Chapter One

In the spring of 1685, the Great Han Army held a grand ceremony at the Temple of Heaven in Beijing, offering sacrifices to Heaven and Earth and proclaiming a general amnesty. Marshal Lin Feng was elevated to King of Han, established his court, and renamed Shuntian Prefecture to Chengtian Prefecture. The Princess of Great Zhou, Wu Yingke, was conferred as the primary consort, and Li Guangdi was appointed as the King’s Minister, assisting in state affairs.

During this period, the Censorate was established, with Chen Menglei promoted to Chief Inspector, responsible for propaganda and internal investigations, ensuring discipline among civil and military officials. Additionally, the “Great Han Military Logistics and Armament Statistics Office” was founded under the General Staff, abbreviated as “Military Intelligence.” Wang Shirong was promoted to Chief Secretary with the rank of Colonel, tasked with espionage and gathering intelligence on all the feudal lords.

Gao Shiqi, formerly the military instructor at Mazuang for Han officers, was promoted to Chief Education Supervisor and granted the rank of Colonel in recognition of his outstanding service and innovative contributions to the Marshal’s “nationality policy,” as well as his achievements in training officers. He was temporarily assigned to act in Marshal Lin Feng’s stead.

Many military leaders received promotions; Chief of Staff Zhou Peigong was elevated to Lieutenant General and retitled “General Strategist.” Despite fierce opposition from officials like Li Guangdi and Chen Menglei within the Han government, Lin Feng unilaterally promoted the Swedish officer Rick Larsell to the rank of Major General under the title “Commander of the Imperial Guards” for his “meritorious service in the marriage alliance,” appointing Colonel Li Ergou as his deputy, both responsible for the King’s security.

With the King’s generous distribution of rewards, officials at all levels within the Han administration benefited from the largesse, especially new members of the ruling group, who received official confirmation and various benefits. Most influential local landlords were appointed as rural officials, reestablishing their regional dominance—only this time, their allegiance shifted from the Qing to the Han.

Yet, this was not due to any deliberate obstruction by the Han military. In reality, it was a time of major reorganization at the central command, with new offices and agencies established and several new and old leaders taking office. Therefore, most officials were busy seeking positions, while matters regarding reconnaissance and contact with Russia, previously handled by Lord Chen Menglei, now fell under Wang Shirong’s Military Intelligence Office due to the King’s reforms. Consequently, intelligence officers who had first made contact with the Russians in Liaodong were left uncertain as to whom they should report.

Nonetheless, such a significant diplomatic event could not be ignored for long. Once Wang Shirong learned of it through other channels, understanding its importance, he acted swiftly: after chastising the involved officials, he arranged for high-level reception of the Russians and immediately reported the matter to Lin Feng.

“Ji Yun, what do you think these Russians are doing here?” Lin Feng was stunned for a moment after hearing the report and then suddenly turned to Wang Shirong. “Could it be that the Qing army has battered them so badly they can’t hold on?”

“Exactly,” Wang Shirong replied with a smile, raising a finger as he spoke. “Whenever there is war and alliances, it’s nothing more than ‘ally with the distant, attack the near.’ In the Warring States, only Western Qin rose to prominence for this very reason. I had some contact with this so-called ‘gang of cowardly dead chickens’—the man seemed rather sinister. Your Majesty, do not assume these foreigners are crude and foolish; they are, in fact, quite shrewd.”

“That’s true. Those Russians are cunning. I—cough, cough—the King is aware of this,” Lin Feng, still unused to calling himself thus, shot an awkward glance at Wang Shirong, who politely looked away. Embarrassed, Lin Feng forced a smile. “So, according to you, what policy should we adopt in this matter?”

“In my humble opinion, this could be advantageous for our army,” Wang Shirong considered. “I have been reviewing many documents on Liaodong, both from the previous Ming and the pseudo-Qing regimes. I find that Liaodong is remote and wild, with high mountains and distant rivers—ill-suited for our Central Plains army’s campaigns. The Tartars’ light cavalry, however, can raid at will. If the Russians can harass the Tartars from behind, it would greatly benefit us in our future conquest of Liaodong.”

“What do you mean ‘ill-suited for the Central Plains army’? Are you saying the northeast isn’t fit for large-scale operations?” Lin Feng asked in surprise, recalling Ming history and laughing wryly to himself. Was the famous Liao-Shen Campaign of the last century just child’s play?

“Precisely!” Wang Shirong replied, stroking his beard gravely. “After the Eight Banners entered the pass, the northeast became a wasteland. Liaodong still has some civilian life, but central and western Liaoning, and lands north of the Amur, are vast, sparsely populated, some even deserted for a thousand miles. And even where there are natives, they are fierce tribes not easily subdued. If our Great Han were to dispatch a large army, we would face shortages of food, water, and ammunition.” Seeing Lin Feng’s astonished face, Wang Shirong patiently explained, “If we had to transport all supplies ourselves, how many laborers, mules, and carts would we need? By my estimate, for every soldier fighting in western Liaoning, at least three or four laborers would be required in the rear. With such long supply lines, the consumption in men, horses, and provisions is beyond description.”

Lin Feng wiped the sweat from his brow, silently chastising himself—how could he have forgotten this? The northeast of the seventeenth century was nothing like the industrial heartland of the twenty-first. Back then, the White House was still an Indian outhouse. He smiled bitterly. “So troublesome? It seems I have underestimated this war.”

“Of course. Since the days of the Yellow Emperor, our Han have expanded from the banks of the Yellow River to encompass the lands north and south of the Yangtze, within and beyond the Great Wall—not by treaties alone, but by force of arms. Against the barbarians, only swords and cannon will suffice!” Wang Shirong declared proudly with a flourish. “Once our goals are achieved and our armies meet the Russians, it will be cannon that speaks. If our weapons are superior, they will have no say.”

