Chapter 831

Taking Changli is nothing more than repeating what we did in Tuhe. Ask the townspeople and officials, the wealthy households—those with good reputations, the General will personally meet them and assign them managerial posts, serving as screws for the General; those without merit but not deserving death, assign them to low-level clerical roles to tally data; those who resist, send them to forced labor.

Those who deserve death, drag them out, gather the townsfolk, and have the General's personal guards—whose skinning skills are crude—flay them alive with knives. These are Wang Yan's trainees; after all, this is a truly cannibalistic age, and only severe punishment can govern it. But these boys are incompetent—they've flayed many, yet never succeeded once; everyone dies halfway, never alive enough to witness their own skin stuffed with straw.

As for the wealth of wealthy households: the virtuous do not seize it; the vicious confiscate it. Wang Yan has now settled down and must govern the region—he cannot keep killing indiscriminately or confiscating homes without cause.

Yet even with this leniency, not a single wealthy household in the city escaped confiscation; all were looted, and their people were assigned to one of the above fates.

Many truly admire Wang Yan, for he dares to employ these people—even in low positions—yet they still influence internal affairs. In their place, anyone with blood feuds would dare use them?

But Wang Yan dares. Just as he did with the batch killed in Tuhe, people cannot deceive him. Moreover, his soldiers and civilians trust him deeply, supervision is thorough, and most crucially, he holds absolute control of the army—the blade is in his hand; whoever resists, he kills. That's all there is to it.

The warlords of Han's end also held blades, but many gripped them loosely, lacked decisiveness, and were hamstrung by too many constraints. Because they rose from alliances with powerful clans and lineages, whose military and political power was strong—killing them then was difficult. Moreover, their relationship with these clans was one of opposition and unity.

With Wang Yan, it's different—he started with nothing; military and civil authority rest entirely in his hands. He endures only labor, yet solves problems. Now with two hundred thousand people, and later when he takes all of Liaodong, governs a thousand li of land, a million civilians, and a hundred thousand soldiers, it will be the same. His subordinates improve daily; within ten years, the entire system will run smoothly. Even occasional oversights won't affect the grand scheme.

Zhuge Liang died of exhaustion—he held full military and civil power, but had capable subordinates. If he were placed in Wang Yan's position, forced to fight for survival, wage war, house and feed two hundred thousand soldiers and civilians through winter, manage production, plan and allocate food and supplies—no exaggeration: this one winter would kill Zhuge Liang's ten years of life.

Only Wang Yan, this ox of a man, with all great power concentrated in himself, can remain unafraid, strolling lazily, content and at ease.

Farming and development are true joys. Compared to the pleasure of watching bank balances grow, it's a fraction of a fraction of the happiness. Every time he sees more people, wealthier people, stronger people, happier people—even if the General's heart is as unmoved as a mountain—he is delighted…

After securing Changli, the General ordered Guangwu Guard to garrison there, cut down mountains and trees, build numerous brick kilns, repair training grounds and barracks, and station five li outside the city, rotating troops daily to patrol Changli's wards.

After a week, Wang Yan returned to Tuhe. This location is ideal, as Guo Liang had said—northward to Liaodong, southward to the Central Plains, controlling the vital throat between north and south. For a long time to come, this will be his base.

Upon arriving in the city, Liao Hua rushed in: "Report, General! The west bank of the Daliao River has been taken."

After the night battle ended, Weiwu Guard was dispatched to reinforce Liao Hua in Fangxian. Earlier, Liao Hua reported that Fangxian's defenses were lax; the city lies east of the Daliao River, its garrison composed of scattered, undisciplined troops—crushed with one strike. In the days since, Liao Hua and his men swept a hundred li west of the Daliao River, capturing over two thousand Wuhuan surrendering soldiers.

"Already reported. I know." Wang Yan waved his hand, dampening Liao Hua's enthusiasm.

This time, leading two thousand troops into battle, Liao Hua had grown arrogant. Youthful, his resolve is weak—he must be constantly spurred.

