Chapter 829

Autumn is high and the air is crisp—a fine, refreshing phrase. But when the people suffer hardship and poverty, in this cold, harsh land of Liaodong, the phrase hardly seems pleasant, for it signals the coming of winter, and the people of Liaodong are far from ready to face it. In fact, they have never been ready, yet they must endure it anyway.

Plains and shallow shores naturally gather populations; even along the narrow, elongated stretch of the Liaoxi Corridor from Linyu (Shanhai Pass) to Tuhe, where arable land is scarce, many Han and Wuhuan people till the soil here.

Under the command of the Great General Tianwu, the civilian militia, led by slightly educated civil officers appointed by the general, survey the native population, inspect farmland, plan reclamation zones, and additionally mobilize militia and males over fifteen to massively cut down forests and enter the mountains to exterminate man-eating beasts. Meanwhile, blacksmiths, carpenters, and others begin preliminary settlement and initiate mass production of tools.

Suizhong, Xingcheng, and others were commanderies and counties established during the Qin dynasty; by the Eastern Han, they fell under the jurisdiction of Liaodong's Attached State, within Tuhe's territory.

Wang Yan also sent people to search for minerals; Huludao still has considerable mineral deposits—various metals, stones, and more are abundant. In the real world, he had already settled in Huludao and understood the local situation well; the government officials had given him a very detailed introduction. Even without this, Wang Yan knew thoroughly about China's and the world's mineral resources.

Meanwhile, those previously taught by Wang Yan were burning bricks and stones in large quantities along the way. This was to build brick-and-tile houses for wintering in the northeast, just like modern northeastern cottages: brick walls, wooden beams, heated kang beds. With winter still two months away, they frantically burned bricks, felled trees, rapidly demarcated plots, and dug foundations—working furiously for two months.

In two months' time, under such backward productivity, it was impossible to support 250,000 people. But Wang Yan never expected so much; as long as 150,000 could be housed, it would suffice. The remaining 100,000 would have to endure this year. Some Wuhuan would certainly resist; those people would freeze to death this winter. They would continue building roads and houses, and their land and homes would be redistributed to the people who followed Wang Yan.

This had nothing to do with ethnicity. Any modern person here would not hold such strong ethnic notions; the principle was to center the Han people, with other ethnic groups subordinate and assimilated. Whether in political or history class, all taught was ethnic unity.

Wang Yan naturally thought the same, but in terms of closeness, his own people came first, then the Han, then the other ethnic groups. First, feed his own people well; then, feed all Han people well; finally, use cultural, material, and military superiority to assimilate surrounding foreign tribes—clearly the path of Wang Ba.

As for initiating industrialization and greatly increasing productivity, in ancient times, Wang Yan now favored enlightenment. In fact, he had already done this during the Water Margin era. In the even earlier Eastern Han, he certainly would not act rashly.

His life is long; at eighteen this year, barring accidents, he can live cheerfully to over one hundred thirty years—here, he has over one hundred ten years. During this time, he will forever lead his empire. He is the leader; under the guarantee that everyone eats, to eat well requires the people's own striving.

He will use institutional safeguards and policy incentives to guide the early pioneers toward their own breakthroughs, their accidental innovations, their brilliant ideas, the era's culture that emerges from them, the new schools of thought they spark—these are what he hopes to see, and these are what he needs; these are his true gains from this journey.

Of course, all this presupposes ensuring the people's livelihood and continuous improvement—at least no one should die of cold or hunger. In this regard, he will certainly exert every effort, for he came here precisely for this reason. Eternal potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, cotton, and others must be brought here.

As for enhancing military equipment, forging guns and cannons, that is unnecessary. Again, at this time, as long as prisoners are not slaughtered, given troop quality, commander capability, and other factors, a major battle involving tens of thousands on each side rarely results in more than a few thousand direct deaths.

If he introduced guns and cannons, it would be slaughter in this era; enemies might be terrified, or more might die—but it is unnecessary to go that far. He will only continuously improve medical systems and raise medical capabilities.

Meanwhile, the Great General, clad in armor and wielding weapons, led his troops to the outskirts of the modestly sized Tuhe City, where the city gates were tightly shut and defenses prepared.

The Great General halted his horse at arrow's range and said: "Bring me my bow."

