[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-from-special-forces-to-the-multiverse":3,"chapter-from-special-forces-to-the-multiverse-from-special-forces-to-the-multiverse-chapter-181":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","From Special Forces to the Multiverse",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2315231,4527,"Chapter 181: The Recovery of Tangzhou","from-special-forces-to-the-multiverse-chapter-181",181,"\u003Cp>In the fourth month, sixth day of Kaixi Year Two, Jingnan West Road, Tangzhou.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tangzhou was not large. In terms of fortifications, it lacked the brick-and-stone reinforcements of Lingbi; in terms of garrison, it didn’t even have two thousand troops like Sizhou. But it sat between the Tongbai Mountains and the Tang River, guarding the southern gateway to the Nanyang Basin. Take Tangzhou, and Dengzhou lies before you; take Dengzhou, and you choke off the vital throat of Bian River West Road. The strategic value of the central route lay not in annihilating enemies, but in steady advance—like prying open door after door, each revealing a path toward the heartland of the Central Plains.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Xue Shusi pitched his central command tent thirty li south of Tangzhou, in Huyang Town. He was not as eager as Guo Ni. The eastern route had already taken Sizhou and was now besieging Lingbi; battle reports flew nonstop to Lin’an, each reeking of oil and blood. Xue Shusi read them, neatly stacked them in the corner of his desk, and returned to reviewing his grain and supply documents. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the eastern route—he knew his mission was different. The eastern route was the main force, striking with overwhelming momentum; the central route was a flank force, advancing drop by drop, like water wearing through stone. A flank force had its own tactics—stability mattered more than speed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But that didn’t mean he wasn’t anxious. When alone in his tent, he stood before the map, his finger slowly tracing the road from Tangzhou to Dengzhou, his brow knotted into a “ Chuan ” shape. He had only fifty thousand troops, fewer than thirty thousand capable of open-field combat; the rest were logistical troops and newly recruited garrison soldiers. He didn’t fully know the Jin army’s strength, but spies reported roughly three thousand in Tangzhou and six or seven thousand in Dengzhou. Three thousand men defending a small city—if he launched a full assault, he could take it in three days. But then what? A frontal assault meant heavy casualties, and his forces couldn’t afford heavy losses. The central route’s strategy was steady advance, not desperate grinding.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the twelfth of April, Xue Shusi’s vanguard reached the southern outskirts of Tangzhou. Commander Li Yi led five hundred cavalry ahead, establishing camp three li from the city walls, following Xue Shusi’s orders to hold position. That afternoon, Xue Shusi’s main force arrived, and fifty thousand troops slowly deployed across the open fields south of Tangzhou, their encampment tightly organized—ditches, palisades, watchtowers, patrols—all present. He did not rush to attack. First, he sent a messenger into the city.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The messenger carried no surrender ultimatum, but a letter written in Xue Shusi’s own hand. Its tone was calm, devoid of threats like “Heaven’s Army has descended, surrender at once.” It stated only three things: First, Sizhou has fallen, Hongxian has fallen, the eastern army is besieging Lingbi—the Jin’s southern front is collapsing. Second, your garrison numbers fewer than three thousand; my force exceeds fifty thousand; a frontal assault will surely succeed, but I wish to avoid unnecessary slaughter. Third, you have one day to decide. After one day, if you do not surrender, I will attack. When the city falls, you bear full responsibility.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the end of the letter, he added: “The people within the city are all former subjects of Great Song. I, Xue, have no wish to bring them harm with weapons. I beg the general to consider the lives of all within the city.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Jin commander of Tangzhou was Wanyan Alubao, a veteran over fifty, unremarkable among Jin’s southern generals but known for prudence. His troops indeed numbered fewer than three thousand, half of them local conscripts. When the letter arrived, Wanyan Alubao summoned his battalion commanders for a brief meeting. It was short—there was no need for debate: three thousand against fifty thousand, no reinforcements, no strong walls, grain enough for half a month, but no Jin relief force would ever reach Tangzhou within that time. Jin’s main strength lay in the north and west; the southern front had been stripped bare. Heshilie Zhizhong was still holding out at Lingbi; here in Tangzhou, there was nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wanyan Alubao did not hesitate long. He was not Heshilie Zhizhong—he lacked the ferocity of a man who had fought the Western Xia for twenty years, nor the suicidal resolve of “the city stands, I stand.” He was a pragmatic professional soldier. For a veteran, the most important question was never “how to fight,” but “what comes after.” He understood the Jin’s southern strategy: abandon outlying towns, consolidate forces to defend Dengzhou, and if necessary, retreat further to defend Bianjing. Tangzhou had always been marked as “sacrificable” in the Privy Council’s defense plan. If so, dying here against the Song army made no sense.