Lü Meng stood at the prow of the scouting vessel, his gaze cutting through the hazy, charcoal-dark night, a familiar predatory confidence rising in his chest.
It was about time someone taught Liu Bei a lesson.
A proper reminder of who truly ruled these waters, and who was merely a guest who had stayed far too long.
In recent months, Lü Meng had spent much of his time buried in military texts and state papers, and the untamed ferocity of his youth had gradually been tempered by a colder, more disciplined and calm.
The sharpness remained.
It had simply been honed.
He knew his place within the complicated hierarchy of Jiangdong better than anyone.
He was neither an old veteran from the days of Sun Ce, nor a son of the great Jiangdong clans.
He had no ancestral network to lean on, no inherited prestige to shield him.
Everything he possessed, every measure of authority and honor he now carried, had been granted by his lord, Sun Quan.
And for that reason, Lü Meng had long since made peace with the simple truth:
he was a man who would gladly lay down his life for his benefactor.
He had earned that trust through blood and iron, leading the Red-Clad Soldiers from one hard-won victory to the next.
Thus, when Lord Sun ordered him to serve under Zhou Yu, he obeyed without question.
When Lord Sun commanded him to educate himself, he did exactly that, burying himself in books until the hot-blooded edge of his youth had been tempered by learning.
And when Lord Sun sent down a secret directive to acquire the secrets behind Liu Bei's advanced metallurgy, using it to draw the Jiangdong clans into closer cooperation, Lü Meng did not hesitate for even a moment.
He simply informed Lu Su that he was acting on his own initiative, willingly taking the blame upon himself and shielding his lord from any political fallout.
Lu Su's talks of grand strategy and the balance of the realm certainly made sense.
Lü Meng understood them perfectly well.
He simply did not care.
He was not a statesman of Jiangdong.
He was a household general of the Sun clan.
What did it matter whether Guan Yu was brave or Zhang Fei terrifying?
None of that had ever changed the creed he carried in his heart.
He still remembered the words he had once spoken to his mother as a boy: If you do not enter the tiger's den, how can you hope to catch the tiger's cub?
Iya bang, good catch. Yang ini memang ada beberapa bagian yang bisa dibikin lebih natural.
1) "Hudu River" akurat gak?
Secara factual geography, nama Hudu River terdengar seperti transliterasi dari 湖渡河 / 沪渎 / 胡渡-style local river name, tapi bukan nama sungai besar yang umum / strongly attested di peta Three Kingdoms yang dikenal luas.
Dari web check, untuk area Jingzhou–Jiangdong yang sering dipakai di cerita naval movement, yang lebih umum itu:
Yangtze / Great River
cabang sungai / tributary
local inlets / channels
Jadi kalau source CN memang nulis transliterasi nama kecil lokal, Hudu River masih bisa dipakai sebagai proper noun fiction-historical place name.
Aman selama konsisten.
Yang agak janggal justru "Hudu tributary".
Kalau sebelumnya udah disebut river, lalu lanjut "tributary of the Hudu River", jadi agak redundant.
Lebih natural:
the Hudu channel
the Hudu inlet
the Hudu branch
the Hudu waterway
Menurut gue paling enak: Hudu channel
---
2) "Silence on deck. Pole the boats."
Nah ini yang memang agak stiff.
Kalau dialog command militer, lebih natural jadi:
> "Quiet on deck. Use the poles."
atau lebih martial:
> "No sound on deck. Use the poles."
Kalau mau very naval-command:
> "Quiet on deck. Push off with poles."
Menurut gue ini paling enak.
---
3) versi yang gue rekomendasikan
Gue rapihin full flow:
"We're entering the Hudu waterway," Lü Meng whispered, his voice cutting through the damp night air. "Quiet on deck. Push off with poles."
The small flotilla immediately slowed to a crawl.
In perfect, practiced silence, the men lowered the conspicuous sails and drew out long bamboo poles from the holds, planting them against the riverbed to guide the boats forward without the slightest splash of an oar.
The vessels glided soundlessly into the Hudu waterway, exactly as planned.
Watching the formation slip into place, a faint smile of satisfaction touched Lü Meng's lips.
Beyond his daring in battle, the thing Lü Meng took the greatest pride in was discipline.
Not a single soldier spoke.
Every movement was precise.
Every order had already been anticipated before it was fully spoken.
These were his personal elite.
A trace of arrogance flickered in his eyes.
He found himself wondering whether anyone under Liu Bei's banner could field soldiers of this caliber.
He flicked a hand, signaling his two hundred elite guards to drift toward the southern bank of Gong'an County.
