Chapter Four: Which Path to Take

Compared to Yuan Benchu’s ambitious drive, Fei Qian was truly the epitome of someone who simply went with the flow.

Fei Qian felt that in this high-pressure era of the Three Kingdoms, where countless extraordinary figures took turns in the spotlight, each commanding their own glory, he lacked both martial prowess and intellect. What chance did he have to compete in a struggle of strength or wit?

Therefore, it seemed far more practical—and safer—to find a powerful patron to cling to firmly. At least the risks would be smaller.

But before that, there were a few matters he needed to consider carefully.

Fei Qian dabbed some tea water on the table and began to sketch lightly, without ink or brush. Later, he could wipe it away, leaving no trace to be discovered.

Thanks to the influence of many classic dramas from later generations, Fei Qian was quite meticulous about secrecy. Many secrets were leaked through small details, and if his own secrets were exposed, who knew if people would brand him a demon or monster and tear him apart?

Drawing from memory, he roughly outlined the Han dynasty map.

The thirteen provinces of the Eastern Han were Yongzhou, Yuzhou, Yanzhou, Xuzhou, Qingzhou, Liangzhou, Bingzhou, Jizhou, Youzhou, Yangzhou, Jingzhou, Yizhou, and Jiaozhou.

Fei Qian first crossed out Liangzhou and Youzhou, then erased Yizhou and Jiaozhou as well. Liangzhou bordered the Qiang and Xiongnu tribes, plagued by hardship for years—unsuitable. Youzhou was constantly raided by Hu and Xianbei peoples, like the invaders of later times. Although Gongsun Zan still held it in check for now, he would soon be eliminated by Yuan Shao, making it unreliable. Jiaozhou was even less appealing—still the domain of the Southern Yue, sweltering and full of insects, and this era had no insecticides. Yizhou might be good, but to enter Sichuan one had to climb treacherous plank roads—traveling from Luoyang to Chengdu without planes, trains, or automobiles, relying solely on one’s legs. That was out of the question.

Bingzhou was no better. When Dong Zhuo came to the capital, he killed the Bingzhou warlord Ding Yuan, and the local forces fled with Lü Bu, leaving the province defenseless for a long time. The Xiongnu could come and go at will. Crossed off as well.

Qingzhou, Yuzhou, Yanzhou, and Jizhou were the four provinces hardest hit by the Yellow Turban Rebellion. Even now, remnants of the Yellow Turbans persisted in Yanzhou, Qingzhou, and Jizhou. Fei Qian recalled that these regions had the most frequent conflicts, nearly wiping out their populations. Cao Cao’s phrase “a thousand miles without a cock’s crow” perfectly illustrated this devastation.

That left only Xuzhou, Yangzhou, and Jingzhou. Fei Qian stroked his chin thoughtfully. Xuzhou—moving there would mean relocating again before Cao Cao’s father was killed, or else facing slaughter by Cao Cao, plus the internecine strife between Lü Bu and Liu Bei, which also caused heavy casualties. Too troublesome, he excluded Xuzhou.

Jingzhou was alright at least until the Battle of Red Cliffs; after that, it was fragmented into three parts, fought over repeatedly with countless deaths.

Yangzhou—yes, that was good. Sun Jian, the “Little Overlord,” though short-lived, was the last to submit in the Three Kingdoms. Apart from avoiding the fallout of Red Cliffs, Yangzhou had never fallen to Wei by the time of Sun Hao. Fei Qian tapped Yangzhou firmly on the map—this was his choice.

Having settled where to go, the next problem was how to handle food, shelter, and transportation—in other words, money.

In the late Eastern Han, the standard currency was still the five-coin piece, but copper was precious and scarce, insufficient for all trade needs. Thus, cloth was often used as a common medium of exchange in markets. Gold and silver were rare for ordinary people, functioning like large checks, which had to be exchanged at silver shops for copper coins before use.

Fei Qian calculated with his fingers. He had previously bought two pieces of glassware and exchanged some gold and silver, but with warfare rampant across the Three Kingdoms, prices inevitably soared. How long would that small amount of precious metals last?

If it wasn’t enough, he could make a few more glassware pieces and exchange them for money in Yangzhou to open a shop or something.

Well, this was a path of withdrawal from the world. That was about it.

***

What if he chose to participate in the chaos?

Fei Qian wiped away the water stains on the table and wrote down three names: Cao Cao, Liu Bei, and Sun Quan. The other minor players were not worth considering.

If judging by the winner, Cao Cao of Wei was the best choice. But surviving in Wei would be the hardest. Cao Cao was naturally suspicious, surrounded by cunning and ruthless men. Fei Qian, neither scholar nor warrior, would likely be sent off to some county post in the west at best.

Sun Quan spent his life struggling against the local powers of Jiangdong, as did his father and elder brothers for three generations without ever fully subduing them. They were nearly kidnapped by the Jiangdong gentry multiple times. The near-surrender after Red Cliffs was proof enough. How could an outsider without roots or power stand against these local snakes?

Liu Bei, on the other hand, was tolerant—though by necessity. Always wandering, wherever he pledged allegiance, misfortune followed. He sided with Gongsun Zan, indulged but then betrayed him; with Tao Qian, he took a stronghold but failed to defend it; with Cao Cao, he was entrusted with troops but ended up stealing them; with Yuan Shao, he killed two of his generals; with Liu Biao, he seized his son’s lands; with Liu Zhang, he took men and territory.

