Chapter 375

Anqing Prefecture.

“General, you must make a decision!”

Hearing his private secretary’s urging, Fang Mochuan plunged into intense inner turmoil.

Being sent here to guard Anqing, he was undoubtedly among the innermost loyalists of Fu Haoxuan.

From humble origins to his current rank, his own boldness in battle was key, but Fu Haoxuan’s favor was equally vital.

Deep down, he truly appreciated Fu Haoxuan’s trust and had once resolved to give his life for this emperor.

But people change, and loyalty has its expiration date.

Having grown accustomed to wealth and luxury, returning to a life of hardship, uncertainty, and day-to-day survival was simply too hard.

“General, even if you don’t think of yourself, think of your sons and daughters!”

When they evacuated the capital, that man personally ordered the execution of all imperial princes and consorts.

It’s said even court officials were forced to dispose of their own families.

The green-robed secretary drove the knife home.

With all these family members in tow, let alone breaking out, the logistics alone would crush the army.

It’s not scarcity they fear, but inequality.

If the emperor fled with his family but forbade soldiers to bring theirs, morale would collapse—there’s a real risk the troops would mutiny.

Fu Haoxuan ordered the execution of princes and consorts; now his subordinate officials were backed into a corner.

If the emperor abandoned his family, why should they be any different?

Wu officials stationed in Nanjing had no choice—any refusal at that moment meant instant decapitation.

But commanders like us, stationed far from the capital, are different—the emperor’s forces haven’t arrived yet, and we still hold the initiative.

Fang Mochuan couldn’t bear to abandon his wife and children; neither could the other officers under him.

Once the two armies joined and the northern campaign began, everyone’s families would be doomed.

At least until the northern expedition achieved some success, these Wu remnants couldn’t possibly feed so many dependents.

“Your Majesty, I am sorry!”

As he spoke, Fang Mochuan bowed three hard knocks to the ground toward Nanjing.

The blood on his forehead revealed how agonizing this decision had been.

“Contact the imperial troops—I’m willing to negotiate!

I don’t want any official title.

I only ask the court to pardon our crimes and let us keep a few acres of land to live out our days in peace.”

After a long silence, Fang Mochuan said slowly.

His spirit was broken; even the desire to serve in office had faded.

Seeing this, the green-robed secretary felt no dread—only joy.

Accepting imperial amnesty is not like founding a new dynasty.

The older your leader, the less ambition he has, the more likely he is to survive.

If you demand too many conditions, even if the court agrees now, they’ll settle accounts later.

“General, you could still redeem yourself—if only you…”

Before the secretary could finish, Fang Mochuan cut him off.

“Say no more.

This is absolutely out of the question!

When we captured Nanjing, the northern barbarians ravaged the land—I urged Fu Haoxuan to launch a full-scale northern campaign then.

He was swayed by those scholars, chose to crown himself emperor in Nanjing, missed the best opportunity, and brought this disaster upon us.

Accepting amnesty is about securing a path to survival for the soldiers and civilians inside the city.

But if I betray my old lord, then what am I but a traitor?”

Deep down, he knew full well that to earn the court’s trust, he must offer a substantial token of loyalty.

The most valuable token now was unquestionably Fu Haoxuan himself.

If he could capture him—or bring back his head—all past offenses would be forgiven.

Even to set an example, the court would reward him with high rank and wealth.

But that inner barrier, Fang Mochuan could never cross.

He would rather face suspicion after amnesty, even be punished by the court, than commit such a treacherous act.

“General, your integrity is noble!”

The green-robed secretary bowed deeply in respect.

In these chaotic times, men with such principles were few and far between.

Even if one couldn’t follow such a path, it didn’t stop others from admiring it.

…

Nanjing City.

After Fu Haoxuan’s forces withdrew, imperial troops swiftly took control of this city of immense political significance.

Reclaiming Nanjing should have been a great triumph, yet Wuyang Marquis could not muster any joy at the sight of the burning ruins.

Once-grand halls and pavilions had all turned to ash, leaving only broken walls and collapsed foundations.

Even the cobblestone streets were cracked, as if whispering of the recent catastrophe.

“Viceroy, most major buildings in the city have been burned to the ground; the former government offices are now rubble.

We’ve only found a few relatively intact civilian homes—would you be willing to temporarily reside there until the offices are repaired?”

Zhuang Chenyang asked softly.

