Section Two (Part Two)

In just a few days, Lin Feng had become intimately acquainted with officers of all ranks in the military camp. Coming from the twenty-first century, he certainly harbored no sense of scholarly superiority, and this easygoing attitude made him seem especially approachable in the eyes of others. These junior officers were relatively honest and straightforward; after sharing a few rounds of drinks with them and spinning tales about Sun Tzu’s Art of War and the Thirty-Six Stratagems, Lin Feng quickly took on the air of a military adviser. His mysterious appearance and odd manner only added to his mystique, and before long, he had carved out a niche for himself in the camp. Now, wherever he went, there were always people addressing him as “sir.”

However, in the eyes of these officers, Li Qingliu was quite the opposite. Lin Feng couldn’t quite fathom what went through the Deputy Commander’s mind; while Li Qingliu was unfailingly polite in private conversation with Lin Feng, he would spend his days berating and glaring at the other officers, insisting that “strictness is essential in commanding subordinates.” The officers themselves had little temper to speak of, but this forbearance seemed reserved for Lin Feng alone; the rest accepted the hierarchical divide without complaint.

Li Qingliu, for his part, had a pitifully low tolerance for alcohol. Each time Lin Feng had barely wetted his lips, Li Qingliu would already be sprawled out on the table.

Though Lin Feng had only been a student in his former life, he understood well the importance of “power coming from the barrel of a gun.” Moreover, he knew that before long, Geng Jingzhong would suffer a crushing defeat, and when that happened, everyone might have to flee for their lives. With the saying “the more friends, the more options,” he made a point of cultivating relationships with these officers.

One evening, Zhao Guangyuan, the garrison commander who led the two hundred and fifty cavalrymen here—a man from Liaodong who had been a soldier since his teens and was reputedly gifted in warfare—asked, “Mr. Lin, yesterday you compared our current situation to the Battle of Red Cliffs in the Three Kingdoms. Judging by the territory we hold, you said Wu Sangui and us are akin to Sun Quan and Liu Bei, while the Qing are like Cao Cao’s ‘eight hundred thousand troops crossing south of the river.’ Do you think we’re certain to win?”

“Why the hell are you in such a hurry?” Lin Feng replied, his words rough but familiar, for among these men, all were used to blunt talk and cursing, and no one took offense anymore. Lin Feng furrowed his brow and lowered his voice, “Talking like that here is called ‘undermining morale.’ People have lost their heads for less, you know?”

“Undermine what? Everyone here’s a brother from Liaodong—who’d dare spread word outside?” Liu Laosi swept his gaze around the tent, and every officer nodded in agreement.

“We caught them off guard when we first raised our banner, but now the enemy has come to their senses. Do you really think it will go as smoothly from now on?” Lin Feng smiled mysteriously. “In truth, the outcome of a few battles matters little to the grand scheme. The problem is, we can’t afford to lose—if the Qing lose, they still have the whole north and can return quickly. But if we lose even a couple of battles… Well, behind us, Shang Zhixin in Guangdong is unreliable, and Zheng Jing in Taiwan is bent on carving out territory in Fujian. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, do you think the situation looks good?”

“But we still have Wu Sangui on our side, don’t we? Haven’t they said he commands hundreds of thousands of troops?”

“It’s hard to say. Wu’s forces are currently embroiled in fierce fighting with the Qing across Hunan, Hubei, and Jiangxi. I doubt they have the energy to spare for us, and even if they did, distance makes it unlikely they could come to our aid in time.” Lin Feng suddenly felt uneasy. Though he was simply recounting the direction of history, he wondered if sowing defeatist sentiment among those resisting foreign rule was right or wrong.

“So, according to you, Mr. Lin, are we doomed to defeat?” Zhao Guangyuan couldn’t help but ask.

Lin Feng sighed deeply and fell silent.

“Then… what should we do?” By now, after many days together, all the officers knew Lin Feng’s wide-ranging knowledge—he seemed to know everything about the world, both at home and abroad, from the stars above to the earth below. They admired him greatly, and seeing his face clouded with despair, an uneasiness spread among them.

“If my calculations are correct, Xu Shangchao’s force of fifty thousand is likely to suffer a major setback,” Lin Feng said, standing up and sweeping aside the dishes on the table. He leaned in close to the gathering officers and spoke in a low voice, “We’re all brothers here, so let me give you some advice: when the time comes, it’s best for each of you to have a way out.”

Had Lin Feng said this a few days earlier, these officers might have dragged him out and executed him without a second thought. But after so many days together, his knowledge, far ahead of its time, had earned their trust and even inspired a kind of deference and loyalty. Now, hearing him speak with such conviction, they might not have believed him entirely, but in their hearts, they accepted it to a significant extent.

In truth, Lin Feng himself had no idea what would become of Xu Shangchao’s troops, nor did he even know much about the man. But he did know that the rebel armies of the Three Feudatories never broke through into Zhejiang, and the battlefront never expanded much, which meant Geng Jingzhong’s offensive must have been checked by the Qing in Zhejiang, likely suffering several defeats. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have surrendered again after only a year or two of fighting.

Besides, Lin Feng had been intentionally vague: to say the situation was unfavorable was unlikely to be wrong. Whether Xu Shangchao’s army would suffer a crushing defeat or merely a setback, saying they would “take a loss” could never be considered a mistake. The officers would never think to question such nuance, and Lin Feng would still be seen as “divinely prescient.”

Lin Feng chuckled to himself as he watched the half-convinced faces of the officers, suddenly discovering he might have some talent as a fortune-teller after all.