Chapter 366: The Shift in the Jiangnan Situation

Arguments cannot solve problems. Everyone racked their brains but came up with no perfect plan for raising funds.

Guangxi is a soft target, poor and easy to bully.

Those with money are hard to touch.

After intense wrangling, the group ultimately resorted to the common bureaucratic tactic of Guangxi officials: shifting the burden downward level by level.

Gathering sixty thousand taels together was immense pressure for everyone.

Elsewhere, a clean magistrate might accumulate ten thousand taels over three years—but not in Guangxi.

Even after Zhang Sihan’s three-year term as Provincial Governor ended, his net surplus after all expenses fell short of ten thousand taels.

Partly because he cared about appearances, but mostly because there simply weren’t enough peasants to squeeze.

After the White Lotus Rebellion, the local population plummeted. The highest population density was now found in the local garrison posts.

Many prefectures had fewer than one hundred thousand civilians under their rule, and these people lived in extreme dispersion, scattered across countless hills.

In remote areas, villagers rarely ever dealt with the government except to pay taxes and perform corvée labor.

As the birthplace of the White Lotus rebels, Guangxi’s gentry had been purged most thoroughly; the few survivors kept their heads down.

Vast land, sparse population, labor shortage.

Officials wanting to collude with local gentry to extract wealth had no room to maneuver.

But once split apart, the pressure became much lighter.

If money could be raised, fine; if not enough was collected, officials should cover the shortfall themselves.

Later, during tax collection, the burden could be gradually distributed, avoiding massive sudden levies that might spark public outrage.

Officials were so obedient because they had been reined in once before.

When the Marquis of Wuyang raised funds earlier, he punished a group of sluggish officials.

The method was simple: anyone who failed to meet their quota was investigated.

Those with no wrongdoing were immediately reassigned, replaced by capable officials.

If corruption was proven, they were dismissed and their property confiscated to fill the deficit.

Undoubtedly, in Great Yu’s rampant corruption, few officials could withstand scrutiny.

None of those sluggish officials escaped punishment.

This method has since been adopted by several Viceroys and spread across southern provinces.

Bureaucratic corruption was not eradicated, but the execution capacity of local governments greatly improved.

In a feudal dynasty, when officials were determined to extract money, they always found a way.

…

Time flew by, and before long it was year’s end; the Lunar New Year atmosphere in Guangzhou grew thicker.

The imperial edict arrived officially, and Li Mu began acting as Viceroy of Guangdong and Guangxi.

In truth, it made little difference from ordinary times.

As an ad hoc post, the Viceroy of Guangdong and Guangxi could control everything if he wished to seize power.

If he wanted to be a dead fish, he could do nothing—bureaucracies at all levels would still operate normally.

Li Mu was not power-hungry; as long as subordinates fulfilled their duties, he had no desire to interfere.

His main focus remained military affairs: inspecting one garrison post, then drilling another.

Not only were garrison troops rigorously trained, but even prisoners of war with families were put through drills.

Li Mu could not determine how far the war with Annan would escalate.

Preparing more was certainly better.

“My Lord, a victory report has arrived from the front.”

After government forces reclaimed Huai’an Prefecture, Liaozhen captured Xuzhou Prefecture and linked up with allied armies from multiple provinces at Fengyang.

North of the Yangtze, only Anqing and Luzhou prefectures remain under rebel control.

Government forces along the Zhejiang front launched fierce attacks on the rebels in Huizhou and Ningguo prefectures, seizing most of their territory.

The rebel garrisons at Jiujiang and Nanchang, now isolated, showed signs of fatigue.

Given the current situation, they cannot hold out much longer.

Perhaps sensing danger, the rebel leader Fu Haoxuan concentrated heavy forces in Nanjing, preparing for a decisive battle with government troops.

But the Marquis of Wuyang and the Duke of Cheng ignored him, sticking to their original plan: slowly nibbling away at rebel-held territory.

If nothing changes, the rebels will soon launch a major counteroffensive to reverse their dire situation.”

Lan Linjie explained calmly.

Having served under Li Mu for years, his military acumen had improved dramatically.

He could now analyze battlefield conditions with relative objectivity.

“Hmm.”

“The rebels’ combat effectiveness has dropped significantly—they’ve lost their momentum.”

As long as government forces advance steadily, victory is merely a matter of time.

Fu Haoxuan has some ability, but he reacted too late.

Had he, at the war’s outset, burned his boats and concentrated all forces for a decisive clash with government troops, he might still have had a chance.

