Chapter 339: Great Xia's Grain and Baggage

Lin Qian's purpose in coming, Zhu Xieyuan could guess, but what was this about the Duke of Qian?

Zhu Xieyuan said, "Isn't the Duke of Qian in Yunnan?"

The gatekeeper said, "This servant does not know either. The one claiming to be the Duke of Qian is a youth of about fifteen or sixteen, and in his arms he carries a memorial tablet of Mu Ying." Zhu Xieyuan pondered for a moment, then his heart jolted with alarm as he said, "Quickly, invite him in."

The gatekeeper went down to relay the message, and Zhu Xieyuan glared at his grandson and said, "Get up."

A moment later, Zhu Xieyuan saw Lin Qian and Mu Tianbo enter. The moment he raised his eyes and saw the memorial tablet, he hurriedly rose, placed the tablet at the seat of honor, and respectfully performed the four prostrations of the great ritual.

Then he rose and sat below the tablet, his voice trembling as he said, "You truly are the Young Duke? How are things in Kunming?"

Mu Tianbo recounted his experiences once more.

Zhu Xieyuan sighed with emotion, "Your mother is truly a heroine among women."

Mu Tianbo clasped his hands and said, "Now that Sha Pu has risen in rebellion and the Mu Estate has fallen, the common people are plunged into fire and water. I beg the Minister to send troops to suppress the rebellion."

Zhu Xieyuan said dejectedly, "This old man is no longer Governor-General of the Five Provinces. Even if I wished to help, I would have the will but not the strength."

Lin Qian said, "In entering Yunnan to fight, provisions and baggage are of foremost importance. Minister, in pacifying the She-An Rebellion, you fought bitterly for over a decade among mountains and valleys, sustaining the grain and pay of an army of over a hundred thousand without interruption. This ability of yours is unprecedented in all ages—the front lines have need of it."

Zhu Xieyuan hesitated for a moment, then said, "This old man is a minister of the Great Ming; there is no principle of serving a second master."

Mu Tianbo said, "Is the Minister's remark a mockery of the Mu Estate for betraying its lord and seeking glory?"

"No, this old minister would not dare." Zhu Xieyuan hurriedly clasped his hands and said.

Mu Tianbo was young and his words carried little weight, so Zhu Xieyuan could afford to disregard him—but the Mu Estate were descendants of a meritorious minister, and their reputation was too great for him to dare show the slightest disrespect. Mu Tianbo said, "Though I am young, I know what is right and just. In ancient times, Yi Yin abandoned Jie to serve Shang, Jiang Ziya abandoned Zhou Xin to return to Zhou, Baili Xi abandoned Yu to assist Qin, and Zhang Liang abandoned Qin to submit to Han. In the Minister's eyes, were these men also disloyal ministers?"

Zhu Xieyuan was rendered speechless by the question.

Zhu Yixun knelt again and said, "Grandfather, the King of Xia has the welfare of all living beings at heart—he is a wise ruler for our age. My mind is made up: I will follow the King of Xia into Yunnan to suppress the rebellion. If I return, I will also sit for the examinations and enter official service in Great Xia."

"You!" Zhu Xieyuan opened his mouth to curse, but did not know what to say. He looked at Zhu Yixun and saw that his grandson's gaze was incomparably resolute—it was plainly the spirit of righteousness.

Lin Qian said slowly, "Since ancient times there has been the fall of a state, and there has been the fall of the world. How do the two differ? The answer: when the ruling house changes and the reign title is altered, that is called the fall of a state..."

This discourse on state and world was something Gu Yanwu had written on an examination paper. Lin Qian had seen that it was well written and committed it to memory. Now, without changing a single word, he plagiarized the original text outright.

Finally, Lin Qian rose and said with great righteousness, "The Ming may fall, but the world must not fall! Now that the southwest is collapsing, this is precisely the moment for us to act. Minister, would you be willing to come with us?"

Zhu Xieyuan was stunned speechless by this passage. After a long while, he let out a deep sigh and finally rose, clasping his hands and saying, "Your minister... is willing to go." "Excellent! Let us set out at once!" Lin Qian said as he walked outside. "Carriages, horses, and ships are already prepared. As for food, clothing, and daily expenses, Minister need not bring anything—all has been made ready."

Zhu Xieyuan was greatly astonished: "You—no... did the King already know that this old man would submit?"

Lin Qian said, "The Minister could never bear to watch the people of Yunnan suffer. On this point, I was quite clear."

