Chapter 203: Iron Horses and Ice Rivers Enter My Dreams

With money, you must spend it to convert it into strength.

Ever since the three-year-old was a hundred days old, Wei Zhongxian that old bastard told him he had over three million taels, and he had already begun researching how to spend every last bit of it—he started allocating funds and supplies to all kinds of projects back then.

He poured money into shipyards, factories, master craftsman research, physician and medical infrastructure, academies, and more—all to varying degrees. At the same time, in June he launched another major military drill to expand the combat troops to thirty thousand. Most crucially, he brought in another eighty thousand refugees, and they still haven't all crossed the pass.

In mid-June, the new refugees arrived just in time to gather supplies, build houses, and till the land. If he waited until he saw the money before acting, it would be too late.

He wasn't afraid Wei Zhongxian would deceive him and cause Liaodong to collapse—again, there was no point. As for the idea that someone might rob the money being transported back from Jingcheng? That would be bullying an honest man, forcing Wang Yan to enter the pass and slaughter everyone in sight…

In mid-August, after the Mid-Autumn Festival, the autumn harvest began.

We, as an ancient agrarian civilization, have farming deeply etched into our genes. Even in modern times, when living materials are abundant and even "clean plates" are promoted, people still can't help but stare at empty land and wonder what they could plant there…

Leveling land, dredging rivers, and building irrigation systems is for farming; defending borders, driving out the Tartars, and strengthening Shanhe is for farming in peace, undisturbed. Just as the Han crushed the Xiongnu, the Tang subdued the Turks, and Great Ming punished the Tatars—only when the exterior is stable can the interior develop safely, and in ancient times, development meant farming.

Modern people barely feel it, but back then, when people saw full granaries, they couldn't help but grin foolishly from the depths of their hearts—because it meant they could survive, could survive without hunger.

Wang Yan has always fought to develop. For two years, Liaodong has known no war; vast tracts of land have been reclaimed, and water conservancy projects have been built. Combined with this year's favorable weather, and the added fertilizers of ash and animal waste, it can fairly be called a bountiful year.

The grain harvested isn't enough to feed his four hundred thousand people, but the shortfall isn't huge. Still, because he brought in another eighty thousand refugees, he must still purchase grain externally.

The problem isn't serious—the refugees come to work, survive the winter, and next year's harvest won't be worse. Plus, he raises so many pigs, and the tribes he's subdued on the grasslands are also stable, with increasing numbers of cattle and sheep. All this meat is prioritized for the combat troops; since they consume so much meat, they eat less grain. Add river fish and seafood, and a huge portion of grain is saved—overall, it's sufficient.

As someone from four hundred years in the future, Wang Yan doesn't know much about agriculture, forestry, animal husbandry, or fishing—but he understands the principle of summarizing experience, finding commonalities, and improving through breakthroughs. To increase grain yields, refine farming techniques, and improve pig disease resistance and meat growth, he assembled a research institute of experienced farmers and veteran grassland herders. It may not work well yet, but with a few years of learning and progress, the future is promising…

In November, Sun Chengzong, restless and contemplative, ventured beyond the pass to wander through Wang Yan's territory—in modern terms, he went on an unofficial research trip.

A year later, he saw the long, winding, wide cement roads stretching into the distance; the new villages with blue bricks, gray tiles, bright windows, and clean tables; the vast expanses of reclaimed land; the patrol soldiers, well-equipped and riding past on horseback…

The men, sweating profusely despite the bitter cold, working tirelessly; the elderly survivors, lucky to be alive, sitting in village open spaces basking in the sun, grinning toothlessly…

The women with their hair coiled up, chatting together; and nearby, little children in tiny leather coats, cheeks flushed red, playing together in the snow…

The boys and girls, hair still short, earnestly frowning in the academy, seizing their hard-won chance to study diligently.

Looking at those faces full of hope, watching the curling smoke rise from chimneys, Sun Chengzong felt he had glimpsed a glimmer of the Great Unity—where the elderly are cared for, the strong are put to use, and the young are educated. Unconsciously, Sun Chengzong became entranced.

