Zhao Yun (3)

As a rule, every person's character carries at least one flaw, great or small.

Take Guan Yu, one of the Five Tiger Grand Generals, as an example. I have mentioned this more than once before, but Guan Yu was generous to those beneath him and harsh to those above. Layer onto that an arrogance born of a pride in himself that had swelled far too large, and the combination produced a truly monstrous synergy—in the end, the man they hailed as the God of War could not escape his death.

And what of Zhang Fei? Zhang Fei was, if anything, Guan Yu's opposite: respectful of the capable and generous with leniency, yet never one to shy from brutal punishment where the incompetent were concerned. By Liu Bei's own account, the strongmen under that command were flogged every single day—and people were even put to death. Hardly the record of a good superior. In the end, Zhang Fei too was tripped up by a want of the magnanimity every human being ought to carry, and died at the hands of a subordinate's betrayal.

Guan Yu and Zhang Fei, both hailed as Matches for Ten Thousand, had each met their deaths because of their own characters.

And Ma Chao, the human blender born of Xiliang? He had been one of the warlords who stood tall amid the chaos with the whole Xiliang region in his grip—a cold-blooded man who, even in his youth, could cast his own family aside without a second thought. A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠warlord who raised revolt knowing full well his father and brothers were held in Luoyang, effectively lending a hand to the slaughter of most of his own clan. Call it the karma for that if you like: Ma Chao went on to lose even his wife and children to the wars, sank into a sickness of the mind and drifted through his days in listless apathy, and left the world too early with nothing behind but a dying wish that others look after his kinsman Ma Dai.

Chen Shou, the author of the Records of the Three Kingdoms, never hesitated to shave a man's merits for flaws of character, however brilliant his talents—and of the three men above, he wrote this: Guan Yu was "unbending and vain of his own worth," and Zhang Fei "violent and without grace," and so each was brought to ruin by those very failings.

= In other words: they had it coming.

"Ma Chao leaned upon the Rong tribesmen and his own valor, and so brought ruin upon his clan—what a pity!"

= In other words: the bastard who trusted nothing but his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠own strength and threw his family away.

...Was that going too far? Either way, it was true ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that the historian had at least voiced his regret.

Having come this far, you must be curious how the remaining two fared in his judgment. Huang Zhong, the very emblem of the veteran who grows only mightier with age? Or Zhao Yun, dubbed the Tiger Might General for bearing an awe like a tiger's?

So what flaws might those two have had?

...None.

I mean it.

Where the three above each struck the spark of their own deaths through defects of character, Huang Zhong and Zhao Yun, blessed with generous and gentle natures, both lived out their natural spans.

"Th-thank you, General!"

"It is nothing that deserves such thanks."

Even at this very moment, Zhao Yun's popularity was climbing in real time. Upright and honest by nature, she never hesitated to open her own purse for others, and met even the most trying matters with composure rather than temper—so the soldiers rated her highly. And whether or not the stories were true, the ones about her wandering Bing Province rooting out foreign raiders, the common folk's faces lit up bright every time Zhao Yun came into view.

Ability far beyond the ordinary, and a character without a single spot to criticize. Now that is what a first-rate talent looks like.

In any case, with my Five Tiger Grand Generals collection now complete, I couldn't help feeling a quiet glow of satisfaction. I even toyed with the idea of formally creating the title "Five Tiger Grand Generals," just as it appears in the Romance of the Three Kingdoms—but there was the small matter of those words, Grand Generals. Unless my own office climbed higher than that chancellor's, it simply could not be done, and short of losing my mind I was hardly going to attempt such a thing. I was no traitor, and I had no desire to hold any such position anyway.

At this very moment, in Taiyuan Commandery of Bing Province, there stood an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠army that boasted the mightiest strength of any force on Han soil. Elite soldiers who would not have yielded an inch even against the frontier tribesmen whose everyday life was a battle waged for bare survival. And among even those elites there existed a close-guard corps that swore loyalty to the General-in-Chief alone—soldiers who would die gladly, were it his word that asked it of them.

It was, as the old saying goes, a debt of gratitude one could repay even from beyond the grave. Every last one of them had received kindness at the General-in-Chief's hands, directly or indirectly, and had gathered for a single purpose: to repay it.

