The river valley still looked like some wasteland the heavens had completely forgotten. Spring had barely even bothered showing up at all. Probably because it was far too freezing out here.
Thwack.
A bowstring sang. The sound cracked against the canyon walls like a gunshot. Down by the water a wild boar dropped dead mid drink. The poor beast never saw it coming.
Two scouts cautiously peeked out from behind a jumble of rocks. They gripped their crossbows tight as if their lives hung on them. Which considering how Zhang Fei ran his patrols they very well might.
They swept their eyes across the treeline. They checked every patch of brush. They half expected a tiger or wolf to leap out and make a meal of them.
Nothing moved. Only the sharp damp smell of mud hung in the air.
"Count this one, and we can finally head back," the older scout muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the freezing air. His name was Chen Da, a grizzled veteran from Xinye who had been with Liu Bei since the Jingzhou days. He had seen more battles than he had teeth.
"It's a shame," the younger scout replied, kicking the dead boar. His name was Xiao Wu, barely eighteen, from a farming family in Yufu. He had joined up because the army promised three meals a day. So far, he was still waiting on the third one. "Winter took its toll. This thing is all bone and gristle. No fat left. It's basically a skeleton with skin."
Together they hauled the boar onto the packhorse and added it to a pile of other sad looking game. A few scrawny birds. One deer that had clearly seen better days. The animals were loaded down heavy enough. The two scouts took the reins and started the long walk back to camp.
Neither man complained about walking. Honestly compared to last week this was practically a holiday.
Just seven days ago they had been playing a very deadly game of hide and seek with Cao patrols where losing meant getting stabbed.
Now here they were leading horses loaded with fresh meat through a quiet valley. It felt like a spring outing. If your idea of an outing involved hauling dead animals around.
"Look at the hind leg on this boar," Xiao Wu said, poking the carcass again.
"There's still a little bit of fat left right there. We should roast that piece over an open fire tonight, share it with all the brothers, right? Imagine the crackling..."
Chen Da laughed, dry and humorless. "Forget it, kid. Stop dreaming. We captured twenty thousand Cao soldiers yesterday. That's twenty thousand extra mouths to feed. The camp cooks are losing their minds. They're so busy running around in circles trying to boil water for that many people, they're practically sleepwalking now. Nobody has time to roast a specific pig leg for your gourmet pleasure."
"I really thought the Cao soldiers ate better rations," Xiao Wu grumbled. "They surrendered so fast, I thought they were just hungry ghosts."
"Listen to yourself," Chen Da scoffed. "The wealth belongs to the generals. The grain belongs to the warlords. When do ordinary grunts like us ever see any of that luxury? We eat what's left. Usually, it's just hot water with a leaf in it."
"Hey, that's not fair. Liu Huangsu eats with us," Xiao Wu argued loyally. "General Zhang Fei sleeps in the dirt with us."
"Liu Huangsu is different. He's not like Cao Cao, who feasts while we starve."
"He is definitely different."
Chen Da came from Xinye in Jingzhou. Xiao Wu hailed from Yufu in Yizhou. They felt exactly the same thing deep down even if their pasts gave it a different taste. One had seen Liu Bei's kindness with his own eyes. The other had only heard tales. And either one was more than enough to keep them putting one foot in front of the other.
They walked without talking for a few minutes, Mud sucked at their boots with every step. That steady wet sound seemed to say you belong to the earth now.
Xiao Wu spoke up again, breaking the trance. "You know what, Old Chen? I heard some gossip. People are saying the Cao commander has a very special relationship with General Zhang Fei."
"Oh?" Chen Da's eyes lit up. "Spill it, kid. I love gossip almost as much as I love hot food."
"Well, the old veterans from the central plains all know the story. General Zhang Fei married a woman from the Xiahou clan."
Chen Da stopped walking. His jaw dropped. "Holy shit. Wait a minute. Are you telling me this entire brutal battle, all this blood and screaming, was just a son-in-law beating up his wife's uncle? Damn, this melon is too big now."