His bodyguards hurried to fetch a strong bow and quiver and brought them forward.

This bow was a three-dan mulberry wood and ox-horn bow, previously obtained from the Hu tribe; ordinary men used it to build strength, not as a weapon. Three dan in Eastern Han equaled ninety kilograms in modern terms—two hundred pounds by archery standards. Everyone knows: possessing ninety kilograms of strength does not mean one can draw a ninety-kilogram bow; they are two different things.

The Great General was different—he was not human. He fired the three-dan bow rapidly, like rain. He drew the bow, nocked the arrow, the bow bent like a crescent moon, took a tiny aim, then suddenly released. Instantly, the arrow shot forth, swift as a falling star. It traced a beautiful arc, crossed over two hundred meters, and slammed into the wooden staff of the city's standard, vibrating with a loud, continuous hum.

"The Great General's marksmanship is divine!" As soon as the arrow left the string, his bodyguards and officers began cheering.

Exaggeration exists everywhere. In the battle formation, no one could see an arrow embedded in a flagpole two hundred meters away—but who cared? The Great General was awesome—that was all that mattered, a simple-minded thought.

No wonder leadership is hard—if one lacks self-awareness, and subordinates constantly flatter you, which official could endure it?

Wang Yan laughed heartily and waved his hand: "Order: call for surrender."

As his words fell, Liao Hua, bearing the Great General Tianwu's standard, slowly waved the flag. Soon after, the drums at the rear of the formation beat rapidly—dong dong dong dong dong—then abruptly stopped, followed by two heavy, low beats that reverberated across the land.

Battle flags and drum signals were essential in formations, used to transmit messages and issue orders. At this moment, the rear-drum officer saw the flag signal and struck the drum: the rapid drumming meant "Prepare," instructing soldiers to get ready. Then came two heavy, distinct beats, followed by sudden silence—that was the command: upon hearing the drum cease, wait three breaths, then execute.

With the two drumbeats silenced, over six thousand soldiers of the Weiwu Corps shouted in unison: "Heaven does not manifest; the Han Liu dynasty is unjust. We build our own homes, secure our own lives. We urge you to understand the situation—do not fight like cornered beasts, struggling futilely. Open your gates, welcome our righteous army, join us in overcoming this hardship and shaping the future. We do not kill the common people—we kill only the unjust who oppress, abuse, and tyrannize them. You officers, like us, came from humble origins—why fight to the death for those who enslave us?"

We grant you one hour. If you do not surrender by then, we will break your city, destroy your homes—you will regret it too late. We have spoken plainly—do not say we did not warn you. Think carefully."

They repeated this three times, voice resolute, aura brimming with killing intent. After so long—marching, training, fighting, and selecting the best from over sixty thousand—the officers had developed a certain aura.

But it was still minor skirmishes. Since the rebellion of three hundred Yellow Turbans in Zhuo Commandery, their largest battle had been outside Lingshi City, where six thousand elite Weiwu soldiers fought three thousand of Liu Bei's troops—and were routed by Liu Bei.

Back then, command was led by company commanders of five hundred, each acting independently, without coordination, so the full strength of six thousand troops was never unleashed. Now, it was the same—no great generals under him, Wang Yan still had to directly command company commanders as tactical units.

But these company commanders were no longer what they were two months ago. Wang Yan occasionally gave them lectures, teaching battle formations; even without enemies, forced marches, mountain sweeps, reconnaissance—all could train them. They were pushed to exhaustion for two months; they must have improved somewhat. At least now, each five-hundred-man unit's combat effectiveness was guaranteed. Higher-ranking Commandants still needed gradual training. After all, Commandants were mid-level officers, leading nearly two thousand men—requiring higher-level management and coordination, not something easily achieved.

The feeling of commanding a large army was truly excellent. It was nothing like running a company, for power was not absolute. Here, six thousand Weiwu soldiers, four thousand civilian militia behind them, and further back, officials, veteran farmers, craftsmen—all their lives depended on General Wang Da. He said who to kill, and they died; he said what to do, and it was done—this was his authority…

Continuing the situation: the magistrate of Tuhe County was Li Zhuo, styled Ziqiao, from Yuyang in Youzhou, born of a humble family, appointed magistrate of Tuhe four years ago through a friend's recommendation.

