The Battle for Hanzhong

The fighting went on after that.

Zhang Lan and Cao Zhang crossed spears several times more, so evenly matched that it was hard to say who held the advantage. In their first bout Cao Zhang had held a narrow edge, but the difference had never truly mattered, and Zhang Lan was growing faster than he was.

The single combats of the two were the concern of both camps. The prestige of Cao Zhang, Cao Cao's own son, hardly needed speaking of, and Zhang Lan—whom Liu Bei himself called his niece, and who had already fixed her standing firm through the fighting thus far—was more than worthy to stand as the representative of Liu Bei's army. That the two of them fought a dead-even clash of dragon and tiger meant, seen large, that the hosts of Cao Cao and Liu Bei were held in a taut balance.

The effect of that fact upon the two lords could not have been more opposed.

For Liu Bei, it became a wellspring of confidence. From where he stood, simply holding the vital ground as things were was already victory, and a long war favored him all the more. For Cao Cao, it came as a bleak future in miniature. He had entrusted the Wuhuan revolt to Xiahou Shang and Tian Yu and brought Cao Zhang along with bold resolve, and the mere fact that Zhang Lan had stopped the young man meant his plan had already gone awry.

Time was forcing a choice upon him. Would he carry the war forward by overreaching, or accept reality and withdraw? Standing at that fork, Cao Cao was racked by an inner conflict fiercer than any he had known.

In his heart he wanted revenge for Cao Hong, Xiahou Yuan, and Zhang He. But if he clung to vengeance and nothing else, the foundation he had poured out his whole life to build would be shaken to its roots. The foundation called Wei had not been raised by Cao Cao's effort alone. It was the devotion of the three men now dead, and the blood and sweat of the countless officials, great and small, who still lived and kept their places at his side.

Cao Cao turned a line of Sun Tzu's Art of War over on his tongue.

Already more than a month had passed. The burden on Wei, feeding a war along the spine of the Qinling Mountains, was anything but light. Nor was Hanzhong the only front. There was Sun Quan, forever watching Hefei with hungry eyes, and Guan Yu, who needed to be pressed down at least once as it was. Push any further, and every front would come undone.

"Miaocai. Zilian. Junyi..."

His cold reason had already finished every calculation and shown him the most rational choice. If he would not follow it, it was because something in him would not let go. No human being is perfect. Even Cao Cao, who seemed the nearest thing to it, had never been a man who wholly transcended human feeling.

Attachment caught at his heel. Attachment to Hanzhong. Attachment to revenge. Attachment to Liu Bei.

A bitter lament, spat out—and then he fixed the words as the army's watchword. Perhaps, in doing so, he showed a very slight weakness in the man called Cao Cao: the human part of him that hoped someone would grasp his meaning and hand him an answer to this anguish. And all the while, in one corner of his mind, the calculating never ceased.

If we must withdraw, then someone will have to be held to account.

Cao Cao's eyes sank, cold and bleak. Whoever understood the meaning of chicken rib—that man would be the sacrifice. And privately, he already guessed who.

Yang Xiu...

It was a thing that would have had to be done someday. Matched against a Liu Bei brimming with confidence, and come to the point where he could no longer promise himself victory in this campaign, Cao Cao resolved. He would have to prepare now for those who came after, and the cornerstone of that preparation would be a succession that did not waver.

The chicken rib was a grief steeped in what Cao Cao could not let go. It was also a trap he had dug with the future in view. And Yang Xiu stepped squarely into it.

"Prepare to withdraw the army."

When men saw Yang Xiu and his unit packing their gear and asked what he was doing, he answered with proud assurance.

"Is that not what a chicken rib is? A cut too good to throw away, and yet, when you come to eat it, there is hardly anything on it worth the eating. His Majesty the King of Wei has likened Hanzhong to just that. The gain is small beside the effort—so one can see he already harbors the intent to turn the army home before long."

Yang Xiu, in whom keen intuition and deep learning met, had a discernment that looked at a thing and pierced at once to its true meaning. This time, too, he read Cao Cao's hidden heart from that single phrase. But he did not know the phrase was a noose drawing tight about his own neck. It was the end of a man who knew the one thing and not the other—clever, but not wise.

And there was something more that Yang Xiu had not known. Something that even Cao Cao himself, who had given the watchword of the chicken rib, had failed to reckon with. Someone had been waiting for Wei's army to do exactly this. Across the way, the enemy had gone on watching, waiting only for this moment.

Their discipline...

I can see it.

