Chapter 862

In a somewhat larger room of the General's mansion, Lü Bu and his party sat upright on their knees, watching dish after dish being placed on the table: stewed chicken, fried fish, roasted lamb, various refined stir-fries, and cold appetizers. The air was thick with the aroma of food, stirring strong appetites.

Lü Bu poured himself wine, gazing at the novel dishes, unable to suppress the salivation in his mouth. In this era, food was scarce; even though he held high rank and never lacked for meals, he ate meat every day, yet the cooking methods were still far too monotonous—some flavor, yes, but nowhere near as fragrant as this.

In fact, over these many years, Liaodong's cooking methods, through trade and exchange, had spread throughout Han territory. Even small landowners now owned large iron woks for frying, stir-frying, boiling, and deep-frying, and Liaodong's seasonings had become a major trade commodity.

But comparatively, outside chefs paled in comparison to the fat cook who was the first in Han to pioneer stir-frying and other new cooking methods.

The General's fat cook had turned cooking into an art. After so many years, even Wang Yan, who had sampled the finest cuisines across the land and still lacked many seasonings, could find no fault in his dishes. The man truly had talent—his best dishes—chicken stewed with mushrooms, pork stew, bear paw simmered in broth, stewed golden pheasant, flying dragon soup, and various seafood—had all reached the pinnacle of mastery; every dish he made was at least level four or higher.

He studied seasonings and ingredient pairings on his own, and even researched medical methods of dietary supplementation, exploring how to eat healthily. On the matter of health, he was far ahead of his time. In an age where only a few could eat their fill, and fewer still could eat well, studying how to eat healthily…

Emerging from the feast, Lü Bu steadied his mind and bowed respectfully to Wang Da, seated at the head: "I have heard that under your lordship, the land is rich and the food exquisite, unparalleled in flavor. Today, I see it with my own eyes—truly extraordinary."

Lü Bu may be crude, but that doesn't mean he cannot speak flattery—he has no fixed stance, no firm principles. Or rather, those who do hold stances and principles still must live hypocritically in this world, forced into countless compromises—how much more so Lü Bu?

When captured by Cao Cao, he immediately blurted out, "My lord has grown thin," adopting a groveling posture with perfect sincerity—Lü Bu could bend and stretch as needed.

Wang Yan smiled and waved his hand: "Fengxian, you are too courteous. It is true my domain is rich in produce, yet I cannot yet extend abundance to all. Today's meal is enjoyed by only a few. My domain has two million seven hundred thousand subjects—when will every one of them eat like this? That is true prosperity. The road ahead is long and heavy."

"Your lordship's virtue is lofty."

"Call me General. All under my command do so." Wang Yan raised his cup with a smile. "Today's aid from you all is a great fortune. Drink up, all of you."

Everyone respectfully raised their cups and drank with Wang Yan. It was fruit wine—though perhaps stronger in alcohol content, still a beverage.

After drinking, as Wang Yan picked up his chopsticks and urged everyone to eat and drink heartily, beginning to eat with distinctly unrefined gusto, Lü Bu and his men no longer held back and feasted openly.

All were big eaters. Eight dishes on the table—meat, vegetables, and soup—were all finished. Such was the nature of warriors: they could devour enormous quantities in one meal, yet survive on little for days—purely a matter of physical endowment.

As they ate and drank, General Wang did not neglect to maintain the atmosphere; laughter and chatter flowed freely.

Since ancient times, the custom had been: no serious matters discussed during meals—only after eating did the real business begin. Wang Yan did not break this custom, chiefly because this was a noon meeting—he did not wish to spoil their appetites. Wasting food was shameful. Had it been any other time, he would have spoken plainly.

When they were full and satisfied, the tables were cleared, and tea was served to cleanse the palate and aid digestion.

Wang Yan sipped his tea. Tea had become common by now, though no stir-fried tea existed yet—only sun-dried leaves. The brewing method resembled that of Tang and Song dynasties, almost like cooking. His tea originally came from wild mountain leaves; later, trade spread the stir-frying technique, and wealthy clans in Sichuan and Chongqing began producing the former tribute teas using this method, which merchants then sold here—gaining considerable popularity.