Wang Yan glanced at Liao Hua and said, "You understand the current situation. What do you propose?"

After a moment's thought, Liao Hua said: "Now we hold Suizhong to the south, Changli to the north, Fangxian to the east. Our troops, civilians, and prisoners total twenty-seven thousand; Wuhuan civilians and soldiers exceed one hundred thousand.

I see three urgent matters: First, winter preparation. We've only housed five thousand civilians, and Suizhong's military camp and training ground are far too small. Second, winter grain reserves are paramount. Currently, soldiers eat three full meals daily; militia cutting timber and building houses eat one full meal and one porridge meal; the elderly, children, and women eat two porridge meals. If this continues, we won't survive winter. Moreover, next spring's plowing, harvesting, threshing, and drying grain will take seven months—stockpiling grain is essential; otherwise, chaos will erupt.

The newly captured land west of the Daliao River is vast and flat, with no natural defenses—enemy forces can charge straight in; we cannot hold it. Fangxian has rich, fertile soil, mostly good farmland; next spring, the Wuhuan will surely come. I propose building a city to defend our land, people, and harvests—this is the second urgency.

Third, we have many Wuhuan soldiers and civilians under our rule. All of Liaodong is Wuhuan territory; their people are unkind, ungrateful, easily swayed by profit, and may rebel at any moment, undermining our foundation. We must find a way to win their loyalty and prevent them from turning traitor."

Wang Yan smiled and nodded: "Winter and grain reserves are paramount. As for your third point—that's your prejudice. 'Those not of our kind must have different hearts' is indeed wise. But under my rule, Wuhuan soldiers and civilians are equal to Han civilians; I treat them without distinction. Moreover, the Wuhuan hold no real power in my administration—no cause for concern.

Even if rebellion occurs, it is the act of one man lured by profit—his crime, his family's crime—not the guilt of all Wuhuan soldiers and civilians. One man's actions concern the whole? Never expand punishment lightly—that's self-sabotage. My army is entirely mine; any rebellion, I crush with a flip of the hand."

"You speak urgently of building a city in Fangxian. I ask you—who will live inside?"

Liao Hua didn't hesitate: "Of course military officers and civil officials. Any extra capacity, we'll take in civilians from outside to save their lives."

"Tens of li of farmland scattered with our people—when the enemy rushes in, how can you gather them all? How will you stop them from destroying our fields?"

Seeing Liao Hua speechless, the General chuckled: "Never mind the manpower and resources needed to build a city. The army's mission is to protect home and country, safeguard borders and people. If we abandon our people to defend a city, and the enemy slaughters and loots our civilians outside—what use is victory?

Flat land is easy to attack, hard to defend. Civilians farming are easy targets. Why did I establish militia? Precisely for this. Our main force must fight the enemy where they stand. Even if enemies sneak in to destroy our base, the militia can form ranks, defend themselves, kill invaders, and protect families and fields. If my people are all fierce and skilled, each like a dragon—who dares oppress, invade, or slaughter us?"

Liao Hua sat stunned. Oh, so this is how war is fought.

But then he thought again: "General, if all our people truly become strong and fierce, won't that bring danger? If ambitious men exploit this, the state will collapse."

"The Zhou lost the deer, all under heaven chased it—Qin caught it. Qin lost the deer, all under heaven chased it—Han caught it. Now the Han court is weak; it will lose the deer—I shall catch it. When I lose the deer, all under heaven may catch it too.

Ambitious men are not born with ambition. Even if Xunzi's view of innate evil is true, it's merely harming others for self-benefit. So-called ambition is merely the desire for high rank, great power, and a marquis title. If someone develops the heart to overthrow the dynasty and become emperor, it is my moral failure—causing the people to suffer, struggling to survive. If so, why blame their ambition? I deserve death!"

The General's words shook heaven and earth, rang with authority, radiated overwhelming might, embracing the machinery of the cosmos.

Liao Hua, awestruck, revered him as a god—truly a great man.