The plan was clean and simple: locate the ironworks, grab the master smiths who were almost certainly housed nearby, and disappear into the night before anyone knew they had come. In the end, they were only craftsmen. What difference did it make whose iron they forged?
"Move, now, and keep it quiet."
The order had barely left Lü Meng's lips when it froze there.
His ears caught a sound that sent a cold shiver straight down his spine: the hard metallic sound of a massive bowstring being cranked to its absolute limit.
The silence of the night had hidden his approach.
It had also hidden something far worse.
Somewhere ahead, in the darkness, an Eight-Bull Crossbow was already primed.
Lü Meng had never seen the thing fire with his own eyes, but every instinct honed by years on the battlefield screamed the same warning.
Danger.
No, death.
He reacted before thought could catch up.
Without the slightest hesitation, Lü Meng threw himself flat across the deck, then rolled over the side into the river's freezing black embrace.
In the next instant, the night itself split apart with a shriek as something tore through the air.
This was no shrill whistle of an ordinary arrow.
It came like a roar, a savage crack of air splitting apart, as if the night sky itself had just been torn open.
Thump!
The impact sounded like a war hammer smashing into wet clay, only a hundred times louder, heavier, more violent.
From beneath the dark water, Lü Meng saw it strike.
A massive bolt, thick as a man's arm, punched straight into the hull of the lead boat.
Its head was fitted with a vicious spiral blade, forged to bore through timber first and flesh second, twisting as it drove in.
Just one look made his scalp go cold.
Lü Meng did not even want to imagine what such a thing would do to a man's body.
A torso would not be pierced.
It would be torn apart.
He broke the surface with a sharp gasp, water streaming down his face, and bellowed at the top of his lungs,
"Retreat!"
The moment the first bolt hit, Lü Meng knew it was over.
The surprise was blown.
The mission was dead.
There was no need for a second order. His elite guards reacted almost instantly, plunging into the river one after another and pressing themselves against the sides of the boats, using the hulls as cover while shoving the vessels back toward the main current with all their strength.
From the southern bank of Gong'an to the mouth of the Yangtze, it was only six hundred meters.
On any ordinary night, that distance was nothing.
Tonight, it felt like a descent into the Nine Springs.
The darkness around them had turned into a living nightmare.
The river rang with terror: the steady metallic clank of winches being cranked back into place, the soul-piercing shriek of heavy bolts ripping through the air, and, beneath it all, the grinding churn of hidden gears as the giant machines slowly pivoted to follow their retreat.
Along the shoreline, dark figures burst into view.
Silhouettes of soldiers raced along the bank, their movements sharp against the moonlit haze, arrows hissing down into the water like a sudden storm of black rain.
By the time Lü Meng's battered boats finally drifted back into the broad waters of the Yangtze River, he was breathing hard, each breath dragged from deep in his chest, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum.
Under the pale wash of moonlight, he quickly counted the survivors and measured the losses.
Then he turned back to look at Gong'an.
A bitter, suffocating frustration rose in his throat.
He had the nerve for it.
He had the training.
He had buried himself in military texts until strategy and deception ran in his blood.
And yet, in the face of those monstrous machines, all that brilliance felt laughably small, like a child waving sticks on a battlefield of steel.
If not for those giant crossbows, they would have slipped away untouched.
Guan Yu had been roused from a light sleep.
He stepped out from his quarters in a simple robe, the night air cool against his skin, and found a row of corpses laid out upon the cold ground.
One body, in particular, seized the eye.
Or rather, what remained of it.
The great bolt had struck the man square through the waist. Its spiraling blades had ripped through flesh and bone with such terrifying force that the upper body had been almost torn away from the legs.
There had been no struggle.
Death had been immediate.
Zhao Lei stepped closer and lowered his voice, calm and professional despite the grisly sight.
"We've examined them. They're Shanyue tribesmen. The calluses on their palms are thick and old. These are no common river bandits, but seasoned Jiangdong veterans."
He paused, then added, "But there's not a single strip of silk, insignia, or seal on them that can prove where they came from."
Guan Yu lowered his gaze to the mangled remains, his expression turning cold with patrician contempt. "Hmph...Rats."
Weeks earlier, Guan Yu had already moved the families and elders to Jiangling, leaving Gong'an behind as a hardened military shell built for one purpose alone: to guard the Three Treasures.
The ironworks.
The paper mill.
And the medical workshop.
Tonight, that caution had paid off.
Guan Yu stood over the bodies, his face unreadable beneath the dim torchlight.
"Take their heads. Hang them from the eastern gate of Gong'an for three days, after that, throw what's left into a pit."
"Hey, Ma the Deserter, you scared?"
