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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.
After that, Lie Fan stepped out of his tent into the cold, pale light of the newborn year. The air outside the tent was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of woodsmoke from last night's countless fires and the sharper, more ominous smell of cold iron and gunpowder residue.
Lie Fan took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the chill morning. It felt different. The air itself seemed to carry more information, the moisture from the distant river, the faint decay from the battlefield beyond the walls, the vibrant, nervous energy of his own awakening camp.
He stood, fully armored, the familiar weight of the dark plates now feeling like a second, lighter skin. His halberd rested casually in his grip, its wicked blade catching the first weak rays of the sun not with a mere glint, but with a hungry gleam.
His two Yellow Ghost bodyguards whi followed him to this campaign, materialized from the shadows beside the tent entrance as if summoned by his presence.
They bowed, their movements fluid and silent, but as they straightened, a subtle tension rippled through their formidable frames. They exchanged a fleeting, almost imperceptible glance. Something was different.
The aura emanating from their Emperor was not just the usual commanding pressure of royalty and supreme command. It was heavier, denser, like the atmosphere before a summer thunderstorm.
It pressed against their senses, not with hostility, but with a sheer, overwhelming presence. It was as if the man before them had somehow become more… real, more substantial, than the world around him.
They could not fathom the reason, cultivation was a mystery to all but Lie Fan himself in this world, but their instincts, honed by a lifetime of guarding the most dangerous individuals, screamed a silent alert.
"Your Majesty," one of them rasped, his voice always a dry whisper. "The Crown Prince came at first light to pay his morning respects. We informed him of your… meditation. He departed, but bade us tell you he would continue his studies with Masters Lu Zhi and Zhuge Jin."
A genuine warmth softened the immense pressure around Lie Fan for a moment. "Good," he said, the word carrying a father's quiet pride.
Muchen was not just reading scrolls in a palace library, he was dissecting the anatomy of a siege, parsing the psychology of a speech to hundreds of thousands, learning statecraft from the raw, unfiltered reality of empire building.
This was the education he needed. Theory tempered in the forge of experience. The thought solidified his resolve further, he was not just fighting for a throne, but for the legacy his son would inherit, a unified, pacified land.
With a final glance at the quiet, wounded silhouette of Tong Pass in the distance, Lie Fan turned and strode towards the command tent, his bodyguards falling into step behind him, two shadows tethered to a walking sun.
Inside the large tent, the brain of the Hengyuan war machine was already humming. Sima Yi stood near the central map table, his fingers tracing invisible lines on the parchment.
Beside him, the shrewd administrators Chen Deng and Zang Hong murmured over supply scrolls. The two other chief strategists, the unconventional Pang Tong and the steadfast Xu Shu, were in a quiet debate over a detail of the fortification layouts.
And standing apart, a solid wall of martial authority, were the three Marshals, Zhang Liao, Huang Zhong, and Taishi Ci.
As Lie Fan entered, the conversation died instantly. All present bowed deeply. "Your Majesty."
"Be at ease," Lie Fan said, moving to the head of the map table. His voice, once again, held that new, resonant timbre. It wasn't louder, but it seemed to vibrate in the very air of the tent, demanding a deeper kind of attention.
The three Marshals, men whose lives were dedicated to reading the ebb and flow of combat energy, felt the change most acutely. Zhang Liao's eyes narrowed slightly. Huang Zhong's hand paused on his beard. Taishi Ci's posture became even more alert.
It was a subtle shift, invisible to the purely administrative mind, but to warriors of their caliber, it was as obvious as a new scar. Overnight, the Emperor's aura, his intrinsic life force and combat spirit, had not just grown, it had undergone a qualitative transformation.
It was sharper, deeper, more harmoniously integrated. It was the difference between a well forged sword and a legendary blade that had tasted the blood of dragons.
They said nothing, storing the observation away. In the presence of such authority, some questions were not asked, they were simply accepted as facets of the inevitable.
Sima Yi, ever the conductor, stepped forward. "Your Majesty, the reply to Fa Zheng has been drafted precisely to your wording and dispatched by the fastest bird we have."
Lie Fan gave a single, satisfied nod. The net was being drawn. His gaze swept over the detailed map of Tong Pass, its outer walls now marked with a spiderweb of red ink denoting breaches and weakened sections. "The truce expires with the sun's full rise. What is our plan for today, and the days that follow until this place falls?"
Sima Yi gestured, and the strategists gathered around the table. Chen Deng spoke first, his voice precise. "The foundation remains the same as the previous seven days, Your Majesty. We must continue to exploit the psychological and physical damage already inflicted. However, we propose a subtle shift in tempo."
