Chapter 30: Solid Foundations

At the grand hall of Yongji Pass, Wu Fei carved out some time to hold a meeting with the elders of the Wu clan who had arrived from the rear. After all, they were kin, and in these times that demanded unity, one had to play the part of the deferential grandson to maintain that cohesion.

Seeing the orderly state of the pass, the clan elders remarked to Wu Fei, "Little Que, you have shown great promise, but..." Before they could deliver the second half of their advice, Wu Fei interrupted, "Great-uncle, I have always taken you as my role model! Since I was a child, I have heard how you led your troop, back against the hillside, and carved out over three hundred enemy heads! You are the number one armored warrior of our Wu clan! Now that you have arrived, victory is surely at hand."

Wu Fei then glanced at Zhao Tu. Zhao Tu hesitated for a moment, then, following Wu Fei’s lead, began to clap and shouted, "The Great Elder is the number one armored warrior of the Wu Army!" "Number one armored warrior!" The cheerleading squad Wu Fei had pre-arranged in the hall raised the clan elder to the skies. Even the dragon-horses lined up outside the walls joined in the commotion, lifting their heads and neighing toward the old general.

The atmosphere of adulation was so thick it only lacked a ballad to accompany it. Under such doting care, the old Wu elder seemed to drift back into his own glorious days of yore, forgetting his original purpose: to persuade Wu Fei to hold the pass steadily, wait for Wu Hanluan to stabilize the situation in the north, and then—once reinforcements arrived—strike at the southern barbarians.

In the end, the old man could only pull Wu Fei aside and whisper, "Tell your uncle the truth: do you truly have any certainty?"

Wu Fei clasped the old man’s callous, scarred, and wrinkled hand tightly and said with great solemnity, "It is inevitable, and it will be easy."

For those who could not help him but could certainly cause trouble, Wu Fei’s only choice—whether sincere or feigned—was to soothe them.

After the meeting, he kept the elder and provided the accompanying clan youth with bribes, instructing them to carry word back that the elder was staying behind to witness the southern tribes being crushed like rotten weeds. To question the outcome now would be to question the wisdom of the clan’s own elders.

The clan had intended for the senior to come and provide "Little Que" with earnest guidance, but now, Little Que was holding the elder hostage to command the rest.

...Victory is not guaranteed by generals, but by the unity of all...

As the scouts sent back the latest intelligence, they reported thousands of demons and monsters surging toward the north across the southern Ling River, acting as if they were rushing to a chaotic bazaar, fighting among themselves along the way.

While Wu Fei had a highly transparent view of the battlefield and projected victory in every simulation, he still left a contingency plan for potential failure: he began recruiting reserves.

Ignoring the reserves, Wu Fei had only 1,350 standing troops at Yongji Pass. These were elite forces capable of launching surprise raids, and it would be a waste to leave them hunkered down solely for defense. Naturally, he could not send all 1,350 out at once. The larger the force, the greater the logistical burden; a 30-man unit could carry its own rations, but a force over a thousand required supply wagons, which raised concerns about road conditions and the need for escorts for such slow-moving targets. Thus, he decided to send them out in rotating batches.

As for the reserves, they were drawn from the tenant families of the Wu clan. The number of tenants allocated by the imperial court was fixed, but the Great Yao had been peaceful for a century, and like other noble houses, the Wu clan had hidden households. Had Wu Hanluan been present, he could have provided Wu Fei with two thousand able-bodied men as a backup, but Wu Fei had no way to mobilize them now.

Fortunately, Wu Fei had another source of power: the escort agencies that operated along the route from Yongji Pass to Zhu Province.

While merchants were losing confidence, the escort agencies remained stable; after all, their livelihood depended on their reputation. As for the risk? Money solved everything. Wu Fei had maintained control over these five agencies by embedding veterans of his own army within them and implementing a reward system.

After buying shares in these merchant firms, Wu Fei set up inspection points at key passes, issuing "post-tokens" to the escorts. Upon reaching their destination, the escorts could exchange these tokens for a travel stipend. This system served two purposes: it encouraged escorts to stick to the safe, monitored routes, and if a token lacked a stamp from a specific checkpoint, Wu Fei knew the merchants were taking a detour—likely to sell goods on the side without reporting them.

