Chapter 506: Great Strength

Hong Chengchou did indeed relocate, but not to avoid Liu Chengzong.

Truth be told, Lord Hong felt wronged — he kept thinking that if he didn't relocate, the people of Liangzhou would kill him.

Although the southern offensive had stalled and Yang Jiamo had been defeated and killed on the northern route, shattering the strategy of attacking in the south while defending in the north, and the situation in Gansu had deteriorated to an unprecedented degree, Hong Chengchou still believed he could turn the tide.

The key to turning the tide lay not in Shandan, Yongchang, or Zhenfan, but in Liangzhou.

Because those three garrisons could not be held.

Holding them was impossible. All three garrisons did have troops — though none were at full garrison strength — but counting fortress defenders, there were still over ten thousand banner troops in total. This was because the farmland was vast, and the garrisons of eastern Gansu paid close attention to conscription; without enough banner troops, the land could not be farmed.

But the Shaanxi rebellion-suppression campaigns had been fought for five years. The capable commanders and elite soldiers of every garrison had long since been transferred into Shaanxi, and even those who survived a hundred battles had been reassigned to other armies. The banner troops left in the garrisons now were the old, the weak, the sick, and the crippled — men who had been screened several times and still not selected.

What's more, the countless forts and castles had been so thoroughly infiltrated by White Lotus followers that they were like sieves. To Hong Chengchou, counting on these places to defend against Liu Chengzong was worse than kowtowing and begging Heaven to strike Liu the Lion dead with a thunderbolt.

Yang Jiamo had already proven to Hong Chengchou that on the battlefield, it was very difficult to defeat Liu Chengzong head-on by military means.

Liu Chengzong had too many positive advantages.

Don't assume that because Hong Chengchou was a court official, he casually called the Shaanxi uprising leaders bandits in both official documents and private — having served in Shaanxi so long, he actually understood better than those leaders themselves why they had become bandits.

Precisely because Hong Chengchou knew this so clearly, he understood all the more how terrifying an anomaly like Liu Chengzong was.

What did government troops rely on to suppress bandits? Righteousness.

What was righteousness? Righteousness was that roving bandits plundered the countryside.

Did roving bandits plunder the countryside? Did they kill people's parents? Did they seize people's wives and daughters? They plundered, they killed, they seized!

That was enough. Never mind how the bandits came to be — plundering, killing, seizing was simply unacceptable. That was why government troops were unstoppable in suppressing bandits.

Government soldiers were also boys from ordinary families, their hearts were also made of flesh. When a general gave the order and soldiers charged or fired their guns and cannons regardless of who stood opposite, that was the general's strict discipline and shrewd command — not the soldiers being heartless wretches who cared only for promotion and riches.

But what kind of freak was that Liu Chengzong?

Did he plunder the countryside? He did not. Did he kill people's parents? He did not. Did he seize people's wives and daughters? He did not.

Even when dealing with wealthy households, he maintained a merciful heart that seemed out of place in chaotic times — confiscating their land and wealth, sentencing only the few evildoers to execution, releasing all the rest where possible, and never bringing calamity upon their families.

Even soldiers who faced him in battle — they fought to the death on the field, but once the fighting ended, their armor and weapons were stripped. Those willing to surrender surrendered; those unwilling were courteously escorted away, and if they had money on them, they were even given traveling expenses.

This one fact alone: no city Liu Chengzong passed through was ever left in ruins.

After entering Qinghai, he even turned himself into a hero. He recovered Hami, abandoned for a hundred years. The Northern Barbarian Khan died on his territory. The sea bandits were driven by him into Ü-Tsang.

Fighting him — for troops like Yang Jiamo's, who fought to the death with outside soldiers, you could at least say there was prior enmity with the Ganzhou troops, and such cases were rare. A normal army doing no worse than holding formation against him was already good enough. Even if defeated and routed, if someone like Li Hongsi came scurrying back with his tail between his legs, in Hong Chengchou's eyes — a fine general!

Liu Chengzong was the enlightened lord that the starving soldiers and famished people of the great Shaanxi drought had called forth with a thousand cries and ten thousand pleas. Even a loyal minister and fine general without the slightest flaw, the moment he stood opposite Liu Chengzong, became the clown in an opera.

How were government troops supposed to suppress that? How were they supposed to fight that?

Under these circumstances, as early as when Liu Chengzong was still bogged down beneath the walls of Gaotai, locked in stalemate with Yang Jiamo, Hong Chengchou had already made his assessment: Gansu could not be held.

But the worse situation was this: Gansu could be lost, but Gansu and Hehuang must not be linked into one contiguous territory. If they linked up, what was lost would not be Gansu alone.

