Weird Three Kingdoms

Chapter 3717 There's a Rabbit, Love Love
In stark contrast to the bustling and brightly lit central camp of Cao Cao's army was the westernmost part of the camp, near a filthy pond.

Human warfare is a continuation of politics.

The essence of this political continuity is that a small group of people acquire the power to extract surplus value from the majority, and then engage in struggles to seize or maintain this power.

Cao Cao did the same.

The same applies to Liu Bei and Sun Quan.

Fei Qian was no exception.

In primitive societies, tribal leaders used shamans and gods to seize surplus value.

Slave societies, on the other hand, used corporal punishment such as clubs and shackles to seize territory.

In capitalism, it involves the use of contracts.

The process is relatively civilized and secretive, but in essence, there is no difference.

The struggle for dominance among monkey and wolf packs is quite similar.

After the monkey king and wolf king are victorious in their struggle, the other monkeys and wolves will also obey the leadership of the new monkey king and wolf king.

Monkeys will expose their anuses, and wolves will lie down on the ground exposing their bellies.

Meanwhile, in the Chongde Hall of the Great Han Dynasty, the ministers who came to pay homage to the new king also bent over.

As for the dead and injured during the process, no one cared...

It's like the wounded soldiers' camp in Cao Cao's army right now.

There was no campfire, only a few torches flickering in the night wind, casting a dim and bleak glow.

The camp was filled with an overwhelming stench of blood, mixed with the putrid odor of rotting wounds and the pungent bitterness of cheap herbs, all blending together to create a deeper, almost despairing atmosphere of death.

This is the wounded soldiers' camp.

More accurately, it was a forgotten corner that housed most of the wounded soldiers from the lower ranks during the Jingbei Campaign.

There were no proper tents, only some makeshift shacks made of tattered felt and branches, which were drafty from all sides.

The ground was covered with damp, moldy straw mats, which were covered with wounded soldiers.

It's like a discarded, broken tool.

Intermittent groans, suppressed sobs, and incoherent murmurs continued like background noise, yet were shrouded in an invisible silence that weighed down on the camp.

This silence stems from the extinguishing of hope.

It also stems from the silence of the majority...

A young Cao army soldier had his left leg severed from the knee down.

Name unknown.

Even the vast majority of wounded soldiers in the wounded soldiers' camps did not have names.

Just like the names ordinary people in feudal dynasties gave their children: Gousheng, Goudan, Shitou...

A humble name makes a child easier to raise.

Oh……

But why does the environment for the saying "a humble name makes one easy to raise" exist? From officials to keyboard warriors, everyone turns a blind eye to it.

The makeshift bandages were already soaked with blood and pus, emitting a nauseating odor.

His face was sallow, his lips were dry and cracked, and his eyes stared blankly at the few cold stars that peeked through the roof of the shack.

He was tormented by intense pain and a persistent high fever, but he was so weak that he barely had the strength to even groan.

His corporal, the old soldier who had promised to take him back to his hometown, died three days ago next to him from festering wounds. His body was wrapped in a straw mat and dragged away without even leaving a name.

Beside him, a man with a knife wound in his abdomen, the wound already festering and swollen, attracted a lot of flies.

At first, the man would instinctively try to pounce and drive it away, but later all that remained was numb breathing. He curled up, each breath accompanied by a hissing sound like a broken bellows, his body trembling uncontrollably.

His eyes were unfocused, and he muttered, "Water... Mother... cold..."

Plump flies crawled in and out of his festering wound, making a buzzing noise.

The only people responsible for looking after them were a few elderly and weak auxiliary soldiers who were also emaciated and bruised.

Their eyes were numb, their movements slow. They moved from one wounded person to another, using dirty strips of cloth dipped in murky water mixed with unknown herbs to casually, or perhaps forced casually, wipe the wounds. They also poured a few mouthfuls of watery rice soup, so thin you could see your reflection in it, onto those who still had the strength to swallow.

A decent wound medicine?

That was something only officers and elite soldiers were entitled to enjoy.

The bandages were all used up, regardless of whether they were clean or not.

There is a shortage of firewood for boiling water.

