Chapter 202: Branching Out and Spreading Seeds

Whether Hong Taiji submits or not is irrelevant; there is merely a temporary ceasefire, and Wang Yan isn't moving to strike him. After swallowing Liaodong all at once, he's a bit overfull and has no time to deal with that old bastard Hong Taiji—just giving him a breath of air. Continuous northward expansion and territorial growth are what Wang Yan must do.

Large population resources, vast land area, and super-era industrial technology are the three elements for standing invincible and achieving rapid, massive development.

Over the past few months, Wang Yan has preliminarily sorted out the situation in Liaodong; while he doesn't fully control the generals with wildly differing ideas, his orders definitely work. He also conducted a large-scale military drill, weeding out the old and weak, removing many, and retaining only under forty thousand reservists to serve as military households engaged in tuntian farming. Including his original frontline troops and reservist military households, he has fewer than seventy thousand men total.

Combat effectiveness does not increase proportionally with troop numbers; it's virtually impossible to bring all seventy thousand men up to the level of his original twenty thousand frontline troops. After all, even among his twenty thousand frontline troops, the first five thousand could easily crush the remaining fifteen thousand. The later forty thousand are even worse—they can't even defeat his most pathetic military household.

The key issue is that his resources can't support the consumption of seventy thousand frontline troops; by his standards, the consumption of seventy thousand frontline troops would be enough to feed over two hundred thousand other people in his territory.

Over these past few months, many military households have successfully upgraded to frontline troop standards. But to maintain territorial order, Wang Yan has drawn out a small number of veteran soldiers with outstanding combat records, along with some mid-tier veterans—three thousand in total—to serve as police for stability.

These men wear specially forged black lightweight armor made by Wang Yan's orders, carry repeating crossbows and ammunition, a military belt around their waist, a Liaodong military-style goose-feather saber modified by Wang Yan on their left side, and a half-meter-long standard flintlock musket on their right.

On daily patrols or handling disputes, they're incredibly imposing. It's also Wang Yan's reward to these veterans—they'll rarely see battlefield action again.

Thus, the actual number of his frontline troops remains around twenty thousand, with little change.

As for the backlash from officers and common soldiers caused by his troop reductions, it's nothing much. The reason his orders now work is precisely because those unlucky souls have been made to look foolish.

Regarding population, after clarifying matters with Sun Chengzong and given the severe drought in Shaanxi this year, which left countless refugees roaming, he brought in around sixty thousand more. Combined with the forty thousand previously sent by Wang Zhichen, over one hundred thousand people have now crossed the pass into Liaodong. His subordinates have counted over four hundred thousand total. He can't take more—he simply can't feed them.

Although his business is doing well and he's developed many products over this time, with substantial profits, his output is limited, and the market of Great Ming and its surroundings is finite. Meanwhile, his daily expenditures are astronomical.

The entire Liaodong is now a massive construction site, with countless major projects underway.

A main road, eight carriages wide—equivalent to a modern eight-lane dual-carriageway—made of cement, is under construction from Shanhai Pass to Ningyuan, Jinzhou, and all the way to Guangningwei. Alongside this, roads are also being built in all other populated areas—small towns and villages—except scattered hamlets. He can't manage village-to-village connectivity yet; he's focusing only on critical routes, leaving the rest for later.

Housing for the newly arrived hundred thousand people is also top priority, given that Liaodong is deadly cold; without shelter, they'll freeze to death. Since many abandoned villages already existed, repairs were made to house many. The rest were settled by selecting sites between Shanhai Pass and Guangningwei, and around Panshan, to build new villages.

Thanks to cement and the brick kilns built earlier, construction speed has greatly accelerated. The newly built villages are all brick-and-tile houses with glass windows. It's not about scarcity, but inequality—there's no way around it.

Wang Yan is the de facto emperor of Liaodong; strictly speaking, these people are his personal property. So housing is entirely provided free by Wang Yan. Those living in houses built of earth and large stones grew envious—everyone was a refugee, why do they live better? There was genuine unrest for a while. But after over a hundred were demoted to hard labor, the noise vanished.

Additionally, vast tracts of land have been reclaimed. The spring planting this year yielded decent harvests, but compared to Liaodong's four hundred thousand population, it's far from enough. Most grain must be purchased, transported by Great Ming merchants. But due to famine within Great Ming this year, these merchants are thriving and show little willingness to deal with Wang Yan. He had to pay high prices before anyone agreed to ship grain over.

Herds of Mongol cattle and sheep are also being driven over in large numbers. After one year, Wang Yan's good credit, reputation, and fair prices have spread deep into the grasslands. Many come to sell cattle, sheep, furs, and other goods, and neighboring tribes frequently visit the Guangningwei market to buy things.

