Chapter 10: The Golden Brick Banquet at Yongji Pass

Page 1/3

Good news from the southern frontier reached the capital. In the highest palace of the Nine Palaces, on the vast map of the empire’s borders, the emperor and his ministers strategized. The southwestern counties, marked in green, were now approved for increased taxation.

For Dayao, the so-called barbarians on the frontier were either to be suppressed or appeased—not based on whether these tribes considered themselves obedient, but solely on whether they bore arms. In the eyes of Dayao’s rulers, any armed people on the border inevitably disturbed the settlers and were thus disloyal. Dayao’s usual policy was tolerance: allowing trade with these tribes was considered appeasement, because even if they were wiped out, without deep governance, the barbarians would spring up again like weeds after spring rain. So long as their disturbances were not excessive, occasional light strikes were sufficient.

But now, the Dayao celestial officials had calculated the Dragon’s descent into the Eastern Sea, prompting a heavy crackdown across various border garrisons.

In other words, if unrest broke out again in the southern frontier while Dayao was engaged militarily in the Eastern Sea, Wuhuan Luan would have to handle it himself. As for the recent southern pacification campaign, though the court did not dispatch troops, it did reduce taxes in the south.

The hardship faced by the people during one war versus two wars was not simply double. Those familiar with real-time strategy games knew that managing multiple fronts was far more difficult than a single one. For a real kingdom, dispatching forces in two directions meant large-scale depletion on both fronts.

During peacetime, grain cost around ten wen per dou; when prices were low, it could drop to 1.5 wen per dou, harming farmers. During the Battle of Red Viper Mountain in the southern frontier, grain prices remained stable at fifty wen per dou—normal for the region. Yet even after peace returned, prices would not fall because numerous granaries in the southern counties had to be relocated northward.

Three hundred years prior, when Dayao fought the Northern Hu tribes, a great drought struck the land. Grain in the northern territories soared to 3,000 wen per dou. The heavy taxation in the Jiangnan provinces caused many to flee southward, leaving behind heaps of corpses along the roads. Only thirty percent of the refugees survived to reach the south. The Wu family rose to prominence in the southern frontier during this time.

The Wu family, a military clan, did not govern local administration but maintained intricate ties with local officials and gentry. They habitually nurtured bandits as a form of self-defense, periodically raiding barbarians to secure military honors, thereby stabilizing their noble titles. However, when the court needed to mobilize forces elsewhere, neglecting border security was shortsighted and reckless.

After the campaign, the court quietly rewarded troops with imperial wine, silk, and gold cakes, and granted Wuhuan Luan the right to promote military families’ heirs. Everything appeared normal; the empire remained the empire.

Yet various ominous signs soon emerged.

In the 24th year of the Shitian calendar, within the capital city, four canals dried up overnight, revealing muddy riverbeds. Wanderers climbed over railings to scavenge valuables. When some retrieved silverware, onlookers’ eyes burned with greed.

Suddenly, a soft female voice whispered along the riverbanks, “Did anyone lose gold or silver here?”

The crowd surged into the canals searching for treasure. Some even found a dead elephant’s skeleton and gleefully tried to extract ivory. But as greed blinded them, the riverbed churned violently, swallowing many. Before they could escape, the water levels rose suddenly, drowning thousands. Overnight, thousands of families lost loved ones, and coffins sold out.

Some court officials found the incident suspicious and petitioned the Censorate for a thorough investigation.

The Shitian Emperor approved.

The four great captains were dispatched, uncovering a shocking secret: a massive underground tunnel network had formed beneath the capital. The tunnels connected ley lines, creating a ‘sha cave’—a malignant energy vortex—which had drained the canals’ water underground, only for it to return after the cave dissipated.

Reports reached the south, and Xuan Chong recalled how Wuhuan Luan had ambushed serpent men underground, creating a ‘hidden realm’ tunnel. If such a vast tunnel existed beneath the capital, capable of hiding thousands of troops, what grand conspiracy lay behind it?

Days later, after chaos caused by the theft investigation in the capital, the anti-theft squad suddenly ceased operations—not due to lack of clues, but because they had uncovered something earth-shattering.

The Shitian Emperor publicly ended the theft squad’s mission but secretly ordered his internal guards to continue investigating, leading to the discovery of involvement by the Grand Marshal and the King of Bo. Enraged, the emperor sealed off the city overnight. The King of Bo, apparently warned, fled early, while the Grand Marshal immolated himself at home.

The court issued a nationwide manhunt. Yet the divine captains confided to others that during the pursuit of the traitors, they saw a strange “purple moon” hanging inverted in the sky.

