Chapter 362: Farewell State Letter

Guangxi Provincial Governor's Office.

“This is a state letter from Annan; everyone take a look!”

Zhang Sihan frowned and said.

He had heard rumors that the Annan envoy had been detained.

To dare call themselves the Great Yue Empire—without being flayed alive—they’ve already been given more face than they deserve by the court.

Who could have imagined that the Annan King would show no gratitude and actually dare to stir up trouble?

“Unthinkable!”

“The Annan people are treating Great Yu as if we have no men!”

“I shall surely submit a memorial to the court, demanding troops to punish this disloyal vassal!”

The Provincial Administration Commissioner Jia Bo immediately rebuked.

The letter’s contents were explosive: it not only claimed the Annan King as Emperor of Yue, demanded Great Yu release its envoys, but also ordered the Yongning Emperor to personally travel to Thang Long to beg for forgiveness.

If these demands were not met, they would mobilize fifty thousand troops to punish Great Yu.

Though no one knew where the Annan King got the nerve to threaten Great Yu, it did not stop him from making his stance clear.

“Commissioner Jia speaks truly—the Annan King is treasonous and has already sealed his own death warrant.

Fellow officials, let us jointly sign a memorial, petitioning His Majesty to launch a campaign against Annan!”

The Provincial Surveillance Commissioner Zhou Zhenbang followed immediately.

Due to past offenses, his tenure had been miserable, effectively sidelined.

He had not been removed only because others had spared his patron’s face.

In such a sensitive political matter, he naturally had to demonstrate zeal.

“Commissioner Zhou, calm down first—this state letter is far too suspicious.

The Annan King has just ascended; his internal affairs are far from settled. Under normal circumstances, he would not provoke Great Yu.

First, send someone to verify it—this might be a forgery meant to incite war between us and Annan.”

Zhang Sihan hurriedly intervened.

The previous envoy case was already absurd; this state letter is even more absurd.

He knew Annan was ambitious, but ambition does not equal strength.

In recent years, the Annan King has waged campaigns everywhere, expanding vast territories.

He has not even digested his gains; provoking Great Yu now brings them no benefit.

The court has quietly shelved the envoy case precisely because it saw the danger and did not wish to escalate matters.

“Your Excellency, this is not me exaggerating.

The Annan people are arrogant and have always looked down on the court.

Internally, the Annan King has long called himself Emperor of Yue—this is public knowledge.

Ask any few Annan subjects, and they will confirm the King’s treason.

A traitor like him is capable of any bizarre act.

If we do not report this to the court immediately and prepare for defense, when the enemy attacks, it will be a disaster!”

Zhou Zhenbang immediately pressured.

He did not care whether the letter was real or fake.

Even if someone stamped a radish seal on it, he would treat it as genuine.

The bigger the scandal, the greater the chance to shatter the current power structure.

He was already sidelined; no matter how things developed, they could not get worse than now.

Deep down, he had already decided: if no one would sign the memorial, he would expose it himself.

If he lacked ability, he would prove his loyalty.

In Great Yu’s bureaucracy, image matters more than achievement.

“We must report this to the court, but the letter’s authenticity still needs verification.

To ensure absolute certainty, in the name of the Provincial Governor’s Office, send the letter to the capital and let His Majesty decide.”

Zhang Sihan frowned and said.

His term as Provincial Governor was about to end.

With his success in the “reform of native chieftaincies,” promotion was certain.

After these final two months, he would either return to the capital for office or be reassigned as Provincial Governor of a wealthier province.

Some in the court were already pushing him to become Viceroy of Guangdong and Guangxi.

A position like the Wuyang Marquis’s, holding two viceroyalties, was an exceptional wartime arrangement and could never become standard.

Once the rebellion was quelled, one of the positions would surely be vacated.

Even among viceroys, there were ranks.

Though no official ranking existed, everyone tacitly agreed the Jiangnan Viceroy ranked first.

Given the Wuyang Marquis’s achievements, the one to be relieved must be the Viceroy of Guangdong and Guangxi.

