Chapter Three

To be honest, Shi Lang's appearance truly left something to be desired. Before meeting him, Lin Feng had always imagined that the famed general, so renowned in later generations, must surely be imposing and dignified. Yet upon their actual encounter, he was sorely disappointed. General Shi Lang turned out to be a short man, with thin brows, narrow eyes, dark skin, and a skinny, almost shifty air about him. Seeing that dejected look, Lin Feng finally understood why Shi Lang had failed to make a name for himself in Beijing these past years. While it is wrong to judge a man by his looks, a commander of armies should surely appear more formidable. If Lin Feng had not come from a later age and known of Shi Lang’s true abilities, he might not have given him much regard either.

By contrast, Li Guangdi's appearance was much more impressive: handsome features, fair skin, and a composure that was neither servile nor overbearing, exuding the air of a cultured gentleman. Regardless of his real abilities, his mere presence inspired confidence.

From every angle, Lin Feng felt he needed to make a show with these two men. The legacy left behind by the Qing was not just money, provisions, and weaponry, but also a host of talented individuals. Since Lin Feng had not resorted to violence against the captured officials, so far those willing to surrender were mostly minor functionaries, while the key central figures remained undecided. It was therefore crucial to make an example of "paying a king’s ransom for a steed’s bones," for in the long run, this was a matter of life and death.

“Old Shi, I’ve heard you once had dealings with the red-haired devils. Are you familiar with the military organization of those foreigners?” Lin Feng looked at Shi Lang, who sat upright in all seriousness, and spoke with a gentle smile.

Shi Lang flushed with embarrassment. His deeds in those years had been rather shameful; after defecting to the Qing, he had conspired with the Dutch to attack Zheng Chenggong. Though such things had not yet amounted to treason in that era, it was hardly something to be proud of. Now that Lin Feng broached the subject, Shi Lang was annoyed but could not refuse to answer. “Sir, the Dutch possess formidable firearms. There is much to learn from them.”

“Oh? I hear the Dutch use flintlocks and place great emphasis on their formations, executing wave after wave of continuous volley fire. Their firepower is ferocious. Zheng Chenggong suffered greatly from this when he conquered Taiwan. In a battle of equal numbers, do you think our Chinese soldiers could defeat them?” Lin Feng’s smile faded and he grew solemn.

At this, Shi Lang realized Lin Feng was not mocking him, but sincerely discussing military matters. After a moment’s thought, he nodded. “Sir, your insight is keen. The Dutch not only have superior weaponry, but their organization is meticulous. Had it not been for overwhelming numbers, Zheng Chenggong may never have taken Taiwan.”

“Old Shi, we’re family now, so let me be frank. I plan to model a firearms corps on the Dutch style,” Lin Feng said. “I know your expertise lies in naval warfare, but since we can’t establish a navy just yet, I’ll have to trouble you to drill the recruits first. I hear you’re quite skilled with artillery. I have a two-thousand-strong artillery corps in need of a commander. Would you be willing to accept this post?”

Shi Lang’s face lit up with emotion. He knew this artillery corps was Lin Feng’s elite central force, his most precious unit. To be entrusted so readily upon their first meeting was deeply moving. Yet after the initial excitement, doubt crept in. “Sir, if I may speak plainly, my greatest skill lies with warships. I do have some experience with artillery, but naval guns and field guns differ greatly. I fear...”

Lin Feng waved his hand with a grin, cutting Shi Lang off. “Come now, Old Shi, we men of the military like to speak straight. No need for modesty—if you don’t know, you can learn. The more you fire the guns, the better you’ll get. Take your time. I have no shortage of cannons or ammunition, and there are craftsmen in the city. Drill the troops as you see fit. I refuse to believe you, Old Shi, can’t master the guns!”

“Sir, with such trust placed in me, I shall devote myself wholly...” Shi Lang leapt to his feet, his dark, gaunt face glowing with gratitude, ready to pledge his undying loyalty.

