Xiahou Yuan and Zhang He stepped over the wooden threshold of the medical compound and found themselves back on the road, each hugging a paper packet of medicinal herbs against his chest.
They exchanged a look.
Then, in perfect unison, they let out a long breath. It felt like exhaling their entire captivity along with it.
Their conversation with Doctor Zhang had been thorough. Painfully thorough, in fact. There was, however, one thing to be grateful for. Jian Yong had not been there.
Before they parted ways, the diplomat had simply waved a hand and given them permission to wander around Chang'an and clear their heads. Zhang He had caught bits and pieces of his plan as well. Jian Yong intended to sit down with Zhang Zhongjing and put together a proper curriculum, with the goal of teaching basic medical skills to the Qiang and Hu tribes.
A few guards followed them, of course. What did they expect? They were enemy generals, captured and disarmed. Being allowed to walk the streets at all was already a courtesy. Letting them roam free without supervision would have been a recipe for disaster.
Still, walking without Jian Yong around to narrate every step they took felt strangely pleasant.
Zhang He nearly stopped walking.
Teach the Qiang... medicine?
He had fought those tribes before. He had buried men because of them, and he knew perfectly well that the feeling had been mutual. It was the relentless hit-and-run attacks of Qiang cavalry that had slowly ground his forces down, exhausted his soldiers, torn apart his supply lines, and eventually pushed him into the corner where he was captured.
And now these people wanted to give the nomads the knowledge to patch up their wounded?
Either they are fearless in the manner of Emperor Guangwu, or they are a collection of dreamers who have somehow misplaced their common sense.
But dreamers did not push Cao Cao into a corner.
Dreamers did not break the will of tens of thousands of veteran soldiers without even fighting a single battle.
And dreamers certainly did not rise from homeless refugees to masters of Jingzhou, Yizhou, Hanzhong, and Guanzhong within 3 or 4 years.
If that was what dreaming looked like, Zhang He had clearly been doing it wrong his entire life.
Zhang He stared down the street ahead.
Chang'an barely resembled the battered city they had been stationed in the previous year. Fresh timber, dust, and the faint scent of newly worked wood filled the air.
Is the Liu clan really destined to rise?
Beside him, Xiahou Yuan muttered to himself. His voice carried equal parts bitterness and defensiveness.
"The Prime Minister only executed one madman. How was he supposed to know what would happen afterward?"
Even as he said it, the words sounded weak, and they both knew it.
Their visit with Zhang Zhongjing had been worth considerably more than the bundles of herbs they were carrying. The old doctor had examined both generals from head to toe with a level of attention that came dangerously close to invading their personal space. He searched for hidden illnesses, recorded his findings, wrote down prescriptions for medicinal soups, and even prepared several doses of raw herbs for them to take home.
He had also made sure they remembered one particular name.
Hua Tuo.
The entire consultation had come with a steady stream of complaints about Prime Minister Cao. Zhang Zhongjing had cursed him openly, condemned him without the slightest hesitation, and placed the blame for Hua Tuo's death squarely on his shoulders.
Xiahou Yuan and Zhang He had simply sat there and listened.
What else could they do?
They were prisoners in enemy territory, after all, sitting beneath a hostile roof while the very doctor criticizing their own Prime Minister was handing them medicine for free. Pride was a luxury neither man could afford at the moment, so they swallowed it and endured the lecture.
Only after they stepped outside the gate did Xiahou Yuan finally allow himself to complain.
Even then, both generals understood why Zhang Zhongjing had such a strong preference for Liu Bei.
The irony was unpleasant enough to taste.
Their own Prime Minister had practically driven the doctor straight into the enemy's camp.
Zhang Zhongjing lived in a sprawling estate guarded heavily enough to make the place look more like a fortress than a doctor's residence. The servants spoke highly of Liu Huangshu and described the respect with which he treated the old doctor.
Meanwhile, Cao Cao had locked Hua Tuo inside a dark, damp cell and left him there until he died.
Zhang Zhongjing had made one thing very clear. Hua Tuo's medical skill had surpassed even his own.
Xiahou Yuan finally ran out of complaints. He looked down at the paper packet in his hand and let out another sigh.
"Let us walk," Zhang He said, finally shaking himself out of his thoughts. He had no intention of letting uncertainty freeze him in place. Not today. "A walk will do us some good."
They knew Chang'an well.
They had spent more time here than Liu Bei ever had. They knew its streets, its alleys, its markets, and the familiar rhythm of life that ran through the city. In that sense, Chang'an still felt like their city too, at least a little.