Of course, he might be relieved of both and recalled directly to the capital.

Either way, the Viceroy of Guangdong and Guangxi position would inevitably become vacant.

Privately, Zhang Sihan had long been scheming—if he could serve one term as Viceroy before returning to the capital, his chance of entering the Grand Secretariat would greatly increase.

For civil officials, entering the Grand Secretariat was the highest ambition.

If a major war erupted now, as Guangxi Provincial Governor, he would be the top commander on the front line and could not possibly be reassigned.

Annan was no weak foe, and Guangxi’s main forces were already deployed suppressing rebellion; provoking conflict now would only invite defeat.

If they lost, he would be the primary culprit.

Then not only would promotion be impossible—he might not even keep his current post.

Yet Annan’s provocation could not be ignored.

The letter arrived through official channels; even if it was an internal Annan matter, it was still the Annan King’s responsibility.

According to past precedent, to preserve Great Yu’s dignity, the lightest punishment would be stripping the Annan King of his title.

The Annan King was no fool—he would not sit idle.

If we pursued this seriously, war would be inevitable.

After weighing pros and cons, he decided to pass the problem to the Emperor.

From a strategic standpoint, Great Yu should not ignite a major war in the south right now.

If the Emperor himself suppressed the letter, it would be no fault of his.

As for the threats in the letter, they would not materialize in the short term.

In an agrarian age, armies marched only after spring planting.

By then, he would have long been reassigned; the aftermath would be the new Provincial Governor’s problem.

…

Outside Hangzhou, after a month of maneuvering, the Guangdong-Guangxi and Fujian-Zhejiang imperial forces successfully linked up.

As they exchanged pleasantries, a messenger arrived with news that shattered the conversation.

“Your Excellency, good news!”

“General Jing has sent word of victory—our army has successfully captured Suzhou City, with casualties…”

The exact battle results no longer mattered; everyone remembered only that Suzhou had been taken.

With Yangzhou and Suzhou under control, the entire lower Yangtze region now belonged to the court.

All conditions were ripe for the recovery of Nanjing; the Nanjing Campaign could now begin.

Yet the atmosphere in the room carried a hint of awkwardness.

Capturing Suzhou was good—but the timing of this victory report was dangerously sensitive.

There had long been a strategic dispute over how to retake Nanjing.

The Wuyang Marquis advocated using Yangzhou as a base to launch a river-crossing assault and seize Nanjing by force.

The Duke of Cheng favored advancing from Suzhou and pushing directly overland.

Both strategies were militarily viable; neither clearly superior.

Their bitter dispute stemmed primarily from interest.

Whether the Wuyang Marquis or the Duke of Cheng, both had factions behind them—all vying for the glory of retaking Nanjing.

Whoever seized the initiative would gain greater control in the coming campaign.

The arrival of this Suzhou victory report now felt like a show of force.

A seasoned politician would never resort to such crude tactics.

Against the colossal weight of the civil official bloc, the aristocratic faction must unite to have any chance of bargaining.

More than battlefield glory, control of court discourse was their core interest.

Under these circumstances, the aristocratic faction must maintain “conflict without rupture.”

Any move that inflamed internal tensions was forbidden.

"I have just arrived in Hangzhou and received news of Suzhou's recovery—it seems the rebels' end is near.

Your Grace, when will you take Hangzhou City?”

The Wuyang Marquis smiled and asked.

The implication was unmistakable.

Whether you attack from Suzhou or from Yangzhou, the fighting will take place in Nanzhili.

As Viceroy of Jiangnan, launching a war within his jurisdiction makes him the rightful Regional Commander.

If you truly want to seize command, just push straight through Zhejiang—then the Regional Commander of the entire army would naturally be the Viceroy of Fujian and Zhejiang.

“Your Excellency, Hangzhou is no easy city to take; the rebels inside are stubborn and ruthless.”

It will take some time to capture Hangzhou.

Now that we’ve opened a new front, there’s no need to waste time on Hangzhou.

