Dong Xi knew Hanshou County like the back of his hand. And no, it was not because the place had great food or was fun to visit. Let us be real, he could not even remember if they had decent wine there.
His knowledge came from one thing and one thing only: cold, hard military math.
Ever since some old emperor way back in the Western Han days decided to put regional Inspectors in charge of checking up on commanderies, the top dogs in Jingzhou had almost always set up shop in Hanshou. And it was not for bribes or skimming taxes, though let us be honest, those were nice perks elsewhere. They picked it because the place was perfectly positioned on the map.
From a water perspective, Hanshou was like a master key. Sat right on the Yuan River, which flows east into the giant Yunmeng Marsh. From there, you could link up with the Yangtze and connect the whole south to the rich northern half of Jingzhou.
From a land perspective, it was the gatekeeper. Right where the rugged southern mountains meet the flat northern plains. Control Hanshou, and you could choke off the Yuan River faster than a strict dad cutting off his kid's allowance. You basically owned all of Jingnan.
There is an old saying they used to whisper in the capital: "If Jingnan is pacified, Jingzhou is secure." So ever since the Han dynasty was just getting started, the big-shot Inspectors treated Hanshou like the shiny crown jewel of the south.
But politics change faster than a neighbor girl's heart. Over the centuries, local rich clans and warlords started grabbing more power, hoarding land, building their own armies, basically doing whatever they wanted.
By the time Emperor Ling took the throne, the imperial court realized their Inspectors were about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.
All they could do was ask questions and file reports, totally useless against guys who had their own private armies.
So in a panic, the Emperor said "screw it" and upgraded the job from Inspector to State Pastor.
But that was a big mistake. See, a State Pastor was not just an auditor. He was basically a king of his own little region. Got to mess with local finances, draft peasants whenever he wanted, build armies, and start wars without asking permission.
The idea was good on paper: give loyal guys absolute power so they could crush rebellions and fix the broken empire.
The reality? It just made things worse.
All those powerful local elite clans suddenly had legal permission to take over everything, turning themselves from fancy administrators into full-blown warlords who wanted to carve up the whole country.
After that, starting with all the chaos under Emperors Huan and Ling, the new State Pastors of Jingzhou were like "why would we stay in some dusty frontier town when we can rule from Xiangyang?" You know, the place with all the money, food, and fancy parties. So Hanshou got left behind, basically rotting away in the southern humidity.
Now, Dong Xi was a guy who cared more about punching problems in the face than studying centuries of political history.
But he knew a good strategic spot when he saw one. He knew exactly how important Hanshou was if you wanted to run the whole southern half of Jingzhou.
Which is exactly why he had been in such a hurry to rush his Sun Wu navy up the Yuan River. He wanted to be the guy who conquered Hanshou all by himself. Wanted all the glory, wanted to walk up to Sun Quan with Jingnan wrapped up like a birthday present.
And looking at where he was now, he had to admit his predictions were about half right.
The good news: He really was the first Sun Wu general to get into Hanshou.
The bad news: He was currently being carried into the city like a sack of rice, slung over the shoulder of a giant tribal king. Every step sent him bouncing around like a kid's toy, and all the locals were getting a good look at their new "prize."
As Shamoke marched down the main street with him, groups of kids ran alongside, hair tied up in traditional tribal styles, pointing and laughing like he was some kind of circus act. And yeah, he supposed he kind of was.
Even upside down, Dong Xi was still thinking like a commander. Looking at their sun-darkened skin and listening to their weird accents, he figured it out quick. Every single one of these civilians was from the indigenous tribes. Wuxi tribesmen, through and through.
But here is the weird part: even though they were clearly tribal, they were trying so hard to act like Han people. Wearing Han clothes even if they did not quite fit right, following Han manners. When they saw Shamoke coming, the laughing kids would snap to attention, put their hands together properly, and give him a super polite Han-style greeting.
And Shamoke was doing the same thing. Even with a two-hundred-pound man on his shoulder, he would awkwardly free up one hand to return the greeting, bowing his massive frame so his armor plates dug right into Dong Xi's ribs and stomach.
Ouch. Every single polite nod felt like getting kicked in the gut.
