Chapter 588: A Model Unit

Zu Kuan was suffering in silence.

The cavalry battalion he led, formed from three thousand Liao troops, had Canjiang Zu Dale as its commander — once a model unit of the Ming army in Liaodong.

During the Ningyuan Mutiny in the first year of Chongzhen, when the thirteen Ningcheng battalions rose up over four months' back pay, swearing blood oaths under their officers, only this Liao horse battalion sat tight and stayed put.

They were not only good at enduring hunger when pay was in arrears, but could still maintain strict military discipline: at Luanzhou and Yongping during the Jisi Incident, they defeated the Later Jin; when suppressing Wuqiao Mutiny ringleader Li Jiucheng, though outnumbered and nearly routed by the rebels, after a brief withdrawal and with reinforcements, they still regrouped, fought, and won, ultimately besieging Li Jiucheng to his death in Dengzhou — battle honors blazing.

But honor doesn't fill the belly.

From beyond the passes to within, from Hebei to Henan, every place was barren of grain. When there was fighting, they could still reap spoils; when there was none and supplies ran thin, it was inevitable that some soldiers would desert, extort, pilfer, or even plunder on their own — burning houses, violating women.

And though Zu Kuan rose fast in rank, he came from rough stock and shared his men's hardships best. When his soldiers starved, he felt it in his own gut. He never put on the bureaucratic airs of noble-house generals, and having seen and heard plenty in Liaodong, he knew full well that his official authority rested entirely on the army he led.

So most of the time, when soldiers clashed with locals, he would stiffen his neck and shield them. The temper of the age was slowly shifting — in national crisis, one longs for good generals; military men's status kept rising. Caught between punishing by law and shielding his own, those jinshi-bred magistrates and prefects could not outface Zu Kuan.

The paper impeachments against him, weighed against their battle honors in a climate of broken army supply, amounted to nothing much.

Though his reputation for lax discipline spread, when battle came, this battalion would fight all the harder for Zu Kuan, laying down their lives with stubborn ferocity.

Until they garrisoned at Yunyang.

The Grand Coordinator of Yunyang was Lu Xiangsheng.

On the surface, this man was a Grand Coordinator from the regular two-tier jinshi track; in practice, when he trained his strength, he could swing a hundred-and-forty-catty great saber like a blur. Even veteran-turned Zu Kuan was no match for his power. In fact, Yunyang's five hundred guard troops were utterly unfit to protect their Grand Coordinator — on the contrary, on the battlefield they needed their saber-dancing, horse-charging Grand Coordinator to protect them.

Conditions in Yunyang Prefecture were no better than anywhere else.

Before Lu Xiangsheng took office, the previous Grand Coordinator was Jiang Yunyi. Roving bandits had taken six counties in a row; beyond sending up pleas for aid, he had no recourse. When relief troops came — the eunuch Chen Dajin and Zuo Liangyu — because they had women in camp, the Military Defense Vice Commissioner Xu Jinglin suspected they were bandits and fired cannon on them.

Jiang Yunyi was dismissed, and Lu Xiangsheng took over. His first act in office was likewise to request relief troops.

Court transfer orders were always lagging. When Lu Xiangsheng petitioned the court for aid, Gao Yingxiang, Li Zicheng, and Zhang Xianzhong were passing through Yunyang in waves, heading for Shaanxi, breaching cities and plundering goods and wealth beyond measure along the way. At that moment, Yunyang's most urgent need was relief troops.

But after that, Gao, Li, Zhang, and the rest had long since fled into the great Qinling mountains to neighbor the Marshal's headquarters. Yunyang Prefecture had only small bands of thieves still on the prowl, and was struck by the double blow of drought and locusts. The most pressing mission had shifted from defending the territory to pacifying the people.

Yet relief troops came in wave after wave: the Guanning Army led by Zu Kuan, Zu Dale, and Li Chongzhen; the Zhen'gan Army led by Yang Zhengfang; the Mao Troops led by Lei Shisheng; plus the guard troops Lu Xiangsheng had raised to keep internal order — a dark mass of over ten thousand soldiers gathered in Yunyang.

