Chapter 841: Liu, Guan, and Zhang Seek Refuge in Liaodong

In spring, all things sprout; the grass on the steppe breaks through the soil, renewing the season, draping the land in pale green and making the steppe look like a steppe again, not a wasteland or desert.

Among the Xianbei tribes, those who had survived the winter regained their vitality. They forced the Han civilians recently returned to them to begin working.

At that moment, everyone felt the ground tremble. They looked up abruptly and saw, beneath the eastern sun, a line of countless black shadows appearing before them.

They were cavalry—cavalry already broken into formation, ready to charge. The Xianbei screamed; the tribe descended into chaos. Only the Han civilians remained unmoved; there had been a fleeting moment of panic, but then they thought, what difference does death make? Let it happen. Watching the barbarians who had beaten and cursed them every day lose control, they even felt a certain satisfaction…

Liao Hua, mounted on a tall steed, gazed from afar at this large Xianbei tribe. His mount was a tamed Wild Horse King, originally intended for the General-in-Chief, but the corrupt aristocrats knew how to flatter—every stall in the General-in-Chief's stable was filled with Xuehema horses, more majestic and powerful than this Wild Horse King. So he kept it for himself and refused the General-in-Chief's offered treasure-horse.

Watching the panicked Xianbei tribe in the distance, he sneered.

"Two battalions to left and right, encircle. The rest follow me in charge."

As Liao Hua spoke, the messengers behind him raised flags in response. Soon after, two flanks each shifted formation and charged outward in a sweeping maneuver.

Liao Hua kicked his horse's flanks. "Ha!" The Wild Horse King snorted loudly and surged forward.

The riders behind lined up in formation and charged after Liao Hua. Hooves began to pound in unison, shaking the earth, filling the steppe with murderous intent, charging through the sprouting spring…

Meanwhile, Liu Xuande had hung up his seal and departed, fearing blame, unsure where to go. After much thought, he took Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and twenty soldiers, heading north to seek refuge with Wang Yan in Liaodong.

"I never expected Wang Yan truly possessed such talent for governance. In just four years, he has developed it so much."

Horses trotted cheerfully, clop-clop-clop; Liu Bei rode atop his mount, his body rising and falling gently with its motion.

He saw children, unafraid of the heat, wearing short pants and open-collared sweatshirts, bare arms and thighs exposed, running barefoot through the streets. He saw pregnant village women and white-haired old women gathered under the shade of trees or houses, laughing as they stitched shoes. He saw men repairing roads and irrigation systems, sprawled out in the shade, napping. He saw soldiers, shirtless, running with desperate effort.

He saw merchant caravans coming and going, bustling with activity. He saw officials in blue robes chatting idly in the fields and along the roads. He saw several men, fully armed with crossbows and long knives, clad in light armor, fanning themselves with newly issued folding fans, their eyes fixed on their party.

Liu Bei knew they were Wang Jingwei—holding the functions of a county commandant but lacking his authority. The documents granting them passage to Suizhong had been issued by the Wang Jingwei. This document permitted travel only as far as Tuhe; they could not roam freely elsewhere. Along the way, they had to pay for lodging at relay stations, though prices were not high—food and lodging were decent.

Guan Yu, clad in blue robes, stroked his long beard: "Wang Yan truly has ability. When he spoke of his ambitions in Lingzhi City years ago, it seemed like madness. Now, it is clear it was no delusion. Though I know not what Liaodong was like before, it now appears truly peaceful and prosperous, rich and content."

"Hmph. If Brother had a place to act, he'd be no worse than that thief Wang. He merely exploits rebels, plunders the people, and exterminates the aristocrats. Brother is a scion of the Han imperial clan, sworn to restore the Han. In time, you'll surpass that thief Wang."

Zhang Fei would never lose the argument, even if he lost the battle.

"Yide, don't say such things again. We've come to Liaodong to seek refuge—we rely on Wang Yan's protection. Don't act rashly. If we truly offend Wang Yan, we'll have no chance of survival."

Zhang Fei grunted again and fell silent.

Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei, with their twenty soldiers, arrived at the Tuhe relay station—it was already night, so they arranged to meet the General-in-Chief the next day.

Dinner was naturally eaten in the station's mess hall. They had no local General's coins; throughout the General's domain, only relay stations accepted Han currency. To exchange currency, they could only do so at the banks in Suizhong and Tuhe. Moreover, the General's coins held higher value and greater purchasing power than Han currency.