Smart enough to keep his mouth shut, he had already gotten beaten up twice today, Dong Xi suffered through the painfully polite parade in silence, using the time to look around at the city.
It was NOT what he expected. He had pictured mud huts and chaos. Instead? The main street was straight, flat, and wide enough for multiple supply wagons to drive side by side. All the houses, offices, and watchtowers were laid out in a perfect grid, better organized than some cities back in Wu.
The people walked around with purpose, acting all disciplined and polite. The city was working. He saw shops, schools, even medical places, all running smoothly.
There were not huge fancy merchant companies or anything, but the stores they did have were stocked with way more stuff than he had thought possible. Merchants were shouting their wares just like in any big city.
The schools were small but clean and bright. He could hear kids reciting classics and doing math, all in perfect sync.
The clinics were not fancy multi-story buildings, but they were in good spots, easy to get to. People leaving had bundles of herbs and looked actually happy to be there.
Sure, you could still tell who was tribal and who was Han, skin color, faces, how they tied their belts, the way they talked. But the craziest thing of all? They were getting along. Han merchants and tribal warriors trading fairly, living next to each other, no fighting, no one acting like they were better than anyone else.
The more Dong Xi saw, the more his brain hurt.
His whole life, he had been taught that you had to beat tribes into submission, that they were "inferior." But here they were, building a real city together.
Finally, curiosity won out over pride and bruised ribs.
"This place..." he grunted, his voice all strained from hanging upside down. "Why is it... like this?"
It was a super vague question, but even though Shamoke looked like a walking mountain, he was sharp as a tack. He knew exactly what Dong Xi meant.
When he heard the question, a weird look came over Shamoke's scarred face, like he was remembering something important. He slowed down a bit.
"Ten years ago, southern Jingzhou was just like any other miserable, bloody frontier in this messed-up empire," Shamoke rumbled, his voice deep enough to shake the ground a little.
"Back when Liu Biao was sitting pretty as the boss of Jingzhou, my people, the Wuxi and Wuling tribes, lived like wild animals. Hid in the deep woods, ate whatever we could kill. We did not register with your Han government, we did not care about your Emperor's 'civilizing' stuff, and we sure as hell never paid taxes to those crooked bureaucrats."
They had reached the center of the city now. In the main square sat a brand-new county office building. Clearly built by locals trying to copy Han government architecture. The woodwork was a little rough, the paint was not perfect, but it looked solid and respectful.
Without slowing down, Shamoke just tossed Dong Xi off his shoulder like he was unloading a sack of potatoes.
THUD. Dong Xi hit the pavement hard, landing right on his butt. He let out a hiss of pain, grabbing his rear end and wincing like someone had just punched him in the spine.
Shamoke did not even look at him. He walked over to a big wooden chair by the office door, sat down with a heavy THUMP, leaned back, and took a deep breath like he had just finished a nice walk in the park.
Dong Xi, having learned his lesson about what happens when you act tough while defeated, did not even ask for a chair. He just crawled over to the door frame and sat on the floor, head down, looking like he was ready to listen.
"So what happened next?" he asked quietly, actually wanting to know how this whole miracle happened.
Shamoke nodded slowly, half his eyes closed in the afternoon sun.
"Well, eventually old man Liu Biao kicked the bucket. Then that monster from the north, Chancellor Cao Cao, brought his huge army down here to take over everything. I assume you know all about the fire and chaos at Red Cliffs?"
Dong Xi nodded hard. In Wu's military circles, the Battle of Red Cliffs was like a religion. Every sailor bragged about how they had burned Cao Cao's fleet to a crisp.
"After all the smoke cleared," Shamoke went on, his voice changing a bit, "a man showed up here. General Zhang. Scary strong, honestly, almost as strong as me. He marched his troops into our land and said we had to officially swear loyalty to his Lord. But here is the thing. He never said anything about taxes. So I thought 'hey, swearing on paper does not cost me anything,' so we did it."
Dong Xi's military brain connected the dots right away. That had to be Zhang Fei, the legendary one.
"Then," Shamoke said, and suddenly he did not sound rough anymore. His face got this look like he was talking about a god or something. "Then Mr. Ma arrived."
Shamoke leaned forward, resting his giant elbows on his knees.
