Chapter 037: Kindness Is Taken for Weakness

Chapter 037: The Kind Are Always Bullied

The previous day had been tumultuous, with rumors swirling throughout the city, and it was well past midnight before Wei Ba finally drifted off to sleep. The following morning, when he awoke, he felt an undeniable heaviness. Countless excuses to be lazy circled in his mind, cawing like a flock of noisy crows, urging him to take a day off. Yet, in the end, he threw off the comfort of his bedding and forced himself up, giving Wei Wu’s bare little bottom a nudge as he did so.

“Ah Wu, time to get up.”

“Mmm—” Wei Wu clung to his blanket, rolling over without even opening his eyes. “Let me sleep a bit more… I went to bed too late yesterday.”

“Get up. Practice first, then you can go back to sleep.” Wei Ba yawned as he tried to rouse Wei Wu. He was so tired his eyes could barely open, but if he could drag Wei Wu up with him, at least he’d have company—a shared hardship was easier to bear.

“No way! Brother, you just said yesterday that children need enough sleep to grow. Don’t tell me you want me to end up as a dwarf?”

“Hey—” Wei Ba was startled. “You remembered that clearly, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” Wei Wu burrowed deeper under his blankets, refusing to budge. Wei Ba could only sigh, yawning as he struggled into his clothes. Just then, the tent flap lifted, and Peng Xiaoyu entered, her attire rumpled, rubbing her bleary eyes as she mumbled, “Young General, you’re up already? Let me fetch some water for you.”

Wei Ba jumped in alarm. He was only wearing a pair of rough shorts, not much better than modern briefs—scarcely covering anything, and worse, he was still caught in the throes of morning arousal. As for Wei Wu, he was even more exposed, accustomed to sleeping naked and half his bottom still uncovered. How could he let Peng Xiaoyu see this? In a panic, he covered himself with one hand, pulled the blanket up over Wei Wu with the other, and shouted in embarrassment, “Miss Peng, why did you come in? Please go out!”

Wei Wu lay motionless, snoring away, but Wei Ba knew he was still awake—just too mortified to move and feigning sleep.

Peng Xiaoyu looked at Wei Ba in confusion, and seeing his awkward state, couldn’t help but smile, showing her teeth. “Young General, from last night onward, I am your maidservant, remember? I didn’t expect you to be up so early after sleeping so late. Forgive me.”

Wei Ba blinked in dismay. “Miss Peng, I told you, in a few days I’ll send you home. You don’t need to serve as my maid.”

Peng Xiaoyu considered this, then replied, “But I can’t just eat and live here for free. Besides, even if I return home, I’ll just be a farmer’s wife. Staying as a maid in the Northern General’s household is much better than working the fields.”

Wei Ba sighed inwardly—was this plain-faced girl intent on latching onto him? What she said made sense; whatever her family’s previous circumstances, they were now ruined. Returning home, the best she could hope for was a humble life, perhaps marrying another commoner, forever struggling at the bottom. Serving as a maid in the general’s household, her station was at least far better than that of ordinary folk.

But… he didn’t like it. If he were to have a maid, he’d rather have a pretty little one like Huan’er, not someone as rough as a blue-faced beast. But such thoughts could only be shouted in the privacy of his mind; there was no way he’d say them out loud, especially not to a girl as unfortunate as her.

“Well…” Wei Ba stammered, “At least… please wait outside until I’ve dressed.”

Peng Xiaoyu caught a glimpse of the bulge at his waist and blushed, quickly turning and leaving the tent. Wei Ba hurriedly dressed, fumbling with his clothes as he listened to the sound of water splashing outside. By the time he emerged, Peng Xiaoyu had already prepared everything for washing up. Dun Wu came rushing over, still putting on his clothes as he arrived.

“Young Master, are you still going to run this morning?” Dun Wu asked.

Wei Ba plunged his face into the cool water, scrubbing away the fatigue, trying to banish the remnants of sleep. Dun Wu asked no more—he knew Wei Ba’s temperament: once he was up, he’d never quit halfway. And Dun Wu hoped for it too; whether he became a true master or not, a strong body was always a good thing.

After washing, Wei Ba, accompanied by Dun Wu, left the tent and began a slow jog along the north bank of the Mian River, heading toward Yangping Mountain. The cool morning breeze brushed his face, and as his steps grew lighter, his heart beat powerfully, driving heat into his limbs. Wei Ba felt the surge of life, the sleepiness gone, his stride growing ever more vigorous. He ran faster and faster, eventually jogging all the way up the mountain, only stopping halfway to catch his breath.

Stretching his body, he gazed down at the army camp below, panting heavily. “Tell me, am I too old to learn martial arts now?”

Dun Wu nodded, then shook his head. “To master the highest martial skills—no, your bones have already set. You can strengthen your flesh, but to transform the very sinews and bones, to reach those heights, that’s almost impossible. But that only means you cannot become a warrior who can take on a hundred men at once. For health and basic self-defense, so long as you avoid facing true masters like the General, you’ll be fine.”

