Zhuge Liang's read on the situation was dead on.
The northern warlords of Hebei knew their way around a crossbow. When Emperor Guangwu fought to pacify the realm, his heavy crossbowmen from Jizhou were the stuff of legend. They were one of his three most elite military units, and they had earned every bit of that reputation.
During the civil war between Yuan Shao and Gongsun Zan, Yuan Shao commanded two full divisions of elite crossbowmen. He knew exactly how to use them, and Gongsun Zan learned that lesson the hard way.
When Cao Cao conquered Jizhou, he had personally inspected and reorganized those exact crossbow units. He was not the kind of man to leave a good weapon unused. During the brutal campaign at Tong Pass against Ma Chao and Han Sui, those same Jizhou crossbowmen had performed brilliantly.
General Zhu Ling was a Jizhou native. He had grown up around crossbows. He had trained with them. He had fought against them. He knew everything there was to know about fighting heavy crossbows.
Yet, the reality on the ground completely derailed his expectations. Everything he thought he knew went straight out the window.
Zhu Ling stood frozen in shock. He did not issue a single command. The soldiers trapped on the pontoon bridge watched their commander, Lu Zhao, tumble lifelessly into the freezing river. A collective, unspoken panic seized them. They instinctively began shuffling backward, retreating from the slaughter.
Some quick-thinking soldiers noticed Zhu Ling's shell-shocked face. They grabbed long spears, slapped iron grappling hooks on the ends, and managed to haul Lu Zhao's corpse back to the muddy bank.
Zhu Ling could not look at the body. He lifted his gaze across the Wugong River.
On the opposite bank, the rebel crossbowmen stood in three neat ranks. Weapons leveled at the bridge. Waiting. They looked as relaxed as if they were standing in line for breakfast. It was almost insulting.
Behind the crossbowmen, the main body of the rebel army continued its retreat. Zhu Ling could not see the details of the engagement happening further down the line, but he could clearly see that the enemy formation was not panicking. Their pace was steady and calculated. Calm. Like they had done this a hundred times before.
Zhu Ling's jaw tightened. "If we do not break that crossbow line, our vanguard chasing them down the valley is dead meat. We will never secure the Bao Xie road!"
Zhu Ling made his decision instantly. The time for hesitation was over. Now, it was time for execution.
He waved his personal guards forward. They helped him strap on his heavy combat armor. While they tightened the leather straps, he began barking orders like a man who had just run out of patience.
"Tower shields to the front!" Zhu Ling roared. "Anyone takes a step back, I will execute them myself!"
He reached out his hand.
"Bring me my shield! I will lead the vanguard myself!"
Once his armor was secured, Zhu Ling carefully tied the straps of his heavy iron helmet. He grabbed a massive tower shield with his right hand. He picked up an iron grappling hook with his left. He tucked a short hand halberd securely into his belt. He stomped forward and planted himself firmly at the very edge of the pontoon bridge.
The orders rippled through the ranks. Soldiers carrying large wooden tower shields nervously gathered behind Zhu Ling. They formed into small, tight clusters of three or four men. None of them looked particularly happy about it.
Zhu Ling glanced sideways at the soaked, lifeless body of his friend, Lu Zhao. He did not say a word. He simply raised his iron hook and violently smashed it against the metal-reinforced face of his tower shield.
Clang!
The sharp, metallic crash echoed loudly in the freezing winter air. It carried far across the rushing water.
A few soldiers caught the rhythm. They began smashing their own weapons against their wooden shields. The rhythmic banging seemed to act as an emotional release valve. It bled off a tiny fraction of their paralyzing fear. Soon, dozens of soldiers joined the cacophony. What started as one man's defiance had become an army's heartbeat.
High up on the observation ridge, Du Xi watched the entire scene unfold on the southern bank. He heard the rhythmic crashing of metal and wood drift up the valley.