Li Zhuo, seeing the military might below, was terrified, and asked his subordinates: "Now that the bandit Wang has come to attack, what good strategies do you have?"

On the city walls, all fell silent; no one answered.

The bandit Wang had ravaged a thousand li, grown strong from Anci, shattered countless fortresses and cities, and swept up hundreds of thousands. Such commotion had long driven refugees fleeing the war to escape to Liaodong—how could they not know?

Before Wang's arrival, Liu Yan had already sent orders to Liaodong's officers: hold out against the bandit Wang for six months; once the snow melted, a great army would come to reinforce and crush him in one battle. But looking at the dense ranks of rebels below, and their own pitiful forces, this was hardly a difficult choice.

After long silence, one finally bowed and spoke: "My lord, I believe we should surrender immediately. According to scouts and merchants, the bandit Wang has one hundred thousand troops; now six thousand have arrived, yet our garrison numbers only three thousand. The disparity is overwhelming—we cannot possibly hold. Governor Liu ordered us to hold for six months, but the bandit Wang has reached Tuhe, a thousand li away—where are the elite troops of the Liaoxi Governor? Has anyone held Wang back for even three days?"

Tuhe is a strategic stronghold of Liaoxi, controlling the throat of the northeast—northward it can attack Liaodong, Xuantu, and even barbarian lands; southward it can descend upon Youzhou and advance into the Central Plains. Such a vital chokepoint, the bandit Wang will fight to the death to seize.

The bandit Wang has marched a thousand li, slaughtering most officials and powerful clans; according to his own words, they are the unjust who oppress, abuse, and tyrannize the people. My lord, you must decide for yourself. We soldiers here are merely brutal barbarians; the Great General will surely not hold us accountable. If you do not surrender, we will use you as our stepping stone."

The speaker had just called him "bandit Wang," but when speaking of surrender, instantly changed to "Great General," and even bowed respectfully toward the city below when saying "Great General."

This man was the Commandant of these lands, Guo Liang, Han Chinese, commanding one thousand troops, responsible for Tuhe's city wards and surrounding Wuhuan affairs. He claimed the city's three thousand troops included two thousand reinforcements from Changli, who were to hold the line while more troops arrived soon.

Organized armies in Liaodong were all structured this way: their superior officer was the Protector of the Wuhuan, established in Western Han, when Wuhuan tribes were settled beyond the borders of Shanggu, Yuyang, Youbeiping, and Liaodong, to prevent them from allying with the Xiongnu and destabilizing China.

Now, over three hundred years later, with deeper ethnic exchange, the Wuhuan had entered the interior commanderies, living as the Han did. Those who came in farmed; some still herded horses; those outside continued nomadic life.

Thus, the city's three thousand troops included two thousand Wuhuan soldiers.

They had only heard rumors of the bandit Wang; now, with troops at their gates, they realized Liu Yan had deceived them. The bandit Wang's forces, they had heard, were numerous and disciplined, their armor incomplete but all had armor; they possessed siege ladders, trebuchets, battering rams—all eager and ready.

Even if every Han in Liaodong died, they could not hold out against Wang Yan for six months.

So what was there to hesitate about? Aside from surrender, they had no choice. Either they died, and the city fell. Or they surrendered the city—whether they lived or died depended on General Wang Da's mood.

Li Zhuo sighed deeply: the Han dynasty is collapsing, rebels rise one after another—alas, the state is perishing…

He collapsed to the ground, along with other officials, who were then controlled by soldiers and led down from the walls, watching as the officers assembled their troops and, passively, followed them out of the city.

Seeing Tuhe's gates open and soldiers escorting officials out, Wang Yan laughed heartily and led his troops toward the gate.

"I am the Commandant here, Guo Liang, styled Houzhi. I have long heard of the Great General's noble virtue and benevolence toward our common people. Now that I finally see your righteous army, I am overjoyed. I hereby surrender the city, hoping the Great General will recognize our sincere loyalty."

Saying this, Guo Liang bowed and knelt on the ground.

Kneeling now was ritual. Guo Liang surrendered the city, performed the great bow, and paid homage to his new lord—it was only proper.

Wang Yan, clad in armor, hand resting on his eight-sided Han sword, heard Guo Liang's words, ignored the anxious officials, and turned to a kneeling soldier, lifting him up: "How did Guo Liang treat you?"