Gathering his composure, he lavished praise until the General kicked him, then asked: "General, what should we do now?"

"Cut trees, build houses, improve roads and irrigation, prepare spring plowing tools, armor and weapons, hunt beasts in the mountains—everything centers on surviving winter. Do you still need me to arrange these?"

The General shook his head and smiled: "I know you're asking about the Wuhuan threat. We march north, forcing the Wuhuan to retreat further north. The army we faced earlier was led by the Chanyu of the Western Liao. His three thousand troops must be a coalition of various chanyus' forces. Otherwise, our northward advance would not have been so smooth—they would have blocked us. The Wuhuan of Liaodong number no more than half a million; even if all able-bodied men became soldiers, how many could they muster?

Guangwu guards Changli, Weiwu guards Fangxian, Xingwu guards Suizhong. In the battle at Changli, we seized many weapons and horses—I'll train another two thousand cavalry. With four thousand cavalry, when snow falls, we'll seek out the Wuhuan main force, attack when they're weak, flee when they're strong—emulating the old tactics of the Marquis of Guan. We'll raid their grain and supplies, live off the enemy.

Before next spring's plowing, we'll seize Fangxian and Wulü City (Beizhen). Guangwu from Changli will advance two hundred li to occupy the northern foothills of Wulü Mountain (Yiwulu Mountain) at Shankou (Fuxin). Thus, we advance when we can, defend when we must. Next year, one decisive battle will settle the northern barbarians once and for all."

Seeing Liao Hua stand at attention, eager to request command, Wang Yan continued: "When the two thousand cavalry are trained, you will lead them to seek battle. Train hard—don't disappoint me."

With confirmation of his impending command, Liao Hua scampered off happily.

"In Shu, no great generals—Liao Hua leads the vanguard." Now, in Wang Yan's ranks, no great generals either. Liao Hua can read and write; though not instantly brilliant, he has some insight—he must be nurtured well.

Having defeated three ten thousand Wuhuan troops, plus Fangxian and scattered forces, we've accounted for nearly forty thousand. With such losses, the Wuhuan cannot quickly muster a large army. After all, the Wuhuan are internally divided—just like everywhere else, they fight among themselves. Qiu Li Ju must gather troops again, but after this heavy loss, the other chanyus will surely resent him. Even if he forces a coalition, they'll fight separately—no threat.

Now is not the time to provoke war—it would force the Wuhuan chanyus to unite prematurely. We already hold Suizhong, Tuhe, Changli, and half of Fangxian—these four regions are sufficient to house our current two hundred seventy thousand soldiers and civilians.

Once we take full control of Fangxian and Fuxin, next spring's plowing—given current yields of three to four shi per mu, and using modern city statistics for farmland area—roughly twenty million mu of farmland. Of course, modern mu is larger than Han mu: modern one mu is 666 square meters, Han mu is about 470 square meters. Wang Yan allocates land by Han mu, meaning the actual farmland figure exceeds twenty million mu—add thirty percent more, and we're approaching thirty million mu.

Of course, not all this land is cultivated yet—we still need reclamation. But even half of it, combined with my composting yield-enhancing method, ignoring other factors, could yield about fifty million shi of grain—each shi thirty kilograms, roughly equivalent to one and a half million metric tons today. Enough to feed our two hundred seventy thousand soldiers and civilians for a year—with surplus.

People's appetites then were nothing like modern ones. If they ate freely, even an eight- or nine-year-old child could consume two catties per meal; adults need no explanation.

The main reason: they had no other food—only grains. Salt came from pickled vegetables; what decent vegetables existed? As for meat—forget it. They were already eating people; what talk of meat?

Warlords fighting for dominance didn't kill many people. The same logic: if you don't kill prisoners, and even accounting for deadly complications, two armies of twenty thousand rarely result in twenty thousand dead.

Why did Han's population drop from over fifty million to less than eight million by the time of Jin's unification? Because of disasters. War brought disease; farming brought famine; mass deaths brought plague. Warlords neglected the people, bankrupted their treasuries, and only endured—no time to care for the populace.

