Conflict Takes Root
A vast throng of warhorses moved in a single great mass, nose to tail, streaming toward some distant point.
It was the grand army of Wei, led in person by Cao Cao.
Upon learning that Hanzhong was under attack by Liu Bei, Cao Cao had taken the field himself to bring relief. Hanzhong was held by his trusted Xiahou Yuan; it would not fall easily. Yet for reasons he could not name, urgency clawed at him.
Should Hanzhong, by any chance, slip into Liu Bei’s hands, something irreversible might follow.
A sudden stir rose from the rear ranks and scraped against Cao Cao’s already troubled thoughts. From the sound of it, a knot of men were laughing and shouting without restraint.
Hmm? What is this?
Anger began to seethe upward through him. In an army that ought to be iron-strict, what was this clamor? Depending on the cause, it might prove unforgivable—especially on a campaign of such national weight.
“You there. What is going on?”
“Y-Your Majesty… that is…”
He put the question to the adjutant riding behind him, yet the man only hesitated, clearly unwilling to speak.
“Did you not hear me? I asked what is happening.”
“I-it is General Wang Zhong…”
“What of Wang Zhong?”
Still the adjutant fumbled and would not give a straight answer. Cao Cao understood at once: the man knew something, yet the truth was awkward to utter.
“Enough. I will see for myself.”
Leaving the adjutant bowing low in mortification, Cao Cao spurred forward and rode straight into the heart of the disturbance.
What in the world…?
At the center of the uproar sat his subordinate general Wang Zhong, still mounted, head bowed as though he had committed some crime. His face was flushed a deep, furious red; one sharp poke looked ready to make him explode. Behind him a cluster of men clapped and roared with laughter at his expense.
Has Wang Zhong done something wrong?
Then Cao Cao’s eye caught something dangling from the tail of Wang Zhong’s horse. The moment he recognized it, he could scarcely trust his own sight.
Is that a skull? Why would anyone…?
The skull hung from the horse’s tail and bounced and scraped along the ground with every step, announcing its presence with grotesque insistence.
One glance at the laughing faces behind told him the whole scene was nothing but mockery of Wang Zhong. Cao Cao’s patience snapped.
“What is this contemptible racket! Who has dared play such a prank inside this solemn army? Step forward at once! And remove that abominable skull this instant!”
“Y-Your Majesty, King of Wei…”
Silence fell as though cold water had been dashed over the crowd. A single soldier edged forward, trembling, and cut the skull free from the horse’s tail.
“Who is responsible for this outrage!”
Cao Cao swept his gaze across the throng and at last identified the group lingering at the rear: his eldest son Cao Pi, together with Wu Zhi, Zhu Shuo, and the rest of the hangers-on who served him.
Cao Pi stepped forward with perfect composure, as though nothing of consequence had occurred.
“Father, pray do not be so angry. Your son merely played a small jest.”
Cao Cao was struck speechless.
“A jest? Does this look like a jest to you?”
The full story ran thus.
In his youth, when famine had driven him to the edge, Wang Zhong had once eaten human flesh. In the chaotic years when the likes of Li Jue and Guo Si held power and the realm lay in ruins, he had had no other choice.
Cao Pi, learning of that old shame, had ordered a jester to rob a grave, fetch a skull, and hang it from Wang Zhong’s horse-tail so the entire army might laugh at him.
Wang Zhong still kept his head bowed, crushed by humiliation. He had never won great renown, yet he had followed Cao Cao through long years of war, and only a few years earlier his name had stood among the ministers who endorsed Cao Cao’s elevation to Duke of Wei.
Eating human flesh was no virtue, yet to make sport of the man in this fashion went far beyond any decent bound.
“Wang Zhong. Move to the rear guard and follow from behind.”
“Yes, Your Majesty…”
At Cao Cao’s quiet consideration the general’s face eased a fraction; he withdrew to the rear.
The noise died away, yet his son’s wanton act still sat ill with him.
“What were you thinking? Do you not know that an army lives by its discipline? Wang Zhong has ridden the battlefields at my side for many years. Why do such a thing?”
“Father, calm your wrath. It was only a jest. If an army is kept forever taut with tension, it frays and breaks. Even a bowstring must be loosened now and then if the bow is to last.”
“Hah…”
Once more Cao Cao was left breathless by his son’s glib sophistry.
Even so, he could not bring himself to rebuke the young man harshly before so many eyes. One who might yet become heir could not have his dignity publicly shredded.
“Do this once more and I will not spare you!”
“Yes. Your son will remember.”
Cao Pi bowed, yet showed not the least sign of true remorse. Behind him Wu Zhi and Zhu Shuo exchanged looks of relief and smirked.
Those dogs…
Left to themselves they would only invent fresh mischief. Better to keep the boy under his own eye. Cao Cao pressed a hand to his throbbing temples and spoke again.
“Zihuan. Come to my side. We must speak of this campaign. And summon Ziman as well.”
“Yes, Father.”
Cao Cao had brought both his eldest son Cao Pi and his second son Cao Zhang on this expedition.
At first he had never intended to take either of them. Originally Cao Pi was to remain and guard Yecheng while Cao Zhang put down the Wuhuan revolt.
Then he changed his mind: let them both gain experience in the field.
Presently Cao Pi and Cao Zhang rode on either side of him, three abreast.
Cao Cao glanced once at each son and asked,
“Do you understand why I have brought the two of you out myself on this campaign? Because this war matters more than any other. Tell me, then—why is it so important?”
Cao Zhang answered first.
“Because it is a war that can raise Father’s prestige still higher. Just as when you crushed Zhang Lu, if you now crush Liu Bei your renown will reach beyond the realm and touch Heaven itself.”
Cao Cao slowly shook his head. The answer was the sort a common soldier might offer; it disappointed him.
