Chapter Eighteen

After sending off Wang Shirong, Lin Feng remained in a state of excitement. He had been in this era for quite some time and had accomplished many earth-shattering feats, but it was the first time he was so openly extolled as a "hero of the realm." Phrases like "the foremost general of the northern lands" and "the chief among all talents under heaven" carried with them the weight and vicissitude of history, making him feel inexplicably elated and at ease.

Yet he did not think much of Wang Shirong’s abilities, nor did he believe the four grand strategies Wang had presented were necessarily correct. As everyone knew, Chinese traditional scholars loved this sort of thing—pointing fingers at military and political affairs was their hobby. Most of them lacked practical experience and relied solely on book learning or hearsay to devise their strategies. Thus, their suggestions were generally only useful for strategic reference and had little practical value.

Nevertheless, there was a severe shortage of talent within the Han army, so Lin Feng had no choice but to follow tradition and make the expected gestures. To put it plainly, this meant putting on a show. It wasn’t difficult, and by this point in history, the method was widely known—after all, there were many such precedents, the most famous being Liu Bei, with others like Sun Quan occasionally doing the same. The tale had been retold so often that by now, almost every Chinese knew of it.

Still, Lin Feng felt somewhat aggrieved. In his own view, his actions were perfectly reasonable—a man’s marriage is his tomb, so why not indulge a little beforehand? But he soon discovered that finding entertainment in this era was far from easy. Poetry was out of the question; he simply didn’t have the talent. As for drinking, it wasn’t that the wine or food was bad, but the company was unbearable, making it impossible to enjoy. And the so-called "beautiful singing and dancing girls" were laughable—a group performing a clumsy striptease, faces half-hidden behind lutes, thinking themselves avant-garde. But really, what hadn’t he seen before? To Lin Feng, the dancers were thoroughly amateurish: poor instruments, slow rhythm, stiff movements, vacant expressions—no trace of professionalism. It nearly drove the Marshal, used to the spectacle of pole dancing, to distraction. Were it not for his position as Commander-in-Chief, he might have gone onstage to direct them himself. After exhausting every trick and still failing to impress, the troupe presented him with a bound-footed courtesan—infuriating Lin Feng to the point of an outburst.

It was at times like these that true administrative talent showed itself. Routine, interlocking bureaucratic tasks would have driven someone as wild and unrestrained as Wang Shirong mad, but men like Li Guangdi and Tang Bin, though less eloquent, were perfectly suited to such work.

Under Tang Bin’s leadership, the administrative officers managed to bring order to the one or two million refugees. After hearing their reports, Lin Feng immediately abandoned the misconception that the Chinese were a disorganized rabble. In truth, Chinese society had always been highly organized, with clear and methodical structures. Even in desperate times, with so many people starving and freezing far from home, the refugees organized themselves strictly along clan and dialect lines, erecting clear barriers and never mixing arbitrarily. Tang Bin’s work proceeded along these clan and regional lines; after appointing a host of grassroots officials, the refugees began to self-regulate by force of habit—major surnames overseeing minor ones, large clans managing individual families, clan chiefs leading their people, heads of households managing their kin, and fathers overseeing wives and children. This was a remarkably clear structure, built in strict accordance with Confucian rituals and hierarchies. Thus, when the government provided comprehensive relief in the form of food and fuel, the system began to function smoothly on its own.

This bitter winter was an unsparing trial for them. Amid the raging snow and ice, nearly two hundred thousand died quietly, most of them elderly or children. Official reports, careful to avoid the word "starvation," instead filled pages with symptoms—general edema, jaundice, atrophy, fainting, chills—so that any outsider might think some inexplicable plague had struck. Yet Lin Feng and his officials understood the truth, though none would expose the fragile lie; bureaucracy had its own logic and unspoken rules.

In reality, the Han administration had already done all it could. Without their efforts, in temperatures of minus twenty Celsius, the death toll would have been much higher. That winter, the refugees burned an entire Forbidden City for warmth—apart from a few large beams and ridges sent to Tianjin port, all the exquisitely carved timbers were torn down and used as firewood.

"Jinqing, Kongbo, you have both suffered greatly," Lin Feng reflected with guilt on his recent idleness. "Ah, it was my fault. In a moment of youthful arrogance, I insisted on resettling these million refugees, thinking too simply of the world’s affairs and dragging you into this mess!"

"My lord, why such words?" Li Guangdi and Tang Bin exchanged a glance and hurriedly demurred, "You possess great ambition and are a savior of the people, a man of destiny. What we have done is merely our duty!"

Lin Feng was at a loss for words. This talk of saving the world and being chosen by Heaven was just brainwashing nonsense Chen Menglei had concocted at his request. Whether their words were sincere or ironic, he could not tell. Uneasy, he shifted in his seat and turned to Zhou Peigong. "Peigong, how much grain remains in Tongzhou?"

