Chapter 143

After hearing Wang Dayan's words, Li Gou'er stood frozen in place, unable to recover for a long time. This matter was utterly absurd, like a fantasy from the clouds; his mind was a chaos, and he simply could not believe such a bizarre thing could exist in this world.

There were people in this world who gave away the wealth and land they had fought for with their lives to a complete stranger, a destitute beggar.

"Gou'er, I've told you everything—don't go blabbing this to others," Wang Dayan reminded him again, seeing Li Gou'er's silence.

"Relax. Even if this gets out, I won't betray you," Li Gou'er shot Wang Dayan a scornful look and turned his head away.

He truly didn't want anyone to know he knew such a shameful fellow.

Yet Wang Dayan paid no heed to Li Gou'er's contempt, bowed and scraped in thanks, then left.

"Do you think Wang Dayan was lying to us?" Li Gou'er asked his fellow villagers.

"He has no reason to lie to us. Just ask any local person—you'll find out right away. He couldn't fool anyone," one villager shook his head in denial.

"Then let's ask the locals. I don't trust Wang Dayan's character. You haven't dealt with him—he's always been a thief and a scoundrel, never caring if his reputation turns to shit. I won't feel safe unless we're careful." Li Gou'er recalled Wang Dayan's past behavior and shook his head.

"Then how about this? We still have over a month before battle. We can use the chance to go out and buy supplies, and ask around?" one villager suggested.

"Good idea," Li Gou'er agreed, finding the plan sound.

After questioning the locals, their expressions grew complicated.

Back at camp, no one spoke. Finally, Li Gou'er, their leader, couldn't hold back and demanded: "Are we really going to fight this army? Are we going to fight an army that belongs to the poor like us?"

Hearing Li Gou'er's words, their heads sank lower. If ordinary people praised some great figure, it was likely due to propaganda.

But this was the first time they'd heard common folk praise the government and commend the army. To the people, the army was more brutal than bandits, for the army was far larger in number. Bandits still feared the government—but what did the army fear?

Especially in the Jin state, a nation built on military might, the entire Jin realm was effectively the private property of the Jurchens. The Jurchens could force Han people into slavery and use slaves to expand their own land.

The government had to kowtow to the Jurchens. Once military force went unchecked, human depravity and the destruction of order became incalculable.

Under such conditions, how could you expect the masses to hold any good impression of the army?

Yet just moments ago, they had seen the people praising the army, calling them "sons of the people," calling these soldiers their own kin.

They said these men fought so the poor would no longer suffer under the Jurchens, the corrupt officials, the wealthy landowners—that they fought so the people could finally speak for themselves, not to plunder towns and gorge themselves on food.

In the end, they lacked the courage to reveal their own identities.

"Speak up! If an army like this is wiped out, will the next rebel force be like them? Have you thought about it—if they win, how can we face these people when they've won back the land with their lives for us?"

"Will our descendants, enjoying ever better lives, be ashamed to hold their heads high because of what we do today? Have you thought that if they lose, we become traitors to history—no one will rise again to overthrow the landlords and rich men, because we're low enough to become the dogs of the wealthy, biting our own people?"

Li Gou'er was furious. Though his name was Gou'er, he did not want himself or his family to live like dogs. Those gentry believed cruelty and bloodshed could terrify them into submission.

They were wrong. There were always people in this world who refused to bow to violence and power.

"Big Brother, don't say more. Our lives were saved by you on the battlefield. You decide—we'll follow you, even if it's through fire and mountains of blades." One villager cried out loudly.

"That's right, Big Brother. Don't try to stir us up. If this army lets us poor folk live without suffering, I'll gladly throw my life away."

"Since we enlisted and stepped onto the battlefield, haven't we all just strapped our heads to our belts, selling our lives to landlords for a few meals? These men give us land. If we die, they'll be filial sons to our mothers. Selling our lives to them is worth it."

Li Gou'er looked at these brothers who had walked out of their hometown with him, tears in his eyes, and said: "You're all good men. Good. Then I ask one thing of you—turn me in."

At these words, the villagers froze in place.

In the Jin army's command tent, an officer sat quietly, posture straight as a pine, demeanor refined, every gesture radiating a deep, restrained strength.

His brush danced swiftly across military documents, each character written with forceful vigor.

His fingers moved rapidly over the desk, handling one urgent matter after another, each decision sharp and precise.

Such a refined commander was rare in the rough Jin encampment. The young man was Wanyan Liangzuo, descendant of Prince Xiao of Jin, Wanyan Bingde. Of course, he had another name: Wanyan Chenhe.

Though obscure in later history, every general he defeated was renowned across the land.

At the Battle of Dachangyuan, with only eight hundred cavalry of the Loyalty and Filiality Army, he crushed eight thousand Mongol troops led by Chilaowen, lifting the siege of Qingyang and preserving a vital link in Jin's Guanhe defense line.

At the Battle of Weizhou, alongside Wanyan Heda and Yilu Pua, he defeated Mongol forces led by Shi Tianze.

At the Battle of Daohu Valley, with three thousand cavalry of the Loyalty and Filiality Army, he crossed mountains and ridges to engage Sutai's forty-thousand-strong Mongol cavalry in the valley, slaying over twenty thousand Mongol horsemen and delivering a crushing defeat to Sutai.

His military prowess was evident. Now, with the Jin capital under siege, he had followed his father, Wanyan Qige, the military commander of Jiezhou, to the capital to rescue the emperor.

At this moment, this future general was still a child. But years of immersion in military affairs had shown him that this battle held little hope.

Along the way, local civilians had praised the rebel army endlessly, for they not only refrained from burning, looting, or harming people, but occasionally organized troops to help villagers with their labor.

When he learned of this, he realized their enemy was terrifyingly strong—not like the old rebel bands, which had no discipline and collapsed at the first strike from regular troops.

An army was collective power: it gathered the strength of tens of thousands to deliver devastating blows to the enemy.

When two armies clashed, it was two machines of violence, each forged from countless men, colliding—whichever machine was sturdier would win.