It’s said that every man harbors a dream of martial heroism; Wei Ba was no different. To hear that he would never become a true master left him somewhat regretful, especially when his father and brothers were all such experts.

“How skilled is the General, really?” Wei Ba asked as he stretched.

At the mention of Wei Yan, Dun Wu’s eyes shone with admiration. “The General alone is a match for a full squad of our Wei family’s elite soldiers.”

Wei Ba was taken aback. He’d seen the formidable strength of the Wei clan’s soldiers for himself. He also knew that a squad wasn’t just ten men; five formed a team—a coordinated assault unit—and two teams made a squad, a ten-man formation far more effective than ten individuals fighting alone. Together, they were equivalent to nearly fifty regular soldiers arrayed for battle. If Wei Yan could contend with two assault teams by himself, that was a level Wei Ba could scarcely imagine. As for Dun Wu, outstanding as he was among the younger generation, he could maybe handle one five-man unit, but if faced with a full squad, he’d have no choice but to flee for his life.

Incredible, such masters truly exist.

Wei Ba clicked his tongue in amazement, gazing at the distant army camp, when a sudden thought occurred to him. “Tell me, do you know Zhao Yun—Zhao Zilong?”

“Of course. Old General Zhao is one of the few veteran officers who followed the late Emperor into Shu.”

“How skilled is he?”

Dun Wu shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Wei Ba was disappointed. “You don’t know?”

Dun Wu laughed. “I haven’t seen Old General Zhao fight. But I can make an educated guess.”

“Oh? Let’s hear it.”

“Old General Zhao is a veteran who fought alongside the late Emperor from the beginning, debuting around the same time as Lords Guan and Zhang. Lord Guan was the most favored by the late Emperor, holding Jing Province after the Emperor entered Shu. His victory at Xiangfan made him famous throughout the land. Lord Zhang only became a true great general after defeating Zhang He in Ba Commandery. Old General Zhao, however, never commanded armies independently, so his fame in Shu is limited. When the late Emperor became King of Hanzhong, Zhao was only appointed as General of the Imperial Guard, and that was after the fall of Chengdu. Now, he is nominally General Who Guards the East, but he doesn’t even command Yong’an—he simply accompanies the Prime Minister’s army. In terms of authority, he’s not even on par with my father, the General Who Guards the North. He has no independent office; that says it all.”

Wei Ba frowned, disappointed—so Zhao Yun, now General Who Guards the East, was little more than an attendant to the Prime Minister, not even as prominent as Wei Yan.

“But sometimes, reputation and true ability don’t match,” Dun Wu continued. “There are those with fame but little talent—like Liu Yan, who is a rear general in name only, just a court jester. There are also the truly capable whose names lag behind—like General Huang Zhong in his day; if not for slaying Xiahou Yuan at Mount Dingjun, who would have known him? The same applies to Old General Zhao.”

“But Zhao served the Emperor for years—surely he had plenty of opportunities?”

Dun Wu smiled mysteriously, waiting a moment before speaking softly, “He did have many opportunities, but he gave them up. The General once said, Old General Zhao is as flawless as his martial arts—no weaknesses, but perhaps too gentle. When it comes time to compete, he holds back, always too considerate, letting many opportunities slip away.”

“What do you mean?” Wei Ba was puzzled.

“Just a few years ago, Old General Zhao had a prime chance,” Dun Wu lowered his voice, moving closer. “When the late Emperor marched east, he intended to appoint Zhao as vanguard. But Zhao objected to the campaign, angering the Emperor, who left him idle in Chengdu instead. Later, the Emperor suffered a disastrous defeat, proving Zhao’s foresight. Yet, had Zhao led the vanguard, the defeat wouldn’t have been so terrible. Old General Zhao values the nation over himself—he’s a loyal minister, but for that reason, he was never fully trusted or used.”

“The late Emperor never doubted him, but he never promoted him either, because Zhao often opposed his plans—even when time proved Zhao right and the Emperor wrong.”

“Perhaps that’s why, among the old generals who followed the Emperor to war—Lord Guan died at Maicheng, Lord Zhang was killed by traitors—only Zhao, undefeated, survives to this day.”

Gradually, Wei Ba began to understand. Dun Wu meant that Zhao Yun was too gentle and uncompetitive, unwilling to lower himself, so despite his great skill and talent, he rarely had the chance to command troops independently, and thus his achievements remained obscure. In contrast stood his own father, Wei Yan—who rose from obscurity to become one of the four great military governors precisely because he combined ability with a forceful character; people dared not provoke him or seize what was his.

As the saying goes, the kind are bullied, the docile horse is ridden—Zhao Yun was the very embodiment of this. In this world, it was survival of the fittest; the kind could not thrive. Look at the rulers who divided the realm—Cao Cao, Liu Bei, Sun Quan—were any of them not ruthless?

To survive, being kind was not enough—one must also know how to be ruthless, to become someone that others fear to cross. That, perhaps, was the essence of his father’s philosophy: to make enemies everywhere, but never suffer even the smallest loss.

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