Three Kingdoms: Conquer Wu from Maicheng with Cavalry and Swords, Don't Fall Behind

Qi Ye killed Wu's army for a while, and the enemy fled in all directions, none daring to come out and cause trouble. Disheartened, he returned to the hill where he had been chopping wood.

Ancient times were truly impoverished. Even a place like Maicheng, surrounded by sparsely populated areas and with some hills, was so poor that not a single blade of grass could grow. I can't even imagine how bald Luoyang and Chang'an must have been.

For thousands of years, the working people have been forced into the same situation: busy yet impoverished. When the war ends, something must change.

In the bustling crowd, Qi Ye spotted a petite yet resolute figure.

San'er's trousers were tightly bound at the ankles, highlighting the strong lines of her calves honed from years of walking and working. The heavy basket weighed on her shoulders, and frost clung to her sweat-dampened neck. The mountain wind howled, rushing into her collar, billowing her coarse cloth coat, and making it flutter loudly.

She swung her machete, hacking and slashing with all her might, one blow after another.

The Martial Saint stepped forward, his tone domineering: "Get out of the way!"

San'er stared intently at the Martial Saint, and after a long standoff, he took a step back with his taut calves.

"Normal attack!" Qi Ye clicked the left mouse button, and the Martial Saint swung his ring-pommel sword, slashing through the bushes with a crisp sound.

Hehe, summer sword-drawing technique, cutting away a patch of bushes, bringing back the feeling of "sword dancing" and mowing grass when I was a child.

"It's great that there are no physical limitations. If I go back to Chengdu to chop wood and sell it for money, the economy of Sichuan can recover, and the Prime Minister won't have to worry about the lack of supplies for the Northern Expedition."

Qi Ye scratched his head in frustration, truly worried about when he could change his working-class mindset. Having the strength to chop wood didn't necessarily mean having the ability to transport it; the real money was in selling it in the city.

The Martial Saint's voice was cold and clear: "Gather firewood."

San'er's vision gradually blurred, but he forced a smile and greeted the Martial Saint, his smile stiff: "When my grandfather and I went out to chop wood, he gave us the same instructions."

The Martial Saint belatedly realized: "He was truly remarkable."

As San'er gathered firewood and piled it up, he began to reminisce in a rambling voice:

"For an elderly person like Grandpa, firewood brings a great sense of security. He doesn't have to worry about running out of firewood when it rains, or about not having enough to burn during the winter. Firewood can be used to start a fire for cooking and to keep warm. With firewood, he won't go cold or hungry."

"Having grain in the granary, vegetables in the fields, and firewood under the eaves is the most reassuring sense of security and happiness."

The north wind tugged at his cloak, but the Martial Saint stood tall and said, "I will protect you all."

San'er silently watched the Martial Saint: "The government soldiers won't save the people, I must become strong myself."

The Martial Saint declared without question: "I can, I can!"

He said "I will" three times. The first sentence was an answer, the second was comfort, and the third was a determination, each sentence more resolute than the last. Even amidst the torrents of worldly affairs, he would hold fast to his principles and remain unwavering.

San'er held the wood-chopping knife, sensing the solemnity, compassion, and determination in the tone, which seemed to also contain a divine quality that was high above and unapproachable.

Her thoughts were no longer at peace: "I never believed in gods, but for a moment, I saw him. It turns out that gods aren't statues, nor mountains, but that one word, 'I will'..."

Fine snowflakes drifted down, and the sound of horses' hooves echoed.

Guan Ping reined in his horse and hurried forward to report, "The men in my camp have all secretly left the city and are ready for battle at any time."

"Hmm," the Martial Saint responded, then fell silent.

The troops in the Jiangdong camp haven't come out yet, and the scouts have almost finished their encirclement. Attacking Zhu Ran's camp has a very high chance of success.

Qi Ye could muster three battalions, roughly 4,500 men. Building confidence by winning a battle with an advantage is crucial. Although the troops at Maicheng appeared weakened, the enemy's probability of defeat was 1,000%.

Guan Ping's expression was serious: "The soldiers didn't get much rest last night. We must take Zhu Ran in one fell swoop, otherwise, if enemy reinforcements arrive and attack from both sides, our army will be in grave danger."