Mi Fang's voice carried that familiar edge of teasing malice as he glanced sideways at his companion.
At the moment, they stood beneath the looming shadow of the formidable Baishui Pass, following in the wake of Zhang Fei's main force.
Zhang Fei had yet to order an assault.
Instead, he had pitched a sprawling camp practically under the fortress's nose, as if daring the defenders to blink first.
For days now, the rear lines had been busy felling trees, stripping branches, and hauling heavy timber toward the front, while the vanguard remained strangely still, as though everyone were waiting for some signal only Zhang Fei understood.
Both Liu Feng and Mi Fang had noticed it.
Ever since they crossed into Yizhou, Ma Su had been a wreck.
His hands wouldn't stop shaking, and his eyes darted toward the high walls of the pass with every shift in the wind.
"You've seen battle before," Liu Feng said, brows knitting in genuine confusion. "So why are you shaking like a leaf in a storm?"
Ma Su swallowed hard.
His right hand trembled so badly that he had to clamp it down against his thigh with his left just to keep it still.
"I... I serve as an adviser in my lord's camp," he forced out at last, voice tight in his throat. "Why should I be expected to trade blows in the front ranks?"
Liu Feng gave a sharp snort and spat to the side, his lip curling with disdain.
"If you don't understand what blood and mud feel like in a real fight, then what kind of adviser are you supposed to be? Ridiculous"
Under other circumstances, Ma Su might have answered with one of his long, winding lectures about how strategy ruled above brute force.
Today, he had no such energy, he was consumed by a single, desperate thought: Do not run. If you run again, you are a dead man.
Liu Feng quickly lost interest in the trembling scholar and rose onto his toes to get a better look toward the front lines.
Out in the open ground before the fortress gates, several chairs had actually been set out in a display so casual it bordered on absurd.
Zhang Fei was seated there, looking utterly at ease, chatting with the elderly General Yan Yan as if they were attending a leisurely banquet rather than standing beneath an enemy pass.
A few minutes later, a large wicker basket began to descend from the heights of Baishui Pass.
The defenders were using the lift basket to lower men from the walls.
Out stepped a man in light armor, followed by several guards armed only with single-edged blades.
They advanced cautiously, every step measured, their eyes constantly flicking toward the surrounding treeline in search of a possible ambush.
Zhang Fei threw back his head and laughed, the sound booming across the clearing as he slapped his knee and glanced at Yan Yan.
"See? Didn't I tell you they'd come!"
Then he raised his voice, though his tone remained almost jovial, it rolled across the field like thunder.
"Am I speaking to General Yang Huai or General Gao Pei?"
The defending general hesitated one final moment before making his way toward the chairs.
His steps were slow, guarded.
When he finally sat down, it was with the stiffness of a man who had not yet decided whether this was a negotiation or a trap.
"I am Gao Pei."
Zhang Fei broke into a broad, easy grin, showing a row of teeth. "I'm Zhang Fei."
He jerked a thumb toward the elder beside him. "And this venerable old gentleman here is General Yan Yan."
Once the formalities were done, Zhang Fei leaned forward.
The friendliness in his face did not vanish, but something sharper slid beneath it.
"General Gao, tell me something, are you truly planning to cast your lot in with a traitor like Zhang Lu?"
Gao Pei's expression tightened at once, color rising in his face.
"From where I'm sitting, it is Liu Bei who is the traitor!!! Lord Liu Zhang never invited him here. By what right does he march into Yizhou?"
Zhang Fei slowly shook his head.
"Zigui and Wu County belonged to Jingzhou long before we ever set foot here. When Li Yi was holding them, I didn't see your lord rushing to return them."
He let the words settle before continuing.
"So let us speak plainly, General Gao, Is the Baishui garrison here to protect the people..."
"...or to settle a private grudge?"
"Of course we are here for the people!" Gao Pei shot back, chin lifting with offended pride. "The Baishui Army is not some pack of opportunistic rebels like yours!"
Zhang Fei nodded, as if genuinely considering the answer.
Then he asked, "And if your lord orders you to open the gates and let Zhang Lu's Way of the Five Pecks of Rice cult into Yizhou?"
"Impossible," Gao Pei snapped.
"Fine, let me put it another way," Zhang Fei said, showing a frankly amount of patience.
"Suppose General Yang Huai, who is currently leading the Baishui troops against Langzhong, fails to take the city. What do you think Liu Zhang does next?"
Without waiting for an answer, Zhang Fei continued.
"He either orders Yang Huai back here, which means openly admitting the campaign was a complete failure, and a man like Liu Zhang can hardly swallow that kind of humiliation…"
"...or he orders you to strip this pass of troops and send reinforcements. Either way, the northern gate of Yizhou is left hanging wide open for Zhang Lu."
