[Voiceover]
"Cao-Wei's records of the Battle of Yiling claim they 'killed over 80,000 enemy troops, and Liu Bei barely escaped with his life.'
Adjusting for the usual exaggerations—and including the Wuxi tribal reinforcements—we can estimate that Shu-Han fielded no more than fifty thousand regulars. Counting the auxiliaries, the total might have reached seventy or eighty thousand, though they claimed a hundred.
Lu Xun's own figures are clearer: 'Lu Xun was appointed Great Commander, leading fifty thousand men to resist them.'
Yet Sun-Wu's full strength cannot be judged so simply. At Red Cliffs, Zhou Yu commanded only thirty thousand on the front line, but Sun Quan sat at Chaisang with tens of thousands more in reserve.
At Yiling, Zhuge Jin held a second line at Gong'an, and Sun Quan himself stationed a third at Wuchang. Conservative estimates place Wu's total force near one hundred fifty thousand.
Moreover, the battlefield of Yiling lay within a canyon. Liu Bei, as the attacker, stretched his line thin, while Lu Xun—defending—concentrated superior numbers at chosen points. In local engagements, Wu often held the numerical advantage. It was hardly the 'victory of the few over the many' the chronicles boast."
The gathered generals, all seasoned men of war, studied the tactical breakdown. Guan Yu, his keen mind working, reasoned aloud:
"If Brother fielded fifty thousand, then Zilong in the rear at Jiangzhou must have commanded at least thirty thousand more. Of those fifty thousand, some were assigned to Huang Quan to hold the northern bank. That means the force that truly reached Yiling was forty thousand at most."
"The Jiangdong troops can't fight worth a damn," Zhang Fei muttered, half envious. "But there's no shortage of them… Even counting Yue Jin's surrendered men, we barely have thirty thousand ready for battle. Yet that brother-in-law of ours can summon a hundred thousand at the snap of his fingers. If only those men were properly trained—how terrifying would they be?"
Liu Bei stared at the words barely escaped with his life. His expression did not change, but his heart ached. Even if the number was "only" forty thousand, those were lives gathered over years of hardship—men who should have fallen fighting the traitor for the restoration of Han, not perished in a futile campaign like this.
[Voiceover]
"In the first year of Zhangwu (221 AD), Liu Bei appointed Feng Xi to lead the vanguard into the western frontier of Yiling.
The initial advance went smoothly—they broke through Wuxian and occupied Zigui. Shamoke, the leader of the Wuxi tribes, sent envoys pledging support.
The following year, Liu Bei advanced to Xiaoting. Now past sixty, he made one sound decision: he opened the Gen Mountain road and dispatched Ma Liang to Wuling to win over the tribes.
Ma Liang had long taught agriculture and irrigation throughout Jingzhou; his reputation among the tribal people was excellent. They responded eagerly, swelling Shu-Han's ranks by nearly twenty thousand."
Ma Liang gazed at his name glowing upon the screen. He had never imagined that his modest years of civil work would be remembered eighteen centuries later. Was it the recruitment of the tribes that history praised—or the steady governance that had made it possible?
Pang Tong, meanwhile, had learned something new. Jiangdong's usual method of dealing with the Shanyue tribes was brute force, and their generals often complained that once drafted, the mountain folk became timid and unreliable.
So—winning hearts through governance, and letting them join willingly—that is the true path, Pang Tong mused. Yet a thought troubled him. Twenty thousand tribal soldiers… Did the Lord have the grain to feed them?
Kongming leaned closer and whispered, "To lead a campaign in person at sixty—my Lord, why must you push yourself so?"
Liu Bei smiled faintly. "And you, Kongming—will you not die during a Northern Expedition? Why must you push yourself so?"
The ruler and his strategist exchanged a quiet, knowing glance.
[Voiceover]
"As the Shu-Han army advanced downriver, Lu Xun counseled patience—to avoid the first violent surge of their assault.
