Chapter 200: The Greatest External Threat to Great Ming

As before, he traveled unimpeded, straight to Wei Zhongxian's private compound.

Upon entering the courtyard, he saw Wei Zhongxian, his white hair disheveled, wrapped in a cotton robe, seated on a reclining chair with eyes closed, basking comfortably in the morning sun despite the biting north wind that had dropped several degrees in temperature.

Wei Ting spotted Wang Yan and let out a cold snort, still holding a grudge.

Wang Yan stepped forward, feigning shock: "Oh my, Old Wei, wrapped in a cotton robe to sunbathe—you really know how to enjoy life. With your old arms and legs, all those bones of yours, watch out you don't catch a chill."

"No need for your concern—I still have at least ten years left," Wei Zhongxian opened his eyes, smiling faintly. "That campaign against the Jianzhou Jurchens was well fought. I heard this morning you took Guangning Garrison?"

Wang Yan stood looking down at the languid Wei Zhongxian: "We caught a big rabbit while gathering grass—everyone's lives and fortunes hung on this battle; without results, how could we possibly succeed?"

Wei Zhongxian waved his hand, blocking the light: "What are you standing there for? Don't you have a chair to bring?"

One of the eunuchs nearby hurried back into the house.

Wang Yan chuckled, shifting his body slightly as he watched Wei Zhongxian close his eyes again, pretending to be aloof: "You sent for me this time—have you come to your senses?"

"What senses? You're young, and your speech is always incoherent," Wei Zhongxian said, hearing the eunuch bringing the chair. "Sit down and talk."

Wang Yan sat casually on the chair: "Old Wei, we both know what's what—no need to play dumb. If you won't give me the silver, then let's wait. I don't believe you can enjoy yourself in peace. But if you're just messing with me, that's your fault…"

"You youngsters never have patience—what's the rush?" Wei Zhongxian changed the subject. "Now that this campaign is over, all of Liaodong must look to you. I know the court's situation better than anyone—you're beyond their reach. You're truly a general beyond the emperor's command. Wang Yan… you're not seriously planning to rebel, are you?"

Rebellion was a murky matter. Since taking office as Garrison Commander, Wang Yan had repeatedly overstepped boundaries; now he'd mobilized troops without authorization—and won. Earlier, he'd even sent troops across the pass to kidnap the woman they wanted to kill and bring her to his compound, then shipped Wei Zhongxian himself to Liaodong—who in their right mind wouldn't call that rebellion?

But Wei Zhongxian had been here nearly half a year, and he understood Wang Yan's actions: he was cultivating territory, building a life. Yet this contradicted the image of a rebel—so it didn't look like rebellion at all.

After all, if Wang Yan truly intended rebellion, he'd be reckless with manpower, eager to march on Jingcheng tomorrow and seize the dragon throne—why would he pour massive effort into developing land and livelihood? And with Wang Yan's wealth, raising an army of over a hundred thousand was possible; yet he still had only thirty thousand troops.

Wei Zhongxian was momentarily confused—he couldn't tell what Wang Yan truly intended.

Wang Yan, like the old bastard, leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, feeling the breeze on his face, the sun on his skin: "When I was young and wandered the land, I heard: 'To establish the heart of heaven and earth, to secure the livelihood of the people, to carry on the lost learning of ancient sages, to open peace for ten thousand generations.' Later I learned it was spoken by Zhang Zai, the great Song scholar known as Hengqu. In this turbulent age, I, Wang Mou, am but a common man. I cannot become a sage, but I do harbor the ambition to sweep the world clean, purify the universe, swallow the Fengdan Fengdan Sihai, unite the Eight Deserts, and open eternal peace."

"You've held power for eight years—surely you can see what Zhu Youjian is truly capable of. Even if you're no saint yourself, after all these years of struggle, you must know what kind of men the Donglin Party are now in charge. If I don't show them my strength, will they let a mere soldier like me develop freely?"

"Rebellion? Great Ming is riddled with internal strife and external threats, its sun sinking low. The south is still drowning from floods, and they haven't even fixed it yet. The Nine Borders are falling deeper into arrears—who will fight for Great Ming? The treasury is empty enough to ride horses through, the Jingcamp is long ruined, and how many of those noble families can still fight? This year, reports say Shaanxi is showing signs of locusts and drought. Old Wei, with so many people unable to survive, won't a few Chen Shengs or Wu Guangs rise up?"