To avoid the embarrassment of running into Zhong Yao again, they decided to take the longer route back to their courtyard. It would give them more time to think, and perhaps more importantly, it would let them see what had happened to the city since they last held it.
Their temporary prison and Zhang Zhongjing's estate both stood near the heart of Chang'an. The ruins of the old imperial palaces stretched to the north. Beyond the southern gates, the fertile plains unfolded between the Feng and Ba Rivers. By long-standing tradition, the northern districts were where most of the common people lived.
As they continued south, the grand estates gradually disappeared.
The buildings became smaller. The courtyards tightened. Broad streets gave way to narrow lanes, and the spacious residences of the wealthy slowly turned into clusters of modest homes packed close together.
Two intersections later, Xiahou Yuan came to an abrupt stop.
An entire residential ward was being torn apart ahead of them. Workers were pulling down walls and dragging away timber while thick clouds of dust turned the street into a yellow soup.
"What exactly is going on here?" Xiahou Yuan asked.
He glanced around before remembering that Jian Yong was not there to give him an answer.
To his surprise, the captain of their escort stepped forward.
"We are clearing the land," the man explained. "Strategist Zhuge intends to establish a workshop district here."
Xiahou Yuan nodded slowly, taking in the sight of the workers and the ruined houses. He did not bother asking for further details. The name alone was enough to tell him what kind of place this would become.
A center for craftsmen.
He values medicine, and now he is putting this much effort into industry as well.
Xiahou Yuan could not stop himself from thinking back to the day he surrendered. He remembered the weapons he had seen, the finely made armor, and the equipment carried by Liu Bei's infantry. None of it looked like the work of a few scattered workshops.
An industrial center suddenly seemed like a very sensible idea.
The guard captain apparently took Xiahou Yuan's question as an invitation to explain the entire plan, because he continued without hesitation.
"We have another district of roughly the same size in the north," he said, gesturing in that direction. "Strategist Zhuge designed the plan himself. Since this southern district borders the fertile plains outside the gate, it will focus entirely on agriculture. Plows, sickles, and every other kind of farming tool will be produced here."
He then pointed back toward the road they had just traveled.
"The northern district lies beside the Wei River. That one will handle iron, paper, sugar, brocade, and canal ships. Once Chang'an has taken in the people returning from Guanzhong, we will move the entire operation across the river and build a new city there from the ground up."
Xiahou Yuan listened quietly.
The captain smiled and then nodded toward the enormous ramparts rising nearby.
"Would the two generals like to climb the wall and have a look?"
Xiahou Yuan stared at him.
The offer was so casual that he wondered whether he had heard it correctly. They were prisoners, yet someone was inviting them to climb the city walls simply because they wanted to see what was happening outside.
If Jian Yong had not been so comfortable here, I would swear this was some sort of trap. Perhaps our own spies had finally lost their minds.
The young captain laughed when he saw Xiahou Yuan's expression.
"Our Lord has given permission. Why would there be any problem?"
Our Lord has given permission?
The words had barely registered before Xiahou Yuan started toward the wall. His legs seemed to have made the decision before his brain had finished arguing with it, and soon the sound of his boots echoed against the stone steps as he climbed.
When he reached the top, the first thing he noticed was the wind.
Then he saw the view.
The tightness that had settled in his chest during his confinement began to ease as he stood at the battlements and looked across the land beyond Chang'an.
After a moment, he leaned forward and pointed toward the plains below.
"What in the world are they doing down there?"
The sight left him staring.
Tens of thousands of acres of fertile farmland stretched toward the horizon, with oxen dragging heavy plows through the dark soil. Yet the fields themselves were not what caught his attention. Along their edges, an enormous crowd of workers was digging deep pits into the earth, and there were so many of them that Xiahou Yuan could not immediately make sense of what he was seeing.
The guard captain came to stand beside him, resting his arms against the parapet.
"That is our Lord," he said, nodding toward the distant commotion. "He is leading the people in digging compost pits. Once the middle month of summer has passed, we will spread the fertilizer across the fields."
"Liu Bei? Are you serious?"
Xiahou Yuan said the name the way a man might react to being told the Emperor was down in the market haggling over cabbage.
Zhang He, who had remained a few steps behind, narrowed his eyes and studied the crowd. His eyesight had always been excellent, and after a moment he found the man standing at the center of the activity.