In the span of fifteen breaths, the solitary clang of Zhu Ling's shield multiplied into a deafening roar. The chaotic banging slowly synchronized into a unified, terrifying heartbeat of an army preparing to die.
The shattered morale of the Cao forces was slowly stitching itself back together. Du Xi nodded in satisfaction.
He shifted his gaze slightly and noticed the military enforcers standing at the very rear of Zhu Ling's formation. The enforcers stood with their ring-pommel swords drawn, their eyes cold and utterly merciless. They were ready to slaughter any man who retreated.
Du Xi's tense expression relaxed significantly. He stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"I have heard many things about Zhu Ling over the years, you know. Many things. Some said he was a capable commander. Others said he was merely adequate. But I always suspected there was more to him than met the eye. And today, watching him rally his men like this, watching him stand at the front of that bridge like a rock against the tide, I can confidently say that my suspicions were correct. He is not merely capable. He is not merely adequate. He is, in fact, a genuinely formidable leader. The kind of leader who can take a shattered army and stitch it back together with nothing but his voice and his will. That is a rare quality. A very rare quality indeed."
He paused, then added with a satisfied nod.
"Yes. Zhu Ling is good. Very good."
On the western bank of the Wugong River, Huo Jun stood firm.
His eyes followed the enemy's leading general as the man hoisted a massive tower shield onto his shoulder and stepped onto the pontoon bridge.
Huo Jun frowned.
This was about to become troublesome.
He judged the distance, waiting until the Wei vanguard reached the exact center of the swaying bridge.
Only then did he bring his hand down.
"Fire!"
A dense volley of crossbow bolts screamed across the river.
Huo Jun watched the heavy iron quarrels smash into the enemy formation. Several bolts punched straight through the thick wooden tower shields, while others buried themselves deep into the ranks behind them. Cries of pain drifted across the water as soldiers stumbled and fell.
Yet Huo Jun's expression only grew more serious.
Something was wrong.
He had spent enough years on the battlefield to recognize the difference immediately.
He knew what a successful volley looked like.
When a crossbow barrage struck with full force, the men in its path usually died where they stood. At most, there would be a few brief screams before the field fell still.
This time, the cries did not fade.
They continued.
The wounded were still moving.
Some struggled back to their feet. Others staggered forward while clutching their shields.
The volley had inflicted casualties, but it had failed to stop the advance.
Huo Jun let out a sigh.
The enemy had learned.
The massive tower shields were doing exactly what they had been brought here to do. Even when the bolts punched through the thick planks, enough of their force had been absorbed to spare the men sheltering behind them.
Their crossbows were still deadly.
They simply were not deadly enough anymore.
On the bridge, Zhu Ling glanced at the massive iron bolt jutting from the front of his tower shield. He let out a long, heavy breath of relief.
His shield was built from thick timber reinforced with a heavy iron plate. The bolt had punched through the wood, but the iron backing had stopped it just short of his body.
There was still hope.
"We can hold!"
He raised his shield high and shouted to the men behind him.
"The rebel crossbows cannot pierce our armor!" Zhu Ling roared. "Keep your shields locked together! Hold the line, and we will break through!"
His words had the desired effect. The Wei soldiers steadied themselves and pressed forward once more.
The shout carried across the river. Huo Jun heard every word.
"Switch to the one-to-five formation," he ordered. "Fire at will."
The veteran crossbowmen from Zhijiang moved without hesitation. They had practiced the drill so many times that each movement came naturally.
Most of the crossbowmen stepped back from the firing line and quickly formed six-man teams. Within each group, the best marksman took the front position.
His job could not have been simpler.
He accepted a loaded crossbow, aimed, fired, dropped the empty weapon at his feet, then reached back without even turning around. Another loaded crossbow was already waiting in his hand.
Behind him, five soldiers worked like the gears of a machine.
One retrieved the empty weapon. The next attached the spanning device. A third drew back the heavy bowstring. The fourth removed the mechanism. The fifth seated a fresh iron bolt before passing the weapon forward.
