Chapter 165: Northern Expedition

Zhao Kuo remained silent for a long time.

By nature gentle and kind, he disliked warfare, but the four words "Recover the Central Plains" were carved into the bones of every Southern Song Emperor. He looked at the fire in Han Tuozhou's eyes, then at the military report in Su Shidan's hand, and finally nodded slowly.

"Approved."

One word, lightly falling into the dragon-scented incense smoke of the Chuigong Hall.

Su Shidan knelt on the ground, his lips moved, but in the end he did not speak the words pressed against his throat—"Grand Preceptor, the cavalry of that New Ming Party, after reorganizing the Kereit tribe, crossed the great desert in only seven days. Seven days. At this speed, counting back a thousand years, no steppe army has ever achieved this."

He swallowed his words, kowtowed, rose, and exited the great hall.

Outside the hall, the scent of osmanthus from Xihu remained cloyingly sweet. Lin'an City was bustling; in the teahouses, storytellers were recounting how Grandpa Yue pierced the Young Prince of Liang with his spear, while children on the streets chased and played with bamboo horses, and merchant ships on the Grand Canal unloaded spices from Jiaozhi and rice from Champa. Everything flourished under the sun, like a painting that would never fade.

No one noticed that tucked within the oral records of the "Returned People" in the corner of the Bureau of Military Affairs was a crumpled sheet of paper, on which a Han merchant who had fled north had clumsily drawn a pattern with charcoal—a red flag bearing a crossed sickle and hammer.

The Han merchant said he had seen the New Ming Party's base from a distance; all the flags there bore this pattern, bright red, like blood.

As for whether it was a rising sun or an anvil, he was too far away to see clearly.

This record was later filed under "Northern Border Miscellaneous Reports," buried beneath a pile of official documents concerning grain prices in the Jin Kingdom and the horse administration of Western Xia, never to be opened again.

Bureau of Military Affairs, late night.

The candle flames had been replaced three times. The tea on the Shanghe Yuan cooled and was refilled, refilled and cooled again, yet Su Shidan had not taken a single sip. Before him lay a thick stack of military reports; the papers were new and old, their sources varied—secret letters from the Sichuan Commissioner's Office, frontier dispatches from the Jinghu Pacification Commissioner, silk scrolls returned by spies within the Jin Kingdom, and transcribed oral accounts from Returned People. These items were scattered on the desk like a pile of puzzle pieces; he had sat before the desk for a full four double-hours, finally piecing these fragments into a rough outline.

This outline made his spine chill.

He spread out a fresh sheet of paper, picked up his brush, and began drafting a memorial to the throne. Halfway through, the brush tip paused. Looking at the characters he had written, he felt every single one sounded like madness, yet every single one was supported by at least three independent testimonies.

"Enough," he said softly, crumpled the wasted paper into a ball and threw it into the charcoal brazier, then took fresh paper and, in the most plain and dry tone possible, listed the facts without any speculation or judgment—let Grand Preceptor Han decide for himself.

The second imperial council meeting had a few more people than the first.

Besides Han Tuozhou and Su Shidan, the urgent military dispatch from Wu Xi, the Sichuan Pacification Commissioner, was exceptionally permitted to be presented directly to the throne, and Zhao Chun, the Jinghu Commissioner, had sent an advisor to the capital overnight. Large maps hung in the hall, marked with cinnabar indicating the situations in Western Xia, the Jin Kingdom, and the steppes; red markers were dense, like spreading bloodstains.

Su Shidan rose to report, his voice even drier than before.

"Your Majesty, my lords, since the last military report, the situation in the north has undergone a drastic change. Western Xia has fallen."

A commotion rippled through the hall. Vice Minister of War Xue Shusi blurted out, "Fallen? Has Western Xia been destroyed?"

"Not destroyed as a state, but... fallen in another manner," Su Shidan weighed his words. "The Western Xia royal family remains, the state title is unchanged, but all major military garrisons, passes, granaries, and iron smelters within the borders have been taken over by so-called 'Advisory Teams' sent from the steppes. The Western Xia army is undergoing reorganization; unit designations remain, but the command structure has been completely dismantled and restructured. Commanders above the company level are uniformly replaced by political workers sent from the steppes. According to spy reports, a new drill manual different from the old Western Xia system has begun to be implemented in the Western Xia army, identical to the system used last year when the steppe cavalry reorganized the Kereit tribe."

