Chapter 048: The High Mound Pavilion of Wancheng (2/3)

Old He Kou was situated southwest of Wan City. It lay about forty li from Sunset Gathering and ten li from Wan City itself. Standing atop a hill, one could vaguely glimpse the rows of banners rising in Wan City’s direction.

Wei Yan and Cao Peng stood by the river bend, scanning the surroundings.

According to Wei Yan, there ought to be a ferry here. Yet after searching for quite some time, not a trace of a boat could be seen.

“Why are there no boats?” Cao Peng asked, his face filled with confusion.

Wei Yan scratched his head, a little embarrassed. “How would I know? There used to be plenty of ferries here. I remember last time I passed by, there were three boats moored on this bank.”

“Uh, when was the last time you came here?”

Wei Yan thought for a moment, then replied solemnly, “Two years ago!”

Blast it!

Two years ago, there were ferries aplenty when you passed by. But now, two years have passed, and with Cao Cao and Zhang Xiu’s great battle just ended, how could there be any ferries?

“Brother Wei, aside from here, where else is there a crossing?”

“Eastward, about three or five li, there’s a place called High Hill Pavilion. It’s said to have been built in the Qin Dynasty, though now it’s abandoned. The river flows gently there, and the span is quite narrow. But it’s early spring—the ice and snow have just melted—so I’m not sure if the river has swelled.”

Cao Peng gave a wry smile. “Let’s go see for ourselves, then.”

It was around ten o’clock in the morning, and the sunlight was warm, bathing them in comfort. The early spring wind, though tinged with chill, was soft, like a maiden’s slender jade fingers brushing across their faces. Cao Peng led his horse, walking shoulder to shoulder with Wei Yan. Neither mentioned the slaughter of the night before, yet both knew that everything that had happened was etched deep into their memories. Unless someday vengeance was achieved, it would never be forgotten.

That hatred—engraved in their bones!

“Ah Fu, what are your plans when you return this time?”

“If there’s nothing pressing at home, we’ll go to Mount Tu Fu.” Cao Peng exhaled deeply, as if trying to vent all the frustration in his chest. He paused, then spoke quietly, “Tiger Head’s father once dabbled in risky business. He has some old friends making a living in Fu Yang. We might settle there first, then plan for the future.”

Risky business, of course, meant banditry.

Wei Yan’s lips curled into an odd smile, and he whispered, “Bandits of Mount Tu Fu?”

“Mm.”

“Those men are a bold lot. I haven’t met them myself, but they have a good reputation locally. Who would have thought Tiger Head had such secrets? His father must have held some rank back then. If so, it could be a fine place to go.” Wei Yan straightened his expression, lowered his voice, “But I don’t understand—why don’t you want to join Lord Cao? Surely that’s better than being a bandit.”

“To join Lord Cao… Look at me. I can barely lift a chicken, and my learning is limited to the ‘Poems’ and ‘Analects.’ What claim do I have to stand in Lord Cao’s camp? Besides, I have no one to recommend me. Even if I went, who would value me? Rather than that, it’s better to go home and slowly build up strength.”

Birth and background—these two words are truly vital!

Had Cao Peng never considered recruiting Wei Yan? Of course he had! But he knew he lacked the capital and the ability. In these times, birth and reputation are the two pillars needed to stand in the world. Beyond that, a bit of talent could carve out a career. Take Liu Bei for instance: before he gained the title ‘Uncle Liu,’ he commanded just a few thousand troops—with only Guan and Zhang as generals—and his strategists were little more than Sun Qian and Jian Yong. Even Guan and Zhang followed him out of brotherhood, while Sun Qian and Jian Yong were mere minor aides. He managed to establish himself in Xu Province only by marrying into the local gentry. So he wandered, rootless, until he earned the title ‘Uncle Liu’ and began to assemble a proper retinue. Even Yellow Turban leaders like Liu Pi and Gong Du came to join him—precisely because of his background.

Now, Cao Peng was not even as prominent as the pre-famed Liu Bei. On what grounds could he recruit others?

Self-awareness is precious!

Cao Peng did well enough in that regard. Since meeting Wei Yan, he used all sorts of subtle methods to draw closer to him. As for the future… well, that was for another day.

He had no right to speak of what lay ahead, not yet.

Wei Yan, hearing Cao Peng’s words, fell into deep thought.