"Keep your voice down!" Xiao Wu looked around frantically, as if Zhang Fei might appear out of the mist to strangle them for gossiping. "You want to get us both killed?"
"Relax," Chen Da said, waving a hand. "General Zhang Fei has a voice like thunder. He doesn't have ears that catch the wind. He can't hear us from miles away. Besides, if he did hear us, he'd probably just invite us to share the gossip. The man loves a good story almost as much as he loves a good fight."
"You think so?"
"I know so. I once saw him spend an entire evening swapping war stories with a captured enemy officer. They drank three jars of wine together. By morning, the officer had defected and Zhang Fei had a new drinking buddy."
Xiao Wu shook his head. "That man is something else."
"Something else is one way to put it." Chen Da grinned. "Now keep talking. I want details. Neither general held back on the battlefield, right? They were trying to kill each other."
"They definitely did not hold back. I heard the gossip from the command tent. When Xiahou Yuan realized he was trapped, he tried to slit his own throat. Liu Huangsu had to physically stop him."
"Ha!" Chen Da slapped his thigh, startling a crow off a nearby branch. "That temper perfectly matches General Zhang Fei. It's a family trait. Violent, stubborn, and terrible at communication. They probably argue about who gets the last piece of meat at family dinners."
"People say General Zhang Fei basically kidnapped the man's niece years ago."
Chen Da let out a low whistle. "Well, that explains a lot. No wonder Xiahou Yuan was so furious. His pride was entirely on the line." He shook his head, grinning. "Man, our general is something else, right? One moment he's out on a walk, sees some girl, gets an idea in his head, and bam. Kidnapping. Just like that. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just 'hey, she looks nice, I'll take her.' Damn."
"Plus, you know, family honor and all that jazz. Can you imagine? Your niece gets stolen by some loud-mouthed butcher, and then years later that same butcher tries to kill you on the battlefield. I'd be pissed too. I'd be holding a grudge for life."
"It is a tragic situation."
"Tragic? Maybe. Entertaining? Definitely." Chen Da grinned. "This is better than that time the drummer got caught with the quartermaster's wife. Now that was a good gossip. But this? This is a feast."
They rounded a bend in the river and the sprawling allied camp came into full view. Smoke curled up from thousands of cooking fires and turned the sky a dull gray. It looked like an entire city had sprung up overnight. A city made of tents and smelling strongly of wet wool.
Xiao Wu suddenly stopped smiling. A dark thought crept into his head and spoiled the mood.
"We wiped out the Cao army here," he said slowly, the realization sinking in like a cold sun. "Does that mean we have to march east? Are we going to attack Chang'an?"
Siege warfare. Just the words alone were enough to make any grown man weep. It was the worst nightmare an infantryman could face.
Storming a fortified city meant climbing wooden ladders while boiling oil poured down on your head. It meant getting smashed in the skull with rocks. It meant arrows finding that one tiny gap in your armor you never even knew was there. The vanguard stood practically zero chance of coming back alive. It was basically a suicide mission with extra steps.
Trying to do all that in the freezing cold of early spring was even worse. A guaranteed death sentence and hypothermia thrown in for good measure. That pure dread was exactly why the Cao troops had turned so fast. They had already suffered for a month waist deep in mud outside Linwei. All they wanted was to reach Chencang for hot soup and a warm bed. Then they realized their commander intended to march them straight into a bloody siege instead.
Faced with that reality, surrendering to Liu Bei was the only logical choice. Why die for a warlord who doesn't even know your name?
Chen Da hesitated. He looked at the distant camp, then back at the kid.
"I heard some gossip about that too," he said carefully. "I don't think the Chang'an assault involves us foot soldiers. At least, not the way you think."
"What do you mean?"
