37. Commissioned as the Military Commissioner of Western Zhejiang

"This... this..."

"Wasn't he doing quite well just last year? How did he end up like this?" Zhang Xun was not entirely sure how much longer Zhao Qi could live; he only remembered that in history, Lu Xiufu had carried the young emperor into the sea. That meant either Zhao Qi had surrendered, or he had died. It was most likely the latter—if he had surrendered, he would surely have been branded with a derogatory title like 'Duke of Ignoble Virtue.'

Lu Xiufu merely wore an expression of extreme caution. Zhang Xun found this affected; after all, Lu had already secretly told him that the Emperor might have stomach cancer—what was the point of putting on this show of reticence now?

Yet, it was not hard to understand. Lu Xiufu cared deeply for the Song dynasty. His anxiety over the court's situation and his concern for Zhao Qi's health stemmed from a different place.

"So, what do you suggest we do?"

Zhang Xun had always prepared for both outcomes. If the front line could hold, even if the Southern Song court eventually withered into a state as small as the Southern Tang or the kingdom of Jiangnan, it would be a perfect result for him. He could spend twenty years eating, drinking, and indulging himself—living the life of a hedonistic young master.

If the front line collapsed, then the preparations he had made for kneeling and kowtowing—and thus becoming a name synonymous with infamy for a thousand years—were already halfway complete. The main issue was grain; other preparations were proceeding in an orderly fashion. Only grain was difficult to secure, as the circulation of food in this era was woefully inefficient.

Generally, each region consumed what it produced. The court’s collection of summer and autumn taxes, which were then transported to Hangzhou or the front lines, constituted the largest scale of government-led grain distribution.

"Marshal Wang is a capable minister, and Ezhou is a formidable fortress; perhaps there is still room to maneuver." Lu Xiufu closed his eyes, perhaps feeling that his words were insincere.

Wang Lixin was indeed capable, but expecting a seventy-five-year-old man to exert himself with vigor was truly asking too much. As for Ezhou, it was where Yue Fei had once stationed his troops to prepare for battle; the city was built with high walls and deep moats.

But the elite troops of Xiangyang and Fancheng had already surrendered to the Yuan army along with Lü Wenhuan. Now, Ezhou had only five or six thousand soldiers, with Zhang Shijie in charge of defending the city. How to put it? Brother Zhang was probably decent at defending a city—probably.

"Forget it, forget it. I am but a rustic bumpkin; what right do I have to discuss the affairs of the world? Brother-in-law, go to the prefectural office tomorrow, settle the matter of the summer grain with the Prefect, and then come find me." Zhang Xun had originally intended to deliver a profound discourse, but at this stage, what was the point?

"Sigh..." Lu Xiufu could only turn and leave, his eyes reddening.

The state of the nation was deteriorating by the day, and as a minor official, there was nothing to be done. Take the Remonstrance Official Xiao Wenfu, mentioned just the other day—he was surely among the top tier of high officials—yet because he had offended Jia Sidao, he had abandoned his post overnight and fled into the wilderness. It was only through the rescue efforts of numerous scholars that he managed to escape; otherwise, Jia Sidao would have had him silenced that very night.

After settling Lu Xiufu, Zhang Xun returned to his study. The more urgent things became, the less one should panic; one must remain calm. Once you rush, you fail.

First, he had to support the shipment of twenty or thirty thousand bushels of summer grain to Runzhou. If Lu Xiufu personally rushed to Changzhou, the inertia of the Southern Song court might still hold some sway, and Zhao Rujian would likely show some face.

Second was the situation of his maternal uncle, Li Zhu. He had gone to Chongqing; if history followed its course, the result would almost certainly be a military defeat and death. One look at him was enough to know he would never surrender. If he could be saved, he had to be.

Lastly, there was the matter of preparing for surrender. Barring any surprises, this autumn, the Yuan Chancellor and Commander-in-Chief Bayan would lead tens of thousands of Yuan troops south to rendezvous with the Xiangyang forces, aiming to annihilate the Song completely.