The entire cycle repeated without pause.
"Fire at will" was a drill Huo Jun had introduced himself. Instead of waiting for a signal to release a single coordinated volley, every marksman fired the instant a clear target presented itself.
The result was devastating.
Just as Zhu Ling finished rallying his men, the Wei vanguard marched into a relentless storm of iron.
Heavy bolts hammered against tower shields with dull, bone-rattling impacts. Others slipped through the smallest openings and tore into the men behind them.
The air filled with the constant crash of iron striking wood, the cries of wounded soldiers, and the splash of armored bodies falling into the freezing river below.
The bridge became a killing ground.
Step by step, the Wei advance slowed until it was barely moving at all.
Watching another man collapse beside him before he could even raise his shield, Zhu Ling felt his heart sink into his stomach.
Before today, absolutely nobody in Cao Cao's army knew that Liu Bei's forces possessed crossbows this terrifying.
The Wei army certainly fielded tower shields, but most had been hastily built from thick pine planks. Shields like Zhu Ling's, reinforced with heavy iron plates, were reserved for officers and a handful of elite soldiers.
Even from more than a hundred paces away, the ordinary wooden shields were already failing under the relentless barrage. Every volley drove heavy iron bolts through the timber, leaving men crumpled behind shattered planks.
A chill ran down Zhu Ling's spine. If they closed to within fifty paces, even his iron-plated shield would no longer protect him. The bolts would punch clean through.
Knowing there was no other choice, Zhu Ling glanced at his personal guards. The veterans immediately understood his intention and stepped to the front, locking their shields together until they formed a solid wall of wood and iron around their commander.
"Kill!"
The six men charged as one.
Crossbow bolts descended like a plague of locusts, hammering against their shields with deafening force. For a brief moment, the gamble actually worked. Trusting one another completely, Zhu Ling and his guards forced their way nearly forty paces ahead of the main formation without allowing a single gap to open in their defensive wall.
Their success did not last.
The closer they came to the Shu lines, the deadlier the crossbows became. By breaking away from the main body of the army, they had also become the most obvious target on the battlefield.
Across the river, Zhu Ling heard the enemy commander calmly issue another order.
"Left and center squads, concentrate your fire on the vanguard. Right squad, keep the rest of them pinned down."
Zhu Ling frowned as he continued running. He had never heard the term "pinned down" used on a battlefield before, but he had no time to dwell on it.
At eighty paces, one of his bodyguards grunted as an iron bolt tore through his shoulder. The veteran stumbled but clenched his jaw and kept moving.
At sixty paces, two more guards were struck by concentrated fire and collapsed where they stood, leaving the shield wall badly compromised.
By the time they reached forty paces, the remaining three men were already soaked in blood and struggling to stay on their feet. Without exchanging a single word, the three veterans abandoned their formation and rushed ahead of Zhu Ling, using their own bodies and shields to draw every incoming bolt they could.
Their sacrifice opened a narrow path through the storm of iron, allowing Zhu Ling to push another ten paces closer to the enemy line.
His eyes burned with determination as a desperate plan took shape.
Just a little further! he told himself. If I can get close enough to the man giving the orders! He does not look like a heavily armored brawler! If I attack him directly, his men will have to stop firing to save him! We can break the line!
His desperate fantasy shattered in an instant.
To Zhu Ling's horror, the enemy commander showed no sign of panic. Huo Jun calmly reached for an oversized heavy crossbow, rested it against his shoulder, and aimed directly at Zhu Ling's chest before squeezing the trigger.
At such a short distance, Zhu Ling could almost hear the iron bolt tearing through the air.
His body reacted before his mind could.
He threw himself sideways, crashed onto the wooden planks, and rolled as fast as he could.
The bolt flew past him.
He had survived.
Yet relief never came. In fact, he felt a crushing sense of regret.
