Chapter 125

“Prince, our Great Jin has mobilized four hundred thousand troops, with Temujin—a local—as our guide; the fall of the Mongols is imminent. Yet this military merit belongs to Wanyan Honglie. I wonder if this merit will bring him back from the dead.” In the Third Prince’s mansion, Zhang Xiaofan finished speaking, and Wanyan Hongxi smashed the teapot onto the floor.

“That Wanyan Honglie intended to make a Han man emperor of Jin—every member of our Wanyan clan despises him. We thought he’d be utterly abandoned, yet so many gentry have rallied to his side. Now even a barbarian from beyond the pass knows of his virtuous reputation and seeks to help him reclaim his throne. This Great Jin belongs to the Wanyan family, not theirs.” Wanyan Hongxi’s eyes brimmed with venomous hatred toward Wanyan Honglie and his supporters.

Our father always favored Wanyan Honglie’s mother, that lowly Han woman Li Shier. After Wanyan Honglie’s birth, our father’s favor flowed entirely to him alone; we brothers were utterly expendable.

Not only did our father favor him, but civil and military officials vied to kiss his boots, praising him as virtuous throughout the court. I envied Wanyan Honglie—why did he earn our father’s favor and the officials’ support, while I would only ever be a idle prince?

No matter how hard I tried to please our father, he never so much as glanced at me. After I finally ousted Wanyan Honglie from court, I unleashed a purge against his faction.

I didn’t just target Wanyan Honglie’s allies and supporters—I killed anyone who had ever been close to him or praised him.

That Temujin who delivered Wanyan Honglie’s military merit must die, and so must his thousands of Xi Xia troops.

After receiving Wanyan Hongxi’s order, the local commander forced Temujin’s troops to quarter in the stables. Wanyan Honglie tried to intervene, but the commander produced the imperial decree.

Wanyan Honglie simply could not fathom how the entire Wanyan clan had thrown everything into supporting Wanyan Hongxi—simply because Bao Xiruo and Yang Kang’s bodies had never been found.

Had killing a prince not carried too great a risk, they would have drawn their swords and slain him outright.

“Prince, these tactics must be the work of that faction. Must we sit here and wait to be destroyed?” Temujin demanded, furious.

His soldiers had traveled thousands of miles to this foreign land, enduring great hardship. If he stood by and let them live in stables, morale would shatter.

“At this point, every member of the Wanyan clan is doing everything possible to block my ascension. I cannot stop them,” Wanyan Honglie said, sighing, his expression filled with helplessness.

“No. Though the Wanyan clan does not support you, a deep-rooted force on this land is bound to you. If you fight with all your strength, that force will become your greatest ally,” Temujin declared firmly.

After months of close observation and careful study, Temujin had truly grasped the immense power of the gentry class. This class was not only numerous but held a pivotal position in social structure, possessing broad knowledge, deep cultural foundations, and extensive social networks—they were vital participants and influencers in politics, economy, culture, and more.

The gentry’s power lay not only in their social status and influence, but in the cultural traditions and values they represented. They upheld traditional moral codes and cultural heritage, serving as crucial forces for social stability and progress.

Temujin understood the gentry’s importance. He knew only by building strong ties with them could he advance his cause and his nation’s development. Thus, he actively engaged and cooperated with them, respected their opinions, and strove to earn their support and trust.

In this process, Temujin also deeply recognized his own shortcomings and areas needing improvement. He studied relentlessly, grew continuously, and worked to elevate his character and abilities to better cooperate with the gentry in the future.

Yet deep within, Temujin knew his place in their eyes: merely a barbarian from the steppe. Compared to him, Wanyan Honglie—a Jin descendant who had lived in the Central Plains for a century—had been steeped in Confucian learning since childhood, refined in manner, erudite, and naturally more worthy of their favor and respect.

Though Temujin possessed a strong physique and the bold spirit of a steppe warrior, to those who revered ritual and scholarship, he ultimately lacked the elegance and depth of a scholar. Wanyan Honglie, however, inherited the Jin bloodline and, under the influence of Central Plains culture, had forged a unique personal charm. Every gesture of his radiated Confucian grace, drawing admiration effortlessly.

If he had the support of this force, he would have fought fiercely rather than let them strip away his wings—otherwise, his followers would lose faith in him.

“But these gentry, though influential, hold no army, no military power—without these, how can we fight?” Wanyan Honglie asked urgently.

“Did they ever have military power to begin with? They started with no money, no men—yet they persisted step by step to overthrow you. Think: if the Great Jin falls under your hands, what face will you have to show your Wanyan ancestors?”

“Your palace guards plus my troops strike first. With gentry support, we can swiftly seize control of the entire nation.”

Temujin knew time was not on his side. Guo Jing had already unified Xi Xia; once he fully integrated its forces, they would command three million people and thirty thousand elite soldiers.

The Revolution Army of this state would also grow over time—he had no time left.