Chapter Forty-Three: A Voice Too Faint to Be Heard

After the grand opening, the establishment enjoyed several busy days. Yang Lian, however, acted as a hands-off manager, leaving all affairs in the capable hands of Wang Hu, Zhao Peng, and Xiao Erhei, each of whom held secrets that bound them to his service. As for Li Xionghsin and his son Li Shu, Yang Lian was cautious; he allowed them only to assist, never letting them near anything too significant.

With matters at the inn and restaurant settled, Yang Lian resumed his duties with the Shenwu Army. Soon, news arrived: Wang Chongwen, the Military Commissioner of Yong’an, had been appointed Southeast Commander-in-Chief; Wei Cen, the Pacifier of Zhangquan, became Eastern Supervising General; and Feng Yanlu was named Southern Supervising General. The three had already marched to Fuzhou to support Chen Jue. Yet Yang Lian was not optimistic.

Even before the news, Yang Lian had visited the Prince of Qi to relay a message to Feng Yanji: with three commanders leading the main force and Chen Jue acting as Privy Envoy in Fuzhou, the campaign was bound to be fraught. Whether in war or business, the greatest danger comes from too many people making decisions. Now, with four commanders overseeing the Fuzhou campaign, whose orders should be obeyed? Surely, each would vie for credit. If their rivalry drove them to courageous battle, it could be tolerated. But Yang Lian feared they would instead hold their troops back, waiting to reap the rewards of others’ labor.

If one commander missed a chance at glory, he might resort to slaughtering civilians and claiming the credit. Should that happen, unless the population of Min was utterly wiped out, the rebellion would never truly be quelled. Li Jing, the Prince of Qi, heeded Yang Lian’s warning and brought Feng Yanji in person to discuss the concern.

Feng Yanji scoffed at the notion—a mere junior officer presuming to speak of affairs of state. If not for Yang Lian’s ties to the Prince, Feng Yanji would have had him thrown in jail.

Upon hearing this, Yang Lian shook his head repeatedly. The men dispatched by the emperor were mostly scholars, all eager for glory; the Southern Tang’s campaign to pacify Min was doomed from the start. Having said all he could, Yang Lian decided to leave it be, focusing on the daily drills of the Shenwu Army and the management of his inn and restaurant, which kept him busy enough.

It was the Princess of Huairou who often visited him, to Yang Lian’s great frustration. He frequently had to spare attention to deal with her. During moments of leisure, Yang Lian pondered Zeng Yiling’s identity. Who was she, truly? He recalled the jade hairpin she had given him, rummaging through his belongings until he found it. Holding it in his palm, he examined it closely—it was an ordinary hairpin, nothing remarkable. After half an incense stick’s time of turning it over in every way, he saw nothing unusual and finally set it aside.

In early October, word came again: Southern Tang forces had gathered in Min and joined with Chen Jue, the Privy Envoy. Chen Jue rejoiced, launching an attack on Fuzhou. Li Renda, having already pledged allegiance to Wuyue, prepared for the Tang assault—fortifying his defenses while sending envoys by sea to seek help from Wuyue.

Ma Jie, Fuzhou’s Formation Commander, secretly led Southern Tang troops into the city, launching a surprise attack on the Shanhua Gate Bridge. They routed a hundred defenders and seized the outer city. Southern Tang’s morale soared, and they pressed their attack on the inner city. Li Renda led his men in a desperate defense; the city walls changed hands several times, but Li Renda ultimately held the inner stronghold.

Yang Lian kept a close watch on these events. He sought out Yao Feng, who had participated in the campaign to destroy Min two years prior, to inquire further. Yao Feng, knowing Min well and despite his pride, respected Yang Lian’s position enough to share his insights.

Southern Tang, enjoying years of peace, had a military sorely lacking in strength. Yet compared to the small, impoverished Min, they held significant advantages. Even so, Min, relying on its mountainous terrain, managed to block the Southern Tang army. Without internal strife, Southern Tang would never have captured Wang Yanzheng.

Later, when Chen Jue failed to persuade the rebel Li Renda to surrender, he felt humiliated and called upon the troops from Ting, Jian, Pu, and Xin to besiege Li Renda. Unfortunately, Chen Jue was not adept at leading troops; despite his numbers, he achieved nothing. The emperor, seeing the situation unfold, was displeased with Chen Jue, but since Southern Tang was strong, failure to subdue tiny Min would tarnish his reputation. Thus, he resolved to besiege Fuzhou.

After a lengthy discussion, Yang Lian clarified his thoughts, becoming ever more certain: even if the campaign to destroy Min saw temporary success, it would ultimately end in failure.

Wuyue would surely send forces to support Li Renda, who had already pledged loyalty. Wuyue’s navy was formidable, able to reinforce Fuzhou directly by sea without relying on land routes. This would be a protracted war; the side with greater national strength stood a better chance, but given the commanders involved, the odds were even. Considering Li Renda’s assistance from within, Southern Tang’s chances diminished further.

Yang Lian could only smile, quietly advising the Prince of Qi, Li Jing, to keep a close eye on Wuyue’s movements. If possible, he suggested deploying the navy to harass Wuyue’s coastline—though the two states were not openly at war, the conflict in Min was tantamount to war between them. With Jin’s relations with the Khitans strained and the Tang unable to march north, unifying the south was a viable option. Facing the Central Plains from south of the Yangtze, there was hope, especially since Southern Tang controlled the Huai region and could at any moment seize Shandong.

