In the military camp of Shangyong, the grating clash of armor and mail rang out with a peculiar, bone-dry sharpness in the stifling afternoon heat.
Behind the heavy curtains of Meng Da's main tent, twenty elite axemen stood in a deathly silence. Their breath was shallow, their knuckles white as they gripped the ring-pommel blades. Despite the midsummer swelter, the steel in their hands carried a frost-like chill. Standing in the deepest shadows was Pan Qi, his hand resting on his hilt, his eyes fixed like a jackal watching its prey.
"Report—! Vice-General Liu Feng has arrived!"
"How many men does he bring?" Meng Da asked, his voice steady but his palms slick with a cold sweat.
"Only one attendant, General. Just the two of them."
"Two?!"
Meng Da's heart lurched. He had prepared for every scenario: that Liu Feng would refuse the invitation, or that he would arrive at the head of a vengeful battalion. He had never imagined the youth would truly dare to walk into a death trap virtually alone.
An hour earlier, as Liu Feng prepared to set out, a voice had called from behind: "General, wait!"
It was Li Qian, his adjutant commandant. A youth not yet twenty, Li Qian was the son of a great Yizhou clan, though his status as a concubine's child had seen him shunned by his kin. Driven by a fierce, straightforward nature, he had joined the army to carve out his own destiny and had quickly become Liu Feng's most trusted shadow.
"Where does the General go?" Li Qian bowed, his sword-like brows furrowed.
Liu Feng handed him the invitation. "Meng Da invites me for a drink. I'll have one cup and return." The words felt strangely modern on his tongue, a ghost of his former life, but he didn't retract them.
Li Qian stepped closer, his voice a low hiss. "General, the whole army knows the rift between you and Meng Da. Only days ago, you nearly drew blades over those musicians. This is no gracious feast; it is a Hongmen Banquet. You are walking into a lion's den!"
Seeing the genuine fire of loyalty in the young man's eyes, a warmth rose in Liu Feng's chest. He smiled, testing the man's resolve. "Meng Da has accepted my Shu brocade and gold; I have returned his musicians. As the saying goes, 'When one eats of another's food, the mouth is softened.' Would he truly risk becoming a laughingstock to the world by striking me now? I go to turn swords into plowshares."
Li Qian gripped his hilt until his glove creaked. "Caution is the armor of the soul. If the General is determined to go, let me be your shield."
Liu Feng looked into those resolute eyes. "Did you not just call it a death trap? Are you not afraid we shall die together?"
Li Qian's voice was like a ringing bell. "The General raised me from the ranks. I have only this one life to repay that debt."
Deeply moved, Liu Feng realized that the "chivalry" he had read about in history books was now breathing right in front of him. "Very well. Let us see what Brother Meng has poured for us."
"I greet Brother Meng!"
Before Meng Da could utter a word of provocation, Liu Feng lifted the hem of his war robe and performed a deep, reverent bow—a gesture of absolute humility that reached the floor.
Meng Da stood frozen, his rehearsed speech dying in his throat.
"I was young and arrogant," Liu Feng said, his voice echoing in the quiet tent. "I have offended you grievously, Brother Meng. I am truly ashamed beyond words."
"B-Brother, what is this?" Meng Da stammered, his suspicion warring with his confusion. He scrambled forward to help Liu Feng up. "Rise, quickly."
Once upright, Liu Feng's gaze was searingly sincere. "I recently awoke from a startling dream. I realized that if we cannot unite our hearts, the great enterprise of the King of Hanzhong will crumble by our own hands. I come today to offer my sincerest apologies. I beg for your forgiveness."
Is this a trick? Meng Da wondered. What scheme is this pup playing? But the sheer weight of the gold and silk Liu Feng had sent earlier made the suspicion feel heavy. He forced a smile. "Nonsense! Today we drink as brothers until we drop."
He led Liu Feng to the seat of honor.
After three rounds of wine, Liu Feng set down his cup. The air in the tent seemed to thicken. "On the Jing-Xiang front, Lord Guan is leading the northern expedition. I surmise he will soon send word for aid."
