Seventy-three Miracles

As evening fell, a mass of dark clouds drifted in from the southern mountains, completely obscuring the last rays of the dying sun. The clouds crested the rugged hills, blanketing the entire southern sky of Licheng County. A gentle, persistent rain began to fall, its soft droplets nourishing the earth and bringing a refreshing coolness to the heart of spring.

At this moment, when all living things thirsted for the sweet dew, thunder rumbled beyond the high walls. But listen closely—it was not thunder at all, but the unending war drums of the imperial army advancing in attack.

Luan Yi tried to rise, but his body felt utterly drained, as if all strength had been hollowed out of him. Even standing was a challenge, let alone wielding his great hammer on the battlefield. Seated in his reclining chair, he glanced at the sentinels atop the city wall: each wore a look of bitter resignation, their hearts willing but their bodies exhausted.

From the very start, it seemed the battle’s outcome was inevitable. In a daze, Luan Yi felt as if he glimpsed a signpost pointing the way to heaven.

“Brothers!” he called, summoning what little strength remained to try to rise from his chair, only to collapse back again and again. He had no more strength, truly none. Luan Miao stepped forward, supporting him to his feet and leading him to the base of the wall, where they faced the assembled sentinels.

Suppressing the pain of his wounds, Luan Yi raised his voice as much as he could and cried out, “Let us pray together!”

Those chosen as defenders of the faith were devout followers of the Holy Mother. At his command, they instinctively closed their eyes, folding their hands across their chests.

“My Mother in Heaven! Please hear the cries of your most loyal servants… We have been besieged for two days by men driven by the devil. In these two days, you have granted us wisdom, strength, and spirit, allowing our 236 to resist foes ten times our number. We have seen, heard, and felt your might. Here, on behalf of my brothers and sisters, I offer thanks! Yet hardship and peril still confront us, the soldiers of evil still surround us. Our strength is failing; perhaps we can no longer rid the world of sin or spread your gospel! We do not fear death, for we understand that the death of the flesh is not true death, but the beginning of the soul’s eternity. We hope, when our bodies perish, you will forgive us and welcome us into your hall, to serve and honor you at your feet! But…”

Luan Yi’s words shifted, continuing his prayer: “Yet we are unwilling to die, for the countless people of the Han Empire do not know you, do not believe in you, do not understand your ways. They are lured by the devil, treading the path to damnation. O merciful and compassionate Holy Mother! I know you love all mankind and do not wish to see them fall into hell, but hope that more may witness your light and dwell in your kingdom. Therefore, if you believe your loyal servant Luan Yi still serves some small purpose in spreading your gospel and saving souls; if you believe your faithful servant Luan Yi still clings steadfastly to your teachings, then by your mighty hand work a miracle and save us from this peril. Should we be granted a sliver of hope, we pledge our lives to you, serving until the last drop of water is drunk, the last grain of rice is eaten, the last breath drawn. We will devote our lives to spreading your teachings, driving the devils back to hell, guiding souls to heaven and your kingdom! This is the prayer of Luan Yi, chief of the Holy Mother’s Church… Ah, Heaven’s Gate!”

“Ah, Heaven’s Gate!” the defenders echoed in unison.

After this lengthy prayer, a spark of light returned to the weary eyes of the sentinels. They gazed coldly into the distance at the surging, clamorous imperial troops, as if those hundreds were nothing more than dust and clay.

They firmly believed their leader was an angel sent down by the Holy Mother to save humanity, and his prayers would surely reach her ears. And she, in turn, would dispatch an army of angels to their rescue.

But their hope soon faded. Long they waited, but no heavenly soldiers appeared—only the imperial army drew ever closer. At a hundred paces, they could even see the rain-soaked droplets on the soldiers’ helmets, and the cold, deadly arrows.

A chill gripped their hearts. Had the Holy Mother abandoned them, forsaken their leader? Or was she simply eager to summon them to heaven? In any case, their flesh was about to be destroyed… They were still reluctant to part with their bodies, for the good days had only just begun!

Their bodies began to tremble in the cold wind; at last, they simply slumped onto the wall, giving up resistance and hiding behind the battlements, weeping in secret.

Luan Yi, meanwhile, returned to his reclining chair, holding Cai Yan in one hand and Diao Chan in the other, his eyes fixed on his parents, who were softly speaking their final words of farewell. He sighed inwardly.

Long ago, he had wondered how this life would end… Slain by the Yellow Turban rebels, beheaded by Lü Bu at Hulao Pass, executed by Cao Cao in his camp, or perhaps to die in the arms of a beauty… So many possibilities, and yet he had never imagined he would meet his end in the minor fiefdom of Jinan, besieged by some nameless figure never mentioned in the Annals of the Three Kingdoms!

He wanted to cry, yet also to laugh at the irony. With emotions in turmoil, he finally chose to laugh—after all, isn’t that what heroes do at the end, on television?

