Chapter 18: A Soft Target

The sharp, rhythmic clatter of a gong shattered the morning stillness.

Barely a day had passed before a raised platform was erected at the gates of Jinyang, where a petty official named Hu Si was striking the gong with great fervor. In the brief intervals between strikes, he would stretch his neck and bellow, "A proclamation from the Governor's Office!"

Soon, a dense crowd gathered beneath the platform—at least a thousand people by a rough count.

The local populace remained cautiously optimistic about the new Governor of Bingzhou, Chen Wudi. Regardless of whether he would turn out to be cut from the same cloth as his predecessors, as long as he possessed a formidable reputation and could bring stability to Bingzhou, the worst they expected was the conscription of some young men or an increase in grain taxes. If they had to go hungry for a meal or two, it was still far better than becoming displaced refugees.

Hu Si was in no rush, continuing to beat the gong while shouting, "A proclamation from the Governor's Office!"

Finally, someone lost patience and called out, "Little Si, just read it! What does it say?"

The people held little reverence for this gate official they encountered so often. With someone having broken the ice, others chimed in:

"Come on, Little Si, read it already! Don't keep us hanging."

"Let's get one thing straight: my family only has half a jar of rice left. If there's a tax, I'll have to pay it in animal skins."

"Forget it, Hunter Zhou. At least you have skins; my family can only rely on the mats I weave to make ends meet."

Hu Si looked down at the crowd, puffed his chest like a proud rooster, and cast a look of disdain over them. He held his head high and said, "Go on, go on! His Excellency the Governor is benevolent; he hasn't mentioned a word about increasing taxes."

With a grin, Hu Si gestured toward the proclamation. "Read it clearly: the Governor prizes benevolence and seeks out the virtuous. Anyone whose name for 'great benevolence' is spread throughout the province shall be granted a high position."

The crowd erupted instantly. Whether the noble families would take the bait remained to be seen, but the common folk didn't care about that. No matter how slim the hope, the mere possibility was enough to drive them into a frenzy.

Before this, the only path for commoners like them to become officials was to join the army. They had to gamble with their lives on the battlefield for over a decade; if they were lucky enough to survive, killed enough enemies, and happened to serve under a general who rewarded and punished fairly, only then would they have the slightest chance at social mobility.

"Everyone! Everyone! I, Zhou Jia, am willing to donate half a dou of grain to those in need. You must help spread the word! Once I become an official, I will never forget my fellow townsfolk!"

"I'll share a room in my cottage to house the refugees!"

"If there are any widows or orphans, I can help fetch water for them!"

"Ha! Then I'll help with the firewood!"

The commoners had limited resources, and for many, it was just a way to join in the excitement. Yet, even Chen Cong did not anticipate that the long line he had cast, before catching any noble families, would first hook two much larger fish.

In the crowd, two middle-aged men—one tall, one short—exchanged glances before turning their eyes to Hu Si on the platform.

"Officer, I would like to ask: does the Governor's selection of the benevolent for office take one's family background into account?"

Hu Si immediately shouted, "The Governor selects the benevolent! He cares not for birth, nor for academic pedigree. As long as one has a name for 'great benevolence' spread throughout the province, one shall be promoted!"

...

Similar scenes unfolded in the counties of Qixian, Yangqu, Mengxian, Jiexiu, Yinguan, and Mayi. Word spread like wildfire, and under the guidance of those with ulterior motives, the news flew into every household.

Chen Cong had no interest in the burgeoning grassroots mutual-aid movement outside. After three days of contemplation, he had finally chosen his target—the softest persimmon of them all.

"What?!"

In the main hall of the Governor's Office, Cheng Yu, the only high-ranking official left in Jinyang, dropped his brush in shock, staring at Chen Cong as if he had seen a ghost. "A surprise raid on Meiji County? Does the Governor not know that is the location of the Southern Xiongnu royal court?"

Chen Cong nodded. "Yufuluo is arrogant. Since he dares to establish his royal court on Han soil, he should be made to pay the price."

He had thought it through. Setting aside the White Wave Bandits, who still had their uses, the softest target in the region was the Southern Xiongnu.

