Chapter 836: One Heart Society Establishes Military‑Political Division, Power Transfer Stirs Hidden Currents

His finger tapped the tabletop once, and the sound echoed in the Zheng Hall for a long time.

Zhang Wenqian's Adam's apple rolled.

"Pillar Minister, is it the One Heart Society?"

Chen Yan's mouth curved into an extremely long arc, carrying a weight that made everyone present feel as if they were standing before another massive watershed.

"Indeed!"

The lights in the Zheng Hall flickered after Chen Yan's two words landed, casting the four men's shadows onto the Qiangbi behind them, stretched long and heavy.

Zhang Wenqian stood at the nearest spot to the desk, hands clasped before him, the pressure of his knuckles creasing the cuffs of his official robe.

Gu Yuci's hand pressed on the hilt at his waist, shifting his whole weight forward by two inches.

Lu Ming's broad smile hadn't fully cleared from his face before a weighty solemnity he couldn't even name pressed it down.

Gao Jiong stood at the back, the dark red insignia on his Armor flashing in the light, the curve at his mouth tightening into a straight line.

Chen Yan withdrew his palm from the tabletop, leaned back into his chair, and traced a slow arc with his finger on the armrest.

"The One Heart Society, from today onward, is the backbone of this army."

His gaze swept over the four faces one by one; his voice was low, yet each word carried a weight that thickened the air in the Zheng Hall by threefold.

"The Political Commissar is this Duke's eyes and mouth in the army; the One Heart Society is the tendon that strings those eyes and mouth together."

Zhang Wenqian's Adam's apple rolled, and his voice squeezed out from between his teeth.

"Pillar Minister, what is the structure of the One Heart Society?"

Chen Yan pulled a Bamboo Silk Scroll from the desk, unfolded it, and ran his finger line by line over its clauses.

"From top to bottom, every fifty-man unit forms a branch, its secretary jointly held by the Political Commissar; every hundred-man company establishes a sub‑association, and each battalion has a central branch."

His finger moved down two lines.

"All branches report to the sub‑association, the sub‑association reports to the central branch, and the central branch reports directly to this Duke."

Gu Yuci's brow furrowed.

"Pillar Minister, is this structure parallel to the military command chain?"

Chen Yan gave him a glance.

"It is not parallel; it is intersecting."

He turned the Bamboo Silk Scroll to the second page, and his finger heavily marked beside a certain provision.

"From today onward, any initiation of a military action must undergo discussion by the One Heart Society of the same level; the Political Commissar has the right to partake in decision‑making and to voice objections."

Gu Yuci tapped the hilt twice with his hand.

"Then if the Political Commissar objects, do we still fight the battle?"

Chen Yan's finger tapped beside another line of text on the Bamboo Silk Scroll.

"This Duke has said, on the battlefield the senior military officer holds final authority, but the Political Commissar's objections must be recorded and brought out for comparison during post‑battle review."

He turned the Bamboo Silk Scroll to the third page.

"Second Path, any soldier's promotion must undergo political appraisal by the One Heart Society."

Lu Ming opened his mouth slightly.

"Pillar Minister, does a Subordinate General also need the One Heart Society's approval to promote his own subordinates?"

Chen Yan gave him a glance, his voice even.

"Especially you."

Lu Ming closed his mouth, his hand scratched the back of his head and then settled.

Chen Yan stood up, walked to the military Shupan in the center of the Zheng Hall, and placed his palm on its edge.

"Do you know why He Lanhu could run his affairs in the army for ten years without anyone being able to control him?"

Zhang Wenqian's voice deepened by half a tone.

"Because the soldiers under his command recognized only him; who to promote or demote was entirely his decision, and over time those three thousand became his Private Soldiers."

Chen Yan's finger tapped the spot on the Shupan representing the Negotiation Office.

"Old Zhang hit the nail on the head."

He turned, his gaze sweeping over everyone present, his voice dropping another half tone.

"The One Heart Society is meant to strip the power of promotion and appointment from individuals; from now on, who can become a company commander or a centurion is not decided by a general's snap, but must pass the One Heart Society's appraisal, examining the person's conduct and stance."

Gao Jiong's voice came from behind, carrying an uncontainable admiration.

"Pillar Minister, this move is equivalent to uprooting the roots of the old warlord families' dominion."

Chen Yan's mouth twitched slightly.

"It's not just uprooting; it's changing the soil."

He walked back to the desk, sat down, and traced a line with his finger on the last page of the Bamboo Silk Scroll.

"Third Path, all members of the One Heart Society answer only to this Duke, subject to no local officials or senior military officers."

Zhang Wenqian's breath halted for half a beat, his gaze landing beside that line on the Bamboo Silk Scroll, his voice slowed by three points.

