Chapter Eighty-Four: The Mushroom Tactic

In Xuzhou, among hundreds of thousands of commoners, not a single soul remained to seek vengeance against Cao Cao.

Because they were all dead.

With no family left alive, with no descendants to remember them, naturally, none would raise their blades or cry out in fury for revenge against their murderer.

All that was left of them, aside from a cold and indifferent line in the Records of the Three Kingdoms and the Book of the Later Han—“the Si River ceased to flow”—was nothing at all.

The hundreds of villagers from the Deng and Shen clans who had gathered at the Yellow Gate Pavilion in Zengyang were fortunate in comparison, for at least many of their kin had managed to escape.

Perhaps, for those who had perished, they did not even dare hope that the few survivors at the Yellow Gate Pavilion would avenge them; after all, even the most vengeful of the dead would wish for their loved ones to live on.

It was enough to be remembered—on festival days, at the turning of seasons, for someone to offer a simple sacrifice at their graves.

None wished for their kin to mount a mule and charge at a mountain, seeking certain death. No one would hope for such a thing.

Death is not to be feared; what is truly terrifying is for one's descendants to be wiped out, leaving not a single root behind. If that came to pass, even the restless spirits would find no peace.

But how could the living ever forget such hatred?

The deepest grudge in Shen Chen's heart was never really that Cao Cao had slaughtered hundreds of thousands in Xuzhou.

After all, those people had nothing to do with him.

Perhaps this sounds selfish, but it is the truth.

No one would risk their life to avenge strangers they had never met or known.

Just as no one would sacrifice their own comfort for the suffering of others.

There may be a handful of saints in this world, moved by the highest ideals, who would give up all they own to save others.

But for ninety-nine percent of people, such self-sacrifice is unimaginable.

Shen Chen was an ordinary person. Perhaps he had been kindhearted before crossing over to this world, which left him with a lingering sympathy for the oppressed.

Sometimes, he would watch videos online about impoverished families.

He lived modestly himself, yet could not bear to witness suffering.

He gave to charity, volunteered, did good deeds—he tried to live with optimism.

But now, his heart was tormented.

Because his adversary was none other than Cao Cao.

The man who unified the north, composed poems across the Yangtze, and cracked his whip as the mighty Duke of Wei.

Countless lives ended at his hands; who was Shen Chen to stand up for the dead and seek justice?

So, from the very beginning, Shen Chen only wanted to persuade his clan to flee, to escape from Xuzhou as quickly as possible.

But he was of little influence, and it was only when disaster struck that his words gained any weight.

He could not save the hundreds of thousands of Xuzhou, only barely manage to rescue his own kin. Even then, he lost many relatives and friends.

At first, he never dared to oppose Cao Cao directly.

He only wished to protect his family, to see them safely through the turmoil—nothing more.

But as he delved deeper into this world, as he came to understand the age and mingled with the so-called illustrious figures, the scions of noble clans, he came to a realization.

Feudal society itself was synonymous with darkness, decay, exploitation, and oppression.

The sons of noble families looked down on the common folk, not even seeing them as human.

In times of war, when lords and warlords sacked cities and plundered, millions of innocents suffered.

Famine, man-made disasters, pestilence—when the world turned cruel, human life became as worthless as autumn leaves.

Even in times of peace, safety was never guaranteed.

If one met a good emperor, life might be bearable.

But under a tyrant, with heavy taxes and wanton cruelty, calamity would befall the people.

And these were merely the highest levels of society; the commoners rarely had any contact with the truly powerful.

It was the rural magistrates, village elders, and county officials that the people encountered—petty officials who could make life a living hell at a whim.

A county magistrate could ruin a family; a provincial governor could wipe out an entire clan.

Then there were the local gentry and noble houses—destroying a commoner family was child’s play for them.

Later, Guan Yu would become a legendary warrior, but in his youth, after killing a local tyrant, he was forced to flee to Youzhou.

Zang Ba, the future General of the East for Cao Wei, once offended a governor and was driven to hide in the depths of Mount Tai for years, only able to emerge after the chaos of the Yellow Turban Rebellion broke the laws of the land.

Even the great clans were not always safe. Yuan Shao and Cao Cao slaughtered countless noble families in Yanzhou and Jizhou; Zhang Yang, governor of Henei, and Sun Jian, governor of Changsha, both killed many officials and gentry.

This world was rotten to the core.

The Han dynasty was like a pyramid, with every level above crushing those below.

Except for a rare few, most lords, warlords, even the Yellow Turban rebels, as long as they had troops and the means of violence, would inevitably oppress and exploit the common people.

Shen Chen grew up in a rural village. Though the Deng and Shen clans were powerful locally and did not suffer much oppression, he saw and felt more than enough of it.

Even so, at first, he had no intention of changing the world—he only wanted to survive.

One cannot choose the path of danger simply for the sake of kindness.

Sympathy is one thing, but at that time, Shen Chen was only an eight-year-old child. Preserving his clan was hard enough—how could he think of avenging others?

It was not until the blade of slaughter descended silently upon him, grazing his neck by the narrowest of margins, that he understood: if he did not seize power himself, one day the axe would fall on him, too.

Shen Chen never forgot the massacre at Zengyang that night—the sight of his seventh uncle next door being hacked to death, countless kin from the Deng and Shen clans butchered like livestock.

