Volume One: Flames at the Border Chapter Sixty-Four: The Youth in White

This man was no more than thirty years old, yet his insights were quite unique, employing even reverse thinking. It was clear that the Northern Wei army had no shortage of talented individuals—no wonder they ultimately unified northern China and left a profound impact on the course of history.

At this moment, Cui Liang interjected, “General Zhangsun’s concerns are well-founded. All of us here harbor mortal enmity with the Yan traitors, but only the Chen Family Stronghold and Lianyun Fortress have recently engaged them in battle. Shouldn’t we hear Master He’s esteemed opinion?”

He held a favorable impression of He Yu and was also keen to witness his intelligence and strategic acumen, though there was certainly a measure of testing in his intent. Cui Liang was the implicit leader among them; once he spoke, the others quickly echoed his suggestion. At that time, family heritage and noble lineage were held in the highest esteem throughout the land, both in the north and south.

Being called upon, He Yu felt not the least bit anxious. As a special forces officer and graduate of a modern military academy, he had received systematic training in contemporary military theory; his perspective and logic far surpassed that of ordinary men.

He pondered the question briefly and soon had his answer. Rising to his feet, he spoke with composure and clarity, “Geographically, Shengle lies to the north and Pingcheng to the south, acting as mutual shields. If they attack Pingcheng, Shengle will come to its aid; if Shengle is attacked, Pingcheng will move to rescue it. Thus, with Murong Lin commanding a large force, he will not abandon Pingcheng to strike at Shengle, nor will Murong Bao divide his forces to attack Pingcheng. The Yan army outnumbers us threefold, already more than enough to besiege a city. If they concentrate their forces on a single stronghold, their numbers would only hinder them, which benefits the defenders and brings no advantage to the attackers. Murong Lin is skilled in warfare and would never make such a blunder.”

“He has stationed his troops without advancing for three reasons: first, to create an atmosphere of intimidation and sap our morale; second, to deplete our stored provisions. As I understand it, as soon as Murong Lin crossed the border, we withdrew all men, horses, and supplies into the city, but sitting idle only exhausts our resources—we cannot endure for long. Third, to prompt Shengle to dispatch reinforcements. Our defending troops are already at a numerical disadvantage; should the fighting intensify, the Prince of Wei would be forced to send additional forces, opening a window for Murong Bao to strike.”

Tuoba Yan nodded repeatedly. “Master He speaks the truth. The Yan army’s numbers exceed ours, attacking on two fronts to force us to stretch thin and be unable to support each other. If Pingcheng falls, Shengle is doomed; if Shengle is lost, Pingcheng cannot be held.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

At this point, someone inquired, “We consume grain daily, and Murong Lin’s army, being three times larger, must use up even more. How do you explain this?”

“A good question. From what I know, the Yan army’s campaigns rely mainly on cavalry, carrying no more than half a month’s rations; if supplies run short, they plunder locally. However, half a month ago, Murong Lin managed to seize my Chen Family Stronghold, capturing a thousand carts of grain by sheer luck, which gave him the resources to encamp and delay—training his soldiers and wearing us down. But by now, the supplies stolen from Chen Family Stronghold must be nearly exhausted. They will attack soon. By all reasonable estimates, within three days—perhaps even today or at this very moment—Murong Lin will mobilize his entire force, advancing slowly at first, then launching a sudden assault, giving us no respite.”

No sooner had he spoken than a messenger rushed in, knelt, and reported, “Your Highness, generals, our scouts report the Yan army has left Yanmen and is marching on Pingcheng.”

Just as He Yu had predicted, and to the letter—everyone was startled. He Yu himself found it uncanny; a casual guess had struck the mark exactly.

With Murong Lin’s army now on the move, tension instantly filled the command tent; the silence was so profound that a pin drop could be heard. After all, war was no child’s play—Murong Lin was infamous for his cruelty and treachery, often slaughtering entire cities. Should they fail, not one present would survive to be buried. All eyes turned to He Yu, waiting for his further analysis.

He Yu also sensed the gravity of the situation. Having only just arrived, he was not fully familiar with all circumstances, so he turned to Tuoba Yan and inquired, “Your Highness, since Murong Lin’s force is primarily cavalry and not accustomed to carrying heavy supply trains, I estimate they have, at most, a month’s worth of provisions. Can our own stores in Pingcheng hold out?”

Tuoba Yan was taken aback. “Master He is truly a master strategist. Pingcheng originally stocked enough food for more than three months. But with Murong Lin encamped outside and us unable to act rashly, we’ve already consumed a month’s worth. Now, we can barely last two more months.”

The situation was more dire than imagined. As the attacking force, Murong Lin could scavenge for supplies, while those inside Pingcheng could only watch their stores dwindle. Still, with summer already upon them, in two months’ time, the weather would cool considerably, perhaps even grow bitterly cold, forcing Murong Lin’s army to retreat without a fight.

He Yu then offered his counsel: “Your Highness, in light of this urgent military crisis, I respectfully propose we take several immediate measures. First, institute rationing and timed distribution of food. Second, implement a scorched earth policy, dismantling all outbuildings and structures outside the city walls so that the Yan army will find nothing for their use. Third, reinforce the inner fortifications and prepare additional defensive equipment. Fourth, fill in all wells outside the city and poison them. Fifth, reorganize our troops under unified command. Sixth, strengthen military discipline and establish supervisory enforcement squads.”

