Chapter 443

Back at the Wang family village, after a lively celebration, Wang Yan directly called the old steward to the study for a private talk.

"Master, as per your plan, our estates across the regions have all been established, with troop numbers ranging from two hundred to five hundred each. Among them, the battle-hardened soldiers returned from Liaodong number in the dozens, while the rest are idle men recruited over the years or retired soldiers. Standardized armor and weapons in each region are sufficient to arm these troops with surplus left over. Near our Wang family village, and scattered throughout Shandong and Hebei, the assembled troops total roughly ten thousand."

With our help, Wu Song has seized full command of the imperial garrison in Jingdong Xilu, reorganized and retrained according to our standards, and we've placed many of our own men there. Last month, Wu Song wrote to us: his troops now number twenty-seven thousand. The ten thousand or so garrison troops in Jingdong Donglu have also long been infiltrated by us. The commander there is clueless—we've worked from below, among the subordinate commanders. Should anything happen, they'll immediately cut off his head."

The northern army's arrangements are harder to move, but altogether, within a month we can mobilize fifty thousand troops in Hebei and Shandong; with another month to assemble, our nationwide mobilizable forces will reach around two hundred thousand… In addition, grain, weapons, and other supplies have already been stockpiled across regions, sufficient to feed both men and horses along the way. Agents have been planted inside and outside Bianjing's inner and outer walls, even within the imperial palace—ready to seize them at any moment."

"Master, this old servant believes our preparations are thoroughly complete. With Bianjing now vulnerable, it is the perfect time to act."

At first the old man spoke in a low tone, but by the end his voice trembled with excitement. Whether we succeeded or failed, the Wang family would be etched in history—and now, success seemed highly likely. Ascending to the highest throne was an irresistible temptation to anyone. As the chief steward of the Wang family, having overseen countless major affairs from start to finish, promotion and noble titles were within reach—how could he not be stirred?

The old steward spoke only of domestic forces; outside, Lu Zhishen commanded nearly three hundred thousand troops. In the end, it all came down to Zhao Ji's doing.

There are many reasons generals cannot rebel, but the greatest is insufficient grain and supplies. This lifeline of the army is held firmly by the court. No matter how skilled a soldier is, if he cannot feed his men, all his strength is wasted.

Just like the An Lushan Rebellion in the Tang dynasty—Li Longji created the jiedushi system, granting regional commanders fiscal authority. They could collect taxes to support their troops, becoming de facto local emperors. Once their armies grew strong, rebellion was inevitable.

Great Song had already crippled its own martial power, learning from this lesson: fiscal control was held with iron grip, a silent understanding between the Emperor and the civil officials. They persistently suppressed military officers, lowering soldiers' status to the point where even commoners called them "criminal soldiers."

But with Wang Yan, things were different. He was a merchant, one who dealt in goods forbidden to civilians—salt and iron. He owned oil and grain trading houses, silk and cotton textile shops, and countless other related businesses. His core ventures were all highly profitable, giving him ample wealth to manipulate commodities. Through the nationwide movement of goods, he could subtly manipulate shipments, avoiding detection by Zhao Ji's appointees, quietly building his own power. This gave him the resources to sustain a large army and cultivate loyal followers.

Looking at the excited old steward, Wang Yan shook his head and smiled: "We're nearly ready, but not this year. It's already the second half of the year—only a few months until the New Year. Let's make a few more preparations and enjoy a proper holiday first."

"It's been ten years, Master. How much longer must we wait? The younger ones are already howling—they've been waiting so long."

"I haven't seen them, but you—you're over fifty. Why so impatient?"

"This is such a monumental matter! This old servant only regrets being old—if I weren't, I'd pick up a sword and go kill with the young master."

"You, just settle down. You've waited ten years—what's one more moment?" Wang Yan waved his hand, gave some instructions, wrote several letters, and handed them over. Seeing the old steward still reluctant to leave without a firm promise, he laughed heartily: "No later than a year. Go do your work."

