The Son of Heaven heading north… relocating the capital?
Jiang Wan's first reaction went straight there.
He still remembered how, after the Flood of the Seven Armies shook all under Heaven, Cao Cao had been so frightened that he seriously considered moving the capital. The idea fit almost too neatly.
Then he recalled Xu Shu's latest report—and another thought surfaced.
"I still haven't congratulated Strategist Xu on flooding Cao Ren."
There was no envy in his words. Jiang Wan had the casualty figures in hand, precise and unforgiving.
The defensive battle at Fan City had lasted days without rest. The attackers fought with no regard for their lives; the defenders resisted with everything they had. Even with strong walls, heavy crossbows, and medicinal powders, thousands still died.
After it was over, Zhao Lei collapsed from exhaustion and illness and was sent straight to Wancheng to recuperate.
Xu Shu fared only slightly better. After nearly ten days of rest in Wancheng, the weariness still lingered between his brows.
Hearing Jiang Wan say this, that lingering fatigue finally broke into a smile. Xu Shu laughed aloud.
"Gongyan, don't flatter me to death. It was nothing more than wetting their ankles."
When the laughter subsided, Jiang Wan shook his head.
"I don't think Cao Cao would move the capital so hastily."
"Jingzhou no longer has the capacity to advance. Cao Cao may have suffered a setback, but his foundation remains intact. Holding strong positions, he still has room to maneuver."
In truth, Xu Shu thought the same.
"Merchants spread rumors through the markets," he said. "They can't possibly know the plans of kings and ministers."
"But for such talk to circulate at all shows this much: after our lord took Hanzhong, the people of the north have all begun to remember the founder of Han."
Jiang Wan smiled faintly. Any man who had read the classics knew the old stories of the Gao Emperor.
Xu Shu continued, his tone steady.
"Given Cao Cao's temperament, even if the Son of Heaven were to tour the north, Cao would first need to plan something to bolster his own prestige."
"And right now, there are only three ways he can do that."
"First: Guanzhong—either strike Yong and Liang, or attack Hanzhong."
"Second: Jingzhou—station troops in Yingchuan and Runan, then advance on Duyang and Biyang from two directions."
"Third: Yangzhou—secretly ally with Sun Quan. Cao's forces attack Jingzhou from the north while Jiangdong strikes from the south."
Jiang Wan thought it over and quickly understood. He nodded and said only one thing:
"Yuanzhi, rest assured. I, Jiang Wan, will live and die with Jiangling."
Xu Shu's expression twisted somewhere between laughter and helplessness. Seeing that, Jiang Wan simply smiled.
"I just want General Yunchang to feel at ease. What happened on the Light Screen before will not happen again."
Jiang Wan had been living in Jiangling lately. Few understood better than he how difficult this city was to take.
And precisely because of that, old memories were hard not to dwell on—memories that left one sighing.
This city should have brought its builder boundless renown. Instead…
Xu Shu did not linger long. After eating in Jiangling, he immediately boarded a ship that had come north from Gong'an County.
Standing at the bow as the river wind blew against him, Xu Shu found his thoughts returning, unbidden, to the situation.
Of the three directions Jiang Wan had named, even if Cao Cao chose any single one, Xu Shu was not particularly afraid.
But Xu Shu knew—and Jiang Wan knew—that Cao's camp was not lacking in sharp minds, people who made their living thinking ten moves ahead.
If Cao's forces moved, it was far more likely they would move on all three fronts at once, each covering for the others—much like the coordination Xu Shu himself once achieved with Pang Tong during the Jing-Xiang campaign.
The only consolation was that Cao Cao's grain reserves were probably still limited. Supporting major operations in both Jingzhou and Guanzhong at the same time would be difficult.
But if he truly reached an understanding with Sun Quan—what terms would they strike?
Xu Shu turned these possibilities over in his mind. Before he realized it, Jiangxia was already in sight.
The ships docked at Jiangxia. The naval soldier Zhao A cursed under his breath, then quickly plastered on a smile as he went to greet the officer in charge of the water gate.
"Same as before. All grain shipments."
The officer's face was cold.
"General Lü has orders. All ships must be thoroughly inspected."
From the bow, Xu Shu watched as Jiangdong soldiers boarded and searched every part of the grain ships.
Of course, they found nothing. All twelve vessels carried grain, intended mainly to replenish the stores at Wancheng in northern Jingzhou, just in case.
The grain captured after killing Cao Hong had already been sent to Duyang, where Huang Zhong and Guan Ping were stationed, clearly preparing to hold the city to the death.
As for weapons and more sensitive supplies, those were transported by land from Jiangling to Dangyang, then ferried north from the Dangyang crossing.
After a fair amount of wrangling, the convoy was finally allowed to proceed north.
The crossing at Dangyang had grown even larger than before. Huge quantities of baggage and surrendered Cao soldiers passed through here, and the crossing itself was heavily garrisoned.
The people of Dangyang were sharp. They sensed opportunity and, in their spare time, came to do business with the soldiers.