"Great Ming is already crumbling—why should I rebel? I'll develop in peace, waiting for the right moment."

Wang Yan spoke with overwhelming arrogance, radiating menace. For the first time, he openly voiced his ambitions. The timing was right: his victory had intimidated both local powers and the court—no one dared underestimate him. Out of fear, no one dared move against him.

Crucially, Zhu Youjian still couldn't spare the strength to deal with him. Even if he tried, as long as Wang Yan held firm against the first strike, the whole thing would collapse on its own. If he continued developing, it would be even worse—no one could touch him. So he spoke these words without fear. Let them spread—who could punish him?

Though they'd long suspected Wang Yan's rebellious intent, knowing and hearing him confess were two different things. Beside him, Sun Fugui, Wang Ming, and the other guards turned red-faced with excitement, stirred by his bold words like "swallow the Fengdan Fengdan Sihai, unite the Eight Deserts."

Wei Ting, deeply conditioned by imperial authority, was stunned into silence upon hearing Wang Yan's audacious words—even forgetting Wang Yan's insult to Wei Zhongxian.

The serving eunuchs were utterly terrified, kneeling on the ground trembling, heads bowed, too afraid to lift them. In their minds, hearing such words meant certain death…

Wei Zhongxian, however, didn't care. Though as a former ruler, he felt some sorrow at Great Ming's decline, he was already fallen—nearly killed by Zhu Youjian's men. A brief pang of grief was all. As long as Great Ming wasn't seized by the Jianzhou Jurchens or the Mongols, he didn't care. He had few years left anyway—let it be as it may.

"Useless fools, get out of here," Wei Zhongxian opened his eyes, glaring at the two trembling eunuchs, then turned to Wang Yan beside him: "A grand ambition indeed—but even a tiger fallen from the mountain remains a tiger. It's not enough to just speak empty words."

"No need for your concern," Wang Yan said coolly. "If you won't get to the point, I'm leaving. I don't have time to waste here playing games."

"Young man, you need calmness—you're not acting right," Wei Zhongxian shook his head, sighing.

Wang Yan said nothing, opened his eyes, and stared at him expressionlessly.

Sensing Wang Yan's impatience, Wei Zhongxian dropped the act, cleared his throat, and said: "What do you think of my adopted daughter?"

Wang Yan turned and looked Wei Ting up and down, then chuckled: "What? Are you finally getting nervous? Trying to slip a woman into my harem?"

"What kind of talk is that?" Wei Zhongxian glared. "Is my adopted daughter not good enough for you?"

"If you were still the Nine-Thousand-Year-Old, I wouldn't just be worthy of her—I could make her my principal wife. But now…" Wang Yan shook his head. "A concubine will do."

Though Wei Ting was inferior to the four women already in his harem, a gift offered wasn't to be refused. Besides, it was a guarantee for Wei Zhongxian—some psychological comfort. Once Wei Zhongxian felt secure and knew Wang Yan wouldn't strike, he'd likely hand over the silver.

Wang Yan wasn't worried Wei Zhongxian was sending Wei Ting to harm him. After all, Wei Zhongxian was ancient—killing Wang Yan wouldn't benefit him. He'd still be a dying man waiting for death. Not worth the risk.

Wei Zhongxian bristled, glaring at Wang Yan: "If I were still the Nine-Thousand-Year-Old, would you even be worthy to marry my adopted daughter?"

Wang Yan couldn't be bothered to bicker with the two of them: "We're too familiar for formalities—we're both children of the Jianghu. Skip the pretense. Tomorrow I'll send someone to bring Wei Ting back. What do you say?"

"Perfect—exactly what I wanted. Is it settled?" Wei Zhongxian was eager to have her gone today—he'd feel safer the sooner.

"Settled," Wang Yan nodded, rising. "I'll take my leave. Enjoy your rest."

"No need to see me off."

Wang Yan raised an eyebrow at Wei Ting, received a glare in return, and laughed as he left.

Leaving Wei Zhongxian's mansion, Wang Yan went to the yamen to work.

