15. Loyalty Demonstrated Through Steady Steps Can Fulfill the Task

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“On the ninth day of the month, run to the headquarters and deliver this letter to my elder brother.”

Zhang Xun was about to say more but reconsidered and held back. Chu Jiu had served the family for two generations; loyalty was commendable, but one must also know how to handle duties.

Take Xia Gui, for example. Originally a criminal, his bravery in battle earned him successive promotions by several commanders-in-chief. He was now a military governor. His household servant, Xia Fu, who had served him faithfully and carried his banner into battle, had also been promoted to command the Zhenchao troops.

The border situation was urgent, a day more pressing than the last. It mattered little whether one was a runaway, a servant, or even a criminal—if you dared to face the Mongol army's arrows and blades head-on, past offenses would be pardoned without question.

Similarly, if you serve me loyally and possess enough capability, Zhang Xun would have no hesitation in finding ways to recommend Chu Jiu for an officer position.

A few days ago, when Lu Xiufu and Zhang Xun talked through the night, they discussed this matter. The nation was in dire straits; whether defending against foreign humiliation or safeguarding the land and people, a certain military strength was indispensable. Zhang Xun held the title of a court official, but it was nominal—he held no real post and had no intention of becoming an official.

The best course was to establish a faction, consolidate one's base, and promote family, close associates, and even servants and attendants to grassroots local military officer positions.

The court was eager for you to bring your own provisions to serve and pacify a region. Currently, almost all mobile combat units with any fighting capability had been withdrawn to support Xiangyang. Zhang Shijie, who recently passed through Changzhou, led some palace guard troops and newly recruited soldiers from Chuzhou.

Apart from Sichuan, Jinghu, and the frontlines along the Huai River, local military strength was unprecedentedly hollow—virtually non-existent.

In fact, the mobile field armies in Sichuan and Jinghu had been completely depleted, fighting over Yunding City and Diaoyu Fortress in Sichuan, and Xiangyang and Fancheng in Jinghu. If the mobile field armies of both Huai regions were also exhausted in the current relief battle for Xiangyang, the entire country would likely lose its ability to conduct open-field maneuvers.

“Yes, sir!”

Chu Jiu barely hesitated before agreeing. This made Zhang Xun regard him more highly. It was, after all, a pitiful state—anyone who understood the plight of migrant workers in Shenzhen during the 1980s would empathize.

Fear was natural. Having never left the village, knowing nothing of the outside world, barely literate, unable to recognize many characters, and often unable to even ask questions aloud due to dialect differences—many simply disappeared without a trace.

Such circumstances were even more common now. Traveling from Changzhou to Hangzhou might seem simple to some, but for ordinary people, it was no less daunting than sending Armstrong to the moon.

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“I’m rewarding you,” Zhang Xun said without further ado, unfastening a pouch at his waist.

If memory served, it contained a gold ingot weighing two taels—a token Zhang Xun’s mother had given him as spending money during Dragon Boat Festival. It was given annually and held little value to Zhang Xun personally.

While they spoke, the household steward hurried over. Zhang Xun instructed him to give Chu Jiu five strings of coins and dispatch a swift boat to Hangzhou to deliver the letter. He also selected two strong archers to accompany him and ensure the letter’s safe delivery. After eating and resting, they were to set off immediately—the household awaited a reply.

The steward bowed and left with Chu Jiu. Zhang Xun descended the steps and reached out to brush off a small patch of wet mud from Chu Jiu’s collar. Chu Jiu hadn’t noticed before, but when Zhang Xun did this, his face filled with disbelief.

“To serve your master with loyalty and treat others with trust—do you understand?” Zhang Xun waved his hand, dismissing them.

Unconsciously, as Chu Jiu turned and walked away, his eyes glistened with tears. Clutching the letter hidden against his chest, he donned a raincoat and hurried off.

After sending the letter, Zhang Xun sat down again, pondering what preparations were needed before surrendering.

It was laughable; he preached loyalty and trust to others, yet secretly prepared to surrender himself. Truly a man lenient with himself but strict with others.

One thing was certain: when Boyan and Ashu marched south, they might spare the people, but the vast army’s supplies would surely be requisitioned from Jiangnan.

“To feed the enemy for one measure is like feeding myself for twenty.”

To protect a province’s people and spare them from large-scale plundering by the Yuan army, the best method was, as with sending Zhang Shijie out of the region, to prepare the army’s provisions and gifts for the Mongol commanders in advance.

After all, the Yuan forces intended to attack Hangzhou and could not linger long in Changzhou. With a force of two hundred thousand troops, a journey of ten days to half a month would mean merely passing through Changzhou.

Thus, Zhang Xun needed to prepare all supplies for this vast army for half a month, then kneel and plead with Boyan to show mercy to the vanquished people and restrain his army from disturbing civilians.

Boyan, well-supplied and well-funded, might grant such a request. Before the ultimate goal of extinguishing the Song, pacifying the Southern Song’s populace was a task Kublai Khan entrusted to him.

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He certainly would not imitate the Jin, who, failing to capture Chen Gou and defeat the Song army, ravaged Jiangnan, igniting widespread flames and ultimately retreating in disorder.

Taking paper, Zhang Xun carefully listed quantities of rice, silk, money, firewood, water, oxen and horses, warships, laborers, as well as clerks for the interim local administration acting on behalf of the Song court, and archers necessary to maintain security.

The weather was damp and oppressive, and his thoughts troubled with grim matters. After calculating for a while, he grew weary. Since it was raining heavily, practicing archery was impossible. He decided to rest briefly, reclining on the couch for a short nap.

Zhang Xun’s mother, who had heard he sent the letter to Lin’an, initially thought he only requested some ramie cloth for mosquito nets and window coverings. Now she realized that Zhang Xun had hastily written to his elder brother—there must be something serious.

Rainy days were slow and quiet; she thought to come ask about it.

When she arrived with her maid and old servant, she found Zhang Xun napping on the couch. Napping was normal, but how could he leave his navel uncovered?

Regardless of season, sleeping always required the navel to be covered.

Zhang Xun’s mother fetched a brocade robe and covered his stomach. Just as she was about to leave, she noticed the desk covered with dense writing. Surprised—since Zhang Xun seldom read much or wrote lengthy notes—her curiosity was piqued. Leaning over, she read what he had written.

She was astonished beyond words.

Her ancestors included the former Chancellor Li Gang, the defender of Bianjing’s walls, and the Marshal of Hebei. Her father and brothers had long served as commanders on the frontier. Though not experts in military affairs, they were well-informed.

The documents before her clearly detailed the various necessities for an army of twenty thousand to depart from Changzhou and hasten a thousand miles to relieve Xiangyang.

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