Chapter 053: Memories of Mount Dingjun (Second Update, Seeking Sanjiang)

Chapter 53: Tales of Dingjun Mountain (Second Update—Seeking Sanjiang)

Yang Wei was greatly startled. With a sharp cry, he dashed forward, gathering Yang Yi into his arms, frantically wiping the blood from Yang Yi’s lips, completely at a loss for what to do. Zhuge Qiao dared not delay, hastening to check on Yang Yi. Seeing his face ghostly pale and his breath faint, Zhuge Qiao was so frightened he froze, uncertain how best to respond.

The others, seeing Yang Yi cough up blood after composing the questions, felt their momentary relief vanish, anxiety tightening once again. Though Wei Ba had let Yang Yi off the hook, this incident could hardly pass without repercussions. They exchanged glances, sighing inwardly.

Ma Dai, who had been watching coolly from the sidelines, parted the crowd and stepped forward. He lifted Yang Yi’s eyelids for a look, then stood up and barked, “Officer Yang is frail and has been too long in the sun—he’s exhausted. Come, carry him inside the tent, give him some water, let him rest a while.” With that, he shot Zhuge Qiao a meaningful glance and whispered, “Quickly, send for a healer—quietly, mind you. Don’t let this become a spectacle.”

Awakening as if from a dream at Ma Dai’s words, Zhuge Qiao swiftly hoisted Yang Yi around the waist and carried him into the main tent, quietly dispatching someone to fetch a doctor.

While they busied themselves in a flurry, Ma Dai remained composed. He spoke a few reassuring words, then began judging the performances of those vying for military posts under the scorching sun. Despite the heat and the unsettled mood, he seemed entirely unperturbed, proceeding at an unhurried, orderly pace. Under his steady leadership, the younger men gradually regained their composure.

Wei Ba observed Ma Dai, deeply impressed by his poise and depth. Yet, knowing the man’s future—a wedge within their ranks, the one who would one day take his father’s head—he regarded Ma Dai’s calm with more wariness than respect.

With the matter settled, the young woman returned to Ma Dai’s side, head bowed in silence. Wei Ba felt a pang of regret but, seeing nothing more required of him, turned to push Fu Xing away from the central command.

They strolled slowly along the banks of the Mian River. Fu Xing, still caught up in the aftermath of the scene, could not help but tap the armrest of his wheelchair in admiration.

“I never expected you to be not only so skillful but also so adept at mathematics. To stump Officer Yang like that—astonishing, truly.” Fu Xing looked at Wei Ba with a newfound respect. “A Ba, have you studied under a great master?”

Wei Ba sniffed, sidestepping the question. He had indeed learned from a master, but it was not something he could tell Fu Xing. In truth, he still didn’t know how to explain the contradiction of not recognizing the questions, yet being able to solve them. Given what had happened during the debate, Zhuge Qiao already seemed suspicious. He would need a ready excuse for that as well. Fortunately, Prime Minister Zhuge had not yet written the “General’s Treatise”; otherwise, this lie would be impossible to sustain. His impulsiveness at the time now left him with some regret.

“Numbers are the principles of nature, existing inherently between heaven and earth. Anyone who contemplates them deeply can understand,” Wei Ba replied evasively. “Truthfully, Officer Yang didn’t use his full skill today—he probably underestimated me, choosing only some standard problems from the ‘Nine Chapters’ with minor alterations. Otherwise, I could never have matched him.”

Fu Xing, only half convinced, tactfully refrained from pressing further. Having sat in the wheelchair for half the day, he was now able to turn the wheels himself and felt very pleased. Walking freely and riding horses had never seemed particularly precious, but after two days bedridden, he truly appreciated the happiness of mobility. Facing the Mian River, he gazed at the sunlit slopes of Dingjun Mountain, breathing a gentle sigh.

“Did you know, my father and yours both earned their promotions at the battle of Dingjun Mountain?”

Curious, Wei Ba asked, “Do you know what happened back then?”

“How could I? I was just a child, staying with my mother in Chengdu, only my elder brother was by my father’s side. Everything I know comes from what my father and brother later recounted. That battle was perilous to the extreme—even those of us back in Chengdu felt the immense pressure at the front.”

“Was it really that serious?”

“Of course. Hanzhong is the gateway to Bashu. Back then, when Cao Cao took advantage of the late emperor’s struggle with Sun Quan for Jiangnan and suddenly marched to seize Hanzhong, it looked as if he would invade Bashu at any moment. There were daily alarms in Chengdu. The late emperor was forced to make peace with Sun Quan and hastily return to Bashu. In the end, though he kept Bashu, it sowed the seeds for the later loss of Jingzhou. Had Eastern Wu not been allowed into Jingzhou, how could Lord Guan have been ambushed by them?” Fu Xing lowered his head, sighing for a long moment. “Though by your standards, Lord Guan was not a great general, his defeat at Xiangfan was certainly no fault of his own.”

Wei Ba was struck by this, falling silent beside Fu Xing, lost in thought. He recalled what he had read of Liao Li in official documents. Liao Li was dismissed in part for “slandering the late emperor,” which his father said referred to Liao Li’s criticism of Liu Bei’s campaign with Sun Quan for Jiangnan’s four commanderies, which had nearly allowed Cao Cao to invade Bashu. Fu Xing described this as the prelude to Lord Guan’s defeat. Logically, it made sense—it showed that this was no secret among Chengdu’s elite, and such views circulated among those in power.

“You believe dividing Jiangnan with Sun Quan was one of the causes of Lord Guan’s later downfall?”