Once Nanjing falls, the rebels’ morale will collapse; we can always turn back later to retake Hangzhou, Nanchang, Jiujiang, and other places.”

Jing Guoliang replied without changing expression.

Siege warfare demands far greater losses than conventional battle.

If we suffer too many casualties here in advance, we’ll be reduced to supporting roles in the campaigns to come.

“After such a long journey, everyone is exhausted. Let’s discuss military matters tomorrow.”

Seeing the tension rise, Li Mu quickly stepped forward to halt it.

Deep inside, he had already been cursing.

If he’d known this scene would unfold, he should have refused Marquis Wuyang’s invitation two days ago and returned directly to Guangdong and Guangxi.

At this moment, the imperial forces hold absolute strategic superiority; unless the rebels get divine intervention, they cannot turn the tide.

The outcome is destined—whether or not he participates, the result will be the same.

He came along mainly out of consideration for propriety; not paying a visit to his own father-in-law would be unthinkable.

He’d fulfilled his social obligation—and now he was caught in the middle like a sandwich.

In this regard, he should learn from Marquis Zhenyuan: stay far away from the start.

“Very well, let’s end for today.”

“Tomorrow, I, as representative of the Fujian-Zhejiang officials, will host a banquet to welcome you all!”

“Wen Zhu, arrange for someone to show the officials to their quarters.”

Jing Guoliang nodded and said.

Choosing to set the issue aside was both a face-saving gesture for his son-in-law and a way to mitigate the damage from that recent victory report.

At his rank and status, there was no longer any possibility of further advancement.

Military merit meant nothing to him now.

Fighting for influence was about securing benefits for the subordinates below.

The louder the quarrel, the bigger the uproar, the more it proved he was a good leader.

Letting the Embroidered Uniform Guard see it and send word back to the capital would reassure the Emperor and the ministers.

But such competition must be kept within bounds.

If one truly fought for full command, the conflict wouldn’t erupt in public view.

Major decisions were usually made in private meetings.

Mature politicians knew: anything brought to the table for open discussion was never truly urgent.

…

The gathering ended in discord, but Li Mu, as the son-in-law, stayed behind.

“Have you truly decided to take charge of Annan?”

Jing Guoliang asked, frowning.

He didn’t care if his son-in-law went to struggle in some remote, harsh land—but taking his precious daughter with him? That made this old father uneasy.

Had it not been for the Li family’s dual marquisates and Li Mu’s overwhelming influence in the military, which threatened the Jing family’s standing, he would have opposed it long ago.

“Father-in-law, I’m too young to remain in court; many would find it uncomfortable.”

You know the Emperor’s nature.

If one day he suddenly takes a dislike to me over some trivial matter, the consequences would be dire.

To eliminate this hidden danger, stepping back proactively is the better choice."

Li Mu admitted frankly.

Youth is an advantage, but also a liability.

When emperors are young, few see meritorious officials as threats.

Especially those they personally promoted—they’re seen as trusted confidants.

What Li Mu enjoys now is precisely the treatment of a trusted confidant.

Since entering officialdom, he has risen without pause.

Whenever promotion was due, he was never blocked; he was even repeatedly promoted beyond his rank.

Once the Emperor grows old, things change.

Most imperial-suspect relationships arise when the Emperor’s health declines.

Of course, these are merely surface reasons; the true reason Li Mu decided to leave was his lack of faith in the future.

Great Yu’s internal flaws had already piled up.

Added to the natural disasters of the Little Ice Age, even Qin Shi Huang, Han Wu Di, or Emperor Yongning would be powerless.

If he stayed in court, the future meant either leading troops to suppress rebellions or rushing to suppress them.

He’d work himself to exhaustion on the frontlines, while army provisions were often withheld, and he’d face the Emperor’s suspicion and ministerial scheming.

The script already existed in history.

“Since you’ve made up your mind to endure hardship, I won’t stop you.”

But before pacifying Annan, you cannot bring your family.

If your plan succeeds and you gain hereditary rule over Annan, the garrison must be located in a region with favorable climate.

