Chapter Seven

For Lin Feng, this New Year was far from pleasant. Though, by Chinese tradition, the Spring Festival is meant to be a time of relaxation and joy, politicians are the exception. Lin Feng himself hadn't realized this at first. In his original plan, he intended to spend the holiday with his wife, A Ke—perhaps stroll through the gardens or take a disguised tour among the commoners, maybe even create a prince or princess together. But a series of events forced him to cancel his break. Clearly, he had forgotten that the Chinese New Year has another name: the "Year Gate," marking the time when one tallies up the accounts of the previous year.

The first bearer of bad news was Li Guangdi, the Han Prime Minister. As soon as the twelfth lunar month began, this tactless fool hurried to deliver his report of misfortune. Now, it was impossible to turn him away. In truth, seeing his prime minister’s haggard appearance softened Lin Feng's heart. He understood that the government had faced a difficult year—not only were there many unsettling reforms, but several traditional industries within their territories had encountered significant problems.

In just two years, Li Guangdi, not yet forty, had aged into an old man before his time. Because they saw each other daily, Lin Feng hadn't noticed the change. But as the old year gave way to the new, seeing Li Guangdi suddenly brought the transformation into sharp relief. He remembered their first meeting—Li Guangdi, handsome and youthful, with feather fan and silk headband, laughing as he consigned the Qing dynasty to flames. How spirited he had been then! Yet, once he took up the reins from the Kangxi Emperor, the heavy burden of state affairs crushed him. The once promising youth was now prematurely gray, his body wasted to skin and bones, the grand, dignified robes hanging loosely, his eyes sunken deep, his complexion tinged with an unhealthy yellow, fatigue etched into his very expression.

Unsurprisingly, the government was indeed in deep trouble. After hearing Li Guangdi’s report, Lin Feng realized things were far worse than he had anticipated.

The sharp conflict had erupted over the recent relief efforts for refugees. In fact, before Lin Feng responded to Gu Yanwu's plea and ordered limited aid for the displaced population, there had always been a current of migration within the Han Army’s territory. Lin Feng had never expected that, after he issued policies favoring commerce and industry and personally supported Hu Mingren’s “Hu Ironworks” conglomerate, officials, landlords, and merchants at every level would emulate his actions. In this short span, commercial mergers within the Han government’s domain had reached unprecedented levels. Those in powerful positions ruthlessly oppressed the lower-tier artisans. Colluding not only with some Han Army officials but also buying off and organizing criminal gangs, they forced independent craftsmen and workshop owners to surrender their businesses. Murder, fraud, and extortion became commonplace, their methods outrageous. Under such brutal assaults, most small-scale ironworks, breweries, and pharmaceutical workshops in Zhili and Jinzhou went bankrupt. Some ruined artisans, crushed by the monopolies, had no choice but to work in the conglomerates’ massive factories, enduring harsh exploitation. Others, unwilling to submit, migrated en masse to the Nuergan region of Liaodong.

Currently, dozens of large financial conglomerates had formed within the Han government’s territory. The wealthiest was the Jin-Hui consortium, led by former Jin-Hui Chamber chairman Xu Danyang—a model Lin Feng knew well, financial oligarchs forged by collusion between banks and industrial commerce. The most powerful was the military-affiliated conglomerate, organized by the sons of Han Army officers—a strange phenomenon reminiscent of Japan’s samurai groups, which Lin Feng himself had fostered. After the conquest of Beijing, Lin Feng immediately issued a decree favoring military families, ordering all shops in Beijing to offer unconditional discounts to Han Army dependents. This group exploited the loophole, profiteering during the social upheaval and surging grain prices, hoarding and trading at will. Though the government later corrected the loophole, they had already amassed their primitive capital. The broadest network belonged to the old landlord class, represented by Lin Feng’s investment in the Hu Ironworks. These held vast tracts of land and mines, and dominated a large share of the fixed market. Their influence ran deep locally. To counter the ferocious competition from the other two conglomerates, they banded together, exchanging information, and leveraged Hu Ironworks’ urgent need for mineral resources to climb the ranks—everyone knew Hu Ironworks belonged to the Han King and was the main supplier of military equipment. Who would dare provoke them, or swat flies on the tiger’s head?

Though Li Guangdi had once pleaded with his lord to return policy focus to traditional agriculture, fate would not oblige. Once industry, shackled for centuries, was set on its path, how could Li Guangdi alone hope to reverse it? The prime minister began with great ambition, determined to change the course of history, but after reviewing just a few cases, he was forced to confront reality. The conglomerates' ties to the Han government were so intimate, their interests so intertwined, that striking at any one was tantamount to wounding the administration itself. In Chinese society, workers alone, without peasant support, could accomplish little.

