"Cao Zhen…" Guan Yu repeated slowly, the name stirring an old memory like sediment rising from still water. "Is he not the one who saw through Third Brother's ruse back at Hanzhong?"
"That's the one," Liu Bei replied. His gaze shifted, landing squarely on Zhang Fei. His tone was calm, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. "Yide tried to use the same trick again. It failed. The city fell. Our men died."
Zhang Fei's face darkened, flushing from the neck upward until it matched the color of fired brick. His lips twitched, searching for a retort, but none came. In the end, he turned stiffly to the side, cupped his fists, and bowed—hard, fast, and without flair.
"Then if we meet this Cao Zhen again," he said, voice thick, "this younger brother requests the vanguard."
For a heartbeat, the hall was silent.
Then laughter broke out—rare, unguarded, genuine. Even Liu Bei's shoulders eased slightly. The tension that had settled like dust over the room was brushed aside, if only for a moment.
Huang Zhong, however, was not laughing.
His eyes were fixed on the light-screen, on a single name that kept reappearing at the front of every formation.
Zhao Yun.
"At this point…" Huang Zhong said slowly, his voice rough with age and admiration, "General Zilong must be close to seventy."
No one interrupted him.
"To have fought from youth to old age, never leaving the front… and still be named vanguard." He let out a breath. "The screen says he 'gave everything until his heart stopped beating.' That is not exaggeration."
When Huang Zhong had once guarded Dangyang, he would sometimes gaze toward Mount Dingjun in idle moments. Back then, he had wondered what his seventy-year-old self might think. Would he regret wasted years? Or would he burn with joy at finally staking his name into history?
"I cannot match that sincerity," Huang Zhong said quietly.
"Zilong must remain in Yizhou," Liu Bei replied, his eyes flicking briefly toward Zhang Fei—who, at that moment, seemed far more interested in the light-screen's mention of "little lambs" than in military logistics.
One man was a pillar.
The other, a storm.
The difference between men was vast.
Kongming said nothing.
His eyes followed the glowing routes on the map as they shifted and unfolded. Supply lines. Mountain passes. Waterways. Wudu… Tianshui…
So this is where you appear, Jiang Wei, he thought. The name the light-screen had whispered so many times.
[ Voiceover]
The Prime Minister's first northern march departed from Mount Qi, using Hanzhong as its forward base.
The army advanced west along the Han River, reached the Ju River, then cut across to the Jialing River—also known as the West Han River—following the current northward into Longxi. This route carried them directly through Wudu Commandery.
Wudu had long been emptied.
After his defeat at Hanzhong, "Boss Cao" had learned his lesson. Any land too close to Shu was poison. The population of Hanzhong had been forcibly relocated—and Wudu's people were swept away with them.
So when the banners of Han finally appeared beneath Mount Qi, the entire Longyou region trembled.
The officials of Cao Wei were stunned.
Wait—wasn't the main force supposed to be at Mei?
Zhuge Liang, where did you come from?!
Wei's rule in the west had always been harsh. Taxes heavy. Orders cold. And now the army before them marched beneath the old Han banners—the symbol that still lived in the hearts of the people.
Three of the five commanderies responded instantly.
Tianshui.
Nan'an.
Anding.
Their governors didn't even attempt resistance. They fled.
But Longxi was different.
Its governor, You Chu, was no ordinary man.
Seeing the tide turn, he gathered his officials and said something no one expected.
"The others have surrendered," he said calmly. "Which means your road to wealth and rank has arrived."
The room went silent.
"We will hold Xiangwu," You Chu continued. "If Wei reinforcements arrive and we have held firm, our merit will eclipse all others—because everyone else folded. If Wei does not come…"
He paused, then smiled faintly.
"You may cut off my head and present it to the Han army."
The officials exchanged looks.
Either way… they won.
Someone muttered, half-laughing, "This is Qin Shi Huang eating Sichuan peppers—we're numb from winning."
So Xiangwu chose to wait.
You Chu even sent word to the approaching Han scouts:
"Brothers. If your Prime Minister can block the Long Road for one month, Longyou will surrender without a single arrow loosed. If you cannot… then whatever you take today will be lost tomorrow."
The logic was flawless.
The First Northern Expedition came down to a single point:
Block the Long Road.
In the hall, Ma Liang's hand jerked.
Ink bled across the page—ruined.
He swore under his breath and reached for a fresh sheet. As one of the most gifted minds present, he understood exactly what "Block the Long Road" meant.
He had searched every map available.
He hadn't yet found Jieting.
But he had found Jiequan Pavilion.
And it sat squarely at the throat of the Long Road.
Jiang Wan remained confident. "If even a man like You Chu understands this, the Prime Minister surely does as well."
"This You Chu…" Liu Bei murmured. "What a waste, serving Cao."
Guan Yu frowned at the map. "How does one travel from the Ju River westward to the West Han River?"
"That is the work of Yu Xu," Kongming replied, brow furrowing. "In the second year of Yuanchu, he governed Wudu. He cracked stone with fire, cleared timber with axes, and carved a canal for transport boats. Ever since, those waters have been open."
Guan Yu nodded.
Water transport changed everything.
But Kongming felt no relief.
The screen had spoken of Six Expeditions.
Which meant this first, golden opportunity… had slipped away.
Where?
His gaze drifted—briefly—to Ma Su.
Ma Su straightened, heart pounding.
The Military Advisor is so young, he thought. Almost my age.
How could I ever call him Godfather?
No.
He clenched his fists.
I will earn merit. I will stand beside him—not beneath him.
[Voiceover]
At the time, Cao Zhen was still lounging comfortably in Luoyang.
In the west, three men mattered:
Xiahou Mao, Commander of Guanzhong. A useless trust-fund aristocrat. We skip him.
Xu Miao, Governor of Liangzhou. Capable—but newly appointed.
Guo Huai, Governor of Yongzhou.
By custom, Guo Huai should have been in the capital celebrating the New Year.
Instead, through sheer diligence, he was on inspection.
When news of the invasion arrived, he did not panic.
He withdrew immediately—to Shangwa.
The Long Road stayed open.
Zhang Fei slapped Huang Zhong's thigh again. "Damn it! Why couldn't this Guo Huai be like Cao Zhen and just stay home?"
"One must never rely on the enemy's stupidity," Guan Yu said gravely. "We should have struck Shangwa the moment we crossed."
[Voiceover]
During Guo Huai's withdrawal, chaos broke out in Tianshui.
Governor Ma Zun panicked. He accused his own staff of plotting to kidnap him and sell him to the Han.
The local officials fled back to Jixian.
But before they even entered the gates, the elders seized their leader and dragged him directly before the Prime Minister.
"Prime Minister," they said, voices trembling with urgency, "behold—this is the Kirin of Tianshui."
In that year—
The forty-seven-year-old Zhuge Liang
met the twenty-six-year-old Jiang Wei
for the first time.
[Voiceover]
Guo Huai held Shangwa.
The Prime Minister's greatest strength—his caution—became his weakness.
Time slipped away.
Mount Qi's defender, Gao Gang, stalled the Han advance, forcing Kongming to bypass the city. Wei reinforcements drew closer.
The Long Road had to be sealed.
All western routes converged at one place.
Jieting.
A natural choke point.
Veterans were recommended—Wei Yan. Wu Yi.
The Prime Minister rejected them all.
Ignoring every objection, he pointed to one name.
"You shall go and hold Jieting," he said.
Ma Su.