Chapter Fifty-Five: Taking the Next Player First

Outside the pavilion, the gentle spring wind and fine rain continued to fall. The sky was gloomy, as though this drizzle was merely a prelude, with greater storms yet to come.

Within the pavilion, the atmosphere instantly congealed at Deng Hong’s words; he was tense at first, keeping his gaze fixed on Zhang Xiu’s face, fearing that any misstep might provoke the man to draw his blade and strike. He glanced at Gan Ning beside him, who still sat cross-legged in apparent calm, though his hand had quietly moved to his waist. This eased Deng Hong’s anxiety somewhat.

As for Zhang Xiu, his fists clenched, veins bulging on his face as if he stood at the brink of fury. Hu Che’er was likewise enraged, glaring at Deng Hong. Yet, once his words were spoken, Deng Hong forced aside his dread and gradually regained composure, turning to Shen Chen with a calm demeanor, “Chen, bring the wine.”

Shen Chen thought to himself that his granduncle was putting on airs, but he did not object. He produced a bottle of wine and several porcelain bowls from his bag.

Zhang Xiu watched as Shen Chen placed a bowl before each person and poured wine for all. He and Hu Che’er regarded Shen Chen as a servant, which was commonplace. In the Western Han, Wang Bao’s “Servant Contract” depicted the labor and relationships among servants of the era.

Only after Shen Chen had poured all the wine did Zhang Xiu slowly speak, “Since you act as envoy for Governor Liu and bring a challenge, why invite me to drink?”

“Uh...” Deng Hong glanced at Shen Chen—this was not as they’d planned. Wasn’t Zhang Xiu supposed to fly into a rage, while Deng Hong laughed heartily, uttered a few words, and compelled Zhang Xiu to bow in surrender, with the Xiliang army retreating without a fight? Why wasn’t he furious?

Though events didn’t follow the script, Deng Hong quickly responded, “It’s because neither I nor the governor wish to see the people of Nanyang suffer the devastation of war, so I’ve come to discuss things with you, General.”

“Is that so?” Zhang Xiu picked up his cup and sniffed, the aroma alluring, but he dared not drink before Deng Hong did.

“Of course.” Deng Hong understood Zhang Xiu’s caution and raised his own cup, drinking with Gan Ning. Afterward, he said, “General, do you know that after the death of the General of the Cavalry, all the officials of Jingzhou urged Governor Liu to pursue the victory?”

Zhang Xiu replied coldly, “Pursue the victory? You only have the advantage of defending the city. In open battle, however many you send, I will slay them all.”

Deng Hong chuckled, “We are well aware of the Xiliang army’s prowess, but you do not know that Nanyang is the least fortified place in Jingzhou. Most of Jingzhou’s elite troops are stationed in Yiling to guard against Liu Zhang. The governor’s forces number over a hundred thousand. Can you oppose them?”

Of course, Liu Biao didn’t have over a hundred thousand men—at most seventy or eighty thousand. But in ancient warfare, exaggeration was the norm; with ten thousand men, one claimed forty or fifty thousand. When Cao Cao marched south to Red Cliffs, didn’t he claim eighty thousand with only twenty thousand? So regardless of whether the enemy believes it, boast first.

Moreover, Jingzhou was indeed prosperous and well-defended, so the claim of over a hundred thousand was plausible.

Just as expected, hearing Deng Hong’s words, Zhang Xiu fell silent. He knew that in a battle of equal numbers, his elite Xiliang troops feared no one, but the enemy would not fight fairly with equal forces. Already, the mere twenty thousand Jingzhou soldiers stationed in Nanyang were a challenge; if Liu Biao truly sent his main force, their situation would be dire.

Currently, Zhang Xiu had only seven or eight thousand men left. When they marched south from Guanzhong, they had just under ten thousand, but suffered heavy losses attacking Rangcheng. With his uncle’s death, morale plummeted, and under Liu Biao’s siege, progress was arduous.

This was why Zhang Xiu had not responded to Deng Hong’s provocations earlier—their circumstances were truly dire.

Thus, Zhang Xiu made no retort, merely gripped his bowl and, as was his habit, drank deeply.

