Chapter 887: Zhang Lu Surrenders

Yuan Shu's current situation is truly dire; despite having previously allied with Liu Bei and Liu Biao to jointly resist Cao Cao, this "joint resistance" amounted to nothing more than the three parties refraining from attacking one another while each struck Cao Cao from their respective directions.

But whom Cao Cao wished to attack, they could not stop. Old Cao was naturally very dissatisfied with Yuan Shu—he had been fighting him all along, and now that he had crossed the river, he was certainly coming back for more. Moreover, he planned to court Liu Bei and Liu Biao, and wanted to demonstrate his full strength—wasn't Yuan Shu just begging to be beaten?

So toward Liu Bei and Liu Biao, he merely divided his forces to defend; against Yuan Shu, he poured all his energy into the assault. From spring, when he crossed the river, he fought straight through autumn—six full months of continuous victories. He had driven Yuan Shu from Chaisang in northern Yuzhang all the way south to Ganxian (Ganzhou), and beyond that lay Jiaozhi—Shi Xie's territory—leaving Yuan Shu with virtually nowhere left to retreat.

Moreover, due to his defeats, the Yangzhou aristocrats who had supported him were now nearly gone; his civil and military officials remained, but each harbored their own intentions. His troops were few, and Yuan Shu knew clearly—he was finished.

Yet his situation was far better than Yuan Shao's, and considering his descendants, he ultimately chose to surrender. At this point, he had little left—his civil and military officers were divided, his troops were few, and Old Cao held him in contempt. But there was one thing that could guarantee his wealth and status: the Imperial Seal that Sun Ce had traded for troops.

Sun Ce was, of course, furious, and even considered killing Yuan Shu outright. But after weighing the reputation issue, he ultimately refrained.

He had previously sought independence, only to be driven back by Liu Bei; with years of warfare behind him, Sun Ce's position had grown ever higher, and now, having retreated all the way to Ganxian, his remaining forces were arguably the strongest among them.

If he had never held power before, one might excuse it—but he had been his own master, and unlike Yuan Shu, he had never truly achieved success before being driven back by Liu Bei; naturally, he was unwilling to accept defeat.

Once ambition takes root, it is nearly impossible to retract. Old Cao was undeniably a man of grand talent and vision—Sun Ce acknowledged this—but if he joined Cao Cao's service, his life would end there; Sun Ce understood this all too well.

So he naturally severed ties with Yuan Shu, taking with him over ten thousand soldiers, his father's old subordinates, and his close friend who wished to start a new venture with him: Zhou Yu.

They continued southward, heading to attack Shi Xie.

They intended to seize an opportunity while Cao Cao was too occupied to pay them any attention, and establish their own domain in Jiaozhi.

Old Cao indeed had no time to care for them—he was busy forging a united front against Wang Yan, figuring out how to pressure Liu Biao and Liu Zhang into submission. More importantly, he was diligently farming and rigorously training troops to prepare for Wang Yan's southern advance. As for Sun Ce's campaign against Shi Xie, he said not a word.

As for Yuan Shu and his civil and military officers who surrendered, aside from Yuan Shu himself, none were mistreated—they were even heavily utilized. He certainly had vision, but the more crucial reason was this: those who failed to serve Cao Cao faithfully, or who later rebelled, would have no chance at all.

For in today's world, Cao Cao had only one enemy: Wang Yan in the north. Every single one of these men, if they went to Wang Yan, would be dead. This was a truth everyone understood—otherwise, why would they even consider joining Cao Cao? They were all capable men; their treatment under Wang Yan was actually far better.

No one would deny that Wang Yan was a great lord, possessing a grand vision and an absolutely excellent leadership. This was no idle claim—Lu Bu was right there. Such a warrior now commanded an elite guard on his own—what more proof was needed?

Chaisang (Jiujiang) was proper Jiang Nan, but even the rivers didn't freeze, they weren't warm either. Moreover, the current era was the Ice Age—temperatures overall were falling. Thus, even proper Jiang Nan grew bitterly cold in winter, and due to the high humidity, rain fell frequently; seeing the sun's warmth became rare.

The damp cold made the body uncomfortable; Old Cao could not adapt—he suffered from poor water and soil compatibility, caught a cold, and his headache flared up, leaving him in unbearable agony.

