Chapter 365: Imposing Military Pay

The threat from Annan was now on the table, and the Provincial Governor of Guangxi’s plea for aid had arrived; mobilization was officially scheduled.

All officials present had lived through the White Lotus Rebellion and knew full well that military issues could not be delayed.

“Marquis, when do you plan to march? What preparations do you need from us?”

An Qingfeng asked, gritting his teeth against the pain of parting with funds.

Stick your head out, it’s a sword; pull it back, it’s still a sword.

Annan’s invasion will inevitably bleed Guangdong dry.

Rather than be forced to pay and supply grain, it’s better to offer it voluntarily and build a reputation for putting the greater good first.

At his rank, any further advancement demands thinking in terms of the entire Great Ming’s interests.

“Though the situation in Guangxi is dangerous, it can still hold out for some time.

Considering the practical circumstances, I plan to march after the spring plowing.

Until then, focus on raising funds and grain.

Annan is no weak foe; this war won’t end in a day or two.

Neither Guangdong nor Guangxi are major grain-producing provinces; earlier efforts to retake Huguang and Jiangxi already drained local grain reserves.

Grain prices remain high among the people; this time, we won’t raise grain locally but will purchase it from outside sources—you only need to raise military pay.

Initially, prepare three million taels of silver: Guangxi will raise two-tenths, Guangdong will bear six-tenths, and the remaining two-tenths will be requested from the imperial court.”

Li Mu’s answer eased the tension among them.

Only raising military pay, not grain, lifted a heavy burden from everyone’s shoulders.

The allocated sum of 1.8 million taels was substantial, but thanks to the profits from overseas trade, raising this amount was far from impossible.

The path to raising funds had already been paved by the Marquis of Wuyang: if short on cash, levy likin from sea merchants.

Though this move effectively legalized maritime trade and violated the court’s maritime ban, exceptional times call for exceptional measures.

They weren’t the only ones taxing; Fujian and Zhejiang provinces were also extracting money from sea merchants.

If the rebellion is quelled, Nanzhili will likely do the same.

The noble elite weren’t direct beneficiaries of overseas trade, but they were direct beneficiaries of customs duties.

Half the pay and grain for the troops under these noble generals came from sea merchants—that was their incentive to tax.

All officials present were outsiders who had privately taken bribes from sea merchants, but that wasn’t enough to make them defy the prevailing tide.

The profits from maritime trade were rich enough that even with added taxes, everyone still made a fortune.

After all, Great Ming’s goods held a monopoly and were irreplaceable.

As a participant in overseas trade, Li Mu understood perfectly what the words “Great Ming” meant in this era.

Whatever the commodity, if it was made in Great Ming, it became a luxury abroad.

Even a chamber pot used by common folk could fetch a sky-high price overseas, eagerly sought after by foreign nobility.

“Marquis, we can raise military pay quickly, but grain won’t be available in the short term.

Grain is scarce across the entire realm; Huguang and Jiangxi’s grain must be prioritized for the suppression forces.

In the past, we imported grain from overseas, but now that Annan has invaded Guangxi, the southern sea routes for grain may be disrupted.”

An Qingfeng immediately warned.

Officials serving in Guangdong had far broader horizons than those in other regions and knew well that beyond Great Ming lay vast lands.

Importing grain from the South Seas wasn’t a secret.

Compared to Great Ming’s ever-rising grain prices, grain in the South Seas was much cheaper.

Most crucially, barter was possible—Great Ming’s goods were high-margin products with substantial profits.

The imperial army’s ability to launch a swift counteroffensive against the rebels was partly due to the cheap grain purchased abroad.

Now that war has ignited, the loss of grain imports from the Zhongnanbandao has made foreign procurement far harder.

Even if grain can be bought, the cost will rise.

An Qingfeng feared Li Mu had underestimated the situation and might fail to secure enough grain, forcing him to impose levies later.

"Lord An, rest assured—those merchants have keener noses than we do.

As I understand, as soon as the Annan envoy scandal broke, some foresaw war between Great Ming and Annan and began stockpiling grain in advance.

I’ve sent envoys to negotiate; they are loyal subjects of Great Ming and are willing to sell grain to the court at fair prices.”

Li Mu smiled.

Ordinary sea merchants couldn’t predict the course of events or accurately judge the timing of war.

But his own sea merchants were an exception.