Zhu Xieyuan clasped his hands and said, "The King flatters me."

The party made their way to the banks of the Pearl River, where Lin Qian and Zhu Xieyuan and his grandson boarded one ship, while Mu Tianbo was arranged by Lin Qian to board another.

Lin Qian said, "Since the Duke has traveled the Red River shipping route, Zheng Zhilong's side may have use for him, so there is no need for him to travel with me."

Mu Tianbo seemed somewhat reluctant.

Lin Qian clasped his hands and said, "Duke, we shall meet again beneath the walls of Kunming!"

Mu Tianbo's greatest fear was not being able to take revenge with his own hands. Hearing this, he gladly accepted the order and also clasped his hands, saying, "The day we meet again will be the day I cut off Sha Dingzhou's dog head in battle. May the King take care!"

With that, he boarded the seagoing vessel and sailed eastward along the Pearl River.

Lin Qian, meanwhile, headed west together with Zhu Xieyuan. No sooner had the ship set sail than Zhu Xieyuan eagerly began discussing logistics arrangements with Lin Qian.

Just as Zhu Yixun had said, pacifying the southwest was also Zhu Xieyuan's lifelong wish. Ever since Sha Pu had risen in rebellion, he had followed the war with extreme concern—he could scarcely eat or drink for worry, sighing in anxiety day and night.

But the newspapers provided insufficient information for him to understand the details. He wanted to seek someone out to ask for advice, yet he could not cross the threshold of loyalty to his sovereign in his heart.

Now that the King of Xia's words had persuaded him, he had no more scruples. He slipped into his role with remarkable speed—even more urgently than Lin Qian himself.

Lin Qian had Geng Wu bring out a map.

Zhu Xieyuan said, "No need. The King need only speak—this old minister can follow along."

Lin Qian smiled and said, "Without the map before me, I cannot explain it."

Zhu Xieyuan laughed at himself: "This old minister was too hasty."

A moment later, Geng Wu spread the map across the table, weighing down its four corners with heavy objects.

Lin Qian said, "The grain route into Yunnan can be divided into a northern and a southern section. The northern section can be further divided into two parts: from Nanning to Taiping Prefecture, and from Taiping Prefecture to Fuzhou. Grain convoys leaving Nanning can travel the Zuo River. Each boat can carry roughly four hundred dan of grain, with very low losses..."

After hearing this, Zhu Xieyuan said with deep worry, "Under General Qin's command there are twenty-five thousand troops in total. Though not many in number, their grain consumption is by no means small. Yunnan is vast with sparse population, and the chieftains are extremely cruel—they will surely resort to scorched-earth tactics... This old minister dares to ask the King: will the military grain be sufficient?"

Lin Qian asked in return, "How much counts as sufficient?"

Hearing this, a bad premonition rose in Zhu Xieyuan's heart. His brows knit tightly, and he broke into a series of coughs. Only after managing to drink some water to stop them did he say, "Even if General Qin advances with lightning speed, pacifying the rebellion will take at least three months.

Counting the consumption of conscripted laborers, oxen, and horses, plus losses along the way, at minimum we need sixty thousand dan of rice, fifteen thousand dan of fodder, and five hundred thousand bundles of grass.

This is only the minimum. If we cannot meet this amount, it would be best to withdraw the troops as early as possible. There is no need to rush for quick merit in pacifying Yunnan—the chieftains are constantly at odds with one another, and dividing and weakening them is also a superior strategy."

Lin Qian smiled calmly and asked Ranqiu, "How much grain and fodder have we prepared?"

Ranqiu had been pouring tea. Hearing the question, she set down the teapot, pulled out a small notebook, and read: "Nanning Prefecture's stored grain: one hundred eighty thousand dan of rice, eighty thousand dan of sweet potatoes, thirty thousand dan of fodder, and eight hundred thousand bundles of grass."

"Pfft!" Zhu Yixun had been drinking tea. Hearing this, he choked directly and sprayed the tea out, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping himself endlessly.

Zhu Xieyuan was first stunned for a moment, then his expression turned utterly bizarre as he opened his mouth and said, "What?"

Ranqiu thought he had not understood, so she explained, "The sweet potatoes are dried sweet potato strips. They taste sweet, but they cannot be eaten alone—they must be paired with rice."

Zhu Xieyuan's expression turned grave: "This old man knows what sweet potatoes are."

