Chapter 20: Pursued Too Closely

For the next day and night, Wei Ba was ceaselessly busy in the workshop, with no time to sit and contemplate that troublesome question. By the morning of the third day, twenty thousand pages of account books were meticulously completed, as well as ten exquisitely crafted abaci, all of which were entrusted to Steward Chen to be delivered first to Nanzheng, then distributed to the counties. Steward Chen had served the Wei family for many years and was well-versed in accountancy; it was far more fitting for him to handle this than for Wei Ba to go himself.

With matters thus settled, Wei Ba finally felt a bone-deep exhaustion. He returned to his small courtyard, fell into a deep sleep, and did not awaken until the following dawn, only then regaining his spirit.

In the days that followed, Wei Ba remained within the manor. Aside from occasionally visiting the forge to observe the progress on the new weapons, he spent most of his time in the study behind the house, reading. After a cursory perusal of those books, he traveled to the Prefect’s Office in Nanzheng. There, public documents from years past were archived; by reading these in great quantity, he could gain a thorough understanding of this world, especially the current state of Shu Han.

In these documents, he soon discovered a true treasure: the handwritten letters of Prime Minister Zhuge Liang.

He did not consider these letters treasures because of their association with a famous man or their monetary value, but because Zhuge Liang’s calligraphy was so distinctive. Though not a sorcerer, Zhuge Liang was a rare talent, quick to master any discipline. He was not famed for his writings, yet his "Memorial to Dispatch the Army" would be remembered for centuries; nor for his calligraphy, yet amidst a sea of documents, his dignified, steady clerical script immediately captivated Wei Ba. He could not put them down.

Thus, Wei Ba found himself with yet another pursuit: copying Zhuge Liang’s calligraphy.

Time flowed swiftly by. A month later, Wei Ba received news from Wei Yan: Prime Minister Zhuge Liang’s great army had arrived at Mianyang, and he was to hasten there at once. Not daring to delay, Wei Ba packed his things, gathered Wei Wu, Dun Wu, and their companions, and set off for Mianyang with all speed.

By the time they arrived, dusk was falling. Standing outside the city, Wei Ba surveyed the layered military encampments sprawled beneath Yangping Mountain, the battle flags blazing like fire in the sunset, the distant roll of war drums echoing through the air. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with excitement—he was about to meet the legendary Prime Minister Zhuge, about to take part in the great Northern Expedition. Though he was no stranger to grand spectacles and knew well that Shu Han’s strength was far outstripped by Cao Wei, the weakest of the Three Kingdoms, to see the vast encampment of a hundred thousand men laid out so plainly before him was still a breathtaking sight, compelling awe.

“Damn, this is overwhelming,” Wei Ba muttered to himself.

Wei Wu, too, was stunned for a long moment before smacking his lips and sighing, “So many people!”

In contrast to the brothers, Dun Wu, who had followed Wei Yan since the Hanzhong campaign a decade prior, was comparatively composed. His brow furrowed with concern. “This is likely all the strength our Han can muster. A full-force strike—if we win, all is well. But if we lose, I fear we may never again gather such an army for the Northern Expedition.”

Wei Ba’s gaze sharpened as he looked at Dun Wu, surprised by the insight of this usually reticent young man. Indeed, Zhuge Liang’s first Northern Expedition was the grandest and also the costliest. The subsequent campaigns, while less disastrous, gradually drained their strength; never again would they field such might. After Zhuge Liang’s death, in Jiang Wei’s time, their power only waned, and by the kingdom’s fall, Shu Han had but a hundred thousand soldiers left.

Yet, few could see this now. Dun Wu understood because he had rolled through the ranks with Wei Yan since his early teens, and was a pure soldier who believed only in strength. But the others? Zhuge Liang himself, aside from the Southern Campaign two years earlier, had little battlefield experience—and that was against poorly equipped tribes, more reliant on local terrain than force. There, Shu Han held the advantage, but this time they faced the formidable Wei army, and the balance of power had fundamentally shifted. Had Zhuge Liang realized this? Had his advisers?

Most likely not. Zhuge Liang’s closest confidant was Ma Su, a man infamous for empty rhetoric, rivaling Zhao Kuo. Like attracts like: Zhuge Liang’s trust in him spoke to a similar flaw in his own character. To put it kindly, it was romantic idealism; unkindly, it was strategy on paper.

This campaign was destined to be a spectacular beginning with a tragic end. The grandeur before their eyes was but the prologue to defeat.

Wei Ba’s excitement grew heavy.

From afar, he spotted Wei Feng, clad in leather armor and smiling broadly as he waited in the road. Upon seeing Wei Ba, he strode forward, clapped him heartily on the shoulder, and laughed, “Not bad, you look even more spirited. Was the journey tiring?”

