Chapter 372: Sea Storm

Compared to the cries of anguish from the Vietnamese camp, the interior of Zhennan Pass presented an entirely different scene.

The last time he encountered such a foolish enemy was years ago, during the suppression of the rebel forces.

The rebel army, just having raised its banner, lacked military common sense and blindly threw away their lives in reckless attacks.

Over time, the rebel forces, tempered by blood and fire, were no longer the naive newcomers they had been.

Under the same circumstances, they might pay the tuition fee once or twice, but never a third time.

He never imagined that after several years, he would again face such a low-level opponent.

As the defender, he already held the advantage; facing a rookie opponent, defeat was nearly impossible.

“Marquis, the day’s battle results have been tallied.”

Preliminary estimates suggest we inflicted at least three thousand casualties on the enemy.

Too bad the Annamese retreated too quickly—otherwise, our tally would have been even better!”

Feng Jingxing spoke with visible regret.

Opportunities like this, where you gain an easy advantage, don’t come often.

The enemy’s high command isn’t stupid—they’ll learn from their losses.

“You fought well.

Write a battle summary afterward, analyzing every gain and loss from this engagement.

All officers above the rank of Company Commander must write their own reports.

Platoon Leaders and Squad Leaders may dictate their summaries.”

As Li Mu finished speaking, the previously jubilant officers instantly deflated.

Most of the officers present had risen from humble origins.

Their literacy was mostly acquired within the military, and their cultural level was painfully low.

If Li Mu hadn’t established the rule that one must master three thousand commonly used characters to be promoted to Company Commander, most of them would still be illiterate.

Learning ability declines with age.

Relying on them to study independently was pure fantasy.

“Marquis, this battle was entirely due to enemy stupidity—we’re unlikely to face such a situation again, so there’s nothing worth summarizing.

Why not skip it altogether?”

Li Sanqi, Commander of the Guilin Left Guard, couldn’t help speaking up.

As a rough-and-tumble type, he had once learned three thousand Chinese characters in ten days, causing a stir among the personal guards.

Even Li Mu had thought him a learning prodigy—until he got to know him and realized the man was simply obsessed with promotion.

Driven by the lure of advancement, he had displayed extraordinary learning ability.

But such ability came quickly and vanished just as fast.

After being promoted to Company Commander, his efficiency in studying military tactics and formations plummeted.

His rise to the position of Guard Commander was half due to battlefield bravery, half due to good birth.

His ancestors for eight generations had served the Li family, and he had grown up as Li Mu’s personal bodyguard.

“Get out!”

“Your duties are doubled—besides the battle summary, add a self-criticism.

Submit it tomorrow; I’ll inspect it personally.

If your reflection isn’t deep enough, you’ll regret it!”

As he spoke, Li Mu kicked him.

Loyal subordinates are easy to cultivate; capable generals are easy to cultivate.

But finding men who are both loyal and combat-effective—that’s the problem.

In terms of officer quality alone, his core commanders were indeed inferior.

Influenced by their limited education and perspective, they viewed problems in simplistic terms, lacking strategic vision and a broad operational outlook.

Their only advantage was obedience—they did exactly as Li Mu ordered.

“Your servant obeys!”

Li Sanqi replied bitterly.

If he’d known this would happen, he never would’ve spoken up.

Personal inspection wasn’t something you could fake with a half-hearted write-up.

He couldn’t even hire someone to write it for him—Li Mu knew exactly what his level was.

With the minor incident over, the atmosphere in the command tent brightened.

With Li Sanqi as the sacrificial lamb, no one found the summaries difficult anymore.

Studying the terrain map on the sand table, Li Mu realized he had arrived too early.

Between Guangxi and Annan, there was only one road suitable for large armies—and it was precisely blocked by Zhennan Pass.

Zhennan Pass was small, with limited maneuvering space; twenty thousand troops could easily fit inside.

The local Guangxi forces couldn’t even all be accommodated within the pass.

To ease logistical pressure, the reinforcements he brought could only be temporarily dispersed across various garrisons.

The enemy would find it hard to attack, and so would they if they tried to advance out.

“Send orders to the Yunnan Provincial Governor’s office to strengthen defenses along the Annan border.”

After a moment of thought, Li Mu issued the order slowly.

Annan had only two routes to invade Great Yu:

Either break through Guangxi, or open a front in Yunnan.

After being repelled at Zhennan Pass, the enemy—unless utterly foolish—wouldn’t choose to force a frontal assault.