Then he looked at Lin Qian and said, "King, this... is this true? I beg the King to tell me the truth."

Lin Qian took a sip of tea: "This is the truth. And this is only the grain stored for the northern section. The southern section has not yet begun shipping, so its stores are not large—but once shipping begins, that lad Zheng Zhilong has the ability to scrape together another hundred-plus thousand dan of grain."

Zhu Xieyuan's brows were tightly locked in confusion as he said, "How is this possible? The price of rice in Guangzhou hasn't risen!" As he spoke, he looked toward Zhu Yixun. Since the grandfather and grandson had arrived in Guangzhou, they had lived frugally, and most of the household's purchases had been handled personally by Zhu Yixun.

Zhu Yixun nodded and said, "It hasn't risen. I just went to the market the day before yesterday—grain prices have not fluctuated much compared to before."

Zhu Xieyuan said, "Exactly. If the army has requisitioned so much grain and fodder, the prices among the common people could not possibly remain stable."

What was called requisition was the Ming's logistical system for supplying armies in wartime. Specifically, it was divided into four types, called civilian transport, additional levies, open-border trading, and military farming. Additional levies were similar to the Three Surcharges—wherever there was fighting, the nearby commoners had to pay extra grain.

Civilian transport meant that commoners who paid taxes were responsible for transporting grain to the front lines. In practice, it spread out the transportation costs—a disguised form of additional levy.

Open-border trading meant having merchants transport grain to the border in exchange for salt certificates.

Military farmland was the grain output of the guard stations, and by the late Ming it had been almost entirely embezzled away. When Zhu Xieyuan suppressed rebellions in the southwest, military farmland was what he relied on most, but this required years of accumulated effort, because rooting out corruption, reclaiming land, and planting grain all took time.

As for civilian transport and levied grain, it was originally meant to be shipped to market, and the grain for the open-warehouse system was also bought from the market.

So in the short term, no matter what method was used, no matter how grain was raised, it was impossible to avoid impacting the rear.

Lin Qian stirred his tea leaves as he spoke: "It's right that civilian prices haven't moved, because this grain was transferred from the national treasury and the ever-normal granaries." "How could the national treasury and ever-normal granaries possibly have this much grain?" Zhu Xieyuan found Lin Qian's claim utterly absurd. "Tens of thousands of dan, I could believe that. But this is two hundred sixty thousand dan! Over thirty million jin! How is that possible?"

Lin Qian continued: "Ranqiu, read the data summary for the Agricultural Reclamation Company, sixth month of the second year of Zhongxuan."

Ranqiu opened the booklet, cleared his throat, and read: "Sixth month of the second year of Zhongxuan, the Chartered Agricultural Reclamation Company of Water Zhenla, total immigrants 88,600 persons, total cultivated land 856,900 mu.

Rainy season output, after deducting rations and seed grain, remaining rice 463,900 dan, sweet potatoes 255,600 dan, combined output approximately 720,000 dan." With a "smack," Ranqiu closed the booklet, his face full of pride.

"Seven hundred twenty thousand dan... heavens!" Zhu Xieyuan murmured. "No wonder Daxia can win every battle..."

The Agricultural Reclamation Company's harvest news had actually been published in the newspapers as well, but beneath the many joyous tidings of the Constitution's promulgation, the conquest of all of Jiangxi, university students graduating, and the special examination concluding, the harvest news only occupied a very small section.

After all, the Agricultural Reclamation Company was constantly absorbing immigrants and constantly reclaiming farmland, with every season's output setting new records; after four years, it really couldn't be considered news anymore.

Lin Qian curled a smile and asked: "What does the Minister think—is this grain sufficient to support the campaign into Yunnan?"

Zhu Xieyuan nodded: "More than sufficient! However... grain alone won't do. The southwest is full of miasma; herbal medicine is even more important than grain." "Ranqiu."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Ranqiu opened the booklet again and read: "Nanning Prefecture has in reserve three hundred thousand jin of quicklime, twenty thousand jin of alum, eighty thousand jin each of mugwort and atractylodes... most of these are produced in Dongning."

Dongning Island was also a place thick with miasma and pestilence. To reclaim the wild island, these materials were produced in great quantities—especially quicklime, which was produced by the Lime Society, in such abundance it was more than enough. With water transport advantages and a vast fleet of transport ships, shipping these materials to Nanning Prefecture was very convenient.

After finishing the lengthy materials list, Ranqiu closed the booklet with another smack, this time louder than the last.