If it were truly the Tartar Khan who had invaded Gansu, there would be nothing much to fear — simply seal the Yellow River and look for a chance to retake it. But the one invading Gansu was Liu Chengzong. Out here in the west, he was far from home and could only use half his ability. Once he returned to Shaanxi, the mere Long Mountains could not contain him.

By then, the border might well be the banks of the Yellow River in Shanxi.

Hong Chengchou had no hope at all of driving Liu Chengzong back, so he wrote a letter to the Emperor.

In the letter, he did not shy away from the possibility of military defeat in Gansu, but simply explained truthfully the situation they faced and what he planned to do under those circumstances.

His intent was to do his utmost this year to keep Liu Chengzong west of the river, and to preserve for the Great Ming one last city in Gansu — Liangzhou.

At the same time, he hoped that Chen Qiyu, the Five-Province Supreme Commander, would seize this opportunity to completely annihilate the one hundred thousand rebels drawn by the Marshal's Manor to the western section of the Qinling Mountains. He planned to mobilize forty thousand border troops from Ningxia and Yulin, aiming to fight again in Gansu the following spring — the odds of victory were very high.

The Chongzhen Emperor's reply carried no reproach, only encouragement.

The reason was simple: Chongzhen strongly agreed with Hong Chengchou's view that Liu the Lion must not be allowed to return to Shaanxi... This year — this was a good year, an absolutely good year for the Chongzhen Emperor.

From the start of spring after the new year, reports from various parts of Shaanxi to the court said that light rain had fallen here, and light rain had fallen there. By mid-year, light rain had fallen everywhere in Shaanxi.

These places were still suffering drought, but the drought conditions had significantly eased this year.

The truly deadly drought was confined to four places.

The first was the Hehuang, Qinghai, Gansu, and Lanzhou region that Liu Chengzong had occupied and was currently attacking. The second was Tianjin Garrison, where not a drop of rain had fallen all year and the harvest was completely ruined. The third was southern Shanxi, where the drought was even worse than the previous year. The fourth was Yunnan.

And there were three other places suffering deadly flooding.

The first was the Hanzhong region, where one hundred thousand peasant soldiers were massed. The second was Yanzhou in Shandong. The third... the third had little to do with the Chongzhen Emperor — Shenyang.

This year's disaster situation put Chongzhen in an extraordinarily good mood. He saw the first glimmer of hope for surviving the famine years. Of course, it was foreseeable that military pressure would be greater this year — Hong Taiji, Liu Chengzong, and every rebel king would be going mad.

Chongzhen could distinguish the urgent from the important. Hong Chengchou's letter made him realize that Liu Chengzong, who had become a real power in the northwest, was the mortal threat to the dynasty. By comparison, even Hong Taiji beyond the passes had to take a back seat.

In all the world, there was only one mad dog who dared to raid three thousand li deep into the Great Ming heartland and face down massive Ming army formations — Liu Chengzong. Hong Taiji could not pull off such a thing.

Those two were on completely different paths. If Hong Taiji breached the border walls to invade, the Manchu soldiers would naturally grow fiercer with every battle. If they lost, returning to their flood-ravaged homeland meant death; staying in the Great Ming, with their shaven heads, also meant death. They could not stay.

Even if they seized a city, the common folk inside would take up firelocks to shoot at them, and even without firelocks, they would find ways to poison the wells — killing one was one gained.

Liu Chengzong was different. Entering the Great Ming heartland was a glorious homecoming. Winning a battle meant he could directly absorb the defeated troops. This was called having done great deeds beyond the passes and summoning his fellow provincials to come and enjoy the fruits.

When the Ming army fought him, more fled than died in battle, more surrendered than fled, and the people of the cities he absorbed simply felt that this old Shaanxi man was going home — just live well and don't provoke him, and that was that.

Even if he lost, he could casually raise a banner and there would be several thousand more peasant soldiers.

If you let this creature return to Shaanxi, a catastrophe would occur.

This was the true mortal threat.

So Chongzhen accepted all of Hong Chengchou's proposals without reservation and let him proceed freely. As long as Liu Chengzong was not allowed to take all of Gansu, as long as north and south were not linked, starve him for one winter, and when the harvest improved the next year, there would be no place for Liu Chengzong under heaven. Reorganize the army and build up military strength, and destroy him.

As long as Shaanxi's agriculture recovered even slightly and internal disorder was quelled, a mere Gansu, one corner resisting an entire nation — was that not something that could be overturned with a flip of the hand?

Having received the Emperor's encouragement, and upon hearing the news that Yang Jiamo had set himself alight at Gaotai, Hong Chengchou immediately began preparing the defense of Liangzhou with grave seriousness.

The key to victory or defeat in this campaign was Liangzhou — to be precise, not the city of Liangzhou itself, but the farmland outside it.

