Chapter 95: The Skilled Warrior Seeks Victory from the Strategic Advantage, Not from Demanding It of Men

"Your Majesty, Sun Chengzong has arrived at the Chengtian Gate."

Gao Shiming, the seal-holder of the Directorate of Ceremonial, bent forward, his voice very soft, as if afraid of disturbing the young emperor on the throne.

Zhu Youjian slowly opened his eyes, pulling himself out of his tangled thoughts.

He nodded, his voice betraying no emotion.

"Master Sun is advanced in years and has lately been worn out traveling on state business. Issue an edict on my behalf: dispatch a shoulder-litter to bring him into the palace."

"This subject obeys the decree."

Gao Shiming acknowledged the order, bowed, and withdrew.

Zhu Youjian's fingers tapped lightly on the imperial desk as he closed his eyes again.

In his mind, he meticulously reviewed the coming "interview" once more.

Yes, an interview.

An interview far more important than a court nomination for a Grand Secretary or the selection of a Minister.

In this feudal era, with primitive and backward communications, choosing a distant official was far more critical than choosing one nearby!

If a Grand Secretary or Minister in the capital did a wretched job, a single decree could replace him within three days, and government affairs would not suffer; the transition would be smooth.

But the post of Governor-General of Jiliao oversaw Jiyong, Liaozuo, Denglai, Tianjin, Lushun, Dongjiang, and Joseon, stretching hundreds of li from the capital.

All matters — finances, frontier conditions, personnel, military affairs, intelligence, armaments, fortifications — were concentrated in one man.

If the wrong man were appointed, it would be a case of pulling one hair and setting the whole body in motion: a thousand li would fester, beyond all remedy.

From this perspective, for him, Zhu Youjian, the choice of Supreme Commander for Liaodong was truly a weighty instrument of the state, not to be granted lightly.

A general in the field may refuse a sovereign's command.

But unless a man were truly a hero of outstanding talent, how could one dare entrust him with so much?

What was more, interviews with top-tier talent were always a two-way affair.

He, Zhu Youjian, was interviewing Sun Chengzong — but was Sun Chengzong not also interviewing him, this new sovereign?

A fine bird chooses its tree to roost; a worthy minister chooses his lord to serve.

For a man of Sun Chengzong's supreme ability, it was never merely about rank and salary.

He was sixty-four this year, long tossed on the seas of officialdom, having already experienced the pinnacle of a subject's career. Power and position were, to him, no more than passing splendors.

The methods he had used on men like Wang, Tian, Li, and Yang — if he trotted them out again, they would likely not only be useless but would invite contempt.

To make him exert every ounce of his strength, to burn himself out completely, what was needed was precisely a thorough, all-encompassing conquest.

Zhu Youjian drew a deep breath. His mind, after a sleepless night, was not drowsy at all; it was even faintly exhilarated.

"Your Majesty, Sun Chengzong is outside the hall."

Gao Shiming had returned; his voice pulled Zhu Youjian's thoughts back to the present.

He's here!

Zhu Youjian's eyes snapped open. In those young pupils, a soaring fighting spirit instantly blazed forth!

He rose abruptly and strode directly toward the hall's entrance.

His voice arrived before he did.

"Master Sun! I have been waiting for you a long while!"

The voice was clear and bright, carrying the distinctive vigor of youth, echoing through the empty hall.

Sun Chengzong, having just been led by Gao Shiming to stand in the shadow of the corridor pillars outside the hall, was preparing to straighten his robes and cap and wait to be summoned.

Caught off guard by this call, he could not help but be startled.

He raised his head and saw a young emperor in bright yellow informal robes striding out from the deep shadows within the hall's doorway.

The autumn sunlight spilled instantly from beside him, outlining his youthful figure in a golden rim.

The light was somewhat dazzling. Sun Chengzong had no time to study that face carefully; he hurriedly bowed and cried out: "Your subject, Sun Chengzong, pays respects to Your Majesty!"

The voice boomed like a great bell, its force surging through the hall corridor — it actually startled Zhu Youjian.

He had expected a sixty-four-year-old man, one who had traveled a long distance, to be somewhat haggard and weary; he had not imagined his vitality would be so robust.

Sun Chengzong was about to kneel and perform the full ceremony of sovereign and subject when, unexpectedly, a pair of strong arms steadily supported him.

"Master Sun need not perform these empty rites. Come in with me, quickly."

Zhu Youjian's voice carried an unquestionable gentleness.

Following the force of that support, Sun Chengzong straightened up, and only then was he able to carefully observe this new sovereign before him.

