Rather Than Zhang Ran, Zhang Bao’s Eldest Daughter

Unlike the turbulent Jian’an 14, the year Jian’an 15 passed relatively peacefully without major disturbances.
Following the pivotal Red Cliffs campaign which had decided the realm’s fate, the numerous subsequent battles across Jingzhou and the initial Sun Quan-Lü Bu clash had utterly drained the populace.
But the exhaustion afflicted not just the commoners – the lords of the Liu Bei, Cao Cao and Sun Quan forces too required a period of respite and recovery.

Thanks to this implicit understanding, Jian’an 15 became a year of consolidation for each power, free from open conflicts.
Yet this brief peace proved short-lived.
Swiftly recovering from Red Cliffs’ devastation through his vast territories and population, Cao Cao launched his campaign against Lü Bu, shattering the momentary tranquility.

Cao Cao’s offensive against Lü Bu triggered a cascade of chain reactions. Mistakenly believing themselves the targets, Ma Chao and Han Sui of Xiliang rebelled, while the Yizhou governor Liu Zhang, fearing Cao Cao’s armies, heeded Zhang Song’s advice to solicit Liu Bei’s intervention.
The irony of Liu Bei leading his forces into Yizhou after repelling Sun Quan’s invasion of Xuchang.

Of course, Liu Bei’s present entry into Yi Province officially responded to the provincial governor Liu Zhang’s request for aid. But could his true intentions be so devoid of territorial ambitions over Yizhou?
Liu Bei upheld humaneness and demonstrated far greater concern for the commonfolk than his warlord contemporaries. Yet he too remained a product of this age of chaos.

Particularly after Zhuge Liang outlined the grand stratagem in Longzhong – acquiring Jingzhou and Yizhou as staging grounds to simultaneously strike Luoyang and Chang’an, the former Han capitals, thereby toppling Cao Cao’s regime.
The ‘Longzhong Plan’ for reunification following the establishment of the Three Powers centered on this ‘dual-prong offensive’ seizing Jing and Yi Provinces.

As staggering as Liu Bei’s upset victory at Red Cliffs had been, propelling him to control the Jiangnan territories, his power disparity with Cao Cao remained daunting. A single failure could prove unrecoverable – Liu Bei walked a tightrope, his destiny perpetually in the balance.
This explained his vehement opposition when Sun Quan broached invading Shu, unwilling to relinquish even Yizhou before fully consolidating Jingzhou as the springboard for that decisive gambit.

So while this pivotal expedition loomed, fraught with such weighty implications for Liu Bei’s greater ambitions, what occupied my attentions?

“Your sword tip wavered! You’re losing focus!”
Martial arts training under Father Zhang Fei’s tutelage.

§

“Phew…”
“Sis! Here, have some water.”
As I concluded my practice session, my ever-awaiting younger sister scampered over, proffering a cup warmed by her hands’ lingering heat.
“Thanks, I’ll have a drink.”
“Uh-huh! Say Sis, you’re not leaving again are you?”
“Hm?”
“Chokupak said you’re going off to war again. You’re not really going, right?”

Her liquid eyes brimming with unshed tears pleaded for reassurance. Gently brushing away the moisture gathering at the corners of those worry-filled eyes, I playfully pinched Zhang Yan’s cherubic cheeks.
“I’m not going anywhere, just staying right here with Father. Were you afraid I’d leave again?”
“Uh-huh. Stoooop pinching meeee!”
Releasing her cheeks, Zhang Yan protectively cupped her plump little face, shielding it from any further attack.

My denial had contained no falsehoods – I truly would be remaining in Jingzhou this time.
To forestall any potential mischief from Sun Quan, Liu Bei had left his core leadership behind, reassigning me to Ziqihuan County just west of Xinzheng.
Situated along Shu-Han’s frontier with Wu, Ziqihuan likely represented Liu Bei’s planned forward base once he turned his full attentions towards consolidating control over Yizhou, hence positioning Zhang Fei there from the outset.

But such strategic considerations meant little to me. My overwhelming priority centered on this missed opportunity to participate in the expedition itself.
I had indeed broached resuming military service and reiterating my desire to join the vanguard – only to be rebuffed, unsurprisingly.
Merely eleven years old, despite the renown garnered from the Lady Sun incident granting me scholarly correspondences, I remained a child in others’ eyes. Father saw no place for me amidst the marshaled ranks.

While assuring Zhang Yan otherwise with a smile, inwardly I seethed with frustration.
I had to find some way to follow the vanguard force, my thoughts consumed by this singular driving need.
Not just Zhuge Liang, but I too grasped that this expedition represented the Longzhong Plan’s crucial opening gambit towards ultimate reunification.

If Zhuge Liang’s grand stratagem centered on acquiring Jingzhou and Yizhou as steppingstones, my own scheme hinged upon preserving two pivotal lives:
Pang Tong and Guan Yu.

Saving those two alone would revolutionize Shu-Han’s trajectory tremendously.
Easing Pang Tong’s overwork would prolong Zhuge Liang’s own lifespan. Sparing Guan Yu would avert the Zhang Fei-Liu Bei bloodline’s tragic extermination alongside Shu’s disastrous Yiling defeat depleting its leadership core.
Perhaps just preserving those two figures could suffice for me to realize the ultimate reunification without any further interventions – such profound ramifications hinged upon their fates.