Combined with these cattle and sheep, pork collected from surrounding areas, and purchased grain, they'll easily see them through the winter. Moreover, since the newcomers missed spring planting, vast additional land has been reclaimed. With Wang Yan's irrigation systems, next year's harvest won't be bountiful, but an average yield is assured.

He previously sent men to find sweet potatoes, potatoes, corn, and southern rice—all have now been brought over. This year's seedling cultivation will allow partial promotion next year, and large-scale planting the year after.

Another matter close to Wang Yan's heart—shipbuilding—has finally yielded results. After a long time, the shipwrights he kidnapped and bribed have jointly designed a seafaring vessel capable of coastal navigation. Three such ships now sit moored at the Jinzhou coastline—his year-and-a-half's achievement.

This "coastal navigation" means only drifting within the Liaodong Bay—they can't even reach Japan. Though he can't sail to Japan to dig for silver, it's sufficient for now. He plans to advance on Jinzhouwei next spring—modern Lüda, currently held by Hong Taiji. After building a port there, he'll compress Hong Taiji's territory northward and conveniently strike at Korea. There's no reason Hong Taiji should receive tribute while Wang Mou is ignored.

This winter, besides driving back Hong Taiji's peripheral forces, Wang Yan has avoided large-scale massacres, giving Hong Taiji time to recover, focusing his main efforts on managing the Mongols.

The past half-month of fighting made Hong Taiji face reality: he withdrew entirely from his borderlands with the Mongols to avoid pointless conflict, as his strength can no longer sustain major wars. Thus, the Mongols are idle—and Wang Yan won't let that go unaddressed.

The Mongols have never been united; on the grasslands, wars of annexation over cattle, horses, sheep, women, and children have never ceased. Wang Yan already controls some tribes and covets the others across the vast steppes.

In winter, the Mongols have little to do. Wang Yan has helped by ordering the subjugated Mongol tribes to expand westward. Rather than merely watching and exhausting Mongol warriors, he rotates his own frontline troops into battle, using it as training to maintain combat readiness.

The tribal chieftains who surrendered dare not speak out, mainly due to Wang Yan's overwhelming military power—disobedience means death. On one hand, chieftains and some administrators are nobles whose herders, cattle, and sheep are their private property, and their lives aren't good. Wang Yan's arrival has shown them another possible life; their authority is weakening, and they're already becoming disobedient.

The cattle, sheep, horses, women, and children seized during annexation are partly distributed as spoils to the tribes, partly brought back to Liaodong to promote ethnic integration.

To this end, Wang Yan has issued specific edicts to guarantee the rights of these foreign women and children—he has no choice.

The later refugees fare somewhat better; having nearly died before, they now have a stable life, hard-won, and simply wish to live well and strive for prosperity.

But those military households and their families who followed Wang Yan from the start are different—they truly won't tolerate nonsense. They rose with Wang Yan, most working in factories, living exceedingly well. And over these past two years, except for one brief siege by Hong Taiji that cost him a small portion of elite troops, they've never lost a battle.

Their confidence and sense of honor are unmatched; they look down on the later refugees, let alone foreign barbarians. Though Wang Yan has strict rules against overt oppression, group exclusion and marginalization still occur.

This arrogance infuriated Wang Yan—after only two good years, they've become this? This attitude must not be allowed to spread; it harms ethnic integration and unity. So Wang Yan directly arrested a group and demoted them to hard labor for three years, which eased the tension.

Eradication is impossible; only time can solve it. For foreign children, regardless of gender, Wang Yan treats them equally—they must attend the schoolhouse, and the old scholars constantly emphasize the concept of ethnic unity. Once the first generation of elders dies and the children grow up, things will improve.

Foreign children who have already grown and formed their own thoughts—he doesn't want them here. They're the ones who witnessed firsthand the brutality of Wang Yan's troops and have those memories deeply etched. Though Wang Yan, as a hero and sovereign, wouldn't fear them—he could wipe them out single-handedly—it's better to save effort. He'll nip the problem at the source.

Thus, the first year of Chongzhen passed, and time moved to the second year of Chongzhen.

January 20, Jinzhou City, General's Mansion.

Amid the woman's pained screams, a loud voice rang out.

"Madam, push hard… Ah… yes, yes, yes… like that… almost there, almost there, one more push."

Outside the room, Wang Yan calmly sipped tea, watching the Zhou sisters clutching their bellies, pale with fear, and Wei Ting pretending calmness—he sighed: "I told you not to come, yet you insisted—scared now, huh?"