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the thirteenth of April, before Xue Shusi’s one-day deadline expired, the northern gate of Tangzhou opened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wanyan Alubao led his troops out under cover of night. Before leaving, he did two things. First, he ordered oil poured over all supplies in the granaries and armories that could not be carried away—but he did not set them alight. In a letter left for Xue Shusi, he wrote plainly: “I leave the grain and weapons to you, not out of weakness, but because the people are innocent. If I burned them, chaos would erupt and civilians would suffer. I beg you, upon entering, to discipline your troops and spare the common folk.” Second, before withdrawing, he personally visited the conscript camp in the southern quarter and told these local soldiers: “You are former subjects of Great Song. You need not follow us. When the Song army arrives, lay down your weapons and return home to farm. No one will harm you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The conscript soldiers exchanged glances. Several veterans burst into tears—not from fear, but because after so many years under the Jin banner, this old Jurchen general still cared for their lives.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before dawn broke, Li Yi’s cavalry entered the city. There was no resistance at the gates; the walls stood empty; the Jin flags had been removed, leaving only bare flagpoles swaying faintly in the morning breeze. The streets were quiet. Occasionally, civilians peered through door cracks. Seeing the Song banners, their expressions held neither cheer nor fear, but a cautious, uncertain hope. Tangzhou had been under Jin rule too long—since the 1141 peace treaty ceded Tang and Deng, over sixty years had passed. Sixty years of foreign rule had turned three generations from Song subjects into Jin subjects. But their accents had not changed. The Central Plains dialect remained the same, the neighborhood speech nearly identical to that of Xiangyang, even the couplets on doors echoed those of the south—only the reign title had been changed to Jin’s “Mingchang.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Xue Shusi entered the city at noon. He did not ride through the main gate in martial splendor; he walked in from the southern gate, accompanied only by a few personal guards and a secretary. He wore a faded blue official robe, no armor, no sword—looking less like a commanding general than a provincial inspector visiting the people. This posture was deliberate—he knew that for a city under Jin rule for sixty years, the Song army was not “Heaven’s Army,” but merely “an army from the south.” Sixty years had distanced these people from Great Song by two or three generations. Their memory of “Great Song” was a grandfather’s tale, a hidden ancestral tablet worshipped in secret during festivals, a Jingkang-era copper coin hidden above the rafters. Xue Shusi’s task was not to conquer them, but to restore them as Song subjects. Conquest demands the sword; winning hearts demands fairness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first act after entering was not to hang a new sign at the yamen, but to post public notices. The notices, drafted by Xue himself, were brief—only four points: One, Song troops enter the city, no plundering. Those who enter homes without permission shall be executed; those who force purchases or sales shall be executed; those who rape or loot shall be executed. Two, former Jin officials who wish to remain may continue serving after vetting; those who wish to leave will be given travel funds, not harmed or humiliated. Three, granaries will open for three days; each household receives one dou of grain, registered; the elderly, weak, orphans, and widows receive double. Four, all land, houses, and shops owned by citizens retain their ownership; no one may seize property under the pretext of “recovery.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The four notices were posted at all four gates; literate men read them aloud to the illiterate. The effect was immediate. Shop doors, once shut, were slowly taken down; tea houses boiled water again; noodle shops kneaded dough anew. Bold young men began helping Song troops carry grain and repair walls for a few copper coins. By the third day, the market before the City God Temple had reopened—vegetable sellers, firewood vendors, cloth merchants, hawking as usual. Xue Shusi changed into civilian clothes and walked the market himself. Returning, he told his secretary: “The people’s hearts are usable. But they fear instability most. Whatever we do in Tangzhou, we must do the same in Dengzhou, in Bianjing—nothing less.” The secretary wrote it down in the campaign diary.