Chapter 674: I'm Off to Wenshui County to Scrounge for Supplies
The prefectural city of Huaiqing Prefecture, with its imposing walls, remained unyielding, resisting a lengthy siege.
The rebel forces, too, were growing increasingly frustrated.
Inside the main rebel camp, the Eight Great King of the Southern Camp pushed aside a tent flap and ducked inside. He found the Dashing General hunched over a crude map, his brow furrowed in concentration.
The Eight Great King of the Southern Camp plopped down beside him. "Dashing General," he declared, "we owe you a huge debt. You carved a path for us into Henan; without you, we might have been cornered and crushed by the Yellow River."
The Dashing General merely nodded, remaining silent as he continued his intense study of the map.
Nearby, the Eight Great King of the West Camp sat in silence.
The Eight Great King of the Southern Camp shot a resentful glance at the Eight Great King of the West Camp, having no desire to engage him. During their last Yellow River crossing, the Eight Great King of the West Camp had promised not to compete for boats, only to leave him with the most formidable enemies. The memory still rankled him.
He redirected his attention to the Dashing General. "Dashing General," he stated, "if we fail to capture Huaiqing Prefecture, our army will soon face a severe grain shortage."
The Dashing General nodded. "Indeed!" he agreed. "With over two hundred thousand men, our daily consumption is immense. Raiding small towns and minor counties simply won't sustain us. Only by capturing a major city like Huaiqing Prefecture can we secure enough provisions to last us a while longer."
The Dashing General sighed. "Taking a prefectural city is proving far more difficult than anticipated," he admitted. "Most of our soldiers are still raw recruits, their siege tactics uncoordinated. They desperately need more training."
He paused, then shifted his tone. "At this moment," he mused, "remaining gathered might not be the wisest course of action. To secure enough provisions, we should consider splitting up and advancing along multiple routes. This would ensure our food supply, and moreover, it would scatter the Ming forces, preventing them from concentrating their strength against us."
His words, though practical, carried a subtle hint of self-reproach, a slight dimming of his customary bravado.
The Eight Great King of the Southern Camp inquired, "So, Dashing General, are you suggesting we disband our forces?"
The Dashing General replied, "I don't wish to disband, but for the immediate future, splitting up is the best solution. At the very least, over two hundred thousand men should not be marching as one."
Around them, the faces of Zijing Liang, Chuǎng Wang, Lao Huihui, Cao Cao, and the other leaders were noticeably grim.
The Eight Great King of the Southern Camp rose to his feet. "Fine, fine," he declared, "if that's how it is, I'll be the first to depart. Dammit all, you still have provisions, but my men are starving! I was counting on capturing Huaiqing Prefecture to share out the grain. Since that's not happening anytime soon, I'll have to go out and scrounge for some supplies."
Zijing Liang retorted, "Every village, town, and county in the vicinity has been plundered by us countless times over. Where else do you expect to find provisions?"
The Eight Great King of the Southern Camp merely smirked, offering no reply, then swiftly exited the tent.
In truth, his scouts had secretly brought him crucial intelligence: Governor Fan Shangzheng of Henan's three thousand pathetic garrison troops had taken up station in Wenshui County to the south.
Upon hearing this, the Eight Great King of the Southern Camp's mind immediately began to plot: Fan Shangzheng's Henan garrison troops were nothing but a soft target, easily crushed and ripe for the taking.
With no more civilians left to plunder, he thought, I might as well just go for the imperial soldiers. Even if those soldiers were impoverished, they'd surely carry some rations into battle. If I seize their provisions, weapons, and armor, I'll still turn a handsome profit.
After all, the combat prowess of garrison troops was hardly superior to that of common folk.
The Eight Great King of the Southern Camp wasted no time. He departed the camp, rallied his ten thousand men, and marched them south, bearing down on Wenshui County.