In the Chancellor's residence, every room had been fitted with underfloor heating, fires burned to warm the air and dry the rooms. Old Cao wore a single robe of Shu brocade, reclining sideways on his couch, idly turning in his palm a small object—palm-sized, with a gold-inlaid corner—the famed He Shi Bi, the Imperial Seal.

At Old Cao's level, he naturally cared nothing for a mere seal. He understood better than anyone that true power came from strong armies and well-equipped troops. After all, Liu Xie was his puppet—how could he not grasp such a simple truth? Possessing this seal would not make him stronger; lacking it would not weaken him in the slightest.

But people of this age still believed in spirits and omens, and countless charlatans propagated such superstitions. So when this legendary seal came into his hands, Old Cao was delighted—it signified Heaven's Mandate.

No one dislikes pleasant words, and no one dislikes auspicious meanings. Just as a twitching left eye means wealth, a twitching right eye is merely an involuntary spasm of the orbicularis oculi muscle triggered by the facial nerve. Left eye: superstition. Right eye: science. People simply love good omens—bad ones must have reasons.

Old Cao was no exception—he was even more confident, for he held absolute power.

Xun Yu knelt beside him, sipping strong liquor slowly, nibbling on roasted peanuts…

How could Wang Yan alone enjoy such fine things? Sun Fugui men everywhere must share in them. Even though peanut yields were still low, they had to be sold—and sold at exorbitant prices. These were overseas divine grains; they had to be hyped. Old Cao and others were the suckers, their money funding the agricultural scholars' seed improvements. In this regard, Old Cao and his peers were truly meritorious.

In truth, copper coin circulation was dwindling. Merchants increasingly favored the General's Coin issued under Wang Da's rule—lightweight, stable, widely accepted. After all, the north used nothing but General's Coins; with growing trade, the General's Coin gained ever greater recognition.

The warlords had not failed to consider minting their own coins, but they couldn't even produce decent paper, let alone the special paper required for coinage. Even if they managed to produce it, the aristocrats wouldn't accept it, and Wang Yan refused to exchange it—so it was all Bai Da.

Thus, Wang Da had already gained considerable control over regional economies—but he did not exploit finance, for such exploitation would ultimately be borne by the common people. Their lives were already hard enough; Wang Da would not make them harder.

After another sip of wine and a peanut, once the warmth settled in his chest and belly, and seeing Old Cao had regained his focus and no longer looked so listless, Xun Yu spoke.

"Lord, Liu Biao and Liu Zhang are both indecisive men. Now we have won over the aristocrats of Jing and Yi, and public sentiment leans toward you. Though they still hesitate, internal and external pressures will force them to submit—it is merely a matter of time. I believe the great matter will be settled before next spring."

"As for Liu Bei—he has not favored the aristocrats, yet the Mi clan and others strongly support him. Though the aristocrats cannot control Liu Bei, their loyalty has already shaken public sentiment. Yet Liu Bei shows signs of intending to submit to Wang Yan: Wang Yan has sent warships to Guangling (Yangzhou), and envoys have crossed the river to meet Liu Bei secretly. Moreover, Liu Bei once served under Wang Yan, and he aspires to rule the realm. Liu Bei has not communicated with you since—surely he intends to defect to Wang Yan."

Cao Cao squinted, using the smooth corner of the jade seal to press against his throbbing temple. After a long silence, he said: "Wenruo, forge alliances with the Yangzhou aristocrats to provoke unrest and force Liu Bei to decide quickly. Meanwhile, assign Cao Ren and Cao Hong to lead fifty thousand troops eastward into Danyang."

"Yes, my lord."

"What of Zhang Lu in Hanzhong?"

Xun Yu shook his head: "This morning came word—he says Wang Yan's Guo Jia has contacted him, urging surrender, and has already led troops across the San Pass, capturing Yangping Pass in one battle, now poised to gaze upon Hanzhong. Thus, Zhang Lu must surrender; if not, he dies. He is likely now negotiating for favorable terms—or may already have surrendered."

He sighed, "We still cannot advance into Yizhou—Hanzhong is too distant. And if we control the gateway to Bashu, it will be exceedingly difficult to launch a northern campaign against Wang Yan in the future. Rest assured, my lord—I have already sent word to Yizhou, ordering them to hold the Jianmen Pass and other key fortresses tightly, denying Wang Yan any opening."