The woman screaming inside is Ding Baiying. Though not a specialist, Wang Yan understands gynecology and pediatrics—he has many children. Ding Baiying's situation is entirely her own doing: claiming it's for the child's health, she ate and drank excessively, so the child grew too large—of course labor would be difficult.

The Zhou sisters had begged and pleaded with Wang Yan to have children, only becoming pregnant a month late—next month, these two women will give birth.

Wei Ting is already twenty-two; Wang Yan got her pregnant in one shot—she'll give birth in two months. I should note: Wei Zhongxian heard Wei Ting was pregnant and was overjoyed. Wang Yan guesses that if she bears a boy, Wei Zhongxian will hand over the silver. Clearly, that old bastard has ulterior motives—he's been increasingly active lately; Wang Yan suspects he wants to live longer to help Wei Ting's child ascend to power.

As for his youngest concubine, Zhang Yan, she hasn't conceived yet, but she's scheduled this year—right now, she's inside helping the midwife deliver.

Seeing no response, Wang Yan muttered: "She just ate too much—too much nutrition. The baby's too big, that's why it's hard to deliver. All three of you eat normally—no need to fear."

Zhou Miaotong, ever melodramatic and looking like she's about to die, wiped her tears and sat beside Wang Yan: "Master, I heard many women die in childbirth—some save the child, others die with the child…"

Wang Yan looked at Zhou Miaotong, then at the two women clearly listening, and gave her a sharp tap on the head: "What nonsense are you spouting? There are so many physicians and doctors in the clinic, including famous ones—what's the problem? When the three of you give birth, I'll summon all those old men to stand guard outside."

"Summoning them all isn't necessary… seven or eight will do…" Zhou Miaotong thought seriously, then burst into tears: "If I don't survive, please, make sure the child lives… Master~~~"

It's normal for pregnant women to imagine worst-case scenarios. Hearing this, the other two women also became emotionally moved. Wang Yan shouted: "Enough! Even if there's real danger, I'll save you—have more children later."

"Master~"

This statement carried real weight now—few people treat women as anything, and saving the child while abandoning the mother is standard.

Zhou Miaoxuan wiped her tears: "These past two years have been the happiest of my life. If I can give Master a child, I'm already content…"

Wei Ting said nothing, but clearly shared the same sentiment.

These three women pulling this act made Wang Yan truly exasperated—they're all pregnant, so he can't scold them, only soothe them with kind words—how miserable.

Fortunately, this didn't last long. With a loud, piercing infant cry from inside, everything ended.

The three women instantly fell silent, staring intently at the door.

Soon, the midwife emerged holding the baby: "Congratulations, my lord, congratulations! The lady gave birth to a little master. He weighed nine jin and six liang at birth. With my decades of experience, this child is surely blessed."

This was obvious nonsense—Wang Yan, the undisputed lord of Liaodong, could his child be anything less?

"Go collect your reward from the head maid." Wang Yan took the baby, looked at the wrinkled little face, laughed, and dismissed the midwife casually, then turned to Zhang Yan emerging behind her: "Is she alright?"

"Ding Jiejie is fine, just exhausted—she's already fallen asleep."

"Good that she's alright."

Wang Yan held the child for a while, then handed him to Zhang Yan to hold, letting the three women fuss over him for a long time before returning him to Ding Baiying's side.

He didn't have many children, but not few either. The fatherly fervor had long worn out; his only remaining joy was watching the tiny, tender little thing misbehave.

After seeing the child, this biological father had to turn to the matter of naming. He should have done it earlier, but he'd been too busy—now he finally had time. Unlike in some urban settings where his subordinates were all top-tier, most of his men here were rough peasants who needed slow training. Even the civil officials, limited by their horizons and mostly no good to begin with, required his personal oversight on nearly every matter.

Naming in this era differed from his real world, for in this time and space, family generational naming conventions had largely vanished. Even his own name, and his father's, were not based on clan generations. Strictly speaking, his grandfather's generation used 'He,' his father's used 'Qing,' and his own used 'Wen.' He didn't know what came before his great-grandfather's generation—by his time, the Wang family line was effectively done.

Now that he was in the Great Ming, naming had to follow proper rites. After all, his Wang family had now branched out—just look at the Zhu imperial clan, with hundreds of thousands of registered members.

After much thought, Wang Yan decided to follow the Zhu family's example: directly use 'Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth.' His first son would begin with 'Metal.'

It wasn't about the order of the Five Elements—it was that his life was destined to either fight or prepare to fight, and Metal governed slaughter; starting with Metal was fitting.

On the night his eldest son was born, Wang Yan named him Junren. Later, when second, third, and other sons arrived, he would continue down the list: 'Ren, Yi, Li, Zhi, Xin, Wen, Liang, Gong, Jian, Rang, Zhong, Xiao, Lian, Yong, Yan'—fifteen names would surely suffice.