With Guangning Garrison captured, the entire plan needed adjustment. His earlier deployments in Guangning City were purely military—focused on external stability and internal harmony. Now he must prioritize territorial development and livelihood—these are the foundations, the true depth.

He sent the former civil official from Jinzhou to oversee civil affairs, and wrote a letter to Wang Zhichen, directly requesting manpower—five or six more ten thousand men. Wang Yan felt his cousin wouldn't refuse…

After handling other matters, the day passed.

That night, Wang Yan mentioned Wei Ting's arrival, ate dinner with the gloomy women, and spent the night attending to the Zhou sisters, who clung to him demanding children—another day done.

The next morning, after breakfast, Wang Yan donned his battle armor, strapped on his long saber, stepped into his war boots, fully armed. He led Wang Ming and three hundred personal guards, plus three thousand fully equipped frontline troops, escorting the severed heads cut from Huang Taiji. The three thousand three hundred men, along with the convoy carrying over ten thousand heads, stretched far and wide, marching straight toward Ningyuan.

Now we'll see if Man Gui understands his place—if he does, all's well; if not, today he'll be firmly put in his place.

Though Ningyuan garrisoned over thirty thousand men, if Wang Yan went full force, they were useless. Not even counting his own troops, he could recall cannons from Jinzhou and bombard Ningyuan in time. Combined with the overall gap in equipment and troop quality, ten thousand men could easily crush Ningyuan.

Further still, if he mobilized all his frontline troops and reserve military households, even Shanhai Pass—the famed "First Pass Under Heaven," guarding Central Plains for a thousand years—could fall. This was a gap in overall strength, especially against Great Ming's increasingly useless army. Unless hundreds of thousands surrounded him, what good were thirty or fifty thousand? They couldn't even reach him—what's the point of fighting?

On Ningyuan's northern wall, a sentry spotted over a thousand men advancing with banners and quickly alerted his superior. The superior notified his superior, who in turn rushed to Man Gui.

"My lord, the Jinzhou General Wang is approaching with over three thousand fully armed troops, escorting a convoy."

Man Gui leapt to his feet, frowning at his trusted aide: "What? Fully armed?"

"Yes, my lord—fully armed."

Man Gui's brow tightened, his face flushed, fists clenched. A soldier by birth, he had a fiery temper, but years in command had taught him to mask his emotions. Yet this time he couldn't—Wang Yan's move was like grabbing him by the collar and slapping his face.

He was still the nominal supreme military commander, overseeing over a hundred thousand troops in Liaodong. They'd cooperated harmoniously, advancing together. And now this little thief Wang Yan—suddenly turned hostile? No respect at all? He couldn't even bother maintaining the last shred of decorum?

After a long silence, Man Gui exhaled heavily, unclenched his fists, rubbed his stiff face, and sighed: "Let's go. Meet General Wang at the city gate—he's returned victorious."

He hadn't expected this exact scenario, but he'd foreseen it. He hadn't expected Wang Yan to be so direct, so brutal. Though prepared, he still felt bitter. Damn it—in just two years, with fewer than thirty thousand men, he's forced a general commanding over a hundred thousand to sit still. And he's only eighteen—where's the justice in that?

Silent all the way, Man Gui led his men to the northern gate, watching the distant column of over a thousand men—yet giving the impression of a vast army—draw near.

Wang Yan had sharp eyes and spotted Man Gui at the gate from afar, yet he maintained his original pace.

Only when he reached five meters from Man Gui did Wang Yan signal his troops to halt, dismount, and stride forward to stand before Man Gui: "Wang Yan, at your service, General." As he spoke, he made a sharp "click" as if to kneel on one knee.

Though he had already been appointed Deputy Commander, his rank as Assistant Regional Commander of the Capital Garrison was merely Grade Two. Man Gui, without any additional titles, held the pure Grade One rank of Left Regional Commander—two full ranks above him—so kneeling was perfectly appropriate.

Man Gui, of course, would not let Wang Yan actually kneel; he caught him halfway and shouted loudly: "What's this? You just won a great victory, upholding the glory of Great Ming—you're a true hero. If you do this, aren't you humiliating me? Hahaha…"

After a brief performance at the city gate, Wang Yan led his battle troops inside, following Man Gui to the rear courtyard of the General's Mansion.

Seeing the dozens of large wooden crates loaded onto twenty or thirty carts, Man Gui widened his eyes: "Are all these the spoils from this campaign?"

