Chapter Thirteen: Deduction

According to the course of history, this year Cao Cao slaughtered Xuzhou. At his rear, Chen Gong and Zhang Miao suddenly betrayed him, inviting Lü Bu into Yanzhou. The two sides clashed fiercely, and it wasn't until the following year that Cao Cao finally defeated Lü Bu and reclaimed Yanzhou. In other words, from this year into the next, Cao Cao would be at his weakest. If one were to attack him during this period, there was a real chance of eliminating him altogether.

But then again, who could say for certain? The information at my disposal was too scant. How many men did Lü Bu have? How many did Cao Cao command? What were their respective situations at present? I knew nothing, save that Xuzhou’s predicament was dire.

Shen Chen pondered the historical developments. It seemed that if one could advise Tao Qian to strike at Cao Cao’s rear while Cao and Lü Bu were locked in struggle over Yanzhou, the entire course of history might change. Yet, not knowing the exact number of troops, the state of their provisions, or their current strength, he could hardly plan with any certainty. Xuzhou, after all, was far too weak; Tao Qian commanded little real power.

If Lü Bu’s strength was not as great as it appeared, and Tao Qian rashly threw his forces into the fray, Cao Cao could easily crush him. In that event, Yuan Shu—who was already preparing to invade Xuzhou this very year—would seize the province without effort, and history would only become more tragic.

With these thoughts, Shen Chen decided to analyze and deduce the military capabilities of Cao Cao and Lü Bu. He recalled that, at its peak, Tao Qian’s army numbered forty to fifty thousand men. Cao Cao’s forces could not have been weaker. Having captured a million Yellow Turbans from Qingzhou, he selected at least thirty thousand elite soldiers from among them—perhaps forty or fifty thousand in total.

In the battle of Pengcheng, Cao Cao and Tao Qian had roughly equal numbers. After a fierce engagement, Tao Qian’s army was nearly annihilated. Cao Cao must have suffered losses as well, so estimating his current strength at about forty thousand seemed reasonable.

But what of Lü Bu? Lü Bu had fled from Yuan Shao, bringing only his elite assault troops and a handful of cavalry—at most several thousand men, if that. His main force came from Zhang Miao, the governor of Chenliu, yet Zhang Miao could not have commanded more soldiers than Cao Cao, governor of Yanzhou. Even generously estimated, Lü Bu might have twenty thousand men at best—roughly half of Cao Cao’s strength.

History records that Cao Cao was initially defeated, then victorious. In Puyang, Lü Bu bested him first, and the two sides stalemated for a hundred days, withdrawing only when drought struck. Lü Bu retreated to Shanyang and Jiyin; Cao Cao fell back to Dongping. During this time, Cao Cao was so desperate that he nearly sent his family to Yuan Shao as hostages.

But Cao Cao’s desperation was not for want of soldiers, but for lack of provisions. He begged Yuan Shao for grain, and Yuan Shao tried to use this to force Cao Cao to send his family to Ye. In the end, Cheng Yu advised Cao Cao to use dried human flesh as rations, barely enabling his survival.

This also shows that Cao Cao’s army was larger than Lü Bu’s. He had prepared ample supplies for his campaign against Tao Qian, but when the stalemate with Lü Bu dragged on, his food ran out first—proof that his larger army consumed grain more quickly.

Lü Bu, fleeing from Yuan Shao, could not have brought much grain. The supplies for Cao Cao’s campaign were in his own hands. Yet Lü Bu managed to hold out for a hundred days, demonstrating that his army was much smaller than Cao Cao’s.

By this reasoning, Cao Cao commanded about forty thousand men, but suffered from a shortage of provisions. Lü Bu, at most, had twenty thousand, and based on his later defeat of Liu Bei’s ten thousand-strong force, his total strength likely lay between ten and twenty thousand. With so few troops, he was no match for Cao Cao. His early victory at Puyang came only because Cao Cao, anxious over the threat to Yanzhou, made tactical errors, allowing Lü Bu’s cavalry to break through. Once Cao Cao regained his composure and acted methodically, he reclaimed Yanzhou, as history attests.

So, if Liu Bei were to take over Xuzhou, could he seize the opportunity to attack Cao Cao, capture Yanzhou, and play the part of the loyal minister who “welcomes the Emperor westward, holding the Son of Heaven hostage to command the feudal lords”?

The answer was simple: impossible.

To begin with, Liu Bei’s strength was no match for Cao Cao’s. Even Lü Bu’s army outnumbered his. If Liu Bei tried to ambush Cao Cao now, he would only be courting death.

It was the same old truth: in a contest of three, the fisherman profits only when the two clams fight. If the strongest and second-strongest fight, the weakest will be destroyed.

Moreover, lurking nearby was Yuan Shu, whose power exceeded both Cao Cao and Lü Bu. He watched for an opening, making it all the more impossible for Liu Bei to profit.

If Liu Bei sent his army north from Xuzhou to attack Dongping, Yuan Shu would seize Xuzhou the moment his back was turned.

