The lands of Yong and Liang were never generous with rain. Yesterday's faint spring drizzle had come and gone in a blink, and by the time the army marched again, the sky was already clear and bright.
Zhuge Liang rode at the head of the column. Before urging his horse forward, he turned once more to look back at the broken ruins of Wuzhang Plain.
Crumbling walls, scorched earth, and shattered timbers lay scattered across the land. For a fleeting moment, an image surfaced in his mind, a solitary figure standing against the setting sun, filled with boundless regret and unspoken sorrow.
"Vast heavens above…"
Zhuge Liang murmured the words softly, then laughed at himself.
He tightened the reins, raised his whip, and pointed his sword toward the east.
"Advance."
Far away, atop the walls of Chang'an, Zhong Yao stood solemnly, gazing westward. Behind him stood Zhu Ling, his head lowered, his expression heavy with shame.
"Still no news of General Xiahou?" Zhong Yao asked.
Though he did not name him, Zhu Ling knew exactly who was meant. He nodded.
"None."
"General Pingdi has sent word," Zhu Ling continued. "Chen Cang fell too suddenly. By the time General Xiahou learned of it, it would already have been too late. Worse still, he was caught between two forces and trapped within the Wei River valley."
General Pingdi was Zhang He. Neither Zhu Ling nor Zhang He were old retainers of the Chancellor Cao, and to avoid suspicion, they usually kept their distance, addressing each other only by title or rank.
Zhu Ling fell silent midway through his report. The more he spoke, the bleaker it sounded. After a pause, he changed his phrasing.
"General Pingdi is currently entangled by that Ma Chao brat."
"Please have the Inspector authorize troops for me. I will immediately ride out to relieve General Pingdi, drive off Ma Chao, then join forces to retake Chen Cang and rescue General Xiahou."
It was the only plan Zhu Ling could think of. Whether it was truly feasible was another matter entirely.
Zhang He's last report had arrived two days ago. He now commanded barely over a thousand cavalry and three thousand infantry. On paper, it was not an insignificant force. Yet Ma Chao's seven thousand Qiang horsemen had latched onto him like a pack of wolves. Zhang He was not in immediate danger, but he was stretched thin on all sides.
Moreover, with enemy forces dominating the Wei River line, Zhang He dared not approach blindly. His last message spoke of retreating northeast toward Duyang to regroup before seeking an opportunity to counterattack.
Neither Zhu Ling nor Zhong Yao had much confidence in that plan. The Qiang cavalry knew this land far too well.
In the plains of Shandong or Hebei, Zhang He's words would have carried weight. In Yong and Liang, they sounded like wishful thinking.
Zhong Yao remained silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his tone was more despairing than Zhu Ling could have imagined.
"If we can hold Chang'an at all, it will already be a blessing. If we send troops out, we will surely lose them."
Zhu Ling's heart jolted.
"The rebels mean to attack Chang'an?"
Chang'an lacked natural defenses only in a relative sense. Its towering walls alone had daunted countless armies.
Perhaps it was long pent up frustration. Perhaps it was because no one else was present. The nearly sixty year old Zhong Yao smiled bitterly, making no attempt to hide his sorrow.
"After the grand enfeoffment at Ye in the twelfth year of Jian'an, I urged the Chancellor to pacify Yong and Liang, train troops, restore the people, and advance step by step. Only then could the realm be secured."
The twelfth year of Jian'an.
Zhu Ling recalled it quickly. That had been the year before the inferno at Red Cliffs.
He said nothing.
Seeing his reaction, Zhong Yao felt the conversation lose its meaning. He shook his head and gave his orders.
"Have the general reinforce the city walls. If my judgment is correct, within ten days the enemy will array their forces beneath Chang'an."
Ignoring Zhu Ling's expression, Zhong Yao pulled his cloak tighter and walked along the broad but sparsely manned ramparts, leaving only sighs behind him.
He no longer remembered how long he had remained in Chang'an.
