Chapter 846: Discard the Law, Use Military Rules, Mobilize the Masses to Besiege the Fortress

Late at night, the Inspector's Office Shufang was brightly lit by candlelight.

The Shupan sat in the center of the long desk, and Gao Jiong had assembled a delicate outline of the Helan clan fortress model with wooden blocks and copper pieces; the fortress wall height was marked with copper pillars, the moat width outlined with cinnabar lines, and three black chess pieces pressed the locations of three underground granaries into the northern interior area of the fortress.

Outside, the autumn wind struck the window lattice, producing a series of muffled thuds.

Chen Yan stood before the Shupan, his finger propping on its edge, his gaze slowly sweeping from the fortress model to the surrounding small flags bearing village names.

Yuwen Ze stood to his left, the cuffs of his Purple Robe twisted into a mess, his voice hoarse from suppression.

"A Xiong, Helian Shi said a forced assault would take at least ten days, but our supplies only last three days. How shall we fight this battle?"

Chen Yan gave no reply.

His finger lifted from the Shupan edge and hovered motionlessly above the fortress model.

Dou Luling stood beside the desk, cradling a copy of the Great Zhou Edict, his voice dropping a half tone.

"Minister, Shuyi has another concern: if we attack the fortress in the Court's name, the Helan clan will certainly invoke the Great Zhou Law to stall."

He flipped the edict copy to a certain page and drew a line on it with his finger.

"This rule was set by Taizu's court: clan fortresses are private property; if the Court wishes to requisition or demolish them, it must undergo review by the Three Departments, issue documents, and report to the Zhengshi Tang for approval."

Yuwen Ze's fist slammed onto the desk.

"Three Departments review? Report to Zhengshi Tang for approval? By the time that's done, tens of thousands in Lingzhou will have starved to death!"

Dou Luling's voice lowered another two tones.

"Moreover, Shuyi's covert reports indicate the Helan clan is already contacting clan elders around Lingzhou, planning to, under the pretext of protecting the clan, mobilize villagers to block the road outside the fortress."

His gaze rose from the edict, the bitterness in his eyes thick and inescapable.

"When that time comes, those blocking the army won't be Private Soldiers but families with the elderly, women, and children—cannot be cut with swords or thrust with spears. If the Minister acts, he will be branded with a hat of massacring civilians, the rumor spreading to Chang'an, much to the delight of political rivals."

Helian Shi's fist hammered his knee twice, his voice grating like a grinding wheel on iron.

"These beasts use their own clan's elderly and weak as shields; Subordinate General has lived twenty‑nine years and has never seen such shamelessness!"

The Shufang fell silent for three breaths.

Chen Yan's finger withdrew from above the fortress model and slowly slipped into the side seam of the Great Cloak.

He turned, his back to the Shupan, his gaze sweeping over the fifty silent figures standing at the Shufang doorway.

Fifty Political Commissar veterans, each with a dark‑red badge on the left chest—two crossed swords and two drooping wheat ears—glimmered with steady luster in the candlelight.

Zhao Tiezhu stood at the front, his back straight as a spear.

Wang Erniu stood half a step to his right, his clenched fist hanging at his side, the scarred frostbite on his knuckles faintly visible in the candlelight.

Chen Yan watched them for three breaths.

Then he spoke.

"No Great Zhou Law needed."

Yuwen Ze leaned forward two inches.

"A Xiong, if not the law, then what?"

Chen Yan's finger slipped out of the Great Cloak seam and pointed toward the fifty Political Commissars at the doorway.

"Use them."

Dou Luling's brow twitched.

Chen Yan turned back, his palm pressing heavily on the center of the Shupan's fortress model; the copper piece emitted a faint creak under his pressure.

"If the Helan clan tries to stall with the law, this official will not sue them."

His voice deepened, each word bitten down heavily.

"This official, in the name of the One Heart Society, will launch a war of the people themselves."

Yuwen Ze's mouth opened slightly, his voice caught in his throat.

Chen Yan lifted his finger from the fortress model and pointed one by one at the small flags around the Shupan bearing village names.

"How many villages are within thirty li outside Lingzhou city?"

Dou Luling's voice quickened a half beat.

"One hundred twenty‑seven."

"How many civilians?"

"Men, women, and children combined, not less than one hundred fifty thousand."

Chen Yan drew a circle in the air, encompassing all the small flags.

"Among these one hundred fifty thousand, how many households owe the Helan clan high‑interest loans? How many have had their lands seized by the Helan clan? How many children have been forcibly conscripted by the Helan clan as slaves?"

Dou Luling's Adam's apple rolled.

"At least sixty percent."

Chen Yan's palm struck the Shupan edge heavily.

"Sixty percent equals ninety thousand people."

He turned and strode to Zhao Tiezhu's front.

"Zhao Tiezhu, Wang Erniu."

Both men's backs straightened another three degrees at the same instant.

"Shuyi present!"

Chen Yan's finger traced an arc toward the forty‑eight Political Commissars behind them.

"This official gives you two days: the fifty of you split into twenty‑five pairs, each pair dispatched to the one hundred twenty‑seven villages outside Lingzhou city."

His voice lowered another half tone.

"Do not transmit orders, do not frighten people with the Minister's name."

Zhao Tiezhu's eyes flickered with fire, his voice gruff yet steady.