"Under my rule, you have already gained preliminary understanding of the regulations in Yanmen. In my command, whether military officers or civil officials, all are promoted from the grassroots. I have five great generals: Huang Zhong, Zhao Yun, Liao Hua, Zhou Cang, and Tai Shi Ci—all began as lowly soldiers. You are all great generals, but my system differs from Han's. As newcomers, if you wish to join the army, you must start as lowly soldiers."

You are all seasoned warriors. Even as lowly soldiers, you will soon rise to officer rank and command troops. If you tire of conflict and refuse military service, you are literate and cultured—you may serve as a Tingzhang. Even if you shun power and prefer farming, I will grant you land and settle you."

"Fengxian, Wenyuan, all of you—what do you think?"

Lü Bu said nothing. All others looked to Lü Bu—this point had not been mentioned by Guo Jia earlier. After all, if they knew and fled, what then?

Of course, even in Yanmen, Lü Bu and his men could not escape. But it was still risky—Guo Jia himself might be endangered—so he never mentioned it. In truth, many already knew Wang Yan's rules, including Lü Bu himself.

This was because among scholars, many capable men had been sent to serve as Tingzhang. This drew attention, and through merchants and traders, the practice spread.

Lü Bu knew—but he had unconsciously ignored it. His peak achievements had come under the old system; his combat prowess was unmatched. He never believed that arriving at Wang Da's rebel domain—devoid of noble patronage—would mean he'd be underused.

So when Wang Yan now declared they would be assigned as lowly soldiers, Lü Bu felt his pride wounded. He looked at Wang Yan's smiling, amiable face, at his men's expressions, then at himself.

He silently gripped his teacup, knuckles whitening—the sign of intense pressure.

Wang Yan remained expressionless, watching with quiet amusement.

Zhang Liao was no fool—he understood the situation. He bowed respectfully and said: "General, we accept serving as lowly soldiers without complaint. But our lord is a peerless warrior of this age, capable of seizing enemy generals' heads amid ten thousand troops. He was appointed by the Han court as General Who Inspires Might, granted authority to act on the emperor's behalf, his rank equal to the Three Excellencies, and enfeoffed as Marquis of Wen. To make our lord a lowly soldier is to waste great talent and belittle his abilities."

Lü Bu sipped tea, saying nothing.

"Wenyuan, you are mistaken. Now that you have come to serve me, your lord is me. This once, no exceptions."

Wang Yan smiled at Zhang Liao, speaking lightly but firmly, then turned to Lü Bu, whose face had darkened.

"Fengxian, a true man looks to the future. The past is gone—why cling to past glory? I assign you as lowly soldiers because my system differs from Han's. You must learn from the very bottom to understand my laws. My soldiers are precious. If you, ignorant of my laws and indifferent to troop welfare, were made commanders, my men would die needlessly—how could I sleep at ease?"

"You rose from Bingzhou, commanding tens of thousands. Today, you come to me with only a hundred broken soldiers. Life's value lies in self-awareness. Glory is past—learn from your mistakes. You are all brave but reckless. In this chaotic age, warlords rise everywhere—can brute strength win you one victory? Can it win you a lifetime?"

"I know your martial prowess is unmatched. Yet how did you lose Chang'an and flee north to me? The way of the general lies in the mind. With your current ability, commanding five thousand is your limit—you cannot be entrusted with deep raids, or you will doom your troops. You have strength, and the Red Hare horse that travels a thousand li a day—you can escape alive. But what of my soldiers? How do they escape?"

Wang Yan's words were merciless—not only reopening old wounds, but labeling Lü Bu a reckless fool, unfit to command large armies.

He spoke the truth. Had Lü Bu possessed even a modicum of wit, he would not have been called "the thoughtless brute" by all. Lü Bu was too reckless, his martial skill too great—he had grown unused to thinking. Commanding large armies meant leading them to death. A single division was his limit.