"Liu Huangsu was eating dinner near our squad last night. Someone asked him about the capital. He just laughed. He told us to wait and watch Chief Strategist Zhuge Liang work."
Xiao Wu blinked in pure confusion. "Is Chief Strategist Zhuge Liang planning to deliver buckets of cinnamon soup to the Chang'an defenders too? Because if so, I want in on that mission. It pays better."
---
Zhuge Liang did not need soup at all. He needed something far stronger. He needed speed.
The whole strategic picture had shifted violently. Like great slabs of earth slamming straight into one another. Down in the river valley things had moved slow and miserable. A grinding war of nerves and endurance that wore men down piece by piece. But up in Guanzhong the war moved like lightning. Or more accurately like Ma Chao on his finest horse who had just heard someone insult his entire family.
Zhao Yun and Ma Chao had already smashed through Chencang's walls. And the moment the city fell Zhao Yun did not pause to celebrate or compose some fancy victory poem. He gave orders straight away. He sent Ma Chao right back out before the dust had even settled.
Ma Chao got one very clear mission. Keep pressing Zhang He.
Zhang He still had a whole army under his command. And he was good. Really good. One of Cao Cao's Five Elite Generals. The kind of man who could turn a full retreat straight into a counterattack if you blinked.
Zhao Yun wanted Ma Chao stuck close to the enemy. Annoyingly close. Like that one mosquito that will not leave you alone no matter what you do at three in the morning.
The goal was simple. Suffocate Zhang He.
Ma Chao used his overwhelming cavalry advantage to box the enemy in tight. He turned every step they took into a nightmare of constant harassment. A moving cage made of dust and shouting.
And honestly Ma Chao was enjoying this way too much.
At one point Zhang He finally managed to set up a proper camp. His men had just finished pitching tents and boiling water. Best of all they had actually unpacked the good rice. They were about to eat their first hot meal in three whole days.
Then Ma Chao showed up.
He did not attack.
He simply appeared on a nearby ridge with five hundred riders. All of them blowing war horns and hurling insults at the top of their lungs.
One man was even said to be holding up a sign written in huge bold characters. "YOUR RICE SMELLS TERRIBLE".
Zhang He stormed out of his tent, face purple with rage. "Form ranks! We'll crush them!"
By the time Zhang He's troops had finally formed ranks and marched out Ma Chao was already gone. The ridge stood empty. The rice had gone cold. And somewhere deep in the trees a Qiang rider was most certainly laughing his ass off.
Ten minutes later Ma Chao showed up on the ridge across the way. And this time he appeared to be holding a perfectly roasted chicken. He waved it at Zhang He's men in plain sight just to taunt them before vanishing back into the woods.
Zhang He kicked a tent pole so hard it snapped clean in two.
This went on for three straight days. Zhang He could not sleep. He could not eat. He could not move his army more than five miles without Ma Chao popping up behind him like a bad memory. By the end his men were so worn out and sleep deprived they started seeing things. Every bush looked like a cavalryman to them.
With Zhang He effectively neutralized or at least thoroughly annoyed Zhao Yun turned his attention south. He sent elite riders to secure the Chencang corridor and they successfully freed Xi Zhen.
Xi Zhen had been holding the southern passes with one thousand infantry. Which was just a polite way of saying he had been standing around with nothing to do for weeks.
Now his entire unit was free to join the main campaign.
Xi Zhen marched his men straight into Chencang's supply yards. He gathered timber iron spikes and coils of rope. Then he hauled the whole lot toward the western mouth of the river valley.
This move lined up exactly with the grim future Du Xi had warned about days before. Xi Zhen did not stay behind to guard the city. That would have been far too simple. Instead he built a massive barricade right across the valley exit. He drove in row after row of sharpened stakes. He turned the whole pass into a bottleneck designed specifically to trap Xiahou Yuan if the general ever managed to fight his way out.