"Yes." With a clear answer, Wang Fusheng turned and left at once, brimming with energy—he felt he could live another ten or twenty years.

Having learned the full situation and gained clarity, Wang Yan left the main estate and went out for a long-overdue stroll.

As for changes, they were certainly great. More people, more bustle, broader smiles on faces, children playing more carefree than ever. But in truth, little had changed—only that industries had expanded slightly, hiring more workers, all natural consequences of it all.

Today's Yanggu County, excluding Wang family village, was roughly equivalent to a newly prosperous township of later eras. But if you included Wang family village—the world's top industrial conglomerate—it would rival a metropolis like Shanghai.

Yet, ironically, the prices here were among the lowest in the nation—even lower than the capital Bianjing. This was because the earlier-established commodity hub here concentrated most resources from Shandong and Hebei, and southern goods all passed through here for transshipment. Thanks to this convenience, goods here were generally cheap.

Wages in Yanggu County weren't the highest, but they were decent, for Wang Yan had set a minimum standard, strictly enforced by the county government. Even at the minimum, combined with modest living costs, everyone lived comfortably. The elderly were cared for, children educated, adults all employed. The best could eat meat every three or five days; even the worst got meat every ten or fifteen days. No one bullied them, no officials extorted them—it was paradise.

Wang Yan idled around Wang family village and Yanggu County for several days. Bored, he suddenly remembered Mount Shuipoliang. After all, the Liang Shan forces were gone—wasn't the mountain now ownerless? Since he had nothing better to do, why not go take a look? Just a little tourism.

He acted on impulse, told his household, grabbed a few servants, and rode straight to Yuncheng.

After resting overnight at an inn in Yuncheng, the next day he inquired his way to Shi Jie Village.

Wang Da Guanren's wealth was unmistakable—overwhelming. Though dressed simply in a plain blue robe and boots that looked unremarkable, the jade pendants at his waist, the plump, powerful steed he rode, and his overall dignified bearing were unmistakable. Behind him followed four burly men, each mounted on unmistakable military warhorses, dressed identically in tight-fitting outfits, curved sabers at their hips, eyes flickering with sharp, ruthless menace—clearly dangerous. Anyone could tell this was a wealthy man.

Amid curious and wary stares from the villagers of Shi Jie, Wang Yan leapt lightly off his horse, patted the horse's large head, and waved to summon an old man.

Summoned by a noble, the old man dared not flee, though trembling with fear. He shuffled forward, bowed deeply: "This humble old man greets Da Guanren. What brings you to Shi Jie Village?"

"I wish to visit Mount Liang Shan. Your villagers fish for a living and know how to row boats—I'd like you to send someone to guide us there. Also, find someone on shore to care for our warhorses. This ingot of silver is your reward. Please arrange it for me."

As he spoke, Da Guanren waved his hand, and one of his servants pulled out a five-liang silver ingot from his waist pouch. One liang of silver equaled one guan—ordinary people earned one guan per month. Five liang was no small sum—just for tending horses and guiding them to Mount Liang Shan. What could he do? He was the richest man in Great Song—he had to be generous.

He wasn't a fool. He was simply doing good. After all, this sum was substantial—half a year's income for an adult, enough to solve family problems: buy tools, medicine, or simply eat full meals for days. And this amount was nothing—less than a single hair on a cow's hide. Irrelevant.

"Da Guanren has come to the right place—many in our village once served under Song Jiang and now live quiet lives, well acquainted with Mount Liang Shan." The old man, holding the silver and weighing it, grinned with his gap-toothed mouth: "But the one most familiar is young Ruan the Seventh, nicknamed 'Living Yama.' He was originally the water army commander, but he got demoted to commoner after foolishly wearing the Emperor's dragon robe and never got an official post. That dark, ugly fellow—this old man will fetch him to guide Da Guanren."