If he had a daughter, according to the customs of the time, she wouldn't follow the male generational sequence. But Wang Yan had decided—he'd ignore that. All children would follow the Five Elements. He'd just use 'Jin'-radical characters like 'Jin'—there were so many—and the second character wouldn't count toward the fifteen. He'd pick something gentle, feminine.

The next day, General Wang celebrated the birth of his precious son and the continuation of his line; in high spirits, he threw a grand banquet for Liaodong's civil and military officials, and received many gifts.

The civil officials were tolerable—merely pretending deference. But the military officers were another matter. In fact, as soon as they learned Wang Yan's concubines were pregnant, they'd been working overtime with their lawful wives, all to bear daughters to marry Wang Yan's sons—or sons to marry Wang Yan's daughters. Why not with concubines? Simple: two words—not good enough.

After hosting guests and accepting gifts, Wang Yan had no major affairs left. Liaodong was largely on track—he only needed to guide the direction and supervise those doing the work. Besides being the patriarch in his inner quarters, he spent his days researching with craftsmen and occasionally studying traditional medicine with physicians and herbalists, analyzing secret herbal formulas.

Speaking of secret formulas, traditional Chinese medicine had indeed lost its lineage. In just two years, the barefoot physicians, town physicians, and renowned doctors he'd either coerced or invited had achieved more than he had in the previous seventy or eighty years. Moreover, he'd acquired the herbal prescriptions of Ding Baiying and several of his martial officers with inherited knowledge. Who knew? By the time he left, he might truly accomplish something in a century's time…

For this reason, Wang Yan now focused primarily on traditional Chinese medicine—conditions here were so favorable, not learning would be a betrayal of the opportunity. And once he mastered it, he'd return to his real world and prepare two prescriptions to nourish his parents. After decades of backbreaking labor, they'd avoided major illness only because it hadn't erupted yet—the damage was still there.

Though he viewed life and death with detachment, he didn't want it to happen to him. His parents, though rarely in contact, were his greatest emotional anchor in the real world. As for Wei Lan—he honestly didn't care. Same as always: he was just very good at pretending.

As long as there was no war, Liaodong had nothing worth seeing. No matter how much it changed, it was merely a rural village on its way to modest prosperity. The only thing worth observing was the blood-forged ancient city—but seeing it daily made it feel no different.

Days passed one by one; Liaodong advanced steadily along its planned course, developing rapidly.

In February, the Zhou sisters gave birth in succession: Miaotong bore a boy, beaming with joy; Miao Xuan bore a girl, pouting bitterly. The second boy was named Junyi, as previously decided. Wang Yan gave the first girl a name he thought pleasing: Jinyun.

In March, Wei Ting gave birth—she was formidable, delivering twins: a boy and a girl. The firstborn, the third boy, was named Junli. The second, the second girl, was named Jinxiu.

Wei Ting bore two children, and no one else cared much—but Wei Zhongxian was ecstatic. Still a eunuch, he had no gender taboos; perhaps even during Zhu Youxiao's own coupling, he'd been behind him, helping push…

He'd often come directly into Wang Yan's inner quarters to see his grandsons, holding them without letting go. Though this old Wang Ba had done countless evil deeds, Wang Yan still needed his silver, so he gave orders: no need to announce him—let him enter freely.

In April, the eldest boy reached his hundredth day; Wang Yan received a pile of gifts.

In May, the second boy reached his hundredth day…

In June, the third boy reached his hundredth day—and this time, besides gifts, Wei Zhongxian finally handed over the silver.

The silver had been scattered by Wei Zhongxian and secretly buried underground in multiple properties across Jingcheng, purchased under other names. According to Wei Zhongxian, they included antiques, calligraphy and paintings, gold and silver ornaments, jade, pearls, gold ingots, silver ingots, and silver notes—exact figures unknown, but easily three million taels.

The Great Ming's annual revenue in silver in Chongzhen's first year was just over three million taels—equivalent to Wei Zhongxian's embezzlement. Thinking of other corrupt officials, traitorous merchants, Jiang Nan sea traders… Wang Yan began to consider entering the pass…

Knowing the exact locations, Wang Yan sent his covert agents to retrieve the money…

After two months of ant-like transport, by mid-August, Wei Zhongxian's entire fortune arrived in Jinzhou. Seeing the silver piled high in the back courtyard of the official compound, Wang Yan waved his hand: spend it.

He found merchants to sell off the antiques, calligraphy, and paintings for supplies, and used silver to purchase even more. Wang Yan suffered no loss—every merchant he dealt with, one and all, he remembered clearly and precisely. The money these people had earned through treachery and betrayal was his…