Yet Yang Lian’s ambitions were difficult to realize—he lacked the position, and Li Jing was ultimately a short-sighted man.

The days passed quietly, but the court was exhilarated. Chen Jue’s capture of Fuzhou’s outer city brought excellent news, and the hawkish faction strutted around, arrogant and contemptuous. The peace faction kept their heads down, fearing to draw attention.

Amidst the jubilation, Li Jing was carried away by the mood, paying less heed to Yang Lian’s warnings. With Chen Jue’s victory, Fuzhou’s outer city had fallen; the inner city was in peril, and Li Renda, shaken and demoralized, seemed near defeat. The capture of Fuzhou was imminent.

As the days grew colder and leaves fell, even though Jinling was in the south, its winters were brisk. Many people donned thick winter clothes, wrapping themselves tightly. Yang Lian, too, bought warmer garments, dressing a bit heavier. As a martial man, his physique was much hardier than most.

After three months of training, Yang Lian was stronger than ever; his chest muscles had become pronounced. Thanks to his regimen, his twenty subordinates were all in high spirits. Some, more daring, even followed his lead in bathing with cold water. Though difficult at first, they soon saw its benefits.

On the day marking the Minor Snow solar term, the heavens cooperated, laying a thin blanket of snow over the land. The Shenwu Army reduced its training schedule due to the weather, drilling only on the first and fifth days of each cycle, postponing when rain or snow fell.

Yang Lian sat on a soft couch, a warmed jug of yellow wine before him, sipping slowly. Outside, the Qinhuai River, once bustling with boats, was now empty. Occasionally, a few cargo vessels passed by. In this season, the cold truly seeped into one’s bones.

Lin Renzhao, with nothing to do, came to Yang Lian’s residence for food and drink. Unlike Chen Tie, who preferred to frequent brothels, Lin Renzhao was content to dine with Yang Lian, with whom he got along well.

The two chatted over several small dishes and yellow wine. Though young, Lin Renzhao was well-read in military texts and had seen battle. Yang Lian learned much from him, nodding often and asking questions. Knowing Yang Lian had never fought in war, Lin Renzhao patiently explained. Their conversation stretched through the afternoon.

After a while, Yang Lian steered the topic toward the war in Fuzhou. Nearly half a month ago, Jinling had received news of Chen Jue’s capture of Fuzhou’s outer city. Now, after so long, what would the outcome be? Lin Renzhao believed that without external aid, Chen Jue would inevitably capture the isolated city; but if Wuyue intervened, the battle would become much more difficult.

As they spoke, Chen Tie rushed in, greeting Yang Lian. “Deputy Commander, you truly have foresight—just days ago, Wuyue dispatched Zhang Jun and Zhao Chengtai to lead three thousand troops by land and sea from Wenzhou to support Fuzhou.”

Lin Renzhao was taken aback. “So Wuyue couldn’t resist intervening after all.”

Yang Lian considered this. “Wuyue’s intervention is significant. I imagine the Prince of Qi is already aware.”

“Though the Prince knows, I doubt it will help much,” Lin Renzhao shook his head.

“Wuyue’s force numbers thirty thousand—substantial, but still less than the Tang troops in Fuzhou. If Chen Jue, Feng Yanlu, and the others do not rush into battle, but camp outside the city, they can sever the connection between Wuyue and Li Renda. By waiting for an opportune moment to strike, Fuzhou can be secured,” Yang Lian analyzed.

Lin Renzhao nodded, “Exactly. But I fear Chen Jue and his fellows may fail to capture Fuzhou. If Wuyue continues to send reinforcements, the campaign will become difficult.”

Yang Lian stood. “Please wait here—I’ll pay a visit to the Prince of Qi.”

Lin Renzhao asked, “Why seek the Prince?”

“Wuyue is small, its troops limited. I wish to persuade the Prince to order the Ning* of Xuanzhou and the Zhenhai Army of Runzhou to advance by land and sea, threatening Suzhou. This would at least pressure Qian Wenfeng, and Wuyue, needing to defend itself, would send fewer troops south to aid Fuzhou,” Yang Lian replied, urgency in his voice.

Though Yang Lian’s efforts might not sway Li Jing, and Li Jing might not convince the emperor, without trying, how could he know whether it would succeed? Yang Lian donned thick winter clothing, mounted his newly purchased warhorse, and, carrying the Prince’s token, hurried from the Yang family inn.

Lin Renzhao and Chen Tie watched Yang Lian’s departing figure, shaking their heads in unison. Both wondered: why did Yang Lian work so hard?

“Let’s go back and drink,” Chen Tie said as Yang Lian disappeared.

Lin Renzhao nodded. The two returned to the house, warmed another jug of wine, and drank until night fell, when Yang Lian finally returned, snow still clinging to his hair.

Before Yang Lian could brush the snow from his coat, Lin Renzhao eagerly asked, “Brother Yang, how did it go?”

Yang Lian managed a bitter smile. “The Prince agreed, but in my view, His Majesty is unlikely to consent. The victory at Fuzhou has made him forget his own name; at times like this, pouring cold water is unacceptable to many.”

“Sigh!” Lin Renzhao let out a deep breath; he, too, felt the frustration of being powerless despite having ideas.

Yang Lian waved his hand and laughed, “Let’s not speak of these dispiriting matters. Let us drink!”