He turned to the next page, his fingers trembling slightly.

"What is more terrifying is this," he said. "Western Xia's ironware. Western Xia's iron smelting was never weak; there were state-run ironworks in the Helan Mountains operated by Western Xia for decades. Now these ironworks have all been taken over, working day and night. A Returned Person said he saw Western Xia troops equipped with new gear near Xingqing Prefecture—their arrowheads have changed shape to a standardized narrow-edged armor-piercing cone; the arrow shaft length and fletching angle are completely consistent. What does this mean? It means standardization. My lords, steppe cavalry plus Western Xia ironworks plus standardized weaponry—this is no longer a tribal force that relies on mounted archery."

He set down the military report, his voice dropping even lower.

"There is one more thing. Western Xia has signed a treaty of alliance with that organization. We have not obtained the full text of the treaty, but one clause was leaked by dissatisfied old ministers in the Western Xia court—Western Xia agrees to let the steppe armed forces 'pass through.' What does 'pass through' mean? From Western Xia heading south, taking the Xiaoguan Pass route, one can directly enter Lizhou West Circuit. From Western Xia heading east, taking Suide and Yan'an, one reaches the Fuyan Circuit of the Jin Kingdom."

He pointed his finger at the map, drawing a line southeast from Western Xia; the end of that line landed exactly on the Shukou defense line in Sichuan.

Wu Xi's urgent military dispatch happened to come into play at this moment. Su Shidan picked up the secret letter from Sichuan, his voice heavy: "Commissioner Wu stated clearly in the urgent dispatch that the front of Lizhou West Circuit originally only needed to guard against Western Xia; now that Western Xia has become a passage for others, the frontal pressure on Lizhou West Circuit has more than doubled. The three passes of Shukou—Wuxiu Pass, Xianren Pass, and Qifang Pass—have been the gateways of our Great Song for generations, but these three passes were originally constructed to defend against conventional mixed infantry and cavalry armies; they never considered facing a steppe mobile corps with standardized equipment and a unified command structure. Commissioner Wu's original words were: 'If the enemy uses Xia territory as a passage, emerges through Xiaoguan and strikes Shukou, then I do not know with what strategy I can defend against it.'"

These words were already very heavy. Wu Xi was the Sichuan Pacification Commissioner, commanding the armies of both Lizhou East and West Circuits, the supreme commander of the western front. When he said "I do not know with what strategy I can defend against it," he was not engaging in alarmist talk, but truly felt fear.

The air in the hall suddenly became thick.

Han Tuozhou had not spoken. He sat to the right of the Shanghe Yuan, hands folded before his abdomen, his expression calm, showing no sign of fluctuation. But those familiar with him noticed his right index finger tapping lightly on the back of his left hand, the rhythm growing faster and faster.

He finally spoke, his voice much lower than before: "What about the Jin Kingdom? How is the Jin Kingdom reacting?"

"The Jin Kingdom's performance on the western front," Su Shidan said with a bitter smile, "can be described in four words—panic and alarm. Jin armies in all circuits of Shaanxi have entered a state of imminent combat; all border trading markets are closed; all relay stations have doubled their horse allocations; the beacon tower system dares not extinguish its fires day or night. Our spies personally saw in Fengxiang Prefecture that the Jin army dragged out bed crossbows stored for over a decade from the warehouses and mounted them on the city walls. These bed crossbows were captured by the Jin when they destroyed the Liao Dynasty; they had not been used for decades, and now all have been re-strung. The most critical movement is this—the Jin Kingdom has transferred two main ten-thousand-household units from east of Tong Pass to Shaanxi, yet Tong Pass was originally the first major fortress defending our Great Song. This means the Jin Kingdom would rather weaken the eastern front's defense against our country than not hold the western front at all costs."