Fei Qian maliciously recalled irresponsible speculations on later forums: was Liu Bei a cursed star that doomed those around him, except for his steed Dilu?

His finger hovered over the three names, tapping until the ink blurred.

Enough—those he could not solve immediately could be put aside. Fei Qian’s later-era principles told him to postpone the decision of whom to follow.

Suddenly feeling hungry—two meals a day just wasn’t enough—he called outside, “Uncle Fu! Uncle Fu! Is there any food left? I’m hungry!”

Uncle Fu was good in many ways but stubborn. Though always ready with food for Fei Qian’s hunger, he refused to switch from two meals to three, no matter how much Fei Qian protested.

“Food comes first, no matter Cao, Liu, or Sun,” Fei Qian thought, sitting cross-legged on the floor, propping his chin with his hand. Dong Zhuo must have already received the imperial edict by now. He was coming; Fei Qian had to prepare to flee.

Soon, Uncle Fu entered carrying a tray.

“By the way,” Fei Qian thought, “if I leave, I have to persuade old Uncle Fu—I can’t just abandon him.”

Outside the camp of Dong Zhuo’s forces in Mianchi, on a small hill, dozens of burly Xiliang soldiers surrounded the base tightly. Clearly, someone important was inside.

A flat spot on the hilltop was enclosed on three sides with silk curtains, leaving only the eastern side open. A gentle breeze stirred the curtains, revealing a figure inside.

A white-robed scholar with a tall cap and wide sleeves knelt alone on a mat in the center. On a nearby low table sat a pot of wine and two or three small dishes. The scholar was pouring and drinking alone.

He had delicate features and a slender mustache, exuding an elegant demeanor, though his brows were slightly furrowed, as if troubled by something unsolvable.

After some time, soft footsteps came from behind, and a deep voice called, “Brother Wenyou, what refined leisure you have!”

The white-robed scholar reached for a wine cup, poured some wine, and said, “Come, Wenhe, let’s drink a cup before talking about anything else.”

These two were the top strategists of the Xiliang army: Li Ru and Jia Xu.

Jia Xu took the cup, sat sideways with legs crossed, and drained it. Without waiting for Li Ru to refill, he poured himself another, laughing, “The last time we drank together was three years ago—a rare occasion indeed.” He glanced at Li Ru, who knelt upright, and said, “Hey, it’s just the two of us here; no need to be so formal.”

Li Ru held his cup steadily, sitting like a bell, slowly drinking the wine with bowed head. “I am used to it. It cannot be changed. You do as you please; don’t mind me.”

“All right, all right, as you wish.” Jia Xu didn’t insist. Without chopsticks, he grabbed a piece of beef with his hand and chewed heartily.

Li Ru appeared unbothered by Jia Xu’s impoliteness, as if he hadn’t noticed, gently rolling up his sleeves and putting down the wine cup. He gazed eastward, a strange light gleaming in his eyes.

“Wenhe, over a hundred miles ahead lies Luoyang. I thought I would never set foot there again in this life. Unexpectedly, this is my second time returning.” His voice was calm, but unconsciously trembled slightly.

Jia Xu, holding another piece of beef, paused at these words, then tossed the meat back onto the plate. He dunked his oily fingers into his wine cup to clean them, then drank deeply, laughing hoarsely. “Yes, indeed. Three hundred years have passed; we have returned!”

“It’s been three hundred and thirty-seven years...” Li Ru corrected.

Jia Xu was stunned, speechless. “You really know your history well, Wenyou.”

“How could I not? In these three hundred and thirty-seven years, our people were driven to the barren west, living among the Qiang and Hu barbarians, with no grain to eat or bed to sleep on. We almost forgot how to wear these clothes...”

“Twenty years ago, my father and I came to Luoyang with Hu merchants,” Li Ru said slowly. “The city was tall and the streets broad, bustling with splendor. I almost thought it was not of this world, as if all the beauty of the world converged there... But I was wrong. Because of my youthful folly, I offended the market inspector and, in the dead of winter, was driven out with my father, naked. Fortunately, a kind family took us in, or we would have frozen to death that night...”

Jia Xu was silent, set down his cup, and knelt upright alongside Li Ru, staring toward the east with a solemn gaze. “When I was young, my father suffered from indigestion. We searched nearby tribes but found no fine tea to aid digestion. At that time, a man from Luoyang came. We begged him for some to save my father, only to be told...”

“That man said—” Jia Xu gripped the table tightly, taking a long breath, fingers whitening from the grip, “—how could one save wicked, rebellious barbarians? Ha, ha, ha. We were labeled wicked barbarians, only fit to die...”

The two fell silent for a long time.

“Brother Wenyou, in my opinion, this is not a good opportunity. Moreover, though Dong Zhongying is bold and straightforward, he is no wise ruler to unify the realm...”

“I know,” Li Ru replied faintly. “But time waits for no one. In my father’s generation, we had a few clever men, perhaps several dozen. Now, how many heirs remain? Though we were defeated two hundred years ago, we forced them to move the capital to Luoyang. Now, even if I am defeated again, what does it matter?”

Li Ru poured another cup, drained it, then flung the cup aside. It shattered against the rocks. “If possible, I will replace them; if not, I will bring chaos!”

***