46. The Pain of Losing a Worthy Talent

Poor Gao Lan was knocked out once again and thrown over a horse’s back. Watching this, Wang Bo truly felt his heart ache. As he gazed at the receding figure of Xu Chu, he couldn't help but murmur to himself: Am I really squandering such talent? Amitabha, may the Buddha forgive my sins! And please, let Zhang He not follow in his brother's footsteps!

Before Wang Bo could finish his prayer, Xu Chu had already returned on horseback, bringing Wang Bo a glimmer of hope. The battlefield between the Wolf Owl Guard and Zhang He clearly wasn't far; otherwise, Xu Chu couldn't have come back so quickly. Zhang He might still be saved—unless he had been wounded, or worse, ended up like Gao Lan, missing an arm or a leg.

Wang Bo called out with delight, “Zhongkang! Where is Zhang He?”

Xu Chu didn’t answer directly but jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Because of his injuries, Wang Bo couldn't rise, so he waited for Zhou Cang and the others to approach, pondering how he might win over Zhang He, who had already become his adversary.

When he happened to look up, he saw Xu Chu hunch his shoulders and turn to leave. Puzzled, he asked, “Zhongkang, where are you going? And… where is Gao Lan?”

Xu Chu hesitated, “He… well… is with Brother Zhou Cang and the others! I… need to relieve myself?” Seeing Wang Bo wave him off, Xu Chu hurried away.

Wang Bo wondered about Xu Chu’s odd behavior today. Was he really so desperate to urinate? It was possible—they hadn't stopped since leaving the Zhen family. Now that he thought of it, Wang Bo himself felt the urge, though in his current state, he couldn’t move. Was he destined to wet himself here?

Lost in his musings, he soon saw Zhou Cang and the others forcing their way through the encircling Black Mountain men, all drenched in sweat and some, like Zhang Baiqi, even limping and clearly wounded.

Wang Bo greeted them with a smile, “Brothers, you’ve worked hard! What are the results? Was Zhang He captured alive? And… where is he?”

But his questions were met with heavy silence. Wang Bo frowned, turning to clever-tongued Pei Yuanshao.

Pei Yuanshao opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

A sense of dread seized Wang Bo. He pressed again, “Why are you all behaving like this? Have there been casualties? Tell me at once!”

After another round of silence, Zhou Cang, ever the honest one, slowly reached behind his back and handed something forward, stammering, “Here is Zhang He!”

Wang Bo looked closely and leapt up in shock, exclaiming, “My great general!” Then, slumping down in despair, he slapped his thigh and murmured, “Still a step too late. Alas! Fate, it is all fate! Heaven is unjust to rob me of such talent!”

What Zhou Cang presented was a bloodied head. From the look of anger and unwillingness frozen on his face, Wang Bo could see Zhang He’s fury and resentment at death.

“Master, do not grieve so!” Du Yuan, who had just arrived, spoke softly, “From what we have seen, this scoundrel harbored deep prejudice against our Han Restoration Army. Even if taken alive, he would never submit to us! Would you let him go, as you did with that Zhao lad? That would be raising a tiger to prey upon us!”

Wang Bo sighed, “I know it well! First Zhao Yun, then old Tian Feng! Yet… my heart is unwilling!”

Pei Yuanshao added quietly, “Master, after seeing his brother fall, Gao Lan took his own life as well.”

Wang Bo let out another sigh. “Gaining such men is my fortune; losing them is not my misfortune. All things must follow their course—how can we force them? I have been too attached!”

Flowers bloomed with smiling faces, trees stretched out their limbs, and nameless birds in the forest, bathed in the bright early summer breeze, chirped and sang with joy. Breathing in the fragrant air, even the most melancholic soul could not help but smile. It was indeed the most delightful time of the year.

On the long official road, a party of dozens of riders moved slowly along. They came in all shapes and sizes, wielding spears and sabers, chatting idly as if carefree, but a closer look at their eyes betrayed a constant vigilance.

In the center of the group rode a finely decorated carriage, its surroundings tightly shrouded in blue curtains, cutting off the bright scenery outside from the interior. Only the rough coachman sat alone on the driver's bench, focused entirely on his task, keeping his voice low even when urging the horses, as if afraid to disturb the quiet within.

Inside, Wang Bo lay resting on a soft cushion, his injured back still troubling him. His uneven breathing and occasional frown betrayed the unrest within his heart.

