15. Omens of Good Fortune

Wu Huan strode forward eagerly and exclaimed, “My lord! I have run into a fellow Yellow Turban brother! Come, come!” With that, he threw his arm around a burly man half a head taller than himself and made the introduction: “This is our Yellow Turban’s foremost warrior, Liao Hua, courtesy name Yuanjian...”

At these words, Wang Bo shuddered, then scrutinized Liao Hua from head to toe, inside and out, so closely that Liao Hua began to frown slightly. Suddenly, Wang Bo erupted into hearty laughter, then clasped his fists in salute. “Liao Hua, Yuanjian! I, Wang, have long heard your great name—it has thundered in my ears like spring’s first storm! To meet you today—my life is now without regret! Hahaha!”

Liao Hua smiled faintly and returned the salute. “Commander Wang praises me too highly. For Yuanjian to meet so promising a rising star of the Yellow Turbans this day is a blessing in itself!”

Wang Bo clasped Liao Hua’s hand. “Come, Brother Yuanjian! Let us enter the camp—I propose we drink our fill and not part till we are all in our cups! I—”

Wu Huan, laughing, interrupted, “My lord! There are two more brothers here...” Wang Bo paused, then hurriedly saluted. “Forgive me, brothers! I was so overjoyed I lost myself in the moment—do excuse my discourtesy! Pardon me!”

The two men burst out laughing. One of them, short and stocky, said in a deep, gruff voice, “What are you saying, Commander? When we first met, my brothers and I were just the same! I am Zhou Cang—greetings, Commander Wang!”

“I am Pei Yuanshao—greetings, Commander Wang!” the other chimed in.

“Oh? ...Ah! Ha! The Yellow Turban’s mighty warriors all gathered here? Loyal and valiant men, all of you! Ah, I am overjoyed today—hahaha!” Wang Bo, thrilled beyond measure, began to babble in his excitement.

The others joined in the laughter. Before Wang Bo could reach out to pull Liao Hua and the others along, several figures dashed over from behind and tackled the trio to the ground, where they rolled about in a tangle.

After a bout of roughhousing, Wang Bo, pushing aside Yang Feng, Ping Han, Huang Long, and the rest, strode forward, taking Liao Hua by the left hand and Zhou Cang by the right, giving Pei Yuanshao a sly glance and a chuckle before shouting, “Back to camp! Prepare the wine! We’ll not part till we’re drunk!” With that, he led the two off in great strides, and the rest of Liao Hua’s party were seen to by others.

Platters of roasted meat were brought out, jugs of rice wine poured, and more than twenty men gathered around the long table. Cups clinked, toasts were exchanged, and the atmosphere was lively and warm.

Normally, Wang Bo enforced strict discipline in camp—no drinking allowed, with any violators dealt with by the rod. This had earned him no small amount of grumbling from the likes of Xu Chu, Ping Han, Liu Shi, and other lovers of wine. Even when there were spoils, they’d be piled in the cave, with only a little distributed to scouts or hunting parties against the cold—no one else could get a drop, Wang Bo included. But today, with several renowned Yellow Turban warriors present—names Wang Bo had long known—he let all restrictions fall away, reveling freely.

Though the rice wine here could not hold a candle to the potent spirits of his past life, after two jugs, Wang Bo—unaccustomed to drink—was thoroughly muddle-headed, unable to tell east from west. In his exhilaration, he remembered little of what was said that night.

Yet he was up on time at dawn for his morning run, by now a matter of habit. Today, however, over a hundred more figures joined in—these ancients, it seemed, were naturally sociable, and as long as the work was worthy, none shirked or slacked.

After the run and breakfast, everyone gathered in the assembly hall. Wang Bo and Xu Chu entered, one before, one behind.

Now Xu Chu and Ping Han served as Wang Bo’s personal guards, taking turns at his side even through the night, leaving Wang Bo secretly pleased: “At last, I have Tiger Fool himself as my bodyguard! Cao Cao’s two prized guardians—one now serves me. Old man, you’d better watch your other guard, for if by chance he falls into my hands too, you’ll have to scare people only in your dreams!”

Battle-hardened now, the once-muddled Xu Chu had begun to show the bearing of the famed Tiger Fool. A head taller than Wang Bo, he radiated vigor, left hand gripping a hefty long-handled blade, a broad saber strapped across his back, its tassel swaying as he walked. His steps were measured, silent, yet carried the weight of a mountain—an unshakable presence. His very being exuded a silent authority, his expression stern, his eyes flashing with occasional brilliance—none could take him lightly.

Wang Bo entered the assembly hall, then glared in mock anger, “Have you all nothing better to do? Eldest brother, stay!” The others scattered, and Wang Bo, now all smiles, turned to Liao Hua and his companions, “Brothers, did you rest well last night?”

The three replied, “Very well—thank you for your concern, Commander Wang!” Zhou Cang added, his gruff voice booming, “Since leaving Guangzong, last night’s sleep was the soundest I’ve had—I almost didn’t want to get up!” The hall filled with laughter.