The Henan garrison troops had never imagined that, while the imperial court left them famished, this peculiar little county town would somehow boast a strange great hero and a newly appointed magistrate capable of providing them with a truly satisfying meal.
Clutching the rice cakes distributed by Chen Yuanbo's men, the three thousand imperial soldiers were practically in tears of gratitude.
In truth, throughout the Great Ming Dynasty, apart from the formidable northern border armies, the southern garrison troops had spent over two centuries tilling fields, effectively becoming indistinguishable from common peasants.
They received no training during peacetime, their days consumed solely by cultivating military farms. Their lands, however, were frequently encroached upon by military officers, civil officials, and even princes, leaving many garrison troops struggling through incredibly arduous lives.
This led to a mass exodus of military households throughout the southern regions.
Military officers, in fact, welcomed their flight; for every man who deserted, an officer could claim phantom wages. Truly, what was there not to like about such a situation?
Consequently, these garrison troops never fought with any real desperation; they would flee at the slightest skirmish. Their will to fight was even weaker than that of some local militias, for the militias, if defeated, would lose their homes—a fate that demanded a fierce, unyielding struggle.
Fan Shangzheng, commanding such an army, would have faced a miracle if he had ever won a battle.
As he watched the garrison troops devour their food with ravenous haste, a peculiar feeling stirred within him.
Just then, a scout sprinted over, shouting, "Rebels! The rebels are here again!"
Fan Shangzheng's heart leaped in alarm!
Chen Yuanbo, meanwhile, let out a soft "Ah!" and turned to glance at Li Daoxuan.
Li Daoxuan nodded back, his expression conveying absolute confidence that everything was under control.
Chen Yuanbo's anxieties eased. If the Heavenly Lord conveyed such assurance, it meant Gao Family Village's naval forces were undoubtedly close at hand; there was nothing to fear.
While the two of them exchanged their quiet, knowing signals, Fan Shangzheng on the other side began to panic. He seized the scout and demanded, "Which rebel faction is it? How many men have they brought?"
The scout reported, "It's the Eight Great King of the Southern Camp, leading approximately ten thousand men."
"Him again," Fan Shangzheng muttered. "Wasn't that fellow thoroughly routed by Bai Yuan on the Yellow River, suffering catastrophic losses? How does he suddenly command ten thousand men once more?"
It was a truly perplexing question, and no one present could offer an answer.
"Prepare for battle!" Fan Shangzheng bellowed, leaping to his feet.
His military officers swiftly echoed his commands, spurring the garrison troops into action.
The garrison troops hastily gulped down the last bites of their rice cakes, grabbed their weapons, and hurried towards the city walls.
Though they were essentially cowardly garrison troops, they didn't seem particularly afraid.
They were imperial soldiers, and for as long as they could remember, imperial forces had been the ones pursuing rebels. In their minds, these rebels must be unaware of the imperial presence in Wenshui County, believing they could simply come for easy pickings. Once they arrived and saw the numerous imperial soldiers defending the city, they would surely lose their nerve and not dare to attack.
A mere show of force would send them scattering.
This belief was not only shared by the soldiers but also by their military officers, and even Fan Shangzheng himself harbored the same expectation.
Everyone took up positions along the city walls, unfurling a vast array of colorful banners and flags.
Governor Fan Shangzheng of Henan, Deputy Commander-in-Chief xxx of Henan, Brigadier-General xxx...
With such a multitude of flags unfurled, even a fool could discern that at least several thousand imperial soldiers were garrisoned here. Ordinary rebel bands would surely not dare to approach.
However...
The imperial soldiers quickly realized their profound error.
The ten-thousand-strong army of the Eight Great King of the Southern Camp, this time, neither scattered nor retreated. As if blind to the imposing array of banners, they descended upon Wenshui County like a dark, ominous cloud, pressing down relentlessly.
Only when the imperial soldiers saw that the rebels had absolutely no intention of retreating did they finally realize something was seriously amiss.
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