The army snaked its way west along the Maming Plank Road, the narrow wooden pathways clinging to the cliff faces high above the rushing rivers.
After several days of marching past the ancient fortress of Wuxing, the terrain finally began to open up.
They had now reached the foothills of Qiuchi Mountain, just west of Xiabian City, and had covered roughly half of the Qishan Route.
Qiuchi Mountain rose like a natural watchtower above the confluence of the Han River's headwaters. It was the perfect vantage point.
Zhang Fei spotted a rocky rise overlooking the surrounding countryside and immediately pulled on his reins.
"Let's go to higher ground," he declared. "This Old Zhang wants a look."
Without waiting for agreement, he turned his horse uphill.
Pang Tong stared at his retreating back.
"Bah. You just wanted an excuse to stop riding for a few moments."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Shiyuan."
"You've been complaining about your saddle since yesterday."
Zhang Fei pointed a finger at him. "A commander inspecting the terrain is proper military conduct."
Pang Tong snorted but followed anyway.
By the time he reached the top, Zhang Fei was already standing with his hands on his hips, surveying the landscape as though he intended to personally conquer every hill in sight.
"Wudu is over there to the east," Pang Tong said, taking in scenery he had previously known only from maps and books.
Ever since arriving in Hanzhong, he had spent his free evenings hunting down elderly locals and questioning them about the legendary Tianchi Great Marsh.
According to local legend, the marsh had still existed when Emperor Gaozu first marched out through the Maming Plank Road. Then, just a few years after Gaozu departed for Chang'an, the earth shook, and the vast wetland vanished without a trace.
One old man had told him, with a perfectly straight face, "My grandfather said the marsh was a blessing Emperor Gaozu brought with him. When His Majesty left for Chang'an, the blessing naturally followed him."
Then the old man had looked at Pang Tong with big, hopeful eyes, the kind a starving puppy gives a butcher, and asked, "Military Advisor, folks say our Imperial Uncle resembles Emperor Gaozu quite a lot. If he comes to Hanzhong, do you think the marsh might come back?"
Pang Tong sat there for a good long moment, blinking.
He was trying very hard to figure out how to explain to an old man who did not even understand basic geography that even if Emperor Gaozu himself crawled out of his imperial tomb and marched back to Hanzhong in person, the Tianchi Marsh was not going to magically reappear. Swamps did not work like lost puppies. They did not follow people home.
But looking at that hopeful face, Pang Tong decided against the lecture.
Instead, he smiled and patted the old man's shoulder.
"Well," he said lightly, "if the Tianchi Marsh does come back, I will make sure to build a dock and name it after you."
The old man blinked. Then he laughed, a deep, wheezing sound that shook his whole body.
Pang Tong rode off, still smiling to himself.
Standing there now, Pang Tong found himself wondering about Zhuge Liang. Had Kongming ever stood on this very spot during his northern campaigns? Did he look out at that dry, empty basin and feel the same strange sense of loss? The Longzhong Plan, his entire core strategy, had been built on the Tianchi Great Marsh. But the marsh was gone now, swallowed by an earthquake. How could anyone follow a strategy that no longer had a foundation?
This is where I kicked off my brother's Hanzhong campaign," Zhang Fei said suddenly, his voice flat and matter-of-fact.
He did not sound particularly emotional about it. He never did.
"In another timeline, I mean. Or another life or whatever." He paused, scratching his beard. "That stupid me. I tried the same trick I used at Changban. Cao Cao saw right through it. Got my men killed."
That was Zhang Fei. Defeat and victory sounded exactly the same coming out of his mouth. His face did not even twitch.
"Losing at Xiabian let Cao Cao rob the entire population of Wudu when he pulled back. Sent all those people into a world of misery."
From their vantage point, the whole region spread out beneath them like a map.
Xiabian City sat directly below. Further east stood Hechi. Beyond that stretched the old road that future generations would call the Chencang Route. Together, this entire basin formed the heart of Wudu Commandery.
Thanks to Pang Tong's economic reforms in Hanzhong, merchants now traveled the Qishan Route regularly, and Xiabian had gradually become a convenient midway stop. The town had regained some measure of life.
