Chapter 104: At Zhending

Turning his gaze northward, Liu Chengyou's forces had already advanced into Zhending, seizing this key northern stronghold. Ever since Shi Jingtang had handed Youyan to the Khitan on a platter, Zhenzhou had become the most important military bastion in central Hebei against northern aggression — if Zhenzhou fell, the Khitan could march south without hindrance, driving straight in.

When Liu Chengyou entered Zhending, he was warmly embraced by the city's soldiers and civilians alike. Yet though the scene was fervent, there was no welcome of food and drink — instead, he was met with faces hungry and expectant. The first thing Liu Chengyou did upon entering Zhending was set up porridge stalls, distributing relief to the starving masses to steady the people's hearts.

After the Khitan's ravages, what remained for Liu Chengyou was truly a shattered mess riddled with holes. As for Zhenzhou, it could only be described as public and private coffers alike exhausted, granaries without a grain left. Hence Liu Chengyou had to be somewhat stingy, offering only thin gruel and watery soup to warm bellies slightly — he simply dared not supply freely.

Nor was it free of charge — rations were distributed according to labor. Liu Chengyou appointed Li Gu, the former Prefect of Cizhou, to administer Zhenzhou's government affairs, having him organize the people to go up the mountains and down the rivers, gathering fruit and foraging vegetables, catching fish and grabbing shrimp.

In fact, Liu Chengyou's army did not have a small amount of grain — they had seized a large haul at Luancheng. But no matter how large the quantity, he dared not use it lavishly; instead, he had to count every grain. After all, he still had to feed the army and prepare for battles that might come at any moment, or any other unforeseen circumstances.

At one point, under the pressure of food shortages, Liu Chengyou actually felt a twinge of regret that he had set the fires at Luancheng so freely — that great blaze had burned away too many supplies. Of course, this was merely a private grumble; even if given ten more chances, he would still choose to burn everything to the ground.

Fortunately, although the war had destroyed many farmlands, some harvests remained. Perhaps the Khitan had been too busy retreating north to think about "grain," or perhaps they had not been mad enough to burn the fields across the region. Of course, had they truly dared to do such a thing, the Han people would have fought them to the death.

It was already the fifth month, and the weather was growing hotter by the day. After enduring one more month, the wheat in the fields would be just about ripe — once the summer harvest was brought in and stored, the food pressure would be greatly relieved. During this period, Liu Chengyou truly understood the principle that "grain is the only hard currency." Gold, silver, and precious vessels were fine things, but in this time of extreme scarcity of survival necessities, they could only be displayed for viewing, satisfying a spiritual need.

In Zhenzhou, shouldering both military and civil affairs, Liu Chengyou was extremely busy — government matters piled up in a thousand tangled threads, draining his energy. Just as Liu Chengyou was not skilled at battlefield command, in governing and managing the people he was also just an armchair theorist with no experience; when it came to concrete administrative matters, he was still fumbling in the dark.

Fortunately, Liu Chengyou excelled at managing people and commanding commanders. The good ministers assisting at his side saved him no small amount of trouble.

But when there were problems, he could not simply wash his hands of them to avoid trouble — especially in areas where he was weak, he had to look more, listen more, and learn more. Fortunately, the thrill of holding great power in his hands kept Liu Chengyou utterly absorbed, unable to extricate himself.

In the second hall of the prefectural office, snatching a moment of leisure, Liu Chengyou chatted with an old general, the atmosphere somewhat awkward. The old general was named He Fujin, a veteran who had served through the Tang and Jin dynasties, weathered by years of warfare. Earlier, during the reorganization and absorption, mid- and low-ranking officers had all been assigned positions — only these senior generals, save for Li Yun who had rendered meritorious service, had received no arrangements.

Once things had been digested well enough, Liu Chengyou remembered these idle generals.

He Fujin had been recommended to Liu Chengyou by that old fox Feng Dao, with only one appraisal: the finest among generals and marshals.

In truth, there was not much to talk about — heart-to-heart, knee-to-knee confidences were out of the question, and Liu Chengyou was not the sort who could strike up a conversation with just anyone.

Perhaps feeling the atmosphere too awkward, Wei Renpu, attending at the side, could not help but warm things up: "I have heard that during the Xingjiao Gate Incident back then, the actor Guo Congqian surrounded Emperor Zhuangzong in the Inner Palace with rebel troops. All the close ministers and veteran generals cast aside their armor and fled — only you, General, and a dozen or so colleagues fought desperately to protect him. Only after Zhuangzong was struck by a stray arrow and died did you weep bitterly and leave. Such loyalty and righteousness truly inspires admiration..."