He never imagined Wang Yan, that piece of trash, could manage Liaodong so well. After all, he knew Wang Yan's record—there was nothing in it suggesting he had the talent to govern.

Then he thought again: Great Ming had such a talent, yet he was an ambitious traitor, the greatest rebel leader—and he couldn't help but feel another wave of sorrow for Great Ming's decline.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves reached him, startling Sun Chengzong, who had been standing by the road, hands behind his back, watching the village.

He turned to look, and saw a carriage and several armored riders approaching, leading two horses.

In moments, the carriage stopped before Sun Chengzong; the bodyguard acting as driver dismounted and bowed: "Lord Sun, my lord has prepared wine and food and invites you to dinner."

"You've got a tight grip on Liaodong…"

The bodyguard smiled but said nothing, turning to fetch the step for boarding: "Lord Sun, please."

Sun Chengzong chuckled and stepped forward, letting the guard assist him into the carriage: "Let's go—it's been a long time. I heard your lord has fathered several children?"

"Yes, Lord Sun—three young masters and two young ladies."

"A blessed man. Let's go…"

The bodyguard drove the carriage with Sun Chengzong, while the two guards mounted the two spare horses and headed toward Jinzhou City…

After seeing the children, Sun Chengzong left a jade pendant he carried on his person with the eldest boy, and promised to send the other two later. He hadn't planned to come—only because Wang Yan invited him did he arrive. He showed up unannounced, so preparations were inevitably lacking, but Wang Yan didn't criticize him.

After dinner, Wang Yan and Sun Chengzong sat in the central hall drinking tea and chatting.

"Old Sun, what's your purpose for coming beyond the pass this time?"

Wang Yan didn't believe someone like Sun Chengzong would just wander around aimlessly. Someone who cared so deeply for the state and the people had strong intent—he wouldn't do useless things. Even at over sixty, he wouldn't have the leisure to stroll for fun.

"I've always heard your region is developing well. With nothing else to do, I came to see it for myself." Sun Chengzong sighed deeply: "If I remember correctly, you're only nineteen this year?"

"That's right."

"Truly unexpected… at such a young age, you have such ability. Compared to you, my old years have been wasted…"

"Don't belittle yourself," Wang Yan smiled reassuringly. "I've only reached this point through fortunate circumstances."

Sun Chengzong knew exactly what those "fortunate circumstances" were—it was simply that Great Ming had collapsed and couldn't control him. He didn't press further, instead asking: "I heard you launched another campaign? Split into two fronts—one against the Mongols, one against the Jianzhou Jurchens?"

"Can't call it a campaign—just expanding territory and seizing people and supplies. You know as well as I do: the court hasn't given me any military pay. If I don't find my own solutions, what happens to the five hundred thousand soldiers and civilians of Liaodong?"

Last year, Wang Yan's men began annexing Mongol tribes. The fighting itself didn't take long—the difficulty was finding the tribes. The grasslands are home to nomads who follow water and pasture, changing their seasonal settlements. Searching such vast land is extremely difficult—even guides who are themselves grassland people struggle, and it could take years.

Huang Taiji was easier—he's been submitting petitions as a vassal since then. Wang Yan merely compressed Later Jin's territory, forcing him to retreat entirely around Shengjing, and hasn't touched him since—even allowing trade and commerce.

So after a year of recuperation, Later Jin has recovered, and Huang Taiji is acting proud again. That old bastard even dares to demand tribute from Korea—isn't that stirring up trouble?

Last year he had only three ships; after one winter, he built two more. Five warships, equipped with the latest cannons, set sail in spring with two thousand direct military households and four thousand troops from the recently reclaimed forces—six thousand men total—to attack Jinzhouwei. Simultaneously, troops from Panshan and Guangning launched coordinated attacks. With three-pronged assaults, Huang Taiji's forces were driven all the way back to Liaoyang, Weining (Benxi), Fushun, and other areas around Shengjing—that's what he meant by compressing Huang Taiji's territory.

