The same piece of intelligence, placed in different hands, could lead to completely different conclusions.
The judgment of Huang Zhong was a perfect example.
Cao Ren was unfamiliar with the Xiangfan theater. Upon arriving, he spent the night poring over the records Le Jin had left behind, while summoning Cai Mao, Kuai Yue, Wen Ping, and other Jing Province natives to consult on strategy.
Guan Yu's intent was not difficult to infer.
He had dispatched a detached force under Huang Zhong—a local man—using Mount Xian's terrain to build camps and fortifications, sealing off Xiangyang.
To the north lay the Han River, an impassable barrier.
To the south, twin mountains squeezed a single corridor, blocked by entrenched camps.
Xiangyang, once caught in this grip, could barely move.
But Le Jin excelled at storming camps and taking banners by force.
That, Cao Ren believed, was precisely why Le Jin had been sent.
"Huang Zhong? Who was that?"
Kuai Yue and Cai Mao shared the same unspoken question.
And so Cao Ren's all-out assault on Fancheng carried with it a quiet expectation—that Le Jin would smash through the deadlock.
Only now, standing ankle-deep in water and staring at the thin sheet spreading through the camp, did Cao Ren realize something was wrong.
Very wrong.
"What is the situation at Shandu?" he asked calmly.
It was already dawn.
Since the forced capture of Fancheng had failed, Cao Ren ordered a controlled withdrawal to rebuild camp, granting himself and the exhausted soldiers a brief respite. Minds dulled by days of strain needed clarity again—because what followed would be even harder.
Kuai Yue had been unsettled ever since news arrived that Wancheng was under siege. His face was pale. He hesitated half a beat before replying:
"General Wen Ping went to investigate last night. Liu Bei's forces seized Shandu and are using the Han River to hold the line."
"That old general's archery is formidable, and his troops are equipped with bows and crossbows. From across the river, they suppressed our efforts to seal the dike breach. General Wen gathered the routed troops and withdrew."
Cao Ren thought for a moment, then spoke to himself:
"Then Le Jin has been defeated. Xiangfan is lost."
Kuai Yue's face drained of what little color remained.
He could not understand how Huang Zhong, that old warhorse, had managed to defeat Le Jin.
But understanding or not made no difference—the Jing Province faction would be held responsible regardless.
That Cao Ren did not even bother to ask whether Cai Mao was dead or captured, his position was already clear.
The sense of crisis pressed down on Kuai Yue. He forced himself to speak:
"When action must be taken, it must be decisive. General, you should move at once to relieve Wancheng."
After Jing Province was split in two, Xiangfan became the forward line. Civilians were relocated inward to farm—Xin'ye, Anzhong, Rang County. Great clans were also moved, some to Xuchang, some to Wancheng.
The Kuai clan was among them.
Cao Ren did not look at Kuai Yue. His gaze lingered on Fancheng—so close to being taken, yet now beyond his grasp.
Wancheng had to be saved.
Not only because the Chancellor was there.
But because of something even more urgent.
"Cao's army must be running low on grain."
From atop Fancheng's walls, Xu Shu surveyed the enemy camp while speaking to Zhao Lei.
"Their supplies were already stretched thin. Three days of continuous assault—day and night—fires never ceased."
"To drive men to fight to the death requires heavy rations. Consumption far exceeds normal levels."
Zhao Lei smiled faintly.
"Now that the attack has failed, they can neither assault nor linger. They'll withdraw quickly—to lift the siege, and to seek grain."
North of Fancheng the land lay open, clearly visible from the walls. Since the fighting began, Cao's camp had sent rider after rider northward—but few large supply wagons arrived from the south.
Even the smoke rising from their camp had thinned.
Xu Shu took one last look, then descended the wall.
The flooding of the Han River had turned the battlefield into mud—both blessing and curse.
Cao morale had collapsed, turning Fancheng's peril into safety. But the same mud prevented any sortie to harass the retreat and delay Cao Ren's withdrawal.
One side could not attack.
The other could not pursue.
Then it was better to plan ahead.
In Xu Shu's mind, the Battle of Fancheng was already over.
What came next was a race—who could bring fresh troops faster: Cao Ren or Guan Yu.
He needed to move.
A trace of regret surfaced.
Liu Xuande's forces were still too few. Had there been ten thousand more men, none of this elaborate maneuvering would have been necessary.
He pushed the thought aside and issued orders:
"Send at once to Xiangyang. Bring General Huang here."
"We depart immediately—to aid General Guan."
While Ma Liang hurried off with the message, the situation north of Wancheng had already hardened into a standoff.
The previous evening, three thousand cavalry reached Bowang, risking everything to throw together a floating bridge and rush across in relief.
But Guan Ping, hidden in West Xie County, suddenly led four thousand troops out, striking the enemy mid-crossing. They scored several kills and burned the bridge.
The plan collapsed.
With enemy forces watching from the far bank, the Cao cavalry commander chose to camp in place, waiting for reinforcements to crush them outright.
The next day, Cao Hong arrived with seven thousand infantry and cavalry.
Seeing the banner marked Guan, he cursed aloud.
Among Cao Cao's generals, nearly all harbored some grievance against Guan Yu.