His hopeful journey to Jizhou had ended in thorough disappointment—Zhao Yun’s coldness, Ju Shou’s stubbornness, Tian Feng’s evasiveness, and Zhang Liao’s calculated distance. One after another, these famed figures of the Three Kingdoms era seemed within reach, yet always separated from Wang Bo by an invisible barrier he could not break.

By rights, he held some small renown—a proper County Magistrate with more authority than most prefects. As for achievements, he had crushed the northern tribes, slain tens of thousands of foes—deeds that far outshone the timid officials and generals of the Han. He could rival even the Champion Marquis of old.

Yet none of this could win the hearts of those who styled themselves as men of virtue and loyalty. They refused not only to serve, but even to associate with the Han Restoration Army, though they admired Wang Bo’s deeds.

Was it his origins? His class? Lying quietly in the carriage at last, Wang Bo came to his conclusion.

They and the common folk belonged to two utterly different classes—interest groups, in fact.

This explained why men from peasant backgrounds, like the Yellow Turbans and the Black Mountain Army, found it easier to accept and follow him. Some even came to pledge their lives willingly, and after the "Saintess" Zhang Ning settled in Han Restoration City, their loyalty only grew. By now, Wang Bo’s prestige among them was likely on par with Zhang Jiao's.

But Zhao Yun, Tian Feng, and the like were more devoted to preserving the Han ruling class, fulfilling their ideals of loyal service to the emperor. Their sympathy for the masses was only moral, never amounting to any real effort or desire to change the status quo.

The great clans held all political privilege. Any rare honest man who did not oppress the people or consort with corrupt officials was considered a talent. Ordinary folk, content with their lot and obedient to the indoctrination, were their subjects. If anyone resisted, even unarmed, they were rebels beyond redemption.

Such thinking was the product of their class limitations, fundamentally at odds with Wang Bo’s worldview, shaped by his modern experiences.

Thus, despite the Restoration Army’s heroic achievements against the northern horsemen and Wang Bo’s rebranding of the Yellow Turbans, they remained unacceptable to the elite. The Han court granted him only a minor title; the famed generals and scholars ignored or kept their distance. Only commoners and refugees rejoiced and flocked to his banner.

On the road back to Han Restoration City, resting and healing, Wang Bo thought these things through. He was destined to be another Gongsun Zan—a man forever estranged from the "stabilize within before defending without" philosophy of the likes of Zhao Yun and Tian Feng. Even if he forced them to stay, they would leave, just as Zhao Yun and Liu Bei's sworn brothers had.

If he could not win them over, he must treat them as future enemies. When they met in battle, he could no longer show mercy, or his own followers would feel wronged and grow discontent.

The unexpected deaths of Zhang He and Gao Lan were a loss, but they also gave Wang Bo a clear sense of the Wolf Owl Guard’s power. Their rigorous training had brought their coordination and battlefield prowess to new heights; it took them less than a quarter of an hour to surround and kill Zhang He. Though Zhang He was a late bloomer and Gao Lan had not yet reached his peak, both were nearly top-tier generals in the history of the Three Kingdoms. In single combat or as commanders, a dozen Zhou Cangs or Zhang Baiqis would hardly measure up.

Moreover, Wang Bo commanded several thousand of the finest soldiers in the Han, the backbone of his confidence and the reason he no longer fretted about recruiting famous generals. In large-scale war, the strength of the army and national power decided victory or defeat, survival or destruction. Individual heroics might affect a battle, but could not change the course of history.

Otherwise, how could it be that Guan Yu, after capturing Yu Jin, slaying Pang De, and flooding the Seven Armies, soon found himself bogged down in a war of attrition with Cao Cao, then lost everything when Sun Quan’s forces seized Jingzhou, perished when morale collapsed, and his army was routed? And how, despite having the "Five Tiger Generals" and the "Sleeping Dragon and Young Phoenix," did Liu Bei fail to hold Jingzhou, losing not only to Cao Cao but even to the underage, outnumbered Sun Quan?

After returning to Han Restoration City, Wang Bo was compelled by his followers to enjoy several days of comfort. He had no worries, his meals and clothing taken care of, and if not for propriety, the fiery Zhang Ning would have moved into the general’s residence under the pretext of nursing his wounds.

