sovbooks Chapter 61 Gui De Trap
Chapter 61 Gui De Trap
On the 21st day of the tenth month of the sixteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, the wind came from the north, carrying the fishy smell of Yellow River silt and the chill of early winter.
Twenty miles outside Guide Prefecture, the land is overgrown with weeds.
Five years ago, Gao Yingxiang's corpse lay on this plain in eastern Henan. Three years ago, Li Zicheng massacred the city here. Last year, the Qing army plundered the area. Now, human bones and rusty arrowheads are still mixed in with the grass.
Zuo Liangyu reined in his horse and stopped on the earthen slope, with a dark mass of 30,000 "elite troops" behind him.
Despite being called an elite force, their armor was actually a mixed bag—there were blue cloth armor captured from the Qing army, rusty iron lamellar armor made by the Ministry of Works in the early Chongzhen period, and many more infantrymen wearing mandarin duck battle jackets or even short tunics.
The banners were in disarray, with various flags bearing the names "Zuo," "Chu," and "Ningnan" mixed together. The veterans in the ranks had blank expressions, the newly recruited refugees had fearful eyes, and there were even half-grown children wrapped in tattered coats, their cheekbones protruding from thinness, their hands trembling as they held guns.
But there were many people. Thirty thousand men stretched along the official road, for four miles from end to end, the dust obscuring the sun, which gave off a heavy sense of oppression belonging to a chaotic world.
"Father," Zuo Menggeng rode forward, his voice low, "the scouts report that Sun Chuanting only brought two hundred personal guards out of the city to greet us, the city gates are wide open, and the garrison is sparse. Could this... be a trap?"
Zuo Liangyu squinted, gazing at the gray city in the distance.
The city wall of Guide Prefecture is three zhang high, but many collapsed areas are filled with earthen bags. The flags on the city tower are sparse, and a few "Sun" character flags flutter weakly in the wind.
The city gates were indeed wide open, and people were coming and going as usual, without any sign of heavy security.
"He's gambling," Zuo Liangyu sneered, his laughter dry and hoarse, "gambling that I won't dare to move, gambling that I'll actually believe his nonsense about 'surrender'."
Even so, he tightened his grip on the reins, a deep scar on his hand turning slightly white—a mark left from the battle with Zhang Xianzhong's forces in the sixth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign.
Three days ago, he rallied his troops in Wuchang, tearfully declaring before the entire city's gentry: "I am deeply grateful for His Majesty's favor and will repay his past transgressions with my life! This time, marching north, I will be His Majesty's vanguard, defeating the enemy and avenging our humiliation!"
The hall erupted in applause, and several elderly scholars were moved to tears.
But when he turned back to camp, he summoned his trusted confidant Jin Shenghuan and secretly ordered him: "If anything happens to this town in Guide, you shall immediately lead the navy eastward, break through Jiujiang within a day, and bring the army to the gates of Nanjing within three days—we must have something that makes the court wary."
This was a high-stakes gamble. The stakes were his life and fortune, the legacy the Zuo family had built over twenty years, and the lives of the thirty thousand men under his command.
Twenty years ago, he was a guerrilla general under You Shiwei, the commander-in-chief of Changping. He followed Cao Wenzhao to suppress bandits, risking his life for food. Before each battle, he would entrust his wife and children to his fellow villagers.
Now he is the Duke of Chu, possessing the fertile lands of Huguang and commanding thousands of warships, yet the ice beneath his feet is thinner than before—so thin that he can hear the cracking sound of ice breaking every night.
"Pass on the order," Zuo Liangyu said, his voice slightly hoarse in the wind, "The vanguard of five thousand, led by Meng Geng, will advance slowly for three li to clear the way. The central army will follow the main force, and the rear guard will bring up the rear. Each unit must be at least two li apart."
This is the old military strategy: the vanguard scouts, the central army advances slowly, and the rearguard brings up the rear. This allows for both improvisational attacks and the ability to cut off the rear and survive if ambushed.