On one hand, society was in violent upheaval; on the other, commerce flourished and goods abounded. Clearly, Confucius offered no guidance for such dilemmas—nor did Mencius, nor Zhu Xi, nor Wang Yangming, all lost in philosophical speculation. The strangeness of the situation left scholars across the land stunned. Even Lin Feng had never imagined such a scenario. He knew that in the early days of capitalism, there were monstrous tales of men devouring men, but those were textbook history. When faced with it himself, it felt bizarre—what other countries did was one thing, but for China, it was entirely another. The capitalist sprouts nurtured in Confucian soil were unlike any elsewhere. Now, tightly bound to the Han Army’s military group, to the rising empire, and to Lin Feng himself, it was, in truth, a historical jest. These capitalists were not born of social progress, but as by-products of Lin Feng’s battle to claim China and dominate the world.

It was a monstrosity.

Lin Feng had no idea what to do.

Things had long since escaped his control. It was as if he had ignited some explosive device—everything he had done merely lit the fuse. Whether it exploded, destroyed the world, or opened a new era, that was beyond his power. Now, he faced very real problems. First, the bankrupt artisans were unemployed and needed placement—whether in the conglomerates’ factories or in the newly conquered northeast, they had to be given a livelihood. Second, by Lin Feng’s estimation, the current development model would soon overcrowd the Han Army’s markets in Zhili and the northeast. If those capitalists, locked in a narrow market, fell into vicious competition and mutual ruin, these newly minted landlords and merchants would lose faith and return to traditional modes of production, sparking a massive economic recession—a fatal blow. If this issue could not be resolved, the Han Army group would collapse without any outside attack.

After much deliberation, it seemed only war could resolve the dilemma.

The situation now was highly volatile. According to Chinese values, abandoning filial duty is a grave offense, condemned even more harshly than theft, robbery, rape, or prostitution. Now Lin Feng felt the pain of rash decision-making. In truth, the policy had been a momentary inspiration—on paper, it seemed perfect: cast off burdens, acquire cheap labor, and all within the government’s financial limits, even cheaper than buying slaves. But the world did not revolve around the Han King alone; everyone else had family and feelings. Now, as tempers cooled, they had turned against him.

Blaming these people for dishonesty was pointless; the Han government was clearly at fault. Relief for refugees was a noble act, but demanding they abandon parents and children was unconscionable, utterly indefensible in terms of morality. In the past two months, more than six hundred thousand able-bodied men had entered Han Army territory, lining the main roads, the vanguard already past Jinzhou, while most still gathered in the border districts of Shunde and Zhengding. If anything went wrong, the consequences would be terrifying.

The current situation was still under Han government control. When the conflict finally erupted and intensified, the prefects of Shunde and Zhengding immediately sent urgent requests to the capital. The general staff, caught off guard but recognizing the gravity, responded swiftly. The Fourth Infantry Army under Sun Sike mobilized in full for suppression and deterrence, while Zhaoliangdong’s Fifth Infantry Army urgently dispatched over a thousand cavalry in support. Moreover, the general staff’s painstakingly built secondary military organization played a crucial role. Proximity to Henan had left local landlords terrified by Yang Qilong’s peasant uprising, and the recent Baoding Baiyangdian peasant revolt had further heightened their sense of peril. Thus, when the government called for militia formations, all eagerly participated. Many farsighted landlords, unable to send their sons into the regular army, seized the opportunity to involve them in militia construction. Though grassroots military building had only been underway for half a year, thanks to strong support from local powers, great progress had been made.

This achievement was evident in the dense fortresses and defensive works throughout the border prefectures. Zhou Peigong’s first task in militia training was to organize mass construction of fortifications. Under the command of Han Army officers, militia units followed the principle of “village-wide defense, household-wide protection,” and drew a long arc along the Han government’s border, forming a fan-shaped defensive array against the hypothetical enemies of Henan’s peasant army and Shandong’s Qing forces. The fixed encampments of the Liu Lao-si Third Army and Sun Sike Fourth Army were fortified, roads and military posts improved to ensure “alarm in one place, support from all sides,” establishing a preliminary defensive system.

Now, the "unruly" refugees were contained within these fortress clusters. When the crisis first escalated, militia members entered the fortresses at the request of their families. In some districts where the situation was dire, Han Army officers in charge of the militia even opened armories to equip their units. Though the militia was scattered, their total force exceeded 150,000, now locked in a tense standoff with the refugees in a confined area.

Upon hearing Li Guangdi's urgent report, Lin Feng immediately dispatched envoys to order the border garrisons to close the checkpoints and halt further refugee entry, and instructed Colonel Zhao Yingkui to lead two thousand elite cavalry in emergency support. At this point, he had no choice. The relief plan had utterly collapsed. Two options remained: either expel the refugees who had already entered, or compromise and allow their families to cross the border.

Between the two, the latter was less severe. If he chose the first, it would require war, suppressing the refugees by force—a pointless conflict. Even if victorious, slaughtering hundreds of thousands, what would the Han government gain? Thus, Lin Feng could only accept their demands and compromise.

The relief plan had come to an end. Lin Feng had to accept reality: given the Han government’s current finances, there was no way to support those millions on the border, and even aiding the hundred thousand already within was the government’s limit.

In these chaotic times, people are worth less than dogs. Now, with war raging across the land and millions of lives hanging in the balance, all must be left to fate.