Chapter Sixty-Eight: Liu Bei and Guan Yu

Before the gates of Guangzong, Guangping was not far from Guangzong, and under Liu Yao’s forced march, it took just over two hours to reach their destination.

It seemed that Lu Zhi had already learned of Liu Yao’s movements, for both he and Cao Cao, who had arrived earlier, were now waiting outside the city gates to greet him in person.

“Lu Zhi (Cao Cao), a humble servant, pays respects to Your Highness,” the two said respectfully, bowing before him.

“No need for such ceremony,” Liu Yao replied, lifting them up. “You are both heroes of the Han; truly, I should be bowing to you.”

The two hastily waved their hands in protest. “We dare not, we dare not.”

Lu Zhi, as if suddenly reminded of something, asked with concern, “Did Your Highness pass through Guangping on your way from Yingchuan to Guangzong?”

Liu Yao immediately understood Lu Zhi’s worry for Gongsun Zan. Squeezing out two tears, he grasped Lu Zhi’s hands, saying, “Master Lu, I have failed you. I arrived too late.”

Lu Zhi was bewildered by Liu Yao’s display and asked anxiously, “Your Highness, please do not be so distraught. What has happened?”

Liu Yao wiped his tears and waved to the rear. The assault battalion parted to either side, revealing a path in the center. At the end of the path, several White Horse Cavalry soldiers approached slowly.

Lu Zhi’s sharp eyes immediately spotted Gongsun Zan, lifeless atop his horse. He could not doubt—the disciple he cherished had fallen.

“Bo Gui!” Lu Zhi cried, rushing to Gongsun Zan’s side. Seeing his disciple’s corpse, Lu Zhi’s heart ached with bitterness. Gongsun Zan was his most outstanding student—valiant and wise, defending the frontier for years, contributing greatly to the Han. Lu Zhi was proud of him.

But Gongsun Zan had his flaws: bloodthirsty, violent, and quick-tempered. This time, unable to endure Zhang Bao’s provocation, he had acted without reporting to Lu Zhi, leading his troops without permission—and so the tragedy occurred. Lu Zhi could not, for personal reasons, dispatch the army to save him. For days, anxiety gnawed at him, and now he faced his disciple’s corpse, feeling the sorrow of an old man burying the young, tears streaming down his face.

Liu Yao slowly approached Lu Zhi to comfort him. “General Lu, the dead are gone. Do not grieve too much; take care of yourself.”

He sighed, blaming himself. “This is all my fault. Had I arrived a bit sooner, General Gongsun would not have died.”

“No, Your Highness, it was not your fault. Bo Gui broke military orders by departing without permission. Even if he had survived, I would have punished him. To die on the battlefield is, at least, a fitting end for a warrior,” Lu Zhi said staunchly, though his sorrow could not be hidden.

Liu Yao fetched a cloth bag from the White Horse Cavalry’s horses and handed it to Lu Zhi. “Though General Gongsun has fallen, in his final moments, he slew He Man, the chief commander of the Yellow Turban’s medical division. He remains a hero of the Han. I will report this merit. The Yellow Turbans who endangered him have been annihilated, and thus his death has been avenged.”

Lu Zhi received the bag, grateful. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Cao Cao, observing the slain Gongsun Zan, was shocked. He knew of Gongsun Zan’s martial prowess and the strength of his cavalry—though numbering only three thousand, they rivaled ten thousand infantry. Yet now, Gongsun Zan had fallen.

Moreover, Liu Yao had easily defeated the Yellow Turbans. Reflecting on how Liu Yao had crushed Bo Cai’s massive force in Yingchuan, Cao Cao’s respect for Liu Yao’s abilities grew.

He glanced at the ten thousand well-equipped, armored soldiers Liu Yao had brought—each bearing sharp weapons—and felt a surge of envy. “If only I could command such a cavalry! Someday, I shall form an invincible unit—yes, the Tiger and Leopard Cavalry.”

Cao Cao imagined a mighty, unrivaled cavalry, sweeping through the Han, feared and revered by all. If Liu Yao knew that Cao Cao’s famed Tiger and Leopard Cavalry in Qingzhou would be inspired by him, one wonders how he would feel.

At Liu Yao’s suggestion, under Lu Zhi’s supervision, Gongsun Zan’s body was cremated. Initially, both Lu Zhi and Cao Cao objected—after all, it was tradition to preserve the body, not even cutting one’s hair, which explained Liu Yao’s long locks; cremation was out of the question. The Han believed the soul should return home, and burial was proper.

After Liu Yao explained, they relented. On the battlefield, a funeral was impossible—it would devastate morale. To bury Gongsun Zan hastily felt disrespectful; to keep his body in the August heat meant rapid decay. With no alternative, Lu Zhi agreed to cremation, though it felt dishonorable.

Liu Yao watched the blazing pyre and smirked, inwardly lamenting the unyielding nature of history. Gongsun Zan, who in the original timeline died at Jieqiao Bridge defeated by Yuan Shao, now perished by Liu Yao’s hand, reduced to ashes in the flames.

Lu Zhi collected Gongsun Zan’s ashes in a casket, and Liu Yao offered to take them back to Youzhou, so his soul could return home. The dead were gone; past grudges faded, and there was no need to hold on. Gongsun Zan, after all, was half a hero—Liu Yao’s gesture was a mark of respect for a worthy adversary.

With Gongsun Zan’s affairs settled, Liu Yao and his companions followed Lu Zhi into the Han camp. Zhao Yun and Gao Shun led the assault battalions to their quarters.

Entering the main tent, Liu Yao saw two men waiting inside.

His pupils contracted in surprise, and he mused, “So they have come after all.”

One was tall, nine feet in height, with a beard two feet long; his face was like a ripe date, lips as if painted, phoenix eyes, and arched brows—a dignified, imposing figure. Who else but Guan Yu, known as Guan Yun Chang? At this moment, Guan Yu held his head high, proud, seeming to regard no one.

The other, without need for guessing, was Liu Bei. Liu Yao studied Liu Bei for a moment, unable to suppress a smile.

Previously, his impression of Liu Bei came only from written records, but seeing him in person, he realized those descriptions were not exaggerated, if not understated.

Liu Bei’s appearance was indeed dignified, yet peculiarly, his earlobes touched his shoulders, his eyes were wide-set, nearly revealing both ears, his lips appeared as if stained with rouge, and most notably, his arms hung past his knees, resembling a great ape.

One could hardly fathom the aesthetic sense of the ancients, who deemed Liu Bei handsome and blessed. In modern times, if he weren’t gawked at or outcast, he would already be fortunate.

Liu Yao glanced at Guan Yu again, sighing inwardly, “Guan Yu, since you stand as an enemy, do not blame me for being unkind.” Though Liu Yao disliked Guan Yu’s arrogance, he admired his martial skill and loyalty. Yet it was precisely this loyalty that destined Liu Yao to never win him to his side.