Zuo Menggeng accepted the order and left. Zuo Liangyu watched his son's young back and suddenly remembered that in the ninth year of Chongzhen's reign, he led three hundred cavalry in a night raid on Zhang Xianzhong's old camp. His son was only seven years old then, clinging to his legs and crying, "Father, don't go." Now his son was capable of leading troops, but the world was ten times more dangerous than it had been back then.
"Duke," his advisor Lu Ding rode closer and whispered, "Last night we received a secret report from Nanjing that His Majesty has approved the expansion of the workshops to five thousand people. That woman Liu Rushi... now not only has looms under her command, but she has also opened literacy classes and a medical clinic. The refugees outside Nanjing are now either crowding into the workshops or flocking to the military academy."
He paused, his voice growing even deeper: "Duke, the imperial court is... digging up our roots."
Zuo Liangyu remained silent.
Of course he understood. What were the foundations of warlords? Soldiers, provisions, and territory. Where did the soldiers come from? Destitute refugees. Where did the provisions come from? Squeezed from the mouths of the people. How did they defend their territory? Through intimidation with swords and spears.
But now the court is giving refugees a way to make a living: thirty coins a day, two meals a day, children will be looked after, doctors will be available when they are sick, and those who can read can become managers. Even more terrifying is that "Military Academy"—poor students go in to learn military strategy and firearms, and when they come out they are the emperor's disciples, and can rise to the rank of captain or garrison commander in three years.
Who would risk their life to rebel with Zuo Liangyu? Who would risk their life for a meager salary of twenty coins a day, with the possibility of being withheld at any time?
"Let's take it one step at a time." He simply waved his hand in the end, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
For twenty years, he had dodged the swords of bandits, avoided the arrows of the Qing army, and navigated the suspicions of Emperor Chongzhen and the infighting of his colleagues. This time, he could also get through it.
He had to wade through.
At the same time, in the Guide Prefecture government office.
Sun Chuanting sat in the hall, engrossed in reading a volume of "New Book of Military Tactics". The edges of the pages were worn and yellowed, covered with dense red annotations—some were his own, some were original annotations by Qi Jiguang, and there were also a few fresh ink marks, which read "Three-row volley firing method of flintlock musket" and "New method for calculating the elevation angle of artillery".
The generals below the hall were restless. Lieutenant General Gao Jie (Note: artistic adjustment; historically, Gao Jie should have been in Shaanxi at this time, but this is for the sake of the plot) got up for the third time, paced to the door, and then turned back. The sound of armor plates clattering together was particularly jarring in the empty hall.
"Commander-in-Chief," he finally couldn't help but say, "Zuo Liangyu's 30,000 troops are already 20 li away. Are we really going to open the city gates so wide? What if he's really feigning surrender..."
"Then let him feign surrender." Sun Chuanting didn't look up, but simply turned a page of his book, his voice as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "His Majesty has decreed: if Zuo Liangyu truly surrenders, he will be the Duke of Chu of the Ming Dynasty and should be treated with the courtesy due to a duke; if he feigns surrender, it will be a merit delivered to our doorstep, and he should be captured as the commander-in-chief of the enemy army. Gentlemen—"
He put down his book, his gaze sweeping over the assembled generals. His eyes, deep-set, were sharp as knives: "Do you want a colleague, or a head?"
The room was completely silent.
The generals exchanged glances, all seeing shock in each other's eyes. These words were too harsh, too blunt. But the speaker was Sun Chuanting—the one who had defended Tongguan for forty-seven days on an empty stomach, and who had personally executed his own nephew who had deserted in the face of battle.
He has the right to say that.
Sun Chuanting stood up and walked to the hanging map. The map was newly drawn, the ink still wet, and it marked in detail the terrain, water sources, and villages around Guide, and even had several small circles drawn with cinnabar—those were suitable locations for an ambush.
He pointed to the west of the city: "Zuo Liangyu will surely send the vanguard to scout ahead, the central army to advance slowly, and the rear guard to cover the rear. This is the old military strategy, and also a sign of his apprehension."
"How should the commander respond?"
"I have ordered most of the garrison in the west of the city to withdraw and replace them with old and weak auxiliary soldiers, and to reduce the number of flags by half," Sun Chuanting said calmly. "I also ordered the kitchen to prepare an extra meal today, with plenty of mutton soup and two steamed buns for each person—let the aroma waft out of the city."
