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Hello and welcome to the history of China.

Episode 330, beneath the walls of Changsha.

War is the truest form of divination.

It is the testing of one's will and the will of another, within that larger will, which

because it binds them, is therefore forced to select.

War is the ultimate game, because war is at last a forcing of the unity of existence.

Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian

After ten days of marching out from Chenzhou, an army stood before the walls of the great provincial

capital, Changsha. In the October chill of 1852, this Taiping army, this heavenly host,

had swelled to numbers unimaginable even a year prior. 20,000 had seemed impossibly huge back

in Guangxi, yet now they numbered somewhere between 80 to 100, possibly 20,000 had seemed impossibly huge back in Guangxi, yet now they numbered somewhere between

80 to 100, possibly even 120,000. Their recruitment efforts across southern Hunan had yielded a

copious bounty. And behind this land-bound river of souls, the Taiping fleet stretched back for miles,

carrying munitions,

dependence, treasure, and the accumulated weight of a movement that had been in motion for nearly two years with neither rest nor home. They now stood a raid before the walls of this great

provincial capital, come to finish what the West King had died starting.

Xiaou Chou Guay had reached those same walls on September 12th with 2,000 men and zero prior authorization.

He had pounded the southern face with cannon and explosive for six days and come shockingly close to taking it.

But on September 17th, a marksman on those walls

had ended all that. When word reached Hong Xiu-Cuan, his doubts were put to an end. Vengeance would be

theirs. The army would march. Somewhere outside those walls, the West King lay fallen.

...