Chapter 32: Don’t Jump to Conclusions

As soon as Chen Cong stepped out the door, he sensed something was amiss.

"Where's my horse?"

"I sold it."

"You sold it???"

"I sold it," Hua Tuo confirmed again.

Chen Cong was on the verge of losing his mind—he finally understood where Hua Tuo had gotten the money he’d given him. He had actually thought the ancient physician was noble and selfless, but it turned out Hua Tuo was being generous with Chen Cong’s own funds!

"No horse—are we supposed to walk all the way to Qiao County?"

"If I hadn't sold the horse, where would I get the money for your medicine?" Hua Tuo replied, full of conviction.

"Are you crazy? Aren’t you a physician yourself? Go gather herbs in the mountains!"

Hua Tuo brushed aside Chen Cong’s arm with disdain. "Do you know how much medicine a herbalist can gather in one trip to the mountains? Do you know how much of it is actually effective for the illness? And do you know how long it takes to process raw herbs into usable medicine?"

He had a point, albeit not a strong one.

"Fine, then come along with me on foot to Qiao County for my appointment."

At the mention of Qiao County, Hua Tuo’s spirits lifted. He was a native of Qiao in Pei State—Pei State being what was now Qiao Prefecture. If Chen Cong were to take up a post in Qiao County, it would be a triumphant return home!

"If you’re not averse to it, young master, this old man can offer a donkey cart."

Chen Cong wasn’t picky; anything was better than walking. Unfortunately… the little donkey, barely waist-high, couldn’t carry both men, much less Chen Cong’s three weapons.

There was nothing for it—they had to go on foot.

It didn’t take long for Chen Cong to realize that Hua Tuo, though seemingly down-and-out, was actually quite well-connected.

Both were freeloaders, but their methods differed.

The great scholar Ji Li of Gong County relied on stolen talent and fabricated moving tales to earn tears and sympathy from young women—a classic rogue’s trick.

Hua Tuo, on the other hand, wandered the land, living off his miraculous medical skills. He was rarely turned away—so long as someone was sick, no matter their status, they would invite him in, treat him well, and offer food and drink.

Moreover, Hua Tuo’s survival skills in the wild were nearly unmatched. He was like a human GPS, intimately familiar with the local terrain. Even when taking obscure shortcuts, he knew which fruits were edible and which were poisonous.

He might not live in luxury, but he never suffered much hardship.

Yet the little old man had one peculiar flaw: despite possessing earth-shattering medical expertise, he was obsessed with becoming an official—and not just a medical official.

The tranquil afternoon, walking along country paths, was unexpectedly pleasant.

"Past Xu County, head west, then through Fule, Yangxia, and Tuo County, and we’ll reach Qiao County," Hua Tuo explained.

Chen Cong had never heard of any of these places and had no opinions to offer.

"Old man, it’s hard to believe someone like you could be so obsessed with officialdom."

Hua Tuo wasn’t offended. He gnawed happily at a chicken head and laughed, "What’s wrong with being an official?"

"But if you become an official, isn’t it a waste of your medical talents?"

"Hahaha! What a joke! How many people can I save, sleepless and tireless? If I were the chief of a county, I could spare an entire county’s populace by abolishing harsh taxes. As a prefect, I could save ten counties without raising a sword. As a prime minister, with benevolent governance and peace, I could save millions across the realm!"

Chen Cong finished the last scraps of meat from the chicken bones, feeling vaguely troubled.

Who was the true time traveler here? The old rascal was stealing his lines!

Of course, lofty ambitions were admirable, but Chen Cong was not optimistic about Hua Tuo’s aspirations—it was a matter of expertise.

Idealism was one thing; actual competence was another.

Chen Cong had learned much miscellany from Cao Cao—military tactics, strategy, and governance—but whenever politics came up, he nodded off.

Why? Because politics is always about trade-offs; there is no standard answer.

What you gain is ambition and aspiration; what you lose is the price.

It was much like the question Cao Cao had once posed to Chen Cong—a question that was not a question.

Now Chen Cong threw it to Hua Tuo.

"If you were a prefect governing over a hundred thousand people, with twenty thousand hectares of fertile land, and three years of prosperity, what would the tax rate be?"