The generals looked at each other in bewilderment.
Is this some kind of empty city ploy? But Zuo Liangyu isn't Sima Yi; he's a ruthless hero who crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood. Would he fall for this?
"Commander-in-Chief," Gao Jie hesitated, "what if Zuo Liangyu really dares to attack the city..."
"He wouldn't dare." Sun Chuanting turned around and picked up a report from the table. "Three days ago, Zheng Sen's navy burned thirty-eight Korean grain ships in the Bohai Sea. The Qing army under Dodo only has enough food for ten days. If Zuo Liangyu rebels now, he will be exposing his back to the starving mad tiger—Dodo will be the first to eat him."
He paused, his voice growing even colder: "Moreover, Qin Liangyu has already marched east out of the Three Gorges to Zigui, and Huang Degong's troops have moved to Anqing. Zuo Liangyu is now trapped with no way forward or backward; his only options are surrender or death."
The hall was deathly silent, save for the crackling sound from the charcoal brazier.
The generals finally understood—this wasn't an empty city ploy; it was an impregnable fortress, with only one escape route. Zuo Liangyu wasn't afraid to attack the city; he had nowhere to go afterward.
"Go," Sun Chuanting waved his hand. "Remember, greet people with a smile, and keep your sword hidden in your sleeve."
The generals solemnly clasped their hands in greeting and filed out.
Silence returned to the hall. Sun Chuanting sat alone at his desk, taking out a secret letter from his robes. It had been delivered by Li Ruolian three days prior; the sealing wax was intact, and inside was only one line:
"Liu Yongzuo has been expelled, and 310,000 taels of embezzled silver have been recovered from the Imperial Treasury. The family of Li Guoying, the Left-wing General, was 'invited' to Nanjing this morning and has been properly settled."
Sun Chuanting held the letter close to the candlelight. The flame licked the corner of the paper, spread rapidly, and turned into a clump of ashes that fell into the copper basin.
He stared at the embers, his gaze deep and thoughtful.
He deeply despised warlords like Zuo Liangyu who amassed power and influence. In the early years of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, when he served as the Yongping Military Commissioner, he submitted a memorial vehemently criticizing the "arrogance of generals and laziness of soldiers, their growing power becoming uncontrollable," specifically naming Zuo Liangyu as "nurturing bandits to enhance his own power, and being domineering and disloyal." At that time, he was young and full of enthusiasm, believing that everything in the world was simply black and white.
Now he is fifty-two years old, with completely white temples. He has experienced the desperate situation at Tongguan, seen piles of corpses of the starving, and even personally beheaded his old subordinate who had followed him for ten years—because that subordinate allowed his troops to plunder grain, resulting in the freezing and starvation deaths of an entire village.
He learned to compromise, to scheme, and to do what had to be done in this corrupt world.
But there are some bottom lines he has never abandoned.
His Majesty said: Use them if they can, kill them if they cannot.
Let's give it a try.
At noon, Zuo Menggeng's vanguard arrived three miles outside the west gate of Guide.
Sure enough, there were only a few scattered soldiers on the city wall, mostly old men in their forties and fifties. Some were dozing against the crenellations with their spears in hand, while others were squatting in the sun by the wall. The city gates were wide open, and people were coming and going in an endless stream—men carrying firewood, women selling vegetables in baskets, and old farmers leading skinny donkeys, all mixed together, showing no signs of wartime.
Zuo Menggeng's suspicions deepened, and he ordered the entire army to halt and sent scouts to investigate.
Half an hour later, the scout reported: "The market in the city is bustling, and the aroma of mutton soup can be smelled for miles around. The garrison soldiers are chatting and laughing as they change shifts, and some are even complaining that they didn't have half an hour of training today. They don't seem well-prepared."
"A trap?" Zuo Menggeng frowned.
"It doesn't seem like it," the scout hesitated for a moment. "I disguised myself as a wood seller and sneaked in. I saw a few soldiers go straight to 'Liu's Wine Shop' after they finished their shift. The shopkeeper even gave them a pot of wine on credit—if it were a war, how could they dare to be so lax?"
