Chapter 076: Three Ordinary Fellows

Wei Ba returned to the supply camp with an air of dejection. Zhao Guang was happily trying on his new armor, carefully brushing away imaginary dust from the scales with movements as gentle as caressing a lover’s delicate skin. His eyes brimmed with tender affection, causing Fu Xing, who watched from the side, to snort repeatedly in disdain.

“All right, all right, if you keep stroking it, you’ll wear the scales thin,” Fu Xing teased.

Zhao Guang shot him a glance, equally scornful. “Why are you so smug? The first time you got new armor, you cherished it even more than I do now.”

“But I wasn’t this excited, was I?”

“Who knows? Someone seemed so reluctant to take off his armor that night, we thought we were about to be attacked.”

Fu Xing flushed red, and just then saw Wei Ba walk in with a dark expression. He quickly fell silent and stood up.

“Ziyu, what’s wrong?” Zhao Guang noticed Wei Ba’s face and stopped fussing with the armor, pondering for a moment before raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t reach an agreement with Bo Song?”

Wei Ba sighed in frustration, sat down by the table, poured himself a cup of water, and drank it in one gulp. The burning in his chest eased slightly. He stared blankly at the seemingly motionless green mountains outside, recalling Zhuge Qiao’s expression earlier, and his heart grew heavy.

Is it truly impossible, no matter how hard I try, to alter the course of history? Am I doomed to watch my family march toward ruin with open eyes?

“Ziyu, you really don’t need to worry so much,” Zhao Guang said, placing a reassuring hand on Wei Ba’s shoulder. “Your plan is a good one, but the Prime Minister has his considerations, too. Caution has its merits.”

Fu Xing hesitated, looking a bit forlorn. Judging by Wei Ba and Zhao Guang’s expressions, he guessed that father and son had indeed put forward some kind of Ziwu Valley plan, and Zhao Guang clearly knew something as well. Only he had heard of it from Yang Wei’s mouth. It made sense: Wei Yan was General Who Guards the North, Zhao Yun was General Who Guards the East—both qualified to attend council. It was natural for Wei Ba and Zhao Guang to know some things. But as a mere Captain, Fu Xing had no chance to join the war council, nor even hear rumors. The Prime Minister’s orders were strict; such news was only whispered among close kin. Wei Ba dared not tell him.

Feeling left out, Fu Xing lowered his head, pretending to be deep in thought so that Wei Ba wouldn’t notice his discomfort.

Catching Fu Xing’s downcast gaze from the corner of his eye, Wei Ba suddenly felt a pang of sympathy. Though he had a father and brother in this life, in his previous one he’d been an only child, introverted and all too familiar with the pain of being overlooked. After a moment’s thought, he suddenly smiled. “Zhongde, Zhongjian, there are still three or five days till we reach Anyang, and there’s no way to train troops on the boat. Since we’re idle, why don’t we play a game?”

“A game?” Zhao Guang was surprised, but when he caught Wei Ba’s glance toward Fu Xing, he immediately understood and grinned. “All right. What kind of game? Zhongjian, want to join?”

Fu Xing looked at Wei Ba, then Zhao Guang, and smiled as well. “Sure. What game is it? Liu Bo or Shuanglu?”

Liu Bo was an ancient war-game, while Shuanglu, just beginning to catch on, was a chess game from India; it was said that the talented Cao Zhi, son of Cao Cao, was a master of it. Fu Xing and the others could play, but Wei Ba was completely clueless.

“No, let’s try something new.” Wei Ba had too much on his mind to play for mere diversion. Zhuge Liang had purposefully arranged for him, Zhao Guang, and Fu Xing to be together—not just because they were close, but also to separate him from Zhuge Qiao. Since the Prime Minister now saw him as one of a trio, it would be remiss not to seize the chance to win their loyalty.

Giving them new armor was just the beginning; more important was gaining their trust, making them accept him from the heart, as one of their own.

“We’re all going to be commanders some day, so our games should be related to military affairs.” Wei Ba improvised as he spoke. “Let’s do a tactical simulation—let’s imagine how the Prime Minister’s northern campaign might unfold. What do you think?”

Fu Xing and Zhao Guang exchanged glances. Zhao Guang seemed hesitant, but with Fu Xing present, he couldn’t object outright, and so signaled Wei Ba with a look. Wei Ba understood: some things, like the Ziwu Valley plan, couldn’t be revealed casually. If Fu Xing let something slip, it could become leverage for others. But at this point, Zhao Guang’s caution was almost unnecessary.