First, it was close. If they traveled light, his elite cavalry could cross the Taiyuan region into Xihe and head north, reaching Meiji in three days at most. Their small numbers would also allow them to avoid the Xiongnu scouts.

Second, it was wealthy. Beyond the grain produced by the Xiongnu who were gradually becoming Sinicized, there was the grain they had plundered over the years; at least half of it was likely stored in Meiji. Then there were the livestock—plundering enough of them would be perfect for restoring the "Flying Bear" unit's diet of meat at every meal.

Finally, it was about flexing his muscles. Crushing the Xiongnu would be far more visually impressive than mopping up the White Wave beggars. If he were lucky enough to capture Yufuluo and parade him through the streets, he wouldn't have to worry about the noble families failing to fall in line.

Cheng Yu picked at his ear, wondering if he had misheard. Yufuluo was arrogant?

"Does the Governor realize that there are only eight hundred elite cavalrymen left in Jinyang?"

Chen Cong waved his hand dismissively. "Rest easy, Zhongde. I am leaving seven hundred cavalry to guard Jinyang; no one will be able to steal our home base."

Cheng Yu was speechless. Was he worried about Jinyang falling? The city walls were tall, and the people were fierce; it hadn't fallen even before Chen Cong arrived.

"A hundred riders is too few. The Governor should leave three hundred of the old guard and take five hundred Flying Bears north; that might be feasible," Cheng Yu advised.

"No need. I said a hundred, so it shall be a hundred. Taking more people is useless and only wastes grain."

After a long silence, Cheng Yu said in a low voice, "If the Governor insists, you could divert the Nan River to flood them out."

Chen Cong casually refused. "There is no need for you to trouble yourself with the tactics of war, Zhongde. I came simply to inform you that you will have to manage the affairs of Jinyang alone for a few days."

Diverting the river was out of the question. Water and fire are ruthless; Meiji County wasn't just home to the Xiongnu, but also to a significant number of Han people. To unleash a flood would be no different from a massacre, and he would have to deal with the aftermath of the disaster. Furthermore, after the city was flooded, the grain and livestock would be ruined—a complete waste.

Chen Cong suddenly remembered something and added, "Oh, right. Please trouble yourself to send a victory report to Luoyang for me. Say that... Governor of Bingzhou Chen Cong launched a surprise raid on Meiji on the twelfth, capturing hundreds of thousands of bushels of grain and countless livestock. If my father-in-law intends to take them, he should dispatch troops to secure the passage through Shangdang before launching his offensive into Yanzhou."

Compared to the northern barbarians, Zhang Yang of Shangdang was a much bigger headache for Chen Cong. As a former teammate who knew all his secrets, Chen Cong really had no good way to deal with Shangdang Commandery without infantry or large-scale siege equipment.

Cheng Yu frowned as he listened. The twelfth... that was only four days away! If he sent a victory report before the battle was won, it would be a disaster. Worse, it sounded as if Chen Cong intended to launch a direct assault. If he really diverted the river, they would only get the destruction, not the spoils; there would be no hundreds of thousands of bushels of grain or countless livestock.

"The Governor should be honest with me. Acting so rashly, I truly have no confidence."

"Be honest?" Chen Cong asked, bewildered. "What is there to be honest about? We charge in, capture Yufuluo alive—isn't that enough?"

Cheng Yu held his patience and said, "The Xiongnu have at least twenty thousand soldiers stationed in the city."

Were twenty thousand really that many? How did Zhang Liao defeat the one hundred thousand of Sun Quan with only eight hundred? War wasn't a comparison of numbers on paper; eight hundred men couldn't possibly win a head-on slugfest against a hundred thousand. But the question remained: with the prowess of the Flying Bears, was it really that hard to charge straight into the Xiongnu royal court and strike at the Chanyu Yufuluo?

As long as he charged fast enough, how could the Xiongnu surround him?

"Enough, Zhongde," Chen Cong said with a grin. "Talk to Da Xiong more when you have the time. He will tell you how many Liang soldiers there were at Sishui Pass. It's settled. I’m off."

"Zining..."

"Yes?"

"Take care..."

Even with Cheng Yu’s fiery temper, he found himself unable to say anything else besides those two words.