Chapter 51: Yuan Shu—In That Moment, I Saw the Light

In the days that followed, Chen Cong’s quality of life soared dramatically.

During the daytime marches, he reclined leisurely in Cao Cao’s war chariot, reading the Analects at his own pace, with someone always at hand to answer questions about unfamiliar characters.

At night, when the army made camp, his tent was twice as spacious as before, and Cao Cao himself had ordered several thick, soft mattresses to be sent to his couch.

Because Chen Cong disliked plain water, Cao Cao even carried several packets of tea leaves with him. Whenever the army halted for rest, he would have hot water prepared and personally brew the tea.

Passing through cities, Cao Cao would make a point of sending men to buy exquisite snacks for him.

When the weather turned cold, more clothes were added; when the sun blazed, a fan was placed in his hand.

At noon, as Chen Cong napped on the war chariot, even the scouts bringing urgent messages dared not raise their voices. If anyone spoke too loudly, they would incur Cao Cao’s wrathful scolding.

If circumstances had allowed, with Cao Cao’s level of attentiveness, it would not have been surprising if he went so far as to send a beauty to warm Chen Cong’s bed.

Such is the terrifying power of capital.

“Chen Zining, have you no shame? Are you here to fight a war or to go on a pleasure outing?” Mi Heng grumbled resentfully from horseback.

If not for the fact that Cao Cao had been summoned by Yuan Shao for council, Mi Heng would not have dared utter a word.

Pitiful, that he, the mighty army scribe, still had to ride a horse while Chen Cong, that brash warrior, lounged grandly in the lord’s chariot.

Alas! What misery!

Chen Cong, propped against his cushions, book in hand, casually picked up a piece of date cake from a nearby dish and tossed it into his mouth.

Pah—tart and unrefined. Clearly these dates were not ground by that legendary Green-Helmed Saint of War; hardly authentic.

He rinsed his mouth with a sip of cool tea, then, imitating the manner of a great general as he remembered, gently pressed his tea cup and said unhurriedly, “Why don’t I speak to my father-in-law and have you ride in the chariot to rest as well?”

Mi Heng’s eyes lit up.

He licked his cracked lips eagerly. “Truly?”

Chen Cong grinned. “Just teasing you, you fool.”

A crooked sapling must be straightened; and for a master of foul language, the only cure was the occasional goading.

“You! You! Disgraceful, unworthy of a scholar or a man!”

“Enough nonsense. When you write the Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River, you may board the chariot.”

Mi Heng was on the verge of tears.

Now, just hearing the title “Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River” sent chills down his spine.

Composing an ode on command was bad enough—he’d written no less than ten versions already. Not only did he have to recite them to this illiterate brute, but also endure the warrior’s crude critiques.

Whenever asked, the answer was always: “Not quite as good as the one written by Little Grass Cao. Let me give you two hints: as graceful as a startled swan, as supple as a swimming dragon. Reflect on that.”

If pressed further: “Never mind who Little Grass Cao is. He writes his, you write yours. Is it a problem?”

So, unless by some miracle he could perfectly recreate the original ode from just those two hints, he’d never qualify to ride the chariot.

Not that such a feat was even possible.

Mi Heng was certain that even if he managed to produce a word-for-word copy of the original, that wretched Chen would still keep him off the chariot.

Because that brute had no idea what the original even said!

Hoofbeats thundered suddenly.

Chen Cong sat upright to see dust swirling ahead as several scouts sped past, infantrymen behind them flinging away their helmets and armor in a desperate run.

Soon after, Xiahou Dun galloped into the central camp, utterly unfazed by the sight of the grand lord lounging in the chariot.

After all, with Chen Cong’s recent indolence, the cavalry was temporarily under his command.

“Where is Big Brother?”

“He’s gone to the allied war council.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?”

“Yuan Shao only invited the lords. I’m just a small fry, not qualified to attend.”

Xiahou Dun nodded. “When my brother returns, pass on the message: Vanguard General Sun Jian has been defeated, and General Zu Mao has fallen.”

Chen Cong understood at once.

So those riders had returned to interrogate Sun Jian?

“Not good! Our top brother is in danger!”

In a flash, Chen Cong leapt up, snatched up the Tai’e Sword, and blew a sharp whistle.

From the distance, the steed Jueying raced over in an instant.

Chen Cong slung the sword, leapt from the chariot, and mounted his horse.

“For now, all military matters are under Mi Heng’s complete authority. Anyone who disobeys will be executed!”

With that, he spurred his horse and vanished from sight.

Xiahou Dun looked around blankly. “Did Big Brother leave Chen Zining in charge of the whole army?”

Mi Heng curled his lip. “No.”

“Then what’s with all the orders?”

“Maybe he thinks it sounds imposing. To use his words: putting on airs.”

“...I have to admit, it did sound pretty impressive. I almost thought he’d become the commander-in-chief.”

...

“General Chen, halt! No one enters the war council without permission.”