Take the battle for Yanmen Pass: had Tai Shi Ci and his officers been replaced by Lü Bu and his men, they would never have considered expanding the battlefield or defeating enemies one by one. Their sole principle was: attack.

Of course, Lü Bu's group would have won—but the death toll would not have been one thousand, but far higher. This was Lü Bu's fatal flaw: pure recklessness.

Since they were all reckless fools, they lacked depth. Hearing Wang Yan expose his failings and belittle him, Lü Bu's face grew greener by the second, his grip tightening on the glass cup.

Finally—crack—the glass cup, unable to withstand Lü Bu's force, shattered. But Lü Bu still knew his place—he dared not overstep in Wang Yan's domain, yet he showed no deference.

He clenched his teeth, fury barely contained, and growled: "If you look down on me, General, grant me the courtesy to leave—I shall seek another lord."

Wang Yan laughed heartily: "Fengxian, don't speak in anger. Where will you go? Who will take you? You betrayed Ding Yuan, then Dong Zhuo. Born lowly, which eastern warlord would even glance your way? Who dares entrust you with an army? If you had anywhere else to turn, why would you have come north to me?"

With a crash, Lü Bu overturned the table, rising to glare: "Wang Yan, you insult me too much!"

As he moved, Zhang Liao and the others leapt to their feet, staring at Wang Yan. At that moment, the two guards at the door saw the scene and blew their whistles. Within half a minute, heavy footsteps surged in—dozens of fully armed guards charged in, swords drawn.

Zhang Liao hurriedly bowed, ready to beg for mercy.

Wang Yan waved his hand, silencing him. He dismissed the guards—ready to kill at a single order—and praised their swift response.

When the guards withdrew, Wang Yan looked at the pale-faced men and smiled at Lü Bu: "Do you truly think you can leave my domain?"

Seeing Lü Bu's grim face, Wang Yan sipped his tea and held up two fingers: "Two paths: one, serve as a lowly soldier. Two, become a farmer, tilling land to feed your family."

Lü Bu trembled with rage—but he did not wish to die. Between life and death, true quick wit can emerge.

He said: "All say you, General, are the invincible warrior of this age—even Xiang Yu reborn could not match you. But today, I find these words exaggerated. Let us duel. If you win, I become your dog. If I win, let me and my men go free. Will you accept?"

"On horseback or on foot?"

"On horseback."

"Return to your inn. Mount your steed, don your armor, take your weapons. Meet me at the city's training ground."

"All say you value honor above all. I trust you will keep your word."

"Go."

Wang Yan waved his hand, watching Lü Bu stride out. He then ordered guards to escort Zhang Liao and the others to the city's training ground to watch.

He returned to change into his black iron scale armor, fully armed, mounted his Snow-Treading steed, and carried his four-meter-long spear, strolling slowly toward the city gates.

The modern spear was no longer the natural gift of old—it had been replaced by a new one, meticulously crafted by his domain's master artisans. The spearhead was forged from the finest alloy, entirely black, its edge sharp yet restrained. The shaft remained as before: superior tuomu wood, composite with other materials, soaked in tung oil, sun-dried, and processed through countless steps—taking three to four years to complete, exceedingly precious. The Xuanjia Camp was fully equipped with these spears, all forged as a batch, at great cost.

The spear's tail also had a small pointed head, like a regular long spear, capable of attacking from both ends.

General Wang Da rode his horse through the streets, and the people he passed didn't find it strange at all; occasionally, the general still had to don armor and train, stretch his limbs—they all knew. So people bowed respectfully from afar, then went back to their own affairs, paying no attention.

Thus, slowly and leisurely, they arrived at the military camp's training ground. Lü Bu, fully armed, had already been brought here—dressed in golden armor, wearing a red-winged helmet, carrying a Fangtian Huaji over four meters long, mounted on the Red Hare steed, standing alone in the training ground, eyes closed, cultivating his spirit.