He jabbed a finger toward the fortress behind Gao Pei.
"You're being used, General."
"That... I..." Gao Pei faltered for a moment, but pride quickly forced him upright again.
"Langzhong won't hold!" he snapped. "It will fall within the week!"
"Why would it fall?!" Zhang Fei's roar hit like a thunderclap.
He surged to his feet and kicked the chair beside him so hard it went flying across the clearing, skidding a shocking distance before crashing into the dirt.
The sudden burst of violence made Gao Pei and his guards instinctively stumble backward, hands flying to the hilts of their sabers.
Zhang Fei paid them no mind.
His voice dropped instead into a low, dangerous rumble.
"My Big Brother marched from Zigui all the way to Jiangzhou without taking so much as a single grain from the people!"
"He taught them how to work the fields."
"He gave them land."
"And even a man of honor like General Yan Yan chose to stand with him out of genuine respect."
Gao Pei's eyes flicked toward the old general.
Every soldier in Yizhou knew Yan Yan's name, and even more so, his legendary, stubborn temper.
One of his guards leaned in and whispered under his breath.
"They say General Yan's bones are harder than iron… if even he surrendered…"
Zhang Fei pressed the point without mercy.
"Pang Xi has governed Langzhong for over a decade. The people there know him. They trust him. Liu Zhang hasn't even set foot there once. Tell me, General Gao. In that situation, who do you think the common people will follow?"
Do you want to be remembered as a loyal Han general guarding the passes…"
"…or the man who left the gate open for Zhang Lu to swallow Yizhou whole?"
Gao Pei was speechless. Something felt wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. How had they jumped from a territorial dispute to him being a traitor for Zhang Lu?
"And furthermore," Zhang Fei added, eyes narrowing with a faint glint, "do you really believe I cannot take this pass by force?"
He gave a short, dismissive laugh. "I only invited you here out of respect for your name. I have no desire to slaughter honorable men."
Gao Pei's temper flared instantly. "You think you can just stroll into Baishui Pass? You think my army is made of straw?!"
Zhang Fei sat back down, tilting his head slightly.
"Alright then." His voice turned almost casual.
"If I prove I can take this pass, will you surrender your position and serve the Han again?"
Gao Pei snapped. "I already serve the Han! What do you mean, 'return'?!"
In the blink of an eye, Zhang Fei's hands shot out and locked around Gao Pei's wrists like iron restraints. "Excellent."
Then, before Gao Pei could even react, his other hand clamped onto the man's shoulder in what looked almost like a friendly embrace.
"Then we'll test it."
He turned his head toward the guards, still smiling. "Your general has agreed. Go back and tell your men to prepare. We're going to conduct a little siege exercise."
He gave Gao Pei a light pat. "I'll keep your general here so he can watch properly. Don't worry, I won't harm a single hair on his head."
The guards looked between Zhang Fei and their helpless commander.
Then, without hesitation, they turned and ran.
Gao Pei looked like he wanted to die on the spot. "General Zhang… you've ruined me…"
Zhang Fei only gave him a cheerful squeeze.
"You never know, General. You might end up thanking me."
---
An hour later, Ma Su stood at the foot of Baishui Pass, he was no longer in scholar's robes, Instead, he wore rough burlap, holding a wooden pole tipped with a pouch of white lime.
Zhang Fei stood nearby, still holding Gao Pei in a grip that was somehow both casual and inescapable.
Ahead of them, strange siege machines were being pushed into position.
Zhang Fei pointed proudly, like a man giving a guided tour.
"See that one with the ladder? That's a folding siege ladder. My Military Advisor designed it. It unfolds, locks into place, and those hooks bite into the wall so it can't be pushed off. The base is hollow too, shields the men from rocks and oil while they climb."
He shifted his finger. "And that tall one over there? Mobile watchtower. We push it right up to the wall so our archers can fire down on them from above."
Then he gestured again.
"We've got a battering ram coming too, and the Advisor is working on something called Wooden Oxen and Flowing Horses that can supposedly climb terrain like flat ground. And then there's—"
"General Zhang, I surrender."
Gao Pei's shoulders slumped, there was no more dignity left to lose. And standing there, looking at the absurd scale of the machines before him, he felt something close to resignation.
If those "ladder things" were real, the pass was already gone.
Zhang Fei let out a booming laugh that echoed through the canyon.
He did not bother mentioning that real siege engines took weeks to build, what stood there now were nothing more than hollow wooden frames, painted and assembled like stage props.
Imitations inspired by the strange images he had once seen on the Light Screen.