That evening, the three ate in the station's mess hall in silence; even loudmouthed Zhang Fei didn't shout.

They listened to the scholars and merchants in the station chatting, each lost in thought.

Someone asked: "In early spring, we heard the Elite Cavalry and the Martial Guard entered the steppe to punish the Xianbei—how is it going now?"

"Of course they'll win. The Elite Cavalry always raids beyond the borders in winter, slaughtering barbarians. Fuyu and Goguryeo have already submitted to the General-in-Chief, paying tribute. The Martial Guard trained for three years, longing for battle. Last year, Zhang Chun allied with the Xianbei to stir rebellion, devastating several provinces and displacing hundreds of thousands. Liaodong suffers from severe population shortage—haven't you noticed women here bearing children every two years? When Zhang Chun's rebellion was reported, the General-in-Chief surely sent troops to raid… and rescue the people taken captive by the rebels."

"Last year we captured Xuantu. I traveled there for trade and saw many civilians laboring. Towns like Tuhe transported vast quantities of supplies northward—I suspect these people were those seized by rebels last year. From this, the steppe campaign must be a great victory. Within a month, the army will return victorious."

"Brother observes with great care—I didn't notice the northbound supplies at all."

"Recently, the great scholar Zheng Xuan wrote a letter…"

…

Liu Bei listened, his heart growing heavier. He had fought Zhang Chun, building on his past achievements against the Yellow Turbans, and barely earned the post of county commandant, working diligently, always hoping for promotion. Then came an inspector—a greedy, corrupt man—who forced him to hang up his seal and leave.

Yet here he was, in the territory of the number-one rebel Wang Yan, who had sent his army straight into the steppe to seize back abducted civilians. And Wang Yan still called himself a "Han minister"—officially the Marquis of Liaodong, the Heavenly Martial General-in-Chief. Though everyone knew the title was illegitimate, legally, there was no flaw.

Moreover, he had to admit: Wang Yan's actions were truly beneficial to those civilians.

Guan Yu thought simply: Brother's path had gone wrong. That rebel had become the Marquis of Liaodong, the Heavenly Martial General-in-Chief, a guest of honor among aristocrats. Brother Liu Bei, scion of the Han imperial clan, sworn to restore the Han, could only become a lowly county commandant—and still got humiliated by some nameless inspector.

Zhang Fei thought even simpler: It's been years—Wang the Thief must be even stronger now. Was he too loud today? Did someone hear and report it to Wang the Thief…? Of course he wasn't afraid of Wang the Thief—he just didn't want to cause trouble for Brother…

After dinner, the three brothers chatted aimlessly, exhausted from days of travel, and went to bed early.

The next day, after breakfast at the station, at around eight, station staff led them into Tuhe City, toward the General's mansion.

Liu Bei asked curiously: "Why is the city interior less bustling than outside?"

The station staff smiled: "Space inside the city is limited. The General's mansion here houses his headquarters, with subordinate offices: the Military Supervision Office, the Civil Administration Office, and bureaus for Agriculture, Engineering, Medicine, and Literature. The General's treasury and granaries are here too. All officials here do not engage in production, so living inside the city aids governance. Outside, all commoners reside; aristocrats and wealthy families buy land and build homes beyond the walls."

Liu Bei nodded, then asked: "If barbarians come, won't all this hard-won prosperity be destroyed?"

The station staff laughed heartily: "The General has long said: the army exists to protect home and country, to safeguard the people. Even with walls, how many people can they protect? Can we sit inside these walls and watch barbarians slaughter our people outside, destroy our fields? We don't wait for enemies to attack—we go to them, destroy them beyond our borders. What use are walls?"

"The General truly has great vision," Liu Bei murmured behind his back…

The station staff smiled politely—he'd heard it too many times. Besides, did anyone need to tell him this?

Thus they arrived at the General's mansion. After reporting their arrival, they were granted entry.

The General's mansion had been converted from the former academy. It was taller now, its decoration no longer plain—it rivaled the Wenchang Pavilion in splendor. The two-zhang-tall ground floor, lacking the book-filled shelves of the Wenchang Pavilion, felt spacious and imposing.