Three thousand casualties may sound small, but this was only the first day of battle.

Though Annan’s resources were considerable, they couldn’t sustain such losses.

Transportation in Yunnan was even worse than in Guangxi.

As long as the defenders were prepared in advance, the enemy would find it nearly impossible to gain any advantage.

…

The first rays of morning sunlight fell upon the earth, but the Vietnamese camp was heavy with gloom.

“My loyal ministers, who among you will lead the vanguard?”

Hu Xinbo asked, frowning.

It was simply inexcusable—they couldn’t even volunteer for battle; he had to ask outright.

“Hmph!”

Seeing no response, Hu Xinbo’s anger reached its breaking point.

Though he was a new ruler with limited influence in the army, he was still Emperor of the Great Yue Dynasty.

This behavior from his generals was a clear snub.

“Your Majesty, we lost our siege cannons yesterday, and all other siege weapons suffered heavy damage.

The troops are now busy manufacturing replacements; perhaps we should delay the siege for a while.”

The veteran general Shi Yufeng replied nervously.

As a seasoned commander, he had firmly opposed the campaign against Great Yu.

Whether the envoy was detained or border clashes occurred, he saw them as nothing more than warnings from the Great Yu Emperor.

If they truly intended to wage war, they should have waited until internal rebellions were crushed before launching a southern campaign.

“Without cannons, can’t we besiege a city?”

“I recall how much you all praised the White Lotus rebels’ tactic of digging tunnels.

If a band of heretics could do it, surely the Great Yue Army can learn from them?”

Hu Xinbo couldn’t help questioning.

He didn’t know much about actual warfare, but he understood finances.

Since the war began, the Great Yue Dynasty had been spending gold like water.

So much so that the Minister of Revenue avoided him entirely, fearing he’d be asked for more funds.

Losing heavy siege cannons meant months of waiting for new ones to be forged and transported from the rear.

He couldn’t just let the army sit idle for months, doing nothing, just waiting for cannons.

If they retreated at every obstacle, he estimated it would take another three to five years to capture Guangdong and Guangxi.

“Your Majesty is wise; we are foolish.

I shall immediately order tunnel-digging to capture Zhennan Pass as soon as possible!”

General Chen Jingfu promptly stepped forward to agree.

He didn’t care whether Zhennan Pass’s terrain suited tunneling.

He had been granted a chance to redeem himself after defeat only because he was the Emperor’s favorite.

He hadn’t responded immediately earlier because he didn’t know how to attack.

Now that the Emperor had proposed a plan, he’d try it—no matter how implausible.

After all, tunneling was mostly hard labor; even if it failed, few soldiers would be lost.

“General Shi, you will lead your troops in a feint attack on the city to cover General Chen’s tunneling and the eventual detonation to breach the walls.”

Hu Xinbo issued the order coldly.

Though he disliked Shi Yufeng, he had to admit that this veteran general was the top military figure in Great Yue.

During the reign of the late emperor, nearly every major foreign campaign was led by him.

The combat effectiveness of his troops ranked among the highest in the Great Yue Empire.

Launching this war served not only his own ambitions but also aimed to seize military control.

During this process, any general who dared oppose him became a target for purge.

Yet Hu Xinbo was rational—he knew his roots in the military were still shallow, and this was not the time for rash action.

Still, it was feasible to opportunistically weaken these opposition factions.

“Your servant obeys!”

Knowing he was being targeted, Shi Yufeng could do nothing.

The emperor was playing an open strategy.

Feint and main assault were two different concepts—the former clearly told him to merely put on a show.

If the main force suffered heavy losses during the attack, it would be due to the commander’s poor leadership.

But even putting on a show had limits; at the very least, the appearance of force must be maintained—you couldn’t just shout orders from kilometers away.

To fool them, soldiers still had to charge forward.

Our side had no fire support, while the enemy’s artillery was devastating—once we neared the city walls, casualties would be heavy.

Even if each assault cost dozens of men, over time the losses would mount.

It was like cutting flesh with a dull knife—each slice was small, but the pain never stopped!

…

Haiwang Island.

Flickering yellow candlelight swayed in the dilapidated wooden hut, casting shadows on the wall, making the three large characters “Yi Yi Hall” stand out starkly.

Pirates sat around a cracked wooden table, the air thick with saltiness and tobacco smoke.

The pirate leader wore tattered black robes; the long scar across his face looked even darker under the dim light.

“Brothers, we just received word—the Annanese and the court have gone to war.

Today, I, Zhu, have called you here to make a big haul.”