"R-returning to the Great General's question—he treated me… fairly?" The soldier trembled, answering uncertainly.

Wang Yan waved his hand: "Cut him down."

"Ah, Great General, Commandant Guo treated me very well—spare my life, spare me—"

Wang Yan slapped him hard on the back of the head: "Look—whom am I about to kill?"

The young soldier trembled as Wang Yan grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up, ignoring the warm stream between his legs, watching as a young soldier drew his waist sword, walked up to the stunned Guo Liang, and without waiting for Guo Liang to speak, swiftly severed his head.

The head hit the ground, still rolling from momentum, revealing Guo Liang's disbelieving expression, eyes wide open in death. The kneeling corpse, due to unequal internal and external pressure, spouted blood with a wet spurt, continuing for a moment before the headless body finally collapsed, the blood flow shifting from spurting to a steady ooze, soon forming a pool.

Liao Hua's beheading was swift—a single stroke severed the head, and Guo Liang died without pain. For soldiers, officers, and civilians now, beheadings were not terrifying; everyone had seen them, at least a little, but no one expected those who surrendered their city to be beheaded too.

Wang Yan affectionately clasped the soldier's shoulder, giving him strength to stand, and smiled: "Tell me again—who treated you well?"

"N-no… n-no…"

"Think carefully," said Wang Yan. "Or I'll cut off your head." He understood the soldier's fear—that naming someone might make life unbearable afterward, or that he'd lose his own life. Since he feared death, he'd be threatened with it.

This young soldier was now the King of Hell—point to whom, and that man dies.

After executing dozens of corrupt soldiers, they collected weapons and armor, disbanded the rest, and handed them over to civilian militia for escort to labor. This was not punishment—the common folk's bullying was hateful, but now they were to be forgiven.

Wang Yan said to the Tuhé officials: "Wait until I enter the city and learn what the people say. Whoever the people say is good shall live; whoever they say is evil shall die. Rest easy—it won't be execution by beheading, but forced labor. If I survive ten years and you survive ten years, then I will grant you freedom—you may go anywhere under heaven."

He would certainly live ten years—even a hundred. If these people survived even one year… then they were tough, damn impressive…

General Wang Da flung his red cloak, drew his sword, and pointed it at Tuhé: "Enter the city!"

Immediately, two thousand civilian militia advanced in force, armed and taking control of key positions. By afternoon, some officials trained by Wang Yan arrived, efficiently surveying resources, visiting households, executing wealthy families, deploying the Weiwu Guard to scatter across a hundred li, killing and looting landlords, and registering households.

They had done this before—not once—but now there was added a thorough census and land survey. The task was not too difficult; they'd adapt. This work would become routine, for the vast lands of the northeast held great potential.

At the very least, he would conquer the Northeast Plain. As China's largest plain, the Northeast Plain had fertile soil, abundant produce, multiple rivers ensuring ample water, forests of Changbai Mountains and Xing'an Range rich in timber and mountain goods, and access to the sea. Compared to the Central Plains, developed for a thousand years, the Northeast Plain was an immense treasure.

A treasure, naturally, had guardians.

After taking Tuhé, Wang Yan's entire army rested. Soldiers began helping civilians settle. They demarcated homesteads, transported supplies—everything was complex. Managing the livelihoods of over two hundred thousand people meant every small matter came to General Wang Da. His workload was unimaginable. But thanks to his strong body and sharp spirit, ordinary men could not endure it.

There was no help for it—he was born a commoner, a Huang Jin rebel, and along the way had slaughtered countless officials and powerful clans. His reputation now in Han China rivaled Zhang Jiao's—not from strength, but from his deeds, his choices—and yet no one invested in him.

Perhaps it was simply because travel was slow; only half a year had passed, and the news had not yet spread. Besides, everyone knew the northeast was cold and harsh—whether he could survive the winter was a major consideration for others.

As for his policy of seizing land from the rich and redistributing it to the poor—though it offended the powerful clans—it wasn't a real problem. A simple reason: no one believed him.

The powerful clans had limited vision—they lacked perspective beyond their time. The livelihoods of two thousand years later were, to them, like the realm of gods. People could not conceive of things beyond their understanding. Given today's productivity and social relations, what General Wang Da proposed was impossible—no one dared even dream of it.