Through the guards, they passed the front buildings and entered the rear garden, where, beneath a pavilion, Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei finally saw the General-in-Chief who had left them with a lasting impression—one that had taken a week to heal.

Beneath the pavilion, the General wore a single robe, bare-chested and bare-backed, his black hair loose and damp—clearly just washed. He lay sideways on a mat, reading a book, exuding the air of a lofty recluse.

"Xuande, many years without seeing you—your bearing remains unchanged." Wang Yan tossed the book aside and sat up cross-legged with a smile.

"I, Bei, pay my respects to the General. I never imagined that after four years, you would have risen to this. I am deeply in awe." Liu Bei bowed deeply, speaking polished words.

Behind him, Guan Yu and Zhang Fei followed suit in bowing.

"No need for such formalities. Please sit. Let us speak slowly and at ease." Wang Yan didn't move, merely returned the bow casually, then ordered, "Bring chilled fruit wine."

Liu Bei thanked him and knelt opposite Wang Yan; Guan Yu and Zhang Fei sat behind Liu Bei.

Soon, guards brought a jar of fruit wine and poured for everyone.

The fruit wine—still made by current methods—had little alcohol. With ice added, it was a pure, chilled fruit drink, quite pleasant.

After inviting them to drink, the General-in-Chief asked: "Xuande, why have you come here? Did you recall my words beneath Lingzhi City years ago, and now come to join me?"

"I came to flee disaster," Liu Bei bowed again, his face grim as he recounted his life since the Yellow Turban campaign: "Fearing punishment for beating the inspector, I came seeking your protection. I beg your mercy."

Liu Bei made it clear: he was here temporarily to work, not to sell himself. When opportunity arose, he'd leave. This was what he said based on Wang Yan's generous nature—he wasn't foolish enough to speak the truth outright; he planned to escape when possible. He believed Wang Yan had the stature to let him go. Still, he felt his brothers weren't worth Wang Yan's attention.

Wang Yan wasn't surprised by Liu Bei's choice. Liu Bei was never one to serve under others. His entire life had been a wandering path: first sheltered by Gongsun Zan, then granted Xu Province by Tao Qian; after losing Xu Province to Lü Bu, he submitted to Lü Bu; later joined Cao Cao, dissatisfied with Cao's manipulation of the Son of Heaven, signed the Blood-Stained Robe Edict, then tricked Cao into giving him troops and fled to Xu Province. When Cao Cao attacked, he couldn't resist, his forces scattered, and he fled alone to Yuan Shao. After Guan Yu killed Yan Liang and Wen Chou, he realized Yuan Shao was indecisive, then feigned an alliance with Liu Biao to trick more troops and escaped to Jing Province under Liu Biao. Years of stagnation passed until he met Zhuge Liang—and finally achieved his tripartite dominion.

When Cao Cao came to campaign against him, he could not resist and his forces were scattered. Fleeing alone, he went to seek refuge with Yuan Shao. But after Guan Yu slew Yan Liang and executed Wen Chou, and he further realized that Yuan Shao was full of schemes yet incapable of decisive action, he made an excuse of allying with Liu Biao, swindled some troops and horses, and fled to take service under Liu Biao in Jingzhou. After many wasted years, he at last met Zhuge Liang and finally achieved the tripartite hegemony.

He had never truly worked for anyone wholeheartedly.

Wang Yan recruited him merely to test the waters—if he came, fine; if not, let him keep wandering, and later establish some foothold in the south, which would be fine too. Liu Bei's reputation was good; though the people still suffered terribly, having him gather some of them was far better than letting random upstarts rise without cause. That was why he didn't kill Liu, Guan, and Zhang.

As for historical progress, he didn't care—because the moment he arrived, history had already changed; the original course could never unfold as before. Never mind other things: Gongsun Zan and Liu Yu fought over territory, and Gongsun Zan clashed with Yuan Shao—both were major northern powers—but now with him holding the northeast, who dared ignore him? He was already a rebel; with the Central Plains in chaos, how could he not march south?

Thus, this would force other warlords to alter their actions—the whole realm was a single chessboard, not separate battles on this side and that.

The Great General smiled and nodded: "I am not a petty man. If Xuan De refuses to serve, avoiding trouble is acceptable. But to enjoy benefits without earning them? Impossible. I have no idle hands in my ranks. I know your three brothers each possess talent: Xuan De will first serve half a year as a civil official, to understand the conditions of my people. After six months, he shall become my assistant, aiding in governance."

