Chapter 040: Teasing

Chapter 40: Teasing

Unfortunately, even though Wei Ba knew more characters than most, he didn’t have much of an advantage in this area. To discern the hidden truth from those concise and grandiose official documents was no small feat; it was far more difficult than inventing an iron spade or an abacus. Wei Ba sat in his tent for half the day, carefully reading through the official papers from the past few months. He even wrote a summary of events in chronological order, yet still failed to spot anything amiss. Since the end of last year, the bulk of the correspondence had concerned the Prime Minister’s imminent arrival in Hanzhong, urging its governor, Wei Yan, to intensify land reclamation efforts and ease the strain of transporting grain from Chengdu for the army. Besides that, the orders were for him to prepare campsites and various supplies, including iron and charcoal for the logistics camp—clearly for forging weapons and armor. In fact, just the day before, when Wei Ba visited the logistics camp, he’d heard the distinctive sound of iron being hammered.

Setting aside the mountain of supply lists, Wei Ba found little information relevant to court affairs. His head felt foggy, his shoulders and back ached, so he stood up, tidied the documents, tucked the list into his robe, and gave his neck and hips a twist—a makeshift exercise to ease the stiffness—before stepping out of the tent with a lightened body.

The sunlight outside dazzled, glinting off the armor of the sentinels and making it hard to keep one’s eyes open. Wei Ba squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness. It was already noon. At that thought, his stomach growled in timely protest. He patted his belly and headed toward his own tent.

At the entrance, he didn’t go in directly but turned instead to Fu Xing’s tent. As soon as he entered, he caught the mingled scents of medicinal herbs and porridge, along with the sounds of slurping. Looking closer, he saw the green-faced “beast” of a maid, Peng Xiaoyu, carefully feeding Fu Xing spoonfuls of porridge, while Wei Wu crouched nearby with a wooden bowl the size of a basin, his face buried in it, eating with evident delight.

Wei Ba was surprised. “Ah Wu, why aren’t you with Father? How did you sneak back so early?”

Wei Wu looked up, grains of rice stuck to the tip of his nose. Before Wei Ba could point it out, Wei Wu swept his tongue over his nose and licked it clean, startling Wei Ba. Who knew this kid had such a talent? That's certainly not something just anyone could manage.

Wei Wu stood up, rubbing his round belly and letting out a satisfied burp. “Er— I didn’t follow Father today. I’ve been practicing sword drills all morning. Two thousand swings, not one less. The cooks all said— er— all the firewood for the month is chopped.”

“Were you practicing with the sword or chopping wood?”

“Practicing with the sword is… er— chopping firewood.” Wei Wu, out of habit, raised his sleeve to wipe his mouth, but seeing Wei Ba’s look, sheepishly dropped his arm and took the cloth Peng Xiaoyu handed him, wiping absentmindedly. “Our Wei family’s swordplay is just like chopping wood—killing men as easily as splitting logs.”

Wei Ba, weak as he’d been in the past and untrained in martial arts, had no idea if Wei Wu was speaking truth or nonsense, and dared not ask for fear of revealing himself. Seeing the now spotless bowl in Wei Wu’s hand, he asked worriedly, “You ate so much, you didn’t finish mine too, did you?”

“No way. Er— Xiaoyu made plenty.” Wei Wu patted his belly with satisfaction. “Mm, I might have eaten a bit much today. I’ll go walk it off. Brother, will you come with me?”

“You need to walk off your food, but I’m still starving. Should I keep you company on an empty stomach, listen to you burp while my stomach growls?” Wei Ba glared. Wei Wu scratched his head awkwardly and grinned. “Then you eat. I’ll go by myself.”

Wei Wu left the tent. Wei Ba went to serve himself some porridge. Peng Xiaoyu stepped forward to assist, but he waved her off. “No need. Just tend to Captain Fu. I’ve got hands and feet of my own. That little rascal, soon as there’s something tasty, he forgets his brother entirely and doesn’t even call me.”

Fu Xing, having finished his meal, caught his words and said, “You wrong your brother. He waited for you a long time. Only when you didn’t return did he start. By the way, why are you back so late today?”

“Earlier, Military Advisor Ma and Captain Zhuge came by for a chat, held me up a bit,” Wei Ba replied, carrying his bowl over to Fu Xing. Peng Xiaoyu brought over a folding stool, and he sat down heavily, eyeing Fu Xing’s still pale but calm face. With a smile, he asked, “Feeling any better?”

“Much better. The Wei family’s medicine is indeed excellent,” Fu Xing replied with a faint smile. “But I must trouble Miss Peng—I feel rather guilty about it.”

“It’s nothing,” Wei Ba replied, waving his chopsticks grandly. “You were hurt helping me. This is all my responsibility. I’ve been busy lately, and since Miss Peng has chosen to serve as my maid, her looking after you is only right.”

“Be that as it may, I still feel bad,” Fu Xing said, downcast. “I came to Hanzhong with the Prime Minister hoping to earn merit, but I’d barely arrived before…”

Wei Ba paused, then quickly reassured him, “Don’t worry, you’ll catch up. They say it takes a hundred days for bone and tendon injuries to heal. In three months you’ll be leaping about as usual—plenty of time for feats of valor.”

“In three months, the Prime Minister may well be in Chang’an already.”

“No way,” Wei Ba blurted out, thinking to himself that the Prime Minister might never see Chang’an in this lifetime.