Wang Bo said, “Brothers, you have suffered long enough! From this day, you need not wander homeless any longer.” Then, recalling the previous night’s revelry, he added, “Last night in our merriment, I failed to ask how you all ended up here.”

The three exchanged glances, and Liao Hua spoke gravely. “Commander Wang, it is a long tale. We escorted the ‘Saintess’ to General Di Gong. But after only a day, the general was wounded in battle and fell victim to that traitor Yan Zheng’s plot. We were too late to save him, and as the rebels brought the government troops upon us, fearing for the Saintess’s safety, we tried to lead her to Chief Buji in Qingzhou. But Yan Zheng had betrayed us—knowing we guarded the Saintess, the officials pursued us relentlessly. We were forced to split up: Du Yuan and Wu Huan disguised the Saintess but failed to draw off the enemy, so Gao Sheng secretly led her to Qingzhou. The three of us took the main force west, deeper into the mountains. The government troops would not give up, besieging us for over a month. At last, seeing no hope, they withdrew, and here we are.”

Zhou Cang added, “We wandered the mountains for many days. The day before last, we tried to descend and seek news of the Saintess, but within half a day, the officials were upon us. With no way out, we retreated to the forest, where we met Wu Huan and Brother Feihu, and so found our way up the mountain to meet Commander Wang.”

Pei Yuanshao then asked, “The government troops hound us like shadows; we’ve lost countless brothers trying to escape. Yet why do the brothers of Xinghan Stockade thrive here like fish in water?”

Wang Bo laughed, “In your current state, traveling openly, how could you avoid the local bullies and ruffians? Many would report you for a reward! Since we Yellow Turban brothers have gathered here, why not stay at Xinghan Stockade for a few days, rest and recover, and wait for the situation to become clear before deciding the next course?”

Pei Yuanshao clapped his hands, “Excellent! To tell the truth, Brother Wang, that was my very thought!” Liao Hua and Zhou Cang also bowed, “Commander Wang’s kindness humbles us. Forgive our imposition!”

Afterwards, Liao Hua and his companions wished to look around, and Wang Bo personally accompanied them. His beaming, eager demeanor was so conspicuous that even the now-solemn Xu Chu could not help but secretly roll his eyes and sneer in disdain.

Having shown them around Xinghan Stockade, Wang Bo then spent a long while whispering with Yang Feng before excusing himself and leaving.

The next day, Yang Feng continued to guide Liao Hua around the outskirts, giving a detailed account of the stockade’s organization. As they toured, Liao Hua could not help but marvel at how orderly and well-run everything was. Though nominally a Yellow Turban force, it was nothing like the ragtag armies of old. Most striking was the spirit among the people: not just the soldiers and reserves, but even the old, weak, sick, and frail who relied on the stockade—all wore genuine joy upon their faces, and their conversations were filled with hopes and dreams for the future. In spite of himself, a new flame of hope was kindled in Liao Hua’s heart, and he found himself both admiring and curious about the stockade’s leader, Wang Bo.

Zhou Cang and Pei Yuanshao, meanwhile, led their men in various activities—hunting with the hunting party one day, joining battle drills the next—keeping themselves busy and thoroughly enjoying it.

Several peaceful, busy days passed, and seeing that Liao Hua and his companions showed no sign of leaving, Wang Bo was greatly relieved, though not foolish enough to ask outright. Instead, he privately rejoiced, beaming each day as he sought every opportunity to get closer to Liao Hua and the others, hoping to keep these rare, historically notable warriors from the era of the Three Kingdoms by his side.

But trouble came sooner than expected. One day, Wang Bo sat in his tent, racking his brains for a way to persuade Liao Hua and Zhou Cang to stay. Zhou Cang, after all, was a simple soul who only listened to Liao Hua, and Liao Hua’s status among the Yellow Turbans exceeded even Yang Feng’s, making it awkward for Yang Feng to broach the subject himself. Just then, Ping Han strode in, scratching his head with a sheepish grin, “Second brother, there’s something I’m not sure I ought to say...”

“What is it that has you in such a state, Eighth Brother? Speak freely.”

“Zhongkang seems to be squaring off with Brother Zhou Cang—the two have gone to the training ground! Now, sparring is common among warriors, but I saw Zhongkang provoked by words just now, his face dark—if he fights in anger, I fear it may sour relations between our Yellow Turban brothers, and ruin the lord’s plans!”

“Hmm? Fighting in anger? What’s this about? To the training ground!” Wang Bo leapt up and hurried off with Ping Han.

On the way, Ping Han explained what had happened—it was all the doing of the irrepressible Pei Yuanshao. Back in the Yellow Turban army, he’d always boasted of his martial prowess, constantly challenging others, unwilling to submit to anyone less skilled than himself, and fawning over those who bested him—a classic toady.

