Chapter 362: Taking in the Scenery

If the imperial decrees sent out from Yanjing—raising one man to Prince, another to Count, appointing officials and distributing ranks—were merely the prelude, then what followed truly marked the beginning of the Three Jin’s revival.

With the war to expel the savages finally over, the entire region seemed like a beast that had been chained for too long and was at last beginning to stir again.

The Campaign to Open Jin had shattered half the State of Jin. The savage calamity had ravaged the other half. Economically and in terms of ordinary livelihoods, the damage inflicted upon the lands of the Three Jin was enormous.

But precisely because so many old structures and entrenched arrangements had been smashed apart, rebuilding and reorganizing them now became much simpler.

The Marquis of Jingnan had been raised to princely rank. From now on, he would be Prince of Jingnan.

At the same time, the auxiliary-army system throughout the Three Jin began to be established at astonishing speed.

The first group of Jin military chiefs who had surrendered and attached themselves to Great Yan received new appointments and promotions. Men who had previously existed only as ceremonial side characters were pushed onto the true stage. Some were appointed Garrison Commanders of smaller cities. Others became commanders of military forts and strongholds.

The surviving armies of the former State of Cheng were handled the same way. Some units were transferred elsewhere. Others were directly absorbed.

Over the past several years, Great Yan had indeed won battle after battle, but its losses throughout those campaigns had been anything but small.

And the lands of the Three Jin were nearly equivalent in size to another State of Yan.

Without relying upon the native armies of Jin, it would be almost impossible to establish real control over such a vast territory, much less respond effectively to threats from outside.

Of course, there was an obvious danger.

This policy would inevitably allow Jin generals and military factions within the newly conquered territory to grow stronger. If the balance were handled poorly, the region could easily fracture into rebellion.

But most people believed that as long as the Prince of Jingnan remained seated in Yingdu, such a situation would never arise.

The Campaign to Open Jin and the war to expel the savages had raised the Prince of Jingnan’s prestige across the Three Jin to a height without equal.

Whether Yan troops or Jin troops, no army in the region dared behave presumptuously before him.

Among the common people, meanwhile, the Prince of Jingnan’s extermination of his own clan had left what Zheng Fan would describe as a permanent **Fear and Deterrence buff**.

That did not sound pleasant.

But from the perspective of a ruler it was an excellent enhancement.

When dealing with someone reasonable, principled, and concerned about reputation, people had a habit of pushing an inch and then demanding a foot.

When dealing with someone who practically had tattoos carved across his forehead declaring *I am dangerous*, most people instinctively measured the consequences and chose submission before the conversation even began.

The wording was crude.

The principle was not.

That was simply reality.

And under those circumstances, once the Prince of Jingnan issued an order, every formation across the Three Jin—whether under Yan command or Jin command—was required to select elite soldiers and transfer them into the Jingnan Army and Zhenbei Army.

Anyone who dared comply openly while resisting in secret would be killed without mercy.

A commander’s elite troops were naturally the flesh of his own heart.

But the Prince of Jingnan had only just been raised to princely rank. No military chief dared test the “three fires of a newly appointed ruler” at a moment like this.

There was another reason as well.

Whatever ordinary civilians might think of Tian Wujing, soldiers—Yan and Jin alike—were overwhelmingly eager to join the Zhenbei Army or Jingnan Army.

Especially the Jingnan Army.

First, the reputation of a mighty army stood there in plain sight. Men who lived by the saber naturally possessed that competitive instinct to fight their way upward. And plenty also possessed the refreshing attitude of:

*If you can’t beat them, join them.*

Second, now that Tian Wujing had been enfeoffed as Prince, everyone understood perfectly well who would have the final word over military affairs across the Three Jin for the next several years.

Who was the true “old master” of the region?

There was no ambiguity.

Because of all these factors, the Jingnan Army recovered at astonishing speed after the war.

It even expanded somewhat.

