Chapter 858: Dong Zhuo Has Changed

Though Dian Wei kept nodding in agreement, he was inwardly unconvinced.

Wang Yan understood this situation well—after all, in literature there is no first, in martial arts there is no second. This was Romance of the Three Kingdoms, but it still adhered to reality. There might be faint impressions of aura, but certainly nothing so overwhelming that a complete stranger would be terrified upon meeting.

The generals here all earned their reputations through bloodshed. Lü Bu even more so—he became invincible under heaven through years of being surrounded and beaten by countless foes. But by the later years, Lü Bu's combat prowess had declined. Age and indulgence in wine and women had eroded his physical condition. Yet even then, in Xu Province, he could fight Zhang Fei for a hundred rounds. Partly because he was weaker, partly because Zhang Fei was slightly stronger, but Lü Bu's strength could not be denied.

Moreover, Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, Zhao Yun, Ma Chao, Xu Chu, Zhang Liao, Xiahou Dun—all had earned their fame through killing. Only those who had seen their enemies fall knew the true might of these men.

Unlike Dian Wei, who was already strong by sheer brute force. In his hometown, he killed officials, then walked away calmly with his twin halberds, and not a single one of the hundred pursuers dared lift a hand. Wasn't that something to be proud of?

So how could he possibly accept rumors of someone's greatness? At Hulao Pass, Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei fought Lü Bu together—this tale was known far and wide, yet he hadn't witnessed it himself. He had no idea how strong Lü Bu truly was, or what level Liu Bei's trio really were. He had heard, though, that years ago, General Wang Da had utterly crushed Liu Bei's trio.

But in reality?

Dian Wei had come today and seen General Wang Da lounging lazily, slender, no belly, small frame, not tall. Wang Yan could fit inside Dian Wei's frame and still have plenty of room left. Yet this man had crushed Liu Bei's trio—and Liu Bei's trio had driven Lü Bu away. Just imagining it made Dian Wei want to look away. What weaklings were these? How could they have such great reputations?

Watching Dian Wei's expression, Wang Yan shook his head: "To rely solely on personal strength is indeed excellent. But life is limited, human power has its bounds. You are strong now, capable of holding off a hundred men—what then when you are past fifty? Will you still possess this strength? One man's power is finite; the power of ten thousand is boundless. In battle, how can armies rely solely on single combat? Ultimately, the true way lies in the unity of the formation, strict discipline and obedience. Even if your courage surpasses Xiang Yu, can you stand against ten thousand soldiers?"

"You may wield your strength as a wandering knight, but you are far from fit to command an army. Don't glare at me—I know you're unconvinced. Good. I haven't fought in battle for a long time. Let us spar, to loosen your sinews and stretch your bones."

Dian Wei shook his head repeatedly: "Your words, General, I shall forever remember. But there is no need for sparring."

Wang Yan keenly sensed a hint of disdain in Dian Wei's tone—he feared Wang Yan might kill him.

Wang Yan chuckled: "You underestimate me?"

Before Dian Wei could explain, he said: "I know you've never seen Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei fight Lü Bu at Hulao Pass. Seeing my thin frame, you think the rumors false, that I've merely spread lies to build my fame. But do you not know? Martial prowess is forged in battle, not through self-praise. No need to hold back—whether on foot or horseback, do as you please."

"A warrior cannot fight without a horse. Let us fight armored on horseback."

Since the boss had spoken, what could Dian Wei say? He resolved only to hold back slightly when the actual fight began.

"Do you have armor?"

"I beg the General to provide armor."

Watching Dian Wei's expression, Wang Yan smiled. This boy was honest—he didn't hide his thoughts. He waved his hand: "I plan to assign you to the Xuanjia Camp—the heavy cavalry. Artisans will custom-fit armor for you then. Today, wear standard issue."

Saying this, Wang Yan summoned his personal guards and took Dian Wei to the supply depot. Many sets of armor suited Dian Wei's build—not captured, but captured. Dian Wei's physique was the standard for elite warriors. A few centimeters in height difference mattered little for armor.

On another front, General Wang Da had no shortage of armor. His domain now controlled everything from iron mining, smelting, mold-making of rough blanks, worker assembly-line polishing, master craftsmen's fine-tuning, to final assembly by workers using standardized codes, followed by adjustments upon issue. Even craftsmen specialized in armor design, constantly improving both defensive capability and aesthetic appeal.

