Chapter 2171 - Security Strategy

The "Yao uprisings" of the two Guangs traced their roots back six centuries to the Song Dynasty. From Song through Ming, this cycle of rebellion ebbed and flowed across Hunan, Guangxi, and Guangdong—a pattern that gradually migrated southward. During the Song era, the uprisings concentrated in Hunan, but as the Yao people themselves pushed south, the center of conflict shifted to the two Guangs by the Ming Dynasty.

The Yao migration followed a peculiar route: they entered Guangdong before Guangxi, yet chose Guangxi as their stronghold. This made perfect sense—Guangxi's rugged mountains and impenetrable jungles provided ideal terrain for a people whose livelihood depended on slash-and-burn mountain agriculture. The Goulou Great Mountains and Dayao Mountains became major population centers, and consequently, Ming Dynasty suppression campaigns focused primarily on Guangxi.

Beginning in the Xuande era, the relentless pressure began. Guangxi Commander-in-Chief Yun Shan spent two years "pacifying" the Yao along the Liangguang borders, slaughtering tens of thousands. Liu Pu and Tian Zhen continued the bloodbath. The result was predictable—vast numbers of Guangxi Yao fled east into Guangdong, taking refuge in the mountainous border regions of Zhao, Gao, Lei, and Lian prefectures, particularly the Yunkai Great Mountains near Longshui. Thus began a new phase: Ming-era Guangdong's Yao uprisings concentrated south of the West River, stretching from Fengchuan and Kaijian in the west to Yangchun and Gaozhou in the south, and eastward to Gaoyao and Xinxing. Operating from their mountain bases in Longshui, they affected a staggering area—six of Guangdong's ten prefectures faced Yao unrest.

The Luopang Yao of Longshui County proved particularly troublesome. Their frequent raids on the West River threatened the vital communication artery between the two Guangs—a bone lodged in the throat that the Ming court could neither swallow nor expel. The establishment of the Governor-General of the Two Guangs in Zhaoqing testified to the severity of the crisis.

But the tide turned in 1577, the fifth year of Wanli, when a major uprising was crushed and Longshui County elevated to Luoding Directly-Administered Prefecture. Yao power in Guangdong collapsed virtually overnight. The large-scale uprisings that had plagued the region ended. South of the West River, Yao influence evaporated. What remained were scattered communities in the northwestern mountain prefectures bordering Guangxi and Hunan—diminished, fragmented, incapable of mounting serious threats. Though minor disturbances continued, they never again approached the scale and ferocity of earlier rebellions.

The "Eight Row Yao uprising" represented a late flare-up in this dying conflict. Though smaller than its predecessors, it still required—in the original timeline—a multi-province mobilization of tens of thousands of troops. Small wonder, then, that from the outset, the General Staff and South China Army Command approached this new outbreak with considerable anxiety. This uprising had erupted five years earlier than history recorded, and on a far larger scale.

In the original timeline, the Eight Row Yao uprising of 1639 remained geographically limited. But this altered version, appearing prematurely in 1634, expanded rapidly due to the collapse of the Ming army's Yao suppression apparatus in Guangxi. The withdrawal of two Lieutenant-Generals responsible for Yao defense in Luoding Prefecture created an immediate vacuum. Yao militias surged southward, once again menacing the West River shipping lanes. Reports from troops and local governments painted an alarming picture: the uprising had spread from Lianzhou in northwestern Guangdong both eastward and southward, the affected area growing daily.

To prevent a cascading disaster, the General Staff accelerated National Army deployments to western and northern Guangdong, plugging defensive gaps while dispatching Xu Ke to lead reconnaissance teams throughout the affected regions. Simultaneously, staff officers plunged into the archives, poring over historical records and documentary evidence.

The intelligence Xu Ke gathered proved less dire than anticipated. After Luoding's establishment as a directly-administered prefecture in 1577, Yao strength had diminished considerably. Though the Eight Row Yao had successfully stirred many villages to rebellion, these communities possessed limited military capacity. Most practiced marginal slash-and-burn agriculture with negligible surplus, dependent on traders for iron tools and salt. They lacked proper weapons and siege capability. While surprise attacks occasionally yielded captured cities, their overall ability to conduct siege warfare remained weak. Even the Hakka villages on the Yao frontier—long locked in conflict with their mountain neighbors—had rarely seen their stockades breached. Xu Ke's comprehensive assessment concluded that the uprising's scale, while troubling, posed manageable threat levels.

"Isn't that conclusion somewhat... optimistic?" Zhu Mingxia asked during Xu Ke's briefing, his frown deepening.

"We need to view this from multiple angles," Xu Ke replied. "True, disturbances have erupted throughout the West River region. However, our field reports indicate Yao militia activity concentrates almost entirely on the north bank—they haven't penetrated south bank territories. Analysis of historical records reveals their fundamental operational doctrine: raiding, not conquest. They prize loot and captives over territorial control."

The Yao lived primarily by mountain agriculture, scattered across small, highly mobile settlements. Cultural isolation and grinding poverty drove them to desperate measures—periodic descents from their highlands to raid the lowlands. Though Yao militias had seized Ming prefecture and county seats on multiple occasions, invariably they plundered and withdrew. Never once had they chosen to defend captured cities.