Yang Xiu's preparations to withdraw—the very thing that would give birth to the tale of the chicken rib. Because I had known it would happen, I could catch it: the gap in Cao Cao's army, showing through collapsed morale and discipline come undone. A crack born of the soldiers' carelessness, from our side bent wholly to defense while they had been free to pour on the attack.

Was this the sight granted to those who possessed an insight that pierced a battlefield—Huo Qubing, Chen Qingzhi, Murat? A strange sensation, as if some new sixth sense were forming in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a corner of the brain. Just as a simulator in a game lays out the way one must advance, my eyes cast the point of breakthrough upon the empty air above the enemy line.

Instinct cried it. Intuition cried it. The soul cried it. Now was the moment.

"Ma Zhong."

"Yes, General."

"Pass the word to the whole army. We attack."

"General?"

"Tell my father and General Ma as well."

"Understood."

Ma Zhong let his doubt at the order show, and still he carried it out at once. He did not understand, but he had decided to trust my judgment and follow it, and he sent couriers and mustered the troops faster than ever before. Before the time it takes to drink a cup of tea had passed, my father, Ma Chao, and Pang De stood at my side, shoulder to shoulder.

"There's no time. I'll drive this home quickly."

They needed no long explanation. My father and Ma Chao already understood perfectly what I meant to do, and Yan Yan, now my father's lieutenant, and Pang De, who rode with Ma Chao, did not so much as voice a single question.

Just before the sally, Ma Chao stared hard to the front and spoke.

"I said it once, didn't I."

His gaze never left the enemy camp, but the words, spoken as if to himself, were for me as well.

"That the day would come when I, Ma Mengqi, would turn Cao Cao's blood to ice once more."

The resolve of that day, when he had come to me and said he was grateful for the kindness. Ma Chao laughed, savage as a wolf sighting prey, taut as an arrow in the instant before it flies.

"That day is now."

The moment his words ended, I raised my spear. Lifted high, as if to pierce the sky, it came down in an arc, and the instant its point indicated the enemy line—

"We go."

The great counterattack began.

"All forces—charge!!"

The host that hurled itself forward as one came pouring down like a landslide. It was a raging current. It was a tidal wave. It was a storm-wind.

It happened in a breath. By the time the army of Wei, busy packing its gear under the name of preparing to withdraw, realized something was wrong, our troops were already upon their camp. With a crack and a splintering smash, the abatis failed to bar us. Had they thrown up a proper palisade it might have been different, but Wei's encampment had raised no barrier to that degree. Their meticulous disposition, founded on formation, would have been as good as death ground for any enemy who rushed in rashly—but Wei, disordered by the preparations to withdraw, could not deliver a proper counterstroke.

"Overturn the braziers!"

"Set the fires! Burn their granaries and their armories!"

Whenever the cavalry passed a brazier they kicked it over, and the infantry spread the flames, and Wei's confusion with them.

"Steady! Their numbers are not great! Those not yet armed, put out the fires—those who are armed, follow me!!"

Some of Wei's officers moved quickly to answer, but the act only drew every eye around them. And every time such a man showed himself, our own officers rode straight in and took his head.

"Find Cao Cao!"

"A thousand in gold to whoever takes the traitor Cao Cao!"

A savage melee in the flames consuming the tents. Our troops tore through Wei's camp without order or mercy: find an enemy, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kill him; find grain, and burn it.

"Hurry! We have to take Cao Cao!"

I drove those who followed me. Even if we failed to catch him, we could not give Cao Cao a chance to gather his wits. Looked at coldly, the advantage in strength was still Wei's. We had wedged ourselves into their gap; we had not come with a force that overmatched them. The momentum, of course, was ours. Even if Wei turned the fight around, beating us would be no simple matter. But if it came to that, we too would have to swallow no small loss just to get back out.

So what we had to do was a decapitation strike.

"Guangwei! They say the main camp is over that way!"

Perhaps his men had brought him the word. Ma Chao came running to me and pointed.

"We go at once!"

There was no time to hesitate. Every minute, every second, was precious. If we could only take Cao Cao here, the age of chaos might end ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in an instant.

Ma Chao and I ran for the place said to hold Cao Cao's headquarters. Whether that report was true showed itself in the defense, which grew thicker the farther we went. The lieutenants gathered at my side opened a path—Fu Qian, Liu Yin, Ju Fu, men who would rank in the upper tier of martial strength even among those under my command—and Ma Chao and I drove straight through the road they cleared.

At the end of it, I met him.

"You will not reach my royal father."

Cao Zhang, leveling his spear without even having finished donning his armor.

"Cao Zhang..."

Yes. I had not yet properly settled things with Cao Zhang. The first true rival I had ever met. My opponent was not Cao Cao. It was Cao Zhang.

