Chapter 146: In the End, Still a Personal Expedition

In the Bureau of Military Affairs.

These past days, it had been a flurry of activity. Every clerk in every department had their minds wound tight. The campaign at Yedu was not going smoothly, and they were the busiest of all. Handling urgent matters, adjusting troop deployments, transferring weapons and equipment, allocating auxiliary laborers... everything revolved around the campaign against Du Chongwei.

Liu Chengyou sat behind the desk, brows slightly furrowed, chin resting on his interlaced fingers, staring blankly at a map spread before him. The map depicted the frontline deployment of the Han army—highly detailed, with the attack-and-defense situation at Yedu clearly visible, annotated with troop strengths, terrain, moats, ramparts, and stockades.

As Liu Chengyou saw it, a breath of "steadiness" assailed his senses. After several probing attacks failed, Gao Xingzhou had begun "engineering" operations beneath the walls of Yedu, vigorously constructing fortifications and stockades, looking for all the world like he intended to grind it out to the bitter end and starve Du Chongwei into submission.

This posture of the Han army had clearly frightened Du Chongwei. Though he could not fully grasp the situation, his instincts told him the Han army's movements posed a grave threat to him. Unable to resist, he sent troops out of the city, hoping to destroy those stockades and disrupt the Han army's rhythm of fortification—only to be savagely repulsed by Gao Xingzhou's troops, who had been prepared for this. After several exchanges, losing over three thousand men and suffering several defeats, Du Chongwei learned his lesson and obediently cowered within the city, not daring to venture out lightly.

By the time the stockades outside Yedu linked into a continuous chain, jagged like interlocking fangs, pressing right up against the city walls, the rebel army could no longer move, thoroughly suppressed. Thereafter, Gao Xingzhou, in his capacity as Commander-in-Chief of the field headquarters, issued proclamations to the prefectures and counties of Weibo. Unsurprisingly, the prefectures and counties all surrendered, declaring their severance from Du Chongwei, expressing submission to the court, and even voluntarily supplying military provisions and able-bodied men to relieve the Han army's shortages.

In the Weibo region, Yedu was paramount—but without the support of the other prefectures and counties, no matter how many troops or how much grain lay within Yedu's walls, it was but a trapped beast. Moreover, this trapped beast's claws and fangs, never particularly sharp to begin with, had already been worn smooth.

In Liu Chengyou's view, Gao Xingzhou had already done more than well enough—and that was with someone like Murong Yanchao dragging their feet behind him. The only shortcoming was an excess of caution. Still, Liu Chengyou could understand this, and to a certain extent he supported it. After all, Yedu's walls were strong; since it could not be taken in a single stroke, the wise course was to first secure a foothold beneath the walls and then plan gradually.

However, the court was rife with criticism of his approach. Men like Yang Bin and Shi Hongzhao did not approve of his strategy. In their view, having struck with overwhelming force and subsequently reaped no small number of victories, the cornered Du Chongwei ought to have been crushed in a single decisive battle, the task accomplished and the army returned in triumph.

But Gao Xingzhou's dragging, dawdling approach—to put it charitably, one might call it cautious and steady. To put it less charitably, it was nurturing bandits to aggrandize oneself, harboring ulterior motives. Indeed, someone had already been whispering in Liu Zhiyuan's ear.

At bottom, it was a matter of trust. Had a veteran general from Hedong been in command, even with criticism, it would not have come to this. Sensing this atmosphere pervading the court, Liu Chengyou felt a chill run down his spine. When a commander leads heavy forces in the field while the court indulges in baseless suspicion behind his back—this had always been a cardinal taboo.

Liu Chengyou could not sit still. He stood up and, in the court, furiously rebuked those ministers who slandered. Whoever spoke, he shot back at them—not even sparing Su Fengji, whom he had previously tried to befriend and win over as an ally. To back Gao Xingzhou and vouch for him, Liu Chengyou for the first time openly clashed with court officials, tearing all pretense of civility.

Of course, Liu Chengyou was not fighting alone. Wang Zhang, Guo Wei, Wang Jun, and others firmly supported his position. To be fair, Wang Zhang usually marched in lockstep with Yang Bin, but this time, their opinions diverged.

In private, Liu Chengyou also earnestly counseled Liu Zhiyuan. There was no need for grand lectures—simply recounting historical precedents and similar stories from the past was enough to put Liu Zhiyuan on his guard.

Of course, taking history as a mirror, one can know the rise and fall of dynasties. But knowing is one thing; acting on that knowledge is quite another. Otherwise, how could the tale of rulers and ministers suspecting each other unto their own ruin have repeated itself so many times since antiquity?

After all that deliberation before appointing him, now that the man was at the front lines giving his all and risking his life for you, what was the meaning of this suspicion from behind? Liu Zhiyuan was hardly an obtuse ruler, and he still carried a bit of the "jianghu temperament" of one who had fought his way up from the bottom. Having been lectured by his own son, though his pride smarted, he nevertheless issued an edict forbidding court officials from voicing further suspicions, with severe punishment for violators.