Hearing these words, He Fujin, who had remained neither humble nor pushy with a calm expression, finally showed a trace of emotion on his face. As if recalling that upheaval from years past, he said with a note of wistfulness: "In the blink of an eye, twenty years have passed."

With that, he looked at Liu Chengyou and offered a flattering remark: "Your Highness is resolute in striking the foe — the battle at Luancheng startled the realm, silencing the barbarian invaders and making the rebel traitors look askance. Your heaven-given brilliance is no less than that of Zhuangzong in his day."

The corner of his mouth twitching slightly, Liu Chengyou said casually: "I would not dare compare myself to Zhuangzong."

Liu Chengyou was never one for idle rambling. After a few casual exchanges, he said directly to He Fujin: "The Liao sovereign has perished, and the Liao army has retreated north. The barbarians within our borders have all fled in terror. However, our spies have learned that the Liao Prince Yongkang is gathering barbarian troops at Youzhou with unclear intentions. I fear he may return. I wish to appoint you as Chief Inspector of the Hebei Field Headquarters Infantry and Cavalry, and Defense Commissioner of Yingzhou — go to Yingzhou, pacify the people, and recruit soldiers to guard against the Khitan!"

Hearing this, He Fujin raised his head slightly, as if considering, and finally nodded, still responding with a measure of reserve: "Yes!"

The man did not seem overly surprised, because in the past few days Liu Chengyou had already appointed several officials as Prefectural Defense Commissioners, Militia Commissioners, and Prefects — all for prefectures still under Khitan control. Yingzhou was the same.

After He Fujin withdrew, Liu Chengyou, reflecting on the man's consistently steady demeanor, formed a clear understanding in his mind. Veterans and old generals like He Fujin, who had served through successive dynasties, might possess the talent of generals and marshals, but they could be employed yet were hard to entrust with confidential matters. In comparison, young men were more useful and easier to control.

"Just now He Fujin compared me to Zhuangzong — I am truly flattered!" Somewhat intrigued, Liu Chengyou said to Wei Renpu with a playful tone: "But thinking of how Zhuangzong lost his state and perished, I cannot help but feel a chill."

Wei Renpu had grown somewhat accustomed to Liu Chengyou's fondness for discussing history, events, and people. After a moment's thought, he replied: "Zhuangzong, with the forces of Hedong, within a decade or so struck the Later Liang in the south, destroyed the Jie Yan in the north, annexed Hebei in the east, and subdued the state of Qi in the west — none under heaven could rival him. Yet how laboriously he won the state, and how swiftly he lost it! Contemporaries long ago offered their analyses — nothing more than actors disrupting governance, hens crowing at dawn, alienating and suspecting meritorious ministers, and hoarding credit while grudging rewards..."

As a towering figure of this era, Liu Chengyou had heard Li Cunxu's story many times. Whenever he heard assessments of the man, Liu Chengyou always detected a sense of "grieving his misfortune, angered by his unworthiness." After all, in those days, had Li Cunxu not acted recklessly, the Later Tang would very likely have unified the realm ahead of time, ending this age of chaos and fully inheriting the Tang mandate.

But from youth to middle age, Li Cunxu had played a winning hand for over a decade — and in the end, he played it into ruin.

Hearing Wei Renpu's words, a line Liu Chengyou had memorized well flashed through his mind: "Anxiety and toil can prosper a state; ease and pleasure can destroy a man — such is the natural order."

Somewhat surprised, Wei Renpu pondered briefly, then remarked that Liu Chengyou's summary was well put.

"Zhuangzong rose from Hedong and won the state, yet perished within three years; the Founding Ancestor of Jin rose from Hedong, and his state fell within two generations. Now my father and I rise from Hedong to contend for the realm — how many years of mandate shall we obtain?" Suddenly, Liu Chengyou said in a faint, distant tone.

Wei Renpu was startled, cautiously glancing at Liu Chengyou. Seeing that he seemed to be talking to himself, Wei Renpu quickly lowered his head, momentarily not daring to respond. For a long while, in the end, he dared not offer any commentary.

Liu Chengyou then calmly uttered another remark that made Wei Renpu's heart race with unease: "Surely it will not come to ruin within two generations!"