Even he himself, like a frightened mouse, curled up in a ditch amid the flames, trembling and praying the soldiers of Cao’s army would not find him.

From that moment on, and through his three years after coming to Jingzhou, Shen Chen understood: if he did nothing, one day his clan would surely be wiped out.

Just like in that famous American show, House of Cards, where a forgotten protester is tied to the gates of Capitol Hill and no matter how loud or piteous his cries, the world treats him as invisible.

The only way to be taken seriously is to become strong oneself.

If Shen Chen commanded two hundred thousand crack troops, would Cao Cao dare to slaughter his clan and kin?

From then on, he learned a simple truth: to protect those he cared about and fulfill his ideals, he must grow stronger.

So in Jingzhou, he toiled to strengthen his clan, helped his uncle rise to power, recruited the unappreciated Gan Ning, stockpiled grain, forged weapons—all in preparation for this day.

On the left bank of the Tuan River, it was mid-spring, the second month. A cool breeze brushed the willows by the shore, wild grass and thistle already grown to ankle height danced in the wind.

Shen Chen stood atop a small hill, perhaps thirty meters above the plain—the modern equivalent of a twelfth-story building—not far from Cao Cao, close enough that both sides could hear each other.

Mounted on horseback, he gazed coldly at Cao Cao.

He had come to understand the worldview of the Han people, and now saw through the minds of these so-called noble families.

So he had no intention of persuading Cao Cao to refrain from future massacres.

Their values were simply too different. There was nothing left to discuss. There would only be battle.

At his cry of “Revenge!” the thousand Yellow Gate Pavilion soldiers behind Shen Chen erupted in a fierce roar.

In an instant, a storm of arrows filled the sky, tearing through the air to envelop Cao Cao’s position.

Clattering shields rang out as Cao Cao’s guards rushed forward, shielding him and Cao Hong as they fell back.

“Kill!” Cao Cao’s eyes locked onto Shen Chen. Pointing his sword, he shouted, “Whoever kills or captures that man alive will be made Lord of a Pavilion and rewarded with a thousand gold pieces!”

Shen Chen let out a cold, derisive laugh.

Lord of a Pavilion, a thousand in gold—Cao Cao was certainly generous.

Technically, as Minister of Works, he had no right to confer noble titles. But with Emperor Liu Xie in his hands, he could bestow titles as he pleased.

That was how men like Xiahou Dun, Cao Hong, Yue Jin, and Yu Jin all received their fiefs at this time.

So this promise was greatly tempting to the ordinary soldiers.

Suddenly, the Cao army surged forward as if injected with new life, while Zhang Xiu’s Xiliang troops grew visibly uneasy.

After all, they had been routed just the day before. Now, facing Cao’s army again, their morale inevitably wavered.

But at that crucial moment, the blaring of horns thundered across the field.

From the northern plain appeared a new army.

Gan Ning had successfully ambushed Yu Jin and now returned to reinforce them.

Shen Chen, seeing the terrain, had guessed that Cao Cao would send a detachment to flank them.

Thus, he ordered Zhang Xiu to hold the riverbank and delay Cao Cao, while leading the Yellow Gate Pavilion troops to reinforce them—bringing Zhang Xiu’s total to nearly eight thousand men.

Though still outnumbered, they could now match Cao Cao’s numbers on the favorable ground of a defensive battle.

Gan Ning, meanwhile, went north to intercept Yu Jin. Using the same trick again, he had boats ram and break the bridge as Yu Jin’s detachment was crossing, dividing the battlefield and destroying part of Cao’s army.

After repelling that detachment, Gan Ning immediately returned to the main battlefield, turning the odds in their favor.

Cao Cao had begun with fifteen thousand men, but after sending Yu Jin with three thousand to flank, he had only twelve thousand left by his side. With some of the rear troops yet to cross the river, only seven or eight thousand remained on the left bank.

Now, with Gan Ning’s five thousand joining Zhang Xiu and Shen Chen’s eight thousand, their combined force reached thirteen thousand—outnumbering Cao Cao, if only briefly.

If any future reader familiar with military history saw these tactics, they would recognize them instantly—wasn’t this the very playbook used by the founding marshals and great generals of the modern army?

When outnumbered, send a small detachment to pin the enemy’s main force, then concentrate your strength to defeat the enemy’s flanking force, gradually weakening them, and finally, when the enemy is sufficiently diminished, annihilate them in one stroke.

Many founding marshals and top generals of later generations favored this approach—Marshal Xu’s daring division of forces, feinting east while striking west, and Marshal Peng’s “mushroom tactics” were all from this school.

Now Shen Chen was imitating them, adapting these very principles to the age of cold steel.

At this moment, he felt deeply grateful to his father, Old Shen.

Old Shen had loved these stories and filled their home with books on how the great leaders and founding marshals braved adversity to forge a new age.

During his leisurely high school and college years, Shen Chen had read many of them, learning much that was truly useful.

So now, as Gan Ning arrived on the battlefield, the situation shifted dramatically.

Zhang Xiu, overjoyed at the arrival of reinforcements, cried, “The reinforcements are here! Cao’s forces are faltering! If we do not attack now, when will we? Kill!”

“Kill!” The Xiliang soldiers, their morale soaring, roared with thunderous voices.