The desperate dive had cost him all of his momentum. His charge had ended the moment he hit the bridge, and the Shu crossbowmen were already shifting their aim toward him. Even if he somehow managed to scramble back to his feet, he would never cover the remaining distance before a dozen iron bolts turned him into a human porcupine.
What made the situation even worse was the silence behind him. The battle cries that had driven the assault forward had disappeared. His soldiers had seen him dive to the bridge and assumed he had been struck down. Even if they realized he was still alive a moment later, the momentum of the attack had already been lost, and with it, the courage that had carried them this far.
Huo Jun watched everything unfold from the riverbank and immediately understood what had happened.
He snorted and spat onto the ground.
"You absolute coward!" he shouted in his native southern dialect. "Did you really think you could pull off what General Guan Yunchang did and take an enemy general's head in the middle of a charge?"
One of the loaders immediately placed another fully spanned heavy crossbow into his hands.
Huo Jun raised the weapon, took careful aim, and fired again.
The iron bolt missed Zhu Ling's chest, but it tore cleanly through his left arm.
Zhu Ling cried out in pain.
He made no attempt to stand.
Instead, he grabbed a fallen shield from the bridge, strapped it across his back like a turtle shell, and crawled toward his own lines with every ounce of strength he had left.
The sight sent waves of laughter and cheers through the Shu ranks. The soldiers slammed their weapons against their shields, screaming and shouting until their voices turned hoarse as they watched the enemy commander crawl away beneath a wooden shield.
For Huo Jun's men, the battle had ended in a decisive victory long before the Wei army reached the opposite bank.
High upon the ridge, Du Xi watched the rout with a heavy sigh. He stroked his beard slowly, letting the weight of the moment settle.
"Ah, what a tragedy. General Zhu Ling gave everything he had. Every ounce of strength, every drop of courage. That desperate charge was a valiant effort, truly. A noble effort. If he had managed to break that formation, we might have slaughtered the entire enemy detachment. Imagine the glory. The songs that would have been sung."
He paused, shaking his head.
"But the heavens did not will it. However, we must not overlook the silver lining. Discovering this terrifying crossbow unit is a victory in itself. We have seen their trump card. And now, we may prepare accordingly."
He shuddered.
"Consider the alternative. What if they had lured us into the Xie Valley and lined the cliffs with these crossbows? A massacre. An absolute massacre. It would have been annihilation."
He turned to his aides.
"Dispatch two military surgeons to the riverbank. Tend to Zhu Ling's wounds immediately. He has bled for this cause."
He paused.
"Send a messenger to General Zhang Ji. Halt his pursuit. Do not push into the valley. It pains me to say it, but a wise commander knows when to withdraw. With Zhu Ling's flanking maneuver crushed, Zhang Ji's vanguard is now vulnerable to a flanking attack from those crossbowmen. They would fight with one hand tied behind their backs, constantly terrified of an ambush. A divided mind is a defeated mind."
He nodded, satisfied.
"We lost Lu Zhao. A hundred vanguard troops. Good men. But in exchange, we have gained something more valuable. We have forced the enemy to reveal their best weapon. They have played their trump card. Their hand is exposed. And we have seen every card."
A triumphant smile crept across his face.
"The advantage belongs to us. The advantage, my friends, belongs to us."
A short time later, Du Xi found himself face to face with a highly frustrated Zhang Ji. Du Xi offered a calm, reassuring smile, the kind that usually preceded a lengthy lecture.
"Derong, my dear Derong. Why let this minor setback trouble your mind? I understand your frustration. I feel it too. The blood burns. The pride aches. But we must look beyond this single battle, beyond this single river crossing. The ultimate victory of this campaign will not be decided here in the Guanzhong region. The fate of Guanzhong itself will not be decided at this tiny river crossing. No, no. The fate of entire provinces will be decided by the grand chessboard, not by a single pawn's sacrifice."
Zhang Ji nodded , his eyes already glazing over. He had heard this tone before. It was the tone of a man who was about to talk for a very, very long time.