Laundry, mending, simple food.
It was enough to earn a living. Since General Guan had not issued a strict ban on alcohol, the supervising officers let it be for now.
As for flesh trade—people were thinking too far. The campaigns at Red Cliffs and the battles over Nan Commandery had nearly smashed this region flat.
Forget women of marrying age—there wasn't even a single able-bodied young man to be found.
Anyone with a bit of strength had already moved to Gong'an or Jiangling.
Watching old men hawk goods from makeshift stalls and elderly women scrubbing clothes by the river, Xu Shu sighed.
At an age meant for quiet retirement—who knew whether their children were even still alive?
Further north lay Yicheng. Its gate, blasted open earlier by massive warships, still gaped wide.
Xu Shu remembered suggesting that Ma Liang—White-Brow Ma Liang—temporarily serve as Yicheng's administrator. Ma Liang refused outright to avoid suspicion, and after the fighting barely paused before heading to Wuling to deal with the southern tribes.
According to Ma Liang, he had already trained a group of quick-witted locals there. In another two months, he planned to send them all to Jiangdong to contact the Shanyue.
It wasn't about stirring trouble for Jiangdong. From a fair-minded perspective, Ma Liang simply pitied the Shanyue.
Jiangdong's generals attacked the Shanyue when they were happy, attacked them when they lost battles, attacked them when they lacked manpower, attacked them when they lacked merit, and attacked them when they lacked grain or furs.
Living in constant fear there—why not come to Jingzhou instead?
Now that northern Jingzhou had been fully recovered, it didn't matter if you were Shanyue or some other tribe. Break them up, give them land, and after a generation or two they would all be Han people anyway. Wasn't that better than being Jiangdong's punching bag?
Yicheng was now managed by a man named Liu Min, a brave fighter under Huang Zhong who was highly regarded.
Civilians passed through the open gate laughing and chatting as they went to draw water by the river. Seeing Xu Shu's convoy, they looked on with curiosity; the livelier ones even whistled in greeting.
Recovery was going well, Xu Shu judged.
After all, once the Jing-Xiang war began, Yicheng had fallen almost immediately.
It had entered the war earliest—and now its livelihood recovered earliest as well.
Continuing north, Xiangyang had fallen into complete desolation.
Xu Shu sighed. He still remembered when this had been the most prosperous city in all of Jingzhou.
Liu Jingzhou had entered Jingzhou alone, organized his forces at Xiangyang, strode across Han's southern lands, hosted elegant banquets, and gathered famed scholars—his reputation born here.
Here he rose, here he fell ill and died. Here he abandoned the elder for the younger, sowing disaster. Here the city opened its gates and surrendered to Cao.
Twenty years of naval power, burned to ash at Red Cliffs. Ten years of governance, its people driven from battle to battle, many dying in disgrace.
Decades of splendor, now reduced to an empty city.
North of Xiangyang lay Fan City. On the river-facing wall, countless crossbow bolts still jutted out.
Some were embedded too deeply to remove; others were lodged too high. In the end, they were simply left there.
East of Fan City, thousands of small earthen mounds told the same story.
After the battle, Guan Yu had stayed several days, personally helping the soldiers gather their fallen comrades and send them back to be buried near Jiangling.
The remaining Cao soldiers were buried where they lay. With no names or hometowns to mark them, only these mounds remained.
Xu Shu tried to recall their faces—and found that even those he had personally killed were now little more than blurs.
The ships continued north in silence. Only one line of mourning drifted back from Xu Shu:
"Han soldiers—rest in peace."
Farther north, the scenery finally lifted his spirits.
The garrison households of Xinye had become ordinary townsfolk again. Some worked the fields, others rested. When they saw the convoy, someone shouted a cheerful greeting from afar, and Xu Shu could feel the ease in it.
From Xinye onward, the western bank stretched into endless plains. The land along the river was rich and fertile—the very foundation of Jingzhou's former prosperity.
Fields farther from the water had already been reclaimed by wild grass, looking almost like northern steppe.
Across that grassland, a cavalry unit galloped at full speed.
And the general at its head—Xu Shu knew him well. A red face, a magnificent beard, a crescent blade.
If it wasn't Guan Yu, who else could it be?
After the victory in Jing-Xiang, they had captured vast numbers of Cao soldiers—and with them, several thousand fine horses.
Guan Yu wasted no time. Almost seamlessly, he began familiarizing himself with cavalry warfare and drilling his riders.
Even his mount had changed—a stronger, more imposing red horse, taken from Wancheng.
Xu Shu guessed it had belonged to some Cao noble. The fall of Wancheng had come too suddenly; Cao Cao's entourage likely had no time to sort out their mounts. In the end, the horse was left behind—and ended up under Guan Yu.
Earlier, Xu Shu had worried that the lack of massive warships north of Jingzhou might dampen General Guan's spirits.
Now it seemed he had worried for nothing.
General Guan's preference was clearly singular:
A force that could win.