The route from Yi Province to Yiling narrowed from valleys to canyons, ending in a small plain. Lu Xun locked that plain down with heavy fortifications, sealing the exit like a vice.
With the outlet blocked, Shu's army had no choice but to spread out along the canyon, setting up a chain of camps nearly seven hundred li long.
Liu Bei sought a decisive engagement, but Lu Xun refused every provocation, remaining behind his walls unmoved.
The deadlock dragged on from early spring to the stifling heat of June.
Then came Liu Bei's fatal mistake. Overcome by the sweltering sun, he ordered the navy to disembark and encamp in the mountains, intending to resume the offensive once autumn cooled the air."
"How could he!" Guan Yu rose abruptly, alarmed. "To abandon the ships and take to the mountains—that is to hand the waterway to Lu Xun on a silver platter!"
Liu Bei rubbed his temples. "If the Wu navy attacked, could the men not simply return to their ships?"
Guan Yu shook his head gravely. "Brother, ships move silently. They would strike by night—oars muffled, hulls hidden in shadow—and cut off the retreat. The line of camps would be severed from head to tail, the ranks collapsing in chaos!"
Liu Bei's face turned pale.
Guan Yu bowed deeply. "The defeat at Yiling—let the blame fall upon me. Had there been someone beside you who truly understood the art of naval warfare, this would never have happened."
"Yun-chang, why reproach yourself?" Kongming stood, helping him rise. "Now that we understand this, we have already mended another weakness in our fate."
Liu Bei, however, remained stricken. "The Lesser Han—it was built by all of you, yet lost through me."
"Lord, do not speak so!" Kongming's tone was sharp with feeling. "Without you, I would still be tilling fields in Nanyang; Yun-chang and Yide would remain a peddler and a butcher! The traitor Cao stole the world, yet even in defeat, the future remembers you with reverence. Do you know why?"
[Voiceover]
"Lu Xun perceived Shu's morale faltering. His own troops, hardened to the heat, suffered less than the mountain-born soldiers of Shu. The moment had come.
After holding fast for six months, Lu Xun tested the enemy lines. His first probe failed—but he uttered a fateful remark to his officers:
'Now I know how to break them.'
Tradition claims that his 'method' was fire, yet the records of Wei, Shu, and Wu all mention little of it—for fire demands wind.
At Red Cliffs, the chronicles describe: 'The wind roared, the heavens blazed, men and horses burned and drowned.'
At Yiling, no such wind was recorded. The 'fire' appears almost as an afterthought:
'He ordered each man to carry dry grass and use fire to breach them. Once the momentum took hold, the armies advanced together.'
In truth, it was no grand firestorm—only every soldier tossing a burning bundle into the enemy camps. Simple, yet deadly."
"Charging on horseback and setting fires—merely to sow panic," Guan Yu observed, a trace of respect in his eyes. "He knew when to endure and when to strike. He understood his enemy before the blow and seized the perfect moment to deliver it. That is a true commander."
Jian Yong laughed. "At Red Cliffs, Zhou Yu's plan depended on the wind and fire working in unison. Without that gale, Cao Cao would never have been annihilated so completely."
Kongming nodded. "Indeed. Fire alone cannot cause chaos enough to shatter an army's heart. But in the midsummer of Jingzhou—where was there wind? As Yun-chang said, the blaze was but a prelude. The true catastrophe was that the Wu navy had already cut through the line of camps."
[Voiceover]
"In his reports to Sun Quan, Lu Xun scarcely mentioned fire at all.
Instead, before launching the attack, he wrote of the war's decisive turning point:
'At first, I feared them, for they advanced by both water and land. Now they have abandoned their ships for the shore, encamping everywhere. Observing their formation, I know they will make no further change.'
The lives of eighty thousand soldiers, the fate of the Han, and the future of the Three Kingdoms—all rested upon those four words:
'Water and Land together.'"