Du Xi pointed a finger toward the towering mountains.
"You see that valley? The mouth of the Xie Valley is incredibly easy to defend and brutal to assault. A handful of men with crossbows could hold off an army for days. Weeks, even. However, the Wugong River acts as a natural barrier, a moat that protects us as much as it protects them. We simply need to construct a heavily fortified camp right here at the valley entrance. A wall. A fortress. A statement. If we plug the hole, the rebel army is trapped inside the mountains. They cannot break out. They will starve. They will surrender. Or they will die trying to escape. Either way, the result is the same."
Zhang Ji's jaw tightened. He had heard this exact same analysis three times already. Once from the scouts. Once from his own officers. Once from the quartermaster who had been complaining about the cold. He did not need a fourth version.
Du Xi lowered his voice slightly, as if sharing a secret.
"Before we marched, General Xiahou Yuan gave us highly specific orders. He is a man of vision, that one. A man who sees the long game. His primary objective was simply to drive the rebel army back and prevent them from entering the Guanzhong plains. That is all. Push them back. Hold the line. Keep them contained. And we have achieved that goal. We have done exactly what was asked of us. There is no shame in that. There is only success. unglamorous success."
Zhang Ji's eye twitched.
Since the supreme commander of the Guanzhong theater had set those exact parameters, Zhang Ji had no choice but to swallow his frustration.
He nodded slowly, though his jaw remained tight.
"Very well," Zhang Ji conceded, his voice strained. "I request permission to begin construction of a fortified camp at this location to blockade the rebel forces."
Du Xi shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips.
"There is no need to burden yourself with such tedious labor, Derong. General Zhu Ling has sustained an injury to his arm. He can remain here. He can oversee the camp construction and recover his strength. It is a perfect arrangement. He gets to heal. We get a fortress. Everyone wins."
Finally, Zhang Ji thought. Something that makes sense.
Du Xi's eyes gleamed with ambition.
"We, however, must push forward. We need to march rapidly and seize control of the ancient plank roads along the old mountain paths. Speed is of the essence. The element of surprise is our greatest ally. If we delay, the enemy will fortify. If we hesitate, the opportunity will slip through our fingers like water through a sieve."
Zhang Ji stared at his commanding officer in genuine confusion.
"Are we not trying to launch a devastating strike against Liu Bei?" Zhang Ji asked, completely bewildered. "If we lock down the Bao Xie road and the old mountain paths... the only route left open leads directly into Yongzhou and Liangzhou provinces to fight Ma Chao... Wait. I understand!"
Zhang Ji had spent most of his life serving as an administrator in the capital region. He instinctively assumed that the only way to attack from the south was through the two main mountain passes. However, when Du Xi mentioned the western provinces of Yongzhou and Liangzhou, a forgotten piece of geography snapped into place.
The Qishan Road.
It was incredibly remote. It was brutally long. It was the road that everyone forgot. But it was also the only route through the mountains that did not rely on the fragile, easily burned wooden plank roads suspended over cliffs. A massive army could march on solid ground the entire way. It was the safest, most reliable route available.
Yes, Zhang Ji thought, I understand the geography. I understood it the first time you said it. You do not need to explain it again.
Du Xi nodded firmly, a look of grim determination settling over his features.
"Thanks to the massive shipments of grain arriving from the Wu territories, our supply lines are absolutely bursting. Bursting, I tell you. We have enough grain to feed an army for a year. Two years, even. The logistics are secure. The foundation is solid."
He spread his hands as if presenting a grand vision.
"It is time to execute the grand strategy. We lock down the southern mountain passes. We march west to pacify Yongzhou and Liangzhou provinces. Then, we launch a massive offensive down the Qishan Road. We will hit the rebels so hard they will not even have time to breathe. They will be caught off guard. They will be scattered. They will be broken. This is the path to victory, Derong. The long path, yes. The difficult path, yes. But the path that leads to final, permanent victory."