Wu Fei’s logic: If you do that, I will send military forces to manufacture "banditry" to let the merchants know that sneaking around my business is a provocation. I will provide you with some "high risk."

Wu Fei had always monopolized the trade routes, and he was never stingy with the escorts. Now, for some of them, the prospect of sharing in military merit was even better. Wu Fei offered them a chance to claim enemy heads; though it violated imperial protocol, if he won this war, he would have the power to replace the imperial system with his own perfected promises.

The imperial law regarding noble titles allowed for tax and labor exemptions and reduced penalties for crimes. Wherever the Wu Army had marched, Wu Fei was already the one negotiating with the local officials.

Wu Fei had been building a "military interest group." It was no longer a matter of the court-mandated system where clans relied on "military pay" for loyalty; instead, he was shaping the relative interests of the military personnel from every angle to maintain the group’s cohesion.

...Some truths must be spoken with the edge of a blade...

With Wu Fei’s men sent to the escort agencies, they managed to scrape together three thousand men. Rather than sending them to the front lines, Wu Fei deployed them to guard the various paths north of Yongji Pass.

Two days after meeting with his great-uncle, Wu Fei hosted the merchants for a meal of thin soup and plain water. The merchants were embarrassed; their clandestine attempts to sneak people and supplies out of the pass to avoid losses had been exposed. In their eyes, Wu Fei had mobilized a massive force from nowhere to intercept their retreat.

Merchants were like this: they felt Yongji Pass was unsafe and might be razed to the ground, so they acted in their own self-interest without considering that if they all fled, the foundation itself would crumble. In the long run, if the pass were to fall, the people and goods they had tried to move would be looted anyway. Of course, they also secretly believed that the pass would not fall—at worst, it would be a bloody affair. In the words of these self-proclaimed "scholarly" merchants, they were simply "gentlemen not standing under a dangerous wall."

But Wu Fei was not pleased with their "gentlemanly conduct." He thought to himself: If you are all gentlemen, does that make me a fool?

Wu Fei went down the list, assigning levies to each of them. He also leaked news that "the group was getting too crowded" and needed to be thinned out. Under the pressure of the "white water" banquet, the merchants began to "generously donate." Since their secret attempts to retreat had been exposed, they might as well double down and gamble! As the channels became more stable, everyone felt there were too many people eating at the table, and some needed to be kicked off.

The merchants’ attitude shifted: "If you had told us you were willing to run a fair and open game, we would have placed our bets with you from the start."

Within three days, a massive influx of supplies arrived at Yongji Pass, along with five thousand laborers sent by the merchants—mostly slaves who had been working the surrounding fields.

...Everything Wu Fei squeezed from them would eventually be funneled into the hands of those who dared to fight...

On the ramparts, Wen Si shook off his newly issued rattan armor. His slave status had been revoked the moment he arrived at the pass. The brand on his forehead remained for now, but he had been promised it would be removed once the battle was won.

At the same time, strict martial law and a curfew were imposed. Violations were met with harsher punishments for former slaves; in the last two days, some who had broken curfew had their ears sliced off.

Today was Wen Si’s turn to stand guard. Bored, he leaned over the parapet to look around, then pulled back, cocked his crossbow, and aimed it along the wall. He focused on the distant mountains for a while, and suddenly, feeling an itch to act, he squeezed the trigger and watched the path of his bolt.

"Where did it hit?" someone asked from behind.

Wen Si slapped his leg: "That swirling dust, did you see—" He froze, turning sharply to see Wu Fei. He slumped against the wall, wondering if he had violated military law. According to the rules, unauthorized action on the walls was punishable by the removal of the nose.

But his mind worked quickly: "Commander! I wanted to test the range of the crossbow for when the enemy attacks!"

Wu Fei glanced at him. "Is that so?"

Covered in sweat, Wen Si nodded vigorously. "Yes."

Wu Fei turned and whistled, prompting a squad leader to run over. Wu Fei asked, "Has your unit not undergone target practice?"

The leader looked at the bolt. "Not yet." He checked Wen Si’s quiver. "Each sentry is only issued five bolts; this one wasn't from us." He picked out the bolt, noting the fletching was glued with rice paste—a clear modification.

Wu Fei looked at the bolt, the atmosphere heavy.

"Bring up a shipment of arrows," Wu Fei commanded. "Let the garrison practice marksmanship every afternoon. Also," he pointed at Wen Si again, making the man’s heart jump into his throat. "Promote him to squad leader and have him record the accuracy of each team’s practice."

Wen Si was caught between immense joy and lingering terror. Just as he prepared to thank the general, Wu Fei added, "After your shift, report to the training ground for five lashes!"

Wen Si paused; this was far better than corporal punishment. Wu Fei explained, "The five lashes are for failing to report your initiative and acting on your own."

The provost marshal rushed over. "General, as a sentry, acting without orders is punishable by death." The marshal wasn't trying to harm Wen Si, but was afraid of being blamed for failing to enforce military discipline.

"He spotted a suspected target outside the walls and fired a shot!" Wu Fei countered. "His mistake was not signaling the report afterward." With that, the matter was settled.

That afternoon, on the training ground, Wen Si lay down with a smile, bit down on a wooden stick, and performed his punishment in front of everyone.

...Why spare Wen Si?

A man who could organize his thoughts in a crisis, justify his actions with logic, and articulate a clear defense in the face of fear—a man who could use his head when pushed to the brink—was a talent. A great army often faced desperate situations where a flexible mind was the difference between life and death. Why not spare him?

Martial law existed to ensure people fought; as long as they were willing to fight, one could be lenient with those who had ideas.

After his lashing, Wen Si began leading his team every afternoon to ensure the soldiers were checking their aim and recording their accuracy. He did the job with great heart. When his colleagues mocked him for his "lucky break," he would laugh and say, "The General was showing appreciation for my talent." He would lift his buttocks, showing off the welts. "Don't you see? I even got lashes for it!" When asked what that meant, he would boast, "The Commander was reminding me that if I perform well in this battle, I’ll be promoted five ranks." The others would roar with laughter, not believing a word of it.

...Meanwhile, on the other side...

Ang Ri watched the troops crossing the river and the distant Yao dragon-horse scouts retreating. He stared at the "Wu" banners among the cavalry. Such cavalry units were considered "brave riders" even in the Haotian Realm. In that realm, cavalry were divided into three tiers: the lowest were "farm riders," the middle were "brave riders," and the top were "thoroughbred riders."

"Is it really worth it for our clan to fight the Yao to the death for this?" Ang Ri muttered to his Mount, the Taiyue Luan.

Below him, chaos erupted in the ranks. The Claw-men and the Horn-men were fighting over a rope used for crossing the river. Why fight over a rope? Because building a camp after crossing required wooden frames, and the frames required rope. The Southern Frontier was poor, and resources were scarce. Thus, they fought.

A disciple of the Lihuo Sect arrived, flicking his fan. Fire patterns appeared on the foreheads of all the troublemakers. As the flames erupted, red fire began to "eat" the skin of a Horn-man—or rather, burn away all his muscle. Within a few breaths, the Horn-man shriveled up, his skin burst, and charred bones were revealed.

The disciple spat at the kneeling southern tribesmen, sneering, "Vermin."

Watching this from atop his mount, Ang Ri felt a chill in his heart. He had always known the Lihuo Sect’s medicine he fed his Raven-kin had side effects, but he hadn't realized their very lives were so completely controlled by others.

Ang Ri quietly tightened his grip on the bag of "Ash Medicine." He would not take it unless absolutely necessary, and he had to find a substitute.

Twenty kilometers away, a pair of large eyes watched Ang Ri.

Yao San-gu, who had spread her wind-thunder wings to gather herbs outside the pass, was watching the scene through the eye in the center of her forehead. Her tone was long and drawn out: "Oh, confusion, not knowing how to respond, and... begging for a new way out!"

The corners of her mouth curled upward.