As the first lunar month entered its latter half, the Witchlands remained cold, but at last saw more sunlight, and temperatures rose considerably. Li Ding, meanwhile, had already spent half a month reorganizing the Wu Clan.
He gathered the Royal Court's elite troops and assigned them to trusted commanders, redistributed livestock, pastures, herders, and able-bodied men according to the order in which they had submitted, accepting surrenders where appropriate, suppressing where necessary, rewarding those who deserved rewards, and stripping others of what they held.
Even his special amnesty and immediate appointment of the Qinghe Cui Clan's Literary Cultivation Grandmaster, who had supposedly been won over on the battlefield, seemed far from pointless. In fact, even someone serving as an army inspector like Huang Ping could find nothing to criticize. They all believed that War Marshal Dragonhead Li was making necessary preparations for war.
Yet at this very moment, the person who least ought to have questioned Li Ding voiced his doubts.
"Dragonhead Li, is this delay of yours a matter of military strategy or political strategy?" That morning, Zhang Shizhao strode straight into the royal tent and came directly to the point.
"Military strategy." Li Ding looked up and waved his trusted chief Deng Long, who was still awaiting orders, outside to stand guard before answering. "You saw through it, Lord Zhang?"
"How could I have seen through it?" Zhang Shizhao laughed. "I simply know that, given the Wu Clan's habits, all your rewards, punishments, and reorganization won't do as much good as winning a battle. That's why I wondered... Dragonhead Li, where does your military strategy lie?"
"I'm waiting for their commander to arrive," Li Ding replied seriously. "Our conquest of the Witchlands is bound to shake them, because beyond the Witchlands lies Guanzhong's rear, their fatal weak spot.