Yet, when a man has a purpose, he finds boundless energy—nothing can stop him. For someone like Wang Bo, a former nobody with nothing to do, now master of his own small domain, idleness was intolerable.

So, within days—his wound only just scabbed over, the new flesh still tender—Wang Bo could no longer sit still. Amid Zhang Ning’s gentle complaints, he made his way to the bustling training grounds of the Han Restoration Army.

In the northwest corner of the parade ground, over a thousand burly men swung their broadswords in unison, their shouts echoing far and wide. From a distance, the forest of blades shimmered like a wall of ice. Up close, with each thunderous cry, the soldiers brought their swords down, splitting the massive logs set before them—imaginary enemies—in two, again and again, until the wood was reduced to firewood.

These men had been chosen by Yang Feng, Chen Dao, and others before Wang Bo left for Yuyang. They were naturally strong and enduring, and for a month had been fed hearty meals—most of the fish caught in the river ended up in their bellies. Once deprived of meat, now they ate till they could eat no more.

Then came intense, grueling training to build strength and endurance. Their days consisted of little but eating, sleeping, and, with weights strapped to their bodies, charging and hacking with their broadswords—hellish training, indeed.

But the results were obvious. Their faces were thickset, their bare muscles bulged, especially when flexed; their tight clothes strained to contain them. They looked, with the exception of their flat stomachs, like sumo wrestlers, intimidating even the logistics staff who came to distribute equipment.

Thanks to the iron mines of Youzhou and Yuyang, the army’s supply of refined steel was ample. After two months of work, hundreds of broadswords and suits of heavy armor had been issued.

Liao Hua, tasked with training the broadsword battalion, perked up at Wang Bo’s arrival. He gathered the best-equipped men, set up hundreds of wooden horsemen as mock cavalry, and staged a demonstration.

Drums rumbled; shouts rang out. Dozens of Han Restoration soldiers, broadswords raised, chopped down as they advanced, cleaving the wooden cavalry from shoulder to belly with a crack. As each fell, the soldiers stepped forward, twisted, and slashed upwards—another dummy split in two, the pieces flying aside.

When several waves had finished their drills, Liao Hua looked to Wang Bo, who nodded with satisfaction, and asked with some pride, “Master, how do you find my broadsword warriors’ training?”

“Excellent! They already possess the bearing of a mighty army! Yuanjian, you have lived up to my trust. If all our troops reach this level, our campaign to seize Yunzhong will have that much more chance of success!” Wang Bo praised.

“Though the broadsword battalion is not yet fully equipped, I have all the men take turns training—most are at this level,” Liao Hua replied seriously.

“Very good! Yuanjian, your efforts shall be rewarded. Once we rout the Xianbei cavalry, you will claim first merit!” Wang Bo laughed, clapping Liao Hua’s arm.

“This is all due to your wisdom, Master. I, a mere soldier, cannot claim all the credit,” Liao Hua protested, preparing to kneel, but Wang Bo stopped him.

After a moment’s thought, Wang Bo ordered, “From tomorrow, incorporate the broadsword battalion into the main battle formation and practice infantry tactics against nomad cavalry with Shuzhi. I want our Han Restoration Army to become the nightmare of the northern horsemen and revive the glory of the Champion Marquis!”

“Rest assured, Master! We will not fail you!” Liao Hua replied, fists clasped in salute.

A few days later, when Wang Bo had recovered fully, the Han Restoration Army held its first grand parade in the vast training ground outside the city.

The parade ground, stretching for miles, was packed with people. To give all a clear view, the labor corps had built long, terraced stands to the east and west, each able to hold tens of thousands. At the center of the eastern stand, the army’s great banner—designed by Wang Bo himself—fluttered in the wind: twin dragons soared through clouds, the rising sun blazing behind, and two bold golden characters for “Han Restoration” caught every eye.

Between the stands ran a hundred-yard-wide, north-south road for the troops to march past and be reviewed.

The center of the eastern stand housed the army’s high command; to the left sat the non-participating troops; to the right, the vast auxiliary corps.

At the heart of the western stand was the visiting delegation from the Southern Xiongnu and the Inspectorate of Bingzhou, mingled with various merchant groups. On one side were the excited, admiring logistics workers; on the other, the rarely idle but deeply conflicted Hu laborers.

And thus, the first grand review of the Han Restoration Army began.