When the work was done Xi Zhen stood back and admired it. It was frankly a thing of terrifying beauty. Rows of pointed timbers jutted out like the teeth of some great wooden beast. Trenches had been dug and covered over with branches to hide them. Crossbow positions had been cut into the slopes on both sides.
"Sir," one of his officers said nervously, "if General Xiahou actually comes through here..."
Xi Zhen smiled. It was not a kind smile. "He won't come through here. He'll come to here. And then he'll realize he's already dead."
It was, if you could call it that, a welcome mat made of spikes.
Zhao Yun did not stop to rest. He handed all the paperwork and supplies over to the men who actually enjoyed that sort of thing, then gathered his elite cavalry and rode out.
They charged east along the banks of the Wei River, kicking up clouds of dust that could be seen for miles.
The horsemen thundered past Chencang. They swept around the northern highlands. They rode with terrifying speed straight toward the Wuzhang Plains.
---
The Cao general stationed there was named Zhu Ling.
He was a veteran through and through. Served Cao Cao for years, fought in dozens of battles, and wore every scar like a badge. Careful, steady, and methodical. He believed in strong walls, full granaries, and never ever rushing into anything without thinking it through three times first.
He had held Wuzhang Plains for two months. Built solid defenses. Stockpiled enough grain to last ages. Even planted a small vegetable garden behind his tent. A man had to have something to keep him sane.
He probably thought he was perfectly safe out here.
He was very wrong.
Zhao Yun arrived shortly before noon. He did not waste time pitching a proper camp. He did not send scouts to poke around the walls. He certainly did not write some polite letter asking Zhu Ling to please surrender nicely.
Instead he did something far more annoying.
He sent riders.
Two hundred cavalry split into four groups. They galloped full tilt all the way around Zhu Ling's encampment. They did not attack. They just shouted.
"XIAHOU YUAN HAS BEEN CAPTURED".
The first rider thundered past the eastern wall, hooves kicking up clouds of dirt. The sentries up top stared in utter confusion.
"ZHANG HE IS SURROUNDED".
The second rider swept in from the north, his voice cutting clear over the wind. One crossbowman actually lowered his weapon just to stare.
"THE WHOLE CAO ARMY HAS FALLEN".
The third rider came from the west and possessed a truly magnificent pair of lungs. Half the camp stopped what they were doing just to listen.
"AND YOUR SUPPLY LINES ARE CUT".
The fourth rider saved the best one for last. He screamed it at the very top of his voice as he flew past the main gate. Down in the courtyard a few soldiers exchanged horrified glances. That one hit way too close to home.
Inside his command tent Zhu Ling dropped his tea cup.
It shattered on the floor. Hot tea splashed across his boots. He didn't notice.
"What," he said slowly, "in the name of all that is holy, is happening outside?"
His aide-de-camp burst into the tent, face pale. "General! Enemy cavalry! Hundreds of them! They're riding around the perimeter and, they're shouting things!"
"I can hear them shouting things!" Zhu Ling snapped. "What are they shouting?"
The aide-de-camp hesitated. "That... General Xiahou Yuan has been captured, sir. And General Zhang He is surrounded. And the army is broken. And—"
"And what?"
The aide-de-camp looked embarrassed. "And something about our supplies lines being cut off, sir."
Zhu Ling's eye twitched.
He stormed straight out of the tent and scrambled up the nearest watchtower. From up there he could see the entire perimeter laid out before him.
And what he saw made his stomach drop right through his boots.
Zhao Yun's cavalry was everywhere. They were not charging. They were not even coming close enough to shoot. They were simply there. Riding endless circles. Shouting at the tops of their voices. Like a whole pack of extremely loud and very well mounted wolves.
And far behind them rising on the horizon Zhu Ling spotted more clouds of dust. More banners. More troops marching in.
"Send a rider to Chang'an," Zhu Ling ordered. "Tell them we need reinforcements. Immediately."
The aide-de-camp nodded and ran off.
An hour passed.