Zhang Ji nodded slowly. His head was starting to hurt. He had been standing in the freezing wind for over an hour, listening to Du Xi talk about strategy that he had already figured out on his own. He did not offer an opinion on the grand strategy itself. He simply requested command of the vanguard force to secure the old mountain paths.
Du Xi granted the request immediately, a satisfied smile on his face.
Zhang Ji turned and walked away, muttering under his breath about how he was going to need a very large drink to recover from this conversation.
---
While the Cao commanders formulated their grand designs, Liu Bei was currently experiencing the exact overwhelming pressure Du Xi had hoped to inflict. However, the pressure had absolutely nothing to do with military tactics.
The moment Liu Bei's army marched into the territory of Hanzhong, they were met with a sea of humanity. The common people lined the dirt roads for miles, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the warlord.
The reason for this turnout was deeply rooted in history. To the people of Hanzhong, the legendary founding of the Han Dynasty four hundred years ago did not feel like ancient history. It felt like yesterday.
Now, a man claiming direct descent from the founding Emperor Gaozu, a man bearing the royal surname Liu, had arrived in their homeland. Furthermore, the central plains of the empire were currently occupied by a tyrannical warlord who controlled the emperor like a puppet. The historical parallels were so obvious they were blinding.
Countless elderly men and women pointed shaking fingers at Liu Bei as he rode past. They loudly declared to anyone who would listen that this Liu Bei looked exactly like the statues of Emperor Gaozu. They spoke with such absolute conviction that you would think they had personally shared a drink with the founding emperor himself.
Adding fuel to the fire, a large portion of the Hanzhong population consisted of refugees who had fled the endless horrors of the Guanzhong region. Ever since the tyrant Dong Zhuo had burned the capital decades ago, Guanzhong had been a meat grinder of warlord violence and starvation.
Seeing Liu Bei ride into their sanctuary, a desperate, burning hope ignited in the hearts of the refugees. The whispers turned into shouts. Someone in the crowd finally screamed the question burning in everyone's mind.
"My lord! Will you lead us back to our homes?"
The desperate cry cut through the noise of the marching army. A heavy stillness fell over the road. Thousands of eyes locked onto Liu Bei, filled with a heartbreaking mixture of hope and profound tragedy.
Hanzhong was a safe haven, but it was not their home. Their ancestors were buried in the soil of Guanzhong.
Liu Bei felt the crushing weight of their expectations bearing down upon his shoulders. However, unlike the hesitation he had felt days earlier, he now possessed the absolute confidence to carry that burden.
He sat tall in his saddle and roared with a voice that echoed across the valley.
"My entire purpose for marching this army is to pacify the Three Qins!" Liu Bei declared. "We are marching north to reclaim Chang'an!"
The crowd erupted. The stillness shattered into a deafening roar of pure, unrestrained joy and fanatical support. The atmosphere reached a fever pitch.
In the midst of the chaotic celebration, Zhuge Liang smoothly slipped off his horse and vanished into the crushing crowd. He expertly navigated the throngs of people and suddenly grabbed the hands of a highly bewildered Fa Zheng.
"Where is Jiang Wei?" Zhuge Liang asked urgently. "Lead the way, Xiaozhi, immediately."
Fa Zheng blinked in surprise. He looked back over his shoulder toward Liu Bei, who was currently entirely surrounded by weeping, cheering peasants. The implication was obvious. Should we not stay with the lord?
Zhuge Liang waved his fan dismissively and laughed.
"Do not worry about this situation," Zhuge Liang said smoothly. "Our lord is an absolute master at handling the common people. He thrives in this environment. We are free to conduct our own business."
Since the chief strategist had given the order, and since Liu Bei was surrounded by a ring of heavily armed elite guards, Fa Zheng simply nodded. He turned and began leading Zhuge Liang through the winding streets of the city.
After walking a few blocks, Fa Zheng suddenly stopped.