Too young.

That was his first impression.

But that young face bore a pair of eyes that did not belong to his age — deep, calm, yet burning with flame.

And a few traces of bloodshot veins... Ascending the throne so suddenly, he must not be sleeping soundly.

Gazed upon by those eyes, Sun Chengzong felt, in a daze, as if he were seeing the emperor who had likewise ascended the throne as a youth, seven years ago.

That... youth who had also called him Master Sun.

Though their brows and eyes bore a resemblance, their temperaments were ultimately utterly different...

"Master Sun?"

Seeing him somewhat lost in thought, Zhu Youjian called out softly.

Sun Chengzong abruptly came to his senses, gathered his focus, and followed Zhu Youjian into the hall.

Inside the great hall, there was only a single enormous, somewhat crudely made sand table, flanked by two simple desks.

Other than that, there was nothing else.

Zhu Youjian did not seat himself on the throne but walked directly to the sand table, picked up one of the long, slender wooden pointers, and handed one to Sun Chengzong.

A trace of a smile on his face, he looked at the old man before him.

"Master Sun, the realm is in peril. I will not waste time on pleasantries with you — let us come straight to the point."

Sun Chengzong's heart tightened. He knew the real business was about to begin.

The wooden rod in Zhu Youjian's hand tapped lightly on an unremarkable spot on the sand table.

He raised his head and fixed Sun Chengzong with a burning gaze, then spoke.

"The first matter today: I must ask Master Sun to explain in detail for me — the Battle of Liu River, in the fifth year of Tianqi."

In an instant, the air in the great hall seemed to freeze solid.

Sun Chengzong rubbed the wooden rod in his hands. An immense pressure descended upon him.

He had imagined countless opening moves.

Perhaps a question on the grand strategy for Liaodong, or on funds, grain, troops, and horses, or on the policies for Dongjiang and Joseon.

For every question, he had prepared before entering the capital.

But he had never imagined that this young Emperor, with his very first words, would ask about the crushing defeat that had forced him from office two years ago.

Zhu Youjian smiled faintly to himself, and waited quietly for Sun Chengzong's performance.

Not asking about achievements, but first asking about failures.

It was his standard opening move from job interviews in his later life.

Compared to asking about the experience of success, reviewing a lost battle reveals far more clearly a man's caliber, his sense of responsibility, and his truest character.

It also seizes the psychological upper hand from the very first moment.

Yet Sun Chengzong, after all, was Sun Chengzong.

The defeat at Liu River was the thing he most bitterly regretted in recent years.

During his two years back in his hometown, he had often traced and replayed it on the sandy ground. Every detail of that battle was long since carved deep into his mind.

He had grieved, he had regretted, but he had never once feared being asked about it.

Sun Chengzong steadied himself. His originally somewhat clouded eyes suddenly sharpened.

The wooden rod in his hand landed with precision on a mound of earth on the sand table — judging by the terrain, this was Yaozhou Fort.

"On the fourteenth day of the eighth month, in the fifth year of Tianqi, a Liaodong government student, Liu Boqiang, fled back to Liaozuo and reported that the barbarian chieftain's Fourth Prince, Hong Taiji, had entered Yaozhou with fewer than three hundred men."

"He claimed that if our great army crossed the river, the people of Liao would surely rise up in response, and we could slay the Fourth Prince in a single battle and annihilate his forces."

His voice was steady and clear, devoid of all emotion, as if he were recounting an old matter that had nothing to do with him.

"The then Regional Commander Ma Shilong believed this. On the twentieth day of that month, he dispatched Lu Zhijia and Li Chengxian with eight hundred cavalry to advance."

"To prevent the news from leaking, they falsely claimed to the outside that it was an 'eastern patrol scouting the river and relieving refugees.'"

"At the same time, he ordered the Juehua Island naval Mobile Corps Commanders Jin Guan and Yao Yuxian to proceed to the Sancha River mouth, to assist the main army in crossing the river and to provide waterborne screening afterward."

Sun Chengzong's wooden rod moved slowly across the sand table, tracing the advance route of that isolated force from years past. His tone finally carried a trace of regret, barely perceptible.

"However, the eight hundred cavalry reached the Niangniang Palace ferry crossing on the twenty-second. They waited bitterly until the twenty-fifth, but the naval force still did not arrive."

"The two commanders, Lu and Li, fearing that the intelligence would leak and the window of opportunity would vanish in an instant, commandeered seven fishing boats and forced a crossing of the Sancha River."

