Chapter 352: Pressure Determines Effectiveness

Nanjingcheng.

“The false dynasty’s forces are advancing with overwhelming momentum—my loyal ministers, do you have any strategies to break them?”

Holding the plea for aid in his hand, Fu Haoxuan asked wearily.

Even though they had anticipated the court’s autumn campaign in Jiangnan and prepared in advance, the outbreak of war still exceeded expectations.

The imperial troops launched attacks on multiple fronts, leaving the Wu state exhausted and scrambling.

For Wu, every battlefield was critical.

Among the rebel forces, they were the strongest, yet compared to the Great Yu Dynasty, their strategic space remained narrow.

Any defeat on any front would mean losing cities and territory, further compressing their strategic space.

Though in the struggle for the realm, one may disregard gains and losses of individual cities, Wu simply could not afford to lose.

Deep inside, Fu Haoxuan even regretted hastily expanding his army.

After the massive expansion, Wu’s total troop strength surpassed one million again.

New recruits had limited combat effectiveness; military strength increased little, yet logistical pressure doubled.

With such limited territory, Wu’s finances simply could not sustain so many troops.

“Your Majesty, since ancient times, overconfident troops have always been defeated.”

The false dynasty’s army, arrogant and unrestrained, dares to split its forces and advance deep—this is their greatest vulnerability.

Since the enemy is so foolish as to court death, let us oblige them.

I propose using Anqing as bait to eliminate the two enemy units advancing separately.”

Marquis Fang Yuxuan spoke first to propose this.

As a veteran who had followed Fu Haoxuan since Guangxi, he knew exactly what the emperor wanted.

A full-scale counteroffensive was unrealistic; if Wu had such capability, it would not have begun with a defensive strategy.

But defense did not mean clinging passively to city walls.

Launching localized counterattacks to inflict heavy blows on the enemy was also a viable option.

The exact battle results mattered less; the key was to shatter the enemy’s myth of invincibility.

On paper, Wu’s forces were not weaker than the imperial troops.

Their poor battlefield performance was largely due to fear.

Merely hearing Li Mu’s name, rebel troops already lost three-tenths of their will to fight.

The defenders of Nanchang understood this best.

Their commander, Xiang Qinghong, was among Wu’s top generals, especially renowned for his defensive prowess.

When conquering Nanzhili, he once held off tens of thousands of imperial troops with only three thousand men.

Now, with Li Mu leading a single garrison to besiege the city, the fifty thousand defenders inside dared not move.

Pleas for aid came one after another, yet not a single thought of counterattack crossed their minds.

It was not that Xiang Qinghong was cowardly—every veteran general in Wu behaved this way when facing Li Mu.

Those who dared to sortie were mostly greenhorns who had never suffered defeat and knew nothing of heaven’s height or earth’s depth.

There was no way around it: this was the awe-inspiring power of a famed general, backed by a string of victories.

From Guangxi to now, Li Mu had made winning against odds his norm.

With just over ten thousand imperial troops, he chased down hundreds of thousands of rebels as if playing a game.

Even though Wu’s combat effectiveness had improved significantly since the Bai Lian Holy State era, the psychological shadow left by past defeats lingered.

It wasn’t enough that Li Mu himself was formidable; worse still, the officers he trained also held psychological superiority over the rebels.

Even newly reorganized garrisons, facing rebel forces three times their size, showed no fear.

When encountering them on the battlefield, these imperial commanders would charge straight in, treating the rebels as ready-made battlefield merits.

This hunger for battle could not be matched by any other imperial troops.

Earlier, during the division of Chu’s legacy, they had suffered heavy losses while scrambling for territory.

Now, despite appearing to hold numerical superiority, they were being crushed on every front by imperial forces.

They chose to defend cities precisely because they knew they could not win in open battle.

“Marquis Fang speaks truly: since ancient times, overconfident troops have always been defeated.

After a string of victories, the enemy has grown arrogant and complacent—this is precisely our best opportunity to break them.

Besides launching a counterattack at Anqing, do you have other suggestions?”

Fu Haoxuan asked hopefully.

The war had only just begun; the imperial forces committed to the battlefield were still limited.

Wu had not yet wagered all its cards and still possessed sufficient strength to create trouble on localized fronts.

“Your Majesty, the imperial forces are attacking from five directions, with the main theaters being Jiujiang, Nanchang, Xuzhou, and Hangzhou.

In Songjiang, the enemy has deployed relatively few troops for now.

If we respond on all fronts simultaneously, we will play right into the enemy’s hands.

