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Even Wang Bo, who rarely drank, found the brew rather mild; only after several cups did its potency truly reveal itself, but even then, it never left one with a splitting headache come morning—just an uncomfortable sensation in the stomach, as it was pure grain alcohol. Compared to the liquors of his previous life, which often boasted fifty or sixty degrees, with the lowest being thirty-eight, the difference was like night and day, utterly incomparable.

In the bitter northern lands, the cold began in October and lasted until the following March or April—half a year of chill. If he could produce spirits of forty or fifty degrees, not only would it satisfy the cravings of old drinkers, it would help ward off the cold, and even serve on the battlefield as a disinfectant to prevent infection—far better than simply washing wounds and waiting for healing or death. As Wang Bo knew, spirits could be distilled not only from grain but also from the abundant wild fruits growing everywhere in this region. Imagine it: men drinking fiery liquor, women savoring fruit wine… the thought alone made him giddy; surely, such brews would be snatched up in an instant. As for the price, it would be dictated by him alone, for there would be no competition.

Of course, there were many who knew the art of brewing, but the key was increasing the alcohol content—a trivial feat for Wang Bo. A simple distillation would suffice: control the temperature, distill several times, and the alcohol content would rise.

With this in mind, he summoned Wang An and asked, “How long does it take you to travel to and from this place?”

Wang An replied, “Normally, a month at the quickest, a month and a half at the slowest. The goods we carry are prearranged, there is no worry about sales, but the journey itself takes much time.”

“How many trips do you make in a year?”

“It varies. More frequent in spring and summer, less so in autumn and winter, but we travel year-round.”

“Very good! If I have a profitable venture here, would you take it on?”

“Why not? Business is business, wherever there is profit, there is no reason not to do it. Of course…” Wang An grinned sheepishly, “We seldom engage in unlawful acts! I do not know what business the General would entrust to us, but if it is not too significant, I can make the decision myself.”

Wang Bo considered for a moment, then said, “It is not a serious matter; merely regular trade. I need grain and wine here, as much as you can procure. Can I entrust this to you, Steward Wang?”

“That is no difficulty! I will see to it next time without fail!” Wang An agreed readily, almost without hesitation.

“Hmm, next time? That will be quite a while. How about this: I’ll buy your current cargo at market price, and you return at once to procure grain and wine. What say you?” Wang Bo asked.

“Is that so…? General, if I may, that is not proper! Though we merchants pursue profit, we value trust above all. These goods are already ordered by the Budugen tribe of the Xianbei; how could our Wang family break faith with them? Were I to return and source new goods, it would take too long, and I could not explain myself to my master! General… I…” He made as if to kneel.

Wang Bo waved him off and said, “No need for that, Steward Wang! As for your current goods, whatever they may be, I will not pursue the matter. Rest assured. If you return now to buy grain and wine, how long would it take?”

“That would not be too difficult. I could send someone by fast horse to our Wang family shops in Loufan or Lie County, and have everything ready in ten days at most. It shall be done!”

“Very good! The Yunuguan is not yet built, so you are merely waiting here pointlessly. How about this: leave your goods here for safekeeping, return at once to procure grain and wine, and when you return, it will be just as you are passing through westward. What say you?”

“General Wang!” At this, Wang An dropped to his knees in tears.

“Why this? I will not forcibly seize your goods, nor will I underpay for your grain and wine—I will buy at market price… say no more! Go and do as you see fit.” With that, Wang Bo swept his sleeves and departed. If he wished to make money quickly, he would have to play the villain this once.

The next day, Wang An, with no choice, unloaded his goods and left two men to guard them, then led his Wang family caravan back inside Yanmen Pass to procure grain and wine, leaving Wang Bo to chuckle to himself for quite some time.

Turning, he caught Chen Dao rolling his eyes behind him. Wang Bo grew irritated: “What does a yellow-haired brat like you know?” Chen Dao’s eye-rolling only became more exaggerated, and Wang Bo had no choice but to ignore him.

He went to the logistics office, summoned a team of hunters, and pointed to the mountain: “Go gather wild fruit at once, as much as you can!”

The hunters looked at each other in confusion, not knowing what to do. Wang Bo frowned, wondering if his words no longer carried weight. Just then, Chen Dao—never known to smile—let out a snort of laughter. Wang Bo, annoyed, was about to lose his temper.

“My lord, with your great talents, are you unaware of the cycles of the seasons? It is late spring, there is no wild fruit in the mountains now!” Chen Dao laughed, and the others joined in.