And laugh he did, drawing strength from some unknown source, rising from his chair and letting out a wild, unrestrained laugh, bold and unyielding, filling the sky with his spirit. Cai Yan and Diao Chan, fearing he had gone mad, looked at him in worry. “Luan, please stop laughing. Stop it, you’re scaring me!”

His laughter soared to the clouds, sending a shiver through the imperial troops outside the walls, slowing their advance.

At that very moment, a miracle occurred! His laughter, rising into the heavens, seemed almost magical. The setting sun broke through the clouds atop the southern mountain, a golden edge cresting the sea of gray. Sunlight grew brighter, driving the clouds from the mountaintop. The light spread, pushing the clouds rapidly northward. The rain lessened, then ceased. The air beneath the freshly washed Mount Li became pure and clear, with visibility better than ever before.

The defenders witnessed this “miracle” with their own eyes. One sharp-eyed sentinel, gazing into the distance, seemed to see something atop Mount Li. Thinking his eyes deceived him, he wiped the rain from his brow and looked again. Slowly, a smile returned to his lips, and strength flooded back into his weary body. He stood tall, pointing into the distance and shouting, “Look! Look there—the crimson cross banner!”

“What?” All eyes fixed on the peak, and there it was: a flag waving in the wind, white with a crimson cross depicting the image of the Holy Mother—a banner unique to their faith.

The great cross flag rose from the far side of the mountain, revealing a host of cavalry and infantry. The numbers swelled, covering the mountaintop, then poured down its slopes like a flood, cloaking the green hills in a thick blanket of men and horses. By rough count, there must have been over ten thousand.

Mount Li was not high, and stood not far from the factory. The imperial scouts were soon alert—indeed, they could hardly fail to notice, for the massed charge of ten thousand troops shook the earth. When the imperial soldiers saw that the attackers outnumbered them by far, the last of their resolve collapsed.

These past days, the imperial troops had fought Luan Yi and his defenders relentlessly, and had been worn down and cowed. If not for their officers’ discipline, and the knowledge that the defenders were fewer in number, they might not have pressed the attack as long as they had, believing victory was within their grasp.

But now, at the very moment they thought their triumph assured, reinforcements for the Church had appeared—an overwhelming force of thousands.

In an instant, the imperial lines broke. Ignoring their officers’ shouts, they fled around the factory walls, retreating northward toward Licheng’s city gates, spreading word of the approaching Church army to the soldiers at the north gate, who likewise threw down their arms and ran for their lives.

In the northern ranks, Zhu Ying also heard news of the incoming host, and was beside himself with anxiety. Eyes wide, he bellowed, “Why are you all running? Get back here! If we must retreat, at least kill Luan Yi first! Charge!” But the army was already in chaos, his orders drowned out by the panicked stampede. Even if they heard him, in this life-and-death moment, who would obey? They cared only for their own survival.

The situation was beyond control; Zhu Ying, helpless, had no choice but to flee as well. His eyes burned with unwilling rage as he shouted toward the factory, “Luan Yi, I swear I will kill you…”

Poor Zhu Ying, who made Luan Yi’s death his life’s ambition, was now himself homeless, and with nothing left with which to carry out his vow.

The Church’s relief force had arrived in two columns. One, ten thousand strong, led by Dian Wei, came over the southern and Li mountains straight for the southern gate of the factory. The other, commanded by Wu Tian of Wujiabao, took advantage of Zhu Ying’s focus on the siege and the city’s weakened defenses, coordinating with believers inside to capture Licheng.

Thus, when Zhu Ying returned to Licheng’s walls, he found the drawbridge raised and the ramparts deserted. He shouted, “This official has returned! Open the gates at once!”

No sooner had he spoken than the clang of gongs sounded from the city wall. The crimson cross flag of the Holy Mother fluttered in the wind, and Wu Tian stepped forward, denouncing him furiously: “Zhu Ying, you traitorous dog! Today, beneath these walls, you will meet your end.” He waved his hand, giving the order, “Archers, loose!”

A rain of arrows darkened the sky as the city’s defenders fired.

Zhu Ying reacted swiftly; at sight of the cross flag, he turned his horse and fled. But the former magistrate, Sun Ru, was a moment too slow, and, together with dozens of soldiers, was shot through like a sieve.

As the saying goes, retribution begets retribution: three days earlier, Sun Ru had lured Luan Yi into the city with a trap, besieging him. Luan Yi had escaped with his life, but now Sun Ru had been lured to the city walls himself… only he lacked Luan Yi’s miraculous luck and met a bitter end.

Alas, Luan Yi would not hear this good news for some time. Just as Dian Wei led his men down Li Mountain, driving off the imperial troops, excitement and relief overwhelmed Luan Yi. His body, sustained by sheer will for three days, could endure no more—darkness closed over his eyes, and he fell unconscious.