Hua Tuo answered promptly, "The court already has regulations—one-fifteenth tax."

Chen Cong smirked. "Hold on. Now there are a hundred thousand Yellow Turban rebels causing havoc, and the court is barely managing itself, ordering localities to raise their own militias to quell the uprising. What’s your tax rate, and how many local soldiers would you conscript?"

Hua Tuo scratched his head for a moment. "One-tenth tax, conscript ten thousand armed men."

"Oh? You give one-fifteenth to the state, increase your own collection, and with a yield of three shi per mu, you retain three hundred thousand shi of grain over three years. If you conscript ten thousand soldiers, that’s only thirty shi per person—barely enough to support the soldiers. How will you manage?"

Hua Tuo frowned for a long time before replying, "The county funds the armor and weapons."

Chen Cong pressed, "Where does the money come from?"

"Then conscript only two thousand armed men."

Chen Cong laughed, "Two thousand soldiers against a hundred thousand Yellow Turbans? You really dare to dream! Turns out you’re the true god of war in the Han, better at strategy than Lu Zhi, Huangfu, and Zhu Jun."

Hua Tuo was annoyed. "Then what do you suggest?"

Chen Cong tossed the bone aside, elegantly licking his fingers. "I don’t know."

"You don’t know?" Hua Tuo was exasperated—the one posing the question didn’t have an answer and acted as if that were perfectly normal?

Chen Cong patted Hua Tuo’s shoulder, grinning. "I say I don’t know because I don’t care to know. You don’t know because you don’t want to know."

That’s the truth.

Governance never allows for having everything.

Either you aim downward.

Impose heavy taxes—like thirty or forty percent, with all kinds of levies maxed out. With enough funds, you recruit strong soldiers, and the Yellow Turban menace won’t last long. But you’ll earn a reputation for ruthless exploitation.

Or you aim sideways.

If you have guts and skill, you can extract resources from the gentry. But you must be bold and cautious—and sleep with one eye open. Offending these folks could mean sudden disaster.

Or you simply gamble.

Believe in your own abilities, that with a thousand elite troops you can repel a hundred thousand rebels. If you succeed, your name will be remembered in history; if not, you’ll die and be mocked by later generations.

Alternatively, you subsidize from your own pocket.

The advantage is that no one else suffers, and you avoid the risks of pure gambling. But you need deep pockets.

When the cannons roar, gold flows. Although wars at the end of the Han weren’t as extravagant as modern ones, they still consumed wealth.

Once war breaks out, feeding men and horses costs money; weapons and armor cost money; caring for the wounded and compensating the fallen cost money.

You can subsidize once or twice, but what about three or five times?

And if you can fill such a large hole, is your wealth clean? Where did the money come from?

A notorious saying: "Bandits wear gold belts, bridge builders are buried without a trace." You can’t claim all your wealth was painstakingly saved over generations.

His "cheap father-in-law" had even taught Chen Cong a shameless theory—shifting the blame.

Whoever is wealthy or has a good reputation gets to do the dirty work. If he wants to keep his name, let him pay; if he has tricks, let him use them. Success is rewarded, failure is punished.

Of course, this goes beyond the realm of governance—it’s a matter of manipulation.

Chen Cong, being a son-in-law, confidant, and shareholder, was privy to such talk.

Thus, the essence of governance is weighing pros and cons.

It’s impossible for everyone to benefit; if someone gains, someone else loses.

"Hua, take my advice—this is deep water, and you can’t manage it."

Hua Tuo was irritated. "So all that talk of recruitment was just bluff?"

Chen Cong waved his hand. "Not exactly. I just want you to know your place. Think about it—if you became Chief Imperial Physician, uniting all medical practitioners, you could save millions."

"This old man comes from humble origins; I’ve never even met the emperor. How could I become Chief Physician?"

Chen Cong smiled mysteriously. "Which is why I told you to serve Yanzhou."

Hua Tuo was astonished, eyes wide, finger pointing at Chen Cong, lips trembling.

"You—you—you, are you saying…"

"I said nothing. Don’t jump to conclusions."

Hua Tuo: …