“Not at all,” Wei Ba replied, pleased to see him. He hopped off the carriage, stretched his numb legs, and asked, “Where is Father? He summoned me in such haste—what’s the matter?”

“There’s business, of course.” Wei Feng waved for Dun Wu and the others to step back, then slung his arm around Wei Ba’s shoulders and lowered his voice. “Father knows everything about the manor. He called you here so urgently to give you a word of caution.”

“What is it?” Wei Ba grew nervous. Could it be that Father found out about me embarrassing Lady Zhang and is displeased?

“It’s nothing serious.” Wei Feng chuckled at his brother’s tension. “The new account books have been delivered; Father is very pleased and is waiting for an audience with the Prime Minister—eager to slap Yang Yi in the face. But he doesn’t want you to draw too much attention. He hopes you’ll be more modest.”

Wei Ba was surprised. His father Wei Yan was always proud and never objected to his son’s boldness. Why the sudden caution—could it be that he felt intimidated by the Prime Minister?

“You’re quite famous now. The iron plough is three times more effective than the wooden one; every farmer who’s used it praises it. The new account books, the abacus—even Master Cheng cannot stop commending them, calling them marvels born of great wisdom. Though you’ve been in Nanzheng, your reputation has spread—everyone knows your name.”

Wei Feng gestured broadly, as though Wei Ba’s fame now filled all Hanzhong, making Wei Ba laugh despite himself. “Elder brother, you exaggerate.”

“We’ll see about that,” Wei Feng said, turning serious. “But Father was very clear: now that your reputation is made, you must not speak of the new weapons. Even if someone knows, you must not claim credit—just say you read about it somewhere. And most importantly, from now on, stop doing these things altogether. If you have good ideas, wait until you’re back home. Outside, not a whisper.”

“Why?” Wei Ba frowned. Was Father trying to keep the technology secret, monopolize the market, earn more money?

“Why?” Wei Feng was surprised by his response. “Don’t you know? All this is the work of craftsmen. No matter how much you achieve, people won’t look up to you—they’ll just think you’re fit to be an artisan’s assistant.”

Wei Ba suddenly understood. This was his father’s protective intention. In these times, scholarship was everything—Confucian classics like the Spring and Autumn Annals or the Book of Documents were held in highest esteem; everything else was considered lesser learning, unfit for gentlemen. Soldiers were already looked down upon—no matter their sacrifices, they were seen as a lower class. Even Liu Bei, who rose from soldier to emperor, was called nothing but an old soldier; a famous general like Zhang Fei was refused even a night’s company by a renowned scholar. If soldiers were scorned, artisans were even lower, their skills never raising them above their station. The Wei family was a line of generals, and though they resented the scholars’ arrogance, they too looked down on craftsmen. Father had been angry before at Wei Ba for working at the forge, and now, more than ever, he did not want his son to be seen as an artisan—a label even lower than soldier. This was all out of love; with his status, Wei Ba could easily gain an official post without resorting to such lowly work.

With a quiet sigh, Wei Ba nodded. “I understand.”

Seeing his agreement, Wei Feng slapped his shoulder in delight. “I’m glad you understand Father’s intentions. Come, let’s go into the city and meet with Master Cheng and the others, plan how to deal with that upstart Yang Yi. If you manage to best him this time, Ah Ba, you’ll have made a great contribution.”

Wei Ba forced a wry smile. With battle looming, his father was still preoccupied with his feud with Yang Yi, and took it so seriously. He didn’t realize he was on the verge of facing a challenge that might determine the Wei family’s fate. Instead of seeking to build bridges with Zhuge Liang’s circle, he was bent on deepening old enmities. What did it matter if Yang Yi was embarrassed? It would be enough for the account books to pass inspection. Yang Yi was close to Zhuge Liang—if he wanted to make trouble, he could do so easily.

Father might be skilled in warfare, but in dealing with people, he was hopeless. Character is destiny—as the saying goes, and his lack of tact would one day leave him isolated and reviled. Though it seemed unfair, his own shortcomings had much to do with it. For the sake of the family, Wei Ba resolved to find an opportunity to persuade him, whether his father liked it or not. But he would need to be tactful about it; otherwise, he might make things worse instead of better.

As Wei Ba pondered how best to broach the subject, someone suddenly blocked their path. Before he could speak, Wei Feng scolded, “Miss Ma, why put yourself through this? My brother’s just arrived and you’re here already—aren’t you being a little too eager?”

———

Haha, everyone’s really given it their all—Old Zhuang has made it to the homepage! I’m deeply grateful and thrilled! By rights, I should post a bonus chapter to express my thanks, but as you all know, during the new book period there are strict limits on time and word count, so I’ll have to restrain myself for now and ask for your understanding. But just like fine wine, the longer it’s aged, the better it tastes. I solemnly promise—when the new book period is over, I’ll make it up to you with a burst of chapters, and we’ll celebrate together! Let those recommendation votes keep coming!