The Battle for Hanzhong
Liu Bei looked down on the savage fighting at the front and turned it over in his mind. The day he had stood face to face with Cao Cao, not long past, rose again before him.
When they met once more after so much time, Liu Bei cast off the coward's mask he had once worn to slip free of the man's suspicion, and faced him openly.
Cao Cao was quiet—quiet enough to chill the blood. Seeing him hold his composure even after the loss of kinsmen and generals he had loved sent a cold thread down Liu Bei's spine.
But when he met Cao Cao's eyes from so near, he understood that the calm was only a shell.
Those eyes were fuller than ever with a cold, settled grievance. Rage too vast to break the surface had sunk deep, and in it lived the same Cao Cao who had once put Xuzhou to the sword.
"I received Miao Cai's body in good order."
"I sent Cao Hong on to Wudu as well. You may collect him there."
"...And Junyi?"
"I took his head."
Zhang He was no kinsman, and his corpse was not returned. Cao Cao did not stoop to demand it. He offered something else instead.
"Surrender."
"Surrender, is it."
"Refuse, and the fourth year of Chuping will come again."
When Cao Cao invoked the great massacre of Xuzhou, he meant every word. And precisely because he meant it, Liu Bei could answer without bending.
"Cao Cao. Are you afraid?"
"What did you say?"
"Since when have you opened with a threat? You know it as well as I do. You can no longer beat me."
In that instant Liu Bei was seized by the illusion that he stood once more where they had shared a meal on the day he threw himself upon Cao Cao's mercy. The day the lightning fell.
He smiled as he spoke.
"Cao Cao. The thunder is rolling."
"Your face has not changed."
The fighting at Mount Dingjun and the fighting at Yangping Pass were perfect opposites. At the pass, the allied army had barred the gates entirely and refused every engagement, while on the Dingjun front the battle flared and died and flared again.
For the most part Cao Cao attacked and the allies held, yet whenever a gap showed they struck back without hesitation. It was one close fight after another, both Liu Bei and Cao Cao scraping together every last shred of soul they had.
Cao Cao, whatever else he was, remained Cao Cao. His assaults were so fierce that even from the high ground, even with the mountain in their hands, the allies could not escape a bitter fight.
In the original history, where Pang Tong had died to an arrow, Liu Bei had still gone forward into bowshot to hearten his men. He did so again now, commanding with a dauntless calm, as if he had lives to spare beneath the rain of shafts.
Fa Zheng clung to his side and talked him back, and he did withdraw—but that alone showed how completely both he and Cao Cao were spending themselves.
There were modest allied victories: Huang Zhong's raid on the Wei army's grain, Zhao Yun's rescue of Huang Zhong.
And there were stretches where Wei held the advantage: Xu Huang's rout of Gao Xiang, the breakthrough of the Dingjun defensive line by Cao Xiu and Cao Zhen.
Advance and retreat, advance and retreat. With every passing day the contest of the two heroes burned hotter.
I, too, ranged the heart of that battlefield to my heart's content.
From the heights of Mount Dingjun, Liu Bei watched the field, and whenever he found a point worth striking he sent me or Liu Feng to enjoy a raid. This time we had already hit hard and pulled back, yet Liu Feng was coming down the mountain at the head of another company, set on one more blow.
The Wei army seemed to have been waiting for exactly that. They moved at once to intercept, and the man riding at their vanguard matched a description I knew well.
"That one..."
The moment I saw him trade the first pass with Liu Feng, I turned my horse.
His strength was failing. A single exchange, and already Liu Feng knew in his bones that Cao Zhang was the stronger.
Finesse of technique, the raw power of the body, and a wit that flashed besides—Cao Zhang was everything Liu Feng was, raised to a higher grade.
Even so, the thought of giving ground never once entered his mind.
This was a war by proxy. Liu Bei against Cao Cao. Cao Cao against Liu Bei. A collision of pride between the sons of two heroes.
Liu Feng was adopted, and Cao Zhang only a second son, yet each was the one son who took the field at his father's side.
"Haaaaaah!"
Liu Feng wrung out everything he had. He could die. He could not lose to this man. With that resolve he hurled himself into an attack that cast his life aside, and without it he would not even have managed a fight worthy of the name.
Which was to say, conversely, that the blow he staked his life upon was, to Cao Zhang, merely something that could be weathered well enough.
"Looking at you, I can take the measure of that big-eared father of yours!"
"Shut your mouth! A traitor's whelp has no right to speak his name!"
He shouted it with all the spirit he had, but the wounds on his body were multiplying. They had traded scarcely more than ten passes, and already the two of them were heaven and earth apart—Liu Feng slashed and soaked in blood, Cao Zhang without a mark.
Fight on like this, and Liu Feng would die. That much was plain. Yet his spear remained nothing but attack. The pain climbing through him could not break his resolve.
He remembered Liu Bei, who had taken him in as a son when he was young. And he remembered the girl who drew every word of praise from that same Liu Bei, and the admiration of everyone around her. Zhang Lan.
I, too—just like you...!
He wanted to shout that he was not the only one who had taken up a spear to lift their father's name. He wanted the world to see that he, too, could win merit, that he was a son worthy of the name he bore.
But the world is cruel, and however hard a man strives, however completely he spends himself, it seldom grants him what he wishes.
His spear was twisted aside. He saw Cao Zhang's thrust driving for his heart.