“No, no, none of that!” Lin Feng dreaded such displays and quickly waved him down, smiling wryly. “Old Shi, from now on, we’re brothers. No need for such words—everyone knows what’s in our hearts. It’s settled, then: I appoint you commander of the Han artillery corps, directly under my central command.” He paused, then added, “I know you have a blood feud with the Zheng family. Since we’re brothers now, your business is my business. I’ve taken note. Sooner or later, we’ll have our reckoning with the Zhengs, and you’ll have your chance!”

Such words, given Lin Feng’s precarious situation, might sound empty—threatening Taiwan from a thousand miles away was almost laughable. Yet seeing Lin Feng’s seriousness, and recalling his bold seizure of Beijing, Shi Lang was half convinced, but wholly grateful. He clasped his hands and said, “Thank you for your great kindness, General. I will serve without hesitation, come fire or flood!”

After Shi Lang’s thanks, Lin Feng immediately ordered his guards to escort him to take command of the artillery corps. He then turned to Li Guangdi, who had waited patiently during the conversation, displaying great composure. Lin Feng clasped his hands in apology. “I kept you waiting while arranging matters with General Shi.”

Li Guangdi rose quickly and returned the gesture with a smile. “Think nothing of it. The situation is grave and military affairs must take precedence. You are too considerate, my lord!”

This man, Lin Feng realized with amusement, was truly cut from the same cloth as Chen Menglei—he even called him “my lord.” The tension eased. Lin Feng slapped his own forehead and burst out laughing, “Ah! So Master Li is a straightforward man as well! Just like old Chen—my kind of people! No need to stand on ceremony, have a seat, have a seat. Among brothers, there’s no need for formality.”

“What? That’s all there is to it?” Lin Feng asked in astonishment, turning toward Li Guangdi, his eyes filled with suspicion.

“There’s more to come,” Li Guangdi replied, calmly straightening his robes with a sly smile. “Once I take office in Shuntian Prefecture, I will seek out the official records of the Qing court’s massacre at Jiangyin, copy them, and post them throughout Beijing.”

Lin Feng was taken aback. He didn’t know much about Ming-Qing history, but the Jiangyin massacre was infamous. He recalled that, years ago, a minor official named Yan had refused to shave his head or adopt Manchu dress, leading the entire city in revolt. They managed to kill several princes and generals, but after the uprising failed, only a handful survived out of a city of hundreds of thousands—a level of brutality beyond belief. Yan’s last words before execution were, “There may be generals who surrender, but never magistrates,” a phrase that would long be quoted by nationalists.

With this, Lin Feng’s mind suddenly cleared. It was, in essence, a propaganda campaign—using tales of past atrocities to frighten the populace. This time, though, the threat was real. With the emperor dead and the Qing likely to retaliate, a massacre was no idle threat.

If this plan succeeded, the people of Beijing, terrified of Qing reprisals, would surely side with him. With a million citizens as his foundation, anything would be possible.

Lin Feng pondered for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Indeed, the hair-cutting order is just a pretext. The real focus is psychological warfare. Old Li, I’ll trouble you to seek out all official records of the Qing’s massacres of Han people in Jiangnan and Sichuan—ideally, palace or ministry documents, so the people will believe it.”

“My lord, rest assured. In addition to public notices, the storytellers in every teahouse must be enlisted, as well as shopkeepers, peddlers, hawkers, even matchmakers—let all of Beijing hear the tale!” Li Guangdi said with a smile. “This will proceed in two steps. I ask that you send a unit into the city to start with the Bannermen’s wives and children in the inner city—force them to cut their queues and abandon Manchu dress. Those who refuse shall be executed. That way, the rest of the people will fall into line!” He spoke lightly, as if discussing trifles, and added with a casual laugh, “This time, the edict is simple: ‘Cut your hair or lose your head; keep your head or lose your hair!’”