In my view, since we intend to set a trap at Anqing to eliminate part of the enemy force, we might as well escalate the effort.

Choose one of the imperial forces from Huguang or Jiangxi, concentrate our strength to annihilate them first, then turn to deal with the rest.”

Minister of War Fan Xiwen immediately replied.

He was no mere figurehead as Minister of War.

Before Wu’s founding, he had served as a strategist.

Many of Wu’s earlier classic battles were planned by him alone, earning him great merit for the state.

But compared to the current formidable enemy, past adversaries had all become weaklings.

In strategy, Fan Xiwen was extremely cautious.

He did not seek a swift victory but prepared for a prolonged war, waiting for a major shift in the situation across the realm.

Whether the rebels in Guanzhong or the northern barbarians thousands of miles away, both could potentially become their “allies.”

Yet some things could be thought of but not spoken aloud.

Relying on “allies” to break the enemy would severely damage morale.

Even though they had seized their current foundation by exploiting the northern barbarians’ invasion, they could not credit the barbarians with the victory.

“Minister Fan, this plan is likely unwise.

The enemy forces in Huguang and Jiangxi are both strong.

Without hundreds of thousands of troops, it would be difficult to annihilate them.

In fact, we may not even be able to eliminate the enemy units attacking Anqing alone.

Bai the Butcher’s troops are easy to handle; the real trouble is Jiangxi’s First Garrison.

Its commander, Qin Tianrui, is one of Li Mu’s fiercest generals.

He once led a night raid on a northern barbarian encampment and won a decisive victory.

Not only does he boast distinguished battle records, he is also a descendant of the false dynasty’s Duke of Xingguo.

These aristocratic families all maintain elite private armies.

The false dynasty’s emperor is stingy, unwilling to grant him the hereditary title with its stipend.

Among all Yu officers, Qin Tianrui is the most desperate for battlefield merit.

The Qin family also needs this title and has secretly supported Qin Tianrui extensively.

Though Jiangxi’s First Garrison was recently formed, its core cadre came from Guangdong and Guangxi and has received abundant resources.

Its combat effectiveness, while not matching Li Mu’s elite troops, far surpasses ordinary imperial forces.

To annihilate his twelve thousand men, you need at least triple the numerical advantage—impossible otherwise.

To guarantee success, you must mobilize five times the enemy’s strength and deploy elite troops.

Ordinary troops, even vastly outnumbering such elites, cannot hold them back.”

Hu Yuzhe spoke up in opposition.

Fan Xiwen’s operational plan was conservative, yet in his view, it was still too aggressive.

Having spent half his life in the Great Yu Dynasty, he understood imperial troop composition intimately.

All were built around retainers as their core.

Many units labeled “elite” saw their combat effectiveness plummet the moment their commander changed.

It was not that the soldiers had become weak—it was that the core had vanished.

In essence, these officers’ retainers served as junior officers.

They received the best pay and led charges into battle.

The quality of the retainers directly determined the army’s combat effectiveness.

This organizational structure, while saving the court money, also entrenched class rigidity.

For common-born officers to rise was extraordinarily difficult.

“We must hold them, even if we can’t keep them!

One Li Mu has already made us scramble desperately.

If a few more emerge, the war will be unwinnable.

The false dynasty keeps expanding its army; if we cannot destroy even one unit, future troubles will only grow worse.

If we cannot even annihilate a single garrison, how can we possibly win this war?

Mobilize the nation’s elite, spare no cost, destroy one enemy unit, shatter their myth of invincibility—this concerns Wu’s very survival!”

Fu Haoxuan said with a solemn expression.

In war, no one escapes death.

As long as victory is achieved, he can accept any sacrifice.

The Wu state now desperately needs a victory to boost troop morale.

…

Nanchang City.

After the failed siege, the imperial troops switched to a prolonged blockade.

Just as the battle ended, new troubles came knocking.

Refugees forcibly displaced by the rebels earlier, having exhausted their carried rations, began streaming out of the hills in search of food.

Vast numbers of beggars flooded into government-controlled areas, giving the Marquis of Wuyang a headache.

Driving them away was impossible—too many eyes in the court were watching; doing so would ruin his reputation.

Besides, though his moral standards were low, they weren’t so low as to target the elderly and weak.

Opening the granaries to distribute grain was out of the question—the front-line reserves were scarce and had to be prioritized for the army.

The rebels’ move had struck him right in the weak spot.

“Director Li, how many people can the Guangdong and Guangxi garrisons still accommodate?”

The Marquis of Wuyang asked hopefully.

Due to the war, the population of Guangdong and Guangxi had plummeted.