The armor now issued to militia units already showed slight changes after every one or two thousand sets—minor, but real improvements. This was standard issue. The custom armor for high-ranking officers was even more varied. After seven years of accumulation and General Wang Da's policy encouragement, armor design had become wildly inventive. Material toughness might still lag, but in aesthetics, it had reached the peak of its historical level.

Humans are not without creativity—they simply lack the right soil to nurture it. Now, with policy encouragement, as General Wang Da said: as long as you don't cheat for money, you can research anything. We need boundless, wild imagination.

Soon, Dian Wei selected his armor, retrieved his twin iron halberds from the inn, and chose a tall, powerful steed from the stables. General Wang Yan also donned his Xuanjia armor, but did not use a spear—he used his Han sword instead, because the spear was too long and would give him an unfair advantage; Dian Wei might still be unconvinced.

The autumn wind cut sharply, whipping up endless dust. The two riders stood fifty paces apart, facing each other. Wang Yan held his sword in one hand; Dian Wei gripped a halberd in each.

After a few breaths, seeing Dian Wei still motionless, Wang Yan shook his head—he still didn't take him seriously. He spurred his horse forward and charged.

Dian Wei stood firm, waiting for Wang Yan to attack. Watching the General's sword swing calmly, Dian Wei calmly raised his halberd to block. Steel met steel with a clang, and a tremendous force surged through, driving the halberd upward toward Dian Wei's head.

Huh? Dian Wei's eyes widened in disbelief. Wang Yan's thin arms, slender frame—how could he possess such power? But he had no choice but to believe it. He immediately focused, swung his other halberd straight at the General's head—a classic "besiege Wei to rescue Zhao."

Wang Yan remained calm, lightly flicking his sword to deflect the halberd with soft force. Dian Wei's old momentum hadn't faded when new force was added; the halberd's inertia prevented any other motion. Though his body was strong, his waist and legs perfectly aligned, he still shifted sideways.

In that single breath, the General raised his sword and swung it horizontally, striking Dian Wei's helmet with full force, knocking him clean off his horse—and he rolled on the ground.

Dian Wei rose, shook his head, realizing General Wang Yan had real skill. He'd been careless. He roared, "Again!" and leapt back onto his horse, charging forward aggressively.

After an hour of preparation, the battle lasted only minutes. Dian Wei was dusty, bruised, and swollen. General Wang Yan inquired about his family. Upon learning Dian Wei had no one left, he promised to find him a wife soon. Dian Wei, grinning through his pain, quietly accepted his place as a lowly soldier.

For men who rely on brute strength and are somewhat arrogant, a good beating is all they need. Just like Tai Shi Ci back then—now look at him: obedient, precise, responsive to every command.

Dian Wei's arrival was perfectly timed. How could the mighty Xuanjia Camp, a heavy cavalry force, lack an equally mighty commander? But Zhao Yun's temperament didn't fit—he was fierce too, but with his white horse, silver spear, and gleaming armor, he was a dashing young hero. The image felt wrong. Moreover, Bingzhou needed sufficient troops for battle; the Xuanjia Camp couldn't be deployed there. That's why Zhao Yun was promoted to lead a separate division, under Guo Jia's command.

Now that Dian Wei had arrived, he filled the gap left by Zhao Yun's absence. If Dian Wei led the Xuanjia Camp, the image would be right: a brute leading a band of brutes, charging recklessly. The Xuanjia Camp never fought independently—they relied heavily on logistics, limiting their operational range and mobility. Dian Wei didn't need tactical brilliance; he just needed to follow orders: attack where told.

Considering the shifting situation and future strategy, the Xuanjia Camp would be relocated to Pingcheng. Bingzhou's flat, open terrain suited them well. Besides, they wouldn't march south anytime soon—keeping the Xuanjia Camp idle at home was wasteful.

If Dong Zhuo hadn't lost his wits, he would surely send troops to block them. Also, Ma Teng and Han Sui of Xiliang—though their stances differed on the "Wang bandit" issue, their choices might not.