"Mr. Ma talked to us all the time. For hours and hours, going on about government stuff and right and wrong. Let me be real with you. I am not a smart man. Most of his fancy talk went right over my head. But the main thing he kept saying? I remember that perfectly. He said Han people and tribal people are basically family. Same blood, same country."
Shamoke held up a thick finger, counting things off like he was in school.
"Mr. Ma promised us a new life. Said he would make sure our kids got real education instead of just learning how to fight. Promised our old warriors would be taken care of instead of left to starve when they could not hunt anymore. Swore he would fill our grain stores so full that even a drought would not kill us. Said we would have enough clothes and food so no mother would ever have to leave her baby in the woods to die."
Shamoke looked around the busy square, his eyes full of pride.
"He promised to teach us real skills so we could build actual wealth. And finally? He promised to give us weapons and training so we could defend this place, protect the home we built together."
Yeah right, Dong Xi thought to himself, his cynical side kicking in. Anyone can stand up there and spout pretty words about unity and prosperity.
But after getting his butt kicked twice already today, he was smart enough to keep that thought to himself.
Furthermore, as he looked around at the thriving, well-fed, highly organized reality of Hanshou County, a cold chill crept down his spine. The terrifying truth was staring him right in the face. This mysterious Mr. Ma had not just spouted empty political rhetoric. He had actually, methodically, executed every single one of those impossible promises.
"Now, do not misunderstand me," Shamoke growled, his voice taking on a darker edge. "We are not naive fools. Over the decades, we have seen plenty of smooth-talking Han Inspectors and slick politicians who came down here with grand plans to 'recruit' us. But every single one of them was exactly like you."
Shamoke turned his head, fixing Dong Xi with a stare so intensely cold it felt like a physical blow.
"They were all arrogant, bloated with self-importance, and full of themselves. They looked at us, smiled with their mouths, but their eyes clearly viewed us as nothing more than filthy, useful animals."
Dong Xi's face flushed a deep, uncomfortable red. He broke eye contact, suddenly finding the grain of the wood on the threshold fascinating.
"But Mr. Ma was different," Shamoke said softly, the anger fading into deep respect. "Mr. Ma moved into our villages. He ate our rough food out of the same bowls. He slept on the same hard ground. He lived side-by-side with us, in the mud and the heat, for over two entire years. He treated every tribal warrior as his sworn brother, and he never once showed a single ounce of arrogance or disgust."
Shamoke stood up, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the square.
"He personally waded into the mud to help us design and dig irrigation canals. He sat in those little classrooms and patiently taught our dirty children how to read the classics. When the plague hit our villages, he did not run. He stayed, risking his own life, and used his medical knowledge to drag our wives and children back from the brink of death. He taught us advanced Han agricultural techniques, showing us how to triple our crop yields. He taught us how to manage the river floods. For two solid years, there is not a single man, woman, or child in Wuling Commandery who has not directly benefited from his boundless generosity."
As Shamoke recounted the history, his shoulders slumped slightly, his voice dropping to a quieter register. He had personally witnessed the grueling, backbreaking labor Mr. Ma had undertaken. He had seen the man exhaust himself, taking on immense physical suffering and constant political danger, all for the sole purpose of elevating the Wuling people.
Over the course of those two transformative years, Shamoke's attitude had shifted. He had started out deeply hostile and suspicious of the Han official. Then, that hostility had slowly turned into grudging respect. Finally, witnessing the prosperity blooming across Wuling Commandery, Shamoke had willingly surrendered his loyalty. He was now prepared to entrust his life, and the lives of his warriors, to Mr. Ma's vision.
The bustling city of Hanshou was merely a tiny, polished fraction of the miracle. Deep in the treacherous western mountains, in places like Lingyang, Chong County, Youyang, and Yuanling, wild tribal territories had been transformed by Mr. Ma's tireless hands.
Right now, Shamoke and twenty thousand heavily armed Wuling warriors had gathered in this city, determined to fight and die for Liu Bei. And the craziest part was, Shamoke had never even laid eyes on Liu Bei.
It all boiled down to a simple truth. The debt of gratitude they owed to Mr. Ma was too massive to ever repay.
Furthermore, Mr. Ma had drilled one final, critical lesson into their hearts before he left.