“Oh? Heh, I forgot! Ha ha ha…” Wang Bo laughed along to cover his embarrassment, cursing himself inwardly: Wasn’t he a farmer’s son? How could he be so foolish?

He instructed Chen Rong to bring what little dried wild fruit remained from the previous year, to make do for now. Then he summoned several craftsmen to build large cauldrons and stoves for distilling rice wine, along with other brewing equipment.

He gathered a few of the elderly, women, and children in the logistics unit who knew how to brew, and had them use their old methods of making rice wine to brew fruit wine instead. When the distilling cauldron was finished, he guided them in adding a sizable sealed lid with a spout for pouring, and inserted two bamboo tubes, each about as thick as a finger, leaving the outlet outside. With this, a simple rice wine distillation device was completed.

Looking at his new money-making tool, Wang Bo leaned back, smiling with satisfaction for a long while. Then he began to contemplate how to put the inexhaustible timber of the mountains and the two rivers flowing past Xinghan City to use. Here he was in the Three Kingdoms, with neither literary nor martial prowess, relying on nothing but his wits—or rather, the knowledge in his head. His brain might not be a secret weapon, but it was all he had.

Timber could be made into new-style furniture—tables, chairs, benches, beds—padded with animal pelts, surely more comfortable than always kneeling on the floor. Profitable indeed!

The rivers could be used for irrigation. Letting them flow unused would be a terrible waste. If he could just get through this year, he wouldn’t have to buy grain again. The perpetual shortage of food was like having a noose around his neck. Even if he’d never eaten pork, he’d seen pigs run, hadn’t he? A simple waterwheel should be easy enough to make, and with such a vast stretch of flat land, it would be a pity to waste it. With the wild grass thriving, he had no fear of being unable to grow crops.

Half a month passed before he knew it. During this time, the Xinghan Army had stopped several more merchant caravans, housing them here to await the opening of the pass.

Wang Bo didn’t want to antagonize the Xianbei and Xiongnu too much. If he cut off their supply of salt and tea entirely, he might provoke a massive invasion of nomad cavalry, something his current force could never withstand. For now, he merely levied a tax on the ironware and armor the caravans carried, told them they would be allowed to pass in a few days, and warned them that bringing iron weapons and armor was a one-time allowance, not to be repeated. Only small blades and short knives under two feet would be permitted.

At last, the Wang family caravan returned, bringing ample grain and rice wine. Wang An came to see Wang Bo, producing a letter from the chief manager of the Wang family trading company in Yanmen Commandery.

The letter informed Wang Bo that the Wang family’s business was the property of Wang Yun, Inspector of Yuzhou, and asked for Wang Bo’s cooperation. At the end, it hinted that Wang Bo should not go too far, lest Wang Yun learn of it and bring trouble upon him.

After reading, Wang Bo curled his lip, noncommittal, and immediately ordered the pass to be opened the next day.

After more than a month of hard work, Xinghan City had transformed beyond recognition. Rows of barracks were neatly arranged, the parade ground was now twice the size of the old Xinghan Camp, and new depots, smithies, and distilleries had been added. Only now did people realize why Wang Bo had gone to such lengths to gather so many craftsmen, feeding and housing them, even hauling them all the way from Jizhou.

Most buildings were made of stone for fire prevention. Wang Bo had not ordered the city walls built yet, leaving that for later. Instead, a defensive perimeter of sharpened stakes and thorny brush was set up. Three miles to the north, a trade guildhall was constructed for merchant caravans to rest.

The ancient town of Shanwu was officially renamed Xinghan City. Drainage and fire prevention were well designed; the roads were to be paved with sand and gravel from the riverside, mixed with a sticky local clay for hardening. In his own “General’s Residence” and the officers’ headquarters, Wang Bo even rigged up oil lamps with thin cloth covers, to be lit for important nighttime occasions—the world’s earliest streetlights, perhaps.

All roads leading to the two passes were solidly built, over twenty feet wide, edged with large stones. In emergencies, this would allow the rapid movement of reinforcements and supplies, though progress was slow; less than half the roads were completed, and it would be another month before they were finished.

Yunuguan was now largely complete: six stories high, three wide, with shooting ports all along the outer wall. All the hidden tunnels for soldiers were connected to the top of the wall for easy access. Behind the parapet, more low walls were built at intervals as protection against arrows during an assault. Only the defensive machinery remained to be installed.

Two stories above the river, a suspension bridge was built, its surface of hardwood planks, supported underneath by mountain timber set into the riverbed. Wooden walls lined the bridge, with buckets on ropes hanging over the water for emergency fire-fighting.