"Gousheng...Gousheng, hang in there!"

A man with a missing arm shook a dying young soldier beside him with his only remaining right hand, saying, "We...we captured Zhuyang...we've done a great service...The Prime Minister...the Prime Minister will reward us...he will save us..."

His voice was hoarse, carrying a desperate self-hypnosis.

The young soldier named Gousheng struggled to open his eyes, his gaze cloudy. He tried to force a smile, but only a trickle of dark red blood escaped his lips. His lips moved a few times, uttering a faint, almost inaudible sound: "...Brother...hungry...want...to go home..."

The sound stopped abruptly. The boy soldier's head was tilted to one side, his eyes half-open, staring blankly at this forgotten corner in the dim light of the torch.

The man with the missing arm froze, staring blankly at the lifeless face of the young soldier, then looked up blankly at the sky above the central army camp, which was illuminated red by the lights.

The faint sounds of music and laughter drifting from there seemed to come from another world.

A chilling sense of absurdity, enough to freeze one's soul, and a surge of intense grief and indignation instantly overwhelmed him.

He opened his mouth, wanting to roar, wanting to question, but only a "hoarse" sound came out of his throat.

He had grown accustomed to silence...

Silence for too long means losing the right to speak.

He even lost the ability to express his grief through prolonged silence.

He suddenly lowered his head, gripped the damp earth with his only remaining right hand, his shoulders heaving violently as he wept silently.

"Ahhh..." He cried out in agony, his tears mingling with the dirt, carving two filthy furrows down his face. Like a dog being whipped by its master, he clearly felt the pain, yet dared not resist, nor even entertained the thought of doing so.

An elderly medic with gray hair, carrying an equally worn-out medicine box, shuffled from one shack to another. Looking at the hellish scene before him, his cloudy old eyes were filled with weariness and profound helplessness.

Other doctors were unwilling to come to the wounded soldiers' camp.

Doctors in the Central Plains of Shandong also need to make a living and they also like money, don't they?
The old medic squatted down, his hands trembling as he checked Gou Sheng's breath, then touched the soldier with the broken leg's burning forehead, and finally just let out a long, silent sigh.

He took out a small amount of precious, powdered herbs from the bottom of the medicine box and carefully sprinkled them on the horrible wound of the soldier with the broken leg.

However, there was too little powder, and it was quickly swallowed up by the newly gushing blood after being applied.

"Use it sparingly, old man," a wounded soldier with a swollen abdomen said weakly, his voice hoarse, "Giving it to us... is a waste... Keep it... for the brothers who can still live..."

A bitter smile, more painful than a grimace, appeared on his face.

The old medic paused, looking at the precious powder, then at the countless eyes around him, their light gleaming with pain and despair in the dim light. Finally, with trembling hands, he wrapped the medicine up and stuffed it back into the bottom of the box. He said nothing, only hunched over as he walked toward the next life struggling on the edge of death, repeating this futile, symbolic "treatment."

At the edge of the camp, near the mass grave, two auxiliary soldiers were struggling to lift several stiff corpses wrapped in straw mats onto a creaking, dilapidated cart.

The death of a person is a heavy burden.

What is light is the soul.

They lived like pigs, dogs, cattle, and horses, and they died like pigs, dogs, cattle, and horses.

They lived according to the wishes of the gentry, and naturally they died according to the gentry's orders.

The straw mat wrapped around the corpse was tattered and haphazard, revealing half of its withered and blackened lower leg.

The cart bumped and jolted across the uneven ground, heading towards that wasteland that exuded an aura of death.

There was no funeral music, no ceremony, not even a second glance.

Their disappearance was like autumn leaves falling, silent and without a trace.

A night breeze swept by, bringing a touch of coolness and stirring up the foul air and deeper despair in the wounded camp.

The flames of a few torches flickered wildly in the wind, casting shadows that illuminated faces filled with pain, numbness, awaiting death, or already consumed by it.

In the distance, the clamor and dancing from the central army camp seemed to have reached their climax. A faint, even louder wave of cheers could be heard, as if celebrating some 'glorious' moment of victory.