As Zuo Menggeng hesitated, a troop of cavalry suddenly rushed out from inside the city gate. There were only about twenty men, all lightly armored and simply dressed. The leader was a general in his early thirties with a dark complexion and a scar on his left cheek that ran from the corner of his eye to his chin. He wore a slightly worn battle jacket with mandarin ducks on it. From afar, he clasped his hands and shouted:
"Is this General Zuo? This humble general, Gao Jie, a lieutenant colonel, has come to greet you on the orders of the Commander-in-Chief!"
Gao Jie. Zuo Menggeng knew this man—he was originally a subordinate of Gao Yingxiang, who surrendered to the Ming Dynasty in the eighth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign. He was known for his fierce bravery and had followed Sun Chuanting in his campaigns over the years, a vicious wolf that would not let go once it had its jaws on him. But at this moment, he was all smiles, even a little too enthusiastic.
"General Gao," Zuo Menggeng returned the salute from horseback, maintaining a distance, "My father's army is behind us. I wonder if Commander Sun..."
"The Grand Marshal has prepared a modest feast at the government office, awaiting the Duke of Chu!" Gao Jie rode closer, lowering his voice, his scarred face twisting with a smile. "Young General, rest assured, the Grand Marshal said that all this is for the sake of the country. All past grievances are wiped clean from today onwards. After we defeat the Jurchens, His Majesty will reward us handsomely!"
The words were well-spoken, but Zuo Menggeng was even more wary. He gave a signal, and the vice-general understood, leading a squad of personal guards forward: "This humble general and his men will escort the young general into the city."
This is to keep a close eye on Gao Jie and prevent him from launching a sneak attack.
Gao Jie didn't care at all, laughed heartily, and turned his horse around to lead the way. As the group passed through the city gate, Zuo Menggeng looked up and saw fresh charred marks on the top of the gate, as if it had been burned by a torch, and he could still faintly smell gunpowder.
But he didn't have time to think about it.
The scene inside the city horrified Zuo Menggeng even more.
The streets were bustling, shops remained open, and banners fluttered in the wind. An old woman lined up to buy rice at the grain shop, several idle men boasted at the tea stall, and children chased and played at the alley entrance, kicking a tattered rattan ball. A few old men squatted against the wall, basking in the sun; when they saw the army passing by, they merely glanced up lazily before lowering their heads to continue twisting hemp rope.
This doesn't look like a frontline city at all; it's clearly an ordinary prefecture or county in a peaceful year.
"Commander Sun's army is so disciplined, yet the people are not afraid of war?" Zuo Menggeng probed.
Gao Jie laughed heartily, his voice booming: "Young General, you may not know this, but the Commander-in-Chief has ordered that soldiers entering the market must engage in fair trade. Anyone who forcibly takes even a single coin will be punished with twenty strokes of the cane; anyone who harasses women and children will be beheaded. At first, there were a few unruly soldiers who didn't believe in this, but after receiving a few beatings and losing two heads, they all became obedient."
He paused, then added, "The people are not afraid of soldiers because they know that our weapons are only for foreign invaders."
It was described lightly, yet it exuded a profound sense of confidence.
Zuo Menggeng didn't ask any more questions, but just observed secretly. Occasionally, under the eaves of the houses on both sides of the street, you could see men standing with their arms crossed. They seemed relaxed, but their posture was the "T-stance" of the army. Their eyes were sharp as eagles when they swept over the troops, and then naturally looked away before making eye contact.
Was it the Embroidered Uniform Guard? Or Sun Chuanting's personal guards, the "Night Scouts"?
His vest was soaked with cold sweat, and his hands holding the reins were slightly damp.
As the group passed an intersection, Zuo Menggeng caught a glimpse of a cart parked deep in the alley, covered with a straw mat, from which half of a dark iron pipe was visible.
It's a cannon.
Although it was covered, he recognized its shape; it was a tiger-crouching cannon, designed to fire shrapnel, capable of killing both humans and animals within thirty paces.
He suddenly looked at Gao Jie. Gao Jie was pointing to a restaurant in the distance, laughing and saying, "That restaurant's mutton soup is superb. If the young general is free tonight, I'll treat you..."