The reason Hong Chengchou dared to make such a judgment was that he had started his career as Grain Supply Commissioner in Shaanxi and was thoroughly familiar with military grain transport. Although Liu Chengzong had swept all before him, in Hong Chengchou's eyes, every step Liu the Lion took eastward brought him one step closer to defeat.

He was calculating Liu Chengzong's troop strength, baggage, recruited surrendering troops, occupied territory, subject population, and the grain yield of the land. In the end, man is guided by his stomach.

Even if Liu Chengzong won ten thousand victories on the battlefield, even if the war he launched during the farming season had no impact on the agriculture of the Jiuquan and Zhangye oases, even if he suffered no transport losses moving grain within Gansu —

As long as he could not seize this year's autumn grain from Liangzhou, his army provisions would simply be insufficient. No matter how you calculated it, insufficient.

What could Hong Chengchou possibly do to keep Liu Chengzong from getting his hands on Liangzhou's autumn grain? Nothing.

So he didn't set up a second line of defense at Shandan or Yongchang to block Liu Chengzong at all. Instead, he directly ordered the common folk on the Wuwei oasis to harvest the wheat more than ten days early. At the same time, he enforced a scorched-earth policy across the hundred-li radius of the Wuwei oasis. His plan was to dump the old, weak, sick, and disabled from the Shandan and Yongchang garrisons and the surrounding forts right into Liu Chengzong's lap.

Liangzhou, you see — its main crop is this wheat. As the saying goes, "Lesser Heat turns the barley yellow, Greater Heat makes the barley swell." In other parts of the north, the wheat is basically all harvested by Lesser Heat, but in Liangzhou, the rush-harvest window is right around the sixth month.

Harvesting ten days early means a considerable drop in yield compared to a normal harvest.

Hong Chengchou's scorched-earth operation was extremely rushed, because he had zero confidence in the Shandan and Yongchang garrisons. His calculation was: one garrison city would delay Liu Chengzong for two days; the forty-plus forts along the way would delay him for four days; then five days of marching to reach the walls of Liangzhou city.

He raced against that timetable to carry out the scorched-earth policy, relocate the civilians, and set up the city's defenses, making Liangzhou city as impregnable as a fortress of metal.

Hong Chengchou's defense plan was, by his calculations, absolutely foolproof.

First, on the Wuwei oasis, he ordered every household to make a family placard. On it was written: the family surname, the given name of each person, their age, their complexion — whether ruddy, yellow, dark, or pale — any scars, pockmarks, or missing limbs, and the number of men, women, and grandchildren in the household. Liangzhou garrison cavalry rode out to every location to verify the information. Once verified, they collected the family placards and issued official permits, with the agreement that when the time came, they would enter the city through the four gates.

Those living outside the East Gate could only enter through the East Gate; those living outside the West Gate could only enter through the West Gate. At the same time, they had to dismantle their homes. Anything that could be used for firewood was moved into the city; anything that couldn't was torn down on the spot. All grain, firewood, livestock, household goods, stoves, chests, cabinets, and stone materials were to be moved into the city in their entirety.

Beyond that, aside from family members and deeply trusted servants, all vagrants, hired hands, and the elderly and young requiring care who had arrived within the last three years were expelled from the city. Those willing to leave went together, migrating with the civilians outside the city who had no winter grain, heading toward places like Songshan and Ningxia Central Garrison.

Furthermore, strict rules were set for the grain in the city's official granaries. The granaries would not be opened; they would save people from death, but not from hunger. Wealthy households with surplus grain were required to lend out all grain beyond what they needed for their own consumption. Poor households were guaranteed by the authorities to receive loans of grain, but they had to repay it the following autumn — borrow ten, repay thirteen. Those who failed to repay would have the authorities pursue double the amount.

The defensive equipment and the defending troops within the city were also fully prepared. On the inner side of every battlements, a name was written, assigning one combat soldier and two civilian militiamen to defend it. Among the civilian militiamen, two patrol officers were selected for every fifty men, specifically tasked with investigating any breaches of discipline in the city's defense.

The meal arrangements below the walls were also prepared. The defenders had to be well-fed and warm; it was enough if the women and children could simply survive. They were divided into groups of twenty per cook-stove. In the morning they ate wheat-flour food, in the afternoon they ate dry cooked rice, and at the third watch they ate wheat-flour food again.

All remaining miscellaneous matters, Hong Chengchou had also prepared for, compiling them into booklets and distributing them to the defending troops. He attended to every detail, no matter how small, with one single goal: to make Liangzhou city impossible to take.