Another rider was sent.
Another hour.
By late afternoon Zhu Ling had sent five messengers racing toward Chang'an. Not a single one came back.
He stood up on the watchtower watching the sun sink low. The dust kicked up by Zhao Yun's riders still hung visible on the horizon. And the shouting had stopped. Which somehow felt even worse. Silence meant they were getting ready. Gathering strength. Preparing to strike.
Then he heard it.
From the south.
That unmistakable steady thwack thwack thwack of crossbows firing in unison.
Zhu Ling spun around. Down to the south wading through the shallow river waters came another army. It was Huo Jun. And he had brought every crossbowman he had. They were already loosing volley after volley straight into the rear of Zhu Ling's camp.
Arrows rained down thick across the southern ramparts. Cao soldiers scrambled for whatever cover they could find. Someone screamed.
"General!" the aide-de-camp yelled, running up the tower stairs. "We're under attack from the south!"
"I can see that!" Zhu Ling roared.
He turned and looked west. More banners were unfurling. More troops were marching into view. Zhao Yun's main force was finally taking its places.
He looked east toward Chang'an. The direction help was supposed to come from.
Nothing. An empty road. A silent horizon. It felt as if the capital had simply forgotten they even existed.
Zhu Ling gripped the watchtower rail so hard his knuckles turned white.
He glanced down at his men. They were terrified. Some were already letting their weapons slip to the ground. Others huddled together whispering in small groups. A few simply stared up at the sky as if waiting for it to come crashing down.
None of them had any heart left to fight a hopeless battle for a lord who could not be bothered to send help.
Zhu Ling shut his eyes.
He had served Cao Cao for twenty years. Fought in battles that should have been impossible to survive. Seen friends fall. Seen armies shatter. Seen the tides of fortune turn again and again. He knew exactly what a winning fight looked like. And he knew exactly what a lost one felt like.
This one was already lost.
He opened his eyes.
"Sound the retreat," he said quietly.
The aide-de-camp stared at him. "Sir?"
"You heard me." Zhu Ling's voice was steady now. Cold. "We're pulling out. Form a defensive square. Heavy shields in front. We march east."
"But sir, the orders were to hold this position—"
"The orders were given by men sitting in Chang'an who don't know we're surrounded by ten thousand troops." Zhu Ling looked at his aide-de-camp. "I'm not going to die here for a general who won't even send a rider back. Sound the retreat. Now."
The retreat was slow. Careful. Agonizing.
Zhu Ling's two thousand men formed tight square formation shields locked shoulder to shoulder and began marching east. Zhao Yun's cavalry circled them like vultures but never struck. They did not need to. The Cao force was already beaten in every way that mattered.
Arrows arced in. Men fell. But the square held together.
It was no glorious victory. Yet it was no bloody massacre either.
And in war that counted as a win.
By nightfall Zhu Ling and what remained of his column reached the eastern road. Wuzhang Plains lay far behind them now. His little vegetable garden was most likely trampled flat already. Zhu Ling felt a strange quiet twinge of sorrow for his cabbages.
The blockade had been shattered. The vital supply route linking Hanzhong to the Guanzhong plains stood wide open at last.
The road ahead lay clear.
And far away to the west inside his command tent Zhuge Liang was almost certainly smiling.
---
Back in Hanzhong, Zhuge Liang laid out fresh orders. He put Fa Zheng in charge of all rear supply and logistics, because Fa Zheng was quite literally the only man around who could organize a closet without having a complete mental breakdown. Then he called his closest advisors together. He sent for his young disciple, Jiang Wei. He also summoned Ma Jun, the engineer who had become something of a protégé under his guidance.
The group traveled forward along the Baoxie plank roads. Which were basically long winding death traps held together with wood and sheer optimism. Planks creaked beneath their feet. Support ropes groaned in the wind. Every single step felt like a prayer. But somehow they made it through and stepped onto the contested soil of Guanzhong.
