Xu Fengnian said softly, “Historically, the path for the Northern Barbarians to invade the Central Plains from the south has always had two main routes. One was through Beiliang to seize Western Shu, advancing from west to east with a commanding height advantage. The other was through the gateway of Jizhou, striking directly into the heart of the Central Plains, which led to three major incursions into the capital of the Dafeng Dynasty. Now, there are three routes—besides attacking Beiliang and Jizhou, there’s also the option of Liaodong. The reason is simple: the capital of Liyang is too far north. Emperor Zhao Li once justified this by claiming that a ruler should guard the nation’s borders, rejecting proposals to move the capital south to the Guangling River region. So, logically, if the Northern Barbarians attack Liaodong and succeed, they could march straight to Tai’an City, almost guaranteeing a decisive victory.”
The old monk smiled and said, “Your Highness, you may now say the word ‘but.'”
This time, not only did the old spy have to be forcibly restrained by Yuan Zuozong to prevent him from drawing his sword, but even Xu Yanbing, who had been silently observing, furrowed his brows with a hint of anger.
Xu Fengnian remained expressionless. “But—but with Beiliang’s 300,000 border troops, especially the elite cavalry of over 100,000, and the half-nation’s resources poured into fortifying the Liaodong defenses, the Northern Barbarians dare not act recklessly. If they fail to take Tai’an City within a month, Beiliang’s cavalry can use Jizhou as a logistical base and swiftly march to Liaodong. In that case, the Northern Barbarian army would be trapped, and once Liyang’s southern reinforcements arrive, their chances of victory would be zero. As for attacking through the middle at Jizhou, only a fool or an armchair strategist would consider that. So, does this mean Beiliang’s border army is indispensable to Liyang and the Central Plains? That we are irreplaceable?”
The old monk countered, “By that logic, isn’t it so?”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “It is, and it isn’t. The crux lies in the fact that both the court and Beiliang see the Iron Cavalry as the private army of the Xu family, loyal only to the Xu banner, not imperial decrees or the Zhao emperor. This raises an unavoidable question for both the Xu and Zhao families. Xu Xiao once pondered: if his eldest son turned out to be a useless dandy, neither resembling his father nor his mother, could he still go to Tai’an City as a carefree prince consort? Or retire to a peaceful fiefdom in the Central Plains? I suspect Emperor Zhao Dun of Liyang thought about this many times—how to ensure that the Northern Barbarians clashed with Beiliang first, while smoothly transferring military power to someone else, perhaps even changing the Xu surname to another. Many in the Central Plains court argue that if Gu Jianfeng had risen earlier, he could have conquered the six states during the Spring and Autumn Wars. But since Xu Xiao had already wiped out six of the eight states outside Liyang, Gu Jianfeng had no choice but to follow in his footsteps. After all, he was over a decade younger and enlisted much later. Otherwise, General Gu Jianfeng might have achieved more than just two states. Master, you might again ask, ‘Isn’t that so?'”
The old monk couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
Even the young monk, who had been utterly confused, found it amusing.
Yuan Zuozong smiled knowingly. Xu Yanbing also relaxed his furrowed brows.
Xu Fengnian sighed, a rare hint of pride flashing across his lips as he shook his head. “The answer is yes and no. Because if it were Gu Jianfeng, he wouldn’t have won the Battle of Xilebi, nor could he have defeated Western Chu, which still had fight left after their initial defeat.”
The old monk neither agreed nor disagreed, clearly skeptical. Though a former official of Western Chu, he had long retired to the martial world and was more of a scholar than a strategist. His understanding of that brutal war was more emotional than analytical.
Xu Fengnian suppressed a smile. “Gu Jianfeng himself admitted he couldn’t have won the Battle of Xilebi. He said so privately to Xu Xiao when no one else was around.”
The old monk, looking slightly embarrassed, instinctively raised his hand as if to rub his bald head but only touched his worn-out leather cap.
Xu Fengnian suddenly asked, “Master, earlier you said only Xu Xiao could guard the northwest during the early Yonghui era. Why?”
The old monk didn’t hold back. “That was something General Xu Gong of the Jiangnan Dao’s Gumuxu family confided in me. I merely borrowed his words without fully understanding them.”
Xu Fengnian smiled wryly. “To be honest, the man leading the army to block Beiliang’s cavalry from advancing to Guangling this time is none other than Xu Gong, the Vice Minister of War.”
The old monk was speechless.