No matter how one looked at it, Liu Bei was in a deadlock in Xuzhou. He lacked the strength to intervene in Yanzhou. When Cao Cao and Lü Bu finished their struggle, Lü Bu would be driven out like a stray dog, and history would repeat itself.

“Liu Bei is simply too weak,” Shen Chen concluded. “No matter what he tries, he cannot alter the course of events. In a novel, perhaps some authorial sleight of hand could help him turn the tide. But this is reality. The enemies are too strong. Even if he pulled off a miracle and defeated one, he could never prevail against three at once.”

“In this situation, there is nothing I can do to change things. Powerless, I had best observe history as it unfolds and avoid interfering.”

After running through all the possibilities, Shen Chen realized that Liu Bei’s chances of making a name for himself in Henan were virtually zero. His predicament was exceedingly grim.

Yuan Shu commanded an army of over a hundred thousand. Cao Cao had forty to fifty thousand. Even Lü Bu could muster ten or twenty thousand. Liu Bei, even after inheriting Tao Qian’s forces, might at most have ten thousand men; his core troops numbered no more than three thousand, with hidden dangers lurking in the ranks of Cao Bao and Xu Dan. With such scant forces, how could he contend with the warlords of Henan?

“Governor of Xuzhou” sounded impressive, but in reality, it was an empty title. Of the five commanderies, four ignored his orders; the fifth had been devastated by Cao Cao’s slaughter and offered no room for development.

Xuzhou had become a dead end; it wasn’t something that could be salvaged by anyone.

Having reached this conclusion, Shen Chen saw only one path before him: to leave the quagmire of Henan and wait for the future to bring change. It just so happened that, twelve years later, he would come of age, receiving his courtesy name, and by then Liu Bei would be on the eve of the Battle of Red Cliffs. If he planned carefully for the future, perhaps there would be another opportunity for change.

Having thought it through, Shen Chen rose from his bed. Dusk had fallen, the sun sinking below the horizon, its dying rays casting one last glow over the land—a final glimmer of hope.

While there was still daylight, he went to the kitchen, poured himself a bowl of water, and prepared to choke down some coarse cakes, planning to rise early and discuss plans for migration with the clan elders.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Glancing into the front courtyard, he saw it was his neighbor, Aunt Seven, calling out to them.

“Uncle Third? Uncle Third?”

Shen Chen opened the door. “Aunt Seven, what is it?”

Aunt Seven’s face lit up when she saw him. “Ah, it’s Chen! Where are your parents?”

“Father and Mother have gone to the ancestral hall. The clan elders are selecting guards for the migration south, and they went to see.”

“I’ll have Tao call them back in a bit. We’ve slaughtered two chickens—come over and eat with us!”

Two chickens? Shen Chen was astonished. “Aunt Seven, why did you suddenly decide to kill chickens?”

Aunt Seven’s family was closely related to his. Shen Chen’s father, Shen Zhen, and Uncle Seven, Shen Min, were cousins; Shen Zhen was third among his generation, Shen Min was seventh. Their families got along well and visited often.

But even with such a good relationship, it was rare to kill chickens for a neighbor. Chickens were precious possessions, second only to cattle and sheep, usually kept for their eggs and rarely slaughtered.

Shen Chen’s family had only two chickens; though not as many as Shen Min’s thirty, they treasured them all the same.

Aunt Seven forced a smile. “You know how things are these days. We’re about to migrate south, and it’s hard to bring so many chickens along. Your Uncle Seven plans to sell them all, keeping just two for eggs. But whether we try to sell to the clan or to others, the price is terribly low. Grain is more valuable than chickens now—so we thought we might as well eat them ourselves.”

“I see. Times are indeed hard,” Shen Chen sighed in understanding. “But don’t worry, Aunt Seven. Though migrating south means depending on others, it’s better than losing our lives. This will pass. There are still many days ahead.”

“I hope you’re right,” Aunt Seven replied, her face troubled. She beckoned him. “The chickens will be done soon. Come over in a bit. I’ll send Tao to fetch your parents.”

“All right,” Shen Chen nodded, watching her leave.

The entire clan was now busy gathering up their possessions, selling what couldn’t be carried, pooling their wealth to purchase mules, carts, grain, weapons, and other necessities.

Faced with the tides of history, individual strength seemed so insignificant. Without Shen Chen’s intervention, the clans of Deng and Shen might have fallen to massacre.

But even if they avoided slaughter, migrating a thousand kilometers in this age of poor roads—from Shancheng in present-day Linyi, Shandong, to Xiangyang in Hubei—was almost an impossible task for a single family.

Without enough grain, most would starve on the way. Worse still were the dangers: bandits and soldiers stripped the countryside; those traveling alone risked being killed and turned into dried meat.

This world was rotten to the core. It wasn’t just Cao Cao’s men who ate human flesh—disbanded soldiers, bandits, and desperate refugees all resorted to murder and cannibalism. These things didn’t make it into the official histories, but even powerful warlords had to do it; the common folk suffered even more.

If Shen Chen wished to leave Xuzhou, he would have to rely on the strength of his clan, united as one. Only then could he hope to realize his plans.