Wuling belongs to the people of Wuling. It is your home. Your sanctuary. You must take up arms and violently defend the paradise you have built with your own two hands against anyone who tries to take it.
There were a thousand complex, deeply emotional stories woven into the last two years, far too many to explain to a cynical prisoner in a few short sentences.
Besides, Shamoke was acutely aware of exactly how the aristocratic government of Sun Wu treated the indigenous Shanyue tribes within their own borders.
Over the past two years, small, desperate bands of Shanyue refugees had periodically managed to cross the treacherous mountain ranges, fleeing the brutal oppression of Sun Wu and seeking asylum in the newly prosperous Jingnan. The horrific, heartbreaking stories these starving refugees told about Sun Wu's slave camps and extermination campaigns filled Shamoke with a cold, righteous fury.
Sitting on the threshold, Dong Xi suddenly noticed a drastic shift in the tribal King's demeanor. The nostalgic storyteller vanished, replaced instantly by a cold, calculating warlord.
Shamoke waved a massive hand, immediately summoning two towering, heavily muscled Wuxi guards who looked more like walking boulders than men.
"I captured this man personally," Shamoke ordered bluntly, pointing a thick finger at Dong Xi. "Therefore, he is my personal property. As it happens, the large plot of farmland behind my private residence needs to be tilled before the spring planting. Go find some heavy iron chains. Bind his hands and feet, drag him to my estate, and put him to work in the dirt."
Dong Xi's blood drained from his face. His hands trembled.
This is a disaster, Dong Xi panicked internally. I am actually going to be forced into agricultural slavery. Me. A General of the Empire.
"General Shamoke!" Dong Xi shouted, scrambling desperately to his feet, trying to project whatever shred of authority he had left. "Are you truly intent on inflicting such a vile humiliation upon my person? Do you not fear the wrath of my Lord Sun Quan when he discovers you have treated his commanding officer like a beast of burden?"
The only response to his desperate threat was Shamoke's cold, booming laughter.
"Focus on plowing my fields properly, Wu dog," Shamoke sneered, turning his back on the prisoner. "And if you find the farm work too exhausting, do not worry. In a few days, after I annihilate your precious main army camped at Gong'an, I promise I will personally capture your commanding officer and drag him back here to keep you company in the mud."
Shamoke stood in the square and watched with grim satisfaction as the two massive guards grabbed the frantic, unyielding Dong Xi by the arms and dragged him away toward the agricultural districts.
Once the prisoner was out of sight, the amusement vanished from Shamoke's face, replaced by a mask of intense military focus.
If his forces were truly going to successfully assist his Lord Liu Bei and ensure that the vital southern territories of Jingnan were not ravaged by the invading Wu forces, he could not afford to be reckless. The twenty thousand men of the newly formed Wuling Army were a powerful weapon, but they needed to be deployed with tactical precision. He needed to plan his next move carefully.
---
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, deep behind enemy lines in the Xinchang County of Kuaiji Commandery, the undisputed heartland of Sun Wu territory.
Inside a sweltering, incredibly noisy blacksmithing workshop, a man stood completely shirtless, his torso slick with sweat. He was leaning precariously close to a roaring forge, his eyes narrowed as he intensely observed the blindingly bright, bubbling liquid iron inside the crucible.
Behind him, a heavily tattooed Shanyue tribal chieftain was pacing back and forth, frantically complaining and expressing deep doubts about their current, highly dangerous operational strategy.
Hearing the chieftain's endless stream of anxious chatter, Ma Liang let out a long, exasperated sigh. He slowly turned away from the blinding heat of the forge to face the nervous tribal leader.
As he turned, the harsh light of the roaring fire illuminated his face, casting deep shadows that perfectly highlighted his most famous, unmistakable physical trait: a pair of striking, brilliantly white eyebrows.
"Why in the world would I ever issue an order forcing your people to launch a suicidal frontal assault against the Sun Wu army?"
Ma Liang asked, his voice calm, steady, and carrying the authority of a man who held the entire board in his mind.
He reached up with a rag, wiping the grime and sweat from his forehead.
"I did not travel deep into enemy territory to throw your lives away. I came here for the exact opposite reason. I came here to ensure that the children of the Shanyue do not bleed and die in vain ever again."