Pang Tong, his eccentric appearance belying a ruthless intellect, picked up the thread, tapping the map with a grubby finger. "The bombardments from the cannons, hwachas, and trebuchets will resume. But we will vary the intervals. Longer pauses of silence to fray their nerves further, then concentrated barrages on specific, pre weakened points. The goal is not just to break stone, but to break their pattern of anticipation."
Xu Shu added, his tone more measured, "The infantry assaults will be more integrated. Instead of bombardments ceasing entirely for a full scale ladder rush, we will use lighter, rolling barrages to provide continuous covering fire. The 'Climbing Tigers' will advance under this umbrella. It will be less intense than the initial shock assaults, but more sustained, allowing more of our champions and elite troops to gain the walls and hold sections for longer periods. We grind them down by inches, not miles."
Zang Hong pointed to supply lines on the map. "Our logistics are robust. We can maintain this adjusted pattern indefinitely. Theirs cannot hold. Every day we maintain pressure, their food, their morale, their very will to stand on those broken walls diminishes."
Lie Fan listened, absorbing the synthesis of their counsel. It was a plan of controlled, masterful cruelty. It leveraged their overwhelming advantage in technology and supply to conduct a siege that was also a slow motion execution. It was perfect. It was exactly in line with the spirit of the campaign, relentless, adaptive pressure.
"I approve," Lie Fan stated, his decision finalizing the atmosphere in the tent from one of discussion to one of execution. "The plan is sound. We will break them with a hammer of noise and a scalpel of silence. Let the preparations begin at once."
He turned his gaze to the three Marshals. "Zhang Liao, Huang Zhong, Taishi Ci. You know your roles. Today, we do not merely attack. We occupy. Section by section, wall by wall. I will lead the assault on the central breach. I expect you to turn the flanks into slaughterhouses for any who still think they can hold."
The three generals cupped their fists in unison, the steel of their vambraces clicking softly. "By Your Majesty's will!" they intoned, their voices a triad of unwavering resolve.
Without another word, they turned and strode from the tent, their departure signaling the end of the planning phase and the beginning of the day's deadly work.
The air outside soon filled with the sounds of shouted orders, the clatter of mass movement, and the deep, ominous rumble of siege engines being moved into position.
On the broken battlements of Tong Pass, the dawn revealed a different scene from the despair of a week prior. The Wei soldiers were at their stations, their faces not marked by the hollow eyed terror of the bombardment's peak, but by a grim, solemn determination.
There were no cheers, no bold shouts of defiance. But there was a stillness that spoke of resolve rather than shock.
The shared, meager feast and Cao Cao's masterful speech two nights before had done their work. The shame of the Crown Prince's capture had been alchemized into a bitter fuel for pride.
They stood not as broken men awaiting annihilation, but as cornered warriors who had decided the price of their lives would be measured in Hengyuan blood and time, precious time for their kingdom to prepare its last stand.
Cao Cao stood on the parapet of the main gate tower, the highest point of the crumbling fortress. The morning wind tugged at his robes and the fur lining of his cloak. He was flanked by his top brain trust, Xun Yu,Guo Jia, and Xi Zhicai.
His eyes were fixed on the Hengyuan encampment, a hive of purposeful activity that churned like a kicked anthill. The sight of the massive cannons being wheeled back into their firing positions sent a cold shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the wind.
He let out a long, weary sigh, the vapor ghosting in the cold air. The two days of truce had been no respite for him, only a pause filled with the agony of calculation and the taste of inevitable decline.
"Fengxiao, Zhicai," he said, not taking his eyes off the enemy camp. "Your honest counsel. How many days can these walls hold? How long before this position becomes a tomb rather than a fortress?"
Guo Jia coughed softly into his hand due to the cold air before answering. The silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken truth. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice thin but precise.
"The men's spirits have been stiffened, thanks to you. But spirit cannot mend stone, nor fill empty bellies, nor stop the thunder that cracks the sky. They will fight. They will die well. But the walls…?" He shook his head slowly. "A week. Perhaps less if Lie Fan chooses to concentrate his demonic fire on a single point. It cannot be more."
Xi Zhicai nodded in grim agreement. "The calculus is one of attrition, and we are the smaller number. Each assault widens the breaches. Each day drains our stores. We are a dam made of sand and dying will, holding back an ocean of steel. A week is a generous estimate, born of hope rather than stone."
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Name: Lie Fan
Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty
Age: 36 (203 AD)
Level: 16
Next Level: 462,000
Renown: 2325
Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 11)
SP: 1,121,700
ATTRIBUTE POINTS
STR: 1,010 (+20)
VIT: 659 (+20)
AGI: 653 (+10)
INT: 691
CHR: 98
WIS: 569
WILL: 436
ATR Points: 0