Now, at this stage, his odds of victory are negligible.”

Li Mu shook his head.

Like most peasant uprisings, Fu Haoxuan made the same strategic error.

Before toppling the court, the rebels could not afford to pause.

Once they slowed down and allowed the court to react, annihilation followed.

Consolidating a base must wait until the whole realm is in chaos.

To oppose the entire empire from a single region—unless you possess extraordinary organizational strength—failure is inevitable.

From the moment Fu Haoxuan declared himself emperor in Nanjing, he took the wrong path.

Had he, after capturing Nanjing, led all his elite forces northward to strike the Central Plains and coordinate with the northern barbarians,

he might not have destroyed Great Yu, but he could have inflicted a crushing blow on the court.

Lose Nanjing, lose the Central Plains, and Great Yu’s legitimacy vanishes.

Public sentiment shifts, and the moment for dynastic change arrives.

At that point, returning to consolidate Nanzhili, his chance of seizing the throne would be at least twenty percent.

In chaotic times, that is an extremely high figure—enough to make powerful clans rush to back him, and talent would no longer constrain his rise.

Unfortunately, Fu Haoxuan succumbed to temptation, declaring himself emperor in Nanjing too early and missing the optimal moment for northern expedition.

Of course, strategic missteps always have deeper causes.

The gentry backing different sides doesn’t erase past blood feuds.

Some may have joined him merely to seek revenge, deliberately leading him astray.

Such things are not unheard of in history.

“My Lord, besides this victory report, the Duke of Cheng and the Marquis of Wuyang have sent envoys to ask your opinion on the coming major battle.

How should we reply?”

Lan Linjie asked with concern.

A decisive battle involving hundreds of thousands of troops leaves no room for defeat.

Before the great clash, there will be fierce maneuvering.

“Tell them one word—delay!”

The rebels’ strategic space is now extremely narrow.

With so many troops concentrated together, daily supply consumption is astronomical.

Further compress their strategic space, increase their psychological pressure, and force Fu Haoxuan to come out and fight.

The greater the pressure, the higher the chance the enemy will make a mistake.

Forget it.

I’ll write the letter myself—you’ll polish it.”

Li Mu said slowly.

After all, he was thousands of miles away; how much weight his words carried remained uncertain.

Many of the commanders below, though trained by him personally, still had their own ideas.

They’re all young men eager to prove themselves—understandable.

The earlier successes have turned these troops into arrogant soldiers; many now dismiss the rebels entirely.

Compared to steady, gradual encroachment, a direct decisive battle brings far greater glory.

Some might do reckless things for the sake of military merit.

The Marquis of Wuyang’s military skill is limited; the Duke of Cheng’s is slightly better—only moderately above average.

If they’re swayed by their subordinates and decide to go for a big gamble, government forces could suffer heavy losses.

The newly raised units are one thing, but Li Mu couldn’t afford to lose the veteran troops of the Six Garrisons of Guangdong and Guangxi.

…

Liaodong, the Tatar Khanate.

“Great Khan, news has just arrived from the south: the White Lotus rebels are about to collapse.”

Erde stepped forward to report.

Although Fu Haoxuan declared himself emperor and founded the Wu state, to the eyes of the world, they remained labeled as Bai Lian rebels.

To gain legitimate status, they must overthrow the Great Yu dynasty; otherwise, the bureaucracy and gentry will blacken them to death.

The Bai Lian rebels are despised within Great Yu, but to the Tatar tribe, they are the best allies.

Without these rebels tying down Great Yu’s attention, the Tatars would never dare launch large-scale expeditions.

They need not send many—just ten or twenty thousand Yu cavalry appearing on the steppe would force them to retreat and defend their homeland.

“Are the Bai Lian rebels really that pathetic?”

“I still remember—they traded us ten thousand warhorses, then broke their word after delivering just one thousand!”

Hulugijile said angrily.

He had always been the one breaking deals with others, but with the Bai Lian rebels, he became the one betrayed.

He knew agreeing to the horse trade meant facing heavy internal pressure.

Among the Tatar nobles, every Yu person was an enemy; trading horses to them was aiding the enemy.

He pushed for this trade partly to acquire grain, and partly to support his ally.

Compared to Great Yu, the Bai Lian rebels were clearly weaker.

Hulugijile hoped the trade would help the rebels build a cavalry force, thus balancing power between both sides.

He never imagined that the seemingly sincere Bai Lian rebels broke their word so soon after the deal.