"Yun Chang and Zhang Sanhei are brave and strong, skilled in battle—join the army as a lowly soldier. I do not humiliate you; in fact, my troops and civilians here differ from those under the Han court—you must begin at the very bottom to truly understand. If I let you two command troops outright, you are tiger generals, always leading the charge, fearless and fierce—but your soldiers are brothers. You would not spare their lives, and that is not what I want. With your abilities, promotion will come easily. In my army, drinking is forbidden, comrades must not fight—only merit counts."

Zhang Fei had been quietly sipping fruit wine behind them, but when he heard the bandit lord call his name—and call him "Zhang Sanhei"—he exploded, glaring furiously at Wang Yan. But when he met Wang's smiling gaze, he remembered the beating he'd taken four years ago, and his eyes darted away, wondering if he'd been impolite…

"Sanhei, stop glaring. I'm telling you this because you're hot-tempered, and now I see you love wine too. If you join the ranks and become arrogant and tyrannical, don't blame me for hanging you up and whipping you. If you're unconvinced, we can fight again. I'm busy now, and I've got a few tiger generals under me—I haven't fought in three years, my bones itch. Let's spar, loosen our sinews, circulate our blood—wouldn't that be perfect?"

Liu Bei was about to stop him, but Zhang Fei, eyes still shifting, clenched his teeth and grunted: "Fine, fight then—I'm not afraid of you. But my weapons and steed are at the inn—how about bare fists?"

Why not weapons? Because Zhang Fei didn't know if Wang Yan had grown stronger or weaker—but he was certain he himself had grown stronger. Uncertain of Wang Yan's true strength, he avoided weapons—after all, weapons hurt, and he still remembered the pain vividly.

"Then bare fists it is."

Wang Yan nodded cheerfully, shed his outer robe, and slipped on short boots…

Soon after, Wang Yan stretched his shoulders with a smile, wiped his hands, kicked off his shoes, sat back on his mat, and loosely donned his robe again. As for Zhang Sanhei—he lay on the ground, dusty and grimy, face upturned to the cloudless blue sky, questioning life itself. Swelling was slowly rising on his face, invisible parts of his body too.

"I didn't realize the General's martial skill had grown even deeper." Watching his younger brother's state, then Wang Yan's body—sweatless, untouched—Guan Yu tugged at his lips, grateful his brother had spoken too quickly.

In the past, he'd heard his younger brother swear repeatedly that he'd teach the bandit lord a lesson. Now, it seemed he truly had…

Wang Yan noticed Guan Yu's relieved expression and laughed heartily: "I've heard Yun Chang studies the Spring and Autumn Annals—your martial vigor carries literary grace, rare indeed. Yun Chang, you know: unyielding force cannot last. The difference between general and commander lies precisely here."

"A general must be bold, advance swiftly, lead ten thousand troops at most. A commander must think deeply, take one step while looking three ahead, capable of commanding a million. Sanhei is a brute—he has petty schemes, but no great wisdom. Yun Chang, take Sanhei as a warning—aim to become a commander."

"Thank you, General, but the Spring and Autumn Annals are vast—I cannot master them, only read them well."

"There is a great scholar, Cai Yong, serving as Sacrificial Libationer of the Wenchang Pavilion. Yun Chang, go speak with him about the Spring and Autumn Annals."

"Thank you, General." Guan Yu bowed deeply.

Zhang Fei, still feigning death far off, wanted to cry.

Liu Bei sighed helplessly—his younger brother was crude and hot-headed, and now it seemed Wang Yan was petty too, still holding a grudge over Zhang Fei's insult, mostly because he was young, clever, and deliberately teasing Zhang Fei.

His younger brother was reckless, impulsive, and reacted without thought when provoked—now he'd been beaten again. He deserved it.

Think about it: Zhang Fei is six years older than Wang Yan. When Wang Yan was eighteen, he couldn't beat him. Now Wang Yan is twenty-two—of course he's stronger.

When Wang Yan sat down and drank a cup of wine, Liu Bei bowed slightly, ignoring his feigning brother, and asked: "Yesterday at the inn, I heard the General led troops into the steppe to campaign against Zhang Chun and the Xianbei—is this true?"