Wang Yan paused, following the old man's finger to a man in the crowd. His eyes bulged, his face was pockmarked, yellow whiskers grew on his cheeks, his bare copper-toned body bore scattered spots, yet his muscles flowed smoothly—strong and lean. In short: a ruggedly built man with an ugly face.

He hadn't forgotten him—he'd simply ignored him unconsciously, after all, he was just a minor figure. Ruan Squad Leader, as the old man said, had worn Fang La's dragon robe, been slated for the title of General of the Covering Heaven Army, but lost his rank and was reduced to commoner status, now caring for his elderly mother.

"Fine, him. Old man, arrange someone to care for our horses—we may be gone two days."

"Of course, of course." The old man nodded repeatedly, then turned to call Ruan Squad Leader aside.

After some hesitation, Ruan Squad Leader brought two others, stepped forward, and bowed to Wang Yan: "Esteemed Da Guanren, our boat is at the dock—shall we head to Mount Liang Shan now?"

"Let's go."

"Yes, follow me." Ruan Squad Leader led the way to the dock, boarded the boat, and they drifted slowly toward Mount Liang Shan.

"I heard from the old man you were once the water army commander of Liang Shan?"

Ruan Squad Leader, steering at the bow, turned his head, glanced at the smiling Da Guanren seated on the boat, then turned back and grunted: "That's all in the past."

"Song Jiang is dead. You know that?" Wang Yan continued, smiling: "Not just Song Jiang—Li Kui is dead too. Wu Yong and Hua Rong hanged themselves from a tree beside Song Jiang's grave, at Liaorwai in Chouzhou—Song Jiang chose it, said it resembled Liang Shan."

He could tell Ruan Squad Leader already knew Song Jiang was dead. Naturally—he'd been dead for half a year. Ruan Squad Leader, though retired, was still a former outlaw; even if he avoided the martial arts world, he'd still hear rumors—he'd lived in that world.

"Who are you, really? Why tell me this?"

Wang Yan shook his head: "Nothing much. I just heard the news, and you happened to be a notable commander of Liang Shan. I was bored, so I told you. From your expression, Song Jiang's death doesn't move you much?"

Ruan Squad Leader said nothing, rowing silently. He was paid to guide, not to chat. He didn't like talking about the past—both his brothers were gone; the more he spoke, the sadder he became.

Wang Yan chuckled, unconcerned, swaying with the boat's motion, watching the scenery with interest.

There wasn't much to see—now they were in a dense reed bed, tall and thick, blocking all view. Only after leaving the river and exiting the reeds did they see the true face of Sham Shui Po.

The water shimmered under sunlight; in the distance rose the mountain range of Liang Shan—a lake island. Its peaks rose in layers, covered in lush green trees, thriving and beautiful.

Thus, in silence, they rowed for nearly half an hour before reaching the now-decaying dock of Mount Liang Shan.

Liang Shan's decay was natural. After its amnesty, no one had dared occupy the mountain. In fact, over the past two years, the imperial garrison had swept through all of Shandong, ruthlessly crushing mountain bandits. Adopting Yanggu County's advanced methods, all criminals received light sentences—not exile, but forced labor locally, worked to exhaustion. So this prime location naturally had no new occupants.

Now, only nearby fishermen occasionally rested here. Some even cultivated a few acres on the mountain, scraping out a living. Liang Shan was gone—and everyone was glad.

Walking up stone steps, they slowly reached Liang Shan's first attraction: Duan Jin Pavilion. Built on a cliff's edge, three sides overlooked deep ravines. Twelve stone pillars supported a tiled roof with upturned eaves, carved ridge beasts lifelike, as if ready to fly into the sky. From within, one could gaze far across the vast lake and endless distant mountains, stirring a sense of grandeur.

Da Guanren stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the horizon.

Had Chao Gai once stood here, gazing out, satisfied with his big bowls of wine, big chunks of meat, and large shares of gold? Had Song Jiang stood here too, staring toward Bianjing, plotting how to kill Chao Gai and seize power, then how to seek amnesty and wealth?

