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"The city is secure, the army is fed," Meng Da stated, wiping his mouth. "But we cannot grow roots here. Cao Cao's main force is pinned at Tong Pass by His Majesty. This is our moment to strike deeper."
Zhang Ren, ever cautious, set down his cup. "The men are victorious, but they are also tired. A forced march now, into another siege at Tianshui… it risks stretching our supply lines thin and facing a garrison that will now be forewarned and desperate."
"Desperate, yes," Yan Yan rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "But also isolated. If Hanzhong is ours and Wudu has fallen, Tianshui is a lone finger, waiting to be chopped off. Its fall severs Cao Cao's last reliable route to the western corridors and the Qiang tribes. It would strangle Chang'an."
The debate flowed back and forth. Meng Huo argued for aggressive action, his philosophy born of the southern jungles, press the advantage when the prey is wounded. Li Yan and Wu Lan sided with Zhang Ren's caution, emphasizing the need for consolidation. Zhang Ni saw both sides, his loyalty to the chain of command making him hesitant.
Fa Zheng listened, his fingers steepled. The strategic picture was clear in his mind. Tianshui was the key. Taking it would transform the strategic map, turning Cao Cao's possible retreat from Tong Pass into a potential trap. But the question was one of timing, of risk, and crucially, of imperial will.
He raised a hand, silencing the table. "We debate logistics and fatigue, which are valid concerns. But we serve an emperor. We act with his authority, in pursuit of his vision."
He looked at each man in turn. "We have not yet had the honor of standing in His Majesty Lie Fan's war tent. We know him by his deeds, his reputation, the sheer momentum of his will. So I ask you not what you think is best, but what you believe he would approve. Given his actions, the relentless assault at Tong Pass, the introduction of world shattering weapons, the willingness to risk everything for a decisive end, would he wish for us to rest on our laurels in Wudu, or to drive the dagger deeper into Wei's side while its attention is fixed on the hammer at its gate?"
The question reframed everything. They were no longer just generals debating tactics, they were servants trying to anticipate the mind of a sovereign they knew only by his terrifying, magnificent shadow.
Meng Da spoke first, conviction in his eyes. "He would advance. He creates opportunities and exploits them without mercy. Hesitation is a luxury he does not afford his enemies."
Zhang Ren stroked his beard, then gave a slow, conceding nod. "At Hongnong, he did not pause to fully consolidate. He used the shock of the new weapons to press forward, to keep Cao Cao reeling. Shock and momentum. It is his way."
One by one, the others agreed. The image of Lie Fan that emerged from their collective understanding was not of a prudent consolidator, but of a force of nature in human form, a commander for whom 'enough' was never enough if there was more weakness to expose, more pressure to apply.
"Then the consensus is clear," Fa Zheng said, a sharp, decisive light in his eyes. "We take the initiative. We march on Tianshui at first light. We will secure it, fortify it, and from there, we will become the anvil to His Majesty's hammer. When Cao Cao is finally broken at Tong Pass and looks to flee west, he will find not a sanctuary, but a new wall, ours. And if he flees south, Zhang Lu's men in Hanzhong will be waiting. We will help seal the tomb of the Wei dynasty."
Orders were dispatched through the night. The satisfied lethargy of a garrison force was replaced with the purposeful energy of an army on the move once more.
As the first pale light of the new year, the year 203 AD, touched the jagged peaks surrounding Wudu, the Hengyuan Southern Army was already formed up in the main square and beyond the gates. There was no grand new year's ceremony, only the quiet, determined clatter of arms and armor, the snort of horses, and the silent steam of soldiers' breath in the cold dawn air.
Fa Zheng, mounted, looked over his troops. They were not the lavishly equipped imperial guard, but they were hardened, victorious, and now driven by a sense of being part of a larger, closing net. He gave the signal.
With a sound like a giant sigh, the army began to move, a river of steel and determination flowing north and east, towards the heartland of Wei, towards Tianshui.
Back in the northeast, at Tong Pass, the dawn of the new year broke not with a roar, but with a profound, almost sacred silence. The truce held. The cacophony of celebration from the Hengyuan camp had faded into the quiet of exhausted sleep and gentle hangovers. The oppressive gloom of the Wei fortress was, for a blessed moment, unpunctuated by the threat of imminent thunder.
In his own tent, Lie Fan was awake. He had slept little, his mind a whirlwind of calculations and the lingering energy of the night's speech. But now, he sought not to plan, but to cultivate.
For the first time in what felt like an age, since the weight of empire, the rush of conquest, and the brutal symphony of cannon fire had consumed every waking moment, he turned inward.
He sat in the lotus position, the early morning chill kept at bay by the focused energy beginning to swirl within him. He began the cycles of the Yin Yang Separation Cultivation, a profound art that sought harmony and power through the balance of opposing forces.
