Laying the Foundations (1)
Dawn light faintly tinged the edges of the camp tents. The torches that had blazed through the night were nearly extinguished, reduced to glowing wicks amid the thick mist, while the soldiers drifted precariously between sleep and tension. Cold dew beaded on the back of the hand gripping the spear shaft. Yet in the eyes of Kang Minju—or rather, Zhang Fei—standing before the map, a calculation deeper than fatigue burned bright.
Luoyang, Dong Zhuo, Lu Bu, Diaochan… and Liu Bei. Names swirled chaotically in his mind before aligning into a single thread. As the knowledge of a modern man fused with Zhang Fei's overwhelming martial might, the wheel of history began to creak and veer from its path. But coldly speaking, it was merely the point where reversal became possible. To truly redirect the currents of the realm, something beyond raw valor was now essential: legitimacy, backed by tangible land.
The tent flap parted with a heavy rustle of footsteps. It was Liu Bei.
"Yide, still poring over the map?"
Minju looked up. In the dim dawn glow filtering from behind, a subtle tension shadowed the benevolence on Liu Bei's face.
"Yes, Brother. This is where it really begins."
Guan Yu entered next. Having swung his Green Dragon Crescent Blade through the night in the training grounds, his shoulders carried both the chill of predawn air and the heat of killing intent. He stroked his beard lightly and peered down at the map.
"What scheme now? Your eyes say you've already spun dozens more moves in that head of yours. Doesn't suit you."
Minju let out a hearty laugh. To them, this brainy version of Zhang Fei—contrary to his brute appearance—must feel utterly out of character.
Minju jabbed a finger firmly at the map's northern edge, near Hebei and Youzhou.
"Brother, to bind Lu Bu to our side… or rather, to make that wild stallion march in step with us, you need a vessel worthy of him."
Liu Bei narrowed his eyes. "A vessel."
"Yes. We have a name, but no roots. Our righteousness pierces the heavens, yet we lack land to plant our banner and rally men. Bring in Lu Bu like this, and it's no alliance—just two packs of wandering bandits merging temporarily. A hungry wolf always bites its master in the end."
Guan Yu, arms crossed, murmured low. "True enough. Lu Bu's the realm's top warrior, but he bows to no one under heaven. To keep him at your side, Brother, we need a base that saves his face and fills his belly at least."
"Exactly." Force entered Minju's voice. "You need land, Brother. Small or not, one city or county under your name would give Lu Bu reason to think, Ah, this Liu Xuande's no mere silver-tongued scholar. Power lets you uphold righteousness, after all."
Liu Bei fell silent. He was no greedy man. Even amid chaos, his core was a noble refusal to covet what belonged to others. Minju's proposal tempted even as it weighed heavy.
"But we can't just seize another's land. That strays from my path."
A sly smile tugged Minju's lips. "No need to seize. Borrow it."
Guan Yu's brow twitched faintly. "Borrow? From whom?"
Minju's finger traced deeper north on the map. One idea burned in his mind.
"Let's see Gongsun Zan."
The tent's air froze. Guan Yu reacted first.
"Gongsun Zan? The White Horse General of Beiping?"
"Yes. In this game, he's the one Brother can naturally reach out to—and must."
Guan Yu tilted his head, skeptical. "But how do we even connect? If it's that simple, we'd knock already, but a warlord's gate doesn't open easy."
Minju turned to Liu Bei as if he'd waited for this. "You and Gongsun Zan shared a teacher: Master Lu Zhi."
Liu Bei's eyes rippled faintly, youth's forgotten memories surfacing.
"I remember well. Under Master Lu Zhi during the Yellow Turbans, we studied together. Not often, but…"
"So write Master Lu Zhi, ask him to bridge the bond. Other lords might ignore it, but Gongsun Zan—same school, same face to save—won't shut the door, especially now, short on talent with Yuan Shao looming."
Guan Yu went quiet, eyeing the map, Minju's face, then Liu Bei. At last, he nodded slowly.
"…Master Lu Zhi. No forced scheme. It hits duty, face, and old ties at once. Yide, you're using your head for once."
Minju exhaled inwardly in relief. If the Three Kingdoms' ultimate stickler for principle, Guan Yu, bought in, it proved this path honored Liu Bei's ren while securing gain—the best option.
Liu Bei asked quietly, gravely. "But Yide—even if we reconnect, why would he cede territory? Land's a warlord's lifeline, fellowship or not."
Minju traced the map's borders sharply. "We'll make the reason. Not begging land, but convince him: We must hold it, or General Gongsun Zan falls."
Liu Bei and Guan Yu watched Minju's words flow like water, scarcely believing. Was this truly the Zhang Fei they'd always known?
Days later. Unlike the dank, murky air near Luoyang, crossing the Yellow River north brought a metallic bite to the wind. Dry grasses crackled across the fields; distant fortress banners snapped in the skin-flaying gusts.
Liu Bei and Minju arrived at Gongsun Zan's stronghold gates with a small escort. Guan Yu stayed back with the main force, drilling troops while watching for variables like Cao Cao or other lords.
At the gates, white-armored soldiers crossed spears. "Halt! Who goes there? This is the White Horse camp!"
As Minju rose in his saddle to intimidate, Liu Bei gently stayed him, dismounted, and stepped forward courteously.
"Liu Bei of Zhuo Commandery, Xuan De. Come from afar to pay respects to my old friend and brother, General Gongsun."
A stir rippled through the guards. "Liu Bei? Liu Xuande… the one who earned merit among the lords…?"
"Heard him say disciple of Master Lu Zhi."
Soon, a middle-aged officer in fluttering armor dashed out, scanning Liu Bei top to bottom. Confirming the clear eyes and refined bearing, he bowed.
"Truly General Liu. We've heard. Wait a moment—I'll report to my lord at once."
Minju watched him go, lips quirking faintly. First hurdle cleared.
Soon, they were ushered into Gongsun Zan's office-cum-strategy tent. Spartan yet sharp with menace: no ornate decorations, but walls bristled with massive strongbows and weapons stained with barbarian blood, mirroring their owner.
The man at the head seat exuded a blade-like aura. White armor, piercing gaze, back straight as rock. The northern hegemon, White Horse General Gongsun Zan.
Spotting Liu Bei, he set down his teacup, eyes widening. "…Xuan De? You?"
Liu Bei clasped hands, bowing deeply. "Yes. Greetings, Brother Baek Gyu. Well these years?"
That sincere word thawed Gongsun Zan's rigid face for a heartbeat. He rose, gripping Liu Bei's shoulders.
"Ha, to see you alive in this mad chaos. Master mentioned you. Feels like yesterday we studied under him amid the Turbans—now you're a famed general."
But warmth faded quick. Gongsun Zan drew clear lines between public and private. His gaze flicked to the hulking figure silent beside Liu Bei: Minju.
"And this… the famed Zhang Yide, I wager. Word of your duel with Lu Bu at Hulao reached even these northern wilds."
Minju cupped fists with Zhang Fei's boisterous flair. "Zhang Fei here, General Gongsun. Heard much of you from Brother."
Gongsun Zan nodded curtly, resuming his seat. His eyes sharpened.
"Xuan De, be frank. You didn't risk your neck trekking this far north for old times. What's the business?"
The tent chilled instantly. Guarding generals eyed Liu Bei and Minju warily.
Liu Bei met Minju's gaze, steadied his breath, then spoke slowly. "I have a request, Brother."
At "request," Gongsun Zan's eyes narrowed.