Xu Fengnian returned to the earlier topic. “During my first journey through the martial world, the Zhao Gou attempted multiple assassinations. As for the earlier assassination attempts at the Beiliang residence, even if they weren’t orchestrated by Zhao Gou, I doubt you’d believe it.”
The old monk nodded, convinced of this point.
Xu Fengnian continued, “It wasn’t until I entered the capital as the heir that I learned the then-empress, now the empress dowager, had secretly intervened to stop Zhao Gou.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Personally, she might have felt some lingering sentiment between the Xu and Zhao families, or perhaps guilt over the ‘White Robe Incident’ in the capital. But the real reason was her long-term vision for the empire. A spoiled, puppet-like heir in Beiliang was far better than Xu Xiao rebelling in rage. At the time, she and her emperor husband disagreed sharply. Emperor Zhao Dun wanted Beiliang to be handed to Chen Zhibao, the ‘White Robe Military Sage’ he admired, to guard the borders. But Empress Zhao Zhi not only distrusted Chen Zhibao but also had her own agenda—to compensate her eldest son, Zhao Wu, for not inheriting the throne by making him the Prince of Liang, ruling Beiliang as a co-equal monarch. That way, one son would rule the empire, and the other would command the northern deserts—a happy compromise.”
“Master, let me ask you this: if I were to die suddenly, and Xu Xiao passed away—or something similar—and I chose to live peacefully in the capital or Central Plains instead of fighting beyond the borders, with Xu Xiao’s approval, and assuming no internal strife among Beiliang’s generals, what would happen if Gu Jianfeng took command as Grand Pillar of the State?”
“Though I know little of military affairs, I’d say it could be a good outcome. Gu Jianfeng leading Beiliang’s border army to fight to the death, with the court promising him a posthumous kingship—though likely not hereditary, to avoid creating another Xu family. After all, military loyalty is earned through battles and bloodshed.”
“True, that would be the best outcome. But let’s take a step back—if both Xu Xiao and I were gone, would Beiliang’s generals obey Gu Jianfeng?”
“That… I dare not speculate.”
The night deepened into silence.
Yuan Zuozong spoke calmly, “Master, would you trust me, Yuan Zuozong, to offer an impartial opinion?”
The old monk looked surprised, then smiled. “So you’re General Yuan Baixiong of the Princess Tomb battle! Speak freely—I trust you.”
Yuan Zuozong said slowly, “Under the strict orders of my adoptive father and the prince to avoid conflict, if we’re talking about Beiliang’s ‘old guard,’ I, Yuan Zuozong, would leave Beiliang, possibly for the Western Regions, never to return. Of the other two adopted sons, Chu Lushan would declare himself king in Liuzhou or even defect to the Northern Barbarians after Xu Xiao’s death, while Qi Dangguo would remove his armor and serve as the prince’s personal guard. Among the border army’s commanders, Yan Wenluan might storm Qingliang Mountain in rage—if not, he’d likely die of fury or seclude himself. Chen Yunhui, Zhou Kang, He Zhonghu, and others would all resign. Of the younger generals—Liu Jinu, Hu Kui, Shi Fu, Ning Emei, Wang Lingbao, Li Mofan—almost all would leave in anger. In the end, only men like Cao Xiaojiao would remain, barely competent. With them gone, even if Gu Jianfeng brought all his old Spring and Autumn comrades to Beiliang, the army’s strength would drop to less than half. You might think half of 300,000 is still 150,000, plus Cai Nan’s troops, someone’s Western Shu forces, grain supplies, and endless reinforcements from the Central Plains—like the Qingzhou army or even the capital’s garrison—couldn’t they still hold off the Northern Barbarians and exhaust them over time? Right?”
For the third time that night, the old monk asked, “Isn’t that so?”
Yuan Zuozong took a deep breath and sneered. “Is it? Of course not! This war with the Northern Barbarians was won by sheer luck. Just because Beiliang lost 100,000 men to their 300,000, you think it was easy? Let me tell you the truth—if any one of our three fronts had collapsed, the entire Beiliang army would have been annihilated. The death toll wouldn’t have been 100,000 but over 300,000!”
Xu Fengnian gazed at the night sky, murmuring softly, “Only 100,000 dead.”
Yuan Zuozong, realizing his outburst, steadied himself. “But none of that is the real issue. The true danger is—”
Xu Fengnian cut him off sharply, “Yuan Zuozong!”
Yuan Zuozong fell silent, closing his eyes in meditation.
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