He was dressed in rough peasant clothing, with mud caked around his knees. A shovel was in his hands, and he was giving instructions while working alongside the laborers.
Zhang He stared for a moment longer.
Our Lord?
He turned toward the captain.
"We have not properly introduced ourselves. May I ask your name?"
The captain gave them a faint, polite smile.
"Ma Su of Jingzhou. A nobody of no particular importance."
Zhang He gave him a brief look, then turned his attention back toward the fields.
The captain followed his gaze before glancing at the two generals again.
"If the generals are interested, we could go down and take a closer look. I am sure our Lord would be delighted to see you."
Xiahou Yuan's expression tightened.
For one breath, he seemed genuinely tempted. Then he looked again at Liu Bei, who was still covered in mud and busy digging holes in the middle of a field.
Whatever argument had been taking place in Xiahou Yuan's head ended with a quiet defeat.
He shook his head.
"Let us not."
They came down from the wall and continued along the street. After walking for a while, Xiahou Yuan finally tried to bring the conversation back to the matter that had been bothering him.
"Every farmer knows how to make compost. Why would a warlord like the Zuo General need to kneel in the mud and dig holes himself?"
Ma Su answered without the slightest hint of mockery.
"This method is different. It is a new technique that we began using in Jingzhou 2 years ago. Even the basic method can increase the harvest by 0.5 shi per acre."
He continued walking as he explained, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.
"When it is combined with our iron farming tools, methods for protecting seedlings, and irrigation canals, the increase can reach nearly 1 shi per acre. From Jingzhou to Yizhou and Hanzhong, our Lord places agriculture above everything else. Seeing him in the fields is nothing unusual."
Xiahou Yuan had managed estates when he was younger, so he knew enough about farming to understand the limits of what the land could produce.
"Impossible!" he snapped. "General Ma, why are you telling me such obvious nonsense?"
Ma Su merely smiled as he stepped ahead, making room for them to pass through the busy street.
"General Xiahou, why do you insist on telling yourself that it is nonsense?"
Xiahou Yuan's eyebrows rose.
He was not about to let that go.
What followed was a lecture on soil composition, seasonal rainfall, the limits of traditional farming methods, and the amount of grain a field could realistically produce. Xiahou Yuan went on for an entire block, explaining each point with the confidence of a man who had spent years managing farmland.
Ma Su listened quietly.
He did not interrupt.
He did not challenge a single point.
He simply kept smiling.
By the time they had crossed two more intersections, Xiahou Yuan was still thinking about the numbers when another disturbance brought them to a stop.
A large formation of soldiers was marching down the avenue.
Ma Su immediately guided the two prisoners toward the side of the road, where they pressed themselves against a wall to make room for the troops.
Zhang He paid little attention to the soldiers at first. Instead, he craned his neck to get a better view of the large wooden contraption rolling along in the middle of the formation.
His eyes narrowed.
"Is that... a bed crossbow cart?"
Zhang He knew siege weapons well. Bed crossbows were nothing new, but they were hardly convenient weapons. The things were enormous, heavy, and painfully difficult to move. Once they were positioned, commanders preferred to leave them exactly where they were. Aiming them was troublesome, maintaining their tension was even more troublesome, and few generals considered them worth the effort for ordinary city defense.
Ma Su glanced at the weapon.
"That is an Eight Ox Crossbow cart," he corrected. "Its effective range is 400 paces greater than that of a standard bed crossbow."
Xiahou Yuan slowly turned his head toward him.
He had already lost his appetite for arguing.
A bed crossbow reaches 800 paces. 400 more makes 1,200.
He looked at the enormous weapon again.
Does this young man actually understand what 1,200 paces means?
Ma Su watched the ballista pass with genuine interest.
"Strategist Zhuge originally brought that one here intending to use it against you, General Xiahou," he said casually. "We simply never found the right opportunity to deploy it during the campaign."
A faint flush spread across Xiahou Yuan's weathered face.
He said nothing.
Ma Su continued without appearing to notice.
"Looking at it now, it seems the Strategist has finished making his modifications. It is being sent north to the Jingzhou front. He wants Prime Minister Cao to experience the strength of our bolts for himself."
Xiahou Yuan closed his mouth firmly.
For once, he decided that saying nothing was the wisest answer.
They continued walking, and before long they had crossed another two streets. Then the sound of hurried hooves suddenly echoed through the stone buildings.
A lone rider came charging down the avenue, his horse kicking up a thick cloud of dust as he raced toward the southern gates.
