Chapter Ten: Yuan Yao—To Slay a Mere Whelp Is as Easy as Killing a Chicken

In the blink of an eye, several days had passed.

During this time, Chu Feng devoted himself entirely to training. The only other task he attended to was planting potatoes; after days of moist cultivation, they had already sprouted. Yet, despite the five hundred pounds at hand, the crop covered only four acres.

Meanwhile, days earlier, Yang Feng and Han Xian had been incited to rebellion, resulting in a devastating defeat for Zhang Xun, Ji Ling, and their cohorts; the general Qiao Rui had even been captured by Lü Bu.

News of this calamity had reached Shouchun.

At this moment, Yang Hong listened as his household retainer finished recounting the events. He drew a deep breath, his eyes filled with dread. Everything Chu Feng had predicted had come to pass—even his intention to write to Sun Ce had been foreseen. Did this mean Yuan Shu truly had little time left?

After a moment’s hesitation, Yang Hong realized he had not yet arranged matters with Sun Ce, but staying under Yuan Shu’s command was no longer tenable. Quietly, he resolved to shift allegiance and become a retainer in Yuan Yao’s household. He reckoned Yuan Yao would value him, the elder brother, more.

Thus, following his original plan, he had his men disguise his escape, while he personally went to visit Yuan Yao.

...

Wanghuai Tower, the largest tavern in Shouchun.

This was Yuan Yao’s favored haunt. At present, he was with a group of scions, boasting and bantering with hawks and hounds, discussing the world at large—or, more accurately, indulging in extravagant tales.

“Master, someone seeks you!”

Yuan Yao glanced at the man in a bamboo hat not far off, frowned, and set aside his birdcage. “Who are you, and what business do you have with me?”

“Master, my identity matters little, but there is one whom I fear may cause you sleepless nights,” Yang Hong replied in a low voice.

“Hah, nonsense. In all Shouchun, there is none who could disturb my peace,” Yuan Yao sneered.

“But what if it is Yuan Gong’s illegitimate son?” Yang Hong whispered.

At these words, Yuan Yao paused visibly, narrowed his eyes, and waved his sleeve at his companions. “Enough. You may all go.”

Once the others had departed, Yang Hong removed his hat.

“Chief Historian Yang? Why is it you?” Yuan Yao was surprised; he knew Yang Hong well. Since his father had distanced himself from Yan Xiang, Yang Hong had become a close confidant.

“Master, Yuan Gong’s campaign against Lü Bu has ended in defeat, and my advice was the chief cause. Fearing punishment, I had no choice but to prepare to seek refuge in Jiangdong,” Yang Hong sighed.

“Victory and defeat are common in war; you need not worry. I will plead your case with my father,” Yuan Yao, less shrewd than Yang Hong, was easily swayed.

“No need, Master. I came only to speak a few words to you before I leave,” Yang Hong said, his demeanor convincing Yuan Yao.

“Please, speak.”

“Master, you have an elder brother named Feng, possessed of great talent and knowledge of the past and present, versed in prophecy. Yuan Gong has lately spent much time with him, and he is training elite troops with the intention...” Yang Hong trailed off.

...

“What intention? To kill me? He dares—” Yuan Yao was instantly furious. He was Yuan Shu’s legitimate son; why should he fear a bastard who appeared out of nowhere?

“Master, Yuan Gong greatly favors Young Master Feng, and has even spoken of making him heir. You must not act rashly. That is all I have to say; farewell,” Yang Hong finished, clasped his hands, and prepared to leave.

Yuan Yao immediately grabbed him. “Sir, you have the talent to govern a nation; why flee to Jiangdong? I am unworthy, but would you consider serving as my advisor?”

“Master, Yuan Gong seeks my life; why invite disaster upon yourself? Would that not make Yuan Gong favor Young Master Feng even more? It is not to your advantage. Say no more,” Yang Hong shook his head and prepared to depart.

“No matter. A mere bastard—killing him is as easy as slaughtering a chicken,” Yuan Yao’s eyes flashed with murderous intent. Clearly, Yang Hong’s words had steered his thoughts.

Yet, he was eager to meet this brother first.

...

Elsewhere, within the palace.

Yuan Shu stared at the battle reports, instantly incensed. They matched Chu Feng’s predictions exactly: Yang Feng and Han Xian had rebelled, and the army was crushed.

