Chapter 364: The Great Con Artist

The sudden battle report shattered everyone’s illusions.

War has come!

If not for the Yu Emperor’s decision to wage war against them, the Yu army would never dare to violate our borders.

“Damned Yu people—how dare they invade our Great Yue territory? They clearly think we have no men left!”

“Issue the imperial decree: mobilize the entire nation immediately. I shall lead thirty thousand troops north to capture the Yu Emperor alive!”

Hua Xinbo, his defenses broken, immediately ordered nationwide mobilization.

Launching war in anger is a grave military blunder, but at this moment, the Annan high command clearly had no capacity for further thought.

Everyone agreed that the Yu dynasty intended to launch an attack on them.

Annan had reached a moment of life or death—it must spare no effort to win this war.

“Your Majesty, calm yourself!”

“Spring plowing is imminent; mobilizing the entire nation now will inevitably harm next year’s harvest.”

“Lately, Yu merchants have been buying up vast quantities of grain in our Great Yue, driving prices up by double.”

“Though the court swiftly banned grain exports, the decline in domestic grain reserves remains a reality.”

“The Yu army’s provocation is deliberately meant to lure us into a trap—we must not fall for the enemy’s scheme!”

Ruan Xinjie hurriedly urged.

Only when you manage a household do you realize how expensive rice, salt, oil, and firewood are.

Once war breaks out, the Ministry of Revenue will bear the greatest pressure.

Fiscal deficit is not exclusive to Great Yu—Great Yue, which has emulated Yu, suffers just as severely.

For years, we’ve waged constant foreign campaigns, expanding territory—everyone enjoyed the glory, but the mess was left to the Ministry of Revenue.

No matter how rich the newly conquered regions are, the initial development phase demands massive expenditures of grain and silver.

The greatest problem with the Central Peninsula is its excessive wealth—the conquered indigenous tribes had no ambition at all and exploited the land minimally.

Over twenty kingdoms were destroyed, yet all profits went to the nobility; war spoils never entered the Ministry of Revenue.

“Despicable Yu people!”

“They clearly planned this all along. It seems that damned Yu Emperor has long coveted our Great Yue.”

“The Ministry of Rites shall draft a proclamation denouncing Yu. I shall expose the Yu Emperor’s vile deeds and let the world know he is a despicable villain!”

…

Hua Xinbo erupted in furious curses.

When Yu merchants first came to buy grain, he had assumed Yu was suffering from war-induced crop failures and desperately needed to import food.

To make a huge profit, he ordered the court granaries to sell old grain as new grain at inflated prices to the Yu merchants.

After all, Great Yue had no shortage of grain—each year, vast quantities rotted in the warehouses of the nobility.

If there were fools willing to pay high prices, it was only right to sell.

The emperor and domestic nobles jointly cleared surplus stockpiles, all growing rich from this international trade.

He had thought he gained the upper hand; now he saw he was a fool.

The thought that the Yu dynasty’s war provisions were the very grain he had sold, and that the silk, porcelain, and tea he received in return were now worthless, made his stomach churn.

No matter how furious he was, the decision to march was postponed until after spring plowing.

A northern campaign with thirty thousand troops required recruiting vast numbers of laborers.

Once mobilized, agricultural production would inevitably suffer.

Facing an enemy like Great Yu, a swift victory was nearly impossible—they must prepare for a prolonged war.

…

“Governor, urgent report from the front!”

“Annan forces have launched attacks on Zhen’an Prefecture, Siming Prefecture, and other areas. Our defenders fought bravely and barely repelled the enemy.”

“We slew over three thousand enemy troops but suffered heavy casualties ourselves.”

“Debao County Magistrate Wei Fusheng was struck by a stray arrow while inspecting the city defenses and died despite rescue efforts.”

“The enemy advances fiercely; our commanders have sent urgent pleas for reinforcements, requesting twenty thousand troops, two million taels of silver, one and a half million shi…”

Before the private secretary could finish, Zhang Sihan was stunned.

He was Guangxi Provincial Governor, not the Great Yu Emperor—where was he supposed to summon troops or raise such vast sums of grain and silver?

He couldn’t even mobilize two thousand troops, let alone twenty thousand.

It wasn’t that Guangxi’s military readiness was neglected—it was simply that the government had no money.

After the “Reform of Native Chieftains,” Guangxi’s fiscal revenue increased dramatically.

But this increase was relative to its originally low baseline; the total still amounted to a fraction of what wealthy provinces earned.

Fundamentally, Guangxi’s finances remained in deficit, requiring imperial subsidies just to cover administrative expenses.

Still, any increase in revenue was a good thing.

Unfortunately, the imperial treasury was severely depleted; after Guangxi restored peace, the Ministry of Revenue cut its subsidies.

The increase in revenue fell far short of the reduction in funding.

As a result, every level of bureaucracy had to rely on officials’ initiative just to function normally.

“Magistrate Wei died in the line of duty?”

Zhang Sihan asked, concerned.

Reinforcements and grain and silver were beyond his power to provide.

He could only focus on the death of an official.