…The scene shifts back to the peaceful south…

At Yongji Pass, Wu Fei, clad in his official uniform, surveyed his new domain.

After the great victory at Red Viper Mountain, Wuhuan Luan hosted a banquet inviting local tribal leaders, swearing on a sacrificed ox, before withdrawing his troops to the capital. Wu Fei was left to hold the fort.

This was Dayao’s centuries-old strategy for southern governance: use military force to suppress various tribes, impose a policy of ‘vassalage’ to maintain control, guard vital passes, and monopolize key strategic resources like salt and iron, balancing the power among tribes.

Xuan Chong remarked: Zhuge Liang’s famous “Seven Captures of Meng Huo” was based on this ‘vassalage’ strategy. He captured but never killed Meng Huo because he was unsure if killing him would disrupt the delicate balance favorable to Shu Han’s long-term control.

Meng Huo held too much local authority; by weakening him and having him rely on Shu Han, the family’s survival was ensured—benefiting peace and stability. The later ‘replacement of native chieftains with imperial administrators’ only came when Ming-era cultural and economic influence had penetrated deeply.

After Wuhuan Luan’s army withdrew, the large wartime granary Wu Fei guarded was dismantled.

Page 2/3

Of course, Wu Fei now had his courtesy name, Yuanchang. Originally, Wu Yuanchang intended to retire peacefully, enjoying the life of a feudal noble, but Wuhuan Luan scolded him, “At your age, how can you rest?” forcing him to stay and take up the command of Yongji Pass.

This pass was undoubtedly one of the most lucrative posts, with constant caravans passing through. Wuhuan Luan trusted no one more than his nephew to safeguard it.

Major goods crossing included salt, ironware, taro chips, cattle, and sheep. The fees collected were a crucial source of income for the Wu family’s military.

To put it bluntly, even the lowest-ranked guards here could afford meat regularly.

Such a coveted position demanded trusted and competent men, not incompetents.

Having proven himself capable of holding a strategic node at Red Viper Mountain, Wu Fei was entrusted without hesitation with this heavy responsibility.

The pass’s walls soared ten zhang high, snaking between two mountain foothills like a mighty serpent, imposing and grand. Hidden barracks and ample supplies of weapons and grain were concealed in the surrounding hills. So long as its defenders were vigilant, even an army of a million could not breach it.

Xuan Chong commented: such a formidable fortress would be difficult to conquer even in an era of firearms. Its sole weakness lay with the defenders themselves.

Drawing on his prior-life knowledge, Xuan Chong considered several siege tactics but found none feasible except deception.

For example, lax inspection of military flags could allow enemies to trick guards with false banners.

Or if discipline slackened, guards might be bribed during routine commerce by smooth-talking merchants, making nighttime infiltration possible.

Fearing the nightmare of being deceived, Wu Fei began tightening security.

A few days later, upon taking command of Yongji Pass, Wu Fei discovered many defensive flaws. Some key sentry posts were unguarded at night. Practicing his own “stance techniques,” Wu Fei climbed the walls under cover of darkness without detection—though he understood the soldiers’ laxity; with southern warfare ended, relaxation was natural.

One should not expect feudal household troops to be diligent and conscientious. In a prosperous pass, if superiors do not enforce order, subordinates slack off.

Shortly after arriving, Wu Fei was greeted with bribes: a straw mat and beautiful maid waiting by his bed.

But Wu Fei knew well that yielding to wine, women, wealth, or lust would only worsen the corruption. Once decay takes root at the top, it spirals uncontrollably below.

Xuan Chong reflected that in such a high position, there was absolutely no room for indulgence. To govern by rules, one must embody those rules oneself.

…The stability of one’s “vitality meter” depends on the moral order of those around them…

The greater the responsibility, the greater the power—though how great the power is unknown, the damage caused is certainly greater.

Most common folk, detached from governance, indulge in fantasies: if I make a great contribution, I can enjoy pleasures and drunkenness without consequence.

True, at the bottom, being reckless may cause limited damage. But in leadership, any excess brings serious consequences.

Upon taking office, Wu Fei dismissed unnecessary servants. A bed and table sufficed; food and drink were left to the cooks.

At the outer posts, he mustered all soldiers and announced an increase in patrol wages. Night patrol pay was raised to five times the normal rate, with military police assigned to verify patrol personnel. Identity checks would be enforced monthly with pay distribution.

Note: Without military police verification, veteran soldiers might have new recruits take their night shifts and pocket the wages, turning the policy into a burdensome grievance. Thus, identity verification was crucial for the policy’s success.