They arrived at the Wuzhang Plains to find the whole area looking like a disaster zone. It appeared as though a tornado had thrown a massive temper tantrum and then stormed off in a huff.
Huo Jun stood waiting amidst the wreckage looking distinctly nervous. He weighed every single word carefully before speaking to the chief strategist, Zhuge Liang. He knew better than most that one wrong sentence could earn him a permanent transfer to latrine cleaning duty for the rest of his life.
"This area used to be completely barren," Huo Jun explained, pointing at the blackened earth. "I followed your instructions last year. I built a forward operating base here. We used it to launch raids against the Cao supply lines for six months."
Huo Jun sighed, kicking a piece of charcoal. "Then the Cao army marched west in February. Their numbers were overwhelming. We couldn't hold the position. I ordered a tactical retreat to Xieyu Pass. I burned this camp to the ground so the enemy couldn't use our own timber against us. Scorched earth policy."
The landscape offered nothing to look at. Just charred stumps and collapsed dirt walls. A monument to failure.
Zhuge Liang stood in the center of the ruins, studying the ash. He looked at the distant mountains. A long sigh escaped his lips, carrying a strange weight, like he was mourning the trees that used to be there.
"Zhongmiao," Zhuge Liang asked, his voice low. "What is the exact distance from this spot to the walls of Chang'an?"
Huo Jun had raided this territory dozens of times. He knew the geography flawlessly, mostly because he had run away across it many times. He answered without hesitation.
"If you march directly down the river valley, the terrain is flat. The distance is roughly two hundred and forty miles."
He pointed north. "If you take the main highway through Huaili and Maoling, you add another fifty miles. More scenery, more problems."
Huo Jun paused. "A courier on a premium horse could make the round trip in half a day. Assuming the horse doesn't die."
A small observation mound had survived the fire. Just a pile of packed dirt, really, but it was the highest point around. Zhuge Liang walked up the slope and stood at the top, gazing eastward toward the unseen capital.
"A round trip in half a day."
He repeated the words, his voice carrying a strange loneliness. The wind carried the sound away until it faded into nothing, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the smell of burnt wood.
"Master! Look out!"
Jiang Wei called up from the foot of the mound. The boy could not understand the quiet sorrow in his teacher's eyes. But he did notice the weather turning. Mostly because he was getting soaked.
The sky had turned dark. A thin spring drizzle began to fall.
It was not a heavy downpour. But every drop felt like a needle of ice. The first rain of the season and it was thoroughly miserable. Water stung their faces and carried a biting chill straight down into their bones.
Jiang Wei scrambled over to the supply wagons snatched up a waxed paper umbrella and came charging back up the mound. He slipped twice in the mud. He popped the umbrella open and stretched it high trying to shield his master from the rain.
There was one small practical problem. Zhuge Liang was exceptionally tall. Unfairly so. And Jiang Wei was still growing. He barely reached the man's shoulder. Even standing on his tiptoes with both arms stretched as far as they would go he could barely keep the umbrella above his master's shoulders. It was roughly the same as trying to cover a full sized statue with a dinner napkin.
Jiang Wei grunted and strained every muscle.
Zhuge Liang noticed the silent struggle. A gentle smile touched his face. A rare softening of his usual calm composure. He actually stooped down and took the handle from the boy's hands.
Then he straightened up once more holding the umbrella high with one hand. Looking for all the world like a very dignified and slightly damp statue. He reached out with his free arm drew Jiang Wei close against his side and wrapped part of his wide robe around the boy to block the biting wind.
"You are still too young," Zhuge Liang said warmly. "Let your teacher hold the umbrella. I have the height advantage."
Jiang Wei made a soft confused sound. He felt the steady hand resting on his shoulder and the warmth of the robe wrapped around him. It was nice.
Ma Jun had been standing quietly at the foot of the mound most likely running calculations on the dirt pile's structural strength. Zhuge Liang gestured for him to come closer and pulled the engineer under the umbrella as well.