Ma Teng remained loyal to the Han. Had he not, Cao Cao's "holding the Son of Heaven to command the lords" wouldn't have fooled him. As a regional power, Ma Teng understood the situation clearly. When Cao Cao issued a fake imperial decree granting him promotion, Ma Teng walked right into the trap—there was a touch of foolish loyalty in him.

Han Sui, however, had always been rebellious, eager to expand his territory. With Wang's invasion of Bingzhou as an excuse, Han Sui's mobilization would be perfectly justified—he'd seize land from Wang, no doubt.

Thus, with the combined forces of Dong Zhuo, Han Sui, and Ma Teng, Guo Jia could deploy only three thousand Zhenwu Guards, six thousand Squad Leader Camp troops, six thousand Shenwu Guards, and one thousand Xuanjia Camp troops. Including all auxiliary units, the total came to exactly twenty thousand. The enemy side had few people; only eight thousand eligible militiamen. Combined, barely thirty thousand—no numerical advantage.

But fortunately, his troops ate well, trained seriously, and their combat effectiveness was high. Now with Guo Jia coordinating, Zhao Yun leading, and lowly soldier Dian Wei ensuring the baseline, they could hold their own.

Mobilizing troops was slow in this era, and not urgent. So when supplies and troops finally reached near Pingcheng, Guo Jia simply and directly ordered Zhao Yun to encircle the city—by then, a month and a half had passed.

The northern lands had entered winter. Guo Jia wore a fur coat, hands tucked in his sleeves, smiling as he watched the shivering defenders on the walls, and the soldiers jogging in circles just beyond the city gate, within arrow range. He inhaled deeply—the scent of mutton and fish soup filled his nose.

Zhao Yun stood beside him, wearing light leather armor over a bear-fur coat. Though he wore ermine gloves, he still tucked his hands into his chest, smiling: "Fengxiao, how long do you think the garrison can hold out?"

By rank, the Supervising Sima was lower than Zhao Yun's title of Captain, but the word "Supervising" made him superior. His logistics depended on Guo Jia's approval. But their relationship was good—Guo Jia had once served in the General's office, and Zhao Yun often met General Wang Yan. They'd interacted often, and were similar in age, so they addressed each other by courtesy names.

In fact, currently, all civil and military officers under Wang Yan got along well. The main reason: they were still seizing the empire, Wang Yan was overwhelmingly dominant, and no interest groups had yet formed.

Hearing Zhao Yun's question, Guo Jia smiled: "Before we arrived, scouts confirmed a grain convoy arrived before winter. Now winter has set in for nearly a month—grain must be insufficient. Yuan Jian has already cut their supply lines. They cannot hold long. The city will fall before spring."

"Moreover, our troops have nothing to do in winter. The siege consumes little grain, and lets them see our rations—perfect. Ziyong, you must guard tightly—lest the defenders, starving, make a desperate last stand."

Zhao Yun nodded with a smile: "Fengxiao, rest easy. Shenwu Guards guard three gates, two thousand at each. My troops are elite, and it's deep winter. Even if they break out one gate, fight to the death, they won't match us."

"Good."

Guo Jia loved this feeling of maneuvering and commanding—thrilling.

The ten thousand enemy troops in Pingcheng were isolated. Originally, there were no troops here. When Wang Yan moved, the warlords were still fighting Dong Zhuo—no capacity to defend. Seeing Wang Yan didn't advance further, they ignored it, letting refugees flood in—couldn't stop them anyway.

After Yuan Shao withdrew, ten thousand troops were sent here to block Wang Yan's expansion. They assumed Wang Yan would strike Jizhou, since Bingzhou was poor, inferior to Jizhou, and Wang Yan had no strong garrison here. After over a year of peace, they grew complacent, careless—and now those ten thousand troops were a gift.

This mobilization was slow, but swift once launched. Before the city reacted, all four gates were surrounded. Only dozens escaped through the southern gate—intentionally allowed by Guo Jia to carry news. The remaining defenders attempted one breakout, but luck was against them: Zhao Yun was exactly where they attacked. They were slaughtered, fleeing in disarray. The cold weather kept them huddled inside.

Guo Jia's piercing gaze looked southward—toward Chang'an.

Chang'an had been ravaged by war. Even after Liu Xiu established Luoyang as capital, two centuries had passed without restoring it to the peak of the Former Han. But Chang'an was Chang'an—the old capital. Even without its former glory, it surpassed all other cities.