Under these conditions, according to modern maps, the southern and southwestern regions of Liaoning are now Wang Yan's territory. After capturing these lands, he couldn't send non-combatant civilians to reclaim and farm them—so behind the frontlines, except for essential garrisons and troops ready to shell Shanhai Pass in emergencies, nearly all forces were pushed forward, establishing permanent bases for new troop training and military household reclamation.

Under these circumstances, the frontline city of Dandong, under Wang Yan's control, now directly faces Korea's border—Wang Yan has made contact with Korea.

Korea knows Wang Yan well—he's the nearest power, how could they not know? They didn't believe in his abilities; they didn't treat his envoys with contempt, but neither did they give them proper respect.

Wang Yan doesn't tolerate such insolence—he ordered troops to cross the river and captured three cities in a single day, taking back a large number of adult and near-adult men to serve as laborers.

Under these conditions, both sides held friendly negotiations and reached a series of agreements, including opening markets and tribute payments. The three captured towns, of course, would not be returned—rear forces moved in immediately to settle and garrison them.

Under these circumstances, how could Huang Taiji, that blind old bastard, still dare to demand tribute from Korea? This isn't challenging Korea—it's challenging Wang Yan. So this winter, Wang Yan sent another two thousand combat troops to teach Huang Taiji how to behave. He also cut off trade between them and captured many adult banner men to work as laborers—until they died.

They set out in October; they haven't returned yet, so Wang Yan doesn't know the details—but Huang Taiji has sent envoys…

Wang Yan analyzed why Huang Taiji suddenly stirred up trouble—it's no more than three reasons: First, he's developed cannons and firearms, though not as advanced as Wang Yan's, their extended and enlarged versions are still potent enough. Second, building on the first, he seeks greater territory—he's been squeezed too tightly, lacks strategic depth, and feels unsafe. Third, after a period of stability, internal unrest has resurfaced.

Wang Yan's current frontline against Huang Taiji is around Anshan and Liaozhong—if Huang Taiji could strike overnight, fear would be natural.

But Huang Taiji truly doesn't understand what technology means. His cannons, which take half a day to fire one shot, dares to provoke Wang Yan? Not even last year's guns and cannons could he handle, let alone the current ones.

So overall, Wang Yan believes the third reason is most likely—he wants to use external pressure to stabilize his internal situation. Historically, Huang Taiji used external wars to weaken internal rivals and seize absolute power. Now, since everyone is being beaten, internal infighting is impossible. But he may also be testing—should he find he can win, he'll immediately launch a full-scale invasion.

"Not quite," Sun Chengzong said, glancing at Wang Yan, who was sipping tea. "Envoys from the Jianzhou Jurchens and Korea have come to Liaodong, and the Mongols are even more active. You're aiming to swallow the entire north!"

"Of course," Wang Yan nodded without hesitation. "What impact does this have on Great Ming? Old Sun, I'm not just keeping the Jianzhou Jurchens and Mongol tribes from raiding southward—I haven't asked for military pay for two years, saving the court a fortune. Isn't that helping Great Ming?"

"Last year, when the Jianzhou Jurchens submitted, you gave them a huge amount of supplies to keep them fighting. I've been farming and training troops in Yongning Prefecture—another heavy expense. How much can you really save?" Sun Chengzong shook his head and sighed. "Still, I owe you—I'm stuck here in Yongping. Otherwise, I'd have to lead troops to suppress peasants who can't survive. Ah… what a tragedy…"

Wang Yan said: "Right now, it's still manageable—you haven't had to act. But I think, as more and more starving peasants gather, you'll be forced to take the field. Great Ming is rotten to the core, beyond saving. Why not just come help me govern Liaodong?"

Sun Chengzong smiled: "I've devoted my entire life to Great Ming. I'm about to enter the grave—I won't stir up more trouble. Besides, following a rebel like you… my final reputation would be ruined."