Zhu Xieyuan felt as if struck by a heavy blow. After a long pause, he asked again: "What about laborers, oxen and horses, and carts?"

Ranqiu said: "There are four hundred boats of various sizes, thirty thousand laborers, five thousand oxen, one thousand mules, plus three thousand escort soldiers, and another five thousand soldiers monitoring Tianzhou and Sicheng Prefecture."

Most of these boats were produced by the two shipyards in Guangzhou and Xiamen—all civilian small craft, temporarily leased.

The laborers were recruited from the Guangxi-Yunnan border, mostly refugees who had fled from Yunnan. Organizing these people, feeding them, and paying them wages also maintained stability in Guangxi—killing two birds with one stone.

The oxen and mules were mostly requisitioned from the common people. Under the propaganda offensive of the Daxia Times, the populace was very supportive of the rebellion suppression, and the Xia army paid promptly—whenever they came calling, almost no one was unwilling to rent out their animals.

After hearing Lin Qian's preparations, Zhu Xieyuan was stunned for a long while, then clasped his hands and said: "The difficulty of campaigning in the southwest lies not in the native chieftains' elite soldiers and numerous generals, but in the high mountains and treacherous roads, and the inability to keep supplies flowing. With Your Majesty prepared to this degree, this campaign cannot possibly fail."

Lin Qian said: "What I've listed is only material reserves. Once the supply train leaves the Zuo River and is carried overland northwest from Taiping Prefecture, we'll have to rely on the Minister." Zhu Xieyuan's approach to governance and military affairs sought the middle way, valuing above all the character "steady"; he rarely spoke in absolutes. But with Daxia prepared to this extent, if he still dared not give his guarantee, wouldn't he be useless?

So Zhu Xieyuan's bold spirit also rose, and he clasped his hands: "Rest assured, Your Majesty—this old minister will ensure the front lines never lack grain and the army advances unimpeded!" Five days later, Lin Qian arrived in Nanning; another day after that, Zhu Xieyuan arrived at Taiping Prefecture.

With the two of them overseeing transport, the transfer of grain along the route sped up considerably.

Qin Liangyu had ample supplies, and her army advanced like the wind—entering Yunnan, they breached Fuzhou within half a day.

Like Guangxi, these remote Yunnan border towns and stockades were not themselves formidable—the city walls were neither tall nor thick, the garrison soldiers few, and most of the weapons and equipment were damaged. What held back enemies was purely the high mountains, treacherous roads, and rampant miasma. Once Qin Liangyu's army got close enough to the walls, a few rounds of cannon fire would collapse great stretches of the fortifications, and the towns would fall.

After breaching Fuzhou, Qin Liangyu split her forces in two, leading the main army herself to attack Guangnan Prefecture.

Ma Xianglin personally led the detached force, advancing directly west, and soon was less than a hundred li from Weimo Prefecture.

Because the march had been so fast, it was only at this point that Pu Mingsheng learned of the Xia army's entry into his territory. After a brief moment of panic, he quickly calmed himself, and laughed in front of his subordinates: "So even a toothless little dog can bite."

"Hahaha..."

His subordinate generals all burst into laughter together.

"Pu Zuoyuan, you will lead two thousand troops to meet them in battle. Don't let a single Han live to go back!"

"Yes, Father!" From the crowd, an eighteen-year-old youth stepped forward to answer. This man was Pu Mingsheng's eldest legitimate son, the family heir. He had grown up in the army since childhood, was highly skilled in martial arts, and was also mature beyond his years with meticulous thinking.

Pu Mingsheng was very satisfied with this son and had deliberately been grooming him. Having him lead troops into battle was precisely to let his son earn military merit.

Wan Cailian said worriedly: "Husband, the enemy's vanguard general is Ma Xianglin. That man is Qin Liangyu's son, and he is unstoppably brave. Yuan'er has never led troops on his own—isn't this a bit risky?"

"Mother, I'm not a child anymore!" Pu Zuoyuan protested.

Pu Mingsheng also laughed and said: "It's fine. Everyone has the day they must venture out on their own."

Whether Pu Zuoyuan could defeat Ma Xianglin—if the situations were reversed, and Pu Zuoyuan were sent to attack Shizhu in Sichuan, that question might warrant some deliberation. But now Qin Liangyu was advancing deep with an isolated army, coming to his territory to die. Every tree and blade of grass, every stream in Yunnan—the Pu family knew them all like the back of their hand. With just a little exploitation, they were all killing moves.

