Chapter 367

Jiang Mingyu slightly lifted his chin, his eyes sharp as he scanned the surroundings. His brows were slightly furrowed, his lips tense, fingers occasionally tapping the table as if pondering military strategy. The officers stood rigid, faces solemn, awaiting their commander’s orders.

Seeing no further objections, Jiang Mingyu raised his right hand and swept it lightly through the air, his voice deep: “Issue orders: the main force remains in camp. Send five hundred elite troops, under He Jing’s command, fully armed, to stir up noise before Xiongzhou City.”

His tone carried unwavering resolve, each word ringing clear. The officers nodded in understanding, faces grim, immediately saluting in response.

“Go. Prepare swiftly. Follow my orders!” Jiang Mingyu frowned, his voice leaving no room for doubt.

The officers chorused their assent once more, then filed out of the tent in sequence, swiftly organizing their men to carry out the commander’s command.

“Has Feng Dudu sent any recent reports on grain transport?” Jiang Mingyu turned to the staff officer standing beside him.

“My lord, yesterday Feng Dudu sent an urgent military dispatch stating grain transport has slightly lagged, but will be made up within three days,” the staff officer replied with utmost deference.

Jiang Mingyu’s lips tightened slightly; his right hand unconsciously clenched into a fist. “Three days have passed, yet Feng Dudu remains absent. The situation is dire—our main force holds firm, morale must be lifted.”

“Send another fast rider to Guizhou. Tell Feng Dudu the situation is critical—he must deliver grain and join us immediately.”

The staff officer hurriedly agreed, dipped his brush, wrote the urgent order, sealed it with red wax, and handed it to the rider waiting outside. The rider mounted at once and galloped toward Guizhou.

Meanwhile, the five hundred elite troops, led by He Jing, marched in full force toward Xiongzhou City. Jiang Mingyu stood atop a high vantage point, watching as the city walls teemed with defenders, banners snapping in the wind, their spirit soaring high. He Jing, leading the advance, turned back and saw the sight—his fist clenched tightly, a cruel smile flickering across his face, as if foreseeing the coming battle.

Night fell. Jiang Mingyu stood alone in the empty tent, wind rustling the canvas and flags with sharp, urgent whispers. After the main force departed, only a dim candle flickered in the corner. He stood beneath its trembling light, eyes half-closed, expression grave, as if brewing a grand strategy.

His mind raced through military matters, constantly weighing the front-line situation. If Lu Dudu still did not appear in three days, with no grain in the rear, how could the front-line troops hold? He unconsciously gripped his sword hilt, drawing strength from it for the trials ahead.

The wind died. Silence settled. Only the candle crackled. Jiang Mingyu slowly sat down in the dim glow, crossed his legs in meditation, eyes deep and still, calculating his next move against the coming storm.

At this moment, Jiang Mingyu’s five hundred elite troops, under Commander He Jing, arrived before Xiongzhou City. The walls teemed with defenders, ranks stacked high, their spirit soaring high. He Jing, undaunted, stood amid his banners, arms raised defiantly, shouting insults without pause.

“Xiongzhou’s defenders are useless! You lost the Southern Pass! You’re nothing but mindless flies!” He Jing roared.

The defenders on the walls flushed crimson, desperate to storm out and fight to the death. The Commandant of Xiongzhou’s South Gate raised his bow and fired wildly at He Jing, snarling: “You cowardly dogs of Dajiang, how dare you boast?”

“My lord, let me lead troops out to crush this scoundrel!” The commandant, seething, begged Tong Wa to send forces.

Tong Wa stood atop the wall, calm and composed. Hearing the plea, he turned slightly, his gaze sharp and measured, and slowly shook his head: “No. Too reckless.”

“We just suffered a defeat—our momentum is still sharp. These five hundred are likely a decoy. Jiang Mingyu’s main force must be hidden nearby.” His voice was deliberate, each word clear: “If we charge out rashly, we’ll walk into his trap—and suffer disaster.”

Though deeply frustrated, the commandant had to admit Tong Wa’s judgment was sound. He reluctantly sheathed his sword, glared at He Jing with hatred, but could do nothing.

Seeing this, He Jing grew even more brazen, pointing at the walls: “Are the Xiongzhou defenders even men? Too scared to fight? You deserve to be crushed by the Southern Frontier!”

The defenders on the walls clenched their teeth, trembling with rage, but Tong Wa held them back—humiliated, furious. Tong Wa’s face remained calm, but his hands tightened; he watched the enemy camp, waiting for reinforcements to arrive and wipe out this insolent foe.

The commandant pointed toward the distance, where Jiang Mingyu’s camp faintly showed smoke rising. Tong Wa narrowed his eyes, studying the opposite shore through the drifting smoke.

In Jiang Mingyu’s camp, scattered fires flickered in the evening breeze. Dozens of large pots sat on wooden frames; soldiers poured water and dumped ingredients inside. But the smoke was sparse, thin—nowhere near what a force of tens of thousands should produce.

Tong Wa’s brow slowly furrowed; a flicker of suspicion crossed his face. He fixed his gaze on Jiang Mingyu’s banner—a massive white flag, snapping in the center of the camp. Beneath it, Jiang Mingyu’s figure stood alone on high ground, solemn and still.

“This smoke… seems odd…” Tong Wa murmured, his expression turning serious.

“Odd? How?” the commandant asked, baffled.

“Jiang Mingyu’s force numbers at least one hundred and twenty thousand,” Tong Wa explained. “Yet look at his smoke—barely a wisp. How could that feed tens of thousands?”

A sly smile touched his lips. “If I’m right, Jiang Mingyu’s grain is nearly gone.”

The commandant’s face blanked with confusion. Then, after a few seconds, his eyes widened—sudden understanding flashed across them.

“My lord, how can you know Jiang Mingyu’s grain is exhausted? This is incredible!” The commandant asked, voice trembling with astonishment.

Tong Wa, delighted by his discovery, grinned and explained: “Jiang Mingyu’s supplies are depleted. That’s why he sent this small force to taunt us—to provoke us into a desperate battle. He wants us to charge out.”

“But this trick is already known to me,” Tong Wa said, smug. “His grain is nearly gone. I’d wager in three days, his hundred thousand troops will collapse. Then—this is our chance to turn defeat into victory!”

The commandant’s eyes lit up. He clenched his fist, exclaiming in delight. Their eyes met—both saw hope gleaming in the other’s gaze.

Seeing the commandant finally understood, Tong Wa’s lips curled slightly, his thick brows lifted, and he boomed:

“Issue orders: prepare the army. Keep close watch on Jiang Mingyu’s camp.”

The commandant hurriedly responded, strode to the gate, and shouted the order to the troops. Soldiers instantly stopped what they were doing, rose in unison, gripped their weapons, faces blank, eyes fixed on the distant enemy camp.

“When his smoke vanishes completely, we storm out and attack. Dajiang’s chaos will be ended in one battle,” Tong Wa declared, his voice strong and resolute in the night.

The commandant returned to Tong Wa’s side, panting, nodding vigorously. Confidence radiated from him. But then a shadow crossed his face. He looked up—the sky darkened, the last crimson glow of sunset vanished beyond the horizon. He stroked his beard, hesitated, then asked:

“But my lord, what if Jiang Mingyu sees we won’t fall for his bait? With his grain nearly gone, won’t he just retreat?”

His voice carried quiet anxiety. Tong Wa smiled knowingly, placed a hand on the commandant’s shoulder, and said calmly: “Jiang Mingyu is no fool. He wouldn’t wait for me to crush him. I’ve anticipated all his moves.”

He glanced around at the soldiers, all holding their breath, waiting for his next word.

“No—he won’t retreat. Before, Jiang Mingyu flooded Jiangzhou. Jiangzhou’s grain likely perished. If Jiangzhou’s stores were sufficient, Jiang Mingyu’s army wouldn’t be on the brink of starvation now.”

The commandant listened intently, his brow relaxing.

“So even if he retreats to Jiangzhou, it’s no different than staying here. And if he flees, morale collapses. We pursue—and Jiangzhou falls. All his efforts, troops, and supplies become wasted. He may even lose Shao Gong.”

Tong Wa scanned the faces around him—every man listened, awed and convinced. He felt immense pride.

“Jiang Mingyu doesn’t swallow humiliation. I’m certain—he won’t retreat lightly.”

The commandant finally relaxed. He clapped his hands, praising: “My lord, your strategy is divine! You see everything!” He stroked his beard, eyes filled with reverence—this was the highest praise he’d ever given Tong Wa.

“Indeed, my lord. If Jiang Mingyu wants grain before his supplies run out, he must break open Xiongzhou’s gates. With superior numbers and no reinforcements, he won’t leave.”

“And this… is the opportunity you meant?” The commandant’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Exactly!” Tong Wa laughed heartily, clapped the commandant’s shoulder, and said gravely: “This is a great achievement. You’ve served me for years—don’t disappoint me.”

The commandant bowed deeply, cheeks flushed with pride and duty. He saluted Tong Wa with martial vigor, then strode off to organize the watch.

At that moment, Tong Wa turned to gaze at the lone wisp of smoke rising from Jiang Mingyu’s camp—his heart swelled with certainty.

A cold smile curled his lips. He waited, composed, for the moment the enemy’s grain ran out.

The sun had set. Flickering fires glowed in Jiang Mingyu’s camp. He stood alone on high ground, expression grim. The staff officer hurried to his side and whispered: grain was nearly gone—only three days left. Jiang Mingyu frowned deeply, closed his eyes, sighed heavily. After a long silence, he opened them—cold light flashed in his gaze—and he nodded firmly.

Smoke rose again. Dawn broke. The commandant woke with a start, leapt up, and sprinted to the wall. Squinting at Jiang Mingyu’s camp, he saw only a few thin wisps of smoke—far fewer than yesterday.

