Chapter 146: Useless, Having Spent Most of Their Lives in Fengzhou City, Yet Still Unprepared…

**Chapter 146: Hopeless**

They’d lived in Fengzhou most of their lives, yet still couldn’t fight back…

Bing Wengu and his companions pressed forward along the empty street. This was supposed to be the liveliest street in Fengzhou, but there wasn’t a single decent inn or tavern in sight—only low, dilapidated structures. In truth, calling them “houses” was being charitable; they were little more than crumbling ruins.

You’d think this was a ghost town, populated only by stray cats and dogs. But behind those broken walls, people were hiding.

As Bing Wengu’s group walked through what they saw as near-ruins, a heavy silence settled over them.

Cong Lin’s eyes stung with dryness. “I once thought Jixian during the drought was hell on earth. But now I see—Fengzhou is just as bad, maybe worse. At least in Jixian, the houses stood whole. Here…”

Nan Jinping gazed at the sky. “At least it’s late spring now. The people won’t freeze to death.”

“Let’s hope they can rebuild before winter comes.”

“They will.” Bing Wengu’s voice was calm, but firm.

While others saw only broken homes, Bing Wengu saw more.

He looked at the squat dwellings, then toward the distant city walls. Their heights were nearly the same. In other words, Fengzhou’s walls were barely taller than a man. Hell, a spooked horse could clear them in one jump—no need for an attack. No wonder the Huns waltzed into Fengzhou like it was their damn living room, raiding whenever they pleased and leaving without a care.

And these weren’t even proper walls. They were made of rammed earth, with visible traces of dried grass mixed in—no solid stone reinforcement at all.

These were *supposed* to be city walls! If even they were in such a state, one could only imagine how the people suffered.

After this journey, Bing Wengu had seen all he needed to. There was no point in looking further.

“Let’s go to the yamen,” he ordered, turning his horse and riding ahead.

Normally, galloping through the market was forbidden, but with not a soul in sight, it hardly mattered.

Meanwhile, inside the yamen, officials were already arguing about the new prefect.

The Vice-Prefect glanced around. “Where’s the Prefect?”

The Military Commissioner scoffed. “You know how he is—the second the transfer order dropped, he started counting the minutes until he could bail. He hasn’t given a damn about official duties. If not for that, we wouldn’t have lost so badly last time.”

His brow furrowed deeply. “What the hell was the court thinking? So many military officers failed—what good is sending some scholar? The second the Huns show up, he’ll piss his pants! What use is someone like that? Clueless, barking orders like a fool—just dragging us down.”

The full title of Fengzhou’s prefect was “Administrator of Fengzhou Military Prefecture,” concurrently serving as Pacification Commissioner and Commander of Infantry and Cavalry, holding military authority.

Thus, the choice of prefect directly affected the border troops. The idea of another useless superior officer who only caused trouble made the soldiers sick at heart.

“Word is, the new guy’s no pushover—he’s got real talent,” the Vice-Prefect said. After receiving the news, he had gone to great lengths to investigate the man’s background.

“They say he’s a nobody who solved Jixian’s drought crisis through sheer ability, developed enhanced hybrid seeds, and even invented trains and airplanes. Jixian wasn’t much better off back then—it was rough, just like here. Yet in three years, the people there live decently now.”

“You actually think this guy’ll make Fengzhou the next Jixian in three years?” the Military Commissioner sneered.

“Sure, he might handle paperwork well,” the Vice-Prefect admitted, “but governing civilians isn’t the same as running Fengzhou. Our problem isn’t managing the people—it’s killing Huns.”

The Vice-Prefect let out a long, tired sigh.

"What's the use of governing Fengzhou well? What does it matter if grain yields increase again? In the end, it will all just become the Xiongnu's reserve granary. They can come and take it whenever they please." The Military Commissioner seethed at the mention of the Xiongnu.

"If only a war deity would descend from the heavens, then Fengzhou's crisis could be resolved."

"Report! Vice-Prefect, Military Commissioner, the newly appointed Prefect has arrived outside." The Vice-Prefect and the Military Commissioner exchanged startled glances.

The Military Commissioner frowned. "I didn't hear the sound of a large convoy."

A yamen officer replied, "The new Prefect came with only a dozen or so men, traveling lightly. The main convoy is probably still behind."

"To dare come with such a small escort at a time like this—he really is a foolhardy youth who doesn’t fear the tiger," the Military Commissioner remarked.

"Go to the private quarters and inform the current Prefect that the new Prefect has arrived," the Vice-Prefect said to the Military Commissioner. "Let's go out and welcome him."

Though the Military Commissioner smirked privately, he dared not neglect formalities, no matter how much he looked down on the new Prefect.

When the Vice-Prefect and the Military Commissioner stepped out to greet the newcomers, their eyes immediately fell on the two figures at the forefront—Bing Wengu and Nan Jinping—knowing these two must be the leaders of the group.

But they couldn't quite determine which of the two was the newly appointed Prefect.

Neither of them seemed like a subordinate. One was slender, with fair skin that clearly indicated a pampered upbringing, untouched by hard labor. Most notably, he exuded an air of scholarly refinement. Even dressed in practical riding attire for the journey, his scholarly air was unmistakable.