Wang Yan nodded indifferently: "Over ten thousand heads."

"Sss…" Though he had known the rough number beforehand, seeing the reality before him, Man Gui still couldn't help but whistle.

Wang Yan's victory report was thorough, detailing exactly how many enemies were killed, how many heads were severed, and how many of his own troops were lost. There was no need to conceal this—it was pure, unvarnished strength.

Man Gui inquired about the battle details, and Wang Yan gave casual, indifferent replies. After all, he had nothing much to say: just artillery bombardment, then infantry advancing with muskets, firing as they charged—what was there to explain?

This battle had fully exposed firearms and artillery to the open. It was foreseeable that many would soon covet them. During winter, when his flintlock muskets first saw action, Hong Taiji had already taken notice. He had no lack of awareness regarding secrecy—he relied on these very tools to seize the empire; how could he let them be easily stolen? These past months, he'd already killed many.

Artisans and physicians involved in the secret research were, at minimum, protected in their families—wives, children, descendants—all under his safeguard, reducing many threats. As for monetary temptation, Wang Yan paid generously enough; if they still failed to understand this, how had they become master craftsmen? Moreover, even if a few master craftsmen betrayed him, it mattered little—they worked in isolation. If the chief master overseeing the entire project defected, then Wang Yan ought to gouge out his own eyes.

And this was an entire industrial foundation—without it, even possessing the technology was useless. Previously, Wang Yan had only worried about simple weapons like flintlocks; now, his cannons were left exposed for anyone to study, but they'd be useless in the short term. They lacked even the most basic materials, let alone anything more advanced.

As they spoke, Man Gui glanced briefly at the heads, then led Wang Yan into the main hall to sit and drink tea. The seating remained unchanged: Man Gui at the upper seat, Wang Yan at the lower. But their mindsets had shifted—Man Gui, once talkative, now sat beside Wang Yan sipping tea, momentarily at a loss for words.

Wang Yan didn't care; he sat comfortably, sipping tea with ease.

After a long silence, Man Gui set down his teacup and looked at Wang Yan with a complex expression: "Have you truly made up your mind?"

"Once the bow is drawn, there's no turning back. At this point, do you think I still have a way out?"

Man Gui shook his head with a bitter smile: "Yes… there's no way out…"

Wang Yan set down his teacup and stared indifferently at Man Gui: "Bring your family here."

Man Gui nodded, saying nothing. He knew: once Wang Yan said it, there was no room for refusal. To avoid death, he must obey. Running was never an option—Zhu Youjian wouldn't spare him. The Jianzhou Jurchens? The Mongols? He'd have to be insane to consider them. Wang Yan's attitude made it clear: he had no intention of harming him. As long as he cooperated obediently, nothing would happen.

Seeing him nod, Wang Yan rose and bowed: "My lord, if there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."

Man Gui waved listlessly: "Go…"

Wang Yan cast one last look at Man Gui, turned, and strode away with his head high. From now on, he, General Wang, was the boss of Liaodong.

Three thousand battle troops remained in the city; one hundred were assigned as Man Gui's personal guard, the rest assisted his local subordinates in controlling the troops. Man Gui's men were ordered to escort the heads toward Jingcheng. After speaking with several civil and military officials of Ningyuan, Wang Yan executed another thousand or so, and Ningyuan fell easily into his hands.

Having settled Ningyuan, that night Wang Yan returned to Jinzhou with three hundred personal guards.

Though his methods were crude, his raw power was undeniable. Any clear-eyed observer could see: resistance was futile, escape impossible—only submission remained.

Moreover, the silver Wang Yan had distributed over the past two years was no joke—it carried real weight. Without exaggeration, he had many allies in Liaodong. Not everyone, perhaps, but key positions held one or two men who could make or break matters. But above all, it was his overwhelming strength that compelled loyalty; silver alone meant nothing.

Most importantly, this was Liaodong—far from the imperial court, where imperial authority was weak. And it involved no Confucian orthodoxy or moral doctrine, so backlash was minimal. If he ever sat upon the dragon throne, it would be different. Then the scholar-officials' backlash—or the entire Confucian establishment's—would be overwhelming.

