Jian Yong practically dragged Liu Bei into Shanggui.
To Pang De, the Jian Yong he knew had always been elegant and unrestrained.
Every gesture carried ease, every word wit and grace.
He rarely ever lost composure—even when he had first arrived and Ma Mengqi had casually drawn a blade across his neck, he had still spoken without a change in expression:
"General, your day of death is approaching, though you remain unaware."
Ah—there had been one exception.
Last year, when he met Cao Cao's envoy.
Pang De even remembered that night clearly.
Out of respect for Master Xianhe's rare moment of visible shock, the night raid had been led personally by Ma Mengqi himself.
The operation had gone surprisingly smoothly.
To this day, Pang De and Ma Mengqi still did not know what made that Sima-clan envoy so special.
Time seemed to pass especially quickly when one was lost in thought.
Before Pang De could finish reminiscing, Jian Yong was already laughing and looking his way.
"It's been far too long since I last saw my lord—my joy truly got the better of me," Jian Yong said cheerfully.
"I was just about to introduce to him a fine young hero from Nan'an!"
Liu Bei raised a hand slightly and stepped forward, carefully studying Pang De.
The scrutiny was earnest, and Pang De could not quite read Liu Bei's attitude.
For a moment, he found himself nervous, unconsciously straightening his posture.
Liu Bei's expression flickered with complexity, but it quickly settled into unmistakable joy—along with a smile that made one feel like a spring breeze had passed by.
"Does Xianhe even need to say it?" Liu Bei laughed.
"If my guess is correct, then this must be Nan'an's divine general—Pang De, styled Lingming!"
In the histories of the Tang dynasty, the term divine general appeared with remarkable frequency, and Liu Bei borrowed it without the slightest hesitation.
Jian Yong merely raised an eyebrow.
Pang De, however, felt joy and trepidation crash together in his chest.
The Book of Changes said: That which defies prediction between yin and yang is called divine.
Liu Bei noticed Pang De's reaction and waved his hand gently, cutting him off before he could speak.
"The state rots from within," Liu Bei said calmly,
"yet to this day, no foreign tribes have plunged the realm into chaos. This is due entirely to generals like you, Lingming—men who pacify the barbarians."
It was the highest affirmation Pang De could receive.
His face flushed at once, chin lifting instinctively, though he still hurried to explain:
"The Qiang unrest was quelled thanks to Mengqi's might."
Liu Bei nodded openly.
"Who does not know Ma Mengqi's devotion to Yong and Liang?"
"After the defeat at Tong Pass, he did not waver. Now he battles the Cao forces at Jieting, seeking to sever their Longxi supply routes."
"I came here," Liu Bei continued, "to support Ma Mengqi."
Jian Yong had already given Liu Bei a brief overview of the Yong–Liang situation, which had greatly eased his worries.
The Cao forces were still blocked along the Long Road.
That alone let Liu Bei scent an opportunity to break the stalemate.
Over ten thousand troops—on this battlefield, that was more than enough to tilt the course of the war.
Pang De was not particularly eloquent.
Liu Bei stepped closer instead, clasping Pang De's hands warmly.
"I've heard you have a keen eye for horses?"
Feeling the warmth of Liu Bei's hands, Pang De felt his own heart warm in response.
Reading between the lines, he nodded at once.
"If Lord Xuande wishes to ride Liangzhou steeds into battle," Pang De said earnestly,
"then I will personally select a fine mount for you."
Liu Bei laughed heartily.
"Lingming understands me! If there's nothing pressing, why not go now?"
"Once the mounts are chosen and the men have rested, we ride for Linwei to break the crisis and aid Mengqi!"
This decisive, thunderous style only deepened Pang De's admiration.
He immediately stepped forward to lead the way.
Standing beneath the eaves, Jian Yong watched as two men who had been strangers mere moments ago now moved in perfect accord.
He shook his head and chuckled softly.
It wasn't the first time.
A year apart, Jian Yong could now clearly see how his lord had changed.
After Red Cliffs, when he had returned dust-covered from Jiaozhou, Liu Bei had carried the air of ambition frustrated.
Last year, seated firmly in Chengdu after Yizhou's pacification, his bearing had already grown imposing.
Now—speaking with Pang De—his lord radiated vigor and brilliance.
From a man dependent on others, to master of Jing and Yi Provinces, now holding Hanzhong and gazing north toward Guanzhong.