His smile was natural, without any sign of anything amiss.
Zuo Menggeng swallowed hard and looked away. He suddenly realized that in this seemingly lax city, there might be swords and crossbows hidden under every eave and in every alley.
This is an invisible net, which has already been quietly spread.
At 1:00 PM, Zuo Liangyu's central army arrived outside the city.
As expected, Sun Chuanting only brought two hundred personal guards to greet him. They were all lightly armored and simply dressed, and even their flags only bore the character "Sun" and the insignia of the governor. He himself wore an ordinary blue Taoist robe with a worn cotton armor over it. Standing in the wind, he resembled an old pine tree rooted in the cracks of rocks in a chaotic world—thin and hard, silent, yet unmoved by wind and rain.
"Duke of Chu, you have come a long way and must be tired." Sun Chuanting cupped his hands, his voice steady, neither warm nor cold, as if he were greeting a colleague.
Zuo Liangyu quickly dismounted—though clad in heavy armor, his movements were not clumsy, but rather showed the agility of a veteran general. He strode a few steps and then attempted to kneel in obeisance: "This guilty general, Zuo Liangyu, pays his respects to the Commander-in-Chief! In armor, I cannot perform the full ceremony; I beg your forgiveness!"
They adopted an extremely humble posture, almost subservient.
Sun Chuanting reached out to support him. His hand was steady, with large knuckles, and thick calluses on his palm and thumb—marks left from years of wielding a knife and drawing a bow. His strength wasn't great, but it prevented Zuo Liangyu from kneeling.
"The rank of Duke is above that of this Governor-General, so there's no need for such formalities," Sun Chuanting said calmly. "There's no need for empty formalities in the military, please."
With this support, Zuo Liangyu's heart sank again.
He had seen many military governors who came from scholarly backgrounds—Yang Sichang was effeminate, Hong Chengchou was shrewd, and Chen Xinjia was cowardly. But Sun Chuanting was different. This man possessed a scholarly air, but even more so, a martial spirit and a bloodthirsty aura. He was a true scholar who had wielded a sword, killed people, and rolled in mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
The two rode into the city side by side. Zuo Liangyu's personal guards wanted to follow closely, but Gao Jie politely but firmly stopped them: "Brothers, you have had a long journey. The commander has prepared barracks in the east of the city, with hot water and hot meals ready. Please follow me."
The captain of the personal guards looked at Zuo Liangyu. Zuo Liangyu was silent for a moment, then nodded: "Go, and follow General Gao's instructions."
He watched his personal guards being led down another path, a shadow of gloom flashing in his eyes. This was a show of force, a warning: once you enter Guide City, you'll have to follow my rules.
Sure enough, a table of food and wine was laid out inside the government office, consisting of four meat dishes, four vegetable dishes, and a jar of old wine—simple to the point of being shabby. The meat dishes were stewed mutton, roast chicken, braised pig's head, and fried fish, while the vegetable dishes were cabbage, tofu, radish, and bean sprouts—all common dishes in the army.
"The military quarters are simple; please forgive us, Your Excellency." Sun Chuanting sat down in the main seat and gestured for Zuo Liangyu to sit opposite him.
Zuo Liangyu declined the seat, his gaze quickly sweeping across the hall. Apart from two old servants standing by, there was no one else. The courtyard outside the window was empty, a few withered trees standing in the corner, not even a bird in sight.
It's too quiet. So quiet it's unsettling.
"Commander-in-Chief," Zuo Liangyu said cautiously, raising his wine cup with both hands, "I have come north this time out of gratitude for His Majesty's boundless grace, and out of regret for my hesitation the other day. My 30,000 men, though not daring to call themselves elite, are willing to be the vanguard, to fight the Jurchens to the death! To wash away our past shame with blood, and to atone for our sins with merit!"
He spoke with great passion, his eyes even slightly reddening.
Sun Chuanting listened quietly, and only after he finished speaking did he raise his wine cup: "I am already aware of the Duke's loyalty and righteousness. Since we are of one mind to defeat the enemy, there are several matters that I need to discuss with the Duke."
