Chapter 602: Besiege the Point, Strike the Reinforcements

"Duan Fuxing, ah…"

In the newly built encampment beneath the walls of Fengxiang Prefecture, Liu Chengzong studied the battle report carefully.

Seeing how Duan Fuxing had burned the tower and embraced death, Liu Chengzong's heart was calm yet tinged with a trace of complexity.

There was admiration and regret, but also a certain pleasure in having helped a man achieve his noble end.

He did not think Duan Fuxing had done wrong, nor did he consider Duan Fuxing a madman — quite the opposite, he even felt a sense of mutual sympathy.

In essence, they were both born in the Great Ming, received the same education, and though their official ranks differed in height, both were scholars of the Great Ming — only circumstances had set them on different paths.

This small difference clearly did not prevent Liu the Lion from understanding Duan Fuxing's actions.

In his eyes, Duan Fuxing's manner of death was resolute and brutal, yet this was not a bad death — it was the best death he could imagine.

Duan Fuxing, a mere scholar, had won official rank, received court office and title, drawn the Emperor's salary — he was a court-appointed official, his wife and mother both granted titled ladies, he had pursued distinction and enjoyed wealth and glory.

With the rebel army bearing down, was he to cling to a wretched life?

When the state is broken and the family ruined, with no power to turn back the heavens or reverse the sun, a scholar still has one final answer to fall back on.

This was precisely the fate he pursued.

The proper destiny.

Liu the Lion specifically summoned a Feathered Forest rider carrying brush and ink, handed over the battle report, and said: "Record this: Duan Fuxing, Grand Coordinator of Shaanxi in the Great Ming, defended Qianzhou, died in battle when the city fell… He who exhausts his way and dies — that is the proper destiny."

Having spoken, he added one more line: "The matter of his corpse being desecrated — do not record that."

After the city fell, Yang Guodong, the newly surrendered Assistant Regional Commander under Shi Xiang, had immediately searched for Duan Fuxing's whereabouts, and upon learning he had died in street fighting, retrieved the corpse and hacked it to pieces to vent his fury over the envoy who had been flogged to death, even presenting the head to Zhang Xianzhong.

But the battle report Zhang Xianzhong had specially sent to Liu Chengzong made no mention whatsoever of Duan Fuxing's corpse being desecrated.

If not for the battle report Shi Xiang had sent over on Wang Wenxiu's side for comparison, Liu Chengzong would never have known of this situation — for this reason he had even dispatched a man with a letter to Zhang Xianzhong to inquire about the matter.

Had this corpse-desecration business fallen on anyone else, Liu Chengzong would not have asked.

After all, the whole sequence of events was perfectly clear — Yang Guodong was a fairly straightforward man, a grudge for a grudge, a grievance for a grievance, the deed was done and that was that.

Shi Xiang was still a bit lacking in a sense of security, daring not conceal the slightest detail in his battle report, and had reported everything truthfully to Wang Wenxiu.

In itself this was no great matter — asking or not asking, speaking or not speaking, made little difference either way.

What Liu Chengzong instead perceived in this affair was that this brigade commander Shi Xiang actually got along rather well with the newly surrendered Assistant Regional Commander Yang Guodong.

The two of them, one facing upward and one facing downward, one handling internal matters and one external, complemented each other perfectly as a team — who knew, they might really manage to squeeze the Lintao Brigade up from a third-line unit into a second-line unit of the Marshal's headquarters.

Still, since Zhang Xianzhong had kept silent, Liu Chengzong had to ask.

After all, one could hardly blame Liu the Lion for the expectations he held of Old Zhang — they had sunk all the way down to his toes, he simply did not treat the man as normal.

If Zhang Xianzhong did not volunteer the information, Liu Chengzong would never even think in the direction of whether he was being honest or not.

He had frantically sent a man with a letter, thinking to himself: Zhang Bingzhong, just don't you go eating Duan Fuxing on me, and that'll be enough!

As it happened, just as Liu Chengzong had finished having Duan Fuxing's deeds recorded, the courier returned bearing Zhang Xianzhong's letter.

In truth, when Zhang Xianzhong saw Liu Chengzong's letter inquiring about Duan Fuxing's corpse, his heart was rather conflicted: once again, it was not what he had imagined!

Ever since Zhang Xianzhong had submitted to the Marshal's headquarters, his greatest hobby had been trying to figure Liu Chengzong out.

Were it not for the fear of being misunderstood as an informer plotting rebellion, he would even have gathered his old subordinates in a small room and held regular councils to study Liu Chengzong.