But only some. The Tianchi Great Marsh was not coming back. The people of Wudu, however, were a different story.
Now, things had worked out in their favor. Wei Yan and Huo Jun remained firmly entrenched at Wuzhangyuan, their position acting like an iron wedge that kept the Cao forces in Chang'an from reaching the Chencang Route. Meanwhile, Han Sui had either decided to play nice or simply realized that cavalry was not much use in these mountains. Either way, he had left Wudu alone.
As a result, the commandery technically belonged to Hanzhong, and for many of the locals, this army was the first real sign that anyone actually cared enough to govern and protect them.
After a short rest, the army resumed its march the following morning and began covering the second half of the Qishan Route.
Not everyone went north, though. A portion of the logistics troops stayed behind to establish a supply depot right beside Xiabian City. The location was ideal. It already served as a commercial waypoint, and it would work just as well as a military logistics hub.
For Xiabian, this was the most exciting thing to happen in years.
The fighting between Han Sui's coalition and Cao Cao's army the previous year had largely bypassed the region. Zhang Lu's collapse in Hanzhong had barely caused a stir. The Jingzhou-Xiangyang campaign was so far away that it might as well have been happening on another planet.
So when Zhang Fei's army marched north and disappeared over the horizon, the townsfolk and traveling merchants immediately started making bets on what they were actually up to.
By midday, the teahouse at Xiabian's main intersection was packed tighter than a jar of pickled vegetables. Old men who had not moved that fast in years had somehow materialized at every table, slapping wooden coins onto the boards and shouting over one another.
"I am telling you, they are going for Chang'an!" a fat merchant bellowed, slamming his cup down. "Zhang Fei is not a patient man. You think he marched all this way to play games? No! He is going straight for the tiger's den!"
"Bah!" an old farmer shot back, waving a gnarled finger. "You know nothing about war, you fat fool. Chang'an has walls that have stood for centuries. Zhang Fei does not have the supplies for a siege. He is heading for Liangzhou. Mark my words. Liangzhou!"
"Liangzhou?" another man laughed, spitting tea onto the floor. "Han Sui has tens of thousands of cavalry out on that steppe. You want Zhang Fei to chase horses with infantry? Use your head, man!"
A young traveler who had just arrived from the north cleared his throat dramatically. He clearly enjoyed the attention. "I heard from a reliable source that Zhang Fei is not attacking anyone. He is merely conducting large-scale drills to intimidate Han Sui. A show of force, nothing more."
Dead silence lasted for about two breaths.
Then everyone started shouting at once.
"Drills? DRILLS? You think Zhang Fei dragged ten thousand men through the mountains just for DRILLS?"
"Where did you hear this nonsense? From your mother?"
"My mother has more military sense than you, you donkey!"
The teahouse owner, a wiry old woman with arms like twisted rope, slammed her ladle against a iron pot. The clang echoed through the room like a temple bell.
"Enough!" she barked. "If you are going to argue, at least put money on it. This is a place of business, not a free debating society!"
That was all the encouragement they needed.
Within minutes, three separate betting pools had formed. One for Chang'an. One for Liangzhou. One for "Zhang Fei is just running drills." The odds fluctuated wildly as men jumped from one side to another, recalculating their chances, trying to hedge their bets like seasoned street gamblers.
An old man with no teeth and a walking stick hobbled to the center of the room. He raised his stick like a general raising a banner.
"I have lived in Wudu for seventy-three years," he croaked. "And I have never seen such foolishness. Zhang Fei is not going to Chang'an. He is not going to Liangzhou. And he is certainly not running drills." He paused for dramatic effect. "He is going to raid the grain stores along the Wei River. Mark my words. WEI RIVER!"
The room erupted again.
"THE WEI RIVER IS RIGHT NEXT TO CHANG'AN, YOU OLD FOSSIL! THAT IS THE SAME BET!"
"IT IS NOT THE SAME! THE RIVER IS TWENTY LI FROM THE CITY WALLS!"
"TWENTY LI MIGHT AS WELL BE TWO THOUSAND LI WHEN YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT MILITARY LOGISTICS!"
"Do not use words you do not understand! You probably cannot even spell 'logistics'!"
"There is no spelling in Chinese, you imbecile!"