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the sixteenth of April, the Tangzhou yamen officially changed its plaque. The ceremony was simple—no firecrackers, no parade. Xue Shusi invited only a few elderly local gentry to witness it. When the new plaque, inscribed “Yamen of the Song Dynasty’s Prefect of Tangzhou,” was hung, an old man with white hair and beard suddenly wept. Those beside him whispered that his grandfather had been an aide to the last Song prefect of Tangzhou during the Shaoxing era; when the Jin troops came, he refused to surrender and was killed. The old plaque had been smashed before his eyes. Sixty years had passed. His family had never fled south. They had waited for this new plaque—for three generations.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Xue Shusi heard the weeping. He did not go to comfort him. He stood on the yamen steps and bowed deeply to the gentry. Then he turned and entered the building to draft his battle report to Lin’an.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He carefully weighed the wording of this report. A victory report too flamboyant would please Grand Tutor Han, but might anger the eastern troops—while they fought bloody battles at Lingbi for half a month, he took Tangzhou without a single blow; no matter how splendidly worded, it would seem like stealing glory. Too plain, and it would appear indifferent to the court’s northern campaign. In the end, he chose truth: Tangzhou retaken, Jin forces withdrew voluntarily; my army did not assault; zero casualties. Civilians remain secure, order restored. Granaries seized: grain and weapons in quantity. With Tangzhou secured, Dengzhou’s gates lie open; central route forces will advance north shortly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After writing it, he added at the end: “Your servant Xue Shusi humbly reports: The recovery of Tangzhou is not due to military prowess, but to Your Majesty’s virtue and prestige, which have struck fear into the Jin. Yet I know well: Tangzhou is small, Dengzhou is large. The Jin abandoned Tangzhou not from cowardice, but to consolidate forces and defend Dengzhou. I have ordered Li Yi’s vanguard to advance to Tangzhou’s northern border, closely monitoring enemy movements toward Dengzhou. Once the eastern front’s situation at Lingbi becomes clear, I shall lead the main force northward to join the assault on Dengzhou.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The report was balanced—neither exaggerated nor weak. Xue Shusi read it three times, ensuring every word held up, then sealed it with wax and handed it to the courier. Then he walked to the map, his gaze shifting northwest—from Tangzhou to Dengzhou. Dengzhou was the northern gateway to the Nanyang Basin; Jin defenses there were far stronger than in Tangzhou. Moreover, Jin troops were retreating—Tangzhou’s three thousand had withdrawn, reinforcing Dengzhou. The true test for the central route lay ahead—in Dengzhou.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He paused, then wrote a private letter to Zhao Chun, Regional Military Commissioner of Jinghu. The letter was far more candid than the official report: “Though Tangzhou has fallen, the central front remains far from secure. The Jin abandon small towns to defend large ones, consolidate forces, and wait fresh against our fatigue—this is defense turned offensive. If we rashly advance north, we risk repeating the disaster at Lingbi. I beg Your Excellency to send three thousand elite troops and three months’ supply of grain, to prepare for unforeseen needs.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he finished the letter, twilight had fallen outside the Tangzhou yamen. In the dusk, the Tang River flowed silently; the Song banners on the walls fluttered gently in the evening breeze, their poles still bearing the marks where Jin flags had been tied. Lights flickered one by one across the city; smoke curled from hearths, indistinguishable from any other Song town. The recovery of Tangzhou was the central route’s first victory in the northern campaign—and its quietest: no artillery, no street fighting, no thousands of heads taken. Only a letter, an empty city, the tears of a few gentry, and a plaque rehung.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Xue Shusi stood by the window, watching the peaceful town, yet calculating another equation. The Jin’s voluntary withdrawal signaled a clear strategy of contraction. They abandoned Tangzhou, Hongxian, Sizhou—all outposts—pulling forces back. Where? Dengzhou, Suzhou, Xuzhou. They drew back their fist not to stop fighting, but to strike harder. He knew Dengzhou would not be as easy as Tangzhou. The shorter the front, the more concentrated the enemy; the more concentrated, the harder the siege. The eastern front had proven this once at Lingbi; the central front would likely prove it again at Dengzhou.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He turned back to his desk, unrolled the map, and studied Dengzhou’s terrain by candlelight. Outside, Tangzhou lay in quiet peace—the quietest victory of the northern campaign. But quiet did not mean easy.\u003C\u002Fp>",2322,"2026-06-20T13:48:22.834Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","1546c772ca6946c83eda73505da81e43439bdcc7b38b12433ad56bc929f98d51","from-special-forces-to-the-multiverse-chapter-182","from-special-forces-to-the-multiverse-chapter-180",205,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Ffrom-special-forces-to-the-multiverse-cover.jpg"]