Leapfrog Tactics (Part II)

In the ground-level hall of the Japanese-style floating fortress, "Third New Tokyo," a military conference was in full swing.

At the center of the chamber lay a colossal, hastily compiled battlefield map of Hebei, assembled using reconnaissance data just gathered by Doraemon's \[Mini Surveillance Satellite]. The map was intricately detailed, marking cities, mountains, coastlines, and rivers. However, due to the inherent limitations of satellite surveillance, the current territorial control of these cities remained unknown—whether they had already been razed to the ground or who now ruled over them. Even the names inscribed on the map were speculative, cobbled together through a mixture of local officials' accounts and ancient historical records, leaving one uncertain whether egregious errors had crept in.

Yet, compared to the woefully inaccurate hand-drawn maps the Song generals had been using, Doraemon's version was already a vast improvement.

Encircling this immense strategic map were the key participants of the meeting—Yue Fei, Han Shizhong, Qin Hui, and Wang Boyan, among others. Doraemon, ever the quiet sentinel, was stationed behind Guo Jing, lending his presence as moral support. Within Guo Jing the Grand Immortal's nimble airborne strike force, Yue Fei commanded the cavalry, Han Shizhong led the infantry, Qin Hui served both as political commissar and scribe, while Wang Boyan, the prefect of Xiangzhou and a local authority, was granted a seat at the council.

As for Zong Ze, the prefect of Cizhou who had traveled with the group, he had already departed with his two-hundred-strong escort to return to his own jurisdiction.

The hall, true to its Japanese architectural roots, was devoid of furniture, compelling the attendees to sit cross-legged or kneel on tatami mats. To Wang Qiu, the scene was reminiscent of those solemn military councils from Japanese historical dramas, where daimyos convened in their castles—despite there not being a single Japanese among them. Doraemon, being a robotic feline, could hardly be considered a person, and Nobita, that perpetual elementary school student, had already returned to class.

The Song officials, however, appeared unbothered by this arrangement. Since ancient times, from the pre-Qin period onward, the Chinese had long practiced sitting on mats and dining from low tables. This tradition mirrored the later Japanese custom of tatami living. Although chairs and tables—known as "barbarian stools"—had entered China during the Tang and Song dynasties, they were initially scorned by the Confucian elite as foreign and vulgar innovations. Even in the early Northern Song, furniture remained rare in refined households. For instance, Zhao Pu, a revered minister of state, owned neither tables nor chairs; when the emperor visited, he too had to be hosted seated on the floor.

By this late stage of the Northern Song, furniture had begun to proliferate among the populace. Yet the ancient custom of sitting on mats had not entirely faded—much like modern Japanese traditions. Observing the ease with which Qin Hui, Wang Boyan, Yue Fei, and Han Shizhong knelt upon the tatami, Wang Qiu—his own legs already numbed—couldn't help but muse bitterly: was this what scholars referred to as "Tang-Song cultural remnants preserved in Japan"?

Returning to the matter at hand: at that moment, the group was poring over the military map of the Hebei warzone, engaged in earnest discussion of the ongoing war between the Song and the Jin.

"…This autumn, the Jurchen horde successively breached the cities of Zhongshan, Taiyuan, and Zhendin, thus tearing open the northern gates of our great Song. They sent detachments to overrun Fenzhou, cross the Yellow River, seize Luoyang, and capture Tongguan to cut off reinforcements from the western imperial guard. Yet in their final drive upon Bianjing, their full force converged under the capital walls—only to be utterly consumed by the Grand Immortal's divine conflagration… At present, Hebei lies in ruins, yet is curiously devoid of Jin forces."

Though Wang Boyan was widely distrusted for his lack of integrity and military acumen, he remained deeply embedded on the front lines, and thus was well-informed. "...This southern invasion saw the Jin deploying token garrisons across Hedong, but in Hebei, they merely passed through, bypassing cities rather than assaulting them. No troops were stationed in the rear. The sole exception was in Zhendin, where some three thousand Bohai defectors were left behind to guard their entry point into Song territory. Ten days ago, there were also rumors that Handan was attacked—but whether the culprits were Jin forces, roaming bandits, or mutinous Song troops, we cannot say."

According to Wang Boyan, in both of their southern campaigns, the Jin employed a bold, reckless strategy—plunging deep into enemy territory without securing their rear, leaving intact cities behind them. Even those that fell were typically abandoned rather than garrisoned.

Such tactics allowed them to concentrate forces and avoid being defeated piecemeal, but they came at a cost. Once the frontline elite was annihilated, the entire campaign collapsed instantly. Based on the annotations Wang Boyan had made on the map, following the destruction of the Jin army beneath Bianjing, most of the lost Song territories were seemingly liberated overnight.

Yet this was but an illusion.

