Fledgling Phoenix (1)

Having barely survived one enormous "event" the moment I set foot back in Luoyang, I set about sorting out what had happened in Sili Province during my absence.

"Nothing of any consequence occurred while you were in Jingzhou, General-in-Chief."

Zhang Jue, with her brown hair and amber eyes, delivered her report in a calm, unruffled tone.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Then that is a relief."

No news is good news, as they say. Hearing her out, I nodded in satisfaction.

Zhang Jue, who had been watching my reaction, spoke up.

"That said..."

"That said?"

What now?

So nothing major happened, but something happened purely to inconvenience me?

This is driving me mad. The work simply never ends.

I kept those thoughts from showing on my face and waited for her answer.

Zhang Jue bowed to me with due courtesy before speaking.

"Word has come that one of the figures you once invited to the Sanfu region has arrived."

Ah, so that's what this was about.

At the news that a talent had arrived to carve off yet another slice of my workload, I could not hide my delight.

"Which region's magnate was it, exactly?"

"A magnate of Jingzhou, General-in-Chief — the very region where you recently put down the rebel."

A magnate from Jingzhou whom I had invited, hm...

Come to think of it, I had heard that some magnates defied Liu Biao's summons and erased their own tracks — and among their number were those I myself had invited. Apparently they had held their breath in inconspicuous corners, moving in secret so as not to be swept up in the upheaval. When war breaks out in a region, that region's public order inevitably decays, so it was a very wise judgment.

At present, a suitable number of them were leading small detachments of soldiers on reconnaissance rounds to hunt down the bandits still lurking in Jingzhou. Anyone with an ounce of sense would quit banditry and settle into a modest new life — but wherever you go, there is always at least one fool with no sense at all.

I asked again.

"And the family's name?"

"Pang Degong."

"I see."

I nodded.

The gong hanging off the end of his name can cause confusion, but he is a different man from that Pang De who put an arrow into Guan Yu.

...Hold on. Why are even the written characters identical? So they really are namesakes.

In any case, opinions are divided over the name of Pang Degong. Some believe the gong appended at the end is merely an honorific used when addressing someone respectfully, while others take gong not as a title at all but as part of his actual name. But when gong serves as a title, it is normally attached after the surname rather than after the given name — so surely the latter view is the correct one? Just as Guan Yu is called Lord Guan, not "Lord Guan Yu."

Perhaps my thinking was not wrong, for in this world "Pang Degong" had settled into place as a single, fixed name.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠opened my mouth to ask.

"Has every member of Pang Degong's household come?"

"They have."

Some might well wonder why I had summoned Pang Degong in the first place.

But I had my reasons.

Having answered my question, Zhang Jue continued in her courteous manner.

"Just as you instructed, General-in-Chief, Pang Degong has brought every member of his household with him."

"Good."

Pang Degong.

A native of Xiangyang Castle, he was a gentleman of towering renown in Jingzhou, and...

...the uncle of that Pang Tong.

Pang Tong.

Anyone who had touched Romance of the Three Kingdoms in even the slightest way would find that name very familiar.

If Zhuge Liang is called Wo Long — the Sleeping Dragon — then Pang Tong is called Fengchu, the Fledgling Phoenix.

Sima Hui told Liu Bei that the realm held ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠two men of outstanding talent, and that those two were none other than Zhuge Kongming and Pang Shiyuan. In effect, he rated the pair as equals — and considering the feats Zhuge Liang performed in Liu Bei's service after entering it, Pang Tong must certainly have been a tremendously capable man in his own right.

Chen Shou, author of the Records of the Three Kingdoms, even rated Pang Tong as the equal of Xun Yu, the Talent to Assist Kings — nothing more need be said. When your points of comparison are Zhuge Liang and Xun Yu themselves, he was a truly flawless talent; the only problem is that Pang Tong died midway through the conquest of Shu, struck down by a stray arrow.

Liu Bei, who knew Pang Tong's abilities well, is said to have wept without end upon hearing the news. Zhuge Liang, I suspect, sensed from that moment on that he would work himself to death holding up the kingdom of Shu.

For his part, Pang Tong did not shy from radical schemes — even stabbing an opponent in the back — so long as they served victory. The plan he offered when Liu Bei received Liu Zhang's request for aid is a prime example.