He paused, then concluded: "The Jurchens fear the steppes to this extent."

"Then has the steppe attacked the Jin Kingdom?"

"No," Su Shidan shook his head. "Not a single battle fought. They annexed Western Xia and now share a full border with the Jin Kingdom's western front, yet they have not launched a single offensive. What are they doing? Digesting Western Xia. Stationing troops, reorganizing, controlling ironworks, signing treaties, establishing puppet regimes, implementing new systems—all of this, from the moment we received the first news of Western Xia's changes until now, has taken less than half a year. In half a year, a century-old Western Xia was swallowed silently."

He raised his head, fear in his eyes that he himself did not realize.

"My lords, the Jurchens destroyed the Liao in eleven full years. The Great Jin destroyed the Northern Song in less than two years. But this New Ming Party annexed Western Xia in less than half a year. And there were no major battles, no sieges, no prolonged offensives and defenses—just a treaty, an advisory team, and a reorganization plan, and Western Xia was gone."

These words were like a stone thrown into a deep pool; the hall was so quiet one could hear the sound of candle wicks bursting.

A political party, without using weapons, relying on political infiltration and institutional transformation, turned a century-old Western Xia into its own puppet and arsenal in half a year. Such a method, counting back a thousand years, no Central Plains dynasty dealing with surrounding states could achieve. Counting forward, no one can either.

Vice Minister of Rites Li Bi suddenly spoke, his voice trembling slightly: "They... what exactly is their origin? Is that leader truly a youth of seventeen or eighteen?"

Su Shidan shook his head helplessly: "Regarding their internal intelligence, we know far too little. We only know the organization is named the New Ming Party, the title of the supreme leader is 'General Secretary', and his name is Zhang Chu'an; he indeed appears as a youth. The child named Guo Jing beside him, according to Returned People, is not a puppet or a symbol, but a core figure truly participating in decision-making, responsible for matters seemingly related to military training. Beyond this, we know nothing. Their internal structure, decision-making methods, goal program, troop scale, logistics system—all are blank."

"Blank?" Han Tuozhou's voice suddenly rose sharply. "A force that has swallowed the steppes and Western Xia, standing across the Jin Kingdom from us, and we do not even know their origin?"

Su Shidan lowered his head and remained silent.

Han Tuozhou stood up and paced back and forth in the hall. His steps were large, the soles of his boots striking the golden bricks with a crisp sound; every step seemed to tread on the hearts of everyone in the hall.

He walked ten or so steps, then suddenly stopped, turned to face Zhao Kuo, and the usual calm smile was gone from his face, replaced by a tense, almost ferocious determination.

"Your Majesty," he said, his voice heavy as if pressing down a block of iron, "I previously thought this force was merely another band of bandits on the steppes. I was wrong."

When admitting his mistake, his expression did not change; he did not even pause, but continued directly.

"The current situation is clear—this is not a band of bandits, but a regime with organization, a program, and a strategy. They swallowed Western Xia in half a year, not using cavalry charges, but political maneuvering. Such an opponent is ten times more terrifying than the Jurchens. They are not attacking the Jin Kingdom now because they are digesting Western Xia. Once Western Xia is fully digested, their next target will undoubtedly be the Jin Kingdom; this is without doubt."

He walked to the map and slapped his hand heavily onto the Yellow River basin.

"If they annex the Jin Kingdom before we act—Your Majesty, the Jin Kingdom occupies the Central Plains and Guanzhong, possessing a complete Central Plains city defense system and the natural barrier of the Yellow River. Once these resources fall into the hands of that organization, their cavalry plus the Central Plains' grain, Guanzhong's ironworks, and Hebei's population will create an enemy even more terrifying than when the Jurchens destroyed the Song. By then, forget about the Northern Expedition to recover the Central Plains; whether our Jianghuai defense line can even be held will be unknown."

He turned around, his eyes burning with the mad calmness of a gambler facing the final hand.

"Therefore, I beg Your Majesty to immediately issue an edict for the Northern Expedition."

The hall erupted in uproar.