The other was tall and broad-shouldered, carrying an imposing presence. His expression was stern, exuding authority without raising his voice. He gave off a complex impression—part scholar, yet not entirely, with a touch of refinement but not overwhelmingly so. If one were to call him a warrior, he had the bearing of a general, yet mixed with a hint of scholarly grace. It was an incongruous mix. But one thing was certain: he held the reins of his horse and clearly stood in a protective stance beside the fair-faced young man beside him.

If this were the new Prefect, as the highest-ranking official here, others should be protecting *him*, not the other way around.

So the Vice-Prefect and the Military Commissioner both assumed the protected one was the new Prefect—and he fit their image of a scholar much better.

"We respectfully welcome Your Excellency, the Prefect."

Nan Jinping sidestepped slightly to avoid the bow, looking both amused and exasperated. "You've mistaken me. *He* is the new Prefect, Bing Wengu."

When the two men looked up, their shock was unmistakable. They had never expected the other man to be the new Prefect.

At the same time, they noticed that the one they had mistaken showed no hint of discomfort at having overshadowed his superior.

Bing Wengu presented his credentials for them to inspect. "I am the newly appointed Prefect, Bing Wengu. This gentleman beside me is my husband, Master Wuwei."

The Vice-Prefect and the Military Commissioner exchanged glances, their first impression of Bing Wengu already soured. Initially, they had admired his courage for arriving with such a small escort. But to bring his frail, helpless husband at a time like this? It seemed nothing more than sheer recklessness.

As for why Bing Wengu had specifically referred to his husband as "Master," neither of them bothered to question it further.

"Lord Bing, Master Wuwei." Suppressing their disdain, the two men bowed respectfully.

Bing Wengu could easily see their displeasure, but he dismissed it.

While they had been sizing him up, he had done the same to them.

Neither had any unremarkable appearance—both were utterly ordinary. The Vice-Prefect carried a scholarly air, but unlike the calm demeanor typical of officials in other prefectures, there was a hint of battle-hardened ruthlessness about him—though not overwhelming. Likely a result of years stationed in Fengzhou, fighting the Xiongnu.

As for the Military Commissioner, his crude, outlaw-like bearing was unmistakable. But for a military officer, such a crude bearing was the mark of a lowly brute. Bandits were nothing more than rabble, usually crushed by real commanders. A true military officer should embody the dignity of a commander—that was the superior way.

"Which of you is the former Prefect of Fengzhou?" Bing Wengu asked.

"Neither of us, Your Excellency. We’ve already sent someone to inform the Prefect—he should arrive shortly," the Vice-Prefect replied. No sooner had he spoken than the former Prefect of Fengzhou came rushing out.

"Lord Bing, you’re finally here!" From the moment he received the news, the former Prefect had been counting down the days, praying for this day. He had had more than enough of Fengzhou—where he barely slept a wink at night, fearing the Xiongnu might raid the yamen and cut his throat.

"Allow me to introduce these two to you: Vice-Prefect Shen Chengzhou and Military Commissioner Baili Wuya."

After the former prefect briefly introduced everyone, he led Bing Wengu into the government office.

Along the way, he described Fengzhou to Bing Wengu—painting it as barren, desolate, impoverished, backward, and constantly ravaged by war.

Bing Wengu endured the former prefect’s endless litany of complaints about Fengzhou’s poverty and chaos until he could bear no more. Finally, he snapped, “Fetch me a map of Fengzhou—I want to see it.”

Upon his arrival, Bing Wengu didn’t check population figures or ask about taxes. Instead, he went straight for the map—a move that caused Shen Chengzhou and Baili Wuya to regard him with slight approval. It suggested he wasn’t some clueless scholar unfamiliar with military affairs—though whether his understanding was half-baked remained unclear.

As Bing Wengu examined the map, he found it more and more of a mess. He could just barely make sense of it through sheer determination, but the map itself was maddeningly cluttered.

“Who drew this?” Bing Wengu asked.

“It was me,” Baili Wuya replied proudly.

Expecting praise, Baili Wuya was instead met with sharp criticism: “A complete mess, thrown together carelessly.”

To be scolded like this by a civilian who had never seen battle made Baili Wuya almost let out a bitter laugh. He shot back, “Your Excellency is a scholar, without any battlefield experience. It’s natural you can’t read the map properly. These maps are hard to read and interpret—they’re not like literary references, where everything can be clearly explained in words.”

The former prefect glanced from Bing Wengu to Baili Wuya, quietly relishing the tension. They had clashed on the very first day—this would surely provide plenty of amusement in the days to come.

Bing Wengu fixed him with a cold stare. “Tell me, how many *li* is it from here to there?”

Baili Wuya looked at the map. “About three hundred *li*.”

Bing Wengu pointed to two other spots. Baili Wuya thought for a moment and gave approximate distances each time.

Bing Wengu said, “Even you take so long to answer. If other commanders were given this map, how would they know the distance or how long the journey would take? How could they plan their movements accordingly?”

Baili Wuya felt Bing Wengu was nitpicking—just looking for faults. “We’ve defended Fengzhou our entire lives and know every inch of terrain within a hundred *li*. Even without a map, we can deploy troops based on memory alone. Your ignorance of Fengzhou’s layout only shows that you’ve been here too short a time to understand it.”

“You’ve been here your whole life and still haven’t driven off the Xiongnu. What exactly are you proud of?”

“Incompetent!”