In this forgotten corner on the west side of the camp, only the suppressed sobs of the man with the severed arm, the unconscious groans of the wounded, the buzzing of flies, and the rustling of the night wind through the weeds of the mass grave intertwined to form a heart-wrenching elegy.

This elegy is for the dead young soldier Gousheng, for every forgotten life here, and for the burly man's body that maintains its outward appearance by sucking the blood and flesh of the lower classes, while in reality it is decaying and rotting inside.

……

……

After the climax comes the period of reflection.

Although Cao Cao did not know what dopamine was, he was very clear about the situation he was facing.

Many people agree with the saying "It's better to share happiness than to enjoy it alone," but no one would agree that it's better to suffer alone than to suffer together. Even if someone does this every day, they won't do it openly, and no one else will agree with it.

More often than not, exposing one's pain only brings pleasure to others.

On the rooftop, people on the bridge cried out, "No one loves me! My love is dead!"

On the ground, people under the bridge raised their hands, shouting, "It's been so long, are you going to jump or not?!"

Was Cao Cao in pain?
Of course it's painful.

But he couldn't say it out loud, nor could he show it.

Otherwise, it would be like becoming a prisoner awaiting execution in a bustling city, where the pain of having one's head severed becomes a feast for others.

There will always be people who eat human blood buns.

In later generations, those who watched suicides by jumping off buildings or into the water beneath tall buildings and bridges had faces that overlapped with those who watched executions and beheadings at the execution grounds of feudal dynasties. There was no difference between them, and neither nine years nor ninety years of education could separate them.

The rulers could even deliberately create a "jumping off a building or bridge" scenario, and spread it online when needed, so that those who smell the aroma of human blood buns would naturally come looking for it.

It's like the hustle and bustle at the Han River.

The blood was drained, and the steamed bun was finished.

The noise finally subsided.

Inside the command tent, the strong smell of alcohol mingled with the lingering aroma of meat, creating a suffocatingly sweet and cloying scent.

The musicians and dancers had already left, leaving behind only a mess of cups and plates and a carpet scattered all over the floor.

The last few drunken generals were helped away by their personal guards, and the tent finally returned to deathly silence.

The deafening cheers seemed to still linger between the beams, pillars, and curtains, creating a stark contrast with the current silence.

Cao Cao sat alone in the main seat, a symbol of supreme power. His magnificent robes appeared somewhat empty in the candlelight. The mask of smug satisfaction and absolute control on his face crumbled instantly as the curtain fell.

Exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave, weighing heavily on his shoulders and brow. He closed his eyes, pressing his knuckles hard against his throbbing temples, trying to dispel the lingering pain and dizziness.

"victory"?
He twitched his lips, revealing a self-deprecating smile.

Zhuyang was an empty city; Liao Hua and Li Dian's main forces had fled into the vast mountains and wilderness. Wancheng was abandoned by Huang Zhong on his own initiative, and Lü Qian, who was pursuing them, was also injured. Yin County was burned to the ground, and more of the elite troops he had sent were burned to death. Gan Ning burned a lot of Xinye's grain supplies, and the slippery river bandits eventually escaped. As for Xiangyang...

Cao Ren was still struggling to hold on, while Xu Huang remained a menacing threat from the south.

What victory is there to speak of?

What Cao Cao gained was nothing more than a scorched earth that needed heavy military defense, appeasement of the people, and blood transfusions of relief.

And what is the price to pay?
The battles for Flying Fox Fortress and Ghost Cry Pass consumed too many precious elite troops, and...

Those Cao soldiers, like weeds, were filled into the trenches and lay silently rotting in the wounded camp.

Xun Yu's hesitant gaze lingered in Cao Cao's mind.

Food and provisions!

Typhoid fever!

This is the real sword hanging over our heads!

The treasuries of Yuzhou and Yanzhou had long been emptied by his repeated requisitions, and the patience of the powerful clans was nearing its limit. The laborers he forcibly conscripted withered silently on the transport routes like autumn leaves. The typhoid fever that was spreading silently in the army was like a cold, venomous snake, devouring the already few soldiers who could fight.

How is this a victory?

This is clearly a dam that is about to collapse, barely held together with countless lives and the foundation of the future!