"Young Jiang Wei should still be attending his classes at the academy right now," Fa Zheng noted. "Since we have a moment, Kongming, there is a very peculiar man I believe you need to meet."
Despite the freezing winter temperatures, Zhuge Liang was fanning himself rapidly to burn off the nervous, restless energy humming in his veins. Hearing Fa Zheng mention a peculiar man sparked a flicker of genuine curiosity.
"A peculiar man?" Zhuge Liang asked, raising an eyebrow.
Fa Zheng nodded. He adjusted their route, leading Zhuge Liang away from the academy and toward the industrial district.
"Last year, before Cao Cao launched his offensive into Guanzhong, the civilian population was utterly terrified of his brutal reputation," Fa Zheng explained as they walked. "Thousands of refugees fled south into our territory."
Fa Zheng paused for a moment.
"At the time, we had just established our foothold here in Hanzhong. The warlord Zhang Lu had fled north. He was loudly declaring that our lord was a thief who had stolen the province. Ironically, that propaganda actually convinced large numbers of peasants to flock to our banner seeking protection."
Zhuge Liang could not help but laugh out loud at the absurdity of the political situation.
"I heard the rumors all the way down in Yizhou," Zhuge Liang chuckled. "Word is that the old thief Cao Cao still has absolutely no idea what to do with Zhang Lu."
Zhang Lu was a political headache. He had lost his territory, making him militarily useless. Furthermore, he was the supreme leader of the fanatic Five Pecks of Rice religious cult. Assigning him an official government post was a political nightmare.
Fa Zheng nodded in agreement. They turned down a narrow dirt path leading toward the river.
"When the refugees flooded in, Pang Tong and I spent weeks surveying the land, clearing the wilderness, and distributing farming plots to the displaced families," Fa Zheng continued. "Following those efforts, a group of military engineers arrived with specialized blueprints. They began constructing water-powered mills to process grain for the people."
Zhuge Liang's curiosity instantly transformed into burning, intense interest.
"This peculiar man is involved in mechanical engineering?" Zhuge Liang asked sharply.
They emerged from the narrow path and stood on the muddy banks of the Han River. Zhuge Liang immediately spotted a man squatting in the dirt directly in front of a churning water wheel.
The man was hunched over a tiny, incredibly complex wooden model of the water wheel mechanism. His hands moved with blinding speed. In the blink of an eye, he completely disassembled the intricate wooden gears. He immediately began putting it back together, piece by piece. Halfway through the reassembly, he froze. He stared intensely at the wooden joints, clearly stuck on a complex mechanical problem.
Fa Zheng stepped sideways and offered an introduction.
"This man hails from my own home county," Fa Zheng said. "His family considers him to be mentally deficient. When he was young, he suffered from a severe stutter and rarely spoke."
Fa Zheng pointed toward the intricate wooden gears.
"However, I believe his genius for mechanical engineering is absolutely unparalleled. That is why I brought you to meet him."
A wide smile spread across Zhuge Liang's face. He did not say a word. He simply walked forward, gathered his expensive silk robes, and squatted directly in the mud next to the strange man.
Zhuge Liang stared intently at the wooden model for a few moments. He reached out and tapped a specific joint connecting two axles.
"If you add a secondary gear wheel right here," Zhuge Liang suggested. "And align it to mesh horizontally, you can create a secondary drive shaft. It will drastically reduce the friction and wear on the primary wooden components."
Zhuge Liang tilted his head.
"Is that the mechanical flaw you are currently struggling to solve?"
Zhuge Liang was intimately familiar with the design. The blueprints for the water wheels were constantly being upgraded and refined by the engineers back in Jingzhou.
The young man snapped his head up and stared at Zhuge Liang. He nodded frantically, his eyes wide with sudden realization. He looked at the brilliant strategist kneeling in the mud beside him.
"I am from the Ma clan of Fufeng County," the young man said, his voice surprisingly clear. "My name is Ma Jun. My courtesy name is Deheng. How should I address you, sir?"