“It’s fine. Let’s pretend we know nothing and start from scratch,” Wei Ba said lightly. “Three people: one is our commander—the Prime Minister’s role; one is Cao Wei’s commander—let’s say that’s young Cao Rui; the last is arbiter, who judges victory or defeat. We’ll rotate roles, so everyone gets to see things from different perspectives.”

Zhao Guang and Fu Xing perked up, glancing at each other and speaking in unison, “I’ll be on our side.”

Wei Ba laughed. “No rush—everyone will get a turn. Since neither of you wants to play the enemy, I’ll take on Cao Rui first. You two draw lots; the winner will command our side first, the loser will arbitrate.”

The two nodded and played rock-paper-scissors. Though they called it a game, young men are naturally competitive. With Wei Ba as Cao Rui, both wanted to be the first to defeat Wei. Zhao Guang won and gleefully became the Prime Minister, leaving Fu Xing to arbitrate.

Wei Ba then set ground rules: if forces were equal, it was a stalemate; if one side held more than half the advantage, it was a win; if they doubled the opponent’s strength, it was a major victory, and so on—rough guidelines quantifying various factors. Having studied warfare with his father and teacher these past months, Wei Ba was no stranger to military concepts, while Zhao Guang and Fu Xing were already familiar with basic strategies. Everyone quickly agreed, and play commenced.

It began as a mere game, but soon they were absorbed, especially after Wei Ba, to prevent psychological bias against Wei, set up a wager. Once stakes were involved, both Zhao Guang and Wei Ba grew serious, arguing heatedly from the very start, leaving Fu Xing—arbitrating and initially bored—dumbfounded by their quarrels, forced to step in and settle disputes.

They played, argued, revised, and debated, gradually developing a set of rules all three could accept.

As the eastern sky reddened and the sun rose, the three found they had played through the night without realizing it. With red eyes like rabbits, they looked at each other’s bedraggled state and almost burst out laughing—until thoughts of their simulation’s outcome wiped the smiles from their faces, leaving only bitterness.

The results were dire. After several rounds, as they adjusted rules to better reflect reality, the situation for Shu Han became exceedingly grim. They played six rounds in all—each taking the role of Prime Minister twice. Shu Han managed only a single victory, and that was only because Fu Xing, playing Cao Rui, had gone easy on them. When Wei Ba played Cao Rui, neither Zhao Guang nor Fu Xing, as Prime Minister, could win a single round.

Wei Ba had anticipated this outcome, but for Zhao Guang and Fu Xing, the shock was profound. The detailed simulations—factoring in army speed and logistics—brought home the difficulties Shu Han faced. Of the five rounds lost, Zhao Guang lost two as Prime Minister; as Cao Rui, he won every time.

In other words, assuming both sides made no major errors, Shu Han had virtually no chance of victory—a result far worse than Zhao Guang and Fu Xing had imagined. They had thought that, while disadvantaged, Shu Han still had at least a fair chance. Instead, unless they went easy, it was total defeat—zero chance of victory.

“On the battlefield, anything can happen—it’s not all as neat as a chessboard,” Zhao Guang said woodenly. “And the Prime Minister’s wisdom is far beyond ours; there’s no way we can imitate him.”

“But remember, everything the Prime Minister has done so far matches what we predicted back on Yangping Mountain,” Wei Ba replied, stifling a yawn and waving a weary hand. “Don’t worry, there’s still time. Let’s get some sleep and try again after. See if we can find a way to win.”

Both nodded, stretched aching backs, washed up, and forced themselves out on patrol. When they returned, Wei Ba was already fast asleep.

As the fleet drifted downriver, Wei Ba mostly stayed in the supply camp at the rear. Aside from distributing rations once, he had little to do, and the three spent their days holed up in the cabin, endlessly simulating tactics. After days of debate, they had developed a rigorous set of rules—but the results remained deeply discouraging.

Shu Han’s prospects looked bleak. If there was any hope, it lay solely in the Prime Minister’s command ability being vastly superior to Cao Rui’s; but considering that the actual defense of Guanzhong would be led by Grand General Cao Zhen and Right General Zhang He, it seemed wishful to pin victory on the enemy’s incompetence.

As Anyang drew near, the three abandoned their simulations and stood at the bow, gazing in silence at the green mountains drifting by. After a long while, Wei Ba asked Zhao Guang a question.

“If Master had known, back then, that the late emperor’s campaign beyond the gorges would end in utter defeat, what would he have done?”

Zhao Guang frowned, silent for a long time before replying softly, “He had already done all he could, and all that he should.”