"Pillar Minister, Shuyi has followed you for four years, has seen every deed you performed, each making Shuyi feel like the world turned upside down."

He lifted his gaze from the Bamboo Silk Scroll, looking into Chen Yan's eyes.

"But this one, Shuyi dares to say, is a foundation that cannot be uprooted for ten thousand generations."

Chen Yan's finger tapped the armrest.

"A ten‑thousand‑generation unshakable foundation is a stretch, but at least while this Duke lives, no one can turn this army into Private Soldiers."

Gu Yuci's hand slipped off the hilt, his voice bearing the frankness typical of a commander.

"Pillar Minister, Shuyi has come to understand that this system harms Shuyi in no way; Shuyi leads troops by genuine skill, and the Political Commissar's arrival perfectly helps Shuyi manage matters beyond Shuyi's reach."

Lu Ming, beside him, nodded vigorously twice.

The Subordinate General also figured it out: the Subordinate General leading troops will fight, let the Subordinate General handle who's wife gave birth, whose mother is sick, such matters, the Subordinate General's head hurts, having a Political Commissar to help manage, the Subordinate General can't wait.

Chen Yan glanced at him, the curve of his mouth stretching a little.

"Alright, you all go out and prepare. Starting tomorrow, the One Heart Society's charter will be officially issued to the entire army, with Gao Jiong's Mingjing Office responsible for supervising its implementation. Any obstruction should be recorded in the register, and this Duke gives a three‑day grace period."

His voice sank on the last sentence.

"If after three days someone is still blocking the way, this Duke will go see them personally."

The four of them walked out of Zheng Hall in single file.

Gao Jiong walked at the rear; when he crossed the threshold, he glanced back at the figure leaning against the chair behind the desk, his lips moved slightly but no sound came out, and he turned and strode into the night.

Hongye silently walked from the shadowed side of Zheng Hall to Chen Yan's side, her hand hanging by the sleeve, her fingertips exactly beside the short sword's hilt.

Chen Yan's finger traced a slow arc on the handrail, his gaze landing on a corner of the military Shupan on the table.

"Hongye."

"Here."

Chen Yan's voice dropped to a level only she could hear.

"Where do you think the first incident will occur after the Political Commissar goes down to each camp?"

Hongye answered cleanly and decisively.

"The Fifth Camp of Zhechong Fu, Colonel Liu Biao, this man ranks third on Gao Jiong's blacklist, has been in charge for five years, commands over forty die‑hard personal soldiers, the harshest at skimming pay, and the matter of deducting winter clothes has been seen by Shuyi in Hidden Agent's secret reports more than once."

The curve of Chen Yan's mouth bent to a degree that even the lights dimmed a little.

"Who is the Political Commissar sent to his place?"

"Zhao Tiezhu, a blacksmith by trade, ranked seventh in the special training assessment, the one who cried the hardest at the grievance meeting."

Chen Yan's finger paused on the handrail for a beat.

"Blacksmith background, good, bones hard enough."

He stood, walked to the window, pushed open the window lattice, and the night wind poured in from the direction of the Training Ground, carrying the sharp chill of late autumn.

"Send him, give no support; this Duke wants to see whether the seeds cultivated by Jiangwu Hall can truly take root in Mudi."

Hongye's voice was cool and brief.

"What if he can't take root?"

Chen Yan's finger gave the final tap on the window frame, the sound as light as a leaf striking a stone.

"If it can't take root, replace it with one that can."

His gaze passed beyond the lattice, landing on the distant Wilderness swallowed by night.

"But this Duke bets he can."

Five days later.

The Fifth Camp of Zhechong Fu, stationed in a Military Camp seventy li north of Tongwan City.

Zhao Tiezhu rode a gaunt horse, a saddlebag holding the Political Commissar's manual and the appointment Bamboo Silk Scroll, a dark‑red badge pinned to his left chest, walking alone on the twilight official road.

His right hand gripped the reins, old calluses from blacksmithing still on his knuckles.

The Military Camp's Camp Gate became gradually clear in the backlight of the setting sun; at the entrance stood two lazy sentries, their spear shafts slanted against the post, one gnawing a half‑cold mantou, the other squatting, drawing circles in the mud with a branch.

Zhao Tiezhu dismounted, holding the appointment Bamboo Silk Scroll before the two sentries.

"Zongguan Fu appoints Political Commissar Zhao Tiezhu, by the order of the Pillar State, to the Fifth Camp for duty."

The mantou‑gnawing sentry glanced sideways at the seal on the scroll, muttering incomprehensibly.

"Political Commissar? What kind of thing?"

Zhao Tiezhu's gaze lingered on his face for a moment, without flare, he slipped the scroll back into his bosom, led his horse through the Camp Gate and entered.