“Pfft.” The burning wine seared Zhang Xiu’s throat and he spat it out, startled, “What did you put in the wine?”

Deng Hong laughed, “It’s nothing but strong spirits, more intoxicating than ordinary wine. General, you hail from Xiliang, famed for your drinking. It seems your tolerance is lacking.”

Zhang Xiu set down his bowl, wiped his mouth, and said in a deep voice, “No need to speak in riddles, Secretary. You’ve come to negotiate, so let us avoid unnecessary twists and speak plainly.”

Deng Hong glanced again at Shen Chen, thinking his grandson had miscalculated. The people of Xiliang were straightforward—no need for convoluted strategies; directness was best.

Shen Chen was embarrassed. He had indeed miscalculated. With a background in engineering and architecture, his grasp of history was mediocre. What he knew of the Three Kingdoms came from watching the 1994 television adaptation as a child, and the real history often differed from the drama.

In those shows, the persuaders usually provoked the other party, laughed loudly, then reasoned with them. He had tried to imitate that, but it turned out to be a poor imitation; Zhang Xiu was unmoved.

He reflected that it was best not to mistake drama for history. Sometimes such tactics worked, but if the opponent was unreasonable, no amount of laughter would help—he might even take offense and have you executed.

Seeing Zhang Xiu’s desire for directness, Deng Hong became serious, “The purpose of this meeting, General, is to discuss peace. Do you believe that if Jingzhou wished to annihilate your forces, it could be done?”

Zhang Xiu replied immediately, “Perhaps it could, but the Xiliang army is valiant. Even in defeat, we would make you pay dearly.”

Deng Hong smiled, “But Jingzhou is wealthy, with a population of a million households. Countless able-bodied young men can be conscripted, while each of your soldiers lost is irreplaceable. Even if we trade twenty thousand for ten thousand of yours, we can simply recruit another twenty thousand. What loss is that to Jingzhou?”

“This...” Zhang Xiu’s legs, once folded beneath him, sprang up. He wanted to argue but found no words, his hand raised in vain before he sat back down, his face fallen.

Deng Hong continued, “So, if you persist in opposing Governor Liu, you are seeking your own destruction. Now, you have two paths: one is to retreat to Guanzhong. But consider, what is Guanzhong like now? Would you have a place there?”

Zhang Xiu replied quietly, “Guanzhong is ravaged, with Li Jue and Guo Si in control. There’s no place for me.”

“Exactly.” Deng Hong spread his hands, “So only one option remains. Governor Liu is generous and understands your plight, so he is willing to accept you. Nanyang is fertile and populous. If you surrender to Jingzhou and settle in Wan City, would that not be a good thing?”

Surrender to Liu Biao? Zhang Xiu had considered it, but feared that Liu Biao would strip him of his military command. He knew this all too well—just last year, Li Jue had killed Fan Chou, a Xiliang general, and seized his troops.

In this era, military command was the foundation of survival. Without an army, even the bravest man was a stray dog. Wasn’t Lü Bu a prime example? Though unmatched in valor, after Dong Zhuo’s death, he was defeated by the Xiliang army and forced to flee Chang’an in disgrace.

Zhang Xiu admitted he was neither as brave as Lü Bu nor of noble lineage like Yuan Shao or Yuan Shu. Without military command, he would be helpless.

He hesitated, “I know that at this point, I cannot bargain with Governor Liu, but I wish to know: after settling in Wan City, will my army remain under my command?”

“Of course,” Deng Hong replied. “Many officials suggested transferring your troops elsewhere, but I argued that you are familiar with Xiliang tactics. If your men were reassigned, their effectiveness would vanish. Thus, Governor Liu reluctantly agreed.”

Zhang Xiu was overjoyed and bowed to Deng Hong, “Thank you, Secretary.”

Deng Hong spoke solemnly, “I do this not for your gratitude, but for the stability of Nanyang. I also persuaded the governor to allocate provisions for you to recuperate in Wan City, and unless absolutely necessary, he will avoid deploying your forces. This will put your mind at ease.”

