Chapter Fourteen

From a historical perspective, Zhou Peigong could be considered a highly distinctive intellectual. According to what Lin Feng had learned, scholars of this era rarely possessed such an intense passion for the military arts as he did. Of course, this “passion” excluded those idle talkers who merely leafed through the Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Pragmatism, rigor, and a willingness to expend great energy on field investigations set Zhou Peigong apart from the braggarts—such talents were exceedingly rare in this time. It was said that in the past few centuries, only a handful like Yuan Chonghuan had been similar.

Drafting a military system was an exceptionally challenging task, and the qualifications required for such work were high—at least three points. First, one must have military experience and a comprehensive understanding of contemporary armies. Second, one must possess advanced abilities in drafting documents. Third, given the vast scope of this undertaking, it clearly could not be completed by a single person; thus, the person in charge needed formidable organizational and leadership skills to direct a capable staff of officers in completing the work.

Truthfully, Lin Feng originally thought assigning Zhou Peigong to such a task was somewhat wasteful; this man, if tempered in the army, could easily command independently. Yet, by now, there was no other choice: among the current Han commanders, only he was fit for the position.

Over the long winter, the comprehensive reorganization of the Han army began quietly. When the recall of junior officers commenced, Lin Feng felt extremely anxious. To be honest, though the military had developed rapidly, it clearly lacked sufficient cohesion—in other words, Lin Feng himself did not wield enough influence over the mid- and lower-ranking officers.

To support this psychological turning point, the conferral ceremony was held with extraordinary grandeur. To ensure the spectacle, Lin Feng, after the New Year, recalled all the generals despite military risks. In a massive rally of hundreds of thousands, thousands of soldiers equipped with bayonets and cavalry formed immaculate honor guards flanking the inspection, drums thundered and suonas resounded. In the brightest and most dazzling moment, these brigadiers were individually granted their ranks and regimental flags. Thereafter, the military police attached to the central command, led by cavalry, set out in force carrying new uniforms and insignia to bestow ranks and new attire upon officials stationed elsewhere.

Many generals failed to notice that from this day forward, Han forces could no longer use the surnames of their commanders as regimental insignia, but instead had to adopt flags and numbers bestowed by the Marshal’s Office.

Based on the time of establishment and battlefield credentials, the Han army was formally reorganized into six armies, two artillery brigades, and two naval squadrons: Zhao Guangyuan’s First Cavalry Army, Liu Laoshu’s Second Army, Wang Dahai’s Third Army, as well as Sun Sike and Zhao Liangdong’s Fourth and Fifth Armies. Meanwhile, Marshal Lin Feng’s central command was specially named the “Imperial Guard”—a designation akin to the “Royal Forest Army,” which fully demonstrated the marshal’s ambition, naturally earning universal recognition among the officers.

At Lin Feng’s behest, Mr. Chen Menglei penned a brilliant article exploring the demise of the Southern Song and Ming dynasties. The portion on the Southern Song mainly discussed the spiritual role of the dynasty’s resistance against the Yuan; that history, blurred due to the Yuan’s slander and suppression, was now being forcefully revised. The general thesis was that, based on experience, if a nation’s leader was eliminated, the people would naturally lose the will to resist. The evidence for this was that after the Battle of Xiangshan, the Mongols quickly pacified Jiangnan, whereas prior to that, even at the cost of the Mongke Emperor’s life, they failed to achieve their strategic goal.

The Ming dynasty’s lesson was even more direct—history proved that bandits like Li Zicheng and Yang Qilong were utterly incapable of rescuing the nation. These people, blinded by greed and shortsightedness, were destined for ruin. When they eliminated the national leader, Emperor Chongzhen, the Han people were left leaderless and helpless, allowing the Manchu Eight Banners to seize the magnificent Han lands with ease. This demonstrated the leader’s enormous power in rallying and guiding the spirit of the people.

The article concluded that, in the present age, only Marshal Lin Feng and the Han army could save the Han nation. Wu Sangui, the “old turtle,” had a history so filthy as to be inadmissible; others like Shang Zhixin were similarly unworthy. As for Zheng Jing in Taiwan, he was nothing but a scoundrel—when the nation was in peril, these vermin fought amongst themselves for their own interests, disregarding the greater good, revealing themselves to be mere power-hungry petty men.

