Chapter 418

"If I had enough medicinal herbs, sufficient grain and military supplies, and one or two competent strategists, I would never lose—I would march all the way to the capital, overturn the Great Gan's heavens, and kill the old emperor. I am determined to change the world."

Chen Guanlou snorted at once, "I'm not trying to dampen your spirits, but even with enough grain, supplies, and medicine, you'd still lose. You promote only your cronies—your soldiers have no path for advancement; all key positions are monopolized by your old comrades, your fellow villagers, your aunts and uncles. How can you possibly win?"

"Why should the lower-ranking soldiers fight for you? Because of promises of promotion and wealth, because of a visible future. But have you given them any future? From what I know, every one of your top generals is one of your old buddies. Hah—do you really think you can defeat the imperial army? Dream on."

"Nonsense! My old comrades all rose through blood and battle—they didn't climb up through family ties!"

"Yes, yes, you're absolutely right."

Chen Guanlou had no patience to argue further.

Still, he couldn't help asking, "Has no one ever told you that during the founding stage, you must avoid promoting cronies and instead choose talent? Only during the consolidation stage, when you have the resources to afford your follies, can you afford to act recklessly—even then, you should wait at least ten or twenty years before you die."

The Great Ming Prince's face turned ashen. "I'm just a pauper—I can only rely on my old comrades. Who among the truly talented would ever join a broke man like me? Those who come to me are all desperate opportunists, half-baked fools who clatter like empty buckets."

Sigh.

Chen Guanlou felt sorry for the Great Ming Prince.

"If you'd read more books and cultivated your inner understanding, you might have convinced real talent to join you. I recall you once had a general—your only general who wasn't from your village—named Wang Shuner. He was utterly loyal to you, gifted and insightful; with a little training, he could have become a capable commander. He never doubted you, never wavered in his belief. Even in death, he thought of your cause. Great Ming Prince, do you remember him? Do you remember what you did to him? You abandoned him!"

The Great Ming Prince's face visibly twisted into a grotesque mask, his eyes clouded with madness and pain—but not a trace of regret.

Chen Guanlou pressed the knife deeper. "You abandoned him—a man who asked for no fame, no wealth, who followed you faithfully only because he wasn't your old comrade, wasn't your fellow villager, only a latecomer who became your brother. And yet you dare boast you can defeat the imperial army? You have no self-awareness whatsoever."

"You think Wang Shuner's death was just the death of one man, insignificant. But his death marked the beginning of your downfall. All talented men now see your true face—you don't genuinely welcome talent; you're narrow-minded, jealous, and fearful of those better than you."

"Your humility toward talent only appears when you're winning. Once you face defeat, you betray them—throw them out as shields. Tell me, who in their right mind would join a lord who will inevitably abandon them?"

The Great Ming Prince clenched his teeth, his cheeks bulging grotesquely, veins visibly throbbing beneath his skin.

He glared at Chen Guanlou, clearly unwilling to yield.

Chen Guanlou chuckled coldly. "You're Bufu? Then let's review: since Wang Shuner died, have any talented men or scholars joined you? Did they come willingly, or out of desperation? Who among them still trusts you as firmly as Wang Shuner did—who fights without fear, without fatigue, without seeking glory?"

"Yes, your old comrades helped you greatly—especially in your early days. Without them, you'd be nothing. But their abilities only suited a fledgling force. By the time you faced ruin, they were already grossly overmatched— Nenglipeibushangyexin. And yet you still dare claim you can defeat the imperial army? Who gave you this confidence? Who blew your lies so high into the sky?"

Mu Yiguan wanted to warn Chen Guanlou—not to just keep talking. The Great Ming Prince was a patient; don't drive him to death. Look at his face—Mu Yiguan feared the man might explode right then and there and kill Chen Guanlou, this man who specialized in stabbing hearts.

The Great Ming Prince clenched his fists but restrained himself from striking.

He couldn't win.

Never before had he been so certain he couldn't win.

He couldn't defeat him!

The man could kill him with a single finger.

But that face—so evil! It stabbed right into his chest. And not just stabbing—it sprinkled salt into the wound.

"You're a servant of the court—you naturally try to belittle me, my army, our rebellion."

Chen Guanlou laughed. "If I were to lead a rebellion..."

Mu Yiguan's face turned black; he coughed repeatedly.

Chen Guanlou truly had no fear—he dared say anything.

"I'm just making an analogy—I'm not actually rebelling," Chen Guanlou said to Mu Yiguan.

Mu Yiguan looked away, unable to bear watching.

Chen Guanlou continued his verbal rebellion. "If I were to lead one, first, I'd seize a territory suitable as a base—target some wealthy families for destruction, others for alliance, ensuring ample supplies and open trade routes. In business, you often need these families' status as cover. Remember: don't just kill and destroy—learn to divide and win over."

"Second, cultivate your own core of trusted talent. Rebellion isn't a matter of days or months—it may last ten, twenty, even thirty years. That's enough time for a new generation to rise. These are your future core. Third, once your force grows large, actively recruit outside talent while restricting your old comrades from forming cliques—prevent being sidelined. Power must be balanced. If you do these three things, I can't promise victory, but you won't collapse as badly as you have. At least you'd hold territory—you could become a feudal lord. Is that so hard?"

Mu Yiguan muttered under his breath, "All talk on paper."

"Old Mu's right. But even paper talk is better than nothing—it gives you direction and a basic strategy. Far better than our Great Ming Prince running around like a headless fly. Great Ming Prince, do you agree with these three points?"

The Great Ming Prince stared at him, eyes filled with deep thought—and a flicker of disbelief.

Then, as if he'd discovered the path to heaven, he cried out excitedly:

"You shouldn't be a jailer—you should be a strategist! No, no—you're not suited to be a strategist—you should raise the banner and rebel! I still have old comrades out there. If I shout, they'll all come to serve you, obey you. No money? We'll raid. Use your method—destroy some, win over others. Train my own core—I know where to find talent..."