Leaving aside other matters, his appearance was quite impressive, extremely majestic and formidable. Though he was always chased and beaten, Lü Bu still possessed that invincible aura—because he had absolute confidence in his martial prowess.

Lü Bu was still young, under forty, at his peak—how else could he be so confident? By the time Zhang Fei could fight Lü Bu for over a hundred rounds, he would have lost this confidence entirely.

The training ground was already filled with many people, forming a wide circle around it; even Huang Zhong, who had just returned to "report his duties," was present.

Without any preamble, as soon as Wang Yan reined his horse to a stop fifty meters from Lü Bu, Lü Bu immediately spurred the Red Hare forward and charged at him.

Clearly, Lü Bu was furious—he had been waiting for this moment to vent his rage. Even if he dared not kill Wang Yan, he would at least beat him badly to vent his anger.

Of course, his plan was excellent…

Seeing Lü Bu gallop toward him, Wang Yan squeezed his horse's flanks with his legs, gripping the long spear, and charged forward to meet him.

Unlike Wang Yan, who tightly held his spear, the enraged Lü Bu changed tactics mid-charge, gripping his Fangtian Huaji with both hands, estimating the distance, and swung it directly to smash into Wang Yan.

As they crossed paths, the general remained calm, precisely striking the one-third point of Lü Bu's Huaji with his spear, deflecting it while continuing his thrust straight at Lü Bu.

Lü Bu had never imagined Wang Yan possessed such precise control—because this represented absolute strength; ordinary men couldn't even hold a spear shaft, let alone a four-meter-long horse spear. And the spearhead was only a single point, the shaft flexible—using the tip to block another's spear required strength, otherwise such precision was impossible. Of course, technique was necessary too, but strength was the prerequisite—without strength, technique meant nothing.

But Lü Bu had fought countless battles—how could such a situation trouble him? He calmly withdrew his Huaji and blocked sideways, stopping the attack.

Yet within that brief moment, the two had passed each other. Wang Yan's ever-upturned smile widened slightly; with a casual sidestep and leg lift, he kicked—*clang! *—and sent Lü Bu flying off his horse.

Lü Bu was indeed strong—his power during their exchange was palpable, his reaction speed and adaptability top-tier. He was, without doubt, the most formidable fighter Wang Mou had ever encountered in his travels.

But in combat, especially mounted combat, this was how it was: in the instant of crossing, life or death was decided—that was why Lü Bu had been kicked off his horse.

Lü Bu hadn't fully exerted himself, and he had also underestimated Wang Yan. In fact, when Wang Yan kicked, Lü Bu had already raised his Huaji to block—Wang Yan's kick had struck not Lü Bu's body, but the shaft of his Huaji.

Lü Bu rose without a word. After one exchange, he knew Wang Yan's reputation wasn't empty—it was real, undeniable strength. He leapt back onto the Red Hare and without hesitation charged at Wang Yan again.

Same technique—but this time, Lü Bu used all his strength, holding nothing back.

This time, Wang Yan didn't use his previous move—because the shaft was flexible, and with greater force, he couldn't intercept it. Instead, Wang Yan raised his spear horizontally, letting the Huaji strike the shaft. The spear's complex craftsmanship and costly materials gave it exceptional resilience, leaving it unharmed.

Lü Bu twisted his Huaji, turning the blade to slash horizontally at Wang Yan—a lethal move. Since he was giving everything, every strike was meant to kill.

This time, it was Wang Yan who swung his horse spear—he knocked aside the Huaji, then spun it once around his body and smashed it toward Lü Bu.

Lü Bu blocked with his Huaji, stopping the blow that would have shattered his internal organs.

Again, the two passed each other. Wang Yan's smile widened further; he threw a simple straight punch straight at Lü Bu's face.

Lü Bu had anticipated Wang Yan's move and was prepared—but he hadn't expected this punch to be faster than the previous kick, and without any telegraphing. After all, mounted, lifting a leg to kick required a side turn—something easily detectable.

Lü Bu was caught off guard and instinctively turned his head—but Wang Yan's fist still struck his eye socket. Then, swinging his spear, using its length, Wang Yan struck Lü Bu's body as they passed, sending him flying off his horse again.