"But with few boats and many soldiers, the clamor lasted four days and nights, and still they could not complete the crossing."

"By this time, the troop movements had already leaked. The barbarian chieftain raised a great force to strike them. The soldiers and officers who had already crossed the river were all lost there."

At this point, even though two years had passed, a tremor crept into Sun Chengzong's voice.

Zhu Youjian listened in silence, not interrupting him.

Only when Sun Chengzong had finished did he let out a soft sigh.

"This Fourth Prince — he is the present ruler of the Later Jin, Hong Taiji. Is that correct?"

Sun Chengzong likewise gave a long sigh, his voice filled with pent-up frustration and unwillingness to accept the outcome.

"It is that very man."

Zhu Youjian's gaze grew deep and distant.

He even began to wonder, almost involuntarily, whether the Manchu Qing truly possessed some so-called "Mandate of Heaven."

If he had not crossed over and pored through every Liaodong routine memorial and memorial from the Tianqi reign,

how would he ever have known that Hong Taiji, the Later Jin's destined restorer, had nearly died two years ago in such a hasty surprise attack?

The role of chance in history was laid bare in this moment.

If, on that night, the naval forces from Juehua Island had arrived on schedule —

If, on that night, Lu Zhijia and Li Chengxian had possessed just a little more patience —

If, on that night, Hong Taiji's head had been struck off —

Then, into whose hands would the Later Jin's khanate have fallen?

The brutal Amin, or the vacillating Daishan?

Without Hong Taiji, could the Later Jin still have seized upon the Great Ming's mistakes time and again, and ultimately, with a small people dominating a great empire, staged an impossible conquest?

Is it heroes who create history, or the times that make the hero?

Standing within the tide of this era, he could not, in the end, answer that question.

Zhu Youjian set aside this ill-timed reflection. He knew this was not the moment for such thoughts.

He raised his head, looked at Sun Chengzong once more, and pressed on.

"Then, Master Sun, where do you believe this battle was truly lost?"

Sun Chengzong was about to speak, but Zhu Youjian raised a hand to stop him.

A look of wry amusement appeared on the young Emperor's face.

"Why don't we follow an old story from the ancients — each write our answer on paper, and then compare them. What do you say?"

Sun Chengzong was taken aback for a moment, then stroked his long beard and burst into hearty laughter.

"Excellent! Your Majesty has such bold spirit — how could this subject not follow!"

Soon, the young eunuchs brought up paper, brush, ink, and inkstone, and set out two writing desks.

The two men sat at separate seats, each lifted a brush, and on the snow-white xuan paper wrote the answer in their hearts.

In moments, both finished writing almost at the same instant.

They exchanged a glance, then simultaneously raised the sheets in their hands.

Inside the hall, utter silence.

On Sun Chengzong's paper, there was only a single character—

"Haste."

On Zhu Youjian's paper, there were two characters—

"Too much haste."

In that instant, Sun Chengzong's pupils violently contracted, and a storm of shock surged through his heart!

He stared at Zhu Youjian, his eyes filled with incredulous astonishment.

And Zhu Youjian, seeing that single character "Haste" on Sun Chengzong's paper, felt a strange light kindle in his own eyes as well.

As expected!

Truly worthy of being the Great Ming's foremost strategist!

The single word "Haste," seemingly simple, had already seen through the fundamental crux of the Great Ming's border affairs, and even the entire court situation!

Zhu Youjian spoke first, breaking the silence.

His voice carried a trace of admiration.

"If we speak of the surface of this battle, it was the haste of the officers and men."

"The two commanders, Lu and Li, were impatient for merit. Even though the naval forces had missed the rendezvous, they still insisted on this gambler's move, rashly crossing the river, and were ultimately struck mid-crossing. That was the first haste."

Sun Chengzong followed at once, his voice already recovered its calm, though his heart was far less composed than his surface showed.

"Your Majesty's sagacity is luminous. And the haste of the officers and men had its root, in turn, in the haste of the commanding general."

"At that time, Regional Commander Ma Shilong was being repeatedly impeached by the court's censors, who said he had trained troops for years without the slightest achievement. Their memorials were full of words charging him with arrogance and corruption."

"Thus, faced with such a heaven-sent great merit, he was desperate to succeed in order to silence the clamoring mouths. From the rear, he pressed and urged with extreme haste. That was the second haste."

Zhu Youjian's gaze grew deeper still.

"And the haste of the commanding general was, in truth, the haste of the entire court, high and low."

