"Hmm? Zhang Niujiao is here?"
Zhang Xin raised her head, looking up from the maps spread across her desk. "Let him in."
"By your command."
A short while later, the heavy fabric of the tent flap was tossed aside, and Zhang Niujiao strode in.
"General."
He clasped his hands in a respectful, if somewhat stiff, greeting. But before Zhang Xin could even acknowledge him, he blurted out, "What is the meaning of this?"
Zhang Xin blinked, looking at him with a puzzled expression. Under her current command, the military hierarchy had grown strict; only an old veteran like Zhang Niujiao still dared to speak to her with such blunt familiarity. "What's wrong?"
"Why are there no Generals from our faction among the troops being reorganized for this campaign?" Zhang Niujiao asked, his voice thick with indignation. "The Commander-in-Chief once said that if the generals cultivate the fields well, the more grain we produce, the less we have to squeeze from the common people. Back then, it made sense. I understood that I couldn't go to war because reducing the burden on the people was the priority."
He stepped closer, his chest heaving, and clenched his hands into a fierce fist salute. "But Jizhou is our homeland! We are fighting our way back home! Why am I, an old general, not entitled to a single shred of that credit? Regardless of what the Commander-in-Chief thinks, this old general is volunteering for the front lines!"
Zhang Xin leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "And if you go to war, who is going to farm the fields in Qingzhou?"
"Didn't you send that kid Han Hao over?" Zhang Niujiao countered instantly. "He's quite good. I've talked with him; the lad knows his way around a plow. Let him manage the Qingzhou fields."
"Can he manage hundreds of thousands of displaced people? Will your veteran men even obey a greenhorn like him?" Zhang Xin rolled her eyes, letting out a sharp sigh. "I sent him there to assist you, Old Niu, not for you to dump your responsibilities and run away. Besides, you're over fifty years old. Wouldn't it be better to stay in the rear, tend to the crops, and spend some peaceful time with your children?"
She tapped the desk. "If you ensure the army's food supply, I will credit you with the highest merit. What's the point of an old man like you dragging his bones to the battlefield just to show off?"
"When Pingyuan was besieged, this old general went to the front lines and still chopped down enemies left and right, didn't I?" Zhang Niujiao grumbled, his face flushed with dissatisfaction. "Besides, Old Zuo is almost fifty himself! Why does he get to march to the front lines and fight the enemy while I'm stuck in the mud playing farmer? General, you have to be reasonable!"
"Ha~"
Zhang Xin let out a thoroughly amused, slightly malicious chuckle. "How many characters can you even read, Old Niu? You think you can out-reason me? Alright, since you want to talk strategy, let's have a proper discussion. First question: can you beat Old Zuo in a duel?"
"Uh... well..." Zhang Niujiao's voice faltered, suddenly finding the grain patterns on the floorboards very interesting.
"Moving on," Zhang Xin continued, relentless. "Have you actually read the military treatise I gave you last time?"
"What is there to read in Huangfu Song's military strategies?!" Zhang Niujiao roared, righteous fury flaring back into his eyes. "That scoundrel slaughtered the Earth General and the Human General! He desecrated and mutilated the corpse of our Great Virtuous Teacher! I wish I could eat his flesh alive! Why on earth would I study the tactics of a monster like that?"
"If you don't know modern military strategy, you don't know tactics, and you can't even beat Old Zuo in a fistfight, what kind of battlefield do you think you're going to?" Zhang Xin's tone shifted, matching his intensity with her own fierce righteousness. "Do you want my soldiers to die in vain because their commander is clueless? Or are you just eager to gift your old bones to Yuan Shao so he can claim the military merit for your head?"
"General, do not look down on me!" Zhang Niujiao barked, his pride stung. "Even if I am not a master strategist, I can still serve as a lowly vanguard soldier under your direct command! I don't need to lead troops—just let me charge the enemy lines! Lian Po was seventy years old and still possessed the courage to shake the world. I am only fifty-one! How can I be barred from killing the enemy?"
"Fine." Zhang Xin nodded smoothly. "Go find Old Zuo. Fight him. If you win, I'll put you on the march roster tomorrow."
"This..." Zhang Niujiao's fiery momentum vanished instantly. He swallowed hard. "General... can we perhaps choose someone else to test me?"
Zhang Xin's lips twitched into a smirk. She nodded toward the entrance of the tent. "Old Dian!"
The heavy curtain parted instantly, and Dian Wei strode in, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the room. "What are your orders, my Lord?"
Zhang Xin pointed a lazy finger at the veteran. "Come, give Old Niu here a warm-up match."
Dian Wei's eyes locked onto Zhang Niujiao, a fierce, eager grin spreading across his face as he cracked his knuckles.
Zhang Niujiao's face instantly turned the color of bruised liver. He took a step back, coughing into his fist. "General... maybe we try one more person?"
"Then go find Zilong," Zhang Xin said, her voice entirely deadpan.
"General, you are clearly making sport of me..." Zhang Niujiao was utterly defeated, his shoulders slumping.
"No way, really?" Zhang Xin gasped in mock astonishment, putting her hands on her hips. "Is there actually someone who thinks they can't even beat young Zilong? How does someone like that have the audacity to demand a place on the front lines? Do you honestly think you can handle Yuan Shao's vanguard?"