He knew Wei Fusheng—this man was brilliant, skilled in poetry and prose, but his foul mouth had offended courtiers, leading to his demotion to Guangxi.

After arriving in Guangxi, he had learned some lessons and stopped deliberately provoking his superiors.

Yet his talent for self-destruction was too great—he often flattered the wrong people, making him deeply unpopular in official circles.

If anyone showed him even a modicum of courtesy, he became arrogant and oblivious to his station.

He openly denounced court policy, as if not a single minister or even the emperor could match his wisdom.

If that were all, it might have been tolerable. In the system, without direct conflict of interest, no one pushed things to extremes.

His demotion to the frontier should have been the end of it.

The powerful would never lower themselves to feud with a madman.

But this man especially despised military officers.

Other civil officials looked down on soldiers in silence; this man spoke it aloud.

He constantly complained in public that the nation’s decay was entirely due to military incompetence.

Even powerful figures like the Marquis of Han River and the Marquis of Wuyang became mere “military brutes” in his mouth.

It was proven: offending military officers on the frontier was far more dangerous than offending civil officials.

They lacked elaborate political tactics, but they could resort to physical elimination.

Once war broke out, County Magistrate Wei was killed in action.

Zhang Sihan reached this conclusion because he had interacted with Wei Fusheng—he knew the man was a loudmouth who would never risk his life inspecting defenses under fire.

“Yes, Governor.”

“But the battle report is too brief—it omits details, and casualties are merely described as ‘heavy.’ There may be foul play.”

“Sir, should we send someone to investigate and verify?”

Hearing the reply from his private secretary, Bei Tianyou, Zhang Sihan immediately shook his head.

“No need!”

“We are at war—we need them to fight and die.”

“As long as the enemy heads are real, everything else is trivial.”

“Edit and embellish the report, fix the obvious gaps, and apply for posthumous honors for Magistrate Wei.”

“Send the official document to the capital, and copy two additional copies to the Viceroy’s and Provincial Military Commander’s offices.”

He had no desire to dig into whether the report was fraudulent.

If no problems were found, fine; if something deadly surfaced, the investigators would likely vanish.

If the matter blew up, everyone’s face would be lost.

Annan’s threat loomed too urgently—he had no intention of clashing with the military over a nuisance like Wei Fusheng.

Applying for posthumous honors was enough to fulfill his duty as a colleague.

If he were truly heartless, ignoring him outright wouldn’t be a big deal.

In recent years, over a hundred Great Yu officials had died in the line of duty, including many of third rank and above.

A demoted county magistrate from the remote frontier was utterly insignificant.

Had he not been killed by Annan forces—as proof of invasion—his name would never have been singled out.

…

The fleet slowly entered the harbor; the dock was already crowded with people.

A glance revealed they were mostly local officials and gentry.

As for wealthy merchants, they had no right to stand at the front in such a special occasion.

Having seen many grand scenes, Li Mu had learned to adapt to such high-profile receptions.

In officialdom, when you cannot change the system, you must learn to blend in.

If someone arranged the reception, follow the protocol.

The welcoming banquet proceeded as normal, and the gifts received.

Without this display, no one would feel at ease.

Though the imperial appointment had not yet been issued, those with good connections already knew the outcome.

Acting as Viceroy of Guangdong and Guangxi is still being the Viceroy of Guangdong and Guangxi.

When Marquis Wuyang served as Viceroy, he tormented them terribly. The maritime merchants felt it most acutely—they were stripped bare of their wealth.

Now that Li Mu, a military strongman, is taking over, the new official’s first three moves are unpredictable—no one knows how he’ll burn.

All they can do is ensure proper etiquette is observed and avoid offending him.

After brief pleasantries, the dinner venue was moved from a city tavern to the Provincial Military Commander’s residence.

Such minor matters naturally wouldn’t cause anyone to defy their future superior’s face.

At dusk, the Commander’s residence glowed with bright lanterns.

“Your Excellency, urgent military news has arrived from Guangxi.”

The sudden battle report silenced the once-boisterous banquet.

“Gentlemen, carry on—eat, drink as you please.”

“I have military duties to attend to—I’ll take my leave first!”

Li Mu smiled and said to the gathering.

The timing of this battle report was no coincidence—it was arranged by him.

The disturbances in Guangxi were all pre-scripted; the subordinates merely followed the plan.

There was no choice—Guangdong’s officials and gentry were too enthusiastic.

Even with his status, no one dared force him to drink, yet he still consumed much.

If this continued, he’d be drunk before night’s end.

Fortunately, this was within his residence; everyone held back, fearing consequences, so many entertainments were omitted.

Had it been at a tavern, and a group of courtesans skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, and song had appeared to ply him with wine, Li Mu had no desire to test his weakness.

If he lost control, it would be a major problem.

No one knew which of these professionally trained women were secret agents—keeping them close was like holding a bomb with someone else’s remote.

Though Li Mu urged everyone to relax, the officials all tacitly set down their cups and withdrew from the banquet, leaving the gentry stunned in place.

Receiving urgent frontline news in the presence of one’s superior demanded visible concern—everyone had this basic political awareness.