Fu Xing gave a bitter smile. “Isn’t it obvious? If Lü Meng hadn’t been at Lukou, why would Lord Guan have left so many troops at Gong’an and Jiangling, and why would Fancheng have withstood so long? If not for that, how could Lü Meng have so easily broken into Nan Commandery? The root of it all lies in that contest for Jiangnan.”

Wei Ba made no reply. His understanding of Jiangnan was limited; in fact, his grasp of the entire Jingzhou situation was only superficial. Later generations had critiqued Zhuge Liang’s “Longzhong Plan,” saying it was fundamentally flawed—one flaw being the neglect of the pressure Jingzhou and Yizhou exerted on Eastern Wu, making it impossible for Wu to let Liu Bei hold Jingzhou peacefully. In other words, even if Liu Bei had no intention of clashing with Sun Quan, Sun Quan would never tolerate such a situation. Indeed, it was Sun Quan who actively sought to reclaim Jingzhou—the so-called “loan” of Jingzhou was merely a pretext; regardless of whether it was on loan, Sun Quan would have fought for it.

Fu Xing’s theory that Lord Guan’s defeat stemmed from the Jiangnan conflict was hard to refute or confirm.

“When Hanzhong fell, Cao Cao’s armies could have entered Bashu at any time. In fact, after Zhang Lu surrendered, Xiahou Yuan and Zhang He never ceased attacking Bashu. Zhang He even once captured Dangqu, threatening Dianjiang and nearly taking all of Ba Commandery. If it hadn’t been for General Zhang’s crushing victory over Zhang He at Motoudangshi, Cao Cao might have conquered Chengdu in his lifetime. In the struggle for Ba Commandery, General Zhang rendered great service.” Fu Xing spoke slowly, the events long past—there was some lingering dread, but even more a deep, wistful calm. “That’s why, once the late emperor stabilized relations with the southeast, he launched the campaign to retake Hanzhong, determined to drive Cao Wei’s forces entirely from Yizhou.”

“And the subsequent Battle of Hanzhong—was it truly that fierce?”

Fu Xing laughed, raising his head to look at Wei Ba. “Haven’t you ever heard your own father, the General Who Guards the North, speak of it?”

Wei Ba smiled awkwardly, not answering—perhaps his father had spoken of it, but he was no longer the old Wei Ba and remembered nothing.

“Before the Hanzhong campaign, General Huang Hansheng was promoted from acting assistant general to General Who Defeats Bandits for his role in the recapture of Chengdu. For his merits in the Hanzhong campaign, he became General Who Conquers the West, and soon after was made Rear General. Not long after that, he died of his wounds. Does that give you an idea of how brutal that battle was?”

Wei Ba counted on his fingers. Assistant general was a low rank, just above minor general. General Who Defeats Bandits was an irregular title, only slightly higher. General Who Conquers the West was a senior post, two grades higher than assistant general, and Rear General was one of the four highest military offices the King of Hanzhong could confer. Huang Zhong, after two years in the campaign for Chengdu, was promoted only one rank, but in just half a year at Hanzhong, he leaped over several ranks to become General Who Conquers the West, and was then made one of the four chief generals. This showed how great his contributions were at Hanzhong, and given that he died soon after from his wounds, one could imagine how grievously he was hurt.

For a general who need no longer fight in person to be so grievously wounded, the ferocity of that battle was self-evident.

Nor was Huang Zhong the only one to gain from the campaign. Wasn’t his own father, Wei Yan, promoted like a rocket from a mere captain to General Who Pacifies the Distant and concurrently made governor of Hanzhong thanks to the Hanzhong campaign?

“The Battle of Hanzhong determined the fate of all Yizhou, so they threw everything into the fight,” Fu Xing went on, unaware of Wei Ba’s tangled thoughts, still immersed in recollections. “I remember the panic in Chengdu at the time—my mother kept people posted at the gates to watch the northern roads, hoping for news from the front, yet dreading it as well. Later, as the fighting grew dire, the late emperor lacked troops and asked the prime minister to send reinforcements—there was nearly a great uproar in Chengdu.”

Wei Ba didn’t catch on at first. If they needed reinforcements, what was so alarming?

Fu Xing, realizing Wei Ba’s confusion, remembered that Wei Ba had turned from martial studies to letters, and while not much of a scholar, he knew even less of war. He explained, “As Sunzi says, ‘A good commander does not levy troops twice from the same register, nor send supplies three times’—it’s not just about the strain on resources, but about stability of morale. If you recruit again, it signals things are going badly at the front—it may be a fight to the death.”

Enlightened, Wei Ba replied awkwardly, “Thank you for the explanation, Zhongjian.”

“It’s nothing—this is just military common sense. We sons of generals pick up a little here and there. Your situation is different; you never read the military classics, so it’s natural not to know.” Fu Xing continued, “The prime minister, mindful of this, hesitated long to levy more troops. If it hadn’t been for Yang Hong of Jianwei rallying the great clans to support the war, who knows how things would have turned out—the late emperor might not have taken Hanzhong at all.”

Only now did Wei Ba fully grasp Hanzhong’s importance to Yizhou. He looked gratefully at Fu Xing. “Zhongjian, if not for your explanation, I never would have realized how crucial Hanzhong was.”

Fu Xing smiled. “Now you can see what rare trust and favor the late emperor showed your father?”

“Yes, yes,” Wei Ba replied, pausing a moment before noticing another detail. “That Yang Hong from Jianwei—having rendered such a great service, he must be in high office by now, surely?”

“Yang Hong…” Fu Xing clicked his tongue, hesitant to speak.

—Second update as usual: seeking Sanjiang votes, recommendations, and collections.