Even Liu Bei, famed for benevolence, saw his population drop from over five million before the chaos to one million by Liu Shan's surrender. From Dong Zhuo's rebellion to the Three Kingdoms' unification under Jin—less than a century.

The Three Kingdoms were the stage of powerful clans and lineages—their romance—not the masses dying in droves…

So although the farmland and output figures are enormous—even enough to feed ten million people today—in this era, it's merely adequate.

This is why Wang Yan doesn't expand territory. So many people, all farming collectively—only so much land can be planted in spring. More land is useless.

Though expanding territory could capture many Wuhuan people, he's currently focused on stealing their grain to supplement his own winter stores—how could he occupy land and feed Wuhuan populations?

In fact, even if he crushes the Wuhuan army in spring, he won't annex them. He only farms. He expands only when land runs short—where he farms, his army advances.

Thus, farming yields surplus, increases population, land runs short, expand—farm, repeat. War serves development. Wars with no harvest, or little harvest, are better left unwaged—better to have the army farm and till, no deaths, with harvest.

So for now, Wang Yan did nothing else: managing internal affairs, inspecting various regions, and training troops—another two thousand cavalry. Horse-keeping costs nearly as much as feeding men. This winter, he sent his four thousand horses out—training their combat skills, disrupting Wuhuan pastures, and feeding them—all in one stroke. A win-win—do more of it.

His entire domain was one vast construction site. Black smoke rolled, dust filled the sky. After the efforts of tens of thousands of young men, the mountains were stripped bare. Now deep autumn, bitterly cold—they must build houses and prepare firewood for warmth; meals are cooked in giant pots, consuming enormous quantities of wood.

The army no longer trains; every day they chop trees and haul logs, treating it as physical conditioning. The brick kilns, blacksmiths' furnaces, and iron-smelting furnaces have never gone out since they were built. The carpenters fare better, but they too have almost no entertainment—they constantly produce and manufacture weapons, bows and arrows, armor, farm tools, household items, and all sorts of miscellaneous goods.

At the same time, following the General's orders, they repair roads, build bridges, and construct water conservancy facilities. Over two hundred thousand people, except those truly pregnant or too young, all have work to do. In fact, even the very young, who can barely walk, see the adults busy and know to snip two small branches and toss them into the hearth.

The elderly who made it this far are all tough survivors, and their health remains decent. The old men take tools and work in groups to make wooden chopsticks, bowls, spoons, buckets, or assist carpenters in building the curved-plow—this device is essential for any time-traveler, now called the Wang Plow, named after the General's invention.

Moreover, it is not the Han-era curved-plow, but an improved version from the Song-Yuan period: the plow shaft is shortened and curved, with fewer components like the forehead strap and pressure plate, making the plow body lighter and more flexible, thus increasing farming efficiency.

To go further, one would need an iron shaft. But right now, even armor and weapons cannot be produced fast enough—how could iron be wasted on plows?

As for the elderly women who survived the journey, they make clothing, shoes, hats, gloves, and other cold-weather gear—for the army.

There is no cotton now, and there won't be for a long time. There is duck down, but not enough to make clothes; there aren't even a few ducks in the entire region—they're all treated like ancestral deities.

At this time, people keep warm by enduring it: sleeping on straw piles, stuffing reed fluff into clothes. In places where freezing won't kill you, the warmth is limited; in places where it will kill you, it's merely psychological comfort. There is wood cotton, but it's a southern plant—none grows here.

Animal furs, however, are plentiful—all taken by raiding along the way, or from the army's mountain sweeps, skinned and processed by skilled hunters. Wang Yan himself owns four coats: two bear pelts, two tiger pelts, several ermine fur scarves, and has had hats and gloves made as well.

But he is the only one so extravagant. Even with more furs, they could never supply two hundred seventy thousand people, so only those active outdoors receive them first.

The four thousand cavalry must be properly warmed; other troops must be warmed too, but only as resources allow. Craftsmen must also be supplied—they cannot stop in winter and must work overtime. Most importantly, there must be timber-cutting teams; over two hundred thousand people depend on them for firewood.