Even if Wang Yan lacked vision, his subordinates would surely recognize Hanzhong's importance. So Cao Cao's camp had anticipated Zhang Lu's surrender—only regretting it slightly.

Hanzhong's strategic value was undeniable. If we held Hanzhong, we could use it as a springboard to seize Chang'an directly; even if Wang Yan's rear defenses were tight, we could still march north into Bingzhou and seek opportunities to enter the Central Plains. As for food supplies—that would be no problem. Everyone knew the people under Wang Yan's rule were the wealthiest, every household had surplus grain, their lives were good—every step forward would be fully supplied.

In the original course of events, later Zhuge Liang launched six northern expeditions from Hanzhong, seeking to break through Cao Wei's rear defenses—but all failed. Had he succeeded, perhaps the Han dynasty might have been revived, its fate extended another two hundred years.

Old Cao said nothing, merely grunted in acknowledgment, then waved his hand, dismissing Xun Yu to be alone with his discomfort.

Though growing stronger, Old Cao no longer possessed the confidence he had after crushing Yuan Shao. When he retreated, Wang Yan casually dispatched capable generals, engaged in only a light skirmish—and Old Cao suffered total defeat. When he prepared to maneuver his troops to outmaneuver Wang Yan, the enemy merely executed a simple encirclement and advance, leaving him no room to maneuver—his own forces dared not shift position.

That feeling was suffocating. When he thought deeply about it, it was truly despairing.

But fortunately, Old Cao was strong—he possessed the heart of a warrior, not yet crushed by the terror before him. Only a massive, overwhelming army could kill him…

Indeed, as Xun Yu had said, Liu Bei intended to surrender to Wang Yan, and Zhang Lu had already reached Luoyang.

Unlike Liu Bei, who had ties with Wang Yan, Zhang Lu surrendered purely out of necessity. Guo Jia had acted with utter dishonor: first dispatching Zhang Liao and Zhao Yun, who captured Yangping Pass in one battle, stationing troops inside Hanzhong's small basin—then sending word to Zhang Lu. What could Zhang Lu do?

If he sought aid from Liu Zhang, why had he rebelled against Liu Yan in the first place? And apart from Liu Zhang, there were only the barbarians of the mountains—those barbarians were even less reliable.

Guo Jia's letter was not gentle. It was clear: translated, it said, "The General has heard you treat your people with relative leniency, and grants you one chance: if you do not submit, fight immediately. If you surrender, don't waste words—patience is limited. If you give no reply within one month, whether you fight or surrender, we will attack and kill you outright."

He had no choice but to surrender.

After severe destruction, Luoyang was no longer prosperous. Though partially repaired, it remained dilapidated; traces of Dong Zhuo's burning of Luoyang were still visible.

Yet new hope was budding here: Wang Da had moved the capital to Luoyang and declared his intent to make it the permanent capital. Renewed construction had begun. Merchants from all over had already bought land and built shops in Luoyang. On either side of the imperial palace, two massive construction sites hummed with constant hammering and clanging.

Along both sides of the Zhu Que Avenue, directly facing the imperial palace, new buildings were rising. Rumor said this would become the administrative center for all ministries. Other half-finished sculptures, clearly imposing and majestic, dotted the landscape. Even the palace walls had patches of plaster chiseled away—as if to create bas-reliefs.

In short, construction sites filled the city and its outskirts; laborers and cargo carriers were everywhere. Even in the snowy winter, people worked ceaselessly—though cold, their labor burned hot, the noise deafening.

The people's clamor clashed with the city's ruin, yet strangely harmonized with it.

Zhang Lu stepped out of the grand guesthouse, stepping on thin snow, and mounted his horse alongside a soldier. The horses trotted along the wide Zhu Que Avenue, iron-shod hooves clattering on the large blue stones, heading toward the imperial palace.

The Zhu Que Avenue stretched nine li east-west, directly leading to the imperial palace; the guesthouse stood at its far end. Merely gazing at the buildings lining the avenue and the half-finished sculptures in its center, Zhang Lu already imagined how awe-inspiring and magnificent this road would become—and what a mighty empire it would represent.

He had visited Luoyang before—the imperial capital, after all; one felt unworldly without seeing it. That was when he was young. Now, he felt this Luoyang was even more majestic and grand…

Zhang Lu gazed at the towering palace walls, seeing their decay, only patched simply, with no signs of renovation. He asked, puzzled: "May I ask why no one is renovating these walls?"