When Liu Zhang moved to welcome Liu Bei and the two were to meet, Pang Tong, marching with the army as Liu Bei's strategist, proposed this:

Does that stratagem not lay bare exactly what manner of man Pang Tong was? It was a plan Cao Cao — that great filial son of Xuzhou — would have accepted with a hearty "oh ho," but Liu Bei refused, answering:

It was the very picture of Liu Bei, who had spent his life opposing Cao Cao and walking only paths that stood in contrast to his. In the end, Pang Tong fell in battle partway through the full-scale war with Liu Zhang's forces — though even that is a matter of disputed opinion, so let it pass...

What sort of person would Pang Tong be in this world, I wonder?

I could not hide my anticipation.

"I will have to see to it that the guests who answered my summons are entertained properly before long."

"..."

Zhang Jue must have sensed the feeling in my voice, for she smiled serenely.

"Then I shall hold a modest feast."

"Good. No need to make it as grand as last time."

The larger the banquet, the more insufferable the cleanup afterward. It seemed far better to hold one of a modest size, exchange conversation, and disperse.

And when, I wondered, would the talents of Xuzhou and Jiangdong arrive?

Zhang Hong — one of the two men known as the "Two Zhangs of Jiangdong" — had refused my summons with one excuse after another, exactly as I had predicted. Remembering how Zhang Hong had once sojourned in Luoyang, I suspect he had looked upon the rotten court and grown disillusioned with state service.

He was, after all, a man who took office only after Sun Ce called on him in person and wept as he begged — so it figured.

...Should I go there and shed a few tears myself?

As for the others, well...

I would leave them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as pleasures yet to come.

With the policy on Pang Degong settled, I next paged through the reports that had come up from Jingzhou.

Going by those reports, Liu Biao did have ability, I'll grant him that. Without a shred of help he had succeeded in seizing Jingzhou single-handedly; to keep his grip on power he had held the province's magnates skillfully in check; and he had stockpiled supplies in abundance, wanting for nothing.

If I had to name exactly one problem, it was this.

The former Inspector of Jingzhou (or rather, the man who used to be) had governed the province well enough, but in the process of maintaining his power he had turned a blind eye to certain magnates' deviations(?), and so public order was in sorry shape. Judging by the number of bandits that had come crawling out when I dealt with the magnates at Jiangling Castle, I could roughly guess as much.

Bandit gangs numbering a good five figures?

No matter how I turned it over, this was not something to simply let slide. Even so, it was a small number compared to the six-figure bandit hordes that had risen in Qingzhou and Xuzhou. Just what on earth had happened in those places, that bandits numbering in the hundreds of thousands had appeared?

In any case, before returning to Luoyang I had ordered various figures to hunt the bandits down, and departed Xiangyang Castle.

According to the current reports, one figure in particular was piling up truly illustrious merits in crushing the bandits.

Gan Ning, Xingba.

What criminals fear most, or so the saying goes, is a stronger criminal.

At present, Gan Ning roamed the Yangtze with the soldiers I had assigned her, taking down every water bandit she laid eyes on.

I had attached only the vicious ones to her command — the sort whose tempers had never meshed with ordinary soldiers — yet heaven only knew how she had drilled discipline into them, for the men who used to kick up trouble at the slightest spark had now become docile lambs following at Gan Ning's heels.

Word had it that sounds of thrashings and screams rang out constantly from inside Gan Ning's camp — and with a rough idea of what went on in there, I felt no desire to inspect the place too closely.

Right. She was a woman who lost nothing even standing beside that Zhang Liao, so I was sure she would manage fine on her own.

I recalled the sight of Gan Ning thumping her chest, wearing a thoroughly confident grin.

Gan Ning was currently outrunning even Zhang Liao for first place in battle merit, and the water bandits of Jingzhou trembled in their boots, wailing that the Brocade-Sail Bandits had returned.

The Brocade-Sail Bandits.

A rather dashing epithet — but the reason Gan Ning bore it was nothing special. She was called that simply because, back in her days as a water bandit, she had rigged her sails with silk.

In other words, the name came from a hopeless addiction to luxury.

She did not seem to be staging such extravagances lately, but...

Every time Gan Ning heard the epithet Brocade-Sail Bandit, her expression would curdle as though she were watching an embarrassing episode from her own past.

But what could she do? A nickname that had already hardened into place does not simply vanish.

Confirming that matters were proceeding smoothly, I pushed the report aside.