Because the land was there, the inputs and outputs were there, with concrete data. The Han dynasty had lasted four hundred years without significant improvement. Periodic natural disasters and human calamities reduced yields. It was all just a cycle, endlessly repeating.

On the other hand, if Wang Yan ascended the throne, who would assist him? Who would govern the realm? Again, the powerful clans—they held the most valuable knowledge, the highest authority to interpret the classics. The powerful clans were scholarly cliques, forming factions to fight each other for control over cultural and intellectual interpretation, from literary circles to officialdom.

A simple analogy: modern people listen to songs, watch films, view paintings, admire calligraphy—their opinions don't matter. If you say a song is ugly, a movie boring, a painting crude, or calligraphy nonsense, they reply: "You don't understand." Even if you do understand, if they hold titles and affiliations, they'll say: "You only grasp the surface—you're not professional."

Only when they say you understand, do you understand. Only when they say you're professional, are you professional.

Extend this upward, and it explains the above. If the character "hui" has nine ways to be written, and I name one, it's one. If you disagree, I'll teach you to vanish.

Even if Wang Yan exterminated all existing powerful clans, what of those who later rose with him? Would he deny them land and power? He could kill them—but could his son? Could his grandson? After several generations, powerful clans would rise again.

On the other hand, even if Wang Yan truly succeeded in killing powerful officials and effectively suppressing them, and told the current clans the outcome, they'd still come out. They'd still serve Wang Yan. Whether they shared in the spoils didn't matter—first, they'd act.

This was the prisoner's dilemma. If the Han powerful clans jointly boycotted Wang Yan, and I didn't go but you did, and you didn't go but he did—wouldn't I fall behind? Wouldn't my family be ruined?

So they would come—only the timing and the rank of those who came would vary. First, they'd send a probing wave—minor branches, illegitimate sons—then decide how much to invest. They had keen eyes, but ultimately could not transcend their era.

As for the earlier powerful officials, not all were killed—many were kept, forced into labor, but they were essentially being fooled, as if Wang Yan couldn't read. After executing a batch, the rest became obedient.

But these people weren't enough, nor could they be trusted. General Wang Da had real blood feuds with them…

For now, and for a long time ahead, he would have no usable subordinates.

Wang Yan himself could manage alone—but it would take immense time. Development required people above all. Education was a century-long project. He might live a hundred years, but he couldn't do only one thing. Moreover, education involved culture—he taught his own culture, not Han culture. These were two different things, and the fruits would differ.

Wang Yan was busy settling affairs, and five days passed. On this day, as Wang Yan was handling governance in the county office, Liao Hua rushed in: "General! Weiwu Guard cavalry scouts report: thirty thousand enemies from Changli are eighty li from Tuhé."

Changli, the capital of the Liaodong Commandery, now Yixian in Jinzhou. After taking Tuhé, the general had scattered cavalry scouts for reconnaissance—intelligence was key to warfare; knowing enemy and self was essential.

Thirty thousand troops could not be mobilized by Han civilians of Liaodong—they must be Wuhuan forces. Wang Yan had marched from Zhuo Commandery to Liaodong without encountering serious Wuhuan resistance—until now.

Perhaps the Wuhuan felt threatened, as Wang Yan's advance squeezed their living space and blocked their routes into the passes. Or perhaps they didn't care before, but now did—someone among them had emerged, uniting their strength. Or perhaps Liu Yan had paid them—after all, at this time, foreign tribes who submitted were mercenaries; whether Wuhuan or Xianbei, they appeared frequently in the late Han.

Most likely, Liu Yan sent envoys—offering money and explaining Wang Yan's threat—combining both, thus assembling this large force. Liu Yan's goal was clear: exhaust Wang the Rebel's strength, and exhaust the Wuhuan's too.

The Yellow Turbans' defeat was already clear; this year they'd be crushed. Next spring, they'd march north and kill Wang the Rebel.

Normally, the script went like this. The Wuhuan forces still had combat power, and they fought on home ground. Wang Yan was a newcomer, with few resources. Even without annihilating him, merely holding him in stalemate and draining his supplies—winter would be unbearable—would achieve the Han army's strategic goal.

Next year, just twenty thousand troops could sweep through Liaodong, and Liu Youzhou's name would resound across China.

But how could reality be so simple? Who said General Wang Da wasn't a local man…