Liu Chengyou could see it clearly now: among all these Han officials at court, it would be false to say there were no wise men—but of those truly and single-mindedly devoted to the fortunes of the Great Han, there were probably few. Including Yang Bin and Shi Hongzhao—their aims might differ, but they shared a common trait: self-advancement. The severance of righteousness between ruler and minister was the true portrait of emperors and their officials in this age, for one could never be certain who might next sit upon the dragon throne.

Gao Xingzhou was fortunate to have Liu Chengyou arguing fiercely for him at court. This time, Liu Chengyou acted purely out of public duty, without a shred of personal motive. But the sense of responsibility he displayed, once it spread abroad, won him no small measure of goodwill—the hearts of officers and soldiers alike.

Under Liu Chengyou's forceful intervention, that pernicious trend of "suspicion" at court was checked. However, the war situation at Yedu remained a difficult problem before the court—one that had to be resolved. They could not simply keep besieging forever.

The court had its own difficulties. Wang Zhang, managing the State Finance Commission, had originally stockpiled half a year's worth of supplies for the suppression campaign. But actual consumption always far exceeds what you anticipate—especially with something as uncontrollable as war.

Who could have predicted the suppression campaign would drag into such a war of attrition? The human and material resources consumed by those "turtle shells" Gao Xingzhou had built outside Yedu far exceeded what those court officials who understood nothing of the matter could imagine. And this was with the Han army having successfully confined the fighting to Yedu alone and requisitioning large amounts of Weibo's local resources on site—otherwise, the hole would have been even bigger.

At root, it was that as the treasury gradually ran dry and the war progressed poorly, the court's confidence in suppressing the rebellion was no longer so firm. Wang Zhang was already preparing to levy additional taxes on the merchants and artisans of the Eastern Capital, and had shown an inclination to "solicit donations" from court officials and military officers. At the Liyang Ferry, he had assigned men to organize a large party to salvage the ships that had sunk when the Khitan crossed southward—whether it would amount to anything, who could say.

Of course, it was already deep autumn, and the autumn harvest had begun across the prefectures and counties, reaping the autumn grain. But from harvest to tax payment and storage was a process that took time—it could not quench the present thirst. Thus, just yesterday, the court had ordered that the Han troops at Yedu first requisition Weibo grain for their use, with compensation to the people to be made after the war.

The order was issued lightly, but in actual practice, for the people of the Weibo region, it would be another "disaster"—an act that would grievously lose the people's hearts. But there was no help for it; the war had to take priority. As for the people's hearts, that could only be mended slowly later. If the suppression campaign went wrong, no amount of popular support could make up the loss.

"Your Highness, urgent report from Yedu!" As he was lost in thought, Wei Renpu hurried in and presented a military dispatch to Liu Chengyou.

Glancing at its markings: expedited.

Drawing in a cold breath, Liu Chengyou took it in hand, and before even looking at it, asked directly: "The assault on the city failed?"

Wei Renpu nodded, his expression grave: "Yes!"

It had been on the first day of the ninth month. Yedu had been under siege for over a month. Pressured from all sides, Liu Zhiyuan had finally lost patience, issuing a golden decree commanding Gao Xingzhou to assault the city. After all, with full initiative in hand, dragging things out indefinitely was no solution—they had to make an attempt. Well, here were the results.

"Fortunately, the situation is not too dire—everything remains within our army's control!" Having read through it almost word by word, Liu Chengyou let out a sigh of relief.

Reports from Yedu had been arriving nearly daily. This one, besides the military intelligence, also served as Gao Xingzhou's confession of fault. He had ordered the assault; the soldiers had swarmed the walls like ants, fighting desperately and storming Yedu for days without taking the city. In total, over five thousand men had been lost, with twice that number wounded. He requested the court punish him. However, this time Gao Xingzhou had made a rather confident promise: give him one more month, and Yedu would surely fall.

"But it will be difficult to account for this before His Majesty and the assembled ministers," Wei Renpu sighed. He had personally witnessed that earlier storm.

Before Wei Renpu, Liu Chengyou basically spoke his mind: "With the war at this stage, it's already hard enough on Lord Gao. Maintaining the situation at Yedu—Lord Gao has rendered great merit. At bottom, this is a problem of the court's choice of men and generals!"

Such words, Wei Renpu merely listened to, not daring to comment rashly. Liu Chengyou was clearly alluding to the Emperor's appointment of Murong Yanchao.

"Have Chancellor Yang and Commissioner Guo not returned yet?" Liu Chengyou asked.

Yang Bin and Guo Wei—one had gone to discuss affairs before the throne, the other to inspect armor and weapons and review the imperial army. Here at the Bureau of Military Affairs, Liu Chengyou was on duty.

"No."