"Indeed," Wang Yan smiled. "To be honest, last year Zhang Chun sent envoys, proposing we join forces and divide the empire. A petty governor of Zhongshan? Does he dare propose sharing the empire with me? So I imprisoned his envoys and forced them into labor—they froze to death in the wild last winter. I kept watch on Zhang Chun's movements—he allied with the Xianbei, plundered countless civilians. Later, Huangfu Song and Zhu Jun attacked him; Zhang Chun lost and fled north across Yanshan."

"Hearing this, I immediately mobilized fifteen thousand troops, marched into the steppe, rescued the people, and slaughtered the barbarians. Now I've taken twelve ten thousand civilians and settled them beyond Xuantu. Zhang Chun and the Xianbei king's forces are broken—Zhang Chun is dead, all buried alive on the northern slopes of Yanshan."

Just the word "buried alive" carried immense weight—it meant live burial…

Liu Bei shuddered: "All of them buried alive?"

"To avoid offending heaven's harmony, I buried only Zhang Chun, the Xianbei king, and officers commanding over fifty men. The rest were relocated to Qingping County—my name for it, a valley with a river; beyond the valley lies flat land (Chifeng, Keshikeng Banner). Details are in the map at my general's office—go see for yourself. The Xianbei there herd horses and sheep, trade with caravans for necessities—I govern them through indirect rule."

"Barbarians know no propriety, fickle and untrustworthy—General, be cautious," Liu Bei asked again. "I've heard Fuyu and Goguryeo have submitted to you, paying tribute?"

"Indeed. I have a cavalry unit, the Squad Leader Camp—when first formed, it had four thousand soldiers and over ten thousand horses. Every winter, we ride north to provoke barbarians, kill their troops, raid their villages. Last year, the barbarians, unable to bear the losses, sent envoys to sue for peace. They now pay annual tribute: three thousand horses, thirty thousand sheep, uncounted furs, mountain goods, and herbs. Not only that: the people of Liaodong and Lelang commanderies have migrated under my rule, because here they can eat, survive, and no one dares oppress them."

"Now my domain has 1.1 million people, stretching from Suizhong in the south to Changchun in the north—thirteen hundred li north-south, five hundred li east-west. I command over sixty thousand troops—all trained, fit, fully armed."

Without Liu Bei asking, Wang Yan himself recited his strength.

After four years governing Liaodong, three bountiful harvests—public and private granaries alike are now full. Fuyu and Goguryeo, as said, were subdued by Liao Hua. Changchun is Fuyu territory—in fact, all land north of Xuantu belongs to Fuyu; the Changbai Mountains form the border: this side is Fuyu, the other side Goguryeo. The Great General has now officially expanded his territory by five hundred li.

This is not indirect rule—it is direct control. The Wu Wei Guard has reached Changchun and even seized many Fuyu people. These Fuyu are sent to the rear, dispersed among existing Han-Wu mixed communities, creating a three-way Han-Wu-Fuyu mix. Under abundant resources and advanced culture, they adapt within a year. Full assimilation would take a generation—but this is good enough: they won't rebel, they farm peacefully, live the same lives—no real problem.

Their rebellion requires strongmen, extreme injustice. But the General's iron control ensures such people rarely live past three years—either they die elsewhere, or they die near the homes of those they oppressed, assigned to backbreaking labor. No matter how much resentment, it dissolves under such conditions, serving as a warning. And if anyone dares oppress others, they themselves will tie the offender up first.

This is the power Wang Yan gave them—to pass on the spirit of struggle. Whoever makes their life hard, let them suffer too. He doesn't need so-called stability—he can suppress any situation. His people will never rebel against him.

As for Liaodong Commandery (most of the Liaodong Peninsula) and Lelang Commandery (northern Korea), it's simpler: the land is mountainous, little arable. Originally, they hunted, fished, and barely survived on what little land they had. But through trade, they saw how much better life was beyond the mountains—not a complex problem. All they needed was to walk.

In truth, these regions never had many people. People aren't fools—if better land lies north, why settle in mountain gullies?

Now, the entire northeast lies firmly in the Great General's hands. But compared to the vast, fertile Northeast Plain, his million people have barely touched the edge of the Songnen Plain. He deliberately left vast empty lands for his future children to divide.