The old problem left on its own; a new problem arrived on its own.

Tiny Yunyang — where was so much grain to come from?

Lu Xiangsheng strained every nerve, devising the "Ten Deliberations and Eight Regulations" strategy to secure the territory, pacify the people, and soothe the populace.

The Ten Deliberations were: deliberating on settlement and growth, establishing local troops, planning reconnaissance and defense, deliberating on fortifications, setting up village mutual-defense, speeding postal relay, preparing stores and reserves, planning mutual aid, encouraging village braves, and regulating armaments. The Eight Regulations were: deferring levies, diligently repairing buildings, opening up mountain and marsh resources, punishing false accusations, banning corvée abuses, broadly recruiting land reclamation, relieving merchant households, and strictly controlling courier services.

At the same time, he reduced and remitted taxes, repaired city walls, borrowed rice seed from Huguang, and recruited merchants to mine copper and mint coin.

With this set of policies, the common people of Yunyang could barely stay alive, but Yunyang's grain reserves were also exhausted — it was simply impossible to support troops.

So Zu Kuan ran out of grain on his third day in Yunyang. He knew perfectly well that his soldiers were normal men: miss one day's food, and they'd be out plundering cured meat from farm folk. This was nothing new to him, and he had long since developed an effective method for dealing with local officials: preemptive bluster.

The moment the grain ran out, Zu Kuan went to Lu Xiangsheng's yamen to demand an explanation.

In the past, this method had worked well. If the local official could produce grain, the clamoring soldiers naturally wouldn't riot; if he couldn't, then when word of the soldiers' looting came, the official would have no face to seek out Zu Kuan and demand he punish his men by law.

After all, that was the general climate. If Zu Kuan strictly punished every soldier who stole a chicken or pilfered in the dark, this battalion would probably be down to a few companies by the time it reached Yunyang.

This was also Zu Kuan's way of self-preservation. He had to make his soldiers see that his existence mattered — that they were grasshoppers on the same string, that he could find grain, take the blame, shoulder responsibility. Otherwise, far from bleeding beside him in battle, the soldiers would riot and kill him first.

He never imagined that this tried-and-true method would be useless against Lu Xiangsheng.

Lu Xiangsheng opened the empty granaries, took the last rice and grain from his own yamen kitchen and boiled it into congee, summoned the soldiers to take a mouthful each, then moved into the camp and starved alongside them — until three days later, when borrowed grain and fodder from Huguang arrived. Then he executed the few soldiers who had privately looted and burned civilian homes.

No matter how great the temper of the Guanning Army's arrogant officers and fierce soldiers, they could do nothing against a man like Lu Xiangsheng.

So what could you do? You're starving — he has no food and won't eat either. You're angry — scaring him is useless. And you can't even resort to brute force, since you can't beat him in a fight anyway. Zu Kuan didn't even dare raise his voice in front of Lu Xiangsheng, terrified of giving rise to an anecdote about "the Grand Coordinator beating up the Regional Commander." They just had to starve together.

Thus Lu Xiangsheng earned Zu Kuan's utmost loyalty. He helped him discipline the troops, so that the Guanning Army endured hunger in Yunyang while doing its utmost not to trouble the locals.

In the months garrisoned at Yunyang, Zu Kuan transformed from a rough-and-tumble fighter into a master of painting rosy pictures. All day he told the soldiers, "Once we march out, it'll be fine." Once they marched, he said, "Once we beat the bandits, it'll be fine." Once they beat the bandits but seized little booty, he said, "Once we get to Shaanxi, it'll be fine."

Now they were truly in Shaanxi, and the supply line was a wreck — even worse than in Yunyang.

In Yunyang Prefecture, at least Lu Xiangsheng looked after them. The army grain wasn't enough, but Lu Xiangsheng was always racking his brains to find more.

Now, though, grain from Huguang couldn't get through. Their troops had already reached the Wei River, while the Ministry of War's Huguang Bureau Director in charge of escorting supplies in the rear had only just entered Yunyang Prefecture — he moved slower than Zu Kuan's grandmother on her last legs.