‘But how can I save Pang Tong if I miss this expedition?’
I lacked any prior connection to Pang Tong. Even if I sought him out, I had no inkling of his posting’s whereabouts initially. And by the time I later ascertained his location, the distances proved prohibitively vast for me to traverse alone.

I had considered correspondence, but even that proved complicated. With no mutual acquaintances to facilitate an introduction, I soon lost my narrow window after Liu Bei swiftly recognized Pang Tong’s talents and appointed him as an advisor.
Thereafter, Pang Tong’s duties combined with the upcoming campaign and future strategizing rendered him inaccessible. My procrastination cost me that fleeting opportunity, the expedition’s advent looming before I could make any overtures.

At this rate, I risked grievously failing Pang Tong like a character from one of those infuriating visual novels where obliviously missing key flags leads to the worst ending. Even if I somehow conveyed my future vision to Liu Bei or Pang Tong, would they actually heed such fanciful claims?
For all this era’s superstitious beliefs and equating divination with facts, any expectation that they would act upon my advice seemed preposterously low.

‘I must go in person. The Fallen Phoenix I know is from the Romance – I have no insight into when or how he truly perished historically. Without being there, Pang Tong will die.’
Though regretful towards Zhang Yan, I could not escape this conclusion – participating in the expedition proved imperative, no matter what.
Agonizing over belated ways to join the vanguard consumed my every waking moment, from playing with Zhang Yan to lying awake at night.

I persistently raised the matter with Father, but to no avail.
As time inexorably slipped by and I contemplated the extreme of outright desertion to surreptitiously follow, a letter finally arrived addressing my preoccupations:

[From the Literary Friend, Chengming]

A correspondence from Fan Zhun.
Quickly opening his letter, the contents proved largely unremarkable – perfunctory salutations followed by responses to my previous missive and relaying personal anecdotes as usual.
Yet one particular line arrested my full attention:

[Tensions seem to be rising in Chengdu, raising concerns over potential unrest.]

An unsettling tingle, a sense that some crucial detail lingered just beyond my grasp, insistently nagged at my mind:
‘What am I forgetting?’

Re-reading Fan Zhun’s letter thoroughly from start to finish, weighing every word with utmost care, that seemingly innocuous line suddenly triggered an epiphany like a lightning bolt piercing my consciousness – I remembered the pivotal event unfolding around this time!
‘Recruiting Fan Zhun truly was my greatest achievement last year!’

The Lady Sun’s return incident – or the Liu Shan abduction plot, to be precise.

§

As always, Fan Zhun diligently attended to his duties in the administrative offices that day. Over a year’s hard work restoring systematic order amidst the turmoil of transferring from Yuan Shao to Cao Cao then Liu Bei had finally granted him a semblance of working flexibility.

Surreptitiously setting aside his calligraphy brush, Fan Zhun cleared his throat needlessly before scrutinizing his surroundings. With Liu Bei’s expedition underway accompanied by his advisors including Gan Ning, the reduced remaining staff seemed preoccupied with their tasks at hand.

Softly clearing his throat again, Fan Zhun retrieved an item he had brought that morning – bamboo slips bound together. Carefully unfurling the bundled slips, a faint smile graced his lips as he read the opening line:

[Zhang Ran to her Literary Friend Chengming]

Just as Fan Zhun prepared to savor the ensuing contents with that contented smile, a voice beside him interrupted:
“You there, Chengming. What seems so engrossing?”
“C-Counselor Shen!”

Shen Jian, styled Gongwu – though later ridiculed with the derogatory ‘Kan Shenmi’, he had proven an invaluable diplomatic asset instrumental to Liu Bei’s regime.
Naturally outranking the subordinate Fan Zhun within their shared counselor roles, the latter hurriedly concealed the bamboo slips upon being caught engaging in unsanctioned affairs by his superior.

“Hmm? This one sees your flustered reaction. So those slips do not pertain to official matters?”
As a seasoned diplomat, Shen Jian adeptly discerned others’ unspoken intents and motivations.
For the political savant who had once brought the peerless Yuan Shao to the cusp of unifying the realm through sheer diplomatic brilliance, unraveling Fan Zhun’s secrets provedchildlishly simple.

“That young lady – the daughter of General Zhang, is it not?”
“That is…well…”
“Is it not?”
“…Indeed, you are correct.”

Shen Jian snidely narrowed his eyes before leaning back with a playful grin.
“Why be so secretive? Unless you are truly engaging in…untoward dalliances?”
“N-No, certainly not that!”

Relaxing his squinted gaze, Shen Jian waved dismissively as he remarked:
“If not, then no need for such vehement denials – the more suspect you appear. But let us examine these together then, since you have seen fit to peruse them within the public offices reserved for official affairs.”

Though Fan Zhun appeared to protest initially, he ultimately acquiesced – Shen Jian’s own erudition and rhetorical skills were no lesser than his, the veteran diplomat having earned his credentials through the learned scholar Zheng Xuan’s direct recommendation.
While peerless in governance or academic pursuits, Fan Zhun held no illusions about outmatching Shen Jian’s persuasive oratory, compounded by their vastly unequal standings.

Reluctantly reopening Zhang Ran’s letter alongside Shen Jian, what began as their casual perusal amidst jocular banter gradually transitioned into grave solemnity as its contents unfolded before their eyes.
And by the letter’s conclusion, Shen Jian’s seasoned diplomat’s intuition rang ominous alarms:

“Heavens above…”
This letter unmistakably alluded to:
[Lady Sun may attempt to abscond with the Crown Prince.]
A credible threat, in all likelihood.