Meng Da, his hand hovering near his own cup—the signal to the axemen—answered dismissively. "Lord Guan's campaign is a feint to buy time for the King. Why should we trouble ourselves?"
"Not so," Liu Feng whispered, leaning in. "This expedition is a walk on a tightrope. If he wins, he takes Xiangfan, but leaves Jingzhou's rear exposed to Eastern Wu. If he meets a setback, he will call for us. Either way, one of us must be ready to bleed for him."
So that's it, Meng Da thought, a cold smirk forming in his mind. He wants to trick me into leaving the safety of Shangyong so he can take total control. He gripped his cup tighter, ready to dash it against the floor.
Behind the curtain, Pan Qi's eyes were glued to a slit in the fabric. Sweat drenched his palms. He had bound his hand to his blade with a strip of his robe to ensure no slip. Throw it, General! Throw the cup!
But Liu Feng spoke first. "Should Lord Guan call, I intend to lead my three thousand men in person to his relief. I have already set aside seventy percent of Shangyong's grain and arms for you, Brother Meng. I shall take only what is necessary. The safety of these three commanderies will rest entirely in your capable hands!"
Meng Da's pupils contracted. "You... you mean to leave? And leave the majority of the resources to me?"
"Exactly," Liu Feng said firmly. "Shangyong is newly won; its people are restless. It needs a steady, experienced hand to hold the fort. It needs you."
A tidal wave of shame surged through Meng Da. Every "suspicious" action Liu Feng had taken over the past few days suddenly clicked into place. The youth wasn't hoarding; he was preparing for a campaign. He wasn't lulling Meng Da into a trap; he was clearing the path for a partnership.
Liu Feng's gaze burned with a terrifying light. "I am the son of the King of Hanzhong. If I die on the battlefield of Xiangfan but Jingzhou is saved, it is a price I pay gladly. Brother Meng, I entrust our home to you."
Before Meng Da could respond, the thunder of hooves shattered the moment.
"Report—! Great victory in Jingzhou!"
A messenger burst in, his voice cracking with emotion. "Lord Guan has drowned the seven armies! He has captured Yu Jin and beheaded Pang De! The Wei forces are annihilated!"
"Good!" Meng Da roared, slamming the table in genuine ecstasy. "The Martial Sage is invincible! Who under Heaven can stand against him?"
He turned to Liu Feng with a jubilant laugh. "Wise brother, your worries were for naught! With such a victory, Xiangfan will fall by morning. We won't be needed after all."
But Liu Feng did not smile.
He looked at the messenger, and a shadow of profound dread crossed his face. To the rest of the world, this was the peak of glory. To him, it was the first note of a funeral dirge.
"Brother Meng," Liu Feng said, his voice low and chilling. "When glory reaches its height, the fall is swiftest. The walls of Xiangfan are iron, and Cao Cao will not concede. Most importantly, Jingzhou is now an empty shell. If Eastern Wu breaks the alliance and strikes from behind... what then?"
The words fell like a basin of ice water, extinguishing the joy in the room. Meng Da looked at Liu Feng and realized the youth's vision reached far beyond the walls of this tent. Shame, hot and sharp, finally burned away the last of his malice.
Slowly, deliberately, Meng Da set his wine cup down—not by throwing it, but by placing it gently on the wood.
"The situation is dire. I must return to muster the troops," Liu Feng said, clasping his fists. "Forgive me, I must take my leave."
As he turned his back, the back of his robe was already soaked through. He could feel the rhythmic grinding of metal against leather behind the curtain—the sound of axemen shifting their grip.
"General!" Pan Qi's hissed voice came from the shadows, desperate for the signal.
Meng Da let out a long, heavy sigh. He looked at the cup, then at the retreating back of the man he had almost murdered.
As Liu Feng and Li Qian reached the camp gate, a shout echoed behind them: "Wait!"
Liu Feng halted. Li Qian's hand flew to his sword-hilt, his body tensed like a coiled spring.
"Wise brother..." Meng Da strode out of the tent, his eyes burning with a new, fierce resolve. "If you truly mean to march into that fire, Meng Da will not sit idly by. The troops of Fangling are at your command. If grain runs short, I will sell the very iron of my gates to feed your men. Go! Save the Second Master!"