The Ministry of Revenue's Shaanxi Bureau was even more absurd. He asked Xi'an Prefecture for grain, and the clerk sent from Xi'an city told him the grain had already been transported to Tong Pass.

Zu Kuan was quite pleased at first, thinking the Ministry of Revenue was surprisingly reliable — they knew he'd come to Shaanxi and specially shipped grain from Henan.

Only after asking around did he learn, ah... the army grain had been shipped from Xi'an Prefecture to Tong Pass, all right. They'd never prepared army grain for them here at all — they were actually afraid the grain and funds would be seized by Liu Chengzong inside Xi'an city, so they sent it all to Tong Pass.

Zu Kuan, this rough old soldier, counted on his fingers again and again: he and Liu Chengzong's scout cavalry were just a single arrow-shot apart, yet his own supper was three hundred and fifty li away.

As for the grain inside Xi'an city — even less possible. Liu Chengzong's vast, sky-spanning army was camped at Maoling, whispering secrets with his clansman Liu Che, inquiring about the local customs and conditions of Xi'an Prefecture.

The Marshal's army was a mere sixty li from Xi'an city. The city was counting on them to face off against Liu Chengzong along the Wei River line; they dared not let them inside the walls. At that moment, the city was shipping them grain, but even if it arrived, it would be the day after tomorrow.

Clearly, Zu Kuan was fated to miss this supper.

But the Guanning Army couldn't wait. Zu Kuan had painted them too many rosy pictures; if he didn't deliver soon, he'd probably end up like the previous Relief Campaign Regional Commander, Deng Qi — jumping off a city wall. Today, the soldiers had to eat. The south bank of the Wei River was the final boundary for maintaining their discipline.

So Zu Kuan could only go with the flow — cross the river and go foraging for grain at once.

As for any court punishment or blame afterward, no one could afford to worry about that. At worst, it was a misunderstanding: according to reliable intelligence obtained by the Guanning Army, the counties on the north bank had already surrendered to the bandits.

They had to have surrendered to the bandits. Even if they hadn't, they had.

Only, Zu Kuan leading his troops to plunder made life miserable for Yang Zhengfang, who commanded the Zhen'gan troops.

Yang Zhengfang hailed from a powerful clan in western Hunan. His ancestor was Yang Han, Marshal of the Chenzhou loyalist army at the end of the Yuan dynasty. He held the hereditary office of Assistant Commander of the Yuanzhou Guard in Chenzhou Prefecture. His father, Regional Commander Yang Guozhu, had died in an ambush during the Bozhou Campaign.

In the fourth year of Tianqi, at the age of twenty, Yang Zhengfang inherited the post of Assistant Commander. He subsequently earned battle honors with his Zhen'gan troops during the She-An Rebellion. This year, at just thirty, he had already attained the rank of Deputy Regional Commander — a renowned warrior of Huguang.

At first, Yang Zhengfang felt no fear of Liu Chengzong invading Guanzhong. He had crossed blades with both Gao Yingxiang and Zhang Xianzhong in Huguang. The Yunyang mountains, crisscrossed with rivers and dense forests, were the Zhen'gan troops' home ground — anyone in that kind of terrain would be beaten black and blue by them.

But when the Liao troops crossed the river and followed Zu Kuan to forage for grain, Yang Zhengfang began to feel a bit lost.

Because whether it was the Zhen'gan troops or the Mao Hulu troops, both were mountain infantry adept at scouring peaks, plunging into valleys, and crossing hills and streams. As two battalions formed from specialized troop types, though they indeed possessed independent combat capability, their organization included only a small horse contingent for scouting — even their sentries were infantry.

And the north bank of the Wei River was a vast, flat tableland. To say it offered no defensible terrain was no exaggeration.

Within fifty li of their encampment, the only place that could be called a "mountain" was Emperor Wu of Han's grave mound.

What was more terrifying was that this one and only "mountain" was already occupied by Liu Chengzong, who was right there whispering secrets with his own old ancestor, inquiring about the local customs of Guanzhong.