The Martial Saint said arrogantly, "If you follow me, there won't be any problems."

Guan Ping thought about it carefully: "General, I've decided to set up a diversionary tactic on the enemy's reinforcements' journey. For example, we can have someone impersonate you to intimidate those cowards from Jiangdong."

The Martial Saint declined, saying, "There's no need."

Guan Ping was stunned for a moment, then asked in return, "Why?"

The Martial Saint said calmly, "Reinforcements have arrived. Just keep charging with me."

These are all experienced soldiers; we can't waste them. Upgrading is getting harder and harder these days. When there were only five or six hundred men at Maicheng, did Qi Ye lose confidence? Now, being able to mobilize over five thousand men is a formidable force.

Guan Ping couldn't help but raise his voice: "General, please curb your arrogance, listen to others' opinions, and work together to win the hearts of the people!"

With those words, he was completely drained of his strength. Maicheng had finally managed to turn the tide little by little, and they absolutely could not let their coach continue to act recklessly.

To achieve victory through stability, stability is essential, and it must be sufficiently stable. Consider everything clearly, arrange everything meticulously, and strategize effectively.

The Martial Saint's eyes narrowed slightly as he patted Guan Ping on the shoulder:

"To die alongside one's father is a son's honor, but to die alongside one's son is a father's shame. Tanzhi, go ahead and do as you please. No matter what danger you face, I will protect you."

Guan Ping offered his advice as a subordinate; if he were the son, he would never have dared to do so. He had expected a thunderous rebuttal, but instead, a gentle breeze brought him comfort and joy.

"Yes, sir!" He left with a complex and profound look in his eyes, then rode away.

Guan Yu witnessed the scene unfold before him, and felt as if he had lost some important ability to express himself. He also felt utterly captivated and exhilarated, experiencing a joy he had never known before.

"Tanzhi has grown up and developed his own opinions, making him harder to manage. His Majesty rarely speaks so much; I hope Tanzhi will cherish this opportunity."

Qi Ye only dared to say that because he had a save file. On the battlefield, anything can happen.

Guan Ping was the pinnacle of the second generation of Shu Han. Young, highly skilled in martial arts, possessing some strategic acumen, and a veteran of countless battles. He fought Pang De and could also hold his own against Xu Huang for thirty rounds.

Guan Yu was known for his arrogance, while Guan Ping was steady and calm, often admonishing his father. Even after Guan Yu's defeat at Maicheng, Guan Ping remained loyal and devoted, upholding the principles of loyalty and filial piety.

If Zhuge Liang had had such a great general in his later years, he wouldn't have had such a difficult time.

Wu Sheng Mosheng: "Pass down the order to transport the firewood back to the city."

The soldiers and laborers were roused, keenly sensing the changing winds—war was imminent. Jiangdong's betrayal brought endless disaster to the people of Jingzhou.

"Woo-woo-woo—", the rallying horns resounded through the sky. Hearing the alarm, the woodcutters hurriedly gathered their ropes and axes, bundled their firewood, and ran away.

San'er, carrying firewood and with a thin back, asked: "My lord, is war about to break out?"

The Martial Saint calmly replied, "Yes."

San'er walked with a resolute gait, exuding a hidden heroic spirit: "Once I have mastered the swordsmanship, I will surely follow you into battle!"

Her stomach was rumbling, and she was starving, so she slowed her pace.

Qi Ye chuckled. People who have never done manual labor simply don't know that without food and drink, it's impossible to fight on the battlefield; all you'll do is break out in a cold sweat, your legs will feel weak, and your hands will tremble.

The Martial Saint took out a bran cake that he hadn't eaten for breakfast and said forcefully, "I ate it."

San'er's eyes flickered slightly, and he took it with both hands, putting it in his mouth and chewing it stiffly.

A fierce north wind swept across the land, and war clouds loomed over the city. The scouts held their breath, gripped their bows, and stared intently into the distance, observing the enemy cavalry.

The warhorse beneath him pawed restlessly, its heavy breaths turning into white mist in the cold air. A bloody storm was quietly approaching.