Worse still, even after breaking their word, the rebels still couldn’t withstand Yu’s encirclement and suppression.

“Great Khan, the Bai Lian rebels’ controlled territories have been drastically compressed.”

Compared to their peak, their remaining land is less than one-fifth, and their troop numbers have plummeted.

In contrast, the Yu army has continuously expanded during the suppression campaign.

It’s said the Yu army alone has over twenty regional recruitment units in the southern provinces, plus vast numbers of garrison forces.

These recruited troops mostly came from the split units of Liangguang and the Six Garrisons.

After a series of battles, they’ve likely formed basic combat effectiveness—it’s understandable the rebels can’t match them.

Besides, a portion of the Liaodong Garrison also joined this major campaign.”

E’erde added helpfully.

In the eyes of the Tatar high command, the two most formidable Yu forces were the Liaodong Garrison and the Liangguang Six Garrisons.

If both forces appeared on the battlefield, even the Tatar elite would have to tread carefully.

“E’erde, no need to worry too much.”

The Liangguang Six Garrisons may be strong, but that doesn’t mean their split-off units retain the same combat power.

The Yu court’s logistical capacity simply can’t sustain so many elite troops.

Don’t forget their military funding is mostly allocated to the northern frontier; southern units receive only tiny shares.

You know how those Yu officials behave, don’t you?

Local offices raise their own grain and pay—they only fill their own pockets, never spending a penny on their soldiers.”

Sarina laughed heartily.

Their perception of Great Yu was complex.

Envy, fear, contempt—all emotions coexisted.

“Minister, no matter how strong the enemy troops are, our ally is about to collapse.”

Jiangnan and Huguang have always been Great Yu’s vital grain and revenue regions; while the rebels ravage there, the Yu court lacks the strength to trouble us.

Once they crush the rebellion, Great Yu’s dire finances will gradually improve.

Then they’ll have more grain and funds to pour into the military.

Great Yu is simply too vast.

They can lose ten times, twenty times—but if we lose once, we face annihilation.”

E’erde said anxiously.

Their recent lack of raids on Great Yu’s borders isn’t due to a change of heart—they’re just too busy.

They’re simultaneously campaigning against Goryeo and intimidating the Gui Fang tribes on the steppe, leaving no bandwidth to trouble Great Yu.

“Great Yu has countless internal problems.”

Without Jiangnan rebels, there are still the Guanzhong rebels and Sichuan rebels—impossible to fully eradicate.

Besides, we recently received word that the Annan people are eyeing their southern frontier; they’ve likely already clashed.

With so many troubles, how could they possibly clean them up in a short time?

As for our ally in Jiangnan, let them fend for themselves!”

“If you’re inclined, help them hold out a little longer.”

By this time next year, once we’ve finished with Goryeo, our khanate will march on Great Yu to relieve them.”

Sarina said calmly.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help—right now, the Tatar court’s forces were stretched thin.

Launching a major war along the border would risk exposing their weakness to the Yu.

Given the hatred between them, any opening would trigger a Yu counterattack.

Don’t be fooled by the Liaodong Garrison’s frequent laziness—if they see a chance to cripple us, they won’t hesitate.

“Maintaining enemies to strengthen oneself” doesn’t include enemies that have gone out of control.

“Enough. Both of you are pillars of the court—don’t quarrel over such trivial matters.”

We never signed a formal alliance with the Bai Lian rebels—there’s no military obligation.”

If we can help, we’ll lend a hand.

Right now, distant aid can’t solve immediate problems—let them hold on for now.”

Just like last time—once they hold out until our next southern campaign, they’ll reclaim everything they lost—and more!”

Seeing the tension flare, Hulugijile immediately halted the argument.

He was already satisfied having seized Liaodong and become the steppe’s dominant power.

Conquering the Central Plains was merely a political slogan to attract Yu defectors.

With only the Tatars’ small population, they’d be instantly drowned in the vastness of the Central Plains.

No matter how fierce their army, their people number only so much.

Maintaining a hundred-thousand-strong army was already the result of reckless militarism.

To expand further, first grow your population.

The last deep incursion into Great Yu’s heartland seemed to yield endless plunder—but in truth, it was a catastrophic loss.

More than ten thousand warriors permanently remained on Great Yu’s soil.

A few more such campaigns, and we wouldn’t know if Great Yu fell—but the Tatars would be wiped out first.

That last war made the Tatar high command realize Great Yu was still powerful—too powerful for them to swallow.

Only after the war did they shift their strategic goal to invading Goryeo.

…

(End of Chapter)