In the past four years, nearly three hundred thousand newborns have been born, nearly equal numbers of boys and girls. This is partly due to inadequate medical care—some infants and women died. But that's unavoidable: even with modern medicine, stillbirths and congenital diseases persist.

Of course, deaths from difficult labor and congenital weakness still occur—but these are unavoidable. Deaths from neglect or delayed treatment, however, must be changed.

At this time—or for a long time to come—infant survival rates are low: if two are born, one survives past three, that's already hard. Compared to elsewhere, Wang Yan's domain is excellent: infant survival now reaches over seventy percent—his own statistics.

Public hygiene alone greatly improves sanitation. Also, trained midwife teams are growing, significantly raising survival rates. Wang Yan has organized teams to compile guidelines for pregnancy, childbirth, and infant care, which civil officials now promote among the people.

Though physicians remain scarce, every city has a fair number of doctors and apprentices. If a newborn falls ill, treatment is available. If not, and the General happens to be inspecting nearby, he can seek Wang Yan's care. If he misses him, fate decides—but if they reach Tuhe, Hua Tuo will be there, and he can usually fix it.

These systems have raised infant survival rates. Children born to mothers who conceived during the first winter in Liaodong, and delivered in summer, mostly survived well—though some suffered malnutrition. This seventy-percent figure comes from that cohort, now exactly three years old—fresh, hot-off-the-press data. This statistic will be recorded annually—it's Hua Tuo's duty as Chief Physician.

Old Hua is frustrated. Though the medical atmosphere is rich, he's burdened with tasks he hates. Though he has scholar-assistants, he fears mistakes and is constantly agitated. He now desperately wants to pressure Wang Yan into sending troops to Nanyang to kidnap Zhang Zhongjing…

Wang Yan's talk of kidnapping Zhang Zhongjing was a joke. The distance is too great, too many territories to cross, too risky if secrets leak. He kidnapped Cai Yong because Cai is a lucky charm with greater value—worth the risk. Zhang Zhongjing is valuable too, but Wang Yan himself can replace his role—he's not indispensable. Still, Zhang Zhongjing can't escape—after all, this world ultimately belongs to the Great General…

The current army consists entirely of full-time professional soldiers, now purified into a force of healthy males aged twenty to thirty-two. This is mainly because four years have passed: those who were seventeen then are now twenty-one, and nearly all who survived have become junior officers.

Retired soldiers now work across the domain, fulfilling their duties as Wang Jingwei while also training militia. All males aged fifteen and above must train in military formations during farming off-seasons.

This task, following Wang Yan's consistent governance philosophy, should have been completed during education. Analogous to modern times: in elementary school, train limbs; in middle school, once self-discipline develops, issue weapons and teach martial skills; by ninth grade, begin training in formations. Continue until high school graduation—then combat ability becomes instinct.

As long as militia training is maintained, this instinct is reinforced, physical strength preserved—whether in single combat or mob fights, once mobilized, they become a formidable army.

Of course, this is ancient times—sword, spear, halberd require skill; formations require practice. Unlike modern times: hand someone a rifle, show them how to turn the safety on and off, and they can just fire—this is a vast technological gap, incomparable.

As for cotton, ensuring winter productivity, after four years of cultivation and planting, soldiers and officials now all have two sets of cotton robes, pants, and boots, plus a cotton quilt. These are slowly being distributed to civilians—but against a million people, it's a drop in the bucket. He still hasn't found land suitable for large-scale cotton farming.

Only two options remain: attack south—Qingzhou is arable. Or attack west—cross the steppe, march into the Western Regions, where land is also suitable—but now is not the time.

Overall, things are improving daily, ever-changing…

Liu Bei asked: "What is your ambition, General?"

"Why ask that? Four years ago, beneath Lingshi City, I told you: my ambition is the people of China. The empire is not the Han court's alone—the Han court is unjust, the people suffer. I will replace it."

Wang Yan smiled. "I know you wish to restore the Han—but I don't believe in it. Suppose I gave you one territory—how would you govern it? Even if you became emperor, what could you do? Could the people's lives compare to mine? In short—why do you wish to restore the Han? What would satisfy your ambition?"

This indeed struck at Liu Bei's core. Before coming under Wang Yan's rule, he had certainly been clear—restoring the eras of Wen and Jing, and Emperor Wu. But upon arriving in Liaodong, he had merely galloped from Suizhong to Tuhe, and all he saw along the way had made him doubt his own political path. Thus, now that Wang Yan asked, he could not answer.