His first act after entering the camp was not to go report to Liu Biao.

He walked into the nearest barracks.

Inside, seven or eight soldiers were polishing weapons; when they saw him enter, they lifted their heads briefly, then lowered them again to continue polishing.

Zhao Tiezhu crouched, his gaze landing on a young soldier's foot.

The young soldier's boot had a hole, his toe protruding, frozen purple.

Zhao Tiezhu's finger brushed the dark‑red badge on his chest, his voice lowering.

"Brother, have the winter clothes been issued?"

The young soldier lifted his head, gave him a glance, his lips moved, then he only shook his head.

Zhao Tiezhu's eyes slowly reddened.

He stood, strode out of the barracks, and headed toward the camp building at the center of the Military Camp bearing the 'Colonel' plaque.

The camp building's door was open, loud jeering and the clatter of wine bowls came from inside, a whiff of roasted meat oil smoke drifting out through the crack.

Zhao Tiezhu pushed the door open.

Liu Biao sat on a tiger‑skin chair, cradling a wine jar in his left hand, tearing a greasy sheep leg with his right, oil dripping from his mouth, surrounded by seven or eight smiling personal soldiers, the table piled with half a table of wine bowls and bone scraps.

Zhao Tiezhu's gaze swept from the sheep leg to the dozens of brand‑new cotton coats stacked in the corner.

The cotton coat packages still bore Zongguan Fu's seal, dated half a month ago.

Zhao Tiezhu's fist tightened slowly at his side.

"Colonel Liu."

Liu Biao lifted his head, a pair of oil‑stained small eyes scanning Zhao Tiezhu from head to toe, lingering twice on the dark‑red badge.

"You are the so‑called Political Commissar sent by Zongguan Fu?"

Zhao Tiezhu handed over the appointment Bamboo Silk Scroll.

"By the order of the Pillar State, to the Fifth Camp to serve as Political Commissar, effective immediately."

Liu Biao took the scroll, glanced at it, tossed it onto the table, his oil‑stained fingers leaving a black mark on the bamboo.

"Fine, if you're coming then come. Clean up that empty tent next door yourself, and don't get in the way of me drinking."

Zhao Tiezhu did not move.

His finger pointed toward the dozens of bundles of cotton coats stacked in the corner.

"Colonel Liu, the brothers' winter clothes arrived half a month ago; why haven't they been distributed?"

Liu Biao paused, his mouth still clamped on the sheep leg, and a chilling flash of cold light flickered in his oil‑stained eyes.

"I've got the winter clothes arranged myself; it's not your business."

Zhao Tiezhu's voice did not waver.

"According to the Political Commissar Manual's Third Path, soldiers' daily lives fall under the Political Commissar's jurisdiction; withholding winter clothes is a deduction, and I have the right to audit the accounts."

He fished the worn, frayed Political Commissar Manual from his chest, turned to the Third Path, and held it up before Liu Biao.

Liu Biao's complexion darkened in an instant, to the point that the few smiling personal guards at the table fell silent.

He slammed the sheep leg onto the table, splashing oil across half the surface.

"What kind of person do you think you are?"

He rose from the tiger‑skin chair, standing about half a head taller than Zhao Tiezhu, and glared down at him.

"I've been in this camp for five years; even the generals above have to give me some respect. You, a mud‑legged blacksmith, dare come onto my turf to audit the accounts?"

Zhao Tiezhu's body tightened a notch under that murderous aura, yet his footing did not retreat.

"I'm not here to audit your accounts; I'm here to demand winter clothes for the brothers."

Liu Biao's pupils swirled twice in the light, and a darker curve tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He gave a signal to the personal guard leader beside him.

The guard leader understood instantly, turned, and slipped out through the rear door of the camp.

Liu Biao withdrew his gaze, sat back down in the tiger‑skin chair, lifted the wine bowl and drained it, his voice laced with a cold, bitter sneer.

"Fine, you want to audit, right?"

He slammed the wine bowl onto the table.

"I'll let you audit to your heart's content today; once you're done, you'll see who calls the shots in this camp."

Zhao Tiezhu stood inside the barracks, the dark‑red insignia on his chest glowing steadily in the light.

He heard the increasingly dense footfalls outside the barracks.

The muffled thud of boots on Mudi, the metallic scrape of a Horizontal Blade being drawn, plus low voices and suppressed breathing.

The barracks door was pushed open from outside.

Dozens of fully armed personal guards poured in, their Horizontal Blades flashing coldly in the light, hemming Zhao Tiezhu in.

Liu Biao rose from the tiger‑skin chair, weighing a Horse Whip in his hand, his mouth curving to its widest grin.

"You little brat, today I'll teach you who's in charge of this camp."