“What’s there to complain about? Even the worst lodging is better than a tent.

But now, with the populace terrified, we must avoid stirring up chaos.

Issue orders: postpone all repairs to government offices.

First, post notices to calm the people’s hearts.”

Wuyang Marquis ordered, his face grim.

Where he lived wasn’t the issue.

The problem was Nanjing’s current state—this mess would fall squarely on his shoulders as Viceroy of Jiangnan.

The Great Yu Dynasty had no funds to rebuild Nanjing; restoration had to be funded locally.

Jiangnan was wealthy, but it had been shattered by war.

He’d once feared civil officials would swoop in to claim credit after Nanjing’s recapture—now, that moment would likely be delayed.

It wasn’t just Nanjing that had been ravaged; the entire Jiangnan region lay in ruins.

Remnant rebel bands still roamed freely, ready to rise again at any moment.

In such a complex situation, only a firm hand could restore order.

Sending down a few Provincial Governors or Administration Commissioners wouldn’t help—they’d likely be killed before even arriving.

Aside from the empty-talking moralists, all major court factions disliked fighting uphill battles.

Knowing full well there was a trap, stationing one’s own men there was political murder.

The old ruling foundation had been destroyed; the new local political ecosystem had yet to form.

From the current situation, at least several months of harsh crackdowns would be needed before order could be restored.

“Your orders, my lord!”

Zhuang Chenyang replied at once.

Having a sensible superior made work easy.

Just after a battle, when everyone was shaken, doing nothing was the best choice.

Alongside stabilizing the region, another critical task was to swiftly eliminate Fu Haoxuan’s forces.

Rebel armies were resilient—unless the tumor was excised quickly, no one could guarantee it wouldn’t flare up again.

“Viceroy, the Duke of Cheng has sent word:

The Anqing garrison commander, Fang Mochuan, has accepted amnesty—but he refused to lead his troops in a surprise attack on Fu the Rebel.

The Duke invites you to meet and discuss the coming major campaign.”

Upon hearing this, Wuyang Marquis frowned.

The amnesty of Anqing’s garrison should have been his initiative as Viceroy of Jiangnan—but the Duke of Cheng’s men had beaten him to it.

As a senior noble, though he entered the scene later, his influence still couldn’t match that of the old-guard nobility.

Even with the most elite army in Great Yu, he was still overshadowed in this campaign against Fu Haoxuan.

Even though he commanded the most elite troops of Great Yu, he was still outmatched in this campaign to crush Fu Haoxuan.

Tell the messenger: I’m hosting a banquet tonight in the city—I hope the Duke of Cheng will grace us with his presence.”

Wuyang Marquis said after a moment’s thought.

Gaining the upper hand was nearly impossible—without Li Mu, his most formidable ally, his military prowess couldn’t rival the Duke’s.

His subordinates were smart—they wouldn’t get involved in the squabbles of great men.

Even if they had opinions, they’d only voice them privately.

At the military meeting, it would be the two lords’ stage—no one dared contradict them.

At the military meeting, it was the two senior leaders’ domain, and no one dared to contradict them.

This is a deep-rooted ailment of the Daxu officialdom, a problem every dynasty has faced.

When the gap in status reaches a certain point, matters are decided entirely by the superior’s word alone.

While Li Mu was in charge, he could mediate this conflict, primarily because of his battlefield achievements.

On military matters, everyone was willing to listen to him.

In fact, Li Mu was fortunate to have left early.

If he had stayed until now, he would have been caught in the middle and equally helpless.

Because the war is nearly over, the coming struggle for influence is about the postwar distribution of benefits.

Once core interests are involved in officialdom, no one’s face matters anymore.

Even Li Mu himself, if he wanted others to support his claim to Annan, would have had to trade in benefits.

Only equal exchanges can sustain this political alliance.

At this point, the Wuyang Marquis must now confront the Chengguo Duke.

How much of the cake each faction gets in the coming great battle depends on the negotiations between the two.

Only after the senior leaders have settled their talks can the final strike against Fu Haoxuan be launched.

Of course, such negotiations are merely preliminary drafts; whether they can actually swallow the meat depends on the subordinates below.

Decisions from above merely provide opportunities for those below to earn merit.

Whoever is assigned a task and fulfills it according to military orders earns corresponding battlefield merit.

If one has the ability, and after completing one’s own task, seizes another’s merit, that is skill.