After long contemplation, Zhang Fei had already risen and sat at the back drinking gloomy wine, yet Liu Bei finally shook his head: "Before coming here, I was certain. But now, General, you ask me—I truly do not know. If you are so confident, can you truly seize the Han realm?"

"Do you know why I have not marched south?"

"Please, General, enlighten me."

Wang Yan smiled: "The rear is unstable, the barbarians unpacified, and a large-scale campaign is inadvisable—hence, I proceed slowly. Had it been otherwise, do you think the Han court could endure? Even now, do you believe the Han court is secure?"

"Please, General, speak plainly."

"You, Xuande, possess the spirit of a hero and your own far-sighted insight. Beneath Lingshi City, I spoke of the Gongsun clan's failings—and my son Gongsun offered no rebuttal. But who is my son Gongsun? His family is not even worth mentioning, yet they dominate an entire county. Do you think, in today's China, who holds power? Is it the Son of Heaven in Luoyang's words—or do you think he jests?"

"I hear the current emperor's health is worsening. He has two sons: the eldest, Bian, is fifteen; the younger, Xie, is seven. In this situation, which of these two do you believe capable of steering the empire, reversing the tide, and reviving the Han?"

"Your meaning, General…"

"The Han is doomed; the world will descend into chaos. Warlords will rise; heroes will emerge. This is the time for a true man."

Wang Yan cut off Liu Bei's words and answered himself: "Since you do not wish to serve me, observe closely over the next two years—see whether I can seize this realm. One day, if you become a warlord yourself, treat the people well. When my army arrives, surrender willingly and join me in forging a mighty Huaxia Empire."

Liu Bei understood what Wang Da had not said: if he still refused to surrender then, stubbornly resisting, there would be only death—no mercy left.

Though Wang Yan spoke with great arrogance, Liu Bei did not feel it was wrong; Guan Yu did not feel it was wrong; Zhang Fei, startled, tensed his body, pulling at a painful wound—he too did not feel it was wrong.

Four years ago, it was mere babble; now, the signs are emerging. The army is imposing and mighty; the people are prosperous and at peace. To seize the realm is no empty talk.

"I, Bei, will never forget the General's words," Liu Bei rose and bowed deeply.

"I have already arranged it: when you three leave the General's mansion, someone will guide you to your quarters, process your travel permits, and rest for three days—then someone will assign your next destination. Yun Chang, San He—remember to hold upright hearts, treat all equally, and never rely on your martial strength to intimidate."

"Thank you, General, for your hospitality," Liu, Guan, and Zhang bowed respectfully—this was proper social etiquette. As for being called "San He," Zhang Fei, still bruised and swollen, pretended not to hear—he was utterly subdued now…

Wang Da, as the mighty one, merely waved his hand casually: "Go now."

The three brothers bowed again, then were led out by the personal guards…

The sun had grown fierce by now. Wang Da drank another cup of chilled fruit wine, rose with his book, and strolled back inside to continue reading.

The book he was reading now was a textbook. After three years, the makeshift straw-bound texts had been entirely rewritten; the official textbooks had finally been published—though only for the humanities subject.

The most basic level, meant for character recognition and moral understanding, requires three years of study. Then, advanced texts introduce the philosophies of the Hundred Schools—though Confucianism dominates. This is the influence of Dong Zhongshu: "Abolish the Hundred Schools, honor Confucianism alone"—Confucianism is the dominant school of the age.

Yet Wang Yan removed certain elements: heavenly-human resonance, the Three Bonds—after all, he intended to enlighten the masses; why would he need such mystical legitimacy? He was cultivating the people's fighting spirit, sharpening their sense of struggle—why would he need notions of the ruler's bond or the minister's bond?

What he preserved in the textbook were the interpretations by contemporary Confucian masters of the core Confucian virtues: "benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, trustworthiness, gentleness, kindness, humility, frugality, and forbearance." This was the essence of the humanities. Of course, basic arithmetic and common knowledge were also taught—that would take another five years.

The above constituted the brainwashing and foundation-building phase: children entered school at six; after eight years, regardless of gender, they were generally literate and martial. At fourteen, having been reshaped, they now formed their own thoughts.