One umbrella was never meant to shelter three people. Especially not when one of them was built like a giant. The freezing rain soaked through the edges of Zhuge Liang's sleeves and dripped steadily onto his shoulders. He stood there getting wet so the other two could stay dry.
Jiang Wei looked up and saw the wet fabric. Worry flashed across his face. Is he going to get sick? Who will teach me math then?
Zhuge Liang caught the look and gave a reassuring smile. He reached for his signature feather fan which he had somehow kept perfectly dry tucked inside his sleeve, and placed it gently into Jiang Wei's hands for safekeeping.
Then his whole demeanor shifted. The gentle teacher faded away instantly. The supreme commander stepped forward. The change was sharp and absolute. Like flipping a latch.
He reached down and closed his hand around the hilt of the ceremonial sword Liu Bei had given him. This was no mere ornament. This was authority made steel.
The authority of Lord Liu Bei stands right here!" Zhuge Liang's voice rang out, loud and clear, cutting straight through the rain. "Zilong!"
Zhao Yun stepped forward instantly. His silver armor gleamed even in the dim light, somehow staying spotless despite the mud and rain all around.
"This general stands ready!"
Zhuge Liang held the umbrella plain and simple in his left hand. With his right he drew the ceremonial sword. Steel hissed against scabbard, a sound that meant promise and danger all at once. He pointed the blade sharp and true toward the east. Toward Chang'an.
"Tomorrow at dawn, we strike camp from Wuzhang Plains!"
His eyes burned bright. "We shall crush the traitors! We shall restore the great Han Dynasty! Forward march to Chang'an!"
Jiang Wei hugged the feather fan tight against his chest, his eyes wide with pure admiration. He looked up at his teacher. The man seemed to tower ten feet tall in that moment, like a war god standing firm against the storm. Or at the very least, an exceptionally tall man holding a wet umbrella and a very sharp sword.
Standing nearby, Huo Jun stood utterly confused. His mind spun in circles.
Technically speaking, they were actually standing within the borders of Mei County. What was more, the entire Wuzhang Plains camp had been burned to the ground. Gone. Turned into little more than charcoal and ash.
So exactly which camp were they supposed to strike? There were no tents. No walls. Nothing but mud and regret. Was this some kind of poetic speech? Huo Jun really hated poetic speeches.
Zhao Yun, meanwhile, did not waste a single thought on technical details. He knew a rousing command when he heard one. He knew exactly when to ask questions and exactly when to look impressive and shout back.
He slammed his fist hard against his chest plate. A loud, solid clang rang out.
"Orders received!" Zhao Yun's voice boomed back. "Crush the traitors! Restore the Han! March straight to Chang'an!"
---
That evening, Huo Jun paced anxiously outside the command tent until he could stand it no more. He asked for an urgent audience. He simply had to know. He needed to understand what was going on.
He walked inside, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth ready to deliver a very passionate and very logical argument about the awkward fact that they had absolutely no camp to strike.
Zhuge Liang did not even lift his head from the table. He was too busy sliding small wooden pieces around with deliberate care.
"I already know exactly why you have come, Zhongmiao," Zhuge Liang said smoothly without pausing. "This march on Chang'an is not some sudden impulse. Be patient. Watch the board."
Huo Jun shut his mouth, bowed awkwardly, turned around, and walked right back out again. His mind was still spinning in circles. Watch the board? What board exactly? The Go board? The game board? The actual wooden table surface?
Back outside, Huo Jun ran through the numbers again and again. The allied forces gathered around Mei County were a logistical nightmare. A disaster. A math problem with no answer.
They had Zhao Yun and his two thousand elite cavalry. They held three thousand tribal horsemen left behind by Ma Chao. Huo Jun himself commanded two thousand infantry and one thousand crossbowmen.
