Section Three (Part One)

To be frank, Li Qingliu was simply not suited for a life in the military. After many days of observation, Lin Feng became even more convinced of this. Though he himself had never served in the army in his previous life, he could already point out a host of flaws here, and indeed, the reality confirmed his judgment. In Lin Feng’s view, if Li Qingliu had stayed back in Fuzhou, attending to clerical duties or serving as a staff officer, that would have been an ideal arrangement. But to place him in command of a military force was, frankly, an act of gross irresponsibility towards the lives of the soldiers. Despite his frequent references to the great armies of Cao Cao and Liu Bei, when it came to the actual business of marching and fighting, it was quite another matter. He disdained communication with his subordinates and was thoroughly averse to the minutiae of military affairs. The direct result of this was that the cavalry, infantry, and labor corps operated in isolation with little coordination, and he was left as little more than a figurehead, issuing symbolic orders as the nominal commander. While such administrative disorder was common when scholars led armies, his personal abilities were clearly wanting even by those standards.

Thus, Lin Feng resolved to act with a measure of cunning, sensing this as an opportunity.

In recent days, Lin Feng had also considered his own prospects with great care. Given the current situation, there was little hope of ever returning to his own time; it seemed likely he would live out the rest of his days in this unspoiled, verdant world. Based on his understanding of the era, if he hoped to distinguish himself and secure a good life, he could only see a few viable paths ahead.

The second path, naturally, was commerce. Lin Feng gave this some serious thought and even discreetly inquired with several friendly officers. The answer, however, was disappointing. It turned out that being a merchant in this era was no easy feat. Government regulations were strict and pervasive—permits, licenses, taxes, and all manner of restrictions abounded, with bureaucratic hands reaching into every transaction. The oppression and harassment were astonishingly severe. Moreover, commerce here bore a hereditary flavor; the most successful outfits had been in the family for generations, with intricate networks among the merchants of Anhui, Fujian, and other regions—tight-knit circles into which outsiders could hardly gain entry. Most fatal of all, merchants, though wealthy, suffered grave social discrimination. In upper society, they had no standing whatsoever; their lives and property were at constant risk, subject to seizure or violence at the whim of their betters. Lin Feng, being a man of letters, had little knowledge of glassmaking or steel refining. The more he pondered it, the more he realized that if he pursued business here, he might end up as little more than a humble peddler for the rest of his days.

As the battlefield situation grew increasingly dire, the arrival of Qing reinforcements—especially large, agile cavalry units—resulted in the loss of Yiwu, Tangxi, Shoushan, Changshan, and other strategic locations. The front lines were forced to retreat over a hundred li, and the troops seemed to have lost all offensive capability; the tide of relentless attacks from earlier days now felt like a distant dream. In such circumstances, the officers of the army were plunged into despair, their spirits utterly broken. Yet for Lin Feng, this parade of bad news only served to highlight his superior insight. As his earlier predictions began to come true, the officers grew ever more respectful, and Lin Feng was happy to continue playing the role of a quasi-mystical strategist—a modern-day Zhuge Liang in their eyes.

As danger drew ever closer, the many lofty virtues of a scholar manifested themselves in Li Qingliu with remarkable clarity. His need for alcohol increased daily, and he had begun complaining to Lin Feng about his declining health, hinting that he might soon need to return to Fuzhou for treatment. He hoped that Lin Feng, whom he now called the "foremost intellect of the camp," could devise a plan to allow him to step aside gracefully, at least for a time. Where once he had ridden at the head of the column, resplendent on horseback, leading with vigor and pride, he now remained at the rear, overseeing the troops. The gleaming armor was gone, replaced by an ordinary uniform, enduring hardship alongside the common soldiers. Lacking trusted aides, he assigned Lin Feng to lead some of his personal guard at the front, clearing the way for the march.

Lin Feng could do little but accept this, though the officers’ conduct offered some consolation. Morale was low, but these troops were veterans, hardened by campaigns from Liaodong to Fujian, having fought across the wide lands south of the great river. Over two thousand infantry and cavalry, each with battle experience; the junior officers still maintained a fair degree of control over their men. Previously, soldiers and laborers had marched together in confusion, but Lin Feng had since corrected this, separating the combat units from the non-combatants and carving out room for proper deployment.

Even so, disaster, though anticipated, struck with sudden and brutal swiftness.