Next came skill training—the Hundred Crafts. The choices multiplied, for these scholars were all exceptional talents; Wang Da had ordered fine subdivision and deep exploration, so the divisions became numerous.

Medicine was certainly a major field, but it was special—life and death were at stake. After research by Hua Tuo and other physicians, all agreed: one must begin studying medicine early and build a solid foundation. Thus, at age ten, candidates were selected and entered medical training.

Others included astronomy, divination, agriculture, Daoist studies, and more—there were technical, humanities, and esoteric disciplines.

Wang Yan watched these myriad disciplines without comment. As long as students had teachers, it did not matter. Over time, under his directive of "fine subdivision and deep exploration," each discipline would rapidly advance; the more they studied, the more they would naturally find the Dao…

While Wang Yan read, Zhen Sheng entered: "Sheng pays his respects to the General."

"What is it?"

"General, the four-year period has ended—my Zhen clan daughter has come of age…"

"Bring her here. No extravagance—I said from the start, all are equal wives. It is not that I humiliate the Zhen clan; you know, every powerful family seeks marriage with me, mostly their eldest daughters—I simply cannot accommodate them all. I have not yet crowned myself emperor, yet I already have a harem." Wang Yan chuckled.

"Yes, General, I have long understood your intent. But I just received a letter from my clan and came to report." Zhen Sheng said, "Four years ago, you mentioned that Gumo (Aksu) was suitable for cotton cultivation. I immediately dispatched a merchant caravan to contact Ma Teng and Han Sui. At that time, Liangzhou and Xizhou were in chaos, and they did not reply. Now, I received a letter from Han Sui along with the family letter—he says he can send troops to Gumo, but requests you send salt, iron, and cotton seeds first."

Wang Yan raised an eyebrow. Back then, there was chaos—Han Sui was busy rebelling. Now he writes back—likely because my might has reached him.

He silently calculated the time. Han Sui still had many years left. Wang Da nodded: "Seven thousand li apart, the journey is perilous. Can you guarantee the safety of salt and iron merchant caravans?"

Zhen Sheng opened his mouth, then helplessly shook his head: "It is difficult…"

After a moment's thought, Wang Yan replied: "Write to Han Sui: the road is long and dangerous, supplies hard to deliver. If he has the courage, let him send troops into the steppe and attack from the east. I will send troops from the west. We will flatten five thousand li of steppe, slaughter the barbarians—though we may not exterminate the Xianbei entirely, we will drive them far north, so they dare not come south again, and open the trade route. This is the great deed of a true man."

"Ah…"

Zhen Sheng could not help but open his mouth wide, eyes bulging. If this weren't his boss, he'd have spat right in his face: Are you mad?

Wang Yan smiled and asked: "Does Meng Guang think this impossible?"

"A distant campaign drains vast funds and grain, and we can only trade twice a year. For cotton alone, it is not worth it. I suggest sending envoys to negotiate with the Xianbei Chanyu—let him transport goods, and we pay him in grain and coin."

Wang Yan shook his head. If even his own people cannot be trusted, how could he rely on barbarians whose nature is plunder and betrayal, etched into their bones? Who would labor endlessly for meager gains when one big profit awaits?

"Convey my intent to Han Sui. Dispatch a merchant caravan with minimal salt, iron, and treasures, but bring abundant cotton seeds—and send several books on cotton cultivation. Tell him plainly: cotton is grown by barbarians. He can control it through trade alone, without needing to launch a distant campaign. If he agrees to invade the steppe, the moment his reply reaches Liaodong, I will march. If he refuses, let him hoard cotton—and wait until I take Youzhou and Bingzhou, open the trade route, and settle accounts with him once."

"Yes, General."

Zhen Sheng quickly bowed and turned to run—he feared if he stayed any longer, the General would truly launch an assault on the steppe. That was too terrifying.

"Too narrow-minded."

The General chuckled and returned to his textbook.

The steppe must be conquered sooner or later. If Han Sui has the guts, I am not lying—I will flatten it outright. Right now, there is nothing to do, and no manpower for expansion. Fu Yu and the tiny Goguryeo to the north have already been beaten into submission and tribute. It's like slowly cutting flesh with a dull blade.

So even without this matter, Liao Hua's cavalry must begin operations against the steppe—because there is simply nowhere else to go…