The Southern Song would put up one more resistance at Dingjiazhou—or, to put it bluntly, make one last desperate throw to exhaust the final vitality of the capital, Lin'an.

Though Lin'an had a population of a million and was the most prosperous city in the world, a quick tally showed half were women, and of the remaining five hundred thousand, more than a third were young boys under fifteen. Of the three hundred thousand adult men, at least thirty thousand were bureaucrats or nobles. After deducting the males from their households, the total number of adult men who could be mobilized to fight in all of Lin'an was no more than one hundred and fifty thousand.

Currently, they were only calling on officials and generals from across the land to "serve the King." If they waited any longer, they would likely be calling on every official and civilian to rise up in a massive volunteer army and rush to the rescue.

As he was thinking, Chujiu appeared under the porch. Seeing Zhang Xun writing and drawing, he dared not interrupt. Only when Zhang Xun set down his brush did he report that there was a letter from the second elder sister in Liyang.

It was specifically meant to be delivered to Zhang Xun.

Oh? His second sister was married to the Zhao family. Even if she were writing home, she should be asking after their mother. Why look for him? He took the letter and unfolded it; only then did Zhang Xun understand.

His second sister's husband was a grand-nephew of the late Chancellor Zhao Kui, known as Zhao Tong. Zhao Tong's father, Zhao Huai, had previously served as the Prefect of Wuweijun and was now nearly sixty, living in retirement.

The court was short of talent and was picking out old men everywhere. Unsurprisingly, Zhao Huai had been summoned back to serve as the Pacification Commissioner for Western Zhejiang, tasked with recruiting twenty thousand troops. He was to be stationed first in Liyang, then move to Jiankang. Zhao Huai's elder brother, Zhao Jin, had also been recalled to serve as the Deputy Pacification Commissioner along the Yangtze and Prefect of Jiankang.

Two sixty-year-old men. Suddenly becoming the highest military and political authorities in Western Zhejiang, and both being men who had been living in retirement, they had no one to rely on.

So, Zhao Huai had written to Zhang Xun—and of course, to his in-law, Zhang's mother—to ask for Zhang Xun's opinion on whether he was interested in serving as the Military Inspector of Western Zhejiang, Deputy General of the Fifth Division of the Southeast, and Controller of Changzhou.

If he was willing, Zhao Huai would immediately submit a memorial to the court to appoint him. Zhang Xun already held the honorary rank of 'Xuanzheng Lang.' According to the court's recent orders, anyone who raised troops to serve would be promoted three grades; he could now be elevated to the seventh-rank 'Wuyi Daifu.' Never mind being a Controller or Inspector; he could even be appointed as a Prefect.

For someone else, this might be a good thing, but for Zhang Xun...

"A letter from your second sister? What does she say?" Zhang's mother had clearly heard about the letter from the Liyang Zhao family and came to ask Zhang Xun.

"Uncle Zhao from Liyang wants to appoint me as the Military Inspector of Western Zhejiang." Zhang Xun handed the letter to his mother, casually tossing his waste paper into the brazier.

"Military Inspector of Western Zhejiang?" Zhang's mother took the letter to look at it. There was little else in the letter from his sister, other than a greeting at the beginning saying that everyone at home was well.

"Uncle Zhao means well, but..." Zhang Xun did not want to lead troops now.

Because if he started recruiting soldiers and training them, he would almost certainly be selected by Jia Sidao to face the Yuan army at Dingjiazhou. Fighting wasn't the issue—Zhang Xun didn't fear war; in this era, when was there ever not a war?

The problem was that the dog Sun Huichen would sell out his allies, having no intention of resisting at all. It was highly likely he would shove Zhang Xun to the front and flee by boat himself.

To be betrayed, trampled to death for no reason, or drowned—how unjust that would be! Even if he were in his coffin, he would be angered back to life.