Chapter 294: Zhao Yu: Outwitted by His Own Calculations

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Zhao Yu knew Yelu Yanxi was a hopeless case; he never intended to actually prop him up, and had already foreseen that Yelu Yanxi would lose Dongjing, Shangjing, and even Zhongjing, just as history recorded, becoming a complete stray dog.

This was precisely the outcome Zhao Yu wanted.

Only then, when Yelu Yanxi was utterly broken, would he possibly take the olive branch Zhao Yu offered.

But for all Zhao Yu’s calculations, he never anticipated that even after bringing Xiao Sesai back to the Zhao Song Dynasty for a decade, Yelu Yanxi would still do something so foolish as forcing Yelu Yudu to defect to the Jin and strengthen the enemy by stripping himself of his own martial prowess.

Put simply, Zhao Yu didn’t care if Yelu Yanxi lost cities—those weren’t Zhao Yu’s cities anyway; Yelu Yanxi could lose them all, it had nothing to do with Zhao Yu. Zhao Yu only didn’t want him to lose his armies, because those armies were cannon fodder to wear down the Jin forces.

In truth, if Zhao Yu wanted to, he could easily recruit many Liao troops.

Even without sending anyone to recruit, vast numbers of Liao people had already fled to the Zhao Song Dynasty.

If Zhao Yu had deliberately dispatched envoys to recruit, he might have drawn over half of the Liao army.

So why didn’t Zhao Yu recruit them?

Of course he couldn’t.

Zhao Yu wasn’t foolish—he knew perfectly well that bringing in these rabble wouldn’t mean gaining a host of elite troops, but rather acquiring an extremely heavy burden.

In this era, maintaining an army wasn’t just about gathering men and feeding them well.

The cost, if calculated, could scare a man to death.

First, consider the most basic grain supplies.

Don’t even speak of hundreds of thousands eating freely—just one day would consume over ten thousand shi of grain. Spring grain had to be stockpiled for summer, winter stores for autumn, and special teams had to transport it thousands of miles to the camps, where losses en route and deductions by escort soldiers often exceeded what actually arrived.

Even in peacetime, the Liao state had to buy grain from the Zhao Song Dynasty.

If the Zhao Song Dynasty accepted these hundreds of thousands of Liao troops, the grain would have to be shipped back to Liao—and it would vanish without a trace.

Now consider weapons and armor.

Swords, spears, halberds, and daggers required furnaces to forge; good iron had to be mined; blacksmiths had to be paid.

Bowstrings needed ox tendons; arrowheads required fine iron; a single good bow could equal half a common family’s yearly food budget.

Not to mention cavalry—each warhorse cost enough to buy ten acres of prime land, and often required premium feed, draining funds like water.

Most of these Liao troops were defeated soldiers whose armor, weapons, and horses had long since been lost; if absorbed, Zhao Yu would have to spend money to re-equip them from head to toe.

That sum could build ten palaces in Bianjing.

Then there were pay and rewards.

Soldiers had to be paid monthly, or why would they risk their lives?

Festivals required bonuses; minor victories demanded cash rewards; if anyone was wounded or disabled, family stipends had to be paid.

Take the Zhao Song Imperial Guards: a common infantryman’s monthly pay was enough to support a family of three—even by peacetime standards.

If these Liao troops were paid the same, hundreds of thousands of mouths waiting for pay would make the Ministry of Finance officials weep daily as they hauled coins from the imperial treasury.

Not to mention uniforms, quilts, tents for campaigns, medicine for wounded and sick soldiers, pensions for the fallen, barracks, and stables—each item demanded money.

Crucially, these Liao troops were already demoralized; if their pay and conditions lagged, they’d riot one day and desert the next. Instead of becoming cannon fodder, they’d spark chaos within Zhao Song territory—Zhao Yu would truly be lifting a stone only to drop it on his own foot.

Even if these Liao troops were seasoned warriors, that might be acceptable—but they were nothing but terrified birds fleeing Jin defeats, utterly useless in battle.

More importantly, the Zhao Song Dynasty didn’t lack troops; it had no need for these Liao soldiers.

So Zhao Yu saw clearly: these Liao troops looked like soldiers, but were in truth bottomless pits of gold. Better to let them stay in Liao, surviving on Yelu Yanxi’s scraps, and drain Jin forces for Zhao Song’s benefit.

In short, using Liao money to feed Liao soldiers and make them exhaust each other with Jin was the most profitable deal.

Also, a grain of rice brings gratitude; a bushel brings resentment.

If these Liao troops remained Liao troops, fighting to reclaim lost lands, Zhao Yu could supply them with modest grain and weapons, and they might praise him.

But if Zhao Yu incorporated them into the Song army and their treatment even slightly lagged behind that of Song soldiers, they would resent it—believing Zhao Song favored its own people, treating them as second-class subjects, and feeling they had abandoned their homeland for no respect or fair treatment.

At that point, they wouldn’t feel gratitude for Zhao Song’s shelter; instead, the gap between expectation and reality would swiftly turn into deep resentment toward Zhao Song.

If that day came, these former Liao troops might not become a shield against foreign aggression, but instead become a source of internal rebellion—like an underground current beneath a glittering surface, ready to surge forth when the time came, shaking Zhao Song’s foundations—or worse, the former enemy Jin might become a symbol of shared suffering in their hearts.

Moreover, within the Song army, they’d likely face exclusion, branded as “defectors”; that humiliation and bitterness could ignite rebellion within them.

In other words, once these Liao troops were absorbed into Zhao Song, Zhao Yu would have to face the thorny problem of integration and pacification. A century of enmity between Song and Liao couldn’t be resolved overnight. Among these Liao troops were many who harbored hostility toward Zhao Song; mishandling them could become a root of internal instability.

Furthermore, Zhao Yu had to consider long-term strategy. If he absorbed vast numbers of Liao troops, might they later turn into a new force opposing Zhao Song when Jin faced internal chaos or decline? After all, their longing for their homeland and desire to restore Liao would not fade easily.

Zhao Yu refused to plant hidden dangers for his future, nor would he risk Zhao Song’s stability out of momentary mercy.

Zhao Yu understood that human psychology was far more subtle and complex than any military stratagem. He could foresee grand patterns, but could not fathom the thoughts of every individual. Absorbing Liao troops seemed a brilliant move to strengthen himself, but concealed grave danger—slight misstep, and the fire would burn him alive.

Also, if Zhao Song absorbed Liao troops, it would provoke extreme panic and fury among Liao rulers, possibly driving them to adopt even more extreme measures.

Though Yelu Yanxi was incompetent, if Zhao Yu pushed him too far, he might exhaust his entire state’s resources, uniting every possible ally—including tribes and factions already discontented with Liao—to jointly resist Zhao Song’s “invasion.”