"There's a Yao proverb," Xu Ke continued, warming to his subject. "'Officials have ten thousand soldiers, we have ten thousand mountains. When soldiers come, we go; when soldiers go, we come.' That's their entire strategic doctrine distilled—use the mountains for protection, exhaust the enemy, force government troops to withdraw. The Eight Row Yao uprising in the original timeline persisted until the Ming's collapse precisely through this strategy, only succumbing to suppression during the Shunzhi era." He leaned forward. "Their uprisings follow a predictable pattern: descend, raid, retreat to the mountains, wait for the next opportunity. I've studied the Ming army's counter-tactics extensively. They emphasized 'containment'—deploying military force to control land and water routes from the mountain strongholds. This effectively constrained Yao militia operations. I believe we should adopt similar methods."

Zhu Mingxia felt clarity emerging from the fog of concern.

"There's another critical factor," Xu Ke added. "Despite the Eight Row Yao's operational range and success in stirring village rebellions, these villages haven't actually unified with the core Eight Row forces. The Yao of the two Guangs differ fundamentally from their southwestern counterparts in Yunnan-Guizhou. They lack the great hereditary chieftains who rule like virtual emperors for centuries—no equivalents to the Yang clan of Bozhou or the An clan of Shuixi. The Yao have 'headmen,' yes, but their authority is limited, their jurisdictions tiny. Their backward economies prevent formation of large, coordinated military forces. Don't let the current wave of village rebellions mislead you—they won't merge with the Eight Row Yao. For these villages, 'rebellion' simply means exploiting the security vacuum created by the Ming army's collapse to raid and plunder. Once the National Army establishes control and restores order, these village-level uprisings will collapse rapidly."

"So you're saying that beyond the Eight Row Yao in Lianshan proper, the other uprisings aren't worth serious concern? We don't need dedicated suppression forces?"

The question carried weight. Xu Ke paused, then answered with conviction: "Precisely. Based on archival research from the Great Library and intelligence from local officials and elders, controlling local security and transportation networks will effectively curtail Yao raiding. Frankly, even if we launched a full suppression campaign, we'd merely be trudging through mountains to assault stockades. There are no substantial armed formations for us to encircle and destroy."

"I see." Zhu Mingxia nodded slowly. "This is essentially a security and pacification operation."

"Exactly," Xu Ke confirmed. "Mobilizing large field formations would be using cannons to swat mosquitoes—an absurd waste of combat power. The National Army is better suited for this work. Actually, the Yao uprising isn't our primary concern. The real threat comes from bandits. Their mobility far exceeds the Yao militias, and their destructive capacity is considerably greater."

Banditry was China's perennial affliction. In the seventeenth century, bandits operated wherever people lived—even the "model capital" of Beijing harbored bandits just beyond its gates. In Guangzhou, lauded as the foremost city under Southern Heaven, one risked robbery or kidnapping by the notorious "Great Heaven's Second" gang the moment one stepped outside the Big or Small North Gates. The banks of the West River, that golden waterway, proved no exception. The Guangdong Ming army's collapse and the ravages of local warfare had multiplied both bandit numbers and their equipment levels several-fold.

"What's actually raiding counties, attacking our troops and personnel, creating the greatest pressure—that's the bandits," Xu Ke said. "My deepest concern is the possibility of bandits merging with the rebelling Yao. Current observations suggest this trend is already beginning."

In the original timeline, the 1635 Yao uprising remained minor—only the Eight Row Yao participated, briefly seizing Lianshan County seat and its seal before retreating to mountain hollows for guerrilla warfare against government forces. The real catastrophe came eight years later, when the Eight Row Yao allied with the Lang people of Lianshan County and joined forces with tens of thousands of roving bandits under Zhang Xianzhong's generals Tang Taozhong and Yang Guozhi. Together they captured Lianshan and Lianzhou, raided Yangshan and Yingde—their momentum seemed unstoppable. Not until the Shunzhi era did Qing forces finally crush them.

"If we fail to restore social order quickly," Xu Ke continued, "if bandits coalesce into large roving formations, if Yao militias merge with these bandit armies on any significant scale—the situation will become exponentially more difficult than what we face now." He paused. "Which brings me to a disturbing piece of intelligence."

"Prisoner interrogations reveal that many bandits currently operating in the West River basin aren't scattered Ming deserters—they're 'official bandits' from Guangxi."

"Official bandits?!" Zhu Mingxia's eyes widened. "You mean Xiong Wencan..."

"Correct." Xu Ke nodded grimly. "Our intelligence remains limited, but the pattern is clear: Ming soldiers from Guangxi have infiltrated back into Guangdong as small bandit gangs, effectively becoming bandits themselves."

"Xiong Wencan faces grain and pay shortages—why would his soldiers willingly accept such assignments?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Xu Ke's laugh was bitter. "They're being sent to become bandits, not to fight battles. As bandits, they answer to no one. All plundered goods, all captured women—everything belongs to them. Isn't that preferable to a few months' worth of military pay?"