“What makes you so sure?” Fu Xing looked at him in surprise. Wei Ba hesitated, realizing he’d spoken too quickly. Rolling his eyes, he answered with a smile, “To reach Chang’an, you first have to cross the towering Nanshan mountains. Just traversing those would take a month, and preparations beforehand at least two or three more. There’s no way to reach Chang’an within three months.”

“Really? That’s a relief.” Fu Xing let out a breath, then, realizing how that sounded, hurried to explain, “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Wei Ba laughed heartily. “No need to explain—whatever you meant, it doesn’t matter. There are no outsiders here. I know that speed is of the essence in war, but that only applies to small units. For the Prime Minister to launch a surprise attack with a hundred thousand troops? Not likely.”

“Quite right,” Fu Xing agreed. “If I’m not mistaken, Cao Wei will soon know about the Prime Minister’s army entering Hanzhong.”

Wei Ba was startled, his laughter cut short. “So soon?”

“Certainly. Though our Han has been keeping to itself lately, avoiding conflict with Cao Wei, both sides are on guard. Cao Wei must have spies in Chengdu, and the recruitment drive last year was impossible to hide.”

Wei Ba thought it over, feeling a twinge of shame. Of course—a hundred thousand troops moving into Hanzhong couldn’t go unnoticed by Cao Wei. If they were prepared, his father's plan for a surprise attack seemed even less promising. Even if they made it through Ziwu Valley, they’d never capture Chang’an if the defenses were reinforced.

Perhaps this was why the Prime Minister and Ma Su opposed his father’s strategy.

“Wei, what’s wrong?” Fu Xing asked. Wei Ba forced a smile. “Nothing. I just think if Cao Wei is prepared, we’ll have no choice but to storm Hanzhong, and that won’t be easy. It’ll be a hard fight.”

“Who can deny it,” Fu Xing sighed.

Wei Ba’s mind turned. He probed, “Fu, I’ve heard that many of the Prime Minister’s troops are new recruits with no battle experience. Is that true?”

Fu Xing nodded. “It’s true. When the late lord entered Shu, several major battles cost us many veterans—especially the eastern campaign, where the best were lost. Most of the Prime Minister’s forces now, aside from some tribal auxiliaries, are freshly recruited soldiers.”

“If that’s the case, isn’t attacking Wei now a bit rushed? Why not wait until the troops are better trained?”

Fu Xing licked his lips, avoiding Wei Ba’s gaze, staring at the dark canvas overhead before forcing a smile. “Such matters are beyond a minor officer like me. Your father is General Who Guards the North—surely he knows what’s going on. Why not ask him?”

Wei Ba smiled and let the matter drop, lowering his head to his porridge. Fu Xing’s manner told him he knew something, but couldn’t speak of it—perhaps some court intrigue or political struggle was at play. Everyone understood, but nothing could be said aloud. This had nothing to do with personal friendship; it was simply the rule of officialdom. Those who couldn’t read the signs didn’t even deserve a seat at the table.

Fu Xing lay back in thought, while Wei Ba finished his porridge, the only sounds in the tent his eating and Peng Xiaoyu rinsing cloths in water—the atmosphere heavy and subdued.

When he finished, Wei Ba chatted with Fu Xing a little about nothing in particular, then took his leave. Outside, the warmth of the sun made him drowsy. He stretched with arms wide, shaking off the fatigue.

Peng Xiaoyu came out of the tent, carrying a basin of water to pour away, just in time to see the faint furrow in his brow. She hesitated, bit her lip, then mustered her courage and said, “Young General, I heard that the chief clerk of the Hanzhong governor’s office, Cheng An, is from a prominent family in Nanzheng. Though not hereditary officials, he’s an experienced elder. If you have any doubts, why not consult him?”

Wei Ba blinked, then slapped his forehead with a laugh. “Look at me, forgetting such an excellent teacher! Thanks to your reminder, I’ll go see Master Cheng straight away.” He took a few steps, then turned back and asked, “How do you know Master Cheng?”

Peng Xiaoyu lowered her head, speaking timidly, “Of the four great families of Hanzhong—Zhao, Li, Cheng, and Zhang—the Chengs are third. Though I’m ignorant, even I have heard of them.”

Wei Ba nodded, about to leave, when something in her words struck him. He turned and stared at her. “Hey—Miss Peng, are you calling me ignorant in a roundabout way?”

Peng Xiaoyu flustered, shaking her head repeatedly. “Young General, you misunderstand—I didn’t mean that at all.”

“Hmph, I think you did,” Wei Ba said, putting on a mock ferocious air, hands on his hips, shoulders trembling with feigned anger. “Listen, Miss Peng, it’s not too late to regret it now. The Wei family is strict with servants, you know. Just recently, I gave the steward at our Nanzheng estate such a thrashing he still can’t get out of bed. If you want to be my maid, you might not escape the same fate. For your own safety, I’d better send you home early.”

As he spoke, his gaze flicked to Peng Xiaoyu’s thin hips. She had clearly endured hardship in the logistics camp, showing none of the fullness a girl her age should have. A wave of sadness washed over him, dispelling most of his half-jesting malice. Peng Xiaoyu, however, was so frightened she turned pale, not daring to meet his eyes. “I’ll go check on Captain Fu,” she mumbled, and hurried back into the tent.

Watching her flustered retreat, Wei Ba stroked his chin, feeling the whole charade rather pointless. What fun was there in teasing a plain-looking girl? He laughed at himself, then turned to find Cheng An, but one thought lingered in his mind.

Could it be that she too had bruises on her backside?