These scholar-officials truly had lost their minds: harsh toward their own people, fawning toward foreign tribes—let alone the Duke of Confucius's descendants…

That night, Wang Yan slept with Wei Ting…

The next day, Wang Yan's victory report from Guangning arrived once again in Jingcheng.

Zhu Youjian calculated: between the Liaozhong and Guangning campaigns, Wang Yan had killed or captured over thirty thousand Jianzhou Jurchens with fewer than five thousand casualties—through open-field battles and sieges alike. Not since the Wanli era, not since the fall of Fushun, had such a victory been achieved.

The Jianzhou Jurchens had chased them down; now Wang Yan chased them down. Why study Wang Yan anymore? Study a damn thing.

After a week of closed-door meetings with the Grand Secretariat and grand court deliberations, no decision emerged—only news arrived of Ningyuan's secret mutiny and change of hands.

After so long, the secret agents had confirmed the truth of Wang Yan's two campaigns: the reports matched reality exactly. Zhu Youjian no longer even had the heart to curse Wang Yan—only a deep sense of helplessness remained. He truly could not touch Wang Yan. Even Zhu Youjian now felt the emperor's position held little meaning—if he couldn't even deal with a frontier general…

Another week passed before a decision was finally reached: promote Wang Yan to Regional Commander, grant him the title of Dragon-Tiger General, retain his post as Deputy Commander stationed in Jinzhou, bestow upon him the hereditary rank of Thousand-Household for one son, and award forty taels of silver.

Anyone who could attend meetings in the Forbidden City was no fool. Wang Yan's situation was now common knowledge—if you didn't know the shifting winds, what good were you as an official?

One could say: the greatest external threat to Great Ming now was Wang Yan. The Jianzhou Jurchens, the Mongols, the southern bandits—all were insignificant. Together, they posed less threat than Wang Yan alone. This was the consensus among the entire court.

It wasn't that they didn't want to fight—it was that they couldn't. If they had the capability, how could Wang Yan have risen so swiftly in two years, crushing the Jianzhou Jurchens? They'd have been exterminated long ago.

This promotion elevated Wang Yan from Grade Two to Grade One, yet his post as Deputy Commander remained unchanged. Though Wang Yan now controlled Man Gui and was the de facto Regional Commander of Liaodong, they refused to acknowledge it—leaving themselves a future pretext to turn against him.

Meanwhile, the troops from Jizhen, Xuanfu, and Datong, previously ordered to withdraw, continued advancing and stationed themselves near Shanhai Pass. Sun Chengzong was reinstated as Minister of War, concurrently Left Censor-in-Chief, elevated to Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince, and granted the Imperial Sword of Authority. He was appointed Inspector of Jizhen and Liaodong, overseeing Denglai and Tianjin military affairs, and concurrently Governor of Yongping Prefecture. The fate of Wang Zhichen was left unmentioned—left ambiguous, as always.

As for Guangning, which had been reclaimed, Wang Yan petitioned for the dispatch of civil officials. Anybody would do—they wouldn't go themselves. After all, there were so many disgruntled scholars; this was simply an opportunity to elevate newcomers.

Wang Yan received the news by mid-April.

In the main hall of Jinzhou's General's Mansion, Wang Yan sat listlessly in his chair, watching the eunuch trembling as he read the imperial edict, thinking: these men really knew how to play games—worth their salt.

Unable to fight, they surrendered—Liaodong was clearly lost, so they handed it over, yet left him a pretext for future reckoning. Sun Chengzong's appointment was aimed squarely at him. Sun Chengzong's domain lay mostly in northeastern Hebei—from Qin Huangdao to Tang Shan—beyond Shanhai Pass.

The troops withdrawn from Jizhen, Xuanfu, and Datong numbered forty to fifty thousand. Combined with command over Tianjin's garrisons and the Shanhai Pass garrisons hostile to Wang Yan, the total swelled to over a hundred thousand. No wonder Great Ming had such deep reserves—just the combined forces of Liaodong and Yongping Prefecture approached three hundred thousand…

Aside from the nominal title of Inspector of Liaodong, his position was nearly identical to Yuan Chonghuan's—but his rank and prestige far surpassed Yuan's by more than three levels.

They were preparing Sun Chengzong to continue building fortresses and fields, so he could eventually crush Wang Yan's pacification of Liaodong.