Zhu Zhongxuan slammed his fist on the table.

Even though he had made up his mind deep inside, he still hesitated as the moment arrived.

Annan was no small nation; raiding it would carry grave risks.

“Are you planning to raid Quanzhou, Boss Zhu?”

The gray-clad man asked grimly.

They operated year-round along the Fujian coast; if they were to strike big, Quanzhou was the most convenient target.

As a vital maritime trade port of Great Yue, Quanzhou gathered goods from across the empire—pulling off one raid could equal decades of effort.

“The court’s campaign against Annan is for justice.

I, Zhu, am a true man—how could I undermine the court at such a time?

Besides, Quanzhou isn’t easy to raid.

Not only are the local garrison troops formidable, but even if we succeeded, where would we sell the loot?

Once the court gets serious, coastal merchants won’t cooperate with us.

We’d haul back a pile of goods with no way to sell them—do you expect us to ship them ourselves to Luzon?

I still owe fifty thousand taels in bounty there; those red-haired devils would eat me alive!”

Zhu Zhongxuan spoke with bold confidence.

Pirate gangs fell into two categories.

One consisted of those persecuted by officials or gentry, whose families were mostly wiped out—they were the unattached type.

They had no moral limits, harbored deep hatred toward the court and gentry, and frequently committed crimes.

The other were coastal fishermen who turned to piracy out of desperation.

Because they had ties to home, they left room for mercy and generally avoided provoking the court.

They usually robbed far from their villages and sometimes even aided their neighbors, who in turn shielded them.

In an era when imperial authority didn’t reach the countryside, as long as they didn’t cause chaos, local officials turned a blind eye.

The pirates invited here today were mostly of the latter type.

“Boss Zhu wants to raid Annan? That’s not our territory!”

The scholarly man beside him frowned.

Pirates had their own territories; crossing into another’s domain was a grave taboo.

Competition among rivals was one thing, but unfamiliar sea routes risked accidents.

“Scholar, you’re sharp—you saw right through my plan.

Correct, this time we’re raiding the Annanese.

I’ve received reliable intelligence: the Annanese king has mobilized his entire army to invade Guangxi, leaving his homeland defenseless.

The accumulated wealth of a nation over centuries—how vast it would be, you all know.

Pulling this off would save us twenty years of struggle.

Here is the maritime chart of Annan—it marks every reef and island, even includes detailed weather notes.”

As he spoke, Zhu Zhongxuan spread the chart across the table.

The pirates crowded around, studying the chart’s markings, their inner fire burning brighter in the dark night.

“Boss Zhu has prepared well—it seems fate has doomed the Annanese king.

But before we act, we must first eliminate the Annanese navy—only then can we proceed freely.

Will the court send its navy to clear the way for us?”

The white-robed scholar ventured.

True, now was the best moment to raid Annan—but having the chance didn’t mean acting.

Usually, at such times, even if everyone had ideas, they’d act secretly.

Few would summon so many rivals to join, let alone share a chart.

“Hah…”

“The Annanese navy? Not worth a thought!

If the court’s navy wipes them out, all the better; if not, it won’t matter.

Besides us, fellow pirates along the Zhejiang and Guangdong-Guangxi coasts will join this feast.

The Guangdong-Guangxi Viceroy’s office has secretly spread word: all raids on Annan are now legal.

In other words, everything we plunder from Annan can be openly sold in Guangdong and Guangxi.

We might even exchange Annanese heads for weapons and ships from the authorities.

This news won’t take long to spread through the circles.

I suspect coastal merchants will also organize forces to join.

If we’re late, we won’t even get a sip of broth!”

As Zhu Zhongxuan finished speaking, the smoke in the room grew thicker; the pirates fell into deep thought.

Everyone knew that once the court made such a promise, many would be tempted.

For pirates, raiding wasn’t the hardest part—the real trouble was selling the loot.

No matter how valuable the goods, they meant nothing until sold.

Pirates thrived because powerful coastal clans operated secret black markets for fencing stolen goods.

Big pirates had strength and some bargaining power; small and medium ones were completely at the mercy of others.

Getting even three-tenths of the goods’ true value was considered lucky.

If they met a ruthless buyer, they’d be offered one-tenth—and had to accept it.

What could they do? These clans controlled not only the fencing networks but also the coastal shipyards.

To grow strong, they had to buy ships and weapons from these very people.

Even as pirates, they remained the serfs of powerful clans, enduring their exploitation.

…

(End of Chapter)