"Ever since the great defeat at Sarhu, the whole court and the whole realm have regarded the Liaodong affair as a disgrace. After accumulating strength for several years, they wished to settle everything in a single battle, and could never endure a prolonged effort."

"From the various lords in the court above, down to the common folk in the marketplaces below, all longed for a great victory. This haste pervaded the court and the realm. That was the third haste."

At this, Sun Chengzong let out a long sigh, and a bitter smile appeared on his face.

He faced Zhu Youjian and made a deep bow.

"Your Majesty is truly brilliant and farsighted, seeing through all as clearly as watching a fire."

"This subject… only after returning home and quietly reflecting for several years was I able to understand the layers of connection within this."

"I never expected that Your Majesty, not yet having reached the age of twenty, would already see the hearts of men and the ways of the world so penetratingly."

In his heart, Zhu Youjian could not help shaking his head.

How could he be counted as brilliant?

He was merely standing on the shoulders of later ages, an "outsider" carrying the answers back to search for the evidence.

With the Great Ming's later repeated gambler's moves as corroboration, and then looking back at the hidden undercurrents of human motive in the Liaodong routine memorials, the patterns naturally leaped off the page.

The defeat at Liuhe seemed to have countless accidental causes.

Perhaps the intelligence was false—that so-called report might have been a trap from the very beginning.

Perhaps the commanders lost their reason: with the naval forces not yet arrived, they thought they could send eight hundred cavalry across a natural barrier with only seven fishing boats, falling into the folly of marking the boat to find the sword.

Perhaps the naval forces were incompetent: from Juehua Island to the Sancha River mouth, a water route of barely a hundred li, and yet they still missed the rendezvous.

Mixed in, perhaps, was also the fact that Ma Shilong, a northern general, had little grasp of naval coordination, and that autumn sea conditions were complex, with headwinds making progress difficult.

But if one traces to the root, stripping away all these layers of surface appearance, the core malady within was nothing other than a single word—haste.

From the Emperor, to the capital officials, to the Regional Commander, and down to the frontier officers, from top to bottom, everyone was swept along by an emotion of anxiety and frenzy.

Scrambling for merit, reckless advances, pressing and urging, pointing fingers—anyone who sought steadiness and prudence could not, in the end, remain long.

They say the Chongzhen reign saw fifty Grand Secretaries changed in seventeen years—was the Great Ming court not exactly the same?

From the very first battle of Sarhu to the very last battle of Songshan, the cause of defeat was always the same: pressing, urging, and reckless advance.

This, one must say, is a colossal irony.

Zhu Youjian looked at Sun Chengzong and slowly spoke, delivering his final summation.

"The skilled warrior seeks victory from the strategic momentum, and does not place blame on men. When the momentum is wrong, even the bravest warriors and fiercest soldiers can only become fish on the chopping board."

"The Liuhe campaign, on the surface, seems to have been lost to arrogant generals and indolent troops. In truth, it was lost to this 'great momentum'—from top to bottom, impatient for success and unable to endure. Does Master Sun agree?"

Sun Chengzong, hearing this, gave a long sigh.

In his heart surged an indescribable excitement and… release.

The skilled warrior seeks victory from the strategic momentum, and does not place blame on men!

His Majesty—could actually speak such words!

For these two years, he had borne all the blame for the Liuhe defeat: the censors' impeachments, the colleagues' reproaches, even his own self-condemnation.

He had thought countless times: if only he had been more forceful at the start, and reined in Ma Shilong's recklessness, could this tragedy have been averted?

But only now, hearing these words from the young emperor, did he at last feel a trace of release.

Yes—the momentum was wrong!

When the entire court, the entire realm, had fallen into a feverish, quick-profit "momentum," what could he, a single Supreme Commander stationed in Liaodong, have salvaged?

In this moment, looking at the young Son of Heaven before him, he felt only that this was no longer a sovereign before whom he must carefully read expressions and cautiously choose his words.

But a man who truly understood him, understood military affairs, understood the great currents of the world —

A kindred spirit!

Watching the faintly stirred expression on Sun Chengzong's face, Zhu Youjian smiled inwardly.

Tactics are easy to learn, strategy is easy to set. Merely looking at so-called tripartite deployments or ten policies for governing the realm reveals nothing of a man's true ability.

Only this ability to see into men's hearts, to perceive the invisible "momentum" beneath the surface — that is the true foundation of a commanding talent.

This is why, given the same task, some men succeed, while others can only meet defeat and death.

— But, not so fast.

Master Sun, of the three questions in this interview, you have only passed the first!