Even in a direct stand-up fight, Pu Mingsheng was not the least bit afraid. When suppressing the She-An Rebellion, he, Pu Mingsheng, was the strongest native chieftain in the southwest—there was no second. Those Guangxi wolf soldiers and those white-handled spear troops—he didn't give them a second thought. And Daxia's troops from Guangdong, Guangxi, and Fujian, once they entered the rainforest valleys, were nothing but chickens and clay dogs.

The only one in the Xia army who gave Pu Mingsheng any real pause was Qin Liangyu. But after all, she was nothing more than a minor chieftain—far inferior to Pu Mingsheng. And Qin Liangyu's son was even further beneath his own son.

At this moment, Li Yaxuan stepped forward and said: "Elder Brother, let me go instead! Give me half a month, and I'll bring Ma Xianglin's head to you!" This man was Pu Mingsheng's cousin, and moreover his foremost fierce general.

Li Achu, the native headman of Weimo Prefecture, said angrily: "This prime military merit—why should it be given to the chieftain's own son? In seniority, he's far behind me. Ma Xianglin's head should be cut off by me!"

Bai Cha said: "Chieftain, according to front-line reports, Ma Xianglin's three thousand-plus men are only the vanguard. Qin Liangyu's twenty-thousand-strong army is still pressing from the rear. Why not set a pocket and swallow them all in one bite?"

This man was one of Pu Mingsheng's old subordinates, the steward of the Pu clan's home camp. He was cunning in warfare, supremely skilled at setting ambushes, and also a valiant general.

After he spoke, the other generals of all ranks also scrambled to volunteer for battle. Some said twenty days to rout the enemy, others said ten days, and finally some even said three days to chop off Ma Xianglin's head.

To survive in the southwestern jungles, if one was not fierce, one would be devoured clean by others—hence the people's martial and combative nature. And with Han territory troops entering Yunnan, they were essentially a big slab of fat meat, which was why these generals kept fighting over the chance.

"Enough!" Pu Mingsheng drew his dagger and stabbed it into the table. The clamor instantly subsided.

The dagger could be seen trembling ceaselessly on the table as Pu Mingsheng ground his teeth: "Son, bring me Ma Xianglin's head. Don't disappoint your father!"

"Yes!" Pu Zuoyuan bowed in salute, withdrew from the room, mustered his troops, and plunged straight into the jungle to the east.

Going west from Fuzhou into Weimo Prefecture, there were no flat basins along the way—only continuous rolling low mountains and gorges.

The surface was shattered into fragments by peak forests, karst caves, and sinkholes.

The official road had long fallen into disrepair, washed by rain into potholes, with many stretches reduced to rubble piles or eroded by vines.

It was now late September, deep autumn, yet the valleys remained humid and sweltering. After just a few steps one would be soaked through, and at night the temperature would plummet suddenly—tormenting beyond measure.

Every afternoon, rain fell in the jungle with almost clockwork regularity. The dense canopy blocked it from reaching one's body, but in such humidity, whether one got rained on or not made little real difference.

Every dawn and dusk, thick fog would rise in the valleys, forcing the army to slow its pace and rely on bronze gongs and horns to stay in contact.

Ma Xianglin's troops pressed on and finally emerged from the river valley. Looking ahead, they saw the ruins of a village.

From the scorched black outlines of bamboo, one could tell these had been stilt houses. The small patches of flat land along the river, once cultivated fields, had all been destroyed. In the village was a well, covered by a great boulder. Ma Xianglin had men move the boulder aside, and a stench that reeked to the heavens surged up from within. "They threw excrement in the well." The speaker was Wei Wenkui, the native prefect of Donglan Prefecture.

He was so certain for two reasons: first, the smell; second, this was the standard scorched-earth tactic of the native chieftains.

Donglan Prefecture was very similar to this place—both were karst terrain with interconnected underground waterways. Poisoning the well would actually poison one's own people too, but throwing excrement was only mildly toxic and easy to recover from after the war.

Ma Xianglin was not at all surprised. Since yesterday, the army had noticed they were being watched during the march. He thought to himself that having been in Yunnan for so long, if Pu Mingsheng still made no move, then all those logistical preparations would have been for nothing.

"Send out a water-collecting party," Ma Xianglin said. "Prefect Wei, dispatch cavalry to scout the surrounding area."