Strictly speaking, however, treating allied and subordinate armies as direct “reserve pools” like this was something only the present Prince of Jingnan dared to do—and could successfully do.

If anyone else tried it in another time and place, they should not be surprised if they triggered a mutiny.

At the same time, the troop-replenishment problem the First Prince had mentioned to Zheng Fan before leaving Snow Sea Pass did indeed appear.

Nominally, Zheng Fan was one of the Prince of Jingnan’s direct-line officers.

He was also one of the Prince’s current favorites and one of the brightest rising stars in Great Yan’s younger generation of commanders—indeed, by now he could already be said to have established himself firmly.

And yet Snow Sea Pass received no reinforcements whatsoever.

Not even a perfunctory thousand men sent over simply to make the gesture look good.

More awkwardly still, the land outside Snow Sea Pass was almost empty.

Even if General Zheng wanted to recruit troops locally—or abandon all shame and simply seize strong young men—there was practically no one available to seize.

If the great migration from Shengle led by the Blind Man and Siniang had not still been on the road, giving everyone something to look forward to, Snow Sea Pass would genuinely have looked desolate beyond belief.

Logically, the position of Snow Sea Pass was enormously important, and Zheng Fan was one of Tian Wujing’s own men.

His command ought to have been among the first to receive fresh blood.

Yet it received nothing.

Xue San and Liang Cheng had discussed the matter privately.

Leaving aside the obviously impossible possibilities that their Master had suddenly “fallen from favor” or that the Prince of Jingnan had abruptly found himself a new favorite, then the only remaining explanation was that the shortage was deliberate.

Xue San believed that during the First Prince’s return journey to Yanjing, he would almost certainly seek another audience with the Prince of Jingnan.

The proposal to station barbarian troops at Snow Sea Pass and “use barbarians to control barbarians” would naturally be reported to Tian Wujing.

If the Prince of Jingnan already knew that close to ten thousand barbarian cavalrymen would soon be entering Snow Sea Pass, then of course he would not waste the currently precious manpower reserves by reinforcing Snow Sea Pass now.

More importantly, handing nearly ten thousand barbarian troops intact to one commander—without splitting them up—was exactly the sort of arrangement men at the top normally disliked.

It did not necessarily mean they distrusted Zheng Fan.

It meant that keeping all ten thousand men together might make them difficult to govern.

If Snow Sea Pass were reinforced now, then when the ten thousand barbarian troops arrived later, the court would have an easy excuse to cut down the number or divide the force.

Therefore, deliberately leaving such an important strategic position without reinforcement was itself preparation for transferring the entire barbarian contingent intact.

Once Snow Sea Pass remained visibly short of troops, the court would have little room to choose. For the sake of the broader situation, it would be forced to swallow its reservations and accept the arrangement.

Liang Cheng thought even further.

Barbarian troops were easy to digest.

From the perspective of indoctrination and ideological remolding, they were unquestionably easier to control than either Yan or Jin soldiers.

If reinforcements were sent now, and several existing military chiefs came along with those troops, those men could actually interfere with the Snow Sea Army’s future integration.

Their Master had already told them about Tian Wujing’s words during the last visit to Snow Sea Pass.

The entire conversation had sounded almost like the Prince of Jingnan personally teaching Zheng Fan how to become a warlord.

If Tian Wujing truly wanted the Snow Sea Army to remain stable and unified, then naturally he would not deliberately pour sand into its gears now.

In short the final conclusion was simple.

Wait.

The Young Marquis no.

The Young Prince was still in their hands.

The Prince of Jingnan’s “milk-powder money” and child support could not possibly stop.

Ever since Zheng Fan’s meeting with the Savage King, Gou Moli had been locked away.

Every morning and evening, Xue San personally delivered his meals.

He was allowed no contact with anyone else.

Count Zheng, meanwhile, returned to the life of a wealthy idler.

He practiced saber work in the morning.

In the afternoon, he rode around on horseback and wandered wherever he pleased.

And throughout the day, he kept counting how many more days remained before Siniang and the others should finally arrive.

Winter was already reaching its tail.

Spring was approaching.

And General Zheng’s heart was gradually beginning to stir restlessly along with the season.

Then, one day, a military courier arrived carrying a letter.

The question inside was simple:

That Pixiu Zheng Fan had left in temporary care outside Yingdu when exactly did Count Zheng intend to retrieve it?

That very night, General Zheng did not hesitate for even a moment.

He put on his armor, mounted a horse, took one hundred cavalry guards, and departed Snow Sea Pass at full speed for Yingdu.

Originally, Zheng Fan had planned to let the Blind Man and Siniang collect the Pixiu when their migration convoy passed through Yingdu.

More importantly, no matter how long the beast remained there, with Count Zheng’s present status, no one was likely to chase him down demanding feeding fees or worrying that he might refuse to pay.

Count Zheng had risen from the very bottom.

Naturally, he understood all the little twists and turns behind this sort of communication.

So after thinking about it briefly, the meaning behind the letter became obvious.

Perhaps the Prince of Jingnan had casually asked:

“Ask that brat when he plans to come collect his Pixiu.”

Then someone below had followed the Prince’s instruction and sent a messenger.

There was another layer to it:

*Come over now.*

Tian Wujing had not issued a formal military order because Zheng Fan was now Chief Commander of Snow Sea Pass.

When there was no war and no military deployment requiring him elsewhere, abandoning his post and running around casually would be highly inappropriate.

Zheng Fan’s current status had not yet fully solidified into what it would later become.

Once Snow Sea Pass was properly developed, its population large and its army strong, then if Count Zheng failed to appear inside the fortress for three or four consecutive days, that piece of intelligence might immediately reach the desks of several extremely important men:

*Zheng Fan.*

*What exactly are you doing?*

A frontier military governor and regional commander carried too much weight.

His personal movements could easily trigger chain reactions and tug at the nerves of every faction around him.

Of course, that was a problem for the future.

They had not reached that point yet.

Strictly speaking, even if the Prince of Jingnan had simply issued a military order commanding Zheng Fan to come, no one would have criticized him, and Zheng Fan would still have obediently appeared.

But Tian Wujing trusted Zheng Fan to understand the subtext.

And he was too lazy to waste extra thought on such minor formalities.

And so Count Zheng came.

Quietly.

His first intention was to pay a visit to the Prince of Jingnan.

His old superior had just been raised to princely rank, after all.

Zheng Fan had not yet congratulated him in person.

Even though Count Zheng also knew perfectly well that Tian Wujing himself did not give a damn about becoming “Prince of Jingnan.”

Before Tian Wujing exterminated the Tian Clan, everyone in that household—old and young alike—had been dreaming of using their strength to pressure the court and the Emperor into granting the family a princely title “for the stability of the realm.”

That gathering at the Tian estate on the day the Empress returned to visit her family had outwardly celebrated her homecoming.

In truth, much of the joy and pride had come from the possibility of the Tian Clan rising another level.

But now?

Whether Tian Wujing possessed the title Prince of Jingnan or not whether that title was hereditary without reduction or not what meaning did any of it have to him?

After meeting Tian Wujing, Zheng Fan intended to remain in the area and wait for Siniang and the others.

Then he could travel back with them.

Truthfully, with Liang Cheng holding Snow Sea Pass, Zheng Fan was not worried about anything going wrong.

Traveling from the eastern lands toward Yingdu required crossing the Wang River.

It also meant passing Yupan City.

Zheng Fan saw the “wall” that had been built around Yupan.

It was not very high.

But it did not need to be.

This kind of fortification was more than sufficient to seal the Chu army inside completely and exert pressure upon them both physically and mentally.

Zhennan Pass remained in Chu hands.

When Tian Wujing had previously marched all the way to Snow Sea Pass, he had not continued north into the snowfields.