With confirmed intelligence, failing to stockpile grain would be unthinkable.

At Guangdong’s current grain prices, even selling at fair price still yielded substantial profit.

Besides those arranged by Li Mu, some opportunistic merchants had also stockpiled considerable grain.

Sending envoys was primarily aimed at these merchants.

In wartime, you can never have too much grain.

Negotiations went smoothly; in Great Ming’s official-dominated world, everyone’s ultimate goal was always office.

After friendly talks, they became Li Mu’s grain procurement officers.

Not only sea merchants, but some reputable pirates were also secretly summoned by Li Mu.

To swallow Annan, he had quietly prepared for two or three years already.

…

With official business concluded, everyone lost interest and departed in small groups.

“Be careful!”

Seeing his wife stride toward him, Li Mu hurriedly warned.

Compared to a few months ago, Jing Yaqing’s belly was clearly showing.

“What’s the harm in walking a few steps? Common women still work the fields when pregnant!”

Jing Yaqing said playfully.

It was true—Great Ming pregnant women were far less delicate than those in later eras.

The lower classes struggled just to survive; they had no means to nurture a pregnancy.

Occasionally eating an egg was a privilege reserved for wealthy peasant households.

Aristocratic families had no shortage of goods and lived more comfortably, yet still had to follow ritual norms.

The Han River Marquis House was an exception—no direct senior relatives lived above them; they were the ones setting the rules.

How to walk, how to carry oneself—these restrictions imposed on ladies of the inner quarters, Li Mu ignored, and Jing Yaqing chose to pretend ignorance.

Compared to her former close friends, her life was the easiest.

Though she verbally refused, she deeply appreciated Li Mu’s concern.

“You’re just mischievous.”

Seeing this, Li Mu reached out and gently poked his wife’s forehead.

He didn’t press the matter further; reason told him arguing with a pregnant woman led nowhere.

“I heard Annan’s had more trouble—how long will you stay home this time?”

Jing Yaqing asked with concern.

Living in a marquis’s household meant being inseparable from politics—even the inner quarters had to stay alert to court developments.

With Annan’s invasion, Li Mu, as Provincial Military Commander of the Two Guangs, was the first target; heading to the front was merely a matter of time.

“I’ll likely stay until spring plowing, but it depends on how the situation develops.

If we’re lucky, I’ll be here to see our child born.”

Li Mu said, slightly embarrassed.

He had planned every detail of this war, yet had failed to account for the timing of his child’s birth.

Intelligence suggested Annan would strike after next spring’s plowing, but war preparations must begin early.

You couldn’t wait until the enemy’s army arrived before starting to prepare.

Fortunately, the climates differed—Guangdong’s spring plowing ended slightly earlier; otherwise, they’d miss even that.

In fact, Li Mu could have struck first, denying Annan the chance to plow.

But the garrison lands in the Two Guangs were the largest landowners; over two to three million soldiers and civilians depended on the land for food.

If planting was delayed, the garrisons’ self-sufficiency system would collapse.

Besides, he relied on his troops to live off the enemy’s land to ease logistical pressure.

If Annan’s agriculture was disrupted, even if his army marched in, there’d be no one left to loot.

“Just being home for the New Year would be enough.

Since our marriage, most years I’ve spent the holiday alone.”

Jing Yaqing said, her voice low.

The world saw only her glittering married life, but only she knew the bitterness.

In the capital, she’d have her family and friends nearby—but here in Guangdong,

when Li Mu was away, officials came to pay New Year’s respects, dropped off gifts, and left immediately.

Among the inner quarters, due to differences in status, everyone approached her with ulterior motives; true friendship was impossible.

Staying cooped up in the mansion day after day—no matter how large the Marquis House—eventually grew unbearable.

“Don’t worry—there won’t be any more separations.”

After we finish Annan, I’ll personally lead troops less often, and have more time to be with you and the child.

Li Mu immediately comforted her.

Planning the Annan campaign is top secret; only a few participants know about it.

For safety’s sake, even our own wife must be kept in the dark.

Especially since Jing Yaqing is pregnant—if she finds out, who knows what she might think.

After all, compared to the prosperous capital, Annan is a remote, backward land.

No one wants to go to Annan when they can return to the capital.

Even in the early stages of developing Annan, Li Mu didn’t hope for voluntary immigration—he planned to use exiled convicts instead.