However, he must celebrate!
Everyone must be convinced that this is a great victory!

He needs this noisy bonfire, this deafening cheer, this drunken praise!

Only in this way can the panic spreading in the army be temporarily suppressed, can those disloyal and disaffected aristocratic families see hope, and can the Han emperor and his court officials in Xuchang continue to believe that Cao Mengde is still the pillar that protects the emperor!
This grand feast was a magnificent brocade, woven by his own hands, wrapped around the abscess!

He was like a clown, no matter how bitter he was inside, he still wore a joyful smile on his face, stood on the high platform, waving the "victory" flag, and shouting himself hoarse to boost morale!

Below the stage, faces were either fervent or indifferent...

Cao Cao knew he was lying, a huge lie that had to be filled with more lies.

"The Prime Minister's divine might! Jingbei is now pacified!"

This is a lie!

Jingbei is like a red-hot iron, extremely hot to the touch...

"Fei Qian is nothing to fear!"

It's still a lie!

That General of the Cavalry, who was entrenched in Guanzhong, was his real biggest threat!
His Yinshan Iron Cavalry, his new firearms, his seductive Nitta Sei, and his ruthless generals...

Every time he thought of it, a faint chill would creep into Cao Cao's heart.

Fei Qian's silence was more unsettling than any attack. What was he accumulating? What was he waiting for?
The "victory" in Jingbei not only failed to eliminate his worries about the rear, but also dragged Cao Cao deeper into the quagmire, exposing the emptiness of his heartland and the turmoil in his rear!

Would Fei Qian not see it?
That cunning Fei Ziyuan is probably watching the fireworks in Jingbei with cold eyes right now, like a seasoned beast waiting for its prey to run out of energy.

A cold voice screamed wildly in his heart...

We can't wait any longer! We must fight this decisive battle!

While the momentum of this victory is still there, while Fei Qian may still be dealing with affairs in Jizhou and Hanoi, and while morale is high, even if it is false and temporary, we can still fight!
Delaying this will only deplete our supplies, allow typhoid fever to completely cripple the army, and widen the internal rifts to the point where they cannot be healed!

Only a decisive and complete victory can save all of this!
He used a glorious victory to cover up all his failures, to plug all the loopholes, and to prove that all his sacrifices and lies were worthwhile!
"Someone come here!"

Cao Cao's hoarse yet authoritative voice broke the deathly silence of the command tent.

A guard entered in response and stood respectfully with his hands at his sides.

"Issue the order!" Cao Cao slightly raised his head, his face serious, his voice steady, seemingly still the foremost ruler of the Han Dynasty. "The entire army must prepare tomorrow! Pack up equipment, armor, and inventory supplies! And... must the generals be mustered at Mao hour! Those who are absent will be severely punished!"

Cao Cao's face once again donned that calm and confident mask, as if the struggle he had just endured had never occurred. "Send orders to all the generals! The victory in Jingbei is insignificant! True glory lies in Guanzhong! In Chang'an! In capturing and killing Fei Qian, and unifying the land! Only after this battle is won will you be ennobled and appointed generals, sharing wealth and honor! Under no circumstances should you become complacent because of this small victory!"

The guard immediately clasped his hands in response, "As you command, my lord!"

The guard strode out of the tent and delivered the order.

Inside the command tent, only Cao Cao remained once again.

He stood up, walked to the map, and pressed his finger on the land that symbolized the final battle.

The candlelight cast his long, distorted shadow on the tent wall, as if he were locked in a vast and lonely prison.

The festivities of the banquet had completely faded away, leaving only deathly silence.

The pursuit of dopamine never stops.

Endorphins cause pain.

But dopamine can easily bring happiness.

Lying is an instinct.

To avoid real pain, lies naturally come out of one's mouth.

Smooth and fluid.

Then, in order to cover up these lies and maintain this illusory halo of "victory," Cao Cao had to launch this doomed decisive battle before Fei Qian was ready and before the internal festering sores completely festered.

While dopamine temporarily relieves the pain, you should prepare before its effects wear off!

Even Cao Cao knew that the odds were against him...