"General Who Pacifies the West—go on ahead!"

"I'll leave him to you!"

While I met Cao Zhang where he barred the way, Ma Chao showed a horsemanship that stunned the eye and slipped away to the rear. Wei's camp had not yet been fully restored. To stop the two of us riding a straight line for Cao Cao, the army of Wei abandoned the rallying of its soldiers.

However heaven-sent a talent Cao Cao might be, however many and however brilliant the men beneath him, reversing a tide tilted this far was impossible. A surprise fallen upon them while, busy preparing to withdraw, they had not even armed themselves properly. Their defense was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thin. Our awl was sharp. Driven in with ferocity, it was more than enough to pierce the heart of Cao Cao's army.

Zhang Fei. Ma Chao. And I.

As the saying goes, deceive your own before you deceive the enemy. A killing ambush, come crashing down when even our own side had not known we meant to strike. With this, victory and defeat in the contest for Hanzhong were as good as decided. What remained was whether the point of our blade would reach Cao Cao, the hegemon.

The war for Hanzhong, seen large, and the fight with a fated rival, seen small. In all of it—who would win?

"This settles it."

"What? Yide, Mengqi, and Mingjing?"

Liu Bei, who had not slept and was keeping watch over the camp, came out of his tent bare of armor, in nothing but his plain clothes, at news that had fallen on him like a cudgel in the dead of night. He hurried into the open at a pace close to a run. Across the way, firelight was surging to heaven. Cao Cao's camp was burning.

"What are you standing about for! All of you, go and support them, now! Hansheng, Zilong—gather everyone we can move this instant, and advance! Where is Gongxing? Bring me my armor!"

Alight with excitement, Liu Bei issued every manner of order in a single breath. This was a man who had spent decades of his life on the battlefield. The commander's gift he had cultivated, passing from war to war, was not a thing to slight. What he felt in this moment was a thrill—the thrill that perhaps, here, a long and bitter entanglement might at last be brought to its period, that perhaps he stood on the verge of watching the age of chaos end.

"Now! Let us end this war!!"

Liu Bei advanced with every soldier on Mount Dingjun, a gamble with everything staked. Wei's army, which had not yet even climbed free of the shock of the surprise, took one look at Liu Bei's troops coming down off the mountain and, far from meeting them, began at once to retreat. It was the moment that drove the wedge into the contest for Hanzhong, which until then had gone on with neither side able to land a decisive blow.

Had Cao Cao himself led the withdrawal, Liu Bei would not have dared pursue so rashly. This was a calamity born of an ambiguous watchword—chicken rib—and of the clumsy preparations for retreat that Yang Xiu had set in motion a step behind the order.

"Cao Cao has pulled back! They're retreating! The victory is ours! My lord, we have won!"

Someone's shout spread at once through the whole camp. Amid cheers that shook heaven and earth, Liu Bei thought of his mother.

Mother. Are you watching?

The child who had woven mats in Lousang Village had grown, before anyone quite noticed, and was taking one great stride toward all under heaven. Having broken Cao Cao, hegemon of the Central Plains, in a clash fought face to face, Liu Bei now possessed a courage that would not bend, no matter what cruel trial waited before him.

He lifted his head and looked at the sky. On that day, too, the sky had worn the same face, and the sun had risen as it always did. He closed his eyes, and the fragrance of mulberries spread, deep and lingering, at the edge of his nose. The boyish bravado he had once shouted while gazing at a mulberry tree thick with that scent had, here on the threshold of old age, come to him as reality.

Uncle. I will raise our house again.

The boy's uncle, hearing those words, had called them a child's foolish notion. The boy had not given up. And at last he had come this far.

The scenery of Lousang Village, longed for, and far away. The young boy who had run wild there. Who could have known? That grubby little pauper was drawing the eyes of all under heaven, and was about to stand tall as the hegemon who would command the Nine Provinces.

How long it had been. A time far too long, and far too bitter. There had been moments beyond counting, amid regret and self-reproach, when he had wanted simply to stop walking. He had forgotten even how many times he had doubted whether his path was the wrong one. What remained, even so, was a shabby obsession: that giving up, at least, he could not do.

As an oyster takes a filthy pebble into its mouth and endures with grim tenacity, so Liu Bei too had pictured some vague future and simply endured, and endured again.

And at last, the pebble had become a pearl.

Born at the very bottom, he had drunk the dust and rolled in the mire, and now he mounted a horse and rode upon silk. He had crawled, and he had walked, and he had run. Now it was time to fly.

The jade throne set in heaven. All the way to that seat.

"It will not be so very long."