By sunset, the teahouse had made more money from betting fees than it had from tea sales in the entire previous month. The arguments showed no sign of stopping. Men who had to wake up before dawn to tend their fields were still standing outside the teahouse, waving their arms and screaming about troop movements, unwilling to be the first to go home.
This was, by a wide margin, the most exciting thing to happen in Wudu since the great Zhang Lu paternity scandal.
That one had been a real barn burner. Half the town swore Zhang Lu was Liu Yan's secret illegitimate son. The other half insisted the rumor was complete nonsense concocted by jealous rivals. The debate had raged for weeks, spilled into three separate teahouses, and nearly ended a thirty-year friendship between two old farmers who had grown up together.
Now, finally, Wudu had a new champion debate topic.
Zhang Fei and Pang Tong, of course, knew absolutely nothing about any of this. They were too busy marching north, worrying about actual military strategy, completely unaware that a teahouse full of shouting gamblers had turned their campaign into the greatest spectacle Wudu had seen in years.
They continued north, passed through Licheng, and emerged from a narrow defile to find a formation of cavalry waiting for them in full battle gear.
Both sides sized each other up carefully. Then one rider separated from the waiting formation and trotted forward.
"Which one of you is Zhang Fei? Step out and answer to me."
The Hanzhong column shifted slightly, then settled. A moment later, the soldiers parted.
A general with a beard like iron bristles and the eyes of a hunting leopard walked to the front of the formation, carrying a long lance. He moved with the unhurried weight of someone who had never needed to rush a single thing in his entire life.
"Who is asking?"
The rider looked Zhang Fei over from head to foot and made a sound through his nose, the kind of sniff that said I am not impressed.
"I am Yan Xing."
Zhang Fei said, "Hmm." Nothing else.
Yan Xing stared at Zhang Fei. Zhang Fei stared back at Yan Xing. The silence stretched long enough that a few soldiers in the back started shifting their weight from foot to foot.
Finally, Zhang Fei broke it.
"Alright. Now I know your name." He waved a hand lazily. "If you do not have anything important to say, stop yelling and get out of my way."
"Zhang Fei!" Yan Xing erupted, his face flushing red all the way up to his ears. "You march an army into our territory and then have the nerve to question me? I have two matters that require answers, and I intend to get them."
He leveled his lance at the Hanzhong formation.
"First! Where is the imperial envoy? Return him immediately. Second! By what right do you invade our land with an armed force?"
Zhang Fei's brow pulled together slightly. He remembered what Pang Tong had told him before the march. Talk first, fight second. He made an effort to set his irritation aside. It took some effort. His right hand was already itching to grab something.
"What envoy?"
"Do not play dumb with me!" Yan Xing snarled, swinging his lance impatiently like a man swatting flies. "The imperial envoy that Ma Chao's brat kidnapped. My intelligence confirms he was handed over to Hanzhong."
Ah, that one.
"Oh. I killed him." Zhang Fei's expression did not flicker. Not even a little. "The man was impersonating an imperial official. He was tried and sentenced according to the law. If you want what is left of him, I can bring you the head next time I am in the area. Whether you want to use it as a wine cup or bury it and mourn for three years is entirely your business. I do not judge."
"Zhang Fei!" Yan Xing's fury spiked so high it looked like steam might start coming out of his ears. "Unauthorized execution of an imperial envoy—"
Zhang Fei's eyes went sharp.
His right hand closed around the butt end of his lance. He dropped his weight forward and drove himself into a sudden burst of speed, moving like a boulder rolling downhill. His body twisted as he lunged, putting the full torque of his core behind the hand gripping the lance. The weapon came up off the ground in a sweeping arc, and the small blade at the tip found the horse's head and buried itself there.
The horse screamed and went absolutely berserk, thrashing in all directions like a demon possessed. Yan Xing was off its back before he had time to think, hitting the ground in a roll. Then, without stopping to process what had just happened, he came straight at Zhang Fei with his own lance leveled.
Zhang Fei, empty-handed now, grinned.
He moved into the attack rather than away from it, which was the last thing Yan Xing expected. Zhang Fei reached out and grabbed.