"Please give your instructions, Commander." Zuo Liangyu put down his wine cup and leaned forward slightly.
"First," Sun Chuanting held up a finger, its knuckles as sharp as bamboo, "Now that your unit is under my command, it should be reorganized according to the new army system. Dismantle the original structure, and form battalions of a thousand men each, and recreate the roster. Officers of the rank of centurion and above must go to the Nanjing Military Academy for three months of training to learn new tactics and firearms manuals. Only those who pass the assessment can be retained."
Zuo Liangyu's eyes twitched. Dismantling the organizational structure—this was an attempt to uproot him. Rotating officer training—this was a way to purge him.
But he remained outwardly calm: "That is the way it should be. My men do indeed have some old habits that need to be corrected."
"Second," Sun Chuanting pointed again, "the rations and pay will be distributed according to the actual number of personnel, and will be checked daily. Those who submit false reports or leave empty quotas will be executed; those who withhold military pay will be executed; those who resell military rations will be executed."
The three cries of "cut!" were each colder than the last.
Zuo Liangyu tightened his grip on the cup. This was cutting off his source of income. Of his 30,000 men, only 23,000 were actually paid, with 7,000 being paid without working. Add to that the deductions and reselling, and he could rake in 200,000 taels a year. If he were paid according to actual numbers…
"Military law is as firm as a mountain, and this humble general would never dare to disobey it," he replied through gritted teeth.
"Third," he raised his third finger, "tomorrow at Chenshi (7-9 AM), please invite the Duke to the drill ground in the west of the city to watch the artillery drills."
Zuo Liangyu stared at the three fingers, then suddenly laughed, though his laughter was somewhat dry: "Does the Commander... not believe me?"
"No," Sun Chuanting smiled, a faint smile like ice on water, "it's to show the Duke something, to let him know—the Ming Dynasty of today is different from the one before."
As soon as he finished speaking, the sound of orderly footsteps suddenly came from outside the hall.
Click, click, click.
It was the sound of leather boots stepping on the bluestone slabs, heavy and rhythmic, approaching from afar and stopping outside the courtyard. Then came the soft clatter of nail plates, rustling—rustling—like waves crashing on the shore, one sound, two sounds, perfectly synchronized.
Those were soldiers on patrol who happened to be passing by.
Zuo Liangyu's knuckles were slightly white as he held the wine glass.
He knew that from the moment he stepped into Guide City, he had become a fish in a net. This net was invisible, yet it was everywhere—the idlers in the market, the gazes under the eaves, the cannons in the alleys, the footsteps outside the courtyard at this moment, and Sun Chuanting's calm and unwavering eyes.
There was no murderous intent, no hostility, and not even wariness in his eyes.
There is only one thing: control.
It was as if Zuo Liangyu was not a regional warlord with 30,000 troops, but merely a new recruit reporting for duty, while Sun Chuanting was the head instructor who would decide his fate.
"Commander," he slowly set down his wine glass, the liquid swirling within, "I... understand."
"Good that you understand." Sun Chuanting raised his glass. "Cheers!"
After several rounds of drinks, the food had barely been touched. Zuo Liangyu remained tense throughout, while Sun Chuanting ate with ease, even picking up a piece of tofu and chewing it carefully.
The sun was setting outside the window, casting long shadows in the west, and the light inside the hall was gradually dimming. The old servant silently lit a candle.
"Duke," Sun Chuanting suddenly spoke, as if chatting casually, "Zhang Baiwan, a powerful figure in the city, sent me a generous gift last night, saying it was 'a tribute to the Duke of Chu.' Five boxes of Shaoxing rice wine, ten bolts of Huzhou silk, and a pair of jade ruyi scepters."
Zuo Liangyu froze.
Zhang Baiwan, the biggest local tyrant in Guide, had five hundred henchmen and controlled most of the shops, gambling dens, brothels, and even illegally operated salt wells in the west of the city. Before Zuo Liangyu entered the city, he did indeed secretly contact him, offering him the honorary title of military commander and three thousand taels of silver in exchange for inside help to control the west gate if necessary.
How did Sun Chuanting find out? Did Zhang Baiwan betray him? Or...?