“Look, men!” the commandant shouted, voice echoing across the empty battlements. Soldiers gathered in groups, drawn by his cry.

“The smoke from Jiang Mingyu’s camp has thinned even more!” one soldier cried, equally excited.

The commandant slapped his shoulder, grinning: “Good! Just as Lord Tong Wa predicted—the Dajiang dogs are crumbling day by day!”

“Stay here. I’ll report to Lord Tong Wa—revenge is coming!” He dashed down the wall, racing to find Tong Wa.

On the wall, a commander shouted insults at Jiang Mingyu, voice hoarse: “Cowardly Dajiang dogs! Your starvation plan is ruined! Lord Tong will cut you all to pieces!”

The defenders laughed, joining in the taunts. The scene screamed the enemy’s desperation.

In the camp, Jiang Mingyu watched Xiongzhou’s reaction. He smirked. “Good. Tong Wa has taken the bait.” He slapped his thigh, eyes gleaming.

A moment later, he remembered something, smiled slyly, and summoned E Bu.

“E Bu, you and He Jing keep taunting. Let Tong Wa believe we’re trying to lure him out.”

E Bu opened his mouth—Jiang Mingyu waved him silent. “Not enough. Take thirty thousand main troops out of camp. After noon, launch a feigned attack on Xiongzhou.”

“Then Tong Wa will believe we’re desperate—starving, with no options left but to storm the walls.” Jiang Mingyu rose, pacing the tent. “Remember—it’s a feint. Act exhausted. Otherwise, that old fox won’t believe it.”

E Bu bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, I’ll prepare immediately. I won’t fail you.”

He strode out of the tent, sunlight blinding his eyes. Thirty thousand troops stood ready, armor clanking, aura fierce. Hooves thundered, dust rose—they charged toward Xiongzhou.

After he left, Jiang Mingyu turned to Tu Kesiluo.

“Tu Kesiluo, order the cooks to reduce smoke by thirty percent at noon today.”

“Combined with E Bu’s afternoon assault, Tong Wa will be certain our grain is nearly gone.”

“At dinner, cut all smoke. When he sees it, he’ll raid our camp tonight.”

Tu Kesiluo’s lips curled. He bowed solemnly.

“Brother, tonight is the old fox’s last night.”

In Xiongzhou’s governor’s mansion, Tong Wa sat in his high-backed chair, stirring fresh tea with his right hand, a white jade cup in his left, calm and relaxed. That morning, he’d heard Jiang Mingyu’s smoke had thinned—his mood lifted. By noon, the commandant reported smoke had thinned further—Jiang Mingyu’s grain was clearly exhausted.

“Jiang Mingyu, Jiang Mingyu… let’s see how long you can hold out,” Tong Wa murmured, a smug smile on his lips. He sipped his tea—then suddenly, drums and shouts erupted outside: Jiang Mingyu was attacking.

Tong Wa didn’t flinch. He calmly set down his cup, smiling: “Perfect timing.” He called out: “Commandant, enter.”

A burly officer in armor strode in, fists clasped: “My lord, your command?”

Tong Wa smiled: “Jiang Mingyu’s grain is gone—he’s desperate. Tell the men on the wall: don’t overreact. Tonight, we’ll settle this. My plan won’t fail.”

The commandant bowed and left. Less than half an hour later, he rushed back, beaming: “My lord, you’re right! Jiang Mingyu’s troops are battered, morale shattered—they won’t last!”

Tong Wa chuckled, twirling his jade cup, eyes half-lidded: “Excellent. Then tonight, we storm out and annihilate Jiang Mingyu—this is certain.”

That evening, Tong Wa ate slowly at the long table. The commandant burst in, face flushed with excitement: “My lord! Jiang Mingyu’s grain is gone! The scouts report—no smoke at all!”

Tong Wa dropped his bowl, his joy unmistakable: “No smoke? You’re certain?” The commandant nodded frantically: “I saw it myself—not a wisp! Jiang Mingyu has nothing left!”

Tong Wa leapt from his chair, pacing, beaming. He slammed his fist on the table: “Good! Execute my plan—attack at second watch. Tonight, I’ll take Jiang Mingyu’s head myself!”

The commandant cried out: “Yes! My lord, tonight’s victory will make you famous—His Majesty will surely make you a prince!” He leaned close, whispering: “When you rise to greatness, don’t forget your old officers.”

Tong Wa laughed loudly, clapped his shoulder: “Don’t worry—I won’t forget!”

As the commandant turned to leave, Tong Wa called out: “Commandant—when you return to the camp, announce I will lead the charge myself. I will take Jiang Mingyu’s head and present it to His Majesty.”

Thinking of his future glory—prince, minister—Tong Wa’s smile widened, radiant with triumph.

Thinking of his future rise to glory, becoming a prince and chancellor, Tong Wa couldn’t help but feel elated, his smile brightening further.