Chapter 200: The Manifesto and Political Program

This town could not be found on any official government map. It was hidden deep in the hills southwest of Jiankang Prefecture, less than sixty li north of the Yangtze River and less than three days' journey east of Lin'an. The town was not large, with two streets and about a hundred households. When the market was held on days ending in three, mountain folk from the surrounding countryside would carry bamboo shoots and firewood to trade for salt, and once the market dispersed, it would be cold and desolate. No one would look twice at such a town—it was no different from the hundreds of other poor, inconspicuous mountain towns in the hills of Jiangnan.

But if someone with a discerning eye looked carefully, they would find some extremely subtle anomalies. The proportion of young and strong men in the town was abnormally high, with almost no traces of being conscripted by the imperial court. The ridges of the fields outside the town were built straight and flat, and the irrigation canals were built seamlessly with blue bricks. The large courtyard in the center of the town with the plaque "Chunxi Book Society" often had lights shining behind the window paper until late at night. Even stranger, at certain quiet moments in the dead of night, a dull, rhythmic sound of metal clashing would faintly drift from the mountain hollow west of the town. That sound was not like blacksmithing—blacksmithing was hammer by hammer, but that sound was continuous and dense, like some huge machine in operation. An old hunter, drunk, once told people that he had seen a strange road in the back mountains—two iron rails extending from the belly of the mountain, and on them ran a type of iron carriage that did not need horses to pull, loaded with stones that shone black and bright. Those who heard him did not believe him, laughing at him for being drunk and taking a dream for reality. The old hunter did not argue, but from then on, he never mentioned it again.

This night, the secret room of the Book Society courtyard was full of people. Seven oil lamps were lit, illuminating the maps covering the walls. The maps were not marked with mountains and place names, but with industrial indicators—monthly steel production, monthly firearm production, ammunition inventory, grain reserves, troop deployments. Every number had been repeatedly revised over the past half year, and every revision was an increase.

Nie Huaishang sat at the head of the long table, with three reports in front of him. The first was a summary of military industrial capacity, the second was a survey of public sentiment in the outer control areas of the base, and the third—a thin sheet of paper with only one sentence written on it: "The rapid response column has finished assembling and is awaiting orders." Nie Huaishang finished reading all three reports, then looked up and scanned everyone present. His expression was very calm, but those who knew him knew that this calmness meant he had already made a decision.

"Gentlemen," Nie Huaishang began, his voice not high, but every word clear, "From today on, the outer control areas of the base will be fully publicized. Cooperatives, militias, literacy classes, health clinics—these models will be displayed to all surrounding counties to attract refugees and expand the population base. The core factories will continue to be hidden. The rapid response column will enter the mountainous area west of Lin'an, no more than three days' journey from Lin'an city. Remain hidden and on standby; do not move without orders."

He paused, then said the final sentence.

"At the same time—publish the manifesto and announce the political program."

The secret room was silent for a moment. Then everyone knew what this sentence meant. The debates of the past half year ended here. The Jiangnan base was no longer an industrial base hidden in the deep mountains, no longer a shadow force that could only indirectly influence the war situation through the grassland. It was going to stand out publicly and make its own voice heard politically. The first sentence of this voice was to strike at the most fragile bone of the Southern Song imperial court—kneeling and surrendering to the Jin.

The Jiangnan political program was drafted by Nie Huaishang himself, repeatedly discussed and revised within the Robin Society for over a dozen drafts, and finally titled *Letter to the Scholars and People of Jiangnan*. Nie Huaishang personally proofread the entire text and changed the title to four characters—*Manifesto Against the Song*. This manifesto was posted all over the outer control areas on the first day of the Lunar New Year, then copied, circulated, and spread along trade routes and the tongues of refugees all the way to Jiankang, Shaoxing, and Lin'an.

The first paragraph of the manifesto directly pointed out the essence of the Southern Song regime.

"The imperial family of the Southern Song is not the imperial family of Huaxia. The imperial court of the Southern Song is not the imperial court of the country. The Zhao clan treats the world as private property, and the scholar-officials treat rank and position as their life. For eighty years since the Jingkang Incident, they have ceded land first, paid reparations later, sent the heads of loyal ministers to please the enemy, and opened the dangers of the Yangtze River to welcome the invaders. Annual tribute of silver and silk, named 'peace agreement,' is actually annual tribute; personally admitting to 'misleading the country,' named 'repentance,' is actually selling out the country. The Lin'an of today is not the capital of the Great Song, but the granary of the Jin Kingdom. The Zhao Kuo of today is not the Son of Heaven of Huaxia, but a vassal minister of the Jin barbarians. The Prime Minister Shi Shi Miyuan of today is not the assistant of the Great Song, but a comprador of the Jurchens. With the dignity of a monarch, they perform the acts of dogs and pigs; with the weight of the imperial court, they offer up the fat and blood of the people."

These less than two hundred characters directly uprooted the legitimacy of the Southern Song imperial family. The logic of the manifesto was extremely sharp—you claim to be the orthodox Great Song, but what are your actions? Ceding land, paying reparations, sending the heads of loyal ministers to enemy countries, personally admitting to "misleading the country and provoking conflict," transporting grain and building fortifications for the Jin people. Which of these is the act of an orthodox dynasty? Everything you do is acting as vassal ministers and compradors for the Jin Kingdom. Since this is the case, why do you demand the people's loyalty?

Then the manifesto changed its tone, aiming its spearhead at the entire scholar-official group.