“Isn’t that contrary to what we have been taught?” Lin Feng stared, surprised. Was this the same disciple of Confucius, this paragon of virtue? His words clashed with everything Lin Feng had learned since childhood. “Aren’t we supposed to uphold ‘benevolence and righteousness’ and ‘civilize’ the barbarians? Didn’t the sages say that the sight of our virtue would move them to submit?”

“Cough…cough, Your Majesty, do not misconstrue the teachings of the sages,” Wang Shirong shook his head patiently. “When has it ever been as you say? If Confucianism were truly so weak, why would Emperor Wu of Han employ Dong Zhongshu? Benevolence and righteousness depend on time and circumstance. When the Xiongnu were strong, we spoke of virtue to avoid ruin. Likewise, when Emperor Taizong of Tang failed to conquer Korea, he had to speak of virtue instead. In Annam, with its pestilential jungles, we did the same. But tell me, did Sima Xiangru preach benevolence to Ba and Shu? Even the famously weak Song dynasty never spoke of virtue to the southern barbarians.”

“So you mean, the Han way is to use force as long as our weapons are superior, and only talk of benevolence when we are not?”

“Precisely—what dynasty has not done so?” Wang Shirong found it odd that his ruler, usually so ruthless, would be so naïve. Seeing Lin Feng’s puzzled face, he pressed his advantage. “Your Majesty is learned—think on this: in five thousand years, how large was the Han domain originally? How many native peoples lived south and north of the Yangtze? What became of the once-famous tribes—the Quanrong, Zhongshan, Dian, Ba, Shanyue? If it was all about virtue, where did they go?”

“Then where did they go, according to you?”

“They were assimilated into the Han, naturally. That is where ‘civilization’ comes in,” Wang Shirong answered solemnly. “The sages did not mean to sway others with virtue alone, but to destroy their armies, burn their texts, vessels, and palaces, and then teach them to speak our language, wear our clothes, and follow our customs. After a few decades, who isn’t Han?”

Lin Feng was taken aback. “Is that so? Where is this written?”

Wang Shirong knew his lord was brilliant yet lacked historical scholarship. “Of course such things are not widely recorded, for they reflect poorly on our Han. But those who study the classics can see the truth. For example, when Prime Minister Guan Zhong defeated the barbarians and took many prisoners, he first destroyed their culture, then their will, then dispersed them for reeducation. The sages praised him, saying that without such methods, ‘we would be wearing our jackets left over right.’”

“So that’s what it means,” Lin Feng said with a wry smile, tapping his head and turning to Wang Shirong. “Ji Yun, I never realized how ruthless the sages really were.”

Seeing Lin Feng deep in thought, Wang Shirong grew anxious and ventured, “Your Majesty, was anything I said mistaken?”

“No…” Lin Feng pondered deeply, suddenly realizing that he and Wang Shirong were products of different eras. In his time, the country had been weak for a century, and all political doctrines were couched in high-minded rhetoric, always betraying a sense of ‘saving the nation by circuitous means.’ In Wang Shirong’s age, the Han had suffered humiliations, but not for long, so their pride remained intact.

That was their greatest difference: one with the mentality of a proud power, the other with the psychology of a humbled nation. He smiled at Wang Shirong and clapped his shoulder. “You’re right. I was wrong. My only concern is that if we concede those northern and western territories, my guilt would be immense. I feel like Shi Jingtang of old—giving up the Sixteen Prefectures of Yanyun is easy, but reclaiming them would be nigh impossible!”

“But… but…” Wang Shirong was at a loss. “Your Majesty, if you speak of Liaodong, or even central and western Liaoning, I dare not object. But those bitterly cold lands to the far north and west were never really ours to begin with!”

“Nonsense!” Lin Feng rebuked him sharply, startling Wang Shirong pale—Lin Feng had never been so severe. “Ji Yun, remember: those lands are ours by right. I, Lin, can kill emperors and pull down palaces, but I dare not lose those territories—I cannot bear such responsibility!”

“Responsibility?” Wang Shirong was dumbfounded. With tens of thousands of troops and a thousand miles under his command, who could question Lin Feng? But he wisely kept his thoughts to himself, loudly proclaiming, “My lord is wise. I was confused. As Chen Tang of Han once said, ‘Whoever offends mighty Han, however distant, must be punished.’ But… ruling a great nation is like cooking a small fish—one must know when to advance and retreat. With war in Liaodong looming, what is your plan?”

“Cough…cough, my point was only about attitude. Do you understand?” Having vented his patriotism, Lin Feng regained his composure and nodded apologetically. “Since the Russians have come, we must sign an alliance. For now, we have a common enemy. When the Tartars are destroyed, we’ll do as we please.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Wang Shirong bowed with a smile. “This is a matter of utmost secrecy—though when the time comes, what pretext shall we use to go to war with the Russians?”

“Ancestral custom—‘civilize the barbarians!’ Who needs a pretext?”

“Heh, wise indeed. I was overcautious. But please order Lord Li and Director Tang of Liaodong to cooperate with me. I will immediately dispatch agents to investigate the Russians’ true strength and recruit guides for our army.”

“Very good!” Lin Feng nodded absentmindedly. He knew that at this time, Russia’s power in the Far East was weak, its foothold insecure, and that it often suffered at the hands of local tribes. He was thus confident of victory. “By the way, have that ‘gang of cowardly dead chickens’ brought here—I’ll negotiate with them myself. But wait, do we have anyone who speaks Russian?”

Wang Shirong was momentarily stunned, then replied, “We’ll use Mongolian, of course! Surely you know, Marshal, that the Mongols once ruled Russia for centuries—their people are fluent in Mongolian.”