Chapter 003: The Prime Minister Plans a Northern Expedition

Yangping Pass lay on the western edge of the Hanzhong Plain, right at the juncture between the flatlands and the mountains. The Han River—known here as the Mian River—flowed through the valleys, nourishing the fertile stretches of Hanzhong. Here, mountains and waters met, the fields were lush with fragrant grasses, and there stood a monument that could not be more real: the tomb of Ma Chao, the brocaded general among the Five Tiger Generals. For Wei Ba, who in his previous life had been a die-hard homebody, this was an earthly paradise beyond his wildest dreams.

Of course, for him, Ma Chao’s tomb, famed as it was, paled in comparison to another, even more renowned landmark. Just over ten miles to the southeast rose a mountain—not especially tall, but daunting in terrain—that had become a sacred place in the hearts of later generations of Three Kingdoms enthusiasts. It was here that another of the Five Tiger Generals, Huang Zhong, earned immortal fame, and where the sage-like Prime Minister Zhuge Liang would one day be laid to rest. Its name was Mount Dingjun.

As someone accustomed to experiencing his country’s magnificent landscapes only through a computer screen, to stand here and gaze upon Mount Dingjun in person was nothing short of miraculous—let alone to do so eighteen centuries in the past. The drumbeats of Huang Zhong’s victory over Xiahou Yuan had long since faded, yet the cunning Chancellor Zhuge Liang was still here, meticulously planning the Northern Expeditions. Now, he was not merely observing history from afar, but standing alongside it, perhaps even about to take part in it. The sensations this brought were as subtle as they were wondrous.

After several days of self-imposed physical training, Wei Ba was bone-tired, but he had also discovered the joys of being close to nature. At last, he understood why those so-called “donkey-friends” from his previous life always yearned to escape the city: compared to the wild beauty of the countryside, the city truly was nothing but a concrete jungle.

Wei Ba was so enchanted he lost track of time. Only when the sun set did he and his younger brother Wei Wu hurry back to Mianyang City. As soon as they entered the county office, a rich aroma of food greeted them. After a day of play, their stomachs were rumbling. The brothers exchanged a glance, raised their eyebrows in unison, and quickened their steps toward the main hall. Though Wei Wu was younger, his strides were longer and swifter; in just two steps, he raced ahead of Wei Ba and burst into the courtyard. A bit disgruntled, Wei Ba hurried after him. Unexpectedly, as he crossed the threshold, Wei Wu suddenly stopped short; Wei Ba crashed into him with a thud, his nose smacking hard against the back of Wei Wu’s head. Pain shot through him, and tears and snot streamed down his face all at once.

“Ow! Can’t you give some warning before you stop like that? It’s easy to cause a pile-up!” Wei Ba grumbled, reaching out to push his brother, but Wei Wu ignored him, and instead timidly called out, “Father!”

Father? Wei Ba was startled. Instantly, he dropped his hand, folded his arms in front of his chest, and bowed his head in a display of utmost obedience and respect. This was pure muscle memory—if he’d had to do it consciously, he’d never have managed such a perfect posture. Clearly, the original Wei Ba had been so thoroughly cowed by his father, Wei Yan, that he dared not even think of rebelling.

Though Wei Ba’s reaction was swift and instinctive, tears and snot did not recede of their own accord. When he lowered his head, they dripped from his nose to the floor. Through his blurred vision, he saw a pair of sturdy feet clad in war boots standing before him. Those boots paused for a moment, then turned toward Wei Wu.

“So you remember the way home. I thought you’d died out there,” came his father Wei Yan’s deep, slightly raspy baritone. His tone, however, was so cold it was almost painful to hear. Wei Ba understood that, while his brother Wei Wu was clearly a promising young warrior and more favored than their elder brother Wei Feng, his father could never bear to lose him. It was the frail and sickly Wei Ba whom their father most wished would simply die outside.

“Um…I was just keeping my brother company on his run, to get some exercise,” Wei Wu replied softly, though without panic.

“Running?” Wei Yan sneered. “You call running exercise? Or are you just practicing to run away faster when the time comes?”

Wei Wu was struck dumb, unsure how to reply—or perhaps he simply smelled the presence of a horsewhip and dared not say more.

“Hmph!” Wei Yan’s face darkened as he cast a cold glance at the still-bowed Wei Ba, then at the mysterious wet spots at his feet. Disappointed, he flicked his sleeve and strode away, his voice echoing from afar, “I’m not eating.”

As his father’s heavy footsteps faded, Wei Ba felt as if a mountain had been lifted from his shoulders. Raising his head, he saw the floor strewn with dishes. Only then did he realize why the aroma of food was so overpowering—it had wafted all the way to the front courtyard.

Their eldest brother, Wei Feng, who had stood silently by, now stepped over, draping an arm around each of their shoulders. In a gentle voice, he said, “It’s all right. Father isn’t angry at you; he’s just upset with the county clerks. Don’t take it to heart. Come, let’s eat. After a day out, you must be starving.”