Sweat beaded on Zhang Niujiao's forehead. Driven into a corner, he blurted out the only defense he had left: "I... I do know military strategy!"
Zhang Xin just stared at him, an eyebrow raised.
The old general's chest heaved with suppressed frustration, his anger bubbling, but he couldn't find a single word to vent it.
"Alright, alright." Seeing that she had pushed the old veteran far enough, Zhang Xin waved her hand, softening her tone. "Jokes aside, Old Niu, think about it clearly. Which is more important: the life of a single old soldier trading blows on the battlefield, or the survival and provisions of hundreds of thousands of civilians and tens of thousands of marching troops? Do not fail the sacred teachings of the Great Virtuous Teacher, General of the Earth God."
Hearing the title of his late master, the wild fire in Zhang Niujiao's eyes finally cooled into a solemn, heavy calm. He bowed his head, the weight of his true duty settling over his shoulders.
"If you truly want to take back Ji Province," Zhang Xin added softly, "I promise you, I will find you your opportunity. But before that day comes, you must secure our foundation. Do what you are meant to do."
"Thank you, Commander!" Zhang Niujiao's face lit up with profound relief and joy. He bowed deeply. "If it weren't for your timely awakening, this old general would have nearly ruined our grand design out of petty stubbornness. The Commander is truly wise and—"
"Save the flattery," Zhang Xin interrupted with a laugh, waving it off. "Let's talk numbers. How many active soldiers do you have left in the Tuntian Agricultural Army?"
"There are still a little over twenty thousand left," Zhang Niujiao replied instantly, back in his element.
"Twenty thousand..." Zhang Xin tapped her fingers on the desk, doing some rapid mental arithmetic. "With the reassignment of the main forces, won't we be desperately short-handed for the spring planting next year?"
"It is indeed a critical shortage," Zhang Niujiao nodded grimly. "Han Hao and I have already calculated the labor deficit. We've decided to mobilize every available woman and elderly person within the civilian settlements to take to the fields next spring. We have to maximize every mu of land. For the fields we simply don't have the hands to plow fully, we plan to clear them early and throw down quick-growing vegetables and beans during the summer cycle to offset a poor grain harvest."
The agricultural army in Qingzhou had originally boasted fifty thousand strong, all capable young men drawn from the local households. But with Zhang Xin suddenly drafting nearly sixty percent of that labor force into active military service for the coming campaign, the impact on next year's crop yield was going to be devastating.
"How about this?" Zhang Xin pondered for a long moment before speaking. "Didn't we just purge a substantial number of the corrupt, tyrannical gentry clans a while back? Their properties were seized, but their families remain. I know they still have plenty of half-grown teenagers left in their households. I'll assign all of them to you. Force them into the fields to farm those vacant lands."
"Half-grown lads? That will do perfectly," Zhang Niujiao agreed. In this brutal era, a twelve or thirteen-year-old boy was already considered prime labor. When the harvest season peaked, even eight- or nine-year-olds were dragged out of bed to work the earth. Zhang Niujiao had absolutely no qualms about putting aristocratic teenagers to work.
However, he hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his rugged face. "But General... what about the elderly of those fallen clans?"
In the Great Han Dynasty, filial piety and respect for the elderly were deeply woven into the fabric of the law. Even corrupt county magistrates and arrogant prefects made a show of sending gifts and respect to the elderly during seasonal festivals. Zhang Niujiao could easily rationalize mobilizing the elderly of his own civilian army because they were working to feed their own families. But to actively drive the elderly of defeated noble houses into the fields like common draft beasts?
A deeply ingrained cultural taboo sparked a momentary hurdle in his mind.
Zhang Xin's eyes narrowed, her gaze turning piercingly cold as she locked eyes with the veteran. "Old Niu, let me ask you something. The noble landlord who violently seized your family's ancestral land twenty years ago... how old is that man today?"
The words struck Zhang Niujiao like a physical blow. The hesitation vanished from his eyes, replaced by a sudden, chilling clarity.
"This general understands," he said, his voice dropping an octave.
Yes. Those wealthy elders might be frail and gray-haired now, but what were they doing when they were young? They were bloodsuckers, mercilessly exploiting the sweat and tears of the common people. When they grew old, their sons took over the exploitation. When their sons grew tired, their grandsons continued the cycle. Their descendants would have lived in luxury forever on the backs of the poor.
If they weren't forced to break their backs in the dirt to pay off their lifelong debts to society, what was Zhang Xin supposed to do? Keep them comfortable, feed them delicacies, and give them a lavish funeral when they died?
"Go find Wenyuan," Zhang Xin said, waving her hand dismissively to signal the end of the meeting. "He's managing the prisoner registries. Pick out whoever you need."
"This general takes his leave!" Zhang Niujiao bowed deeply, his steps light and purposeful as he strode out of the tent.
With a single stroke, Zhang Xin had resolved the crisis. The able-bodied men of the corrupt gentry clans had already been executed during the purge, and now, the elderly and the youth had been assigned to heavy agricultural labor to pay their debts.
All that remained of the fallen gentry houses were the women.