Zhuge Liang had brought only a small escort of one thousand soldiers with him from Hanzhong. Everyone else were civilian laborers driving supply wagons. Completely useless in a fight. Unless the enemy happened to be terrified of accountants.
That brought their total fighting strength to roughly eight thousand men.
And half of those were cavalry, which was basically useless against city walls. Throwing horses at stone fortifications was nothing short of suicide. Like hurling eggs at a boulder.
How on earth did anyone expect to conquer the massive, towering defenses of Chang'an with a mere four thousand foot soldiers? Did Chief strategist Zhuge Liang intend to talk the defenders into surrendering through sheer boredom?
---
Inside the tent, Zhuge Liang paid no mind to his departing general. He simply turned his attention back to the table.
Jiang Wei and Ma Jun sat beside him. The table was covered in wooden blocks, lengths of string, and small metal weights. It looked as though an entire toy shop had exploded right there on the cloth.
"Boyue. Deheng." Zhuge Liang spoke calmly. "Let us continue our discussion on the principles of counterweights within a trebuchet design."
Ma Jun leaned forward instantly, his eyes practically lighting up. He lived for this sort of thing. Hand him a pulley and a good idea, and he was the happiest man alive.
Jiang Wei leaned forward too. But his excitement came mixed with a throbbing headache. He was eager to learn, truly. Yet the concepts were thick. Thick as a brick wall.
Earlier that afternoon, his teacher had made a bold claim. He said the single most important key to breaking Chang'an's mighty walls lay entirely in leverage and weight displacement. In plain terms, physics.
To prove his point, Zhuge Liang had brought out an exquisitely crafted miniature wooden model. He called it a counterweight trebuchet.
He worked the model and showed them detailed diagrams drawn on silk. Jiang Wei grasped the basic idea fast enough. A heavy weight drops down on one end. A lighter stone flies off the other. Thwack. Wall breaks. Simple enough.
But seeing how it worked was only the start. The real trouble began when the numbers appeared.
Everything was brutally precise. If the counterweight weighed this much, how long must the throwing arm be? What was the heaviest stone it could hurl? How far would it fly? What angle would it follow? Was it a curve or an arc? And why did it even matter so much?!
To answer those questions, Jiang Wei had to learn whole new ways of thinking. He had to understand pivot points. Calculate loads. And worst of all, memorize complex formulas drawn from the ancient Mohist texts on engineering.
Jiang Wei was sweating. His brain felt like porridge. He scribbled figures frantically onto a bamboo slip, and his handwriting got worse with every stroke.
Beside him, Ma Jun was having the time of his life. He was even arguing with the teacher.
"But what if the main arm is not perfectly straight?" Ma Jun asked rapidly, his hands moving all over the model. "What if we curve it? What if we shape the wood differently? How then do we account for the shift in balance?"
He grabbed a brush and began sketching wild, complicated designs across a sheet of paper. To Jiang Wei, they looked less like siege engines and more like abstract paintings. Or perhaps very strange spiders.
Jiang Wei propped his chin in one hand. A memory drifted up through his exhaustion.
Months ago, he had asked Master Pang Shiyuan exactly what a man needed to learn to become a truly great general.
Pang Tong had thought long and hard. Then he had said simply that a general must first understand the hearts of men.
It was beautiful. Poetic. Wise. The kind of saying people carve into scrolls.
Earlier this week, Jiang Wei had asked Zhuge Liang the very same question.
Zhuge Liang had not given him poetry. He had not spoken of hearts or spirits. He had simply handed Jiang Wei a massive scroll filled with multiplication tables. Told him to memorize everything. From nine times nine all the way down to fractions.
And now, on top of all that, he had to learn siege mechanics as well.
That night, Jiang Wei crawled into his blanket. He stared up at the tent roof, watching shadows dance across the cloth. He let out one long, weary sigh.
Being a legendary general was entirely too much work. Why could he not just be really good at stabbing people instead?