The garrisons, having seized vast tracts of land, had become the largest landlords in the empire.

In his memory, due to labor shortages, many of their lands remained uncultivated and unproductive.

Even now, the Guangdong and Guangxi garrisons were receiving large numbers of prisoners of war.

“Your Excellency, how many people they can accommodate isn’t the point.

The key is that most of these refugees are elderly or weak—they have almost no able-bodied men.

Even for them to walk there on foot would be impossibly difficult.

Hand them over to the local yamen for resettlement!

Li Mu shook his head.

The main reason large-scale migration hadn’t occurred, despite accepting prisoners of war, was the immense difficulty of relocating civilians.

The populace was generally malnourished; the elderly and weak couldn’t endure long journeys.

If a true migration were attempted, the losses en route would be staggering.

Prisoners of war were exiled criminals; no one cared if they died in droves.

But if ordinary civilians suffered massive losses, the censors’ brushes could be deadly.

Of course, if refugees wandered off on their own and died by the thousands, they’d pretend not to see.

But if anyone organized a migration, accusations would fly like snowflakes.

Even his suggestion to hand them over to the local yamen was a thorny problem.

The officials tasked with carrying it out would be cursed with misfortune.

No matter how well they performed, they’d be impeached by censors.

Any minor problem would be magnified endlessly.

In the Great Yu dynasty, any official who actually did work had a terrible reputation.

Meanwhile, those who merely talked big were praised as “Blue Sky Magistrates.”

After all, if you don’t act, you can’t make mistakes.

No mistakes mean no stains on your record.

If you’re also skilled at self-promotion and speak in public what people want to hear, you can easily become a moral saint.

“If the local yamen had such capacity, would I be worrying?”

The newly appointed Prefect of Nanchang—you’ve met him—he’s a stubborn, rotten Confucian.

Handing disaster relief to him? Who knows what chaos he’d cause.”

The Marquis of Wuyang shook his head.

No matter who you gave it to, they couldn’t conjure grain out of thin air.

The rebels had implemented a scorched-earth policy, cutting off local grain procurement.

Transporting grain from the rear was equally unfeasible.

Jiangxi had been retaken too recently; production in nearby prefectures had recovered only partially.

Guangdong and Guangxi were no help either—supplying the army was already a strain; adding more demand would collapse the logistics entirely.

“Your Excellency, precisely because he’s a rotten Confucian, he’s the one who must handle it.

If the Prefect of Nanchang can’t solve it, the Provincial Governor’s office can.

To control the narrative, the Ministry of Personnel shoved in a bunch of idle, corrupt officials—we needn’t be polite.

Disaster relief is their duty; we’ll force it upon them, assigning personal responsibility.

The Viceroy’s office will allocate a sum for relief, and the rest they must raise themselves.

Given their nature, they’ll inevitably reach for their hands.

Once we catch them in the act, they’ll have no choice.

Those who fail will be arrested and imprisoned; the court will confiscate their estates to cover fiscal shortfalls.

Just putting up a show of force to scare them into giving up some wealth could save many lives.”

Li Mu laid out a ruthless plan.

Anyone who had survived the imperial examinations and thrived in the bureaucracy couldn’t possibly be a fool.

The labels “rotten Confucian,” “blabbermouth”—these were all deliberately cultivated personas.

In essence, they were avoiding responsibility, crafting these images to shield themselves.

Yet when seeking promotion, none of them lacked cunning.

Their lack of competence? Only because the pressure wasn’t enough.

Force them to take on tasks and tie their official caps to the outcome—they’ll get things done.

Even if they themselves were incompetent, they had hired private secretaries to help.

The Great Yu dynasty practiced collective punishment; once we had evidence, the Viceroy had countless options.

Submit the proof to the Emperor—Emperor Yongning never hesitated to confiscate estates or execute offenders.

“If I follow your plan, I’ll make enemies by the dozens.

When I return to court, my days won’t be easy.”

The Marquis of Wuyang grumbled.

Though he complained about hard times, his smile betrayed his true delight.

Solving a thorny problem meant nothing if it angered people.

As a leading figure among the meritorious nobility, his power far surpassed that of idle imperial relatives.

The civil-military strife in the Great Yu dynasty had persisted since its founding; whether he angered them or not, he’d clash with the civil officials.

With evidence of their crimes in hand, no matter how furious they were, they’d have to swallow it.

…

Bathed in the autumn wind, Qin Tianrui led his troops forward with pride.

“General, a special envoy has arrived from Lord Bai.”

(End of Chapter)