Liang Shan was a fine place. In modern times, if preserved like this, it would be a wildly popular tourist site. It was said that the Jin invasion caused Great Song to breach the Yellow River, altering its course and drying up Sham Shui Po. That won't happen again—unless major geological shifts occur. Human-caused disasters he could avoid; natural ones he couldn't.

After viewing Duan Jin Pavilion, under Ruan Squad Leader's guidance, they reached Liang Shan's second attraction: Zhongyi Hall. Wang Yan noticed Ruan Squad Leader's eyes, fixed on the Zhongyi Hall plaque, filled with mockery—he clearly knew: this place had once been called Juyi Hall…

The spacious hall was thick with dust; cobwebs clung to corners and rafters. The relatively level floor scattered with over a hundred chairs. Sunlight streamed through the windows, yet Zhongyi Hall held no warmth—only chill. Added to the silence and emptiness, a natural shiver crept in—somehow terrifying. If one had heard tales of the horrors committed here by Liang Shan's men, one would be utterly terrified.

No wonder people below farmed the land, yet left these things on the mountain to rot—they dared not touch them, fearing ghosts and spirits. But mainly, it wasn't worth the effort—life was still bearable. Otherwise, even ghosts wouldn't care.

Watching Wang Yan shake his head in sigh, Ruan Squad Leader couldn't help asking: "Da Guanren, who are you really? Why are you so interested in Liang Shan?"

"Not out of interest, just passing time out of boredom. As for who I am…" Wang Yan grinned and pointed at the grimy, rain-slicked glass: "I made that."

Ruan Squad Leader blinked, then quickly realized, clasping his fists: "Ruan Squad Leader greets General Wang."

Seeing this, Wang Yan knew his reputation had done its work; he shook his head with a wry smile: "You think I'm a villain everyone wants to kill?"

"Your humble subject dares not. General, you helped Liang Shan rid ourselves of that scoundrel Gao Qiu—we brothers all remember it."

"That was Song Jiang's trick, dragging me into it. If I hadn't already been at odds with Gao Qiu, just this alone would've meant you Liang Shan should've replaced your leader back then."

"Still, you helped us. Without your efforts, we wouldn't know what fate Gao Qiu would've dealt us. And Brother Lin Chong—he finally avenged himself; he died smiling."

"Regret it?"

Ruan Squad Leader said nothing, avoiding eye contact and looking elsewhere.

He didn't stubbornly claim he had no regrets. After all that turmoil, he ended up with nothing—still just a common fisherman. Both his brothers were dead; of the three brothers, only he remained. His old mother wept constantly. How could he not regret it?

"Let's go. Show me around some more."

Ruan Squad Leader murmured an acknowledgment and continued as an incompetent guide, silent.

Wang Yan had no interest in Ruan Squad Leader's gloomy mood; he cared nothing for his inner turmoil. After all, when they raided the birthday convoy, it wasn't like this—how freely they spent that money, feasting on wine and meat every day, gambling without worrying about repayment, going all out, thrilling as hell.

He knew Ruan Squad Leader had never agreed to amnesty from the start—he'd merely been dragged along. He'd never been aligned with Song Jiang, let alone after the amnesty, when He Cheng, who'd killed one of Gao Qiu's lieutenants, was his own man and chose to slit his own throat. Song Jiang had feigned tears, wiping his eyes. And before that, there was Chao Gai's death. Perhaps Ruan Squad Leader hadn't known when Chao Gai first died, but after so long, he must've figured it out by now.

Though he hadn't done many truly heinous deeds, today was his own choosing—he'd enjoyed the pleasures, endured the suffering, nothing to say about it. He didn't need more naval men either. Ruan Squad Leader, this illiterate, rowing a dilapidated boat, was no use to him. He couldn't be bothered with him.

Thus, he wandered aimlessly around Liang Shan, glancing here and there, then boarded a boat back to Shi Jie Village at night. He ignored Ruan Squad Leader entirely, mounted his horse with his men, and jolted off homeward…