Theirs was an age that treated human beings not as human beings, but as mere instruments for some purpose. The many policies the General-in-Chief had extended to the common people—things he insisted were simply what any ruler owed them—became a great lifeline for those who had been cast into a cruel world and left to claw their way through it alone.

To be sure, there were ingrates in this world—the kind who, once pulled from the river, would throw a tantrum and demand your bundle on top of it. But there were just as certainly those who never forgot a kindness received and repaid it with their very lives.

In effect, they were a force one could rightly call the General-in-Chief's private army. It was an army that, given the will, could have overturned the central government at a stroke—yet that unsettling question lay naturally buried beneath the Emperor's wholehearted support, whether one takes that support figuratively or in the most literal sense.

And then there were those who had been granted the right to command a portion of the General-in-Chief's bugok. By official rank they were Colonels—and at this moment, every one of them was gathered inside the building.

"...By the way, Sister Xuande, why'd you call us here? I've still got work to do."

It was Zhang Fei who asked—the red-eyed woman with her uncommon black hair swept up to one side.

Guan Yu, whose blue eyes stood in contrast to Zhang Fei's red ones, also gazed at the figure seated at the center of the room with evident puzzlement.

"Oh, it's really nothing at all."

Feeling every gaze in the room settle upon her, Liu Bei spoke with her usual easy warmth.

"You see, I heard some news recently that's been weighing on my mind."

"......?"

News that weighed on her mind?

Guan Yu and Zhang Fei turned curious looks upon their sworn sister.

At so natural a reaction, Liu Bei let a smile touch her lips and spoke.

"You do remember what our present rank is?"

"...Are we not Colonels?"

"That's right."

Liu Bei nodded slowly.

The General-in-Chief's camp was divided into five bu—battalions—and beneath each bu stood several qu, or companies, with the dun—platoons—below even those. And the office that governed one of those five bu was precisely the Colonel. Within the bugok, the private troops one might call the General-in-Chief's very own, it was the finest rank to be had.

One more step up from Colonel, and an officer could become a General—the very summit of a military career. Yet Liu Bei and her sworn sisters had declined that promotion, and remained Colonels to this day.

Liu Bei looked from Guan Yu to Zhang Fei as she spoke.

"Apparently there's an officer who's been asking the General-in-Chief to appoint her a Colonel."

"......Eh?"

Zhang Fei made a baffled sound.

"Strange one, isn't she? So she'd be standing equal with us, then?"

Guan Yu spoke up at once.

"So long as the appointment is not made by improper means, I see no problem with it."

Guan Yu and Zhang Fei had each given their honest opinions—and in truth, they were right. The General-in-Chief's camp had five full battalions, after all, which meant five Colonel posts to be filled.

But Liu Bei, with that uncanny instinct of hers, could feel it.

"Hmm... I have a feeling that if this person is appointed a Colonel, something troublesome is going to come of it."

It was rare enough to hear Liu Bei say such a thing that her sworn sisters reacted at once.

"...Who might this person be?"

"Yeah, who is it already?"

Guan Yu and Zhang Fei wore matching looks of curiosity, and Liu Bei gave her answer.

"Zhao Yun."

"......"

"You know her too, don't you?"

Liu Bei asked, smiling.

She was someone Guan Yu and Zhang Fei knew well. Lately the woman's name had been rising everywhere across Bing Province, and the two of them had seen her with their own eyes. Even from a cursory outside glance, the quiet force that seeped from her had made one thing plain: here was skill that not even the two of them could afford to take lightly.

And such a commander, appointed Colonel, would then stand at the General-in-Chief's side—just as they did?

While Guan Yu and Zhang Fei sat in brief silence, Liu Bei's thoughts drifted back.

There had been a time when she had temporarily taken up a general's commission in order to face Cao Cao, Governor of Yanzhou. Once the whole affair was over, she had handed the rank straight back. The General-in-Chief had looked genuinely puzzled at that.

Why had she—who as a child had once said she wanted to ride in a great big carriage—turned her back on high office? And why were her sworn sisters silent now, each turning something over in her heart?

Liu Bei only smiled, calm and unhurried.