"You say that? How am I a rebel? I haven't spent a single silver from the court, yet I've stopped the Jianzhou Jurchens and Mongol tribes from invading south to plunder. I'm merely an isolated foreign force that doesn't take orders—no merit, but plenty of toil. You can't speak like this."

Sun Chengzong didn't dwell on this—rebels never called themselves rebels. After thinking a moment, he said, "Be honest with me—how many more can you still take in?"

Under Sun Chengzong's hopeful gaze, Wang Yan shook his head without mercy: "The last batch of eighty thousand has only just settled. We haven't digested them yet. In the short term, I can't take any more. Besides, Liaodong is freezing and barren—they'll die faster without houses."

"Truly so?"

Sun Chengzong didn't believe it. Everything he'd seen on his journey couldn't be matched even by the outskirts of Jingcheng—how could he possibly take no more?

"Truly so." Wang Yan sipped his tea. "I know what you're thinking, but I must also consider the wishes of the people living on this land of Liaodong. No one wants to go back from having enough to eat and wear to a life of hunger and constant dread. Even those eighty thousand are barely clinging to life. Old Sun, the resistance is too great—I simply lack the strength…"

"Besides, even if I had the capacity to bring out some people beyond the pass, how many could it be? Ten thousand would stretch my resources for a while. But right now, across Great Ming—from south to north, east to west—how many soldiers, peasants, and common soldiers are starving, unable to survive? Not a hundred thousand, but millions! I can't save them all…"

"I know that, but they're all subjects of Great Ming. I can't just stand by and watch…"

Wang Yan shook his head. He knew this was Sun Chengzong's true purpose in coming, but he could do nothing. He had silver and supplies—but they were all planned. He couldn't make an unexpected expenditure. Though it might seem like he was turning a blind eye to save his own ambitions, what had he done before he arrived? Besides, he fed hundreds of thousands under his command—if you counted merit, that alone was boundless.

In truth, Great Ming still had a way out—it was only the second year of Chongzhen. The greatest external threat was still held back by Wang Yan, and the southern bandits weren't worth mentioning. The real cause of Great Ming's fall was human folly—lack of money. If Zhu Youjian had a fully loyal, powerful army, he could secure his safety, then seize property from the rich and kill anyone who resisted. A single sweep from top to bottom, and Great Ming would be revitalized.

But Zhu Youjian clearly lacked such ability. Even if Wang Yan gave him all his battle troops, he'd still likely end up dead. It sounds simple, but killing requires method. Kill the right people, and it's like slowly slicing meat—terrifying ghosts and demons. Kill the wrong ones, and rebellion flares everywhere, smoke rises from every corner. As for military building, a powerful army under Zhu Youjian would decay within no time. And that army's role under him? More like a fire brigade, rushing to put out blazes than to capture cities…

Seeing Sun Chengzong had no appetite for idle talk and the hour was late, Wang Yan spoke a few more words, then sent someone to escort Sun Chengzong to quarters.

Wang Yan stood beneath the courtyard's covered walkway, watching snowflakes drift down with the wind, then wandered back to his big bed and slept—yes… he slept alone.

The children were still young. Though the mansion had the standard wet nurses of wealthy households, Wang Yan felt breast milk from their mothers was better. His women were all healthy, with ample milk—wet nurses were hardly needed. Except for Wei Yan, who bore two—she favored the boy, feeding him first, leaving the girl always hungry, forcing her to sneak over to Ding Baiying for extra milk…

At night, the children cried and fussed. Wang Yan found it annoying, and since Zhang Yan was also pregnant, he simply slept alone.

Listening to the howling wind outside, Wang Yan couldn't help recalling Lu You's line: "In the deep night, lying awake, I hear wind and rain; armored horses and icy rivers enter my dreams." Change "rain" to "snow," and aside from Lu You's sentiment, this single line perfectly matched Wang the Great General's martial spirit—steel spears and iron steeds driving back the barbarians, charging battlefields, chopping off heads. A surge of heroic fervor rose within him…