Yan Xing realized his mistake instantly, the way a man realizes he has stepped off a cliff. He should have dropped the lance and gone for his blade. But there was no time to correct it. He released the lance and threw his hands up to meet Zhang Fei's grip.
Both men were built on the same massive scale, and Yan Xing had never had reason to doubt his own strength. Ma Chao, who collected favorable comparisons the way other men collected debts, could not outlast him in a pure test of power past three exchanges. Yan Xing had pinned Ma Chao to the ground more than once in training.
What he felt next eliminated that confidence permanently.
A force like a closing millstone clamped down on his wrist and dragged it downward like a falling mountain. His knee hit the ground before he understood what was happening to him. The humiliation of it was enough to make him want to bite through his own tongue.
Then something approximately the size and weight of a river stone connected with the side of his face.
CRACK.
The world tilted, spun, and went somewhere Yan Xing was not. Somewhere dark. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere without Zhang Fei.
When he came back to himself, he was looking up at Zhang Fei standing over him, one foot planted on his chest like a man stepping on a log.
The foot pressed down slightly. Yan Xing's eyes went wide. He could not breathe. Not because of the weight, but because of the sheer nerve of it.
Then Zhang Fei's voice came out like a thunderclap.
"Anyone who moves answers to me."
Yan Xing's cavalry stayed exactly where they were. Not a single horse shuffled. Not a single hand twitched toward a weapon. They had just watched their commander get dismantled in about the time it takes to sneeze, and none of them wanted to be next.
Zhang Fei let the silence sit for a moment, then offered what might have been a compliment.
"Not bad. Some actual strength there." He sounded almost impressed. Almost.
Then his voice dropped into something flatter and more deliberate, the tone of a man who had stopped playing around.
"But I am Zhang Yide, Administrator of Hanzhong, Pillar General of the Han." He paused to let the titles sink in. "What rank do you hold, and under whose command, that gives you the right to shout at me like that?"
The titles had been earned through the Hanzhong campaign and the support to Jingzhou-Xiangyang, and Zhang Fei deployed them now without any modesty at all. Why bother being modest? He had bled for those titles.
"Furthermore, that so-called envoy was a fraud operating under a false commission. Execution was the correct sentence under the law." He leaned down slightly. "And yet here you are, raising your voice over him."
Zhang Fei bent down until his face was close to Yan Xing's, close enough that Yan Xing could smell the dust and sweat and something metallic, maybe dried blood.
His next words arrived at full volume.
"Was that criminal your father, or your mother?"
Behind the shield wall, Pang Tong pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed deeply. Zhang Fei in command was serious. Zhang Fei in an argument was something else entirely, and his vocabulary for insults was apparently just as developed as his vocabulary for tactics. Possibly more developed.
Where does he even come up with these? Pang Tong wondered. Does he practice in the mirror?
Yan Xing's head was still ringing from the punch, and he could not find a response fast enough. His mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land.
Zhang Fei stood back up and gave another cold sound, a sort of hnnnh that somehow conveyed total contempt.
"Furthermore, this is Han land. I am a Han general." He spread his free arm wide. "I received word that a pocket of bandits had been causing trouble in the area, and I led troops to clean them out. Standard procedure. If you want to call that crossing a border, then what exactly are you trying to carve off for yourself?" He squinted down at Yan Xing. "Planning to split off Han territory and set up your own domain? That sounds an awful lot like treason to me."
Yan Xing's mouth opened again. Zhang Fei did not give him the space to use it.
He grabbed Yan Xing by the front of his clothes, hauled him upright like a sack of rice, and pulled the blade from Yan Xing's own scabbard. The flat of it came across Yan Xing's cheek in a measured, unhurried slap. Thwack. Whatever heat had been left in Yan Xing's chest went out like a candle in a hurricane.
"Go back and tell the General Who Conquers the West that a small group of bandits has slipped into Jincheng. I am requesting his cooperation in clearing them out and would appreciate his response."
He shoved Yan Xing backward hard enough that the man stumbled three steps before catching himself.
"Regardless of what he decides, I will be waiting for him at Qishan City."
Yan Xing understood what Zhang Fei was actually saying. Qishan City is mine now. Come take it if you dare. He turned and walked without another word, seeing no point in arguing about which army currently occupied Qishan when that army's commander had just used his face as a punching bag.