Far away in Yong–Liang, Jian Yong could see the expansion of his lord's power more clearly than ever.
And yet, one thing had never changed—
The way Liu Bei treated people, always with sincerity.
After standing there for a while, Jian Yong shook his head and turned back to handle Shanggui's affairs.
This, too, was why Ma Chao relied on him so heavily.
When it came to fighting or setting strategy, Ma Chao and his Yong–Liang warriors feared no one.
But governance?
Administration?
There, they could only stare blankly.
That was precisely why Ma Chao had volunteered to defend Jieting.
Shanggui, as Linwei's rear base, was drowning in administrative work.
Watching Master Jian bustle about day after day while he himself had nothing to do, Ma Chao genuinely felt ashamed.
Now that the lord had arrived, over ten thousand troops needed equipment, provisions, and logistics—all of which fell squarely on Shanggui.
And that meant Jian Yong.
Holding a supply ledger, Jian Yong suddenly had a thought.
Perhaps Pang De should accompany the lord into battle.
When Ma Mengqi had gone to defend Jieting, he had weighed the fact that Shanggui was the last line of defense on the Long Road.
Thus Pang De had been left behind to assist Jian Yong.
But now, with the lord's army entering the fray, the balance along the Long Road had shifted.
Shanggui was important—
But delivering a decisive blow alongside the lord might be even more so.
And besides…
Pang De likely wanted to fight as well.
By comparison, Jian Yong was more worried about Yide's safety.
Linwei was no Jiangling—a fortress capable of holding ten times its numbers.
It was merely a small county town.
Facing triple the troops, even with Yide's valor, disaster was unlikely—
But casualties were inevitable.
Jian Yong sincerely hoped there would be fewer.
As February wore on and the weather slowly warmed, the fighting beneath Linwei's walls grew fiercer by the day.
Linwei's so-called city wall was barely taller than a man—just a low earthen ring encircling the town.
Traditionally, summer and autumn were the best seasons for warfare.
During flood season, the surging Wei River was Linwei's greatest defense.
For the Qiang and Hu tribes, surviving winter was already difficult—raiding the Three Qins was nearly impossible.
That was why Jieting and Shanggui had always been better defensive points.
No one had expected the Cao forces to be forced into war in February, before the dry season had even fully ended.
Under such circumstances, Linwei became a viable defensive position.
Zhang Fei strode into Linwei's county office.
The place had been completely transformed.
Unused timber and bricks had been torn down to reinforce and heighten the walls.
Using the remaining materials, Pang Tong had built a smaller structure with thicker walls to serve as a temporary county office.
On the small table lay Pang Tong's scattered notes, Zhang Fei's helmet, and a heavily marked map of the Long Road—so cluttered it barely resembled its original form.
But Pang Tong was not inside.
He was squatting outside the door.
In front of him sat Zhang Fei, holding a bowl of noodle soup.
Helmet off, a few armor plates removed from his joints, he sat on the threshold, slurping noisily.
After draining another mouthful and setting the bowl down, Zhang Fei noticed Pang Tong's troubled expression.
"Something on your mind, Strategist?"
Normally, Zhang Fei wouldn't bother coming here.
Eating atop the walls while keeping watch on the Cao army was the norm.
But today, he found himself worrying about Second Brother.
So he came—ate, and chatted with the strategist.
Even here along the Long Road, Pang Tong explained the Jing–Xiang battlefield with clarity and depth.
Zhang Fei listened with excitement—and ate an extra bowl.
Pang Tong had an uncanny grasp of human motives.
In his view, Eastern Wu would never undertake the thankless task of jointly attacking Wancheng.
They would inevitably covet Jingnan first.
Advancing the front to the Han River near Xiangfan would already be Wu's limit.
And with that massive ballista warship still anchored nearby, Wu had no reason to seek death.
They would blockade Jiangling, seal the Yangtze, and focus entirely on Jingnan.
Under such conditions, Guan Yu and Xu Shu at Wancheng faced only Cao forces—not a Wu–Cao alliance.
And in such a battlefield, if the Cao army could not win quickly, internal rifts would form, and momentum would falter.
That explanation put Zhang Fei at ease.
But as he rose to leave, he caught the strategist's gaze and decided to ask outright.
Pang Tong hesitated, then spoke.
"I heard… Yide nearly killed Xiahou Miaocai?"
Zhang Fei's face filled with regret.
"Yesterday, that Xiahou Yuan lost his senses and personally led an assault."