Although coal mines have been found and some mined, it is still insufficient; firewood remains the primary fuel, requiring massive tree-cutting.

After winter sets in, everyone stays indoors, fires burning, trying not to go out—only a few thousand are needed outside for services.

As for illness, it is not a major problem. Wang Yan captured several physicians, though their skills are modest, they can handle common ailments. Wang Yan takes time to train them and selects clever children to teach in spare moments. Medicine is scarce, but not critically so.

During inspections, Wang Yan often stops to treat any sick people he encounters.

Time passed in busyness, and before long it was October—the first snow had fallen. Excluding the army's barracks, Wang Yan had settled one hundred thirty thousand people.

The rest either stayed temporarily with families who received houses, or moved into the original local dwellings. Though the houses were poor, Wang Yan had all of them fitted with kang beds. Building houses is slow, but building kang beds is fast. Many boys aged fourteen or fifteen were drafted into a kang-building team—they were full of enthusiasm, and thus everyone was accommodated.

The army chops firewood; warhorses haul carts, delivering wood everywhere—no one will freeze to death. Clothing is still being made, and more people can now go outdoors—surely nothing will happen.

In winter, Wang Yan has little to do, so he reads bamboo slips in Tuhe City.

Undoubtedly, in the Eastern Han, books are precious. Cai Hou paper is of poor quality and has not replaced bamboo slips; these must be made by hand. Though not difficult, they are far more labor-intensive than mass-producing paper.

But for the Great General, even precious bamboo slips are not so precious. He has plundered wealthy clans and families, seizing over ten thousand bamboo scrolls, and even more precious texts written on silk and brocade—these are truly worth a thousand gold per character, for they are written in gold itself, revealing their immense value.

To house so many bamboo slips, he ordered the house opposite the county office torn down and replaced with a large brick-and-stone building, with underfloor heating installed throughout, completed just before winter.

The room is filled entirely with bamboo slips; Wang Yan sorts and stacks them himself into massive piles. He reads, governs, and lives here, and sometimes writes small characters on bamboo slips himself. In this era, reading and writing on bamboo slips, surrounded by ten thousand of them, feels different—even if the novelty fades after two days.

The Great General will never regress; next year he will make paper and vigorously promote printing. Otherwise, the cost of learning is too high—how will he educate the next generation? How will he launch literacy campaigns in his domain?

At this moment, a guard entered the warm room with a gust of cold wind, bowed, and reported: "My lord, a merchant caravan of five hundred from Suizhong has arrived, transporting grain and cloth, buying furs, medicine, and horses. They claim to be from the Zhen family of Wuji and wish to meet with the Great General to discuss matters—they are now waiting in Suizhong."

The General raised an eyebrow. His first thought was not of the prestige of the Wuji Zhen family—it was merely a wealthy clan from Shijiazhuang, nothing remarkable. His first thought was Zhen Mi, the genuine Three Kingdoms beauty, the subject of the "Ode to the Luo Goddess."

But he turned the idea over in his mind and abandoned it. Zhen Mi is only one year old, just born—far too early.

The Wuji Zhen family rose during Wang Mang's time, a powerful clan of Wuji, following the typical path of all wealthy families: rising through official posts, seizing land. Now, having peaked and declined, the Zhen family is a shadow of its former self; the highest official among them is Zhen Mi's father, merely the magistrate of Shangcai County (modern Zhumadian, Henan).

The Zhen family's arrival to trade pleases Wang Yan. By now, all powerful clans who should know of him do know. The Zhen family travels widely—they could not possibly be unaware that to reach Liaodong, one must pass through the Great General Wang's territory. Thus, this trade mission is clearly aimed at him—its intent is obvious: they seek to invest.

For such a family, the first to show sincerity—and one with a beautiful daughter—the General is very amiable. He smiled and ordered: "Let them come tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord." The guard bowed and left, sending word to Suizhong…