Smack!

He flung the bamboo scroll to the ground and roared, “Fetch Yang Hong for me! If it weren’t for his schemes, my three armies would not have suffered such defeat!”

“Master, the guard has just reported that Yang Hong has fled south with his men—certainly running to avoid punishment,” the eunuch beside him croaked.

“Fled? Just as Feng’er said—secretly colluding with Sun Ce.” Yuan Shu grew more furious. “Send men after him. Alive or dead, I want him found.”

“Yes!” the guards responded.

After this defeat, Yuan Shu’s posture was noticeably more stooped.

Tens of thousands of troops had vanished, General Qiao Rui had been captured by Lü Bu, and worst of all, this was his first campaign as a sovereign—an utter disaster. Was it as Feng’er had said, that he would not live past next year?

The thought jolted him. Feng’er—yes, he must have a solution.

“I’ve heard Feng’er is reorganizing the troops and needs meat for provisions. Summon Liang Gang to bring some cattle and sheep to accompany me,” Yuan Shu instructed.

...

Outside the Chu estate, at the simple military camp.

For the past week, Chu Feng had spent his days between the craftsmen’s camp, the fields, and the barracks. The two hundred men had trained for a week, their already sturdy physiques now even more robust.

With a balanced diet, they enjoyed meat at every meal, and their progress was evident.

Yet, physical and mental training alone was not enough; next came wilderness survival training. Chu Feng planned to lead them out of camp at dawn for a half-month’s exercise.

As special forces, they must learn to forgo regular rations.

At that moment, Yuan Shu arrived.

...

Chu Feng grinned as he eyed the cattle and sheep behind his father. His old man was thoughtful—knowing that the meat supply for training was nearly depleted, he had delivered more.

“Father, next time don’t be so modest. Just bring a thousand head or so,” Chu Feng teased, clearly implying Yuan Shu hadn’t brought enough.

Yuan Shu was accustomed to such banter and entered the camp.

After some hesitation, he finally spoke: “Feng’er, just as you predicted, Yuan Shu has suffered defeat at Xia Pi. I fear my position may soon be untenable.”

“Father, don’t worry. Yuan Shu won’t die so soon. Before he does, you and I will have amassed enough power—then we can seize Yuzhang,” Chu Feng replied nonchalantly.

“Excellent, excellent.”

“But Feng’er, Yuan Shu is still my lord. You are clever—if you were him, what would you do?” Yuan Shu asked hopefully. He was truly at a loss.

Before Chu Feng could answer, the system prompt sounded in his mind:

“1. Choose to mislead your father; reward: improved spinning and weaving machine blueprints.”

“2. Choose to offer guidance; reward: one hundred taels of gold.”

Hearing this, Chu Feng decided he would certainly pick the first. Besides, misleading his own father was hardly the same as deceiving outsiders—he could say anything he wanted.

“Father, if I were Yuan Shu, I would reorganize the troops and march north to attack Cao Cao.”

“Why?”

“Father, think about it. Why did Lü Bu send the head to Xuchang? Was it not because Yuan Shu is a usurper? If Yuan Shu kills Cao Cao, then he becomes the true emperor.”

“Moreover, Cao Cao has just suffered a disastrous defeat at Wan City, losing men and materiel. It’s the perfect opportunity to strike. Yuan Shu’s losses make it unlikely anyone would expect him to act so boldly.”

“As they say, war is the art of deception!”

“Victory comes from the unexpected.”

Chu Feng rambled on, thoroughly misleading his father. In truth, Yuan Shu had indeed tried this in history, only to suffer a humiliating defeat—Cao Cao killed four of his generals, and Yuan Shu barely escaped.

“War is the art of deception?” Yuan Shu muttered.

Then he laughed, delighted with his son’s wisdom.

“Oh, right. I have matters at the manor—must be off,” Yuan Shu said, his spirits lifted and his gloom dispelled.

“Father, when you have time, help me recruit more craftsmen and spinning women,” Chu Feng said with a flattering smile. Yuan Shu readily agreed.

Leaving the camp, Yuan Shu mused that Feng’er was indeed superior to Yao’er, who spent his days with hounds and hawks. Yet Feng’er was a bastard, and the rivalry between legitimate and illegitimate sons worried him deeply.