Zhang Xiu’s eyes widened. He had expected many conditions upon surrender, but Liu Biao was allowing him to garrison Wan City and supplying him with provisions—a tremendous stroke of fortune. He could scarcely believe it, exclaiming, “Is this truly so?”

“Indeed,” Deng Hong nodded, “All of this the governor promised personally.”

Zhang Xiu immediately stood, walked to the center of the hall, and bowed deeply to Deng Hong, “Sir, your great kindness cannot be repaid. Please accept my salute.”

He was about to kneel and kowtow. In the Han dynasty, such a gesture was rare and reserved for heaven, earth, emperor, parents, and teachers—the so-called “prostration ceremony” later became kneeling and kowtowing. Even the emperor only received such respect in grand audiences or sacrifices to heaven.

Deng Hong hurried forward to stop him, smiling, “Governor Liu is ever benevolent, wishing only to spare the people of Nanyang from unnecessary calamity. As the sage said, ‘What is sought nearby is easily attained.’ General, you would not expect gain without effort, would you?”

“Of course, of course,” Zhang Xiu replied, “Whatever you ask of me, just say the word.”

Deng Hong mused, “The governor’s chief concern is the Yellow Turban bandits in Gaoling Mountain and Dabie Mountain. They often raid Nanyang, appearing and vanishing without a trace, causing much trouble. If you could help devise a plan against them, the governor would be most pleased. And it would benefit you as well.”

Gaoling Mountain is Funiu Mountain, as recorded in the “Geographical Records” of the Han Book. Dabie Mountain is well-known; its name first appeared in the “Book of Documents” and was used as early as the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods.

Now, the mountains were rife with bandits—remnants of the Yellow Turban rebels from Runan and Nanyang, numbering from hundreds to tens of thousands. They frequently plundered Nanyang and Runan, threatening local security.

In fact, the twenty thousand Jingzhou troops stationed in Nanyang were not primarily to defend against northern warlords, but these bandits. After all, no northern warlord would attack Liu Biao now.

If the Yellow Turban remnants could be cleared out, Liu Biao would be very pleased.

Hearing Deng Hong’s words, Zhang Xiu asked curiously, “How would this benefit me?”

Deng Hong laughed, “You wish to garrison Nanyang, yes? When I return, I will urge the governor to appoint you as Prefect of Nanyang, with the surrounding counties under your authority. Then, annual provisions need not be shipped from Xiangyang but supplied locally. If the Yellow Turbans continue their raids, your revenue and provisions would dwindle—would that not be a loss for you?”

Zhang Xiu’s breath quickened, “All of Nanyang, under my command?”

The Nanyang basin was only slightly smaller than Guanzhong, and unlike Guanzhong, it had not been devastated by war—its population exceeded a million. With such a base, he could grow strong, perhaps even surpass Li Jue and Guo Si, recruit troops, and one day reclaim Guanzhong.

But Deng Hong poured cold water on his hopes, “Of course not. Only a few surrounding cities. Which ones exactly will be decided after I consult with Governor Liu, but in any case, it’s not a bad arrangement, is it?”

Zhang Xiu calmed himself. He knew Liu Biao would never hand over all of Nanyang—at most, a few counties around Wan City. As for Liu Biao’s intentions, it was obvious: he wanted Zhang Xiu to help defend Nanyang.

Nanyang was the gateway to Jingzhou, and Wan City stood at its forefront. To breach Jingzhou, one must first take Nanyang—a timeless truth. Liu Biao inviting Zhang Xiu to garrison Wan City was certainly not out of pure goodwill.

Yet, Zhang Xiu had no leverage to negotiate, so he nodded, “What must I do, sir? Please be explicit.”

“It’s simple.” Deng Hong glanced at Shen Chen with a smile, “I want you to contact the Yellow Turbans in Yingchuan, Runan, and Nanyang. Tell them you have defeated the governor’s army, taken Wan City, and invite them to join you in occupying Nanyang, sharing in its prosperity. Then, when the governor’s main force arrives, you can turn against them at the critical moment.”

Zhang Xiu’s face remained impassive, but his thoughts churned.

This Secretary...

Truly ruthless.