To attract voluntary immigrants, either the realm must fall into chaos, or the drought in the north must worsen further.

Otherwise, people are reluctant to leave their homeland; no matter how good the conditions, it’s hard to draw enough immigrants.

Ordinary people feel this way, let alone Jing Yaqing, who has been pampered since childhood.

Even if she reluctantly agrees verbally, she’ll likely harbor resentment inside.

During pregnancy, idle thoughts easily lead to trouble.

Not only must his own wife be kept in the dark, but all his subordinates and clan members were also tricked onto this campaign.

Once the plan succeeds and the imperial edict is issued, the emperor will bear the blame.

“The Son of Heaven’s command cannot be disobeyed”—this excuse will be enough to convince everyone.

When the spoils are divided, everyone will settle in Annan and establish firm roots.

Li Mu studied history: when Great Yu lost Jiaozhi, the civil-military conflict was merely the spark.

The real cause was the lack of local supporters.

Local gentry never integrated into Great Yu’s system; the court and officials saw the land as barbaric, and few of their sons could enter court service.

Without access to power or political status, they naturally felt no sense of belonging.

The upper class wasn’t won over, and neither were the common people below.

Though Yu troops had crushed the tyrannical warlords, they never touched the social structure.

The lives of the common folk changed nothing in substance.

Since life was hard either way, to them, it made no difference who was emperor.

The local gentry held the power of speech; once they stirred things up, neutral civilians quickly sided against Great Yu.

Now that the problem was clear, he had to find a way to change it.

Winning over the local gentry would cost too much—Li Mu couldn’t afford such a price.

Besides, the band of brothers following him couldn’t just go over and work for free; everyone wanted meat.

Driving out the Annan king isn’t enough—you must purge the vested interests to have enough cake to divide among his men.

If his own men get meat and the local people get broth, the first step succeeds.

Next, we must vigorously promote immigration, increase the Yu population, and encourage ethnic integration.

The two cultures are similar, and daily customs don’t differ much—resistance won’t be strong.

In a few decades, they’ll be indistinguishable.

If immigration is large enough, this progress can be accelerated.

…

Guilin Prefecture.

“Your Excellency, good news!”

“The Marquis of Hanshui has returned from the front to Guangzhou and will personally oversee the coming major battle.

This is the operational plan from the Provincial Military Commander’s office—we’re only required to raise two-tenths of the military funds, totaling sixty taels of silver.”

Jia Bo said with a delighted expression.

Having dealt with Li Mu the longest, he had the most confidence in him.

Annan claims to have raised a million troops—even halving that number still poses a deadly threat to Guangxi.

For any other commander, he’d be uneasy; only Li Mu was an exception.

“Oh!”

“The Marquis of Hanshui has returned—so the rumors were true.

The court intends to appoint the Marquis of Hanshui as acting Viceroy of Guangdong and Guangxi to lead the war against Annan.

This war is to protect Guangxi; technically, asking us to raise two-tenths of the military funds isn’t unreasonable—but sixty taels of silver? That’s no easy sum!”

Zhang Sihan frowned.

He felt no jealousy at Li Mu being entrusted with acting Viceroy authority.

With the war erupting suddenly and his own plot to transfer command failing, he was relieved to have a capable commander at the front.

The fundraising task assigned to him did consider Guangxi’s actual conditions, yet he still worried.

Guangxi differed from Guangdong—it hadn’t benefited from maritime trade.

Even with secret ports opened, very few sea merchants had settled here.

Especially since the war with Annan began, the trade route to the Zhongnanbandao was cut off, eliminating any chance of acting as a transit hub.

Customs revenue was minimal; provincial mineral resources had long been sold off; Guangxi’s land was poor, the origin of rebel forces, and land taxes couldn’t be raised.

Meeting the fundraising target in such a short time was no small challenge.

“Your Excellency, the grain and silver issue can always be worked out with effort.

As long as Guangxi is protected, paying a price is worth it.”

Zhou Zhenbang spoke with righteous conviction.

The Provincial Governor, Provincial Administration Commissioner, and Provincial Surveillance Commissioner had always been the province’s three top officials.

Due to differing responsibilities, the fundraising burden fell mainly on the Provincial Governor and Provincial Administration Commissioner—it wasn’t his concern as Provincial Surveillance Commissioner.

Since he didn’t have to do the actual work, he spoke without hesitation.

(End of Chapter)