He glanced at the official document: aside from the added tragedy of a county magistrate dying in service, everything unfolded exactly as scripted.

The invasion by Annan troops was entirely fabricated; their side was currently bewildered.

The severed heads were the result of border troops launching preemptive strikes.

The dead Annan soldiers were not unjustly slain—before Li Mu’s arrival, border skirmishes had been frequent.

Annan forces had conspired with Guangxi’s native chieftains to harass border regions; local offices had repeatedly reported this to the court with no result.

After Li Mu reorganized Guangxi’s military readiness, skirmishes still occurred—but now the border troops, no longer restrained, showed no mercy.

If anyone crossed the line, the border troops would kill.

After suffering several defeats, the Annan people finally grew cautious.

Now striking them was entirely justified.

“Annan forces have invaded our borders; our border troops have suffered heavy losses, even losing a county magistrate in service.”

“War has come!”

“Guangxi cannot hold out—the Provincial Governor of Guangxi has sent a plea for aid. Read the document yourselves!”

Saying this, Li Mu handed the document to the nearby Provincial Governor of Guangdong.

Nearby officials gathered around; seeing this, An Qingfeng read the document aloud before all.

Upon learning its contents, everyone’s faces darkened.

Since ancient times, Guangdong and Guangxi have been regarded as one unit—when Guangxi erupts in war, Guangdong cannot remain untouched.

Only a few years have passed since we reclaimed both provinces from rebels, and now another great war looms.

Their first reaction was not how to deploy troops, but where the money and grain would come from.

The court was clearly unreliable—even if the Emperor were willing to allocate funds, they couldn’t arrive in time for this war.

Guangxi was too poor; facing this massive shortfall, they could raise at most two or three tenths themselves.

The remaining gap must be covered by aid from neighboring provinces.

The court is now busy reclaiming Nanjing; all provincial finances are being funneled there.

In the short term, the burden of raising money and grain falls squarely on Guangdong.

The court’s arrangement clearly intended for Guangdong to bear this cost.

Having endured the hardship of raising funds once, no one wished to go through it again.

“Your Lordship, you say Annan has mobilized a million troops—is this not exaggerated?”

Ma Cunyi could not help but question.

The fact of war required no debate.

The severed heads taken by border troops, the lists of fallen soldiers—all proved the truth.

Moreover, Annan envoys had openly provoked Great Yu; this was an open secret among officials.

War was certain; the key now was determining its scale.

The Provincial Administration Commissioner, who managed provincial finances, would be the first to bear the burden of raising money and grain.

“A million troops is Annan’s own propaganda; their actual troop strength remains unknown.”

“Yet when our dynasty subdued Jiaozhi, Annan’s population already exceeded three million.”

“After decades of expansion, Annan’s territory has multiplied several times over; its total population may now reach ten million.”

Li Mu immediately lied.

Population growth and territorial expansion occurring in tandem seemed plausible—but it was pure nonsense.

Though Annan controlled vast lands, only a small fraction had been developed.

Over half its population was concentrated in the Red River Delta; the rest remained under traditional tribal systems.

These scattered tribes nominally submitted to Annan but were in fact independent.

They lived deep in forests and mountains; even the Annan king could not enter to collect taxes.

From gathered intelligence, Annan’s current population stood between five and six million.

Now was the ideal moment to conquer Annan.

If their agricultural level advanced further, triggering another population boom, they’d become impossible to swallow.

Of course, Annan’s registered population remained at just over three million.

Like Great Yu, gentry there concealed populations to evade head taxes and corvée labor.

Annan publicly claimed an army of over 300,000—only enough to frighten bookish scholars ignorant of war.

Li Mu felt no pressure at all from these figures.

After all, Great Yu’s registered army still numbered over 2.8 million.

And this number continued to grow with expanded conscription.

If it ever surpassed three million, Li Mu wouldn’t be surprised.

Yet in actual combat, Great Yu struggled immensely to mobilize even 300,000 troops.

The master was so burdened; the disciple, learning from him, fared no better.

Great Yu appeared weak only because of bad luck—it had fallen into the Little Ice Age.

Had it not been for continuous natural disasters draining national strength and sparking rebellions across the land, the northern barbarians would have been nothing.

“A mere speck of a nation, yet with such a vast population?”

“It seems the ambitious Annan state has become our next great threat, following the northern barbarians!”

Ma Cunyi exclaimed in alarm.

Any regime with over ten million people was an undeniable major power.

The combined population of Guangdong and Guangxi now fell short of ten million.

How can one tolerate a rival snoring beside one’s bed?

Though they had grown decadent, their sense of peril remained intact.

The officials, misled by Li Mu’s deception, quietly shifted their view of Annan.

What had once been a desire to teach Annan a small lesson now became a determination to eliminate it utterly.

Seeing this, Li Mu was pleased.

If Guangdong’s officials could be fooled, then the ministers and Emperor in the capital would be even easier to deceive.

Anyone with even a modicum of political sense would never allow such a formidable rival to grow unchecked.

(End of Chapter)