"My lord, there is still grain in Tongzhou." Zhou Peigong glanced sympathetically at Li Guangdi. "Over these months, merchants from Shanxi and Anhui have done their utmost to buy grain for us. Despite the consumption, there is enough to last until the wheat harvest."

"Gentlemen, my intention is to distribute one final batch of grain to the refugees for spring ploughing," Lin Feng said, coughing lightly to remind them. "This will be the last life-saving grain our Han administration gives them, and it will not be much. Jinqing and Kongbo, you must remind the refugees to ration it carefully."

Li Guangdi was overjoyed and nodded eagerly, but after a moment’s excitement, he grew puzzled. "My lord, why distribute grain now?"

"It’s simple—I fear they might rebel," Lin Feng replied, seeing the confusion on Li Guangdi and Tang Bin’s faces. "Both of you are scholars, so let me give you a warning."

"You must wonder why no life-saving grain was given during the harshest winter, but now, with warmer weather, we provide it?" Lin Feng’s expression grew serious. "There are several reasons."

"You all saw how the refugees survived this winter—eating roots and bark, gnawing on ice, families torn apart by death and separation. Our resources are limited; we could only offer temporary relief, not ensure their safe passage through the winter. If we had given them grain, what would have happened? Don’t tell me they would have been grateful and not rebelled—I don’t believe it," Lin Feng said coldly. "They didn’t rebel in winter because they had no means to do so. We were their only hope, and in such freezing conditions, rebellion would have meant their annihilation within three days, even without our intervention."

Li Guangdi shivered involuntarily, listening intently.

"The common people are the foundation of the state, as water can carry a boat but also overturn it. That’s perfectly clear. I go to such lengths to save them because I expect them to pay taxes, serve in the army, and support the nation; but at the same time, I must guard against them and never give them the chance to revolt," Lin Feng said bluntly. "Now, as spring arrives, the land thaws, wild vegetables are growing, and, with the warmth, even with little food or clothing, they can travel far. That means their range of activity increases—they could roam widely, looting the capital’s countryside to enrich themselves. If someone among the refugees starts inciting: 'Why should those in Zhili eat their fill and stay warm in the city, while we starve and freeze here?'..."

Tang Bin nodded unconsciously. Having dealt most with the refugees, he knew such seditious talk had already surfaced. Previously, no one believed it because the cold prevented anyone from traveling far, but with spring’s warmth, new uncertainties loomed. He could not help but agree, "My lord, your words are not mistaken."

"Heh, I know nothing of livelihood policies; I only understand human nature and the human heart. I constantly ask myself: If I were a refugee, what would I think, what would I do?" Lin Feng smiled. "Now, by giving them grain, there is another reason—I want them a bit stronger, for I am about to distribute seeds and tools. Last year, I had the Shanxi and Anhui merchants buy large quantities of golden sweet potatoes and Irish potatoes. I asked old farmers, and these crops, especially potatoes, can sprout as early as March. In other words, with a little grain and some wild vegetables, they can get by for two months until the new harvest. Do you understand the plan now, gentlemen?"

Tang Bin and Li Guangdi’s spirits lifted, and they exclaimed in unison, "Truly, the Marshal is a genius!"

"Jinqing, Kongbo, you are both my right and left hand; there’s no need for such flattery," Lin Feng said bluntly, ignoring their embarrassment. He turned to Zhou Peigong. "Peigong, I doubt things will go so smoothly. At present, there is only one army stationed in Liaodong—General Wang Dahai’s eight thousand men. If the refugees stir, they cannot be controlled. I plan to transfer two brigades of elite cavalry from General Zhao Guangyuan at Xuanhua for patrol and defense. What do you think?"

"That is an excellent idea," Zhou Peigong replied anxiously. "But it will delay the reorganization and re-equipping of Wang Dahai and Zhao Liangdong’s forces, and the officer training program will also be affected."

"Arrange it as you see fit. There’s no such thing as a perfect solution—let’s deal with the emergency first," Lin Feng said with a wry smile. "Also, order Wang Dahai to keep the refugee settlements strictly separated, no mingling between districts. Fortifications and batteries must be built at key points to monitor and suppress the refugees. Anyone found spreading sedition is to be executed on the spot—even if we kill three thousand by mistake, not one troublemaker must escape. I will not allow any unrest among these millions." Lin Feng’s tone sharpened. "Chief of Staff, Lord Li, Lord Tang—have you all heard me clearly?"

"We obey, my lord!" The three officials, having been addressed by their titles and reprimanded, hastened to bow in assent.

"Good, go and see to it. And one more thing—Jinqing and Tang Bin, inform the landlords and villagers around the Luan River to form their own militias and cooperate with General Wang Dahai. They must contribute grain and labor to build fortified villages and guard against refugee infiltration. Peigong, select capable officers from the military academy to assist these militias under the guise of ‘internships’ and train them!"

Once the three had hurried off to carry out his orders, Lin Feng turned to Chen Menglei, who had been silent throughout. "All right, now tell me—what’s the situation with the volunteer army in Liaodong?"