Ma Su turned to watch him disappear into the distance.
"That looks urgent," he murmured. "Perhaps an envoy from Jiangdong. I wonder what they want. Have they come to ask for General Lu's body, or are they here to negotiate peace?"
"General Lu's body?"
The name struck Xiahou Yuan so suddenly that he stopped walking.
"Which General Lu?"
Ma Su looked back at him with polite surprise.
"Lu Meng of Jiangdong, of course."
He paused.
Then he suddenly slapped his forehead.
"My apologies. I forgot that the generals do not receive military briefings. The news came from the Jingzhou front a little over 10 days ago."
He lowered his hand and continued in the same calm voice.
"Lu Meng was killed by the farmers he conscripted. Men who had never held a blade before he forced one into their hands. His own subordinates finished what those farmers started. They took his head and presented it to our Governor in Jiangling as an offering of surrender."
The words hit Xiahou Yuan like a physical blow.
Xiahou Yuan froze where he stood in the middle of the street.
His thoughts collided with one another in a miserable pileup. The open city, the workshop plans, the absurd harvest numbers, the siege engines, and the sudden collapse of the eastern front all came rushing back at once, leaving his head feeling like an overstuffed scroll cabinet that somebody had just kicked.
A bitter knot tightened in his stomach. He turned toward Ma Su, his eyes burning with anger and disbelief.
"You have been showing me all of this deliberately," he said, his voice trembling despite his efforts to keep it steady. "You have been feeding me military secrets. You intend to keep me here until I die of old age in Guanzhong, do you not?"
Ma Su slowly shook his head.
A spark of hope rose in Xiahou Yuan's chest.
"Our Lord has already made his intentions clear," Ma Su said. "He wishes to use you, General Xiahou, as a bargaining piece. He wants to exchange you for the soldiers from Yizhou whom Liu Zhang sent to Prime Minister Cao several years ago. Those men were detained, and we want them returned."
Ma Su smiled with the calm of a man discussing an ordinary matter of trade.
"If Prime Minister Cao agrees to the exchange, you will be free to return east."
The spark in Xiahou Yuan's chest vanished immediately. Suspicion rushed in to take its place, and he stared at the young captain like a man who had just discovered that every pleasant sentence Ma Su had spoken that day came with a blade tucked carefully behind it.
Ma Su calmly returned his gaze with that familiar smile of his. It was confident, pleasant, and somehow far more frightening because of it.
"Everything you have seen today was shown to you with our Lord's permission."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice until each word seemed heavier than the last.
"Our Chief Strategist Zhuge went even further. He stated that even if Sun Quan and Cao Cao were to join forces, they would still be unable to stop us. So tell me, General Xiahou, what difference does it make if you learn about our industrial methods and military preparations?"
Ma Su paused just long enough for Xiahou Yuan to realize that the answer was not going to comfort him.
"It makes no difference at all. Within 2 years, Prime Minister Cao is destined to suffer a complete defeat."
Xiahou Yuan stopped breathing.
The statement struck him so hard that his body seemed to forget what it was supposed to do next. His mouth opened slightly, but not a single word came out.
Zhang He barely remembered the journey back to the courtyard.
When he finally found himself sitting on his woven mat, he was staring down at the intricate black and white stones scattered across the Go board. The game was still there, but his attention had long since abandoned it, leaving him to stare at the board and wonder if one of the stones might suddenly explain what in the world had just happened.
Across the room, Xiahou Yuan knelt on the floor with an expression of furious denial. He kept muttering toward the walls, apparently having decided they were the most trustworthy audience available.
"Liu Bei is a treacherous snake. He is cunning beyond measure. This is nothing but a psychological trick. He is lying to us. He is certainly lying."
He said it with such conviction that even the walls seemed to be under investigation.
Minutes passed without a word. Zhang He ignored the rambling. He reached for his packet of herbs. He needed to brew a dose to calm his racing heart.
He untied the string and unfolded the paper.
Then he stopped.
Zhang He pinched the edge of the wrapping between his thumb and forefinger. He rubbed the material. He tested the thickness. He held it up to the light and studied the grain. A deep frown carved itself into his forehead.
He looked across the room at the pacing general.
He held the cheap wrapping paper up in the air.
"General Xiahou."
Zhang He turned the paper in the light.
"Tell me. When you look at this common paper they use to wrap basic herbs... how do you think the quality compares to the luxury Zuo Bo paper worth 10,000 coins that General Du showed us earlier?"