Wang Yan didn't even turn his head. Only when he reined his horse around did he look back, smiling easily at Lü Bu lying on the ground.

Lü Bu's physical condition was certainly inferior to Wang Mou's. In fact, even if Lü Bu had the same physical condition—or even slightly better—he still couldn't match Wang Mou. Because Wang Mou's combat skills were far superior—he had trained Wu Gong for nearly a thousand years. Was that a joke? No matter how battle-hardened Lü Bu was, how could he compare to Wang Mou?

Moreover, compared to when he fought Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei together at Lianzhi City, fighting Lü Bu alone now was easier. As the saying goes: two fists can't fight four hands—let alone six, all wielding weapons. Back then, while he defended, others attacked from behind, draining more energy. Now, only Lü Bu stood before him—he didn't need to worry about anything else, could focus entirely on battle—so naturally, it was much easier.

Lü Bu still had some fighting spirit—after all, this was his greatest pride: mounted combat. Since his debut, except for losing to Liu, Guan, and Zhang, he had never been defeated. And Liu, Guan, and Zhang had outnumbered him—they'd cheated. He had reason to convince himself.

But now it was different. His opponent was only one person. This person was shorter, thinner—yet stronger than him?

Lü Bu naturally refused to accept it. So he endured the pain, climbed back onto the Red Hare.

The Red Hare stamped its hooves, snorted, and under Lü Bu's urging, charged again… again… again…

"Fengxian, assigning you as a lowly soldier is truly my kindness. The world is in turmoil—this is precisely when talent is needed. With your valor, how could I not use you?"

"General's words are most correct. Bu will follow only your commands."

Lü Bu spoke with great difficulty, haltingly. Flanked by two subordinate officers, his face swollen, blood seeping uncontrollably from his bruised lips as he spoke. He hung his head like a wilted eggplant—if not for their support, he'd have collapsed like a dead dog.

Wang Yan nodded with a smile, pulling Huang Zhong aside and introducing him: "This is Huang Zhong, Huang Hansheng. He is my Xuanwu Captain, commanding seven thousand troops of the Xuanwu Guard, stationed at Ba County to hold back Yuan Shao. When your wounds heal, you will serve under him."

"As the General wishes."

"Good. Return to the inn today, rest. Tomorrow, I'll assign you quarters. Go."

Wang Yan waved cheerfully, watching Lü Bu carried onto a donkey cart, collapsing exhausted in the bed. Wang Yan saw clearly: a glimmer of moisture in Lü Bu's eye—likely from the autumn sun, recalling the boy who once galloped across the grasslands, remembering his lofty ambitions, reflecting on his turbulent fate, lamenting heaven's cruelty…

Shaking his head, Wang Yan also made arrangements for Lü Bu's subordinates.

Only Zhang Liao and Gao Shun were worth mentioning: Zhang Liao was sent to Bing Province to serve as a common soldier under Zhao Yun; Gao Shun was sent to Tai Shi Ci's command.

The rest were scattered far apart—some to garrisons on the grasslands, some under Liao Hua, some to Changchun. The main goal: break up Lü Bu's faction, preventing them from gathering and causing trouble.

The hundred-odd remnants from Bing Province who had followed Lü Bu were sent with Zhang Liao—to see if their families still lived, and bring them here.

After this reorganization, when Lü Bu had rested two days and his wounds improved slightly, he had nearly accepted the outcome and prepared to meet his men—only then did he learn of Wang Yan's arrangements.

That day, he sat in silence for a long time—longer than the despair he felt the day after being beaten.

The naked truth lay before him: he finally knew he was no longer the Lü Bu of old. He finally understood that all past glories were but smoke and clouds. The Lü Bu who once dominated the grasslands, terrified warlords at Hulao Pass, and was invincible under heaven—was gone.

What remained was only a loser, a man stripped of value, reduced to mere martial strength.

Yet, perhaps, he was still the old Lü Bu…