"I seized the moment—one strike more and I'd have skewered him clean."
"But his guards threw themselves in front of him without hesitation. My spear only wounded his waist and belly, letting him escape."
"If Xiahou Yuan had died yesterday, we'd already be inside the passes today."
Seeing Zhang Fei's profound disappointment, Pang Tong didn't quite know what to say.
After some thought, he asked carefully:
"This Xiahou Yuan… there was no way to capture him alive?"
Zhang Fei shook his head sharply.
"Too far away. And he had several death guards."
"If I tried to capture him, the one dying would be me."
Then, reading Pang Tong's expression, Zhang Fei burst out laughing.
"Strategist Pang—do you think if Old General Huang slays Xiahou Yuan, I'd hold a grudge?"
Pang Tong waved his hand, lowering his voice.
"I merely feel…"
"There is no perfect solution," Zhang Fei said, shaking his head as he reattached his armor plates.
Pang Tong picked up the helmet and handed it to him.
Zhang Fei sighed—rare for him.
"On the battlefield, life and death pass in an instant. There's no time to seek perfection."
"I only know this—kill Xiahou Yuan, and this Cao army breaks."
"Xiahou Yuan, on the other side, surely wants to kill Zhang Fei and break this city."
He placed the helmet on his head and tightened the straps, his voice muffled but heavy.
"If Xiahou Yuan dies, my wife may shed a few tears."
He then thought of the people in Chengdu who had asked about their sons during river dredging.
Of future generations joking about him.
Of young people bowing before an ugly statue.
His voice hardened.
"But if I hesitate and miss this chance—then hundreds, thousands of households in Chengdu will cry together."
Zhang Fei turned and left.
Pang Tong stood stunned for a moment, then sighed.
He had meant to counsel—
And instead, had been taught.
Looking down, Pang Tong noticed his hands were sticky with blood—transferred from the helmet.
He wiped them slowly.
This battlefield suddenly felt far more real.
These stains might belong to Cao soldiers.
Or to their own.
Even the most ordinary man had an uncle, a wife, a mother.
Yide was right.
If one seeks the people's hearts, one must not place oneself above them.
A few shedding tears—
or ten li of lonely graves?
Linwei's defense grew increasingly intense.
But Zhang Fei was used to it.
Since Xiahou Yuan began besieging Linwei, the attacks had come day after day without pause.
Hard, yes—but Xu the Strategist had held Fan City before.
This was nothing by comparison.
Besides, the Cao army was surprisingly cooperative.
They attacked at dawn and withdrew at dusk.
Both sides rested well.
Zhang Fei could guess why.
This attack was a feint.
The Cao army needed to make a great show, tying down forces here.
A hasty decisive battle would only harm Xiahou Yuan.
If he won—what if Liu Bei simply withdrew into Hanzhong, then sent his main army through Fangling to support Jingzhou?
If he lost—being chased all the way back into Guanzhong would only strengthen the enemy.
Maintaining this precise rhythm of pressure was Xiahou Yuan's optimal choice.
From this pattern, Zhang Fei noticed another issue.
The Cao army was short on firewood.
Though spring was coming, nights were still bitterly cold.
For Zhang Fei's troops, it wasn't a problem.
Thanks to Strategist Pang, Linwei had ample coal briquettes—slow-burning, long-lasting.
Three or five in a brazier kept an entire barracks warm overnight.
But the Cao army…
They were likely still burning charcoal.
Charcoal was expensive at the best of times.
Here, it would be worse.
A plan began to take shape.
Zhang Fei felt he had found a way to break the enemy.
At the same time—
Ma Chao spurred his horse forward, ducked beneath a sweeping spear, then lashed out with his lance, striking an enemy general and nearly knocking him from the saddle.
"Again!"
His excitement surged—but the enemy refused, turning and retreating straight back into formation.
Annoyed, Ma Chao advanced a few more steps and shouted:
"Are the Cao troops all eunuchs?"
Born of both Han and Qiang blood, Ma Chao insulted plainly.
Arrows answered him.
Cursing again, he wheeled his horse back.
Since nearly dying to Yan Xing in his youth, Ma Chao had learned caution.
Back in camp, a young man hurried forward to help him dismount.
Ma Chao, however, was thoughtful.
"Bozhan," he ordered,
"Later, take an elite cavalry unit south to scout."
"That Cao general—Zhang He—seems to be plotting something."