"Yes!" Wei Wenkui clasped his hands in acknowledgment and went down to relay the order. Before long, several squadrons of cavalry galloped out of camp with whistling cries.

These cavalrymen wore oil-soaked oxhide armor and carried crossbows, javelins, and stout sabers—they were known as the Southwest Wolf Riders.

In truth, the guoxia ponies they rode were even shorter than Dian horses, almost indistinguishable from donkeys.

In Ma Xianglin's view, "Southwest Donkey Riders" would have been a more fitting title for these cavalrymen. The Wei clan had been utterly loyal to the imperial court, with not a single trace of rebellion in centuries, which was why Qin Liangyu had summoned him to battle. As for their actual combat effectiveness—tonight would tell.

While the water party was out, the remaining soldiers pitched tents beside the ruins of the village. Men assigned to the task took out mugwort and atractylodes and lit them, soon filling the entire camp with curling smoke.

In the valleys of Yunnan, the mosquitoes differed between morning and evening—even those by the water differed from those in the woods. The soldiers marched by day in long-sleeved hemp shirts and trousers, and by night sat by fires, stripped off their wet clothes, and relied on mugwort to drive off the insects.

Accompanying army physicians also brewed qinghao juice for soldiers bitten by mosquitoes and insects, while those suffering heatstroke or diarrhea each received corresponding medicine. At the same time, some soldiers were tasked with chopping firewood nearby, others with digging pits for cooking, and still others with digging latrines—everything proceeded in orderly fashion. An hour later, the water parties returned one after another. Medical officers added alum to the buckets, stirred vigorously until flocculent matter formed, filtered the water, poured it into great cauldrons to boil, and then distributed it to the various banner companies.

This whole procedure certainly cost considerable time and consumed large quantities of supplies, yet the number of soldiers who fell ill was extremely small.

After all, though river water and well water were both water, their safety differed by heaven and earth—even the locals dared not casually drink raw water.

Ma Xianglin's vanguard army passed the night without incident. Early the next morning, Wei Wenkui's donkey riders returned to camp, nearly every squadron bearing trophies. The diminutive donkey riders, set against the backdrop of dried, dark blood, suddenly seemed to radiate a chilling ferocity.

Over the following days, the Pu army poisoned wells, burned villages, relocated the populace, demolished bridges—deploying every scorched-earth trick in their repertoire, turning an area of several dozen li east of Weimo Prefecture into a dead zone.

Though casualties were light, the daily, constant searching for water, building bridges, and chopping wood consumed enormous amounts of time, and the army advanced only slowly.

Ma Xianglin summoned Wei Wenkui and said, "We can't keep burning time like this. Tomorrow, pull your cavalry back behind the vanguard and guard the supply road. And pass the order to the whole army—tomorrow we rest for a day."

"Yes." Wei Wenkui revealed a knowing smile and clasped his hands in acknowledgment.

The next day, in a forest camp east of Weimo Prefecture.

Pu Zuoyuan was raging at his subordinates: "Worthless! Even a piglet that just learned to suckle is more useful than you lot. I told you to delay the enemy—and what did you do? All these days, you haven't stopped them a single step!"

A subordinate protested plaintively: "The Han are protected by spirits! They toss a handful of medicine powder into the river, boil it, and drink it—and nothing happens to them at all!"

Another subordinate said, "It's true. Their food never seems to run out, their firewood never runs out either, they're not afraid of the miasma, and every night they burn their camp until it's shrouded in clouds of smoke."

Pu Zuoyuan cursed furiously: "Shut up!"

He paced on the spot for a long while, then asked, "How far is Ma Xianglin from Weimo Prefecture now?"

A subordinate replied, "Only two days' march away."

Pu Zuoyuan made up his mind: "We'll raid their supply line!"

Just then, a Pu cavalryman returned and reported Ma Xianglin's latest movements.

The subordinates exchanged glances. Someone exclaimed in alarm, "Has he seen through us?"

"Young Master, the Guangxi cavalry are formidable. With them guarding the supply road, I fear we'll have little chance of success..."

Pu Zuoyuan curled the corner of his mouth with satisfaction: "Ma Xianglin's army is running short on supplies. He's waiting for his baggage train."

A subordinate suddenly understood: "Ma Xianglin has been wasteful all along the way—the baggage he carried with the army should have run out long ago!"

Pu Zuoyuan said, "Pass the order to the whole army—we close in and raid their camp tonight!"

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen