Chapter 142: New Order and the Final Arrangement

Yangzhou, Wang Family fort.

The coolness of deep autumn, carrying the dampness of the Jianghuai waterlands, silently drifted over the bluestone pavement, slipped through the cracks of the vermilion‑painted gate, and finally settled on the few hundred‑year‑old ginkgo trees in the back garden.

What were once emerald fan‑shaped leaves have now turned a translucent golden yellow; a breeze makes them rustle down like a gentle rain of shattered gold, covering the courtyard's blue‑brick floor and the aged silhouette on the lounge chair.

Wang Po reclined on a nan wood lounge chair padded with a thick fox‑fur cushion, covered by a double‑layered brocade blanket, yet the chill seeping from his marrow still made him hunch his shoulders.

His chest rose and fell with extreme lightness; each breath carried a faint heaviness, his murky eyes mostly closed, long lashes casting pale shadows beneath them; he resembled a withered leaf about to be blown away, drifting in a half‑dream, half‑awake stupor for most of the time.

Wang Xiu's consciousness floated within this body like a silent observer. He could clearly feel life force draining bit by bit from his limbs and bones, the temperature of his fingertips dropping, his hearing becoming intermittent, even his thoughts beginning to slow.

He had once stirred wind and clouds with this body, but now, no matter how strong his will, it cannot overcome the iron law of birth, aging, illness and death.

Wang Zhen stood beside the lounge chair, his dark brocade robe lending his face an even greater composure. He cradled a stack of hemp‑paper reports in his hands, deliberately softening his voice, speaking gently as if afraid to disturb his father.

"Father, the situation in the north has finally stabilized," Wang Zhen's voice carried a barely perceptible relaxation, "Fu Yanqing's Zhenzhou army, An Zhongrong's Chengde army, and Shi Hongzhao's Yongxing army all had a few small‑scale clashes on the He Dong border recently, each sustaining losses.

In the end, after we secretly passed on information and supplied grain, we sat down to negotiate and divided the He Dong lands left by Shi Jingtang: the Fu family took Yunzhou and Yingzhou, the An family received Hezhong and Jiangzhou, and Shi Hongzhao obtained Jinzhou and Xi Zhou."

He paused, saw his father's eyelids unmoving, and continued: "As for the Later Tang Court, Li Congke originally intended to send troops to intervene, but Luoyang City lacked supplies, and the Imperial Guards were mostly old and weak, unable to be mobilized.

In the end they could only issue an edict, tacitly acknowledging the three families' territories. Now the three families keep watch on each other, none daring to strike first; this Zhongyuan situation will likely maintain this delicate balance for the next eight to ten years."

Wang Po's eyelids finally fluttered lightly, his long lashes trembled, yet he did not open his eyes nor speak; only the slight change in his chest's rise served as a response.

Wang Zhen opened the next report; when his fingertip brushed over the characters "Wa Kingdom," his voice involuntarily gained a hint of excitement, his speech even quickening: "And the Wa Kingdom's 'Red Earth Project' is progressing more smoothly than we anticipated!"

Wang Tianhai led his Yellow Turban army from Jiuzhou all the way to the capital region, and now the capital is besieged; over at Song Pu Longxin's side, the 'Loyalist Allied Forces' have been organized as planned, rallying a dozen or so daimyō from Omi and Owari, claiming a fifty‑thousand‑strong army, pressing against the Yellow Turban army's rear.

"Yesterday we received an urgent dispatch from Wang Meng on Iki Island, saying both sides have already begun a decisive battle beneath the capital city," Wang Zhen's voice dropped even lower, yet his excitement was hard to conceal.

"In just the first three days of fighting, each side deployed over 80,000 troops; the Yellow Turban army formed a square formation, charging with the gunpowder crossbow bolts we supplied, while the Loyalist Allied Forces used cavalry to flank, but were repelled by the Yellow Turban's anti‑cavalry stakes. According to Wang Meng's estimate, casualties in those three days exceeded ten thousand, and the Kamo River on the outskirts of the capital ran red with blood."

"According to your orders, Wang Meng has already commanded a fleet to blockade the battlefield. Whether the Yellow Turban army or those daimyō, they are all like turtles in a jar. Once they wear each other out, Song Pu Longxin's great army will turn on them, striking with thunderous force to wipe them out in one sweep."

"By then, every organized resistance within the Wa Kingdom will be utterly crushed," Wang Zhen's voice brimmed with admiration, "What will remain are scattered samurai and refugees, incapable of forming any force; we can send men to mop them up. Father, your 'Driving Tiger, Swallowing Wolf' strategy is truly brilliant!"

