Chapter Thirteen: Parents Must Take Them Home

In recent years, there had been far too many cases where armies were stalled before fortified cities, unable to advance or retreat, only to suffer devastating defeats in the end. In the Battle of Gaoyou, the Yuan court had mobilized four hundred thousand troops from across the nation for the southern campaign, even conscripting over ten thousand soldiers from Goryeo, with Prime Minister Toqto’a personally leading the army. They thought, as in the campaign against Xuzhou two years earlier, that setting up trebuchets would quickly resolve the battle. Yet, despite this formidable force, they found themselves helpless before Gaoyou—a prefectural city that had been further reinforced before the fighting began. Their only option became a prolonged siege.

As the siege dragged on, rumors spread through the court accusing Toqto’a of poor leadership and a demoralized army. Soon, much of the imperial court believed he had deliberately missed his opportunity, wondering how, with four hundred thousand troops and a full complement of siege engines, he could fail to take such a small city. Eventually, even the Yuan emperor believed the whispers and stripped Toqto’a of his command. The result was the instant collapse of the four-hundred-thousand-strong army, and they had yet to recover from this blow. Many believed the defeat at Gaoyou had sealed the fate of the Yuan dynasty.

If the massive Mongol-Yuan host could not take Gaoyou, what hope did the Red Turbans of Haozhou have, given their chronic lack of siege capability? In the past two years, there had been too many humiliating examples of the Haozhou Red Turbans suffering losses before city walls—even one instance where over ten thousand men failed to capture a mere earthen stockade. Thus, Liu Futong spoke earnestly, “If we can cross the river smoothly, the key to our next success or failure in Jiangsu and Zhejiang lies in the supply of rice and grain, not in the fate of individual cities or fortresses.”

All the Red Turban bases—Haozhou, Anfeng, Ruzhou, Yingzhou—were places long plagued by famine, and after years of war, money and provisions had become insoluble problems. Liu Futong’s thinking was simple: as long as rice, grain, and funds could flow steadily from Jiangsu and Zhejiang, he supported the southern expedition.

Liu Yi realized that though Liu Futong and Du Zundao held opposite views on the southern campaign, they were merely two sides of the same coin; neither was wrong. Zhu Yuanzhang in another world would one day prove them both right. But since Liu Futong was the number one figure among the Red Turbans, his words naturally carried unquestioned authority. Liu Yi dared not voice any doubt, and Lady Jinhua clenched her delicate fists, making a solemn promise: “Rest assured, Prime Minister. As long as I can lead the Chaohu navy across the river, the supply of rice and grain will be unceasing.”

A shrewd, rustic smile appeared on Liu Futong’s face. “As long as rice and grain keep flowing from Jiangsu and Zhejiang, the Yuan’s vitality cannot last. The capital has endured to this day solely by relying on the rice and grain of Jiangsu and Zhejiang. Once those supplies serve us instead, the Yuan will collapse without a fight. I await good news from you both.”

After meeting Du Zundao, Liu Yi had thought there was but one strategist among the Red Turbans. Yet Liu Futong’s remarks made him realize the man’s thinking was not so far off. Unfortunately, since Liu Futong pinned his hopes on others, he would inevitably serve as a forerunner for another’s rise to kingship.

Nevertheless, since Liu Futong relied on Lady Jinhua and Liu Yi to bring him an unending supply of provisions, he could not simply take her word alone. Like Du Zundao, he immediately dispatched a three-hundred-strong centurion to escort Lady Jinhua south.

This centurion was an adopted son who had followed Liu Futong for many years. His original surname was Ma, but after being adopted, he was renamed Liu Zhongkun—meaning “the sun and moon shine anew, restoring the world”—and was one of Liu Futong’s most trusted men. Thus, the entire unit he led was exceptionally well-equipped, each man sturdy and formidable, with fifty cavalry among them.

Because of these fifty horsemen, the burly Liu Zhongkun wasted no time in trying to sideline Du Yishan. “Du Centurion, Father Prime Minister instructed me repeatedly that henceforth all military matters fall under my responsibility. You, Brother Yishan, need only deal with Guo Tianshu.”

Though Du Yishan dared not cross Liu Futong, he was not about to defer to Liu Zhongkun, who was merely an adopted son. He sneered, “Marshal Jinhua was sent south to Chaohu by His Majesty’s command. Are Liu Futong’s words now more binding than the emperor’s own edicts?”

Liu Zhongkun only grew more arrogant. “His Majesty? If not for my father’s magnanimity, would that yellow-haired brat have ever ascended the throne? Everyone knows that Han is emperor in name only. Since Father Prime Minister has entrusted me with command, I will bear the responsibility for the Song state!”

He was indignant, for over the past year, he and many close friends had urged Liu Futong to cast aside Han Lin’er and take up the great banner of the Red Turbans himself. Had this come to pass, Liu Zhongkun, if not a prince, would at least have become a duke or lord. But his adoptive father valued loyalty too highly, always saying he owed his rise to Han Shantong’s patronage and unable to withstand the pressures from all sides. Liu Zhongkun nursed a bellyful of resentment: “Anyway, my word stands. I am fully in charge of this southern campaign, and you, Du Yishan, have no say in the matter!”

Du Yishan and Liu Zhongkun were evenly matched in strength, Liu Zhongkun’s only advantage being his fifty horsemen. So Du Yishan retorted without hesitation, “Prime Minister Du sent me south for a great undertaking, not to take orders from the likes of you. Liu Zhongkun, go play in the mud!”

The tension mounted; the soldiers under both centurions were already flexing their fists in anticipation of a brawl, when Lady Jinhua suddenly snapped her spear and shouted angrily, “I haven’t spoken yet—when did it become your place? If you have the guts, come challenge me instead!”

Liu Zhongkun, tall and powerful, and Du Yishan, steady and astute, were both first-rate warriors in battle. Fearing Lady Jinhua might be at a disadvantage, Liu Yi stepped forward, “Sister Jinhua, you shouldn’t have to fight them yourself. Today, let them taste the power of the Everlasting Beacon!”

These past days, Liu Yi had spent every spare moment poring over the historical records stored on his phone. It was this precious knowledge that had made Lady Jinhua a key figure at the founding of the Longfeng regime. Yet he had also conserved some backup battery for emergencies; now was the time for the solar flashlight to shine.

But Lady Jinhua swung her silver spear, pushing Liu Yi behind her, and declared with commanding authority, “For this southern campaign, I am in charge. If you have a good strategy, present it to me. If anyone thinks to ignore their marshal, don’t blame me for sending them home to their parents. There are enough centurions in Haozhou—I’m sure I can find two willing to cooperate!”

Her words about “sending them home to their parents” hit hard. Though both Liu Zhongkun and Du Yishan sought to sideline Lady Jinhua and Liu Yi, this southern campaign was a rare opportunity for them. If they were sent packing before even setting out, it would surely make them appear incompetent in the eyes of Liu Futong and Du Zundao.