“Out of my way!”

He shoved the guards aside, his voice preceding him into the tent.

“Sun Jian, restrain yourself!”

Yuan Shu, who had been backed into a corner moments before, instantly straightened up, unafraid of Sun Jian’s murderous glare.

Sun Jian drew back his gaze with a growl, turning toward the tent entrance.

“Chen Zining, this is none of your concern. I advise you not to bring trouble upon yourself!”

Chen Cong strode in, sword in hand, roughly shoving aside several generals from Jiangdong to confront Sun Jian.

“This is a council of lords. You burst in with weapons and troops—what, are you planning a rebellion?”

Sun Jian, suppressing his fury, unfastened his cloak and cast it heavily to the ground.

“What a shameless brat, unable to distinguish right from wrong! Yuan Shu withheld my army’s rations for seven days, causing the vanguard’s defeat and the loss of General Zu Mao. And now you dare blame me instead?”

Chen Cong stood his ground, voice ringing out, “Of course it’s your fault!”

Otherwise?

Where did the rations Yuan Shu withheld end up? In the past few days, the soldiers in Cao’s camp had all grown visibly plumper. Surely Yuan Shu couldn’t be at fault?

Sun Jian’s gaze was icy as he stared Chen Cong down. “If you have a reason, speak it! Otherwise—”

He drew his sword, slashing through the table before Yuan Shu.

Slowly sheathing the blade, Sun Jian said with measured fury, “Or else, you will end up like this table!”

“Let me ask you, who ordered you to serve as vanguard and attack the traitor?”

“No one. I volunteered, and the coalition leader agreed.”

“Then tell me, when your supplies ran low, did you send anyone to ask for more?”

“Humph! How could I not? In three days, I sent seven detachments of scouts to Yuan Shu!”

“How laughable! Yuan Gonglu is only in charge of supplies, not the coalition leader. If you ask, he must give? What if you absconded with the coalition’s rations to defect to Dong Zhuo—who would take responsibility then?”

Yuan Shu slapped his thigh in delight. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of such a reasonable excuse before?

He immediately chimed in, “Chen Zining is absolutely right. That’s precisely what I was considering.”

Sun Jian laughed bitterly.

Who in the tent didn’t know that the Yuan brothers were polite on the surface but bitter rivals in secret? To avoid offending Yuan Shu, Sun Jian had deliberately not asked Yuan Shao.

Yet now this became an excuse to attack him?

“The coalition leader said himself that Yuan Shu was to coordinate all rations. It’s his duty—why should I have to ask Yuan Shao?”

Chen Cong nodded. “Let’s say you’re right. But then another question arises. The vanguard’s duty is to pave the way, build bridges, and cut down enemy generals. If battle goes poorly, you pull back and regroup with the main force before deciding your next move.

But you ignored the central army and charged straight for Sishui Pass, afraid someone else would claim the glory. Since you took on the risk for fame, you must also accept the consequences.

Yuan Gonglu had no obligation to stretch his supply lines and risk everything to get you rations. If the supply route was cut off, the loss would be rations belonging to all eighteen coalition lords.

So what? Other people take the risks, but you, Sun Jian, get all the credit? Now that your plan failed, you’re angry? When has the world ever worked that way?”

What does it mean to “attack the heart”? You stand on the moral high ground, exaggerate the facts, throw in conspiracy theories, and use the interests of the majority to cast suspicion on someone’s motives.

The deadliest part is that no one can actually display their true intentions for all to see—hence, there’s no way to prove one’s innocence.

Thus, the real issue is ignored: regardless of their motives, that should not be grounds for blame.

As a general, Sun Jian had done nothing wrong.

Military affairs are simple: reward merit, punish faults.

Whatever his motives, if he could storm all the way to Sishui Pass, that would be undeniable merit.

But as a warlord, Sun Jian had blundered terribly.

This was a time of chaos. If you were strong, you could do as you pleased; if you were weak and lacked tact, you were doomed.

Sun Jian swept all before him to Sishui Pass, killing bandits and rebels along the way. He feasted grandly at the front, while those behind got not even a taste of broth.

Wasn’t anyone else afraid he would take all the spoils for himself?

Just because no one said it, didn’t mean they weren’t thinking it.

When the time came for him to be targeted, who would speak on his behalf?

Liu Xuande, loyal to the Han? Sorry—Liu Bei wasn’t even qualified to attend the council.

Cao Mengde, loyal in appearance but traitorous at heart? Cao Cao’s every act was calculated for concrete gain.

At present, Yuan Shu was Cao Cao’s greatest patron. If he refrained from kicking Sun Jian while he was down, that was already doing him a favor.

The only wild card was Yuan Shao.

But that was a matter of family influence—a conflict that was inevitable.

Yet even so, would Yuan Shao really dare stand up for him?

With Yuan Shu holding the advantage, would Yuan Shao risk an open break with his kinsman?