Chapter Eighteen: Zifan Sends Forth His Troops

As soon as he entered the military camp, Cao Cao was met with a stern demonstration of authority: “By order of the Sima, no one may ride within the camp—dismount at once.” The soldiers, each wielding two massive spiked clubs, presented a formidable sight. Each club was nearly two meters long, as thick as a grown man’s thigh, and though the spikes were short, they were exceptionally robust. Every club weighed over fifty catties. The armor the soldiers wore was crafted from cold iron and other hard metals, and its cost was staggering.

The soldiers gripped their clubs and formed a long corridor stretching to the command tent, exuding a chilling, murderous aura that seemed to radiate despair and an overwhelming sense of doom. On either side, ten great banners fluttered, each inscribed with the strict military laws the Black Riders must remember:

First: If the drum is sounded and you do not advance, if the gong is sounded and you do not halt, if the flag is raised and you do not rise, or lowered and you do not submit—this is called insubordination, punishable by death.

Second: If summoned and you do not answer, if called for roll and you do not appear, if you’re late to muster, if you violate the code—this is called negligence, punishable by death.

Third: If you fail to report during the night watch, are slow to respond to alarms, or signals are unclear—this is called dereliction, punishable by death.

Fourth: If you utter complaints, show anger toward your commander, refuse discipline, or spread dissent—this is called incitement, punishable by death.

Fifth: If you laugh or jest, ignore regulations, or charge recklessly through the gates—this is called disrespect, punishable by death.

Sixth: If your weapons are broken, your arrows lack fletching or heads, your swords and spears are blunt, or your banners are tattered—this is called deception, punishable by death.

Cao Cao marveled, “What kind of army is this!”

Such strict discipline, as if each man were prepared to die a hundred deaths in battle or return home after ten years of hardship. Even Cao Cao, destined to become a great warlord, felt reassured and deeply curious about the man who could forge soldiers so strong as oxen, loyal as dogs, cunning as foxes, and shrewd as monkeys. The Sima of Youzhou must possess a devil’s own charisma.

At the heart of the camp, the command tent—where the soul of the army resided.

Zifan sat upon the commander’s dais, his hair bound beneath a bejeweled golden crown, a golden headband adorned with twin dragons across his brow, clad in white silver armor, belted with a palace sash of colorful silk, and draped in a dark blue brocade coat embroidered with eight clusters. His boots were of blue satin with pale soles. His face was radiant as the full autumn moon, his complexion like spring flowers, sideburns sharp as if carved, brows bold as if inked, cheeks like peach petals, eyes deep and limpid as autumn waters. Though he smiled, a biting cold lingered in his gaze—one glance could render a man immobile, as if plunged into an endless abyss.

The atmosphere bristled with killing intent. Cao Cao steadied himself, touched the secret order hidden in his robes, and rehearsed his words of praise and request for troops. With resolve, he strode directly into the tent.

Within, dozens of officers stood to the side, each over eight feet tall, broad-shouldered and imposing, with sword-like brows and cold eyes. When Cao Cao entered, none stirred, nor showed the slightest surprise or whispered among themselves. In the firelight, their statuesque forms exuded an aura of invincibility.

They seemed as gods of war descended to earth.

Zifan rose, saluted with both hands, and said, “It is already midnight. My men do not know the esteemed General Cao and may have been disrespectful—I ask your forgiveness. May I know the purpose of your visit?”

Cao Cao, relaxing at Zifan’s friendly manner as if reuniting with an old friend, grasped his hand and laughed aloud, “What fine soldiers! You are so young and already Sima of Youzhou—your reputation is well deserved. I am deeply impressed!”

No talk of rank or gain, only cups of strong wine to toast their meeting.

Ha ha ha…

What fine wine. At the last banquet, when I first met Brother Zifan, I knew you were a hero among men, a true dragon among dragons.

“Not at all, General Cao jests. Please, be seated.” Zifan replied with humility.

Zifan then asked, “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” With those words, he drained his cup as a mark of respect. Cao Cao calmed himself, glanced around, and declared, “I carry a secret order for Sima Zifan of Youzhou. All unrelated persons must withdraw at once.”

He shouted three times, but not a soul moved. Clearly, Zifan’s discipline was effective; the men regarded him as their supreme commander, and the cavalry was firmly in his grasp.

After repeated calls with no response, Cao Cao felt a twinge of embarrassment. After all, he would one day found the Wei state, becoming Emperor Wu. In the age of the Three Kingdoms, anyone with sense would seek his favor—if not for glory, then at least for security. Surely he deserved some respect.

“Withdraw!”

Now the room was empty but for the two of them. “General Cao may speak freely,” Zifan said.

Cao Cao began, “The court stands in peril. The Ten Attendants among the eunuchs abuse their power, levying heavy taxes, selling offices and ranks, leaving the empire in tatters. Using their influence, they run rampant in the palace, plunging the people into misery. I hope General Zifan will send troops to quell the rebellion, and so become a hero in the people’s eyes.”

As he spoke, Cao Cao studied Zifan, who appeared to be sixteen or seventeen, with long hair, the collar of his white robe slightly open, sleeves rolled up to the elbows revealing sun-kissed skin, eyes deep and spirited, nose straight, lips alluring—altogether, a masterpiece of the divine hand.

Such words might sway a novice official, easily bought with flattery and empty promises. But as a time-traveler with memories of two lifetimes, Zifan was no fool. Sweet words are pleasant, but they lower one’s guard and open opportunities for others to strike or for danger to arise.

All truly successful people understand this. They see the essence of society and the hidden rules of human relations; they know what others want and what they are thinking—if you wish to catch a fish, you must think like a fish.

There are no eternal friends or enemies in this world, only eternal interests. Human interaction is, at its core, an exchange of interests. If one does not grasp this and seeks to hoard every benefit, even the greatest talent becomes wasted potential.

Zifan was such a clever man. In the world of officialdom, caution is paramount. However glorious one’s career, a single mistake can bring ruin to a lifetime’s achievements. Every decision must be weighed with painstaking care.

Finishing, Cao Cao took out the imperial order from his breast and handed it to Zifan. “By the command of the Grand General, you are ordered to muster your troops at once and march to rescue the throne.” Embracing the resolve that a hero departs never to return, Cao Cao spoke with gritted teeth.

In the firelight, Zifan’s lips curled in a faint, almost mischievous smile. His eyes blazed, burning straight through to one’s soul. Without so much as a glance at the letter, Zifan tossed it into the brazier. Cao Cao’s face blanched, and he involuntarily stepped back.

Was this the end for me?

But then, a dramatic turn: “I, Zifan, Sima of Youzhou, live as a subject of Han, and die as a ghost of Han. I am willing to lend General Cao my arm and obey your command.”

“Good, good, good!”

“Brother Zifan, what loyalty and righteousness!”