So this was how he died.
Before the lantern of memory could even begin to spin, another spear burst in and struck Cao Zhang's aside.
Beautiful spear-work. A handling so delicate it was almost moving. Liu Feng saw the shape of that spear tangling with Cao Zhang's and was seized by the urge to look away, because he knew the owner of the blade dressed with wing ornaments.
How wretched.
Golden silk fluttered before his eyes, and then his sight went black.
"So it's you. You're the one who killed Uncle Zilian, aren't you?"
I ignored Cao Zhang's question and passed the Liu Feng I had just pulled clear back to Fu Qian.
"Take him to the rear."
"Yes, General."
Cao Zhang watched me send Liu Feng off and did not move. His instincts were good. If he had stirred rashly I would have countered at once, and he seemed to have noticed that I was still set to strike.
I listened until Fu Qian, with Liu Feng in his arms, had fallen back, and only then answered.
"Yes. I am Zhang Lan. I cut Cao Hong down."
Even hearing that I was Cao Hong's killer, Cao Zhang did not so much as flicker. He ran his eyes slowly over me and, with leisure to spare, nodded.
"You've trained, I'll give you that. I like it."
What was he playing at?
Since I had put on the mask and made a name out of nothing, I had rarely met a stare that clung like this. It was nothing like a warrior's hunger for a strong foe, nor the hatred one turns on an enemy. A look of an entirely different grain, and my face tightened of its own accord.
"Distasteful."
"Prickly. Well, fine. First let's have a look at that face they say is so beautiful."
He moved first. Spearwork of the highest order, slipping out of the line of sight to hunt the blind angle—his spear became a venomous serpent striking for my face.
But I am no ordinary commander. I have reached the realm where the spear follows wherever the heart goes. And this, when he was tempering his strength for no greater aim than knocking my mask loose.
Klang!
His spear bored in like a snake, and mine answered with a counter like a lightning bolt. Yet Cao Zhang slipped the thrust aimed at his nape with ease and opened the distance.
Astonishing horsemanship, and without stirrups. Was this what it felt like to face the cavalry of the Xiongnu? His spearwork from the saddle, free and unrestrained, deserved to be called unmatched.
"Haha! Good! Yes—that's how it should be! Anyone who killed my uncle and Junyi ought to be at least this much!"
"You do your fighting with your mouth."
"A fight against a worthy rival. Isn't it a pleasure?"
Somewhere along the way his spear had changed. What had begun as a game of stripping my mask had become a killing stroke, and nothing else.
Even while we spoke, the blows never stopped. Each one sought the other's vitals. Horse, rider, and spear woven into a single circling dance.
Faster. More brilliant.
What had Father's spear been? Countless spear-shadows embroidering the sky—a supreme swift spear one could see and still not stop, that stole the soul and left only death.
As my blows accelerated, a rippling crimson afterimage toyed with Cao Zhang's eyes and bred illusion. With the wing ornaments on my spear, it was hard to tell where the true point of impact lay. Even so, he was exceptional. He pierced the feint, read the real strike, and turned my spear aside.
Chwak!
Not content with that, a precise counter grazed below my wrist. Had instinct not snatched my hand clear in that instant, the right one would have been severed.
"You dodged that."
A matched rival, the first in a very long while.
Father, when he trained with me, had been the greater master. Wang Ping and Cao Hong had been plainly beneath me. Zhang He, who might have stood as my equal, had already spent himself fighting many alone, and never brought his full strength to bear.
It stung my pride to admit it, but I was beginning to understand, a little, why Cao Zhang had called this enjoyable. To meet an opponent of the same measure and cross spears was to feel a growth that sparring and training had never given me.
"Once more."
"Good!"
The exchanges mounted. One pass became ten, then twenty. Thirty came in a blink.
Neither of us had said it, yet both of us knew the end of this fight was closing in by the moment—and that, before it arrived, the other was preparing a deciding stroke.
Our aims crossed.
Jaaeng!
My head snapped back. Hot blood ran down my face.
The cut was shallow, only deep enough to bleed, too light to leave even a scar. Even so, it was my first wound of the battle for Hanzhong.
"...Impressive."
At that word I realized the silver mask had been torn from my face. He had been aiming for it from the start.
Cool wind touched my skin. I looked to Cao Zhang's nape, where I had aimed in turn.
Blood was running from his neck as well. But the wound, like mine, was very shallow. I had cut the vital of the throat, and still the bleeding was not severe.
He, meanwhile, stared blankly at my face.
"Truly... a beautiful face. A shame to hide it."
"This is what you were after?"
"Of course. They say the phoenix of Xichuan is that beautiful. How could I not look?"
Before us and behind, the gong of retreat rang out, calling the battle to an end. The sun was going down in a wash of red.
Cao Zhang seemed to have no thought of defying the order. He drew his reins and began to fall back.
"A fine sight. Next time, I hope to see you without the mask."
With that he turned his horse toward the Wei camp.
When his distant back had dwindled small, I lifted a hand and touched the cut on my cheek.
So that was his aim...
I had meant to kill Cao Zhang. Cao Zhang had meant to see my face. There was no need to ask which had been the harder task.
That I had already fought once? That his horse was better than mine? Excuses, all of it. He had fought Liu Feng before me, and I had stirrups.
So this fight was my defeat.
"Next time will be different."
Turning that first defeat over and over, I promised myself another day.