It was a practice that required immense spiritual clarity, a clarity often drowned out by the demands of kingship and war.
But today, something was different. As he sank into the meditation, drawing the disparate energies of Heaven and Earth into his core, he felt a resonance he had never experienced before.
It was as if the very air around him was thicker, more potent, eager to be absorbed. The Heavenly and Dynastic Energy that had coalesced around him, the invisible mantle of mandate and the roaring river of his empire's collective fortune and will, was not separate from this process. It was fuel.
The yin energy, cool and deep like a midnight lake, flowed into him not as a trickle, but as a tranquil river. The yang energy, fierce and bright like the heart of a forge, followed in a torrent of vibrant power.
Within his spiritual meridians, they did not clash, but intertwined, separated yet complementary, each enhancing the other in a dazzling, harmonious dance. The bottleneck that had held him at the ninth level for so long didn't just break, it vaporized.
A tremor ran through his physical form, so subtle it wouldn't disturb a feather, yet the power it represented was tectonic. His consciousness soared as he felt his spiritual foundation expand, solidify, then expand again.
The jump was not incremental, it was a leap. From the ninth level, he surged past the tenth and solidified his being at the eleventh level of the Yin Yang Separation Cultivation.
He opened his eyes. The world had not changed, yet his perception of it had deepened immeasurably. The weariness of command was gone, burned away in the crucible of this breakthrough.
His senses felt preternaturally sharp, he could almost hear the individual breaths of the soldiers sleeping in tents hundreds paces away, feel the faint vibration of the earth, see the subtle play of light and shadow with a painter's discerning eye.
His physical strength, already legendary, now felt anchored by an internal, inexhaustible wellspring. The martial techniques he had mastered would now be wielded with a precision and force that bordered on the supernatural.
A faint, satisfied smile touched his lips as he mentally called up his system interface. The confirmation was there, glowing with a serene, potent light. Level 11. In the quiet of the truce morning, amidst the calm before the final storm, he had grown significantly stronger. It felt like an omen, a personal ratification of the destiny he was forging.
He was just contemplating the new horizons of his power when a discreet cough sounded at the entrance of his tent. Sima Yi entered, his face a mask of composed urgency. He bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion at this hour."
"There are no peaceful hours in war, Zhongda," Lie Fan said, his voice calm, carrying a new, resonant depth that Sima Yi noted with a flicker of surprise. "What news?"
"A message, via fast raven, from the southwest. From Fa Zheng." Sima Yi offered a small, tightly rolled scroll.
Lie Fan took it and read. The message was concise, typical of Fa Zheng, Wudu secured. Morale collapse and mutiny. Army rested and resupplied. Consensus reached, marching at dawn on New Year's Day to besiege Tianshui. Aim, to cut retreat and sever supply to Chang'an. Awaiting your strategic confirmation or countermand, Your Majesty.
Lie Fan read the words again, then let the scroll fall gently onto his campaign table. He looked out through the tent flap, towards the silent, wounded bulk of Tong Pass, then west, towards where his southern army would now be on the move.
He did not immediately speak. He felt the pieces on the board shifting, aligning not just by his own hand, but by the initiative of capable subordinates who understood his will.
Fa Zheng's question was a formality, the decision had already been made in the spirit of the campaign Lie Fan himself had authored. Aggression. Momentum. The relentless application of pressure until the enemy structure shattered.
"He asks for confirmation," Lie Fan said finally, a slow, fierce pride warming his voice. "But he has already given me his answer. And it is the correct one."
He turned his gaze back to Sima Yi, and the strategist felt the weight of that newly empowered presence. "Send a reply. 'Your initiative is approved and commended. Take Tianshui. Seal the west. I will meet you at the gates of Chang'an.'"
As Sima Yi bowed and withdrew to dispatch the message, Lie Fan remained standing. The silence of the truce was now filled with a different kind of energy.
Right now, his main force, rested and roaring with confidence, awaited his order to finish the job at Tong Pass. To the southwest, a skilled and determined army was already marching to slam shut Cao Cao's last escape route. And within himself, he now harbored a power that transcended even his former formidable peak.
The new year had dawned. The brief peace was an illusion, a drawn breath. The next exhalation would be a hurricane, and its winds were now blowing from every direction, converging with perfect, devastating synchronization on the last bastions of the House of Wei.
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Name: Lie Fan
Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty
Age: 35 (202 AD) -> 36 (203 AD)
Level: 16
Next Level: 462,000
Renown: 2325
Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 9) -> (level 11)
SP: 1,121,700
ATTRIBUTE POINTS
STR: 966 (+20) -> 1,010 (+20)
VIT: 623 (+20) -> 659 (+20)
AGI: 623 (+10) -> 653 (+10)
INT: 667 -> 691
CHR: 98
WIS: 549 -> 569
WILL: 432 ->436
ATR Points: 0