“Thank you, brother,” Wei Wu replied dutifully. He tiptoed past the scattered dishes, found a seat, and began eating in earnest. Wei Ba also found a spot to sit, eating while watching Wei Feng, who looked troubled and picked at his food without appetite. After a moment, Wei Ba asked, “Brother, why was Father angry with the clerks again?”

Wei Feng glanced at him, forcing a smile. “What else? It’s about the spring plowing.”

“What’s wrong with spring plowing?” Wei Ba asked, his brow furrowing. After the Pure Brightness Festival came Grain Rain—the start of the spring sowing season. Their father, as acting Governor of Hanzhong, oversaw these matters. He had come to Mianyang in recent days specifically to inspect preparations for the spring plowing.

“It’s the same old thing. The Prime Minister’s office sent word that Hanzhong needs to prepare more grain this year—at least fifty percent more. Last year, Father ordered every county to expand its arable land to boost production, but the clerks are all complaining there’s land enough, but not enough labor, and that raising production by half is impossible. That’s why Father lost his temper with them—and even struck someone.”

Wei Ba grunted and resumed eating. He had no particular opinions, just asked out of courtesy. Yet after a few mouthfuls, something occurred to him, and he paused, bowl in hand. Wei Feng, thinking he’d choked as usual from eating too fast, shook his head sympathetically and moved behind him, patting his back gently.

“Slow down. Don’t rush. You’ve only just recovered—don’t strain yourself.”

Wei Ba was touched by his brother’s concern. He set the bowl down, swallowed, and looked up at Wei Feng with a smile. “Big Brother, do you think the clerks really lack manpower, or are they just being lazy and trying to shirk their duties?”

Wei Feng was momentarily surprised, then smiled. “In my opinion, they genuinely don’t have enough people. You know as well as I do—Hanzhong isn’t short of land, it’s short of hands. The four counties here have less than twenty thousand households combined. Most of the rest were taken away by the traitor Cao’s forces. Haven’t you noticed all the fallow fields lately?”

Wei Ba nodded. He had indeed noticed the issue. Mianyang, next to the commandery seat of Nanzheng, had a small population. At this time of year, anyone able to work was out in the fields, but beyond the immediate vicinity of the city, most lands lay idle—so unlike the bustling scenes of spring planting he remembered from his previous life. He had always wondered at the lack of people; now, thanks to Wei Feng’s explanation, he understood just how sparse Hanzhong’s population had become.

Seeing the doubt on Wei Ba’s face, Wei Feng didn’t think much of it. Of the brothers, only he assisted their father with official duties. Wei Ba, though of age, had always been in poor health, and their father, vexed by his sickly state, had never allowed him to take part. His limited knowledge of such matters was understandable. Normally, Wei Ba didn’t care to ask, so his sudden interest, though perhaps fruitless, made Wei Feng happy to explain further.

“Hanzhong used to have a large population—nine counties, nearly ninety thousand households, two hundred seventy or eighty thousand people. During Zhang Lu’s rule, more came from the Three Adjuncts and Liangzhou, bringing the number close to a hundred fifty thousand households, four hundred thousand people. But after years of war, and with Cao’s defeat, many were forcibly relocated. The population plummeted, so now we have land without people, unable to supply a large army.”

Wei Ba finally grasped the reason for Hanzhong’s population collapse and felt somewhat relieved—until Wei Feng’s last words startled him. Was there a large army coming? Was Zhuge Liang preparing to march north?

“Is the Prime Minister planning a Northern Expedition?” Wei Ba blurted out.

Wei Feng’s expression changed; he stared at Wei Ba for a moment before hastily asking, “Who told you that?”

“You did,” Wei Ba replied, puzzled. “Didn’t you just say Hanzhong can’t feed a large army?”

“I…” Wei Feng exhaled, then covered, “I meant Father’s army, not the Prime Minister’s campaign.”

Wei Ba’s eyes sparkled, and he laughed. “You can’t even lie properly. Father has been stationed here for years—has he ever gone hungry? Are you suggesting that in all this time, he hasn’t solved the army’s food problem?”

Wei Feng’s gaze flickered, but then he grew interested, looking Wei Ba up and down and nodding. “Not bad. You’re finally using your head—figured out even this secret. I always said you’re not stupid, just lazy and unwilling to do work. Looks like Wu was right; ever since your recovery, you’ve truly become more sensible.”

Wei Ba, somewhat sheepish, changed the topic. “Come on, tell me—are we really preparing for a Northern Expedition?”

The smile faded from Wei Feng’s face, replaced by worry. “We are. The Prime Minister is preparing to march north and will soon relocate to Hanzhong. With over a hundred thousand soldiers, how can we transport all the provisions from Ba and Shu? The cost is too great. That’s why Hanzhong has been ordered to store up as much grain as possible, to ease the burden of transport.”

“That makes sense. If we can supply the grain locally, it’ll solve a lot of problems.”

“That’s true, but Deputy Yang is being unreasonable—demanding fifty percent more, and saying that if possible, we should even double it, the more the better. He talks only of our abundant land, not our lack of people—he’s just making trouble on purpose.”

Yang Yi? At the mention of that name, Wei Ba shuddered inwardly. This was the very man who, a few years later, would be responsible for the Wei family’s utter destruction. So their enmity began even now.

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