With new rewards and punishments in place, Yongji Pass’s defenses tightened.

Unexpectedly, as security increased, some merchants began visiting the Sanbao Hall to pay respects to the young general.

Only when the net tightens can the fishermen know how many fish slip through.

…No grass, no fat horse; the night grass has arrived…

In the city tower, Wu Fei watched these visiting merchants. They smiled and presented “precious jade discs” and silks, while Wu Fei pondered how best to profit from these “fat sheep.”

He caressed the silk said to rival a maiden’s skin, scheming his choices.

Page 3/3

Would he be iron-faced and strictly warn these merchants against smuggling? Wuhuan Luan would never agree. The Wu family was merely a military clan, unconcerned with imperial taxation. Alienating these merchants would harm the Wu military. Moreover, these merchants had helped supply grain during the Battle of Red Viper Mountain. They were partners for now and the future.

Would he simply accept their wealth? These merchants sought to buy safe passage. If not for Wu Fei being Wuhuan Luan’s favorite nephew, they might have considered bribing their way to remove him.

Wu Fei eyed their wealth not with envy, but caution—accepting their money meant bearing their pressure. He wanted to enjoy the spoils without shouldering uncertain burdens.

“Wait—a limited liability, infinite responsibility!” A thought struck him.

Wu Fei sized up the merchants, contemplating how to forge stable ties with these powerful traders. A phrase emerged: “I have soldiers, you have money—we can do great things together.”

He waved for his quartermaster to bring the goods into storage, then hosted a banquet to entertain these “pragmatic” merchants.

The wine was simple; the food coarse, as Wu Fei had recently launched an “anti-corruption” campaign within the pass and had not prepared luxuries.

At the table, with a knowing smile, Wu Fei asked about the merchants’ trades:

Li’s family dealt in timber; the massive logs for temple construction in the capital came from them. Wu Fei also learned that the “ironwood” needed for large mechanical puppets was supplied from the southern frontier.

He inquired about another trade route: salt. Wu Fei had heard all salt entering the south passed through Yongji Pass.

His eyes twitched as he asked, “How much salt crosses the pass?”

Drunken merchants were reluctant to answer, mumbling, “Not much, just a few shi each time.”

Wu Fei, who managed a large granary, instantly calculated in his mind: assuming a daily salt intake of three grams per person, thirty kilograms per shi supplies ten thousand people for a day. Their answer was clearly a lie.

Obtaining salt data was vital to Wu Fei.

During conscription in Qin and Han, quotas were assigned per county based on household registration to maximize mobilization without inciting rebellion. The Wu family could not acquire such census data directly—it was stored in the Minister of Works’ archives.

But data could be inferred indirectly through commerce: salt and cloth consumption revealed population size. Military exploitation could then be calibrated accordingly.

Wu Fei donned the guise of a smiling tiger. The merchants at the table felt a chill.

He said, “You are businessmen. Would you like to expand your trade and monopolize the market?”

Wu Fei handed prepared bamboo slips to all the merchants.

The room fell silent until a merchant from the Li family asked, “General, are you proposing a joint venture?”

Wu Fei paused, then replied, “Yes. I only want a ten percent share—no, five percent profit. Your goods will be insured by my soldiers after leaving the pass. If anything happens, tell me, and I will help you recover your losses.”

The merchants exchanged glances. Soon, one dared to speak, “General, you jest. You want half the profit, but we only get the other half. Why not—”

Wu Fei interrupted, “I want half. Half! My condition is that with my support, you must grow bigger.”

With each diminishing demand, his killing intent intensified. These fat pigs on the chopping block, if they refused to toast him, would be forced to drink penalty wine.

As a person from the 21st century, Xuan Chong understood the importance of military strongmen supporting oligarchs. Only commercial magnates possessed vital demographic and consumption data to help warlords concentrate resources. And half the profit seemed small, but controlling the “interest” meant priority on loans. Past military hegemonies were not sustained by accumulated profits but by borrowing.

In his previous life, the lighthouse power outwardly favored allies for decades but secretly amassed debts, forcing loyal allies to buy bonds to prop up the failing state. Why? Because the lighthouse was irreplaceable for their security.

Wu Fei, as the angler, could not spare bait. When these merchants expanded their empires, they would find their fortunes and lives hooked and inseparable.

After the banquet, Wu Fei gifted each merchant a brick from Yongji Pass, engraved with the “General’s Order” as proof. Years later, such a brick would be worth dozens of times its weight in gold.