"Grand Preceptor!" Li Bi suddenly stood up. "The Kaixi Northern Expedition was originally scheduled for next spring; grain, military equipment, and conscription of laborers are still being prepared. To start early now, I fear preparations will be insufficient—"

"Insufficient preparations?" Han Tuozhou cut him off, his voice like a blade slicing across ice. "Vice Minister Li, we are preparing, but they are preparing too. If we prepare one step slower, they will prepare one step faster. We are waiting for next spring, but they will not wait for us. Western Xia was gone in half a year; do you think how long the Jin Kingdom can last? One year? Two years? By the time the Jin Kingdom also becomes their arsenal and granary, what use is it if you prepare even more thoroughly?"

He turned to Zhao Kuo, knelt on one knee, clasped his hands, and spoke with decisive firmness.

"Your Majesty, I, Han Tuozhou, request the imperial order—immediately launch the Northern Expedition, advancing simultaneously via the Two Huai, Jinghu, and Sichuan routes, to recover the Central Plains at the fastest speed, seize the natural barrier of the Yellow River before that force annexes the Jin Kingdom, and build a strategic barrier for the Great Song capable of stopping the steppe iron cavalry. The opportunity cannot be missed; if lost, it will not return!"

Zhao Kuo sat on the dragon throne, silent for a long time.

The candlelight flickered on his thin face, bright and dim. He looked at Han Tuozhou kneeling before him, at this old minister who had once pushed him onto the throne and now was about to push the Great Song onto the battlefield with his own hand. His lips moved several times, but in the end he only spoke two words.

"Draft the edict."

The winter of the second year of Xikai arrived earlier than in previous years.

By the time the osmanthus in Lin'an had all fallen, orders for the mobilization of armies from all directions had already been issued. Ferries along the Yangtze River transported grain and supplies day and night; civilian laborers formed long lines on the official roads; the forges' furnaces burned from dusk till dawn, rushing to produce arrowheads and horseshoes. The entire front line in Huai and Jiang was permeated with a tense yet excited atmosphere, like a bowstring pulled to its limit.

Meanwhile, seventeen hundred li away in Zhongxing Prefecture, atop the city tower of the Western Xia royal palace, a youth in a gray cloth military uniform stood in the north wind, overlooking the ironworks below the Helan Mountains. The furnace fires illuminated half the night sky; the sound of hammers striking anvils, like dense drumbeats, traveled from the foot of the mountain all the way to the city ramparts.

Behind him stood an even smaller figure, appearing to be ten years old, holding a booklet in his hands. Written in neat regular script on the cover were a few characters—"Interim Summary of the Reorganization Work in Xia Territory."

"Guo Jing," Zhang Chu'an said without turning around, his voice very soft, "tell me, what do you think they are doing in Lin'an right now?"

Guo Jing thought for a moment and answered seriously, "According to the judgment of the intelligence station, they are probably preparing for a northern expedition."

Zhang Chu'an smiled, the curve of his lips very faint.

"A northern expedition, huh." He gazed toward the southeast, his eyes piercing the vast darkness, as if looking at something, yet as if seeing nothing at all. "Let them fight. The Jin Kingdom's city defense system is indeed not weak; let them go chew on those hard bones first."

He turned around, took the booklet from Guo Jing's hands, flipped to one of the pages, glanced at it using the firelight from the ramparts, and frowned slightly.

"The progress of infiltration in Shaanxi is still too slow. The Jin Kingdom has deployed very densely on the western front; a direct assault is not cost-effective. Tell Commissar Chen to have the underground party accelerate a bit further—our goal is not to go to war with the Jin Kingdom, but to control the grassroots level of Shaanxi before the Northern Song's northern expeditionary army arrives."

Guo Jing pulled a strangely short charcoal pencil from his pocket and wrote this sentence in the blank space of the booklet. His handwriting was both fast and neat, unlike the penmanship of a ten-year-old child.

The north wind blew in from the Gobi Desert, whipping the red flags on the ramparts, which snapped loudly. The pattern of the sickle and hammer on the flag flickered in and out of the firelight, like a heart beating slowly.

The sound of hammers below the Helan Mountains did not stop throughout the night.