"I shall go to Chuigong Hall at once!" Liu Chengyou picked up the military report and set off with swift resolve.

Liu Chengyou was quite familiar with Chuigong Hall. No announcement was needed; he walked straight in. Along the way, he noted that Liu Chengxun was not at the Kaifeng government office but was present with Yang Bin and the other ministers—and Liu Zhiyuan was in a rage.

Somewhat surprised—had news of the failed assault already arrived?

"What's happened?" Liu Chengyou asked in a low voice.

Liu Chengxun also explained briefly in a low voice.

"Outrageous! This Gao Laizi—is he threatening me?" Liu Zhiyuan suddenly roared.

The matter was not truly all that complicated. Upon hearing of Du Chongwei's rebellion and the Han court's ineffective encirclement, Gao Conghui, the King of Nanping, could no longer sit still. He had sent an envoy to the Eastern Capital, bearing a letter to Liu Zhiyuan, requesting that the court cede to him Yingzhou and Fuzhou, which bordered Jingnan—otherwise... The words were left unspoken, but the meaning was clear. How could Liu Zhiyuan not be enraged?

Liu Chengyou sighed inwardly. This was the adverse effect of a prolonged campaign. That Gao Laizi was jumping about impatiently; if Yedu dragged on much longer, who knew how many more demons and monsters would come crawling out to make mischief.

"What are you muttering about? Whispering in the hall—what sort of decorum is that!" Liu Zhiyuan turned his spear of wrath toward Liu Chengyou, glaring at him as he demanded: "What do you have to report?"

"The war report from Yedu." Liu Chengyou lowered his head slightly, holding up with both hands the document that might provoke even greater fury from Liu Zhiyuan.

However, somewhat to Liu Chengyou's surprise, after reading it, Liu Zhiyuan did not fly into a rage. He merely fell silent—though his expression was clearly none too pleasant.

Soon, all the ministers present learned of the failed assault. A profound silence fell over the hall.

"An Shenqi has arrived at Xiangzhou by now, hasn't he?" Liu Zhiyuan suddenly asked.

Not daring to be slow, Yang Bin immediately replied: "Your Majesty, Governor An has been at his post for over a month now."

After a moment's thought, Liu Zhiyuan waved his hand, his imperial sleeve sweeping up as he coldly commanded: "As for this Gao Laizi—pay him no heed. Drive his envoy out of the Eastern Capital. Send an edict to An Shenqi: if the Jingnan army keeps to its proper place, so be it; but if there is the slightest move, beat them back for me!"

Seeing Liu Zhiyuan's hardline stance, Yang Bin opened his mouth, wanting to offer a word of counsel—but gazing at Liu Zhiyuan's sullen face, which rivaled the Liu Chengyou of old, he prudently shut his mouth and answered respectfully: "Yes."

After another spell of brooding silence, a wave of weariness crept across his face. Scanning the hall, Liu Zhiyuan's voice sounded especially bleak: "The assault on the city has failed, and the war at Yedu stands thus—what is to be done?"

The hall was filled mostly with civil officials. They exchanged glances with one another, yet none dared rashly offer an opinion.

In truth, at this point, the options available were few.

Lifting the siege was out of the question. Setting aside the earlier victories, the court had invested so much manpower and material—it could not be allowed to go down the drain. Most importantly, if they paid such a heavy price and let Du Chongwei survive, what authority would the Great Han court have left? What would it use to awe the military governors and the various separatist regimes of the realm?

So it was to be a fight to the death—at any cost, Du Chongwei must be taken.

"Perhaps... we wait another month?" Li Hui, Commissioner of the Southern Palace Bureau, stepped forward and probed cautiously.

Liu Zhiyuan gave him only a look, and the man, taking the hint, bowed his head and withdrew.

From Liu Zhiyuan's attitude, it was clear he had little patience left.

Seeing this, Liu Chengyou stepped forward at the right moment and made a standard bow with clasped hands: "In your subject-son's observation, the situation at Yedu has grown stagnant. Du Chongwei is already an arrow at the end of its flight—nothing to fear. The reason our army attacks without taking the city is that morale is hard to rouse. Your subject-son believes that if Your Majesty could personally appear at the front lines, descending with the supreme dignity of the Son of Heaven, morale would surely surge, and we would break the rebels in one strike!"

Though Liu Chengyou's words were somewhat exaggerated, his suggestion was perfectly clear.

Liu Zhiyuan looked at him, feeling a complex mix of emotions. Though this son of his was young in years, he had truly been tempered by experience. That calm, composed bearing of a great commander actually threatened to outshine his own imperial father.

In his mind surfaced the memory of that day's court deliberation—Liu Chengyou's proposal had been just as certain then, but he had not listened, and that had led to the present situation.

Without deliberating long, Liu Zhiyuan suddenly stood up. He did not ask further questions, his expression exceptionally resolute: "I decree—we shall choose an auspicious day for the imperial expedition!"