By then, for a hundred li in every direction, there would be no grain. To the north was the desert; to the south were barren, arid mountains and bald ridges. They would either have to transport provisions and siege equipment from over a hundred li away, or retreat back to Ganzhou. They couldn't possibly spend the winter camped beneath the walls of an impregnable city, could they?

Heading south was also impossible. The Gulang Gorge was a narrow place. If Liu Chengzong tried to push through, Hong Chengchou would dare to cut off his rear and sever his supply lines. The same logic applied if he bypassed Liangzhou and headed east.

And on top of that, there were those ten-thousand-plus mouths to feed in Shandan and Yongchang. Hong Chengchou was especially looking forward to Liu Chengzong's arrival, just to see the expression on his face when he saw Liangzhou turned into a barren wasteland.

Weren't you always proclaiming that you love your soldiers like sons and care for the common people, making us legitimate court officials look like villains and clowns?

Fine. With no grain, I'd like to see how you put on that act this winter.

Whether he cares for his troops but not the people, or cares for the people but not his troops, or can't care for either — no matter what, the cornerstone of Liu Chengzong's ever-victorious popular support would be destroyed. By next spring, they'd be gaunt and starving. Then the border troops from Ningxia and Yulin, who'd had a decent harvest this year, would be transferred over. By then, Liu Chengzong would either die in Gansu, or obediently flee beyond the frontier to play king.

Hong Chengchou had calculated every detail with exquisite precision. What he never, ever expected... was that Liu Chengzong, at the very peak of his army's morale, would forcefully hold his troops back and squat in Ganzhou for a full fifteen days.

Lord Hong thought to himself: How does he dare?

He had meticulously calculated the provisions. Liu Chengzong's grain for this winter was insufficient. And with Hehuang just sitting there, wasn't he the least bit anxious? He should be leading his army in a frantic rush to attack Liangzhou.

Hong Chengchou had calculated everything with crystal clarity, but he had missed one thing: the possibility that Liu Chengzong simply wouldn't advance.

Those fifteen days were, in his original calculations, the exact time it would take for Liu Chengzong's army to reach the Liangzhou garrison.

And now, look. The fifteen days were up, and Liu Chengzong was still squatting in Ganzhou as if laying eggs, having merely sent a wagon battalion to take over the Shandan garrison.

The civilians outside the city had already harvested their fields early, torn down their houses and courtyards, and moved their rations, belongings, livestock into the city. The straw had been set ablaze. Everyone was rallied and ready, just waiting to defend the city — and you don't come.

You don't come. How the hell am I supposed to explain this to the people?

Hong Chengchou wasn't afraid of Liu Chengzong. Truly. Others might fear this battle-hardened warlord who rampaged across the northwest, but he wasn't afraid in the slightest. Because even if he lost, even if he was captured, what would Liu Chengzong do to him?

He wouldn't even need to nod in surrender. Liu Chengzong would have to treat him with courtesy and respect, and would even have to find people to persuade him, right?

Wined and dined and well-treated. I, Hong Hengjiu, have never done anything bad. I'm a great talent, the Supreme Commander of the Three Borders. All the bad things were done by those two scoundrels, Bai Guang'en and Cao Wenzhao.

That Cao Wenzhao slaughtered those who surrendered — he was like that back in Shanxi, before he ever served under me. And Bai Guang'en, needless to say, was led astray by Cao Wenzhao. Besides, that was your roving... your righteous army's internal conflict. It has nothing to do with me.

Ultimately, Liu Chengzong had never punched him in the face, and Hong Chengchou was also certain that Liu Chengzong wouldn't punch him... He knew Liu Chengzong very well — a scholar-general, benevolent and righteous, never indiscriminately killing the innocent.

So what was there to be afraid of? Nothing.

But he was afraid of angry commoners. Because the angry commoners of Yan'an Prefecture really had beaten him up. The moment they heard about tax collection, they set up a homemade cannon outside the yamen. Yang Yanchang couldn't stop them. His rank-badge official robe was torn to shreds like a mop, and damn it, even his official hat was sent flying by a slap. A complete loss of scholarly dignity!

Now, the farmers of Liangzhou city, who had suffered losses from harvesting their wheat ten days early, saw that Liu Chengzong hadn't come during the proper harvest season. Each and every one of them was furious and resentful. That familiar atmosphere from the city of Yan'an Prefecture years ago was back.

Actually, compared to the simple, honest folk of Yan'an Prefecture, Liangzhou didn't have that atmosphere where every household had muskets and cannons and a warm, hospitable temperament. But Viceroy Hong couldn't care less about that. What did the ancestors say? A gentleman does not stand beneath a crumbling wall.

His official hat falling to the ground — that was acceptable.

But his official hat absolutely, under no circumstances, could be sent flying again by a slap from some muddy-legged peasant. Those farmers had way too much strength in their hands!

Good evening!