If the chaos of the realm was a storm, then Chang'an was the very eye where the winds howled fiercest.
Dong Zhuo, who stripped the land bare. Li Jue and Guo Si, petty men risen to power. Wang Yun, ambitious yet hollow. Lü Bu, discarded once used. Han Sui and Ma Teng, each harboring grand designs.
Wave after wave battered the capital, tearing it apart piece by piece, until even the Son of Heaven…
For twenty years, Zhong Yao had propped up Chang'an alone. He no longer wished to blame anyone. He wanted only one thing, someone who could finally bring peace to the realm.
Once, he believed that man to be Cao Cao. Only after the humiliation of ignoring counsel did Cao Cao turn his eyes back toward Guanzhong. Yet in just two short years, Liu Bei had slipped in with perfect timing, and now his presence could no longer be ignored.
Zhong Yao understood this better than anyone. Liu Bei's advisers were all men who planned before they moved.
If they were willing to leave Guan Yu alone in Jing Province, then their aim could only be to swallow all of Guanzhong in one bite.
Cao Gong, you believed Guanzhong broken and unworthy, choosing a feint instead.
But what if Liu Bei plays along and claims the Three Qins outright?
If Liu Bei's camp could build massive warships to break fortified cities in Jingxiang, then why could they not forge something equally terrifying here in Guanzhong?
It no longer mattered.
Zhong Yao laughed quietly at himself. He was tired.
Whether Liu Bei or Cao Cao prevailed, it seemed the end of this age of chaos was near.
And that was enough.
As for Chang'an's defenses, Zhu Ling could only do his utmost.
At full count, he commanded barely four thousand combat ready troops. Even after conscripting civilians within the city, he could muster no more than eight thousand men.
It sounded like a lot.
Yet when spread along the walls, they could not even form a solid line, only a thin, scattered presence.
Six days later, in the early morning, this was the Chang'an that Zhuge Liang beheld.
Even young Jiang Wei could see it clearly. He shook his head and recited,
"When the gale wanes, it cannot lift a feather. When the mighty crossbow reaches its limit, its bolt cannot pierce silk."
Zhuge Liang tapped him lightly on the head, speechless. He could not be bothered to exchange pleasantries with the enemy across the walls.
He raised his hand and gave the order.
"Deploy the trebuchets. Prepare the bombardment."
The craftsmen under his command had been trained since Jing Province, expanded in Chengdu, and now brought here.
They could build siege ladders, wooden oxen and flowing horses, maintain great crossbows, and guide soldiers in constructing water powered mills.
What Zhuge Liang demanded now was the counterweight trebuchet.
Huo Jun watched with keen interest, stepping in to help whenever an extra hand was needed, working alongside his troops.
They used the same assembly method as when constructing siege towers at Yangping Pass. The key metal components had already been forged and transported. Timber was felled on site, and the carpenters among the craftsmen immediately set to work with their tools.
Even so, it took half a day to assemble everything. During that time, Huo Jun led a team to search the surroundings for suitable ammunition.
When the strategist mentioned stones weighing at least two hundred jin, Huo Jun thought he had misheard. After confirming it several times, he could only depart with lingering doubt.
On the walls of Chang'an, Zhu Ling had no idea what the enemy was doing. He almost wanted to shout across.
We have been ready for half a day. Are you attacking or not?
What happened to striking while the iron is hot?
By the time the sun dipped toward the west, Zhu Ling felt drowsy.
Then a roar of cheers erupted from the enemy camp.
The western glare made it hard to see clearly. Zhu Ling squinted, straining his eyes.
A small black dot appeared in the distance, growing larger by the heartbeat.
Then came a thunderous crash.
A stone roller, large enough for two men to embrace, slammed onto the battlements not far from Zhu Ling. The unfortunate soldier it struck was already shattered beyond recognition.
Zhu Ling felt his teeth chatter.
"Do the rebels… have the aid of ghosts and gods?"