Yet sometimes all the figuring was useless.

Just like this matter of Duan Fuxing — Zhang Xianzhong could not figure out whether Liu Chengzong would ultimately like it or hate it.

Because Zhang Xianzhong had experienced it himself: he had seen a Great Ming county magistrate defend a city to the death, costing him many of his own men — that magistrate had to be killed, but after killing him, his heart was deeply conflicted: such a loyal and righteous man, how fine it would be if he were one's own subordinate?

So he had no way to figure out Liu Chengzong's view on this matter — it was dynamic; Liu the Lion might think the killing was well done today, and tomorrow think it was poorly done.

Therefore Zhang Xianzhong had very cleverly prepared for both possibilities: on one hand, he readied a lime-wood box for holding the head, so that the moment the skull was placed inside it could be sent by express delivery; on the other hand, he sought out the army's leatherworker, gathered Duan Fuxing's remains, and with a single order could restore the body to its original state.

Then he sent Liu Chengzong a battle report recounting his merits, making absolutely no mention of Duan Fuxing's corpse, intending to make his choice based on the attitude of Liu Chengzong's reply.

Never in his wildest dreams did he expect that Liu the Lion would once again defy convention, his reply asking directly: What has become of Duan Fuxing's corpse?

Duan Fuxing was now like Schrödinger's cat, oscillating between being whole in all five limbs and being hacked into ten thousand pieces — how on earth was Old Zhang supposed to answer that?

He could only steel himself and tell the truth: Whatever the Grand Marshal wishes Duan Fuxing to be, that is what he shall be.

The moment Liu Chengzong read this letter, he guessed eight or nine parts out of ten, and his heart was immediately at ease — he flicked the letter and muttered to himself: "As long as he hasn't been eaten, that's fine."

Inside the central army tent, Wang Wenxiu, who was directing a painter to sketch enemy dispositions on the map, heard him muttering but could not make out the words, so he asked: "Grand Marshal?"

Liu Chengzong shook his head, set the letter down with a beaming smile, and told the courier: "Go back and tell Minister Zhang that I want Duan Fuxing buried in Qianzhou. Tell him not to waste time — once it's done, bring the troops to Fengxiang at once…"

Just as they were speaking, Wang Wenxiu had already finished directing the painter in completing the map of the area around Fengxiang Prefecture, placing wooden plaques marking troop strengths one by one onto the map — the sight of it made Liu Chengzong's mind grow hazy with confusion.

He could not make sense of it at all — what on earth were the Ming forces entrenched west of Fengxiang Prefecture trying to do?

During the time he had led the army in shifting from Xi'an Prefecture toward Fengxiang Prefecture, Wang Wenxiu and the Ming forces had clashed in over a dozen minor engagements around Fengxiang Prefecture, and had basically figured out most of the Ming unit designations.

At present, Baoji, Sanguan, Long'an, and even Longzhou to the north were all filled with Ming encampments, gathering over thirty thousand men from Changping, Yunnan, Sichuan, Ningxia, Yansui, and other regions — Wang Wenxiu alone could accurately name the commanders of six camps.

But it was precisely here that Liu the Lion found the greatest cause for bewilderment.

He turned and stared at the map, reached out to point at several Ming encampments, and asked Wang Wenxiu: "What are these people trying to do — besiege my point and strike my reinforcements? Have they gone mad?"

Besieging the point to strike the reinforcements is a simple and effective tactic.

Ordinarily, executing this tactic is straightforward: surround the weak to draw in the strong, achieving the aim of stretching, pinning, and annihilating enemy forces while preserving one's own key strongholds.

But above and beyond this lies one fundamental condition: one must first hold the campaign initiative — that is, possess comprehensive intelligence and confidence in the speed of annihilation.

First, one must have the deterrent power to swiftly annihilate the besieged force; second, one must have the capability to smash the relief force — only then is it feasible to carry out besieging the point to strike the reinforcements.

Liu Chengzong reckoned that if the large Ming force had thrust itself into Fengxiang Prefecture on its own, and if they had arrayed in imposing formation and fought a positional battle, Wang Wenxiu's ten thousand troops would naturally be no match.

But the problem was that Wang Wenxiu was holding a strong city — to say nothing of the Ming army lacking the deterrent power to swiftly annihilate Wang Wenxiu, even if Liu Chengzong himself were to attack, he would have no confidence of success either.