"Across a sea of thousands of miles, you can hold the Wa Kingdom's fate in your hand; my son still can't fathom how you calculated it so precisely," Wang Zhen said, his voice filled with sincere reverence at the end.

He could not imagine how his own father, thousands of miles away in Yangzhou, could so precisely manipulate a nation's destiny in the palm of his hand.

"Cough… cough cough…"

Wang Po suddenly coughed violently, his chest heaving, a strange flush briefly blooming on his pallid face.

"Father!" Wang Zhen exclaimed, quickly dropping the report, hurrying forward, gently supporting Wang Po's upper body, his other hand lightly stroking his back, softly: "Cough slowly, don't rush, let me help you settle your breath…"

Wang Po waved his hand, indicating he was fine. He rested for a while before his breathing steadied.

"Zhen'er…" he called in a weak voice, addressing his son.

Wang Zhen immediately stepped half a pace forward, both hands gripping his father's icy, gaunt hand, his palms eager to convey warmth: "My child is here, Father, my child has always been here." His voice carried a barely perceptible tremor, his gaze fixed on his father's face, fearing to miss any subtle change.

Wang Po's Adam's apple moved, his murky eyes clouded with mist; he looked at his son's reddened eyes and weakly shook his head: "I… fear it's over."

Wang Zhen's eyes instantly reddened: "Father! Don't say that!"

Wang Po shook his head, and in his murky eyes a faint smile of relief appeared.

"Birth, aging, illness, death—human nature. I've lived this long; that's enough."

He had already completed all his duties; what remained was for his descendants, the future of the Wang Family now beyond his control!

"Bring… bring the children, all of them," Wang Po whispered.

Soon, Wang Zhen's son and nephew—Wang Po's several grandsons—as well as all core members of the Wang Family gathered in the garden with sorrowful expressions; they were the future hope of the Wang Family, many already controlling the clan's key enterprises.

Wang Po's gaze swept from his eldest son Wang Zhen to his second son Wang Nian, each in turn. His eyes were clearer than ever before.

"All come forward, listen to me… listen to my final ramblings,"

The children knelt before his lounge chair.

"What has allowed the Wang Family to reach this day?" Wang Po asked.

"It's thanks to Grandfather's wisdom and might!" young grandson Wang Li replied immediately; he was not yet twelve, and his answer sounded childish.

Wang Po shook his head.

"No, it's… it's… three things."

He extended three withered, slender fingers.

"First, our ships and our cannons. Remember, technology is always paramount. At any time, we must, at any cost, develop our workshops and our academies. Our weapons must always be one or several generations ahead of others!"

"Our weapons must achieve a deployed generation, a stockpiled generation, a research generation, a project‑approval generation, and a conceptual generation!"

"Second, our code. Never turn northward; this is the foundation of our house. We await an enlightened ruler's emergence; we may choose to assist, but never vie for the throne. The Zhongyuan throne is a poison—whoever touches it dies. Our future lies at sea, in a broader world! Do not covet that four‑battle land!"

"Third…" Wang Po's gaze swept over everyone, "it is the hearts of people. The hearts of the Wang Family, tens of thousands, from top to bottom!"

He looked at Wang Zhen: "How is the Rongyang Hall progressing now?"

Wang Zhen replied promptly: "Father, it's already on track. All elderly who have served the Wang Family and have no heirs have been properly settled. Now, throughout Jiangnan, countless skilled individuals wish to join our Wang Family. Our people's hearts are very solid!"

"Good… that's good…" Wang Po nodded appreciatively, "Remember, water can carry a boat, but also capsize it. Those who have bled and sweated for us are forever our foundation. At any time, we must never chill their hearts."

"You all… have you remembered?"

"Child (grandson), remember father's (uncle's/ great‑uncle's/ grandfather's) teachings!" the crowd answered in unison.

A final hint of smile appeared on Wang Po's face.

He felt his eyelids growing heavier.

Wang Xiu's consciousness also began to blur; he saw Wang Zhen and the children kneeling on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

He saw, in the distant north, warlords warring against each other. He also saw, farther east, on an island nation reduced to scorched earth by war, the Wang Family's great banner slowly rising.

His consciousness rose faster and faster, a sense of weightlessness growing stronger.

"Bang" Wang Xiu slid off his gaming chair, falling to the ground; the game had actually progressed to this stage, and he had just truly thought he was going to be finished......

The setting sun sank below the horizon.

Wang Po lay in the chair, peacefully closing his eyes, a faint, half‑present smile lingering at the corner of his mouth.

In the courtyard, cries quickly rose into a chorus.

Wang Zhenhe and several brothers bore the grief stoically, presiding over Wang Po's funeral; the whole of Yangzhou, up and down, changed into mourning attire, to see off this Wang family's God's Needle that Calms the Sea.