The downfall of the Jin did not equate to a Song victory—for other players remained on the board.

—Just as the Americans had toppled Saddam in Iraq with ease, only to find themselves mired in a decade-long counterinsurgency.

The Song now faced a similarly dire situation. Though the invaders had been crushed, Hebei, Hedong, and the Central Plains had been blasted into anarchy. The Hebei Grand Marshal's headquarters, under Prince Kang, controlled only a handful of counties like Daming and Xiangzhou, which had escaped devastation. They gathered scattered forces in self-preservation, while the remainder—hundreds of counties—fell to lawless mobs and displaced refugees.

Indeed, heavy snow and roving bandits had severed all contact between Xiangzhou and much of Hebei and Hedong. How many cities had fallen to Jurchen marauders or bandits, how many still clung on behind enemy lines under loyal officials, remained a mystery. Whether the isolated Song forces beyond the lines still heeded imperial commands—no one could say.

The only confirmed enemy presence south of the old Liao border was the three-thousand-strong Bohai garrison in Zhendin. True, scattered Jin units might still be raiding the countryside—but these small bands, numbering no more than dozens or a few hundred, were little more than glorified bandits. Even with superior arms, they were no match for organized armies—especially while operating deep within enemy lands, bereft of popular support.

As for the Jin's final reserve force, it was stationed in Yanjing—the old Liao capital, and future Beijing.

"...So aside from the Bohai garrison in Zhendin and a few renegades lurking west of the Taihang range, the nearest proper Jurchen troops are under the Jin crown prince Wanyan Xieye in Yanjing, commanding some twenty thousand elite cavalry?"

After listening to Wang Boyan's report, Guo Jing tapped Yanjing on the map and spoke.

"...Or rather, somewhere within the old Liao's southern circuit. Not necessarily in Yanjing proper."

Yue Fei interjected. Having fought the Jin and Liao for years during the northern expeditions of the Xuanhe era, he was well-versed in northern customs. "...The Liao maintained a nomadic tradition known as the Four-Season Nalubo system, whereby their khans lived in mobile encampments rather than palaces. The Jurchens, who displaced them, likely adopted similar practices. Yanjing has been ravaged by war—its palaces and government halls lie in ruins. The Jin crown prince may well prefer to roam the countryside with his army, both to forage for supplies and suppress unrest…"

The Nalubo system—named for the Khitan term for royal campaign tents—meant that though the Liao had capital cities, their emperors ruled from the field, moving with the seasons. The Jurchens, less nomadic by nature, were more accustomed to fortified cities, but in the chaotic aftermath of conquest, they too had little time for luxury. With rebels flaring up across the land, even Jin nobles lived on the march.

Thus, although Wanyan Xieye held command in Yanjing, whether he truly remained within its broken walls or roamed the region like a nomadic khan, none could say.

Guo Jing nodded gravely. If this were true, then locating the enemy became an even greater challenge.

Hence the conundrum Yue Fei and his peers now faced—should they march from Xiangzhou and Daming, painstakingly recapturing county after county, they would exhaust themselves fighting roving bandits long before reaching the real enemy. Their modest force of a few hundred would be depleted before even reaching Zhendin.

Even if they did recapture lost cities, who would govern them? If they tried to emulate the Jin and dash straight for Yanjing, they would be blindly charging into unfamiliar lands—unsure of the terrain, the foe, or where to find supplies and manpower. How could such a war be waged?

Guo Jing's divine powers were formidable, but even he needed a target before he could strike.

They could hardly hope to conquer a thousand miles of territory with just eight hundred men.

Yet, in the fragmented knowledge stored in Wang Qiu's modern mind, there were precedents—MacArthur in the Pacific and Korea, Rumsfeld in Iraq—they had all waged campaigns against elusive foes with bold strokes.

After Wang Qiu whispered a few words to him, Guo Jing cleared his throat and made a declaration that shook the room:

"...My friends, rather than waste time painstakingly reclaiming Hebei, soothing the people, and managing endless affairs of state, I propose a bolder course: let us strike directly at the heart of the enemy! We shall march on Huanglongfu, seize the Jin capital, and capture Wuqimai, the Jurchen emperor himself—thus ridding China of its gravest threat! With my floating fortress, there is no place under heaven beyond our reach!"

The next morning, under the incense smoke and tearful prayers of tens of thousands of citizens, the floating citadel "Third New Tokyo" rose into the sky, carrying eight hundred warriors northward.

In just a few days, through the offerings and tributes of local aristocrats, military leaders, and officials, Doraemon had amassed treasures worth over one billion yen. Yet what thrilled Wang Qiu and Guo Jing even more was the message that appeared in the "Chronicle of Transcendence":

"...Changed the fates of Yue Fei and Han Shizhong. Gained 2000 reward points."

The final goal—fifty thousand points—was now within reach.