What does that subordinate convey?

Chen Yan extended a finger and pointed at the dark‑red badge on Zhao Tiezhu's chest.

Speak the truth.

His finger withdrew from the badge and formed a fist in front of him.

Tell those on the brink of starving that the food that could save their lives is hidden in the Helan family's fortress; tell them that the Helan family burned the Changping granary and killed thirty brothers who guarded it; tell them that the Helan family sealed the grain storehouses and raised grain prices tenfold, just to use their lives to buy back the aristocratic families' privileges!

His fist came down, landing on the edge of the nearby desk, and the tea cup on the desk jolted.

Let them choose themselves: to starve while kneeling, or to stand and fight to reclaim their food!

Zhao Tiezhu's right fist struck the badge on his chest, and the muffled thud echoed twice through the study.

Subordinate understands!

Wang Erniu's voice followed, carrying a ferocity that seemed to squeeze out from the cracks in his bones.

Lord, rest assured, the subordinate has wept at the Fifth Camp's grievance assembly, also blocked that shot before the Political Commissar; these words need no instruction, the subordinate can utter them with eyes closed!

Chen Yan patted his shoulder.

Go, leave now.

Fifty Political Commissars filed out of the study, their footsteps disappearing in unison into the night at the end of the corridor.

Yuwen Ze stood in the study, watching those silhouettes vanish into the night, and he was stunned for five breaths.

He turned his head to look at Chen Yan, his voice rising from his throat, carrying something he himself could not articulate.

A Xiong, can this really work? The common folk taking hoes and pitchforks to assault the fortress?

Chen Yan walked back to the sand table, and his finger lightly tapped the wall of the fortress model.

Yuwen Ze, do you think the fortress's hardest part is its three‑zhang‑high wall?

Yuwen Ze fell silent for a beat.

Chen Yan withdrew his finger from the wall and pointed to the small flags inside the fortress that represented the private soldiers' camp.

The fortress's hardest part is the loyalty of its three thousand private soldiers, and that loyalty is built on the fact that they do not know what is happening outside.

His voice lightened a fraction.

When ninety thousand commoners identical to their fathers, mothers, and brothers stand beneath the wall, those private soldiers' hearts will be half shattered.

Gao Jiong emerged from the corner, his voice dropping to its lowest.

Lord, the subordinate has already placed three Hidden Agents into the fortress's supply line, and with the two men brought by Wang Erniu, five nails have already been driven into the fortress.

Chen Yan gave him a glance.

Enough.

His gaze passed beyond the study's window lintel, landing on the wilderness outside, pressed down by the lead‑gray night sky.

The spark has entered the firewood pile; only a gust of wind is missing.

Two days later.

Yuwen Ze stood on the tower of Huile City, his hand on the brick edge of the battlement, his whole body frozen there.

On the wilderness outside the city, a black tide of people gathered from all directions, as if an invisible hand had squeezed them from every corner of the earth, twisting them into a terrifying flood.

Those wielding hoes, those bearing pitchforks, those holding wooden sticks, those pushing unicycles, the hunched old farmers, the women cradling children, the low‑rank militia with blood‑red eyes gripping long spears.

From their mouths came the same cry.

Return our grain!

The wave of voices surged from the wilderness, crashing over the wall and into Yuwen Ze's ears, shaking his blood into a fever.

He turned his head, looking at Chen Ming standing beside him with hands behind his back.

A Xiong, is this the force you mentioned, more terrifying than a massive army?

Chen Yan did not turn, the gale whipping his Purple Robe into a flurry, the hem of his Great Cloak billowing like a flag in the wind.

Yuwen Ze, remember this scene.

His voice, wrapped by the autumn wind, was sent out, landing in every brick crevice of the wall.

When the common folk know why they fight, any fortress before them is nothing but paper‑thin.

Yuwen Ze clenched his fingers three degrees on the brick edge of the battlement, the bones of his knuckles turning white.

The third morning.

Outside the Helan family's fortress, tens of thousands of civilians and soldiers encircled the three‑zhang‑high wall so tightly that no water could pass, the outer ring of the crowd still swelling, fresh streams of people pouring in endlessly from the official road.

Above the wall, the Helan family head Helan Bo leaned on the battlement edge, his legs trembling, his lips trembling, even the hand gripping his sword trembling.

He turned his head and let out a snarl at the private soldiers' commander behind him.

Load the crossbow! Shoot! Scatter them!

The commander's voice grew hoarse for a beat.

Lord, there are too many below, we cannot finish shooting them.

Helan Bo's complexion turned so pale it seemed to seep into the cracks of his bones, his mouth corner twisting into a line.

From behind the crowd, the sound of horse hooves came across the wilderness outside the wall.

The Iron Armor Square Formation of five hundred Beiwei Death Guards cut a straight passage through the crowd, a black tide of iron rolling forward, the dust raised by the hooves forming a tawny curtain behind them.

Chen Yan spurred his black horse and slowly walked to the front of the formation.

He tightened the reins, drew his horizontal blade, the tip pointing straight at the trembling figure atop the fortress.

His voice was not loud, yet it overpowered the roars of tens of thousands.

Do not sheath your blade.

He spun the Horizontal Blade above his head in a circle, the blade edge cutting a cold arc in the morning light.

He spun the horizontal blade once over his head, the edge carving a cold arc in the morning light.