If one lacks ability and fails to complete the assigned task, no matter how powerful one’s patrons, it has nothing to do with battlefield merit.

The overarching principles were already agreed upon by the four titans of the noble faction back in Guangzhou.

While strengthening their own factions, this is also how the noble faction selects talent.

After the great war ends, the next struggle will be between civil and military officials.

If the subordinates are all useless, it’s all over.

Compared to the civil official camp, the noble faction has far fewer members.

Only if the subordinates can fight hard battles and firmly hold military power can they contend with the civil official camp.

The more leverage one holds, the stronger one’s voice will be on the imperial court in the future.

…

The capital.

“Your Majesty, good news!”

“Good news!”

“The Wuyang Marquis and the Chengguo Duke have jointly sent a victory report: imperial forces have successfully recaptured Nanjing, and Fu fled in panic.”

“Imperial forces are now pursuing the remnants, planning to annihilate their main force along the Yangtze River.”

“…”

When Wang Yifeng finished speaking, the court officials erupted in excitement.

The censors who had been preparing to impeach him for disrespect before the throne now joined the celebration.

“Recapturing Nanjing” carried immense political weight.

When Nanjing fell, many officials had already prepared for the fall of Daxu; some had quietly made escape plans.

Emperor Yongning’s decision to heavily promote the noble faction gained widespread support largely because loyal Daxu officials wanted to take a gamble.

A series of subsequent victories pulled this crumbling dynasty back from the brink.

Now, recapturing Nanjing is a major political triumph.

As long as no major chaos follows, the restless hearts across the land will soon be calmed.

The realm is still Daxu’s realm; they are still the masters of this nation.

“Good!”

“Good!”

“Good!”

Emperor Yongning uttered three “good”s in succession, tears streaming down his face from excitement.

For the past few years, he had walked on eggshells, terrified that a single misstep would make him a deposed monarch.

It wasn’t that he was pessimistic— the situation was simply too dangerous.

He had read history; Daxu’s signs bore too many similarities to those of fallen dynasties.

Disasters, both natural and man-made, had never ceased; it all looked like the Mandate of Heaven was ending.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty!”

“Imperial forces have recaptured Nanjing; the rebel Fu is now a locust in autumn, with only a few days left to leap.”

“With the Jiangnan campaign over, the realm’s situation is now stable!”

Wan Junhui said, his expression alight with emotion.

It was truly hard-won—the situation had reversed so quickly.

For this trembling, unlucky Grand Secretary, recapturing Nanjing was unquestionably a political gift.

When Emperor Yongning first promoted the noble faction, he had strongly supported it; he deserved his share of the credit.

If they could now completely annihilate the rebel Fu, it would be perfect.

With the realm stabilizing, more officials would seek promotion; he could then gracefully step down as Grand Secretary.

Leaving voluntarily was a different matter entirely from being driven out.

As for building merit and achieving lasting fame, let someone else handle that.

He had tried it himself—he was not cut out for it.

There were too many factions in court; the number of officials who sabotaged was many times greater than those who got things done; integration was far too difficult.

“Hah…”

“Recapturing Nanjing is indeed worth celebrating.”

“But now is not the time to relax—Rebel Fu has not yet been fully eradicated.”

“The rebellions in Shanxi and Sichuan are also thorny problems.”

“And then there are the ambitious Annanese and the watchful northern barbarians—peace is still far off!”

Emperor Yongning listed the current crises facing Daxu in one breath.

Internal unrest caused the greatest damage, but was relatively easier to resolve.

External threats lasted longer and had plagued generations of Daxu emperors—they could not be solved overnight.

“Your Majesty, once Jiangnan is recovered, the court’s finances will rapidly improve.”

“With money, everything becomes easier.”

Gu Jiaxi said with a smile.

All of Daxu’s problems, when summed together, boiled down to one thing—lack of money.

“Grand Secretary Gu, you are too optimistic.”

“Jiangnan has just suffered war; the destruction must be severe.”

“In the short term, don’t expect it to provide tax revenue—even covering administrative expenses would count as competent local governance.”

“From the current situation, the only thing we can rely on is the salt tax from the Two Huai regions.”

“But after the rebels’ devastation, no one knows how much can still be collected.”

Pang Chengjie, disregarding the setting, immediately began complaining.

This Minister of Revenue was famously known as the “Complaining Minister of Revenue”—whenever money was mentioned, he would leap up to cry poverty.

(End of Chapter)