The outer defenses of Yunuguan were extensive. Several hundred paces below the pass, a deep trench was dug, to be filled with river water. The space between the trench and the wall was strewn with traps, wooden spikes, and even iron caltrops, leaving only a passage for entry and exit.

With all this in place, Wang Bo was confident: with such tight defenses, even the fiercest nomad cavalry would not be able to approach the walls without shedding blood.

Yuhu Pass was a much larger undertaking; its walls were more than twice as long as those of Yunuguan. Fearing the Budugen tribe might attack from the west after discovering the road to Yanmen Pass was cut off, Wang Bo had focused the bulk of his regular and auxiliary troops on building Yunuguan first. Only after its completion was work on Yuhu Pass prioritized.

As soon as Yunuguan was finished, Wang Bo finally felt secure, but before he could catch his breath and plan the next moves for the Xinghan Army, scouts reported small groups of Xianbei spies in the mountain paths and increasing appearances of Xianbei cavalry outside Yunuguan. Their numbers were swelling; by today, five thousand had gathered, slowly advancing toward the pass.

Wang Bo knew this was inevitable. The Xinghan Army had blocked the Budugen and Southern Xiongnu’s road to wealth; they would not let it stand. These were only the tribesmen left behind; come autumn and winter, the full horde would descend.

He took a deep breath, feeling as if war itself were beckoning him. Having been in this world for nearly a year, Wang Bo found himself growing fond of the battlefield, with its flying flesh, screams, and the ever-present dance of life and death—he even savored its bloody scent, casting away all longing and discontent. Was it true, as some said, that every man harbored a beast? Now, he was letting his beast run free.

Shaking off his wild thoughts, he ordered the troops to assemble.

When the officers and soldiers had gathered in the parade ground, Wang Bo gripped his short halberd and roared, “Brothers! Our home has just been founded! Will we allow barbarian dogs to trample it?”

“Never! Never! Long live Xinghan!” The soldiers' roar shook the heavens, no exhortation needed.

“Good! Come, let us slaughter these barbarian dogs! Long live Xinghan!”

“Slaughter the barbarians! Long live Xinghan! Slaughter the barbarians! Long live Xinghan!” Their voices thundered as the troops marched toward Yunuguan.

All the cavalry withdrew inside the pass; most scouts were sent to Yuhu Pass in the east to watch for attacks from Pingcheng. Only a few hunters and auxiliary troops were left in the mountain paths—no real concern, as even experienced hunters were exhausted by those trails, and no sane enemy would choose such a route.

All the regular soldiers entered Yunuguan, along with most of the hunters and nearly half the auxiliary reserves—over two thousand men, each taking up their posts in an orderly fashion. Wang Bo, still uneasy, sent word to the hunters out in the wild to return and reinforce Yuhu Pass in the east. The rest of the auxiliary troops carried on as before, building roads and walls.

They drew near. Standing atop the pass, Wang Bo gazed into the distance: a dozen scouts, led by Niu Feihu and Zhang Baiqi, retreated while keeping an eye on the enemy. Zhang Baiqi seemed to have clashed with the nomads; a wounded scout slumped lifelessly across a horse, and Zhang Baiqi himself had a two-foot-long arrow, fletched with bird feathers, protruding from his left shoulder, his clothes soaked in blood.

The Xianbei cavalry halted near the trench outside Yunuguan, their leaders huddling together in discussion.

Wang Bo looked closely: true savages! Most wore clothes of animal hides, some bare-chested with only a vest. Their hair hung loose, foreheads bound with string. Their faces were rough and dark, their frames broad and powerful.

They looked shorter than Han men, but much sturdier. Only the leaders were tall and well-equipped, decked out in leather armor, longbows, spears, sabers, and all manner of unknown ornaments.

The rest were less impressive, wielding clubs, iron forks, and other odd weapons. Each carried a bamboo slat on his back. Wang Bo was puzzled—what were those? When he asked Niu Feihu, he learned they were Xianbei bows and arrows. So that was it—those were called bows?

But nomads never lacked horses; judging by the number of riderless mounts, there were at least two horses per man. Wang Bo couldn't help but covet them.

Zhang Baiqi and the others, having withdrawn inside the pass, went to rest, the wounded being treated by Chen Rong’s medical team. Niu Feihu told Wang Bo these Xianbei were the cavalry left behind in Budugen’s territory, mainly from the Chile tribe near Wujin County, joined by neighboring small clans. The leader in the center, the big man with a long red feather in his hair, was the chief of that tribe.