Compared to intellectuals, educating officers was much simpler. These officers were, at present, the vested interests of the Han government, accustomed to policies that dulled the populace and the ideology of loyalty to the sovereign. What was more convenient, most of them were illiterate. So, when this theory was introduced, the officers accepted it without hesitation, fully embracing the doctrine promoted by their superiors. Meanwhile, after several bustling days at Mazhuang, the Li Guangdi government hastily completed the construction of the “Temple of Loyal Martyrs.” The memorial tablets of officers who had died in recent wars were prominently installed, and the marshal himself, in plain attire, wrote “Heroes Never Die, Their Noble Spirit Endures,” had it cast into a plaque, and, kneeling before the tablets, offered sacrifices and wept bitterly. Choked with emotion, he publicly announced that the parents of fallen officers would be cared for by the government and granted extraordinary honors—the parents of officers at brigadier rank and above need not kneel before any official, while those of lower ranks would be exempted from authority based on their rank.

After completing this second step, the officers, whose minds had been thoroughly “cleansed,” began learning how to indoctrinate ordinary soldiers. This was the simplest and most practical procedure—the guiding ideology of “loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, righteousness,” or “national duty,” played a minor part. The core focused on “twenty acres of land, a cow, a wife and children, a warm bed.” Lin Feng’s disciples cleverly broke down this theory, calculated military merit, pay, and family benefits into tiers, and explained the easiest way for peasants to obtain land: obey orders, maintain discipline, and fight bravely. In this way, the Han government would generously allocate the best land to soldiers’ families.

Naturally, there was also the lure of promotion. According to the Han army’s hierarchy, the benefits for soldiers and officers were sharply divided. Lin Feng had reluctantly recognized a noncommissioned officer system—new recruits received less pay than veterans, veterans who had seen combat earned more than those who hadn’t, and on the battlefield, veterans could command new recruits. However, these perks paled in comparison to what officers received, so many clauses for promotion were included to attract those wishing to make a career in the military.

Though this method of political education partly violated the ancient military maxim in the Art of War—“Drive them forth, drive them back, let none know their destination”—it won high praise from the Han army’s major leaders. The reasoning was straightforward; the politicians could clearly see the immense benefits, so both military and government spared no effort in supporting the reform.

As Mazhuang Military Academy underwent its epochal transformation, envoys from the Great Zhou dynasty finally traversed the Qing-occupied zone and arrived at the Dezhou front. The choice of personnel alone revealed the importance Great Zhou attached to this mission; the chief envoy was Wang Shirong, the “Little Zhang Liang,” a talented scholar of Jiangnan famed for his resourcefulness and ingenuity. In the previous campaign to incite Ma Yaozi’s rebellion against the Qing for Emperor Wu Sangui, he had rendered great service, earning the recognition of many high officials for his decisive actions. However, Prime Minister and Imperial Son-in-Law Xia Guoxiang, out of jealousy, repeatedly downplayed Wang’s achievements before the emperor, calling them mere “luck,” so after the founding of Great Zhou, Wang received no proper rewards. Yet his reputation persisted, and when this dangerous but vital task arose, the ministers unanimously recommended him to the emperor.

This decision proved wise. Upon entering the Qing-occupied zone, Wang Shirong disregarded the strong opposition of his deputy and accompanying officers, forcibly split the envoy group and disguised their progress. Along the way, he displayed exceptional courage and wisdom, sometimes bribing guides, sometimes corrupting Qing soldiers, ultimately ensuring the perilous journey was completed safely.

The first to witness his cunning was General Sun Sike at the Dezhou front. When the envoy group, following Wang Shirong’s plan, assembled at the designated spot, the team donned Great Zhou military uniforms and brazenly hoisted the “Imperial Envoy of Great Zhou” banner beside the Dezhou defensive line. With drums beating and horns blaring, they swaggered ostentatiously, deliberately provoking the nearby Qing army. When Qing cavalry could no longer bear it and gave chase, they swiftly fled to the Han lines, nearly triggering a major battle between the dormant Qing and Han armies.

Though Sun Sike was not particularly versed in politics, having long been a general, he saw through the trick. The envoy’s actions had two purposes: first, to send Qing the message that Han and Great Zhou were colluding; second, to probe Han’s military preparedness and strength at the front. Though he knew he’d been played, Sun Sike dared not trouble them. The diplomatic status of the envoy group was exceedingly high, far beyond his authority.

All he could do was treat these troublesome guests to fine food and drink, then dispatch a fast courier to Beijing.

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