Section 99: The Beginning of the Tragedy

Of course, it was just for show...

Wang Luo felt somewhat awkward. After a hard-fought and hard-won victory, he had drunk heavily, his spirits higher than usual, and as a result, he had many heartfelt thoughts he wanted to share—it felt good to speak them aloud.

The problem was that his relationship with Yang Wentian and Zhou Yingxiong had recently grown distant. He did not want to confide in them. Speaking to the losers about the reasons for their defeat seemed like a good choice, but if he hoped to make them his subordinates, he couldn’t be so blunt.

“I am strong,” he forced an excuse. “Follow me, and you will achieve more victories. Now, are you willing to join my team?”

No one from Wuzhou spoke.

The strong always command respect. Previously, they said it was a perfunctory, obvious lie that wouldn’t stir much; but now, if they agreed, it would be taken seriously. So it was inconvenient to speak—barriers existed.

“Let’s talk privately,” Wang Luo said, looking at Lin Feirui. “There are things I don’t want to do, but I don’t want to be despised even more. If such a danger arises…”

Lin Feirui nodded. “Alright.”

A moment later, they sat opposite each other at a table inside a small tent.

To prevent awkward silence, Wang Luo had ordered a pot of wine and some dishes brought over.

Lin Feirui was tall, almost his height. Beautiful, embodying the phrase “graceful and noble”—that was the word that came to mind. Wang Luo inhaled lightly; there was a kindred aura about her, though not complete…

“Aren’t you afraid I might kill you?” A subtle smile flickered across her exquisite face.

“You have reason to do so,” Wang Luo smiled back. “Why not give it a try?”

She hesitated, weighing her options, but in the end chose to give up. “I wouldn’t do such a foolish thing.”

He felt a pang of fear. Earlier descriptions had painted him as a schemer, always on guard. He chuckled; this would greatly benefit the upcoming negotiation.

“I can offer ten thousand points for each person,” Lin Feirui said. “You can ask your subordinates. Killing local contractors usually yields about eight thousand per person; I simply can’t pay more.”

“Besides, I can give you a few people,” she shrugged. “We exhausted all our funds in the last battle. Paying you these will require selling our equipment. Please, have mercy.”

Her face looked fragile, enchanting, and pitiable at that moment.

Wang Luo stared at her like a lion eyeing an antelope. After a moment, he spoke. “Do you know how to defeat someone who relies on luck?”

“Hm?” She blinked slightly.

“It’s you,” Wang Luo pointed out.

Lin Feirui gave a dry smile, thinking of her “Blessed by Fortune” skill.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” she replied perfunctorily.

“Take an example: Liu Bei’s leap at Tan Creek—that’s a sign of luck. Escaping enemy pursuit was remarkable, but that luck didn’t help him defeat Cai Mao’s forces; it only allowed him to flee.”

“In other words, luck has its limits. When you make a mistake, luck can help you choose the best possible outcome to some extent. But it won’t change the overall direction.”

“Once you understand this, what you need to focus on is influencing the big picture. For example, if it’s destined that the Han army on your side defeats my troops, will that victory truly bring you overall success?”

“Are you saying you deliberately abandoned the camp?” Lin Feirui stared incredulously.

“No,” Wang Luo denied. “I just prepared for the loss of the camp. Even if lost, victory remains possible.”

“I’m not good with details. What I can do is seize the momentum. Once I raise my banner, the fanaticism of the feudal landlords becomes inevitable—your luck can’t change that; the peasants then have a reason to support me—your luck can’t alter that; after several defeats, your subordinates lose confidence in you. Even if they still support you, ambitions will arise. Your luck cannot change this either.”

“Throughout the process, if I rely on anything, it’s human nature—not any individual, but the collective nature of the Han soldiers, the feudal landlord officers, and the Wuzhou members. The most direct manifestation is the shared instinct to pursue self-interest among these groups.”

“Loyalty requires a reason; betrayal does not. My propaganda and policies—giving land to local peasants to win their favor, promoting the abolition of inheritance rights to enrage the feudal landlords, relentless warfare to pressure both the Han army and your forces; the Han officers’ misdeeds—abusing peasants and embezzling soldiers’ merits—have slowly eroded the Han soldiers’ reasons to fight.”

“I suspect you took no action to stop the Han’s misconduct, nor did you rebuild relations with your subordinates when support was needed—you probably never even considered these things.”

“All of this works slowly. It requires constant accumulation and fermentation for the advantage to gradually shift to my side. Eventually, quantitative changes lead to qualitative transformation. When my goodwill intersects with the feudal landlords’ behavior and utterly destroys the Han soldiers’ reasons to fight spiritually, I gain overwhelming superiority. My previous battles with the Han yielded little—draws or losses didn’t matter. In the final battle, the Han army was so fragile that even a slight collapse would cause total disintegration. Even if you unleashed a bloodbath in that last fight, it would be futile.”

“At that point, your luck can only keep you alive, not guarantee victory—I never intended to kill you as long as you didn’t go too far, didn’t despise me because of my mercy, and paid what was rightfully mine.”

“So,” Lin Feirui took a moment to digest Wang Luo’s words, “you deliberately let the peasants who received land be abused to death by the landlords? And those old, weak, and women in your camp—you could have sent troops to save them but chose not to, all to destroy the Han soldiers’ reasons to fight?”

“No, I won’t bear that blame,” Wang Luo shook his head. “I am responsible for the final and overall victory.”

“If I find any action that would sabotage ultimate victory, I will stop it. The Han army killing those peasants was not on my orders, right? If I could defeat the Han and save them at the same time, I would. But if it hinders the overall battle, I wouldn’t hesitate to let them die.”

“Compassion doesn’t command armies, righteousness doesn’t manage finances. Their deaths sadden me; I grieve and mourn—if such feelings are necessary. But I don’t care. If I cared even about that, what right would I have to lead a great army?”