Don’t blame me, your father-in-law, for meddling—Ya Qing has never suffered hardship; she cannot endure harsh weather.”

Besides, she’s carrying a child; she can’t bear such hardship.”

Jing Guoliang said sternly.

For the Jing family’s interests, Li Mu’s departure was something he supported.

But beyond clan interests, he was also a father.

When she was by his side, he didn’t notice; once she went to Annan, he’d never see her again.

“Father-in-law, Annan isn’t as terrible as you imagine.”

After decades of development, it’s no longer the malarial wilderness it once was.

In natural conditions, it’s even better than Guangxi.”

Li Mu’s explanation was wasted; in Jing Guoliang’s eyes, Guangxi was still a backwater, and even Guangdong didn’t impress him.

In Great Yu’s mainstream view, Guangdong and Guangxi had always been places of exile; privately, everyone called them Lingnan.

Even after personally visiting Guangdong and seeing Guangzhou’s prosperity, his impression had only slightly shifted.

Today, outside Guangzhou, there are truly no major cities in Guangdong and Guangxi worth mentioning.

Even Guangzhou Prefecture, compared to the capital, falls short by a full Nanjing.

“Hmm!”

“Just make sure you understand.”

“Whether it’s my generals or Marquis Wuyang’s, nearly all are your former subordinates; supporting either side would be inappropriate.”

“Tomorrow’s welcome banquet—make an excuse to skip it.”

“In the coming major campaigns, we’ll fight on two fronts; everyone gets a chance.”

“How much military merit they earn depends entirely on their own abilities.”

“I’ve heard the Annan people have risen again in the south; hurry back to Guangdong and Guangxi to take charge—don’t get tangled in the aftermath.”

Jing Guoliang thought for a moment and said.

As the foremost of the old noble families, even if he were willing to submit to another, the founding nobles would never accept it.

Marquis Wuyang, with his glorious battlefield record, also won’t yield.

Without external intervention, the struggle for command will end in deadlock.

Under these circumstances, each commanding a separate army is the best option.

Separating their forces highlights Li Mu’s value.

Wherever he assists in command, that side’s chance of earning military merit increases.

All are his own men; left hand and right hand are both flesh; supporting either is inappropriate.

“Father-in-law, rest assured—I’ve received secret intelligence: the Annan people are about to invade Guangxi.”

The Guangxi Provincial Governor’s request for aid will reach the frontlines soon.”

“Then I’ll use that as my opportunity to return and take charge.”

Li Mu replied with a smile.

By now, the latest diplomatic letter from Annan should already be en route to the capital.

To traditional scholar-officials, its defiant language is a declaration of war.

Only one final spark remains before full-scale war breaks out.

If news of Annan’s invasion spreads, the court will have no choice but to fight.

“Handle the cleanup carefully—leave no traces.”

Jing Guoliang couldn’t help but warn.

If unaware, and judging solely from current events, it appears the Marquis of Annan is ambitious, seeking to challenge Great Yu's hegemony.

But to those in the know, the Annan people’s actions are riddled with flaws.

Blustering and actually launching troops to invade are two entirely different things.

In the past, when the Annan people were restless, it was limited to colluding with the Guangxi tribal chieftains.

During the Bai Lian Rebellion, when the opportunity was perfect, they still did not send troops.

Why would they suddenly stir up trouble just as the rebels were about to be crushed?

If they truly meant to act, they would launch troops directly, catching Great Yu off guard.

Repeated provocations, as if afraid Great Yu wasn't prepared, seem far too frivolous.

In fact, Li Mu also wanted to make it seamless, but he could not command the Annan army.

The current conflict is merely his arrangement to replace the state letter.

All specific operations were carried out on Great Yu's side.

With his power, there were plenty willing to risk their lives for him.

But on the Annan side, it wouldn’t work—they didn’t recognize the authority of the Marquis of Hanshui.

The spies he planted could gather intelligence, but they could never hold office.

They weren’t a rebel force starved for talent, taking in anyone they could find.

(End of Chapter)