One major reason was that Zhennan Pass—the old border stronghold between Jin and Chu where Situ Lei had once farmed prestige and military merit—had been seized by Chu during the chaos inside the State of Cheng.

The rapid replenishment of troops over this period, together with the equally rapid establishment of Jin auxiliary forces under Jin commanders, served another purpose as well:

Build strength as quickly as possible.

Then, if Chu dared march north to rescue Yupan City the Yan would meet them properly in open country.

Now it all depended upon just how stable the situation inside Chu had become.

And whether Chu had the courage, at this particular moment, to send an army north and fight Great Yan’s iron cavalry in the field immediately after the Yan had won such a magnificent victory.

Not attacking Zhennan Pass did not mean surrendering initiative.

Even with Zhennan Pass in Chu hands, the side holding the real strategic initiative remained Yan.

Most importantly, the savages had already scraped the region clean.

In effect, they had performed scorched-earth preparations on Yan’s behalf.

If Chu tried to force a large army north, its logistical and grain-supply line would inevitably become extremely long.

Perhaps history might repeat the scene from a century earlier, when the first Marquis of Zhenbei annihilated the Qian army.

In Zheng Fan’s judgment, the Chu troops inside Yupan City should already be running desperately short on grain.

At the beginning, they had never expected their savage “pig teammate” to burn the territory under their own influence into a wasteland with such impatient enthusiasm.

At the same time, Situ Yi—who had been responsible for gathering grain from the rear for the Chu army—had been killed by Zheng Fan.

The grain already collected for transport to Yupan City so the Chu forces could survive winter?

Zheng Fan had burned that too.

That was why Zheng Fan’s foremost merit in the previous campaign had never come solely from holding Snow Sea Pass.

He had disrupted the entire enemy rear from beginning to end.

Because Zheng Fan’s escort was not small, Jingnan Army scouts soon approached to verify identities.

Afterward, under the scouts’ guidance, Zheng Fan left his guards behind and rode alone toward the Wang River outside Yupan City.

Even now, he still had no idea why Tian Wujing had summoned him.

*Yes, I genuinely am extremely idle.*

*But I’ve still been working very hard to create the illusion that I’m busy, all right?*

Tian Wujing’s command tent stood alone beside the Wang River.

Quite a few officials moved in and out.

Some came from Yingdu.

Others had clearly arrived from Yan proper.

When Zheng Fan entered the area, he noticed another group of officials working off to one side in robes of a completely different official style.

Those were not Great Yan’s robes.

Zheng Fan had seen Qian official dress before too.

Which meant Chu envoys?

Zheng Fan had heard that the Prince of Jingnan had once issued an order concerning Yupan City:

Any envoy who came out of the city would be executed immediately.

No communication.

No transmission of information.

No opening to the outside world whatsoever.

So the Chu officials before him could not have come from inside Yupan City.

They had to have arrived directly from Chu.

Were they negotiating?

Given Zheng Fan’s identity, no one obstructed him from entering the command tent.

But once inside, he discovered the Prince of Jingnan was not there.

After stepping back out and asking one of Tian Wujing’s personal guards, Zheng Fan learned the Prince was somewhere outside the tent.

Eventually—

Zheng Fan found him beside the Wang River.

Tian Wujing wore a white python robe.

“Your subordinate pays respects to His Highness the Prince of Jingnan!”

Zheng Fan offered an extremely formal salute.

Tian Wujing bent down.

He placed both hands into the river and washed them.

Then asked:

“Do you know why I called you here?”

“Uh...

“A private matter?”

“More or less.”

“Then I ask Marquis— no.

“Your Highness— to enlighten me.”

“I called you here...”

Tian Wujing flicked the water from his fingers.

Without the slightest concern for the expensive robe he wore, he casually wiped both hands against the white python robe.

Then said:

“...to take in the scenery.”

“...”

Zheng Fan.

————

[End of Chapter 362]