finally gained a foothold atop the walls, engaging the Goguryeo defenders in a desperate struggle. Seeing their comrades atop the walls, more Sui soldiers rushed up the towers to join the fray. The defenders knew this was the decisive moment—if they could not drive the Sui back, the city would surely fall. Archers, disregarding the risk from below, leaned out over the walls to shoot at the Sui scaling the ladders.

The cloud ladders were merely extended ladders with no real protection save for the cowhide shields carried by the climbing soldiers, which only guarded their heads from missiles above, leaving them exposed to arrow fire from the sides. Many were shot down in quick succession.

In wars fought with cold steel, victory depends on which side’s soldiers can better withstand the psychological toll of casualties—what is known as morale. This explains why so many frontier soldiers throughout history were convicts. Few armies have ever fought to the last man; most break and flee once losses reach a certain threshold. Thus, the officers’ main task is to inspire and maintain morale, raising the threshold of casualties their men will endure.

In this assault, the Sui lost nearly half their attacking force before gaining a tenuous foothold at two points on the wall, where they were immediately beset by the defenders. Reinforcements could not reach them, cut off by the defenders’ archers. The Sui numbers atop the wall dwindled until the defenders reclaimed the parapets, slaughtering all Sui left there. The soldiers below, seeing the Sui banner thrown from the walls, knew the attack had failed. At last, the gongs in the Sui camp sounded the retreat. The troops reformed, carrying their wounded back to camp.

As the Sui withdrew, the defenders loosed another torrent of arrows, felling hundreds more. Thus ended the day’s assault, repulsed at a terrible cost. That night, Yeon Taijo personally oversaw repairs to the walls, ordered the heads of fallen Sui soldiers to be displayed as a warning, and had the headless corpses thrown down from the ramparts.

At dawn, the chief clerk presented his report: over ten thousand soldiers remained, countless wounded. More than two thousand men had fallen that day alone. The city still housed over seven thousand families, with a population exceeding forty thousand. Food supplies would last about a month, longer if the garrison was further depleted. Half the stock of logs and stones had been expended; another fierce assault might exhaust the remainder. Only three siege crossbows remained, one having been destroyed during the fighting. Though the attackers were cut down, the loss could not be made good, and only a dozen giant bolts remained.

After hearing the report, Yeon Taijo ordered, “Guard the grain stores closely—sabotage or arson would be disastrous. As for logs and stones, do not worry about running out. Post a notice at dawn: to prevent the Sui from breaching the walls, each household will consolidate into one dwelling—the rest are to be dismantled for repairs and fortification. And make sure everyone knows: if the city falls, the Sui will massacre every man and enslave the women as camp followers. The more brutal the Sui are made out to be, the more stubbornly our people will resist. In the end, only by uniting as soldiers and citizens can we hold out until reinforcements arrive.”

The chief clerk acknowledged the order and left to coordinate with the other officials. That night passed in silence, save for the sentries on watch against a night attack. At dawn, the order took effect—every household was in turmoil, the city abuzz. To defend Liaodong, every family sent a strong man to aid the defenders. Once more, Liaodong became a fortress of iron.