The moment Zu Kuan led his troops away, Yang Zhengfang made two preparations. He ordered the Zhen'gan troops to dig trenches and set horse traps on the spot, while sending word to Lei Shisheng on the south bank of the Wei River: don't rush your troops across yet — hurry up and send over the chevaux-de-frise.

Besides that, he also had Lei Shisheng report to Lu Xiangsheng, who was urging troop provisions in the Shangluo Circuit, requesting — based on the current situation — to first halt the advance and withdraw to the southern bank of the Wei River.

But time-wise, that was clearly too late, because Liu Chengzong's encampment was closer to the front line.

Regarding the matter of the Liao troops arriving at the battlefield one moment and running off to loot the next.

Both Liu Chengzong and Zhang Tianlin were deeply shaken.

In truth, Zhang Tianlin had never felt much sense of belonging to the official post of Grand Marshal's Mansion Staff Officer. Though his personal guard troops carried banners and sounded bugles day in and day out, swaggering about, in his subconscious he had never felt he had truly returned to the army as an officer.

Comparatively, he felt more like a camp chief under the big boss Liu Chengzong, nicknamed 'Grand Marshal,' with himself nicknamed 'Grand Camp Staff Officer.'

Because whether it was merging camps with Liu Chengzong during the Lion Camp period, or later entering Qinghai together with the Yu-character Camp, until they became the Grand Marshal's Mansion... Zhang Tianlin was first a merged-camp leader, later a camp commander directly subordinate to Liu Chengzong, and he had grown accustomed to organized plundering of great households and powerful families. He was used to it.

So he still thought of himself as a roving bandit chief, and the biggest change brought by throwing in his lot with Liu Chengzong was simply turning his subordinates into well-trained roving bandits.

As it turned out, the fake camp chief ran into real soldier-bandits.

He just brooded: My five-thousand-man grand camp is only half a shichen's march from you, and you fucking went straight to looting?

That's not even treating me as a person!

Zhang Tianlin sank into deep self-doubt: Do I just look too kindly?

Liu Chengzong was even more baffled by this news. He thought: Xingping and Xianyang haven't even surrendered to me yet — these guys are completely ignoring the standard playbook!

It wasn't that he was mentally unprepared for Ming troops plundering the countryside. In fact, he knew that as soon as Ming troops reached Fengxiang Prefecture, they would certainly loot the area. After all, Fengxiang Prefecture had already surrendered to the Grand Marshal's Mansion, and the rural populace had been registered into households — they were targets the Ming troops could plunder without any psychological burden.

But the moment these Liao troops crossed the river, they ignored Zhang Tianlin, who was right under their noses, and directly bolted off to loot villages in the county outskirts under Ming governance. This didn't just defy imagination — the key thing was, it made no logical sense!

Acting like this, weren't they afraid of being punished?

For a time, Liu Chengzong suspected this was a decoy tactic by the Liao troop commanders, a feint meant to lure Zhang Tianlin's main force into splitting up, so they could use the Liaodong cavalry's equipment advantage to destroy them piecemeal.

But war is a process of tactical gambits where both sides counter each other's moves. Liu the Lion couldn't tie his own hands over uncertain speculation either. True or false, he'd have to fight it out first — just prepare one extra contingency plan, that's all.

So his order to Zhang Tianlin was: ignore the Liao camp that had split into two routes, concentrate forces first to annihilate the main Ming force that had crossed the Wei River, have Zhang Tianlin bide his time and wait for the right moment, while he himself would lead two grand camps and arrive at the battlefield within two shichen.

Zhang Tianlin didn't hesitate either. Receiving the order, he thought, what's there to bide time for? Two battalions of infantry just standing there — isn't that a posture begging to get beaten anytime, anywhere?

The grand camp dispatched troops at once. Zhang Tianlin ordered Vice General Zhao Zhirui to lead two thousand cavalry straight at the enemy formation, using the Scattered Stars Formation to encircle the enemy troops, while he himself personally led the camp's central army — three thousand infantry and cavalry combined, with thirteen cannons large and small — slowly pressing forward.