Secondly, the Ming army's intelligence on the east, even if not entirely nonexistent, amounted at best to hearsay.

As the saying goes: a hundred riders scattered wide can envelop ten thousand; a thousand riders scattered wide can fill a hundred li.

Across the three-hundred-li Qin River plain in the western part of the Guanzhong Plain, a full seven thousand Mongol cavalry were dispersed across the tablelands pasturing their horses — every village, every vital road lay under their surveillance.

A large Ming force driving them off would naturally be a simple matter, but for a small party of messenger cavalry to pass silently across the Guanzhong tablelands — that was undoubtedly the foolish dream of an idiot.

Under these conditions, besiege a point and strike the reinforcements?

Liu Chengzong would sooner believe the Ming army was parading its might, trying to sell itself for a good price and hoping he would come to pay their wages, than believe they were here besieging Luo Rucai while delusionally plotting to strike his reinforcements.

After all, Lion Liu now had formidable strength, and still held a bunch of newly surrendered troops he could throw onto the front lines to prove their loyalty — he feared neither a Ming assault on his cities nor a Ming field battle.

There was only one thing that, whenever Liu Chengzong thought of it, made his face show dread. He asked Wang Wenxiu: "They've camped in the west... they wouldn't be... thinking of surrendering to me, would they?"

Wang Wenxiu, who had held Fengxiang Prefecture alone facing thirty thousand Ming troops without fear, turned green the moment he heard the Grand Marshal's words. He hastily shook his head: "No way, right? No, it shouldn't be. Marshal, you're overthinking it."

Fengxiang Prefecture was the Marshal Army's great grain-storage camp for this eastern campaign. Wang Wenxiu managed both military and civil affairs; every bit of grain and fodder Lion Liu possessed passed through his hands.

Right now the Marshal Army was crouched like a tiger in Guanzhong, flaunting its might, but no one knew better than Wang Wenxiu that they were outwardly strong but hollow within.

Originally, Fengxiang Prefecture had ample stored grain. The income from the Ever-Normal Granaries everywhere and from seizing grain from wealthy households had nearly caught up to the Marshal Manor's total income from the previous year.

It was enough to sustain forty thousand Marshal Army troops until winter.

But with two victories in the east came nearly twenty thousand extra mouths to feed, plus marching rations issued to Li Zicheng and Zhang Yichuan's nine battalions. Now, for Fengxiang's grain to support this even more bloated army corps, even stretching it to the end of the seventh month would leave them barely scraping by.

In particular, when Wang Wenxiu met with Lion Liu and discovered that the Marshal had once again sent Bee-Tail Needle Zhang Zhen back to his home region to recruit surrenders and rally rebels — even as young and robust as he was, his heart clenched and spasmed as if about to fall ill.

As one of the several top generals in the Marshal Manor closest to Liu Chengzong, Wang Wenxiu had more than once heard from Liu Chengzong's own mouth his assessment of the surrendered troops from Gansu.

He had said their territory was too small and their production capacity too weak; even if they conquered Gansu, they could not afford to feed the tens of thousands of surrendered Gansu troops, and would ultimately be pushed by the army itself toward an uncontrollable direction.

But later their territory expanded, and the dire Gansu prophecy never came to pass.

Yet now, here in Guanzhong, Wang Wenxiu felt that prophecy was drawing closer and closer to them.

Liu Chengzong, however, had only spoken offhandedly. His sole fear was that his grain reserves would not be enough to eat. At present, the Ming army's encampment west of Fengxiang Prefecture was quite methodical, and did not look at all like a posture of laying down arms to surrender.

Seeing Wang Wenxiu's tension, Lion Liu chuckled lightly, then straightened his expression and said: "I think they have something more urgent to do. What matter could be more important than annihilating Luo Rucai in Baoji City?"

Following this line of thought, Wang Wenxiu asked: "Army rations?"

Liu Chengzong slowly nodded: "They must be running short on grain and fodder, wanting to stake everything on one throw... How long will our army rations last?"

"Eaten clean by the seventh month. Too many surrendered troops, hard to sustain."

This answer was a bit hard for Wang Wenxiu to voice. He proposed: "Marshal, the most urgent task is to break through Xi'an City. Otherwise, in two months at most, our army will be drinking the northwest wind."

"Oh?"

Liu Chengzong turned his head and looked at Wang Wenxiu in surprise: "You didn't read the letter I sent you carefully? Wei Qian'er sent back word — there isn't much grain in Xi'an City. Chen Qiyu moved all the grain into Tong Pass."