"I have already returned it to you," Sun Chuanting said calmly, picking up a piece of mutton. "And I told him: The Duke of Chu is honest and upright, and does not accept bribes. If he dares to offer bribes again, he will be punished for disrupting the morale of the army."
Zuo Liangyu's Adam's apple bobbed; he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
"Oh, right," Sun Chuanting said, as if remembering something, "At noon today, Zhang Baiwan's nephew, along with twenty servants, tried to cause trouble at the West Gate, claiming to be 'the personal guards of the Duke of Chu' and wanting to take over the city's defenses. They were captured by the garrison, given forty lashes, and imprisoned."
He looked up at Zuo Liangyu: "Does the Duke know of this matter?"
A bead of sweat appeared on Zuo Liangyu's forehead: "This humble general...does not know."
"I think so too." Sun Chuanting nodded. "That fellow must have used the Duke's name to commit treacherous acts. I have already ordered that he beheaded in public tomorrow as a warning to others."
Beheaded.
The two words fell lightly, yet they struck Zuo Liangyu's heart like two heavy hammer blows.
This isn't just killing Zhang Baiwan's nephew; it's killing him to show Zuo Liangyu—I know all about your little tricks. If you dare to lay a hand on him again, next time it won't just be someone else's head that falls.
"The Commander-in-Chief is wise." Zuo Liangyu heard his own voice, dry and rough like the friction of gravel.
Sun Chuanting smiled, stopped talking, and focused on eating.
At that moment, Zuo Liangyu suddenly realized with absolute clarity that all the authority, strategies, and cunning he had accumulated over the past twenty years were like a child's trick in front of this thin old scholar.
He did not lose because of insufficient troops or lack of courage.
The problem is... times have changed.
At 3:45 PM, at Zuo Liangyu's main camp.
The tent was brightly lit, and the generals were gathered, yet no one spoke. The charcoal brazier inside the tent burned brightly, but everyone felt cold.
Zuo Menggeng finally couldn't hold back any longer and broke the silence: "Father, that Zhang Baiwan..."
"Useless trash!" Zuo Liangyu slammed his fist on the table, sending teacups flying and shattering on the floor. "He's good for nothing but causing trouble! The town hasn't even made a move yet, and he's already jumping in, leaving behind evidence against us!"
The tent was deathly silent, save for the crackling of the burning charcoal.
"Then we..." General Li Guoying tentatively asked, "Should we do as Sun Chuanting suggested? Break up the organizational structure, have officers take turns training, and conduct daily roll calls?"
The question was asked cautiously. Li Guoying was Zuo Liangyu's confidant, having followed him for twelve years, but even he was wavering at this moment.
Zuo Liangyu didn't answer, but just stared at the flickering candlelight. The firelight swayed in his eyes, reflecting a complex mix of emotions—resentment, fear, anger, scheming, and a trace of weariness that even he himself was unwilling to admit.
After a long silence, he finally hissed, "Pass down the order: reorganization will begin tomorrow. Make two copies of the officer roster, one real and one fake. Keep the real copy safe; do not leak it."
This was a case of feigning compliance while secretly preparing a backup plan. The fake roster was given to Sun Chuanting to pass the inspection, while the real roster was kept in hand, ready to be used to bring out old subordinates when the opportunity arose.
The generals breathed a sigh of relief and readily accepted the order. Although this method was risky, it was still better than being swallowed up by Sun Chuanting.
The generals gradually withdrew. Only Zuo Liangyu and his son remained in the tent.
"Father," Zuo Menggeng said in a low voice, his voice trembling slightly, "I entered the city today and saw that the streets were peaceful and the people were not afraid of soldiers. Sun Chuanting's soldiers... their discipline was frighteningly strict. And those cannons hidden in the alleys..."
He paused, then mustered his courage: "Judging from Sun Chuanting, he seems to have no intention of harming us. Perhaps the court truly intends to trust those it employs. If we sincerely submit..."
"What do you know!" Zuo Liangyu interrupted sharply, then slumped down as if all his strength had been drained. "Sun Chuanting doesn't want to kill me, but he wants to devour my 30,000 men bit by bit, leaving not even bones. Once our soldiers have learned his tactics, received his pay, and acknowledged his generals—will the Zuo family army still belong to the Zuo family then?"