His advice, blending modern military organization and battlefield management, was succinct yet incisive, quickly winning everyone’s approval. Tuoba Yan thought to himself, “Chancellor Linghu was right—this man is indeed remarkably astute. With his aid, it is truly the fortune of Great Wei.”

Tuoba Yan accepted all of He Yu’s proposals and immediately ordered them to be implemented by designated officials.

He Yu continued, “By my calculations, Murong Lin will launch a strong assault on Pingcheng within five to seven days—possibly even sooner. Our most urgent task is to reorganize and drill the troops under unified command. However, given my own status, I suggest placing General Cui in charge, with Your Highness overseeing the overall situation and coordinating logistics, while the rest of us assist as needed.”

Until just the previous day, all forces had only just arrived, and though training had not ceased for a moment, there had been no chance to unify the command structure. He Yu’s suggestion was both timely and necessary.

Unlike the heated debates of the night before, today’s council concerned matters of life and death. Everyone nodded in agreement, gaining a deeper appreciation of He Yu’s abilities.

Tuoba Yan declared decisively, “Master He’s words are most reasonable. Therefore, General Zi Ming, accept my seal and banner, take command of all troops, and oversee the defense of the city. I shall manage logistics and provisions, and the rest of you will assist as needed.”

He then added, “With the battle imminent, military law will be enforced strictly. Please report your deployments and observe discipline to avoid any transgression.”

“Yes!” came the unified reply.

Cui Liang did not refuse, offering a few polite words before accepting the seal from Tuoba Yan and openly beginning to assign military duties. Born of the eminent Cui family of Qinghe, he was steeped in scholarly tradition and carried an innate air of authority. His orders were organized and clear, and no one dared dissent.

He Yu thought to himself, “Cui Zi Ming truly has ability. His commands are orderly and his authority unchallenged—ancient wisdom should never be underestimated.”

“Your Highness, generals, there is another matter I wish to discuss,” Cui Liang announced gravely. “As far as I know, we have ten thousand cavalry and ten thousand infantry in the city, but less than three thousand horses suitable for battle, and even fewer sets of armor. To defeat cavalry with cavalry is ideal, but with so few mounts, how are we to prevail? Do any of you have suggestions?”

Tuoba Yan nodded at his side. “General Zi Ming, your concerns are justified. To be honest, I have been troubled by this as well. Since last year, the Yan traitors have banned all horse trading, and Pingcheng has been short of horses for some time. At most, we can barely gather four thousand, but of those, less than three thousand are fit for war.”

He Yu knew that in those days, northern China was dominated by heavy cavalry. Thus, everyone valued armored horsemen above all. But from modern military experience, the effective combat ratio between attacker and defender is three to one—a threefold attacking force is needed to match a defender. Murong Lin had sixty thousand infantry and cavalry, while Pingcheng had twenty thousand, so in numbers they were not at such a disadvantage. Moreover, Pingcheng was far stronger than Chen Family Stronghold, and Northern Wei cavalry were at least equal, if not superior, to those of Later Yan. Cavalry were formidable in open battle, but their costs were great; for the purposes of a city defense, infantry were more practical. To meet the enemy in the open would be courting disaster, but if they could hold out for a month, Later Yan’s supplies would run out and the weather would turn cold, throwing their enemy into disarray without a fight.

Just as he was about to speak, a youth in white rose from the crowd, bowed deeply and declared with calm assurance, “Uncle, do not worry. In my humble opinion, defending Pingcheng is an advantage with cavalry, but it is no great loss without them. Three thousand warhorses are more than enough; there is no need to seek more.” The youth was tall and graceful, his complexion as fair as a maiden’s, and though only fourteen or fifteen, his bearing and speech were exceptional.

He Yu did not recognize the boy and quietly asked Lu Yi, who stood nearby.

Though Lu Yi had clashed with He Yu the day before, he was still a gentleman of noble stock and bore no grudge. He whispered in reply, “That is Cui Zi Ming’s nephew—my cousin’s son. His surname is Cui, his given name Hao, styled Bo Yuan, with the childhood name Tao Jian. He is rather clever but fond of grand pronouncements, always imitating Zhuge Liang and comparing himself to Zhang Liang or Guan Zhong. My cousin-in-law has scolded him countless times, but he never changes. Today he speaks so boldly in public—let us see how Cui Zi Ming rebukes him.” The Cui family of Qinghe and the Lu family of Fanyang were both eminent northern clans, intermarried for generations, so Lu Yi was well acquainted with the youth’s background.

What was lightly said struck a chord in He Yu. He studied the youth carefully: “There is an inward radiance about him, a self-assured presence—truly a first-class talent.” Anyone with even a passing knowledge of this era would recognize Cui Hao, who served three emperors of Northern Wei, destroyed Xia, subdued Northern Liang, defeated the Rouran, and wielded power equal to that of Zhuge Liang in Shu. Sadly, in his later years he was executed during the ‘Case of the State Histories,’ and as he died, dozens of guards urinated on his body.

He Yu, having studied history, was well aware of Cui Hao’s story. There was an advantage to traveling through time—one could see people and events in their full context. Cui Hao’s later disgrace was far in the future; at this moment, he was still a youthful, high-spirited lad, dreaming of fame and glory. Realizing this, He Yu thought that all those pursuits—rank and wealth, fleeting reputation—seemed suddenly unimportant. As the saying goes, “The Great Wall spans ten thousand miles, yet is ultimately empty; heroes of a hundred generations, their dreams mere illusion.” In the end, all is dust, all is but a fleeting shadow.

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