Having said this, he raised his hand and pointed on the map to the northern part of Xi'an Prefecture: "Right now, the places with grain are Pucheng, Tongzhou, Hancheng, and other areas on the north bank of the Wei River. Attacking Xi'an is pointless... We need to make Chen Qiyu move the grain back out of Tong Pass."

"Even if he doesn't move it, we have to hold out until the autumn harvest. Only then will Huazhou and other places in Weinan have grain and fodder available."

Astonishment flickered in Wang Wenxiu's heart. He asked: "How do we make him move it back?"

"That depends on Li Zicheng and Zhang Yichuan's skill. If they stir up enough trouble in Henan, and our threat here in Guanxi lessens a bit, he will naturally weigh the two harms. Sooner or later, he'll have to move the grain back to the seat of Xi'an Prefecture."

"In any case..."

Lion Liu no longer looked at Xi'an Prefecture, but fixed his gaze solely on Fengxiang, and said: "Our grain stores are larger than theirs. Let's first see what kind of scheme they're cooking up!"

As the commander's will was transmitted to every camp of the Marshal Army, over the course of three days, the Marshal Army and the Ming army settled into a standoff in Fengxiang Prefecture.

No envoys were exchanged, nor did either side initiate an attack. Only the patrol cavalry came and went along the riverbank, shooting at each other, infiltrating, skirmishing, and withdrawing.

Yet what was bizarre was that these intensifying small clashes never managed to escalate the fighting. Whenever the Ming army tried to cross the river from the south bank of the Wei with a large force exceeding a hundred men to pursue the Marshal Army's patrol cavalry on the north bank, vast swaths of patrol cavalry would retreat like the tide under the cover of Mongol horsemen.

Not the kind of gradual retreat the patrol cavalry used when preparing to encircle and annihilate, but a heedless, reckless contraction of the defensive line.

On the first day, Zuo Liangyu kept his composure.

On the second day, he could no longer bear it.

On the third day, receiving yet another report that the Marshal Army would not respond to challenges, Zuo Liangyu was so furious that he smashed everything in his tent that could be smashed.

Their prearranged battlefield was the north bank of the Wei River, because the south bank held Baoji City, and no one could say for certain whether Luo Rucai inside the city would dare to spring out during a pitched battle.

And the north bank also had a problem: in a tactic of launching a surprise attack on Liu Chengzong, cavalry on the south bank would find it difficult to maneuver quickly. So they needed to use gradually escalating clashes as a pretext to slowly shift their forces to the north bank.

Otherwise, if their intention to invite battle was too obvious, they feared making Liu Chengzong grow wary and defensive.

But now, just their luck — the Marshal Army simply refused to escalate the fighting. The meaning was plain: if you want to cross the river, don't do it in small groups. I'll cede the riverbank to you entirely. Cross directly in a large group, and I'll kick you into the river while you're halfway across.

Only a fool would cross the river under those conditions!

"Retreat, retreat, retreat — that's all they damn well know how to do!"

Zuo Liangyu cursed furiously in his tent and summoned a household retainer: "Go ask Cao Wenzhao — our army has only seven days of rations left. Are we damn well fighting this battle or not!"

The retainer had just left when Luo Rucai's daily dose of cursing was delivered.

Luo Rucai, inside Baoji City, had fought everyone in Kangning and found no equal, relying entirely on a piece of personal instruction from Liu Chengzong: in war, you must think from the opponent's perspective. Whatever the enemy wants to do, you must not let him do it; whatever the enemy does not want to do, you must force him to do it.

Luo Rucai also had no idea what the Ming army's intention was, surrounding him with over thirty thousand men, but it was very clear they did not want to attack the city.

So ever since discovering that Zuo Liangyu did not dare assault the city, Luo Rucai had adopted the attitude of 'I am your ancestor,' shooting letters out of the city by arrow every day. The letters contained nothing else — just cursing.

Whenever any Ming commander below the walls was recognized, Luo Rucai had men let loose and curse them with full abandon, from their ancestors down to their descendants. The spirit of it all could be summed up in a single word: coward!

If you don't dare attack my city, you're a coward!

When had Zuo Liangyu ever been cursed at like this, with fingers pointed right at his nose?

Already in a fit of rage, he immediately slammed his palm on the desk: "To hell with it! Tell Cao Wenzhao, Ai Wannian, and Long Zaitian — I want to assault the city. We'll kill that Cao Cao Luo inside the city first to consecrate our banners!"