"The outer walls have not been renovated either," the soldier smiled. "The General has long declared: we shall fight beyond our borders, not within. Walls protect only the noble, not the people—so we need not have them."

Sensing the soldier's boundless pride, Zhang Lu respectfully bowed toward the imperial palace: "The General's righteousness is lofty."

The soldier gave Zhang Lu a look that said, "You understand," then turned and spurred his horse toward the palace: "Follow me inside."

Zhang Lu looked up at the city wall once more, squeezed his thighs against the horse's flanks, and rode in with the armored soldiers through the wide-open vermilion gate. Inside, he sighed inwardly—Wang Yan was truly of common stock; to ride armed through the imperial palace, with not a shred of decorum…

Riding in with the soldiers, he arrived at the hall marked "Study." The door opened to the warmth of spring. In the southeast corner, he saw Wang Da, clad in a single robe, hair loose, sitting alone flipping through a book.

Without delay, he hurried forward and bowed his head to the ground: "Zhang Lu of Hanzhong, pays homage to the Heavenly Martial Great General."

Wang Yan had already sized him up the moment Zhang Lu entered—over one meter seventy, a well-preserved fat man. After all, he was the tenth-generation descendant of Zhang Liang and grandson of Zhang Daoling, the founder of the Celestial Masters; he truly had a legitimate lineage. For him to be poorly maintained would be unnatural.

But his eyelids were swollen, his eye sockets dark—he clearly hadn't rested well in a long time. Just by thinking about it, the reason was obvious: he'd been frightened by Wang Da himself.

"Rise," Wang Yan waved his hand, setting down the scroll he held. "Sit and speak."

"Thank you, Great General," Zhang Lu cried out gratefully, sitting carefully and upright on the chair opposite Wang Yan, eyes fixed on his nose, nose on his heart, holding his breath, sweat already dripping from his brow.

"Why are you sweating so profusely?" Wang Yan smiled, pouring tea into a cup and placing it before him.

"Your Excellency is a celestial being; I am but mortal. With the Heavenly Might pressing down upon me, I cannot bear it—hence the sweat."

Zhang Lu spoke no lie. The moment he entered and met Wang Yan's bland gaze, he felt overwhelming authority, unbearable pressure.

Of course, this was deliberate. Zhang Lu was a cultivator; his mysterious sixth sense was far stronger than an ordinary person's. Wang Yan was merely intimidating him—he hadn't even released his killing intent. Given the sins he'd committed, even the King of Hell might light him a cigarette.

It wasn't that supernatural, really—it was simply that Zhang Lu couldn't control his own fate, his heart was uneasy, his spirit unsettled, his rest poor, his essence and spirit unstable. Wang Yan assumed an imposing posture; his overwhelming confidence struck Zhang Lu like a blow. Had he shown even a hint of hostility, that would have been releasing killing intent.

"Do not worry. Since you clearly understand the situation and have come to me, you shall surely gain wealth and peace."

Wang Yan sipped his tea, then continued: "You are the descendant of the Marquis of Liu, and grandson of Zhang Ling. You govern the people of Hanzhong according to your sect's doctrines, and many among the common folk are your followers. I intend to establish a new sect in Huashan under your Zhang family. The funds to build your Dao court must be raised by your own family. Your Zhang clan may engage in commerce, may enter the Wenchang Pavilion—but you may not hold official posts or join the military. What do you say?"

Zhang Lu leapt to his feet, stepped back several paces, then knelt and banged his head on the ground: "The Zhang family thanks the Great General for your great favor!"

"Your Dao heart is unsteady—you're too hasty," Wang Yan's voice was calm. "Your sect's doctrines must be revised until they conform to my laws."

"The Great General speaks wisely. It shall be done."

"All Zhang family texts shall be sent to Luoyang. There, the printing houses will produce copies, and one set shall be given to your Zhang family." Wang Yan was genuinely curious—he very much wanted to see what the Zhang family's ancestral texts truly contained.

"The Zhang family obeys the Great General's command," Zhang Lu could say nothing else. He had no choice.

"Go."

Zhang Lu, who had not raised his head once, bowed again and kowtowed: "Thank you, Great General."

He rose, stepped back, then turned and left.

Stepping outside, he looked up at the snow-blanketed sky, felt the cold snowflakes land on his skin, and let out a long breath…