To be honest, his situation was better than Cao Peng’s. At least he possessed a skill and could count as a warrior. But apart from that, his circumstances were much the same—humble birth, no reputation. What would happen if he rashly joined Cao Cao’s camp? At best, he’d start as a squad leader or a company leader, climbing step by step.

He knew his own temperament well.

Wei Yan had served six years as a soldier, racking up countless achievements, yet the highest he’d reached was garrison commander.

Even if Cao Cao was a great judge of men, it would likely take five or six years for Wei Yan to catch his notice.

In five or six years, counting a couple more, he’d be nearing thirty.

Lacking a patron was truly a headache. But finding one was no easy task.

Thinking thus, Wei Yan glanced at Cao Peng.

Bathed in bright sunlight, Cao Peng’s thin face still held traces of youthful innocence. Yet his clear eyes revealed a calm, capable bearing.

In truth, Ah Fu made sense.

He had a broad perspective and keen insight into the world. If nothing unexpected occurred, he was bound to rise someday… Perhaps it was better to join him and make a name first?

This thought flashed through Wei Yan’s mind, but he quickly shook his head.

He and Ah Fu were not the same. He had passed twenty, and if he didn’t strive now, he’d achieve nothing later. Ah Fu was still young; he had time and reason to grow and gather strength. If Wei Yan merely sought to depend on him, he feared he’d never sit as an equal.

Everyone has their own dreams.

Wei Yan was no different.

He was too proud to rely on someone weaker or younger. Had that been his nature, he wouldn’t have ignored the martial officers of Yi Yang back then and could have joined Wen Pin directly. At worst, he could now hold a county post.

Each harbored their own thoughts, and as they walked, silence fell.

Suddenly, Wei Yan stopped, reaching out to grab Cao Peng’s arm.

“Brother Wei, what’s the matter?”

“Listen.”

Wei Yan looked grave, tilting his head to listen.

Cao Peng concentrated, straining his ears. In the distance, shouts and neighs of horses could be heard, punctuated by series of agonized screams, carried by the wind.

A battle ahead?

Cao Peng glanced at Wei Yan, who had crouched down, pressing his ear to the ground.

“There’s a cavalry squad approaching.”

“How many?”

“At least thirty or forty riders.”

Cao Peng drew a sharp breath, scanning the surroundings.

“Brother Wei, into the woods, quick!”

He tugged his horse and ran toward a nearby copse, a thought flashing in his mind: The Battle of Wan! Zhang Xiu’s counterattack!

It had to be—surely Cao Cao had angered Zhang Xiu by meddling with his aunt.

But wait, wasn’t Zhang Xiu’s counterattack supposed to happen at night? Why was it happening in broad daylight?

As he pondered, Cao Peng dashed into the woods. Wei Yan followed close behind. Once inside, Wei Yan glanced around, “Ah Fu, are we to hide here?”

Cao Peng looked at his horse, then suddenly gritted his teeth and slapped its rump hard.

The startled horse bolted northward.

Wei Yan cried out, “Ah Fu, what are you doing?”

“Up the tree, let’s climb!”

“What?”

“From high up, we can see further. No matter who’s fighting, they won’t pay attention above. We’ll hide and watch.”

Wei Yan thought it over—Cao Peng was right.

Without hesitation, he slung his Dragon Sparrow sword over his back and quickly climbed a tree. Cao Peng was even more agile; despite his slender build, he was better at climbing than Wei Yan. Once aloft, Cao Peng felt about his person, realizing he lacked any weapon. His Han ring-blade had been lost when Wei Yan knocked him out at Sunset Gathering.

“Brother Wei, got a weapon?”

Wei Yan wasn’t far; hearing this, he promptly drew a short sword from his belt.

About forty centimeters long, forged as one piece, with a black lacquered jujube wood handle wrapped in coarse cloth, but lacking a guard.

It was a cavalry sword, more decorative than functional for Wei Yan.

He waved it toward Cao Peng, then tossed it up. Cao Peng, perched on a branch thick as his thigh, caught the short sword and tucked it into his belt, then stood and hid behind the sturdy trunk. With winter just past and spring newly arrived, the trees were leafless, but their thick trunks and branches offered cover. From outside the woods, it was hard to spot Cao Peng.

Wei Yan, seeing Cao Peng’s actions, followed suit.

No sooner had they hidden themselves, the distant hoofbeats grew closer, rumbling like thunder in Cao Peng’s ears.

Cao Peng craned his neck, watching…