"As for the scholar-officials, their mouths recite the books of sages, but their bellies hide the calculations of the marketplace. At the beginning of the Northern Expedition, they competed to present reports of victory to invite favor; once the Northern Expedition failed, they competed to present impeachment memorials to save themselves. Han Han Tuozhou's head had not yet reached the Jin camp, and the ministers had already drafted congratulatory reports for the peace agreement. The withered bones at Lingbi were not yet cold, and the bloodstains at Dengzhou were not yet dry, but the teahouses of Lin'an had already changed to talking about romance. Such people in official robes are not scholars, but actors and entertainers; even actors and entertainers are better than them. They act in the name of 'joint defense against the northern barbarians,' but in reality, they 'jointly surrender to the northern barbarians.' Named 'nations of lips and teeth,' in reality, it is the 'distinction between master and servant.' Today they send silver, tomorrow they supply grain, the day after they respond to calls. The Jin people's blades have not yet arrived, but the knees of the Song family have already bent. This is not the crime of war, but the crime of surrender. This is not the strength of the barbarians, but the baseness of the masters."

This passage hit the most fatal problem of the Southern Song scholar-official class—they never took responsibility for the country. During the Northern Expedition, they held Han Han Tuozhou up to the sky; when the Northern Expedition failed, they trampled Han Han Tuozhou into the mud, conveniently washing themselves clean. Han Han Tuozhou's head was still on the road to the Jin camp, and they were already drafting congratulatory reports for the peace agreement. The bones of the Song soldiers who died under Lingbi city were not yet cold, and the bloodstains of the soldiers who besieged Dengzhou for two months were not yet dry, but the storytellers in the teahouses of Lin'an had already switched back to romantic segments. This group of people only cared about their official positions and salaries from beginning to end; the survival of the country and the life and death of the people were never the first priority in their eyes.

The manifesto then defined the relationship between the Southern Song imperial court and the Jin Kingdom as "master and servant."

"The world says the Jin are enemies, and this is true. But the Song family of today is no longer the enemy of the Jin, but the servant of the Jin. Enemies can still be fought, but servants cannot be saved. The Jin Kingdom has strong barbarians to the north and no strength left in the south; its situation is like an egg in a precarious nest. But the Song family does not take advantage of its weakness; instead, it sends grain and fodder to prolong its life and builds fortifications to solidify its ramparts. This is not assisting the Jin, but binding oneself. If the Jin people survive, the Song are servants; if the Jin people perish, the Song are burial objects. The Song family of today has already willingly become the watchdog of the Jin barbarians. A dog barking at people is not out of loyalty, but fear of the whip. A dog guarding the door is not out of courage, but for leftover scraps. To have a dog as a monarch is the shame of Huaxia."

The Jin Kingdom was indeed the mortal enemy of the Southern Song, but the current Southern Song imperial court no longer even had the qualification to be the enemy of the Jin Kingdom. Enemies could at least fight; servants did not even have the courage to fight. The Jin Kingdom had the iron cavalry of the Xinming Party pressing on its northern border, and its southern front was so empty that less than fifty thousand troops remained, which was a strategic opportunity for the Southern Song. But what did the Southern Song imperial court do? Not only did it not take advantage of the Jin Kingdom's weakness to recover lost territory, but it transported grain and fodder, built fortifications, and helped the Jin Kingdom prolong its life. This was not assisting the Jin; it was binding oneself. If the Jin Kingdom survived, the Song would be servants; if the Jin Kingdom perished, the Song would be burial objects. The Song family had already willingly degenerated into the watchdog of the Jin Kingdom—a dog barking at people was not out of loyalty, but fear of the whip; a dog guarding the door was not out of courage, but for leftover scraps. To have such an imperial court sitting in Lin'an city ruling the people was the shame of all Huaxia.

Finally, the manifesto raised its own three banners.

"The people of Jiangnan are not the private property of the Zhao clan. The land of Jiangnan is not the manor of the imperial court. The events of today are not about changing dynasties, but about rebuilding Huaxia. We, the Jiangnan base, swear to resist the Jin barbarians with one corner of the land and rectify the imperial order with one army. There are three programs: First, Anti-Song—the Song family is already rotten and beyond saving; only by toppling it and starting over can China be rebuilt. Second, Anti-Jin—the Jin barbarians are the mortal enemies of Huaxia; all our people should take driving out the barbarians as their own responsibility. Third, Self-Reliance—do not acknowledge vassalage, do not pay tribute, do not engage in marriage alliances, do not cede land. Use workers and farmers as the foundation, firearms as the sword, systems as the armor, and belief as the flag. May the heavens and earth bear witness to this heart."

The signature was not the name of any one person, but the name of an organization—"Jiangnan People's Revolutionary Committee." Below it was a line of small print—"All members of the Robin Society swear to live and die with the millions of people of Jiangnan."

This manifesto was like a giant rock thrown into a stagnant pool, creating not ripples, but a tsunami. At the docks of Jiankang Prefecture, someone copied the manifesto onto coarse paper, folded it into small squares, and stuffed it into rice bags, spreading it down the Yangtze River. In a dyeing workshop in Shaoxing Prefecture, literate female workers secretly read the manifesto to illiterate female workers, and when they read "To have a dog as a monarch is the shame of Huaxia," everyone in the room stopped their work. By Mirror Lake in Shanyin, a grand-nephew of Lu You brought the manifesto home. Lu You read it from beginning to end, was silent for a long time, then said one sentence: "This person is more ruthless than me. But what he says is the truth." He did not write poems like he did to praise the Northern Expedition—his body could no longer write. He just pressed the manifesto under his inkstone, placing it together with the poem about Han Han Tuozhou's head, the odes to the Northern Expedition, and that poem "The day the imperial army recovers the Central Plains." ===== CHAPTER 201 =====