His horse was dead on the ground, skull crushed like an eggshell. One of his riders dismounted and gave up their own mount without being asked. Yan Xing swung into the saddle, fixed Zhang Fei with a cold stare that communicated everything he was not saying out loud, and led his cavalry away without a backward glance.
I will remember this, that stare said. I will remember your face. I will remember your fist. I will remember this humiliation.
Zhang Fei watched them go and scratched his beard.
Pang Tong came around from behind the shield wall, shaking his head slowly, like a disappointed schoolteacher.
"Well," Pang Tong said dryly, "that one is not here to make friends."
Zhang Fei grunted. "He started it."
"He asked you a question."
"And I answered it." Zhang Fei shrugged his massive shoulders. "He did not like the answer. That is not my problem."
Zhang Fei did not seem particularly concerned about anything, actually. He turned and called out his orders like a man who had just finished squashing a mosquito.
"Chen Shi, take the vanguard and advance slowly toward Qishan City. If Han Sui's forces will not give ground, find a highly defensible position nearby and set up camp."
"Deng Fang, set up a fortified camp right here to lock down the defile. Coordinate with Chen Shi to ensure mutual fire support. I do not want anyone sneaking up behind us while we are sleeping."
The orders went out clean and without hesitation. Zhang Fei had never set foot on this ground before, but he had spent enough time studying maps that the terrain lived in his head like a second home.
North along the road from here was Qishan City. Forty li northeast of Qishan was Mumen Gorge. Forty li due north of Qishan was Xi County. Forty li west of Xi County was Di Road.
Further northwest ran a chain of towns and counties, Dongting, Xinxing, Zhongtao, Xiangwu, and others, all currently held by Han Sui's forces. To the northeast sat Luomen, Ji County, Xinyang, Shanggui, Linwei, Lueyang, and more, all answering to Ma Chao. The two warlords had divided Yongzhou and Liangzhou between them, east and west, like two dogs fighting over a bone.
Zhang Fei looked out at the expanse of land in front of him and concluded that it was plenty big. There was room for everyone, really. He was not asking for much. Just one good horse-breeding ground. That would do. Just one. Maybe two if the first one was nice.
Pang Tong watched the orders being given and then offered his own observation, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Yan Xing opened by demanding answers about the Cao envoy." He tilted his head. "That means Han Sui's alliance with Cao Cao is no secret to anyone involved. They are not even trying to hide it anymore."
Zhang Fei made a dismissive sound, something between a snort and a laugh. "He thinks nearly killing Ma Chao makes him the strongest man in the room." He shook his head. "He is a long way from that. Not even close. Ma Chao probably let him win."
Pang Tong quietly reflected that Zhang Fei's strength was one of those subjects that even Guan Yu tended to approach with careful language. He had heard Guan Yu once describe Zhang Fei as "adequate in a scuffle," which from Guan Yu was practically poetry. Whatever diet had produced the man remained a mystery to everyone. Too much meat. Definitely too much wine. Maybe something in the water back in Zhuojun.
He pulled his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Both of them recognized what Yan Xing's appearance actually meant. The Hanzhong army had made no attempt to hide its march. Han Sui almost certainly knew they were coming. But instead of sending Cheng Gongying, his sharpest advisor, the man with the real brains, Han Sui had sent Yan Xing. A fighter. A brawler. A man who solved problems with his fists.
That told Pang Tong everything he needed to know.
Pang Tong smiled slowly as he worked out the meaning of that choice.
"I am not worried about him wanting to fight," he murmured, almost to himself. "I am worried about him being too cautious to fight."
Zhang Fei looked at him. "Explain."
"Han Sui sent his hammer, not his scalpel," Pang Tong said. "That means he is still deciding what to do with us. He wanted to test our strength first. Now Yan Xing will go back and report that we are very, very strong." He paused. "The question is whether that report makes Han Sui want to negotiate or dig in."
Zhang Fei thought about this for approximately half a second.
"Either way," he said, "I am taking that horse-breeding ground."
Pang Tong sighed. "Alright, Yide. I know. For heaven's sake, you are absolutely exhausting, you know that?"