He closed his eyes, and the gazes of those "idlers" in the daytime marketplace appeared before him. Those weren't the gazes of commoners looking at soldiers; they were the gazes of hunters looking at their prey.
Calm, precise, and patient.
"Report—"
A personal guard rushed in and knelt on one knee: "Your Excellency, Commander Sun has sent someone with urgent military information to discuss. He requests that Your Excellency come to the mansion immediately!"
The tent was deathly silent.
Zuo Menggeng stood up, his hand on his sword: "Father, I will lead three hundred personal guards to escort you!"
"No need," Zuo Liangyu slowly rose, straightening his armor with meticulous movements. "If he truly wants to kill me, he'll die even with three thousand men. You stay here, and if I don't return within an hour... you know what to do."
"Father!" Zuo Menggeng's eyes reddened.
Zuo Liangyu waved his hand, said nothing more, and lifted the curtain to leave the tent.
The night wind whipped at his face, cold as a knife, carrying the earthy smell unique to the Yellow River. He gazed at the indistinct outline of Guide City in the distance, a few lights flickering in the darkness atop the city walls like the eyes of a wild beast.
Suddenly, he recalled the fifteenth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, when he controlled Wuchang and Jiujiang, commanded a thousand warships and 100,000 elite troops, and controlled the granaries of Huguang. At that time, he felt that with the world in such chaos, what did the emperor matter? What did the cabinet matter? Only those with troops were kings, and only those with grain were masters.
But now, the imperial court has changed its tactics. Instead of fighting with swords and spears or engaging in power struggles, they have built workshops to take in displaced people, established military academies to train poor students, emptied the imperial treasury to fund the army, and manufactured cannons to train a new army.
They are rebuilding a system. And in the face of this system, Zuo Liangyu's 30,000 private troops are like a mantis trying to stop a chariot.
"Let's go," he said to the waiting guards, his voice so calm it was almost unfamiliar to him.
The sound of horses' hooves rose in the night, shattering the silence, and disappeared into the distance on the official road leading to Guide City.
At the same time, in the Wenhua Hall of Nanjing.
The candlelight was bright. Li Ce sat behind his desk, just unfolding Sun Chuanting's letter sent by carrier pigeon. The letter was as thin as a cicada's wing, containing only seven characters, the ink still wet, yet powerfully written:
"The fish is in the net, Your Majesty, please wait patiently."
Li Ce stared at it for a long time, then laughed.
The smile was faint, yet it possessed a profound depth that seemed to transcend time. He recalled his first life, when Zuo Liangyu stood by in Wuchang and watched Beijing fall; his second life, when Zuo Liangyu marched eastward under the pretext of "purging the emperor's inner circle," plundering along the way; his third, fourth... and so on until his sixth life, this warlord always chose the path that best served him at crucial junctures in history.
But this life is different.
It wasn't because Zuo Liangyu changed, but because the "net" he built had changed—a net woven from the new army, the workshops, the military academy, the transparent food and salary system, and the expectations of the people. No matter how much Zuo Liangyu, this big fish, could struggle, he couldn't escape the net of this era.
He picked up his vermilion pen and wrote on another memorial. It was a plan to expand the workshop's production. Liu Rushi requested that the number of female workers be increased to eight thousand, and that a children's school, a medical clinic, and a loom improvement workshop be established.
The vermilion inkstone fell:
"Approved. An additional 50,000 taels of silver will be allocated to establish branch workshops in five prefectures along the Yangtze River. I intend that within three years, all military uniforms and bedding for the Ming army will be produced in these workshops."
After writing, he blew the ink dry and put the memorial aside.
The candlelight flickered, illuminating his deep eyes. There was no pride, no arrogance in those eyes, only a calm and clear understanding.
He knew that Zuo Liangyu was just the beginning.
He will replace the rotten wood piece by piece and reinforce the keel one by one on this sunken ship until it can set sail again against the winds and waves of the new era.
Tonight is just a calm yet crucial night in the course of a long voyage.