No sooner had he arrived than he set his sights on Xu Chu, pestering him for a match while Xu Chu was standing guard for Wang Bo. Xu Chu, now priding himself on his role, refused, saying he would spar when free, but the persistent Pei Yuanshao goaded him, taunting, “Liao Yuanjian is the Yellow Turban’s top warrior, Zhou Cang is second, and I’m third. Old Liao can’t be beaten, and you don’t even dare take on number three—how can you protect your lord? Might as well let Zhou Cang be your lord’s bodyguard! You can be my sidekick, and I’ll teach you a thing or two until you improve!”

Under such mockery, Xu Chu finally lost his patience, grabbed his saber, and followed Pei Yuanshao to the training ground for a duel, warning Ping Han not to tell the lord—but here they were.

At the grounds, Ping Han elbowed through the crowd to see Zhou Cang and Xu Chu locked in a contest. Bits of broken staff lay scattered about; the two had each other in wrestling holds—Zhou Cang gripping Xu Chu’s arm, Xu Chu pressing down on Zhou Cang’s, both poised for a bout of strength. Yet their manner was quite different: Xu Chu stood tall and relaxed, a faint, almost mocking smile on his lips, while Zhou Cang’s face was flushed, his bull-like eyes glaring, his thick beard bristling, mouth agape as he growled and strained with all his might—yet he could not budge Xu Chu.

Just then, Wang Bo arrived with Liao Hua and Yang Feng, worried that Xu Chu’s lack of restraint might humiliate Zhou Cang and drive him away—if that happened, Liao Hua would never stay. He was about to intervene when the situation changed: Xu Chu, having grown impatient, saw Wang Bo’s arrival, and, abandoning his playful teasing, decided to show off. With a loud shout, he drew his arms in, then shoved forward powerfully. Zhou Cang, sweating profusely, was caught off-guard and staggered back repeatedly, his bent body arching until he nearly toppled.

Pei Yuanshao, who had been craning his neck and holding out his arms at the sidelines, darted forward to catch Zhou Cang’s back, and together they stumbled several steps before regaining their balance, thus avoiding a fall.

“Hmph!” Xu Chu snorted heavily in triumph, sneering, “Trying to match me in strength? No one has ever bested me!”

Wang Bo, who had rushed forward in alarm, now breathed a sigh of relief, secretly amused by Xu Chu’s boast: Well said! If just anyone could beat you, would you still be Tiger Fool? But Xu Chu’s next words left Wang Bo with a headache.

“I am the number one warrior of our stockade! I wonder if Commander Liao would care to offer some instruction?” Xu Chu, flushed with pride, grinned at Wang Bo, having completely forgotten all previous warnings, and reigniting Wang Bo’s frequent urge to knock some sense into him.

“Zhongkang! Mind your manners! We are brothers in arms, our lives bound together on the field of battle—what good comes of such contests? Stand down!” Wang Bo, fearing Xu Chu might say something even more provocative, quickly barked out the order.

Xu Chu, looking aggrieved, muttered, “But they challenged me first.” Under Wang Bo’s glare, he slunk away to stand behind him.

“Ha! No harm done, Commander Wang! I too have long wished to spar with General Xu, but feared it would be improper to ask outright,” Liao Hua called cheerfully from the sidelines.

“Yuanjian, don’t take offense! Zhongkang is still playful at heart—please forgive any discourtesy, and don’t let it trouble you,” Wang Bo explained hurriedly.

“Come now! Am I so small-minded? Zhongkang is a man of character, and sparring among warriors is only natural—no need for concern, Commander!” Liao Hua replied, moving to join the now preening Xu Chu in the ring, calling out as he went, “Zhongkang, your strength is truly remarkable!” It was a friendly gesture.

Wang Bo was about to step in when Yang Feng grabbed his arm. Wang Bo turned to see Yang Feng winking at Xu Chu, encouraging him. Thus emboldened, Xu Chu called out, “Commander Liao! I’ve long admired the reputation of the Yellow Turban’s foremost warrior—today, I hope we can truly test each other’s skill. But I like to add a little wager to my sparring matches—makes it more interesting with so many brothers watching!”

“What sort of wager do you propose, Brother Xu Chu?”

“If Brother Yuanjian defeats me, I’ll call you elder brother, and follow you from this day forth, taking your lead in all things!”

“And if you win, Zhongkang?”

“If by chance I am the victor, then I ask only that you recognize my second brother, Wang Bo—Wang Qingyi—as your lord! Let us fight side by side, forging a legacy for the ages. Do you dare accept, Brother Yuanjian?”

“Hahaha! What a wager! I accept, Zhongkang! Who would have thought you, for all your seeming simplicity, are so cunning and thoughtful? Come, let us enjoy this match to the fullest!”

Wang Bo was secretly delighted at Xu Chu’s clever ploy: he’d been wracking his brains for a way to win over Liao Hua and the others—now it seemed Liao Hua was not opposed to the idea at all! He gave a few final instructions, then stood aside to watch the contest, smiling.