Chapter 107: The Reunion of Uncle and Nephew

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Cao Hong naturally would not refuse such a good opportunity. He readily agreed to Xun Yu’s request for an introduction. Thus, Xun Yu, along with his young attendant Xun Qian and twenty guards, set out with Cao Hong’s more than seven hundred soldiers, heading toward Dongwuyang County.

Along the way, Xun Yu rode in a carriage while Cao Hong was on horseback, and they conversed happily. One came from a future world overwhelmed by an explosion of information and experience, the other from a scholarly family, erudite and talented. Together, they felt a sense of having met too late in life.

Compared to Liu Ye, Xun Yu’s knowledge was far more profound. He did not simply skim through books like Liu Ye did; rather, he read carefully and thoroughly, especially understanding the rise and fall of dynasties and the causes of governance and chaos. Skilled in statecraft, his wisdom differed from Liu Ye’s penchant for cunning schemes. While Xun Yu was capable of strategy and insight, his proud integrity destined him not to employ ruthless tactics like Liu Ye’s—tricks to swindle, lure enemies in, or exploit turmoil mercilessly.

Xun Yu preferred to win through honorable and straightforward methods. What is meant by “open strategy”? It is a visible and transparent approach: forming alliances, persuading others face to face, writing letters to encourage commanders.

Put nicely, this is the demeanor of a gentleman; less flatteringly, it might seem a bit bookish. After their conversation, Cao Hong understood why Cao Cao would bring along Guo Jia, Cheng Yu, or even Yang Xiu into battle, but not Xun Yu, assigning him instead to guard the rear. The reason was that there was no mercy on the battlefield, and Xun Yu’s style was ill-suited for such harsh realities.

Two days into the march, with one day left until reaching Dongwuyang County, signs of life began appearing alongside the official road. Unlike when they first entered Dong Commandery, where ruins and broken walls were everywhere, some villages now showed wisps of cooking smoke and even fortified structures under construction. Whether tenant farmers or landlords, people had begun to settle down and rebuild their homes in Dongwuyang.

Xun Yu observed this and praised, “Though it is still early morning as Lord Cao arrives in Dongwuyang County, the fact that the people are already willing to settle nearby shows a great deal of trust in Lord Cao. The people are the foundation of the world; he who wins their hearts shall rule the realm.”

Cao Hong laughed beside him, “Winning hearts means winning taxes!”

Xun Yu smiled sheepishly at this. He was accustomed to Cao Hong’s unique humor, which always introduced some novel term. Upon reflection, it was quite apt. “That too is not without merit, though somewhat abrupt in expression.”

Cao Hong chuckled, “You fight and seize, shedding blood and killing—where is the grace in that? The people’s hearts are taxes; if the people are loyal but give nothing, then the soldiers have no food and cannot defend their homes. This is the principle of mutual dependence.”

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Moved by these words, Xun Yu said, “I did not expect the general to have such profound insight into the principles of governance and chaos in the world.”

Such words might be common two thousand years later, but in an age when even letters were a luxury, few who had read extensively could express such ideas. These views were unique and showed a deep understanding of the classics.

In those times, many ancient texts were annotated and reproduced for scholars, but these were exclusive privileges. Contrast that with later generations who could access countless debates at a keystroke. So it was understandable that Xun Yu was surprised by Cao Hong’s offhand remarks—they were uncommon among the people he had encountered.

Cao Hong responded with a dry laugh, “It was just a passing comment.”

Xun Yu insisted, “Though spoken casually, the general has summed up the relationship between officials and the people perfectly. The phrase ‘mutual dependence’ is especially apt. Such insight could not be casual. May I ask which book the general read to arrive at this understanding?”

The ancients were often like this: if you had insight, they assumed it came from books. If they had never encountered your perspective, they would ask which book you studied, hoping to learn more. This put Cao Hong in a bit of an awkward spot.

But he had a ready response. “At my coming-of-age ceremony, I was honored to become a disciple of He Shaogong, ‘Sea of Learning,’ who taught me the subtle meanings of many ancient texts, including these insights. As for which book specifically, I honestly cannot recall.”

Xun Yu was immediately moved. He had not known that Cao Hong’s mentor was He Shaogong—He Xiu in contemporary terms—who was renowned alongside the “Canon Sage” Zheng Xuan as a great scholar of the classics. Even the collective knowledge of the eight dragons of the Xun family could not match He Xiu. He was recognized by contemporaries as mastering “The Three Grave Classics, Yin-Yang Arithmetic, and the He Luo Prophecies,” excelling in all fields. After the Suppression of the Factions, he was appointed a censor but died soon after, leaving his works as a lasting legacy.

The Yingchuan Academy possessed his “Discourses on the Spring and Autumn Annals,” which used historians’ words from the Spring and Autumn period to refute poor policies of the Han dynasty. Xun Yu had studied it deeply and regarded it as a classic of political discourse. That Cao Hong had learned directly from He Xiu explained his profound remarks.

Enviously, Xun Yu said, “General, to have received such instruction from the ‘Sea of Learning’ is truly a great blessing.”

The ancients said, “To hear the Way in the morning and die at dusk is acceptable.” For that era’s scholars yearning for knowledge, it was a longing that modern men like Cao Hong could hardly understand. So Cao Hong smiled without pursuing the topic further.

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At that moment, dust rose ahead, and the thunder of hooves approached. Cao Hong ordered the soldiers to halt and waited in the path, guessing it was likely Cao Cao’s elite Tiger and Leopard Cavalry on patrol.

After a while, several dozen cavalrymen appeared on the road. Each was clad in black shining armor, and their steeds wore horse helmets covering head and neck, topped with iron horns about five cun long.

They carried lance-like spears, had tempered ring-headed sabers strapped to their backs, and wore hand crossbows on their waists—a formidable and imposing elite cavalry unit.

The difference between bright and black shining armor lay in the finishing: bright armor was polished to a dazzling sheen to inspire awe, while black armor was infused with carbon dust, turning it black. Though tougher, it was heavier and less visually striking. However, it favored cavalry charges and added intimidation during night battles.

Xun Yu admired the sight, “Truly elite troops, not inferior to Yuan Benchu’s Fish Scale Armor Warriors.”

Cao Hong knew that although these cavalrymen looked magnificent and their equipment rivaled Yuan Shao’s Fish Scale Warriors, their training was not as advanced. Yuan Shao’s warriors all possessed refined spiritual and physical cultivation, whereas these riders were somewhat lacking.

Just as he was about to order Shi A forward to hail them, he saw one rider repeatedly waving at him. Wearing a helmet and a metal face guard that hid his features, Cao Hong initially could not be sure who it was but guessed from the gestures.

He called out loudly, “Is that my nephew, Wenlie, up ahead?”

The rider immediately waved more enthusiastically. Cao Hong laughed heartily and spurred his horse forward to meet the Tiger and Leopard Cavalry.