Dong Zhuo had brought hundreds of thousands of civilians with him, making the city appear more prosperous. But if not for the huddled, shivering masses, and the occasional frozen corpse by the roadside, it would've been better.

Light snow drifted down, dusting the ground in a thin layer, lending the ancient city a certain beauty. Snow fell equally—but some warmed indoors, while others, clad in rags, froze in the open.

Snow landed on a boy's head. He lay on the ground, wrapped in tattered cloth, curled up. The snow on his body felt warm—he smiled, satisfied, for one fleeting moment.

Then there was nothing more. He remained curled, the snow grew heavier, and a nameless mound of snow formed on the earth.

Mei Wu is a massive walled fortress, two hundred and fifty li from Chang'an City, built by two hundred and fifty thousand people; its walls rise and fall, thick and thin, just like Chang'an's; within the city, palaces were erected, eight hundred beautiful young women from the common folk were placed inside, granaries stored enough grain for twenty years, gold, jade, brocade, pearls piled up beyond count, and tens of thousands of troops guarded it.

Inside the warm chamber, Dong Zhuo, now fat and bloated like a pig, impatiently shed his outer robe, donned a single silk tunic, wiped sweat from his brow, waved his hand to fan himself, and asked irritably: "Who lit the fire in the warm chamber today?"

"Your Excellency, it was a displaced civilian; I do not know his name or origin. What are your orders, Your Excellency?" A man below the hall replied respectfully.

"The fire is too fierce today, making me restless and uneasy. Cut off his head."

"Yes, Your Excellency." The man bowed respectfully and withdrew to carry out the order.

Not long after, he returned with soldiers; one soldier carried a wooden tray in both hands, upon which lay a severed head, eyes still wide open, devoid of any light.

"Such filth—why should I look at it?" Dong Zhuo glared. The man immediately apologized, trembling with fear.

Dong Zhuo had no intention of killing him; he merely waved his hand in annoyance. The man felt as if granted amnesty and hurried away with the equally terrified soldiers. As they stepped out, they met a thin, gaunt scholar with a knife-like face, a goatee, and a leather greatcoat hurrying toward them.

"Your servant greets the Minister of the Interior, my lord."

Li Ru grunted, glanced at the head without reaction, and walked straight into the warm chamber to pay his respects to Dong Zhuo.

"My son-in-law comes in such haste—has something changed in the city?" Dong Zhuo asked, startled and suspicious at Li Ru's appearance.

"No. Just now, an envoy from Zhang Yang arrived, saying Wang Yan has besieged Pingcheng and intends to seize Bingzhou. If Yanmen falls, Chang'an is in peril." Without waiting for Dong Zhuo to think, Li Ru continued: "Previously, Zhang Yang defected to Yuan Shao to attack Your Excellency; then Yuan Shao hastily withdrew, and Zhang Yang also ceased hostilities. Now Wang Yan seeks to seize Bingzhou—Zhang Yang is uneasy, so he sends this envoy, hoping to defect to Your Excellency and beg for your troops to rescue and preserve Bingzhou."

Dong Zhuo nodded—he saw the simplicity of it clearly. After a moment's thought, he said: "Wang Yan has amassed for six years, commanding over one hundred thousand armored and archer troops, all said to be well-trained and fiercely combat-capable. He crushed Youzhou in less than half a month and slew Gongsun Zan. Zhang Yang defects to me, asking for aid… What do you think we should do?"

His words made his meaning clear: he feared he could not defeat Wang Yan.

Send too few troops, and they would be slaughtered by Wang Yan; send too many, and he feared unrest in Chang'an, losing control of the situation. Moreover, other warlords watched hungrily—if they learned his rear was weak and launched an attack, all would be lost. Thus he was trapped in a dilemma, unable to decide.

The Dong Zhuo of today was no longer the man of grand ambition, battle-hardened, strategically astute, aware of the bigger picture, and timely in his judgment. He was no longer the youthful knight-errant of old.

Having weathered the warlords' blows, relocated to Chang'an, and built this luxurious Mei Wu, he spent his days in wine and beauties; every court official trembled in fear. His life had reached its peak, and he felt satisfied.

Clearly, this state was not good—but he himself did not know it.