Cao Pi spoke next.
“Because Hanzhong is of the first strategic importance. Southward it is the gateway into Yizhou. Northward it threatens Xiliang and Chang’an; eastward it can strike at Xiangyong. Seize Hanzhong and you may drive straight into Yizhou. Let Liu Bei seize it, and he gains a springboard from which to invade Wei. Moreover the ground is rugged and easy to hold.”
In grand strategy Cao Pi clearly outstripped his brother. Still something was missing; Cao Cao shook his head again. Not a worthless answer, yet far from a perfect one.
“Your words are not wrong. If Liu Bei holds that place he may use it as a bridgehead against Tianshui or Xiangyong. Think deeper still. The answer I seek has not yet been spoken.”
When both sons remained silent, Cao Cao, growing impatient, offered a single clue.
“I will give you a thread. The invader is none other than Liu Bei—and he leads the army in person.”
Cao Zhang spoke again.
“Liu Bei is only one warlord among many. When Your Majesty takes the field in person, his light will fade and he will bow of his own accord.”
Cao Cao sighed inwardly. This one might make a fine general; he would never make a king.
Then Cao Pi said,
“I once heard that Father, years ago, sat drinking with Liu Bei and spoke of the heroes of the age. Is it not because you regard him as your lifelong rival? Cut off his head and the world will know there is only one true hero. Besides, he has held Yizhou but a short while. A great victory here will shake the very foundations he is still struggling to build.”
None of it was false. Ever since their first meeting Cao Cao had never ceased to measure himself against Liu Bei. Hanzhong might well become the ground on which the two of them decided supremacy. And yes, a chance to shatter Liu Bei’s base could be won in this very war.
Still the answer fell short.
“Again, not wrong. Yet is there nothing more? Look at the larger board—this is a matter of the first importance.”
Both sons frowned in thought, yet neither found further words. Cao Cao’s frustration burned hotter. These sons of mine are disappointing their father here and now.
Then a voice rose from diagonally behind them.
“Your Majesty. May I venture an answer?”
“Yang Xiu?”
Yang Xiu, courtesy name Dezu.
A man of quick wit and brilliant mind; Cao Cao often kept him near and sought his counsel. Yet of late the fellow’s habit of thrusting himself forward without tact had begun to grate.
Cao Cao had been testing his own sons; the sudden interruption irritated him. Still, curiosity won, and he gave leave.
“Speak, then.”
“It is because Liu Bei’s surname is Liu.”
“Go on.”
“That man presumptuously claims to continue the Han imperial line. He bears the same surname as the imperial house, yet he is a collateral of collaterals. For him, however, the land of Hanzhong carries special weight. Long ago Emperor Gaozu of Han, Liu Bang, began his rise from Hanzhong. Should Liu Bei ever seize that same ground, he will grow still more arrogant, proclaiming that he walks in the footsteps of the Founding Emperor.”
Exactly the answer Cao Cao had sought.
Yet it rankled that Yang Xiu, not one of his own sons, had spoken it. And the implication itself was dangerous if bandied about too freely.
“Yes. You have hit the mark precisely. To Wei, Hanzhong is no more than chicken ribs—something we would miss if we lost it, yet nothing we truly need. But should Liu Bei obtain it, he will have fastened wings to the legitimacy he claims. For him, therefore, Hanzhong is a prize of unmistakable value.”
Yang Xiu looked triumphant at having answered correctly, quite unaware that the air around him had turned cold. He never noticed the savage glare Cao Pi fixed upon him.
Tsk. Who is the one strutting about? And that Yang Xiu—he is Cao Zhi’s man, is he not?
Cao Zhi, Cao Cao’s third son, was at present holding Yecheng in Cao Pi’s stead.
The conversation had been arranged to test Cao Pi and Cao Zhang; somehow even the absent Cao Zhi had been drawn in, and a three-sided contest seemed to be taking shape.
His head felt heavy. Not only his head—his whole body was growing heavier day by day—yet he still could not decide who should succeed him.
Unbidden, an old exchange with Jia Xu floated back into memory.
“Jia Xu. I asked your opinion on the succession. Why do you give no answer?”
“Forgive me, my lord. I was thinking of something else for a moment.”
“Something else?”
“Yes. Of Yuan Shao and Liu Biao.”
Jia Xu always spoke in circles rather than straight lines.
He was carefully sidestepping a direct answer, keeping one step clear of the succession struggle—worldly wisdom of a kind utterly foreign to Yang Xiu.
Yet Cao Cao understood him perfectly.
Yuan Shao and Liu Biao: both had been mighty warlords of their day, yet both had failed to settle firmly on the eldest son, and both houses had crumbled. In short, the heir must be the eldest—Cao Pi.
Sound counsel. Sound counsel indeed.
His mind shouted that the words were right; his heart shouted that they were not.
Ever since the defeat at Red Cliffs, one thought had never left him:
that his successor must gain the same hard schooling of war that he himself had known.
Cao Cao already felt the truth: his remaining years were few.
Therefore, before he departed, he had brought Cao Pi to test the young man’s mettle, and if all went well he even meant to place him in command of the Hanzhong front.
Cao Zhang he had brought more for the sake of martial experience than for any claim to the succession.
Yet the memory of the Wang Zhong affair tightened his chest once more.
Have I made a mistake in bringing Cao Pi at all?
Cao Cao shook his head and forced his mind back to the more urgent matter at hand.
Having ordered his thoughts, he issued a command to the courier.
“Tell Vanguard Yan Xing and Left Vanguard Zhang Pa to increase their pace. They are to reach Hanzhong without the least delay.”
“Yes!”
Yan Xing and Zhang Pa were both reliable men for the van, yet the headache only grew worse with every mile.