Yet after venting his anger, Cao Hong did not rush orders. He turned instead:
"Each moment we delay, my elder brother's danger grows. Wenlie—how do we break this?"
"Uncle," Cao Xiu replied, saluting.
"Wancheng is critical. We carry baggage and grain—if dragged into a prolonged fight, we still win. But this battle allows only one path: speed."
It matched Cao Hong's own thoughts perfectly.
"Speak."
Cao Hong knew his limits. Each campaign, he brought younger relatives—both to promote them and to compensate for his shortcomings.
He felt a twinge of regret. Had he known his brother's danger was this grave, he should have brought Cao Zhen as well.
But Cao Zhen was holding Ye, suppressing the great clans. The supplies they carried now—most came from those very families.
Cao Xiu was three parts excited, three parts tense.
Across the river flew the Guan banner. He knew exactly who it belonged to.
He had not seen battle at White Horse himself—but he had seen Changban. Had Guan Yu truly been invincible, how had Liu Bei fled so miserably?
A river-bandit from Hedong, nothing more. How could he compare to a man trained in strategy from birth?
Cao Xiu laid out his plan, confident.
I "Cao Wenlie" would make name today.
After noon, the Cao army once again began constructing floating bridges—vast, deliberate, unmistakable.
The moment the bridge touched water, soldiers rushed ashore, struggling to form ranks, buying time and space for those behind.
In the Cao camp, Cao Xiu sighed inwardly.
Such a perfect plan—and Guan Yu was absent?
What a waste—like offering fine jade to a blind man.
He saw the young general who resembled Guan Yu lead the charge, fighting fiercely to drive the Cao troops back into the river.
Very well, Cao Xiu thought. Just as you wish.
The Liu Bei army pressed forward in full.
The Cao troops crossing quickly collapsed—some even fled in panic, crashing back into their own ranks. Disorder spread. The formation pulled back, trying to distance itself from the rout.
The defeat was ugly.
Guan Ping hesitated—
Then made his choice.
He ordered a renewed pursuit, pressing hard. Without realizing it, his troops crossed the midpoint of the bridge.
Now, Cao Xiu thought, unmoving, eyes fixed ahead.
At that moment—
From West Xie County, a hundred riders burst forth like arrows loosed.
At their head rode a crimson horse.
A red-faced general dragged his blade low, charging straight in.
Cao Xiu's eyes widened. Joy surged.
"Good—fall back further! Lure him in!"
Beside him, Cao Hong hesitated. A chill crawled up his spine.
But there was no time left for hesitation.
The hundred riders crashed into the already-broken formation, tearing it apart completely.
And among them, one rider—like a scarlet specter—slipped through without slowing, weaving left and right, charging straight toward Cao Xiu.
Fury flared in Cao Xiu's chest.
Did Guan Yu think the army did not exist? Once surrounded, he would surely die. Was the single strike at battle White Horse enough to make him believe himself invincible?
Cao Xiu spurred forward, long lance thrusting—
The red general leaned low, the strike passing over him.
As he rose, his legs clamped the saddle. One hand gripped the blade's shaft, the other its tail. The tip traced a perfect arc along the ground—
A full, rising moon.
Cao Xiu saw his uncle move to block—
The moon cut through the lance without resistance.
From left shoulder to right flank, the arc passed cleanly through.
Cao Hong's eyes went wide. He toppled backward from his horse.
Guan Yu reined in, turned, and with one smooth motion took Cao Hong's head. He lifted it high on the blade's tip.
"Enemy general slain—victory!"
Guan Ping was first to answer.
"Victory!"
He drove his spear through a stunned Cao soldier. Only then did the rest of the troops understand what had happened.
"Victory!"
What began as a feigned retreat became a true rout.
Cao Xiu, knocked to the ground and stripped of courage, heard Guan Yu snort coldly:
"And you thought to reenact the old affairs of the Marquis of Huaiyin?"
Terror seized him.
Only then did he realize Guan Yu had spoken—to his uncle's corpse.
Grief surged—but Cao Xiu forced it down. Using horses and chaos as cover, he melted into the fleeing troops.
The Chancellor was still trapped in Wancheng.
He could not die here.
He was his foster father's thousand-li steed. Even if he died, it would be after carrying him from danger.
Guan Yu paid no heed.
His forces, combined with his third brother's, were too few. The siege of Wancheng already strained them. Capturing prisoners now would only slow them.
So he led his personal guard in repeated charges, seizing baggage, scattering the Cao troops in every direction.
Back at the banks of the Yu River, Guan Ping rushed forward.
"General's valor shakes heaven!"
Guan Yu showed no joy.
"You knew it was a ruse?"
He had seen clearly—from West Xie—Guan Ping's hesitation before the bridge.
Guan Ping lifted his chin.
"I knew the feigned retreat. But when their commander advanced, I knew he would die."
"With you overseeing the field, what had I to fear?"
Guan Yu fell silent for a moment.
This son… already bore a general's bearing.
Still, he began:
"If—"
Guan Ping cut in at once:
"If no one oversaw the field—drive the routed troops, burn the bridge, then withdraw."
Father and son—both rarely smiling—laughed together.