Chapter One Hundred Eleven: Meiwu Fortress

Rows of armored soldiers were arrayed before the Wang Yue Mansion. Leading the formation was a squadron of cavalry, undoubtedly elite troops. Though their armor appeared worn and aged, each bore an air of resolute severity, their postures upright and commanding.

At the forefront stood a man clad in a purple robe and silver armor, wielding a long blade, silently leading the troops in vigilant guard.

Before long, Zhang Yu appeared, supported by Han Long, and approached the main gate.

“By the Grand Tutor’s orders, I beg your pardon, young master, please do not take offense,” Zhang Yu said.

“Since Yu dared to attempt to assassinate the Grand Tutor, he must have anticipated this day. Now that I see it’s Brother Wen Yuan who summoned me, it is indeed an honor for Yu,” Zhang Yu said with a faint smile.

Zhang Liao’s eyes darkened with gravity as he sighed deeply, “Though the young master has lost all martial prowess, this very composure surpasses far and wide!” With that, Zhang Liao leapt from his horse and raised a hand toward Zhang Yu, “Young master, please mount!”

“Hahaha, very well!” Zhang Yu responded without hesitation, vaulting onto his horse and following the soldiers as they disappeared down the long street.

“Zi Ruo, you always have the most plans—what should we do now?”

“I don’t care about anything else, but do you realize how weak the Lord is? If anything were to happen to him—” Hua Tuo shook his head with a knowing look, as if to say, “You are still too young to understand.”

“The Grand Tutor’s mansion— even the Jade Sword Immortal at his prime wouldn’t necessarily emerge unscathed from there,” Shi A frowned, speaking gravely.

“Enough!” a voice cut through decisively, halting the group’s hesitation.

“I will go. I will rescue the young master,” Han Long declared.

“Rescue the young lord? How?”

“At present, this is the only way,” Xiahou Lan said, nodding in assent as she looked at Han Long.

“But didn’t the young lord tell you earlier to leave Chang’an and wait outside the city?” Wang Yue asked.

“The young lord only wishes to prevent us from dying in vain. Though we were unaware of his former unparalleled skills, now he is frail and weak. Having penetrated Dong the Traitor’s residence, escape is no longer an option,” Xiahou Lan shook her head.

“The young lord clearly underestimates us. But a single life—what is there to fear?” Cao Xing laughed heartily.

“Though I haven’t known you all long, we share a special bond. Now that I’ve become Han’s master, count me in for this!”

...

“So this is not just a visit to the Grand Tutor’s mansion...” Zhang Yu swallowed hard as the guards neared the city wall.

Onlookers gathered along the road, their gazes wary yet filled with admiration or sympathy as they carefully watched the man on horseback.

This was the renowned Jade Sword Immortal, Young Master Yu, famed for both his literary brilliance and unrivaled swordsmanship.

As they craned their necks, someone muttered, “Release Young Master Yu.” Soon, this plea spread like wildfire, stirring a significant wave of support.

Such a scene would have been unthinkable in Chang’an, where the soldiers of Xiliang were typically shunned and feared. This was the true power of Zhang Yu’s charisma.

“Friends, please disperse quietly. Do not provoke trouble on Yu’s account. Please return home swiftly,” Zhang Yu urged.

Yet no one in the street stirred.

Zhang Yu could sense their desire to respond, to echo his words, but the armored soldiers around him watched intently, ready to strike.

Fortunately, Zhang Liao accompanied him today; had it been another, these innocent civilians might have suffered greatly.

He was also grateful that, despite the hardships endured, they had not lost the Han people's spirit as in the days of the Five Barbarians’ chaos.

At this thought, Zhang Yu laughed heartily toward the sky and recited aloud:

“To seek refuge at noble gates shames Zhang Jian,
Enduring death but a moment, awaiting Du Gen.
I draw my sword and laugh to the heavens,
Whether I stay or go, my courage stands like Kunlun!”

“Excellent poem!” a voice praised, igniting a chorus of approval.

“To hear Young Master Yu recite poetry in person—my life is complete,” another voice exclaimed.

“Sword Immortal, you are the great hero in the hearts of us common folk!”

“Young Master Yu, the Meng clan prays day and night for your safety!”

These peasants had little education; they simply felt the poem’s heroic spirit and were moved deeply.

In the original verse, “To seek refuge at noble gates, thinking of Zhang Jian” was altered by Zhang Yu to “shames Zhang Jian,” for his actions stood in stark contrast.

Zhang Jian had sacrificed countless innocent families in a desperate bid to save himself, while Zhang Yu had risked everything to strike at Dong for the sake of the innocent.

To compare the two was an honor to Zhang Jian; Zhang Yu was ashamed to be mentioned alongside him.

As for the changes to “drawing the sword” and “like Kunlun,” these were slight adjustments reflecting Zhang Yu’s own circumstances.

After laughter and cheers, the city gate was finally behind them.

...

“Wherever they go, I’m ready for a sudden journey at any moment. If those fools refuse to obey or try to stage a last-minute rescue, I’ll be truly screwed...” Zhang Yu stared quietly at the skill icon labeled “Speak of the Devil,” silently setting a flag.

After a long, jostling ride, a city wall appeared in the distance, as formidable and lofty as Chang’an’s.

This was Meiwuwu, known as the “Fortress of Ten Thousand Years.”

When Dong Zhuo built this place, he declared: “If the plan succeeds, I shall dominate the world; if it fails, defending this fortress will suffice to live out my days.”

Since arriving in Chang’an, Zhang Yu had heard tales of Meiwuwu’s palaces, where hundreds of beauties and handsome youths from the common folk were housed. The granaries were stocked with provisions enough for twenty years, and gold, jade, silk, and pearls piled up beyond count.

Though other claims were uncertain, the fortress’s walls were indeed as strong and imposing as those of Chang’an.

As the group approached, Zhang Liao sent a squad of light cavalry ahead to announce their arrival.

Soon, the fortress gates swung open, and a larger cavalry force charged out. At their head was none other than Zhang Xiu.

“King of Spears of the Northern Lands, your prestige remains undiminished,” Zhang Yu greeted with a smile and clasped hands respectfully.

Zhang Xiu looked at the weakened Zhang Yu, who seemed even more frail than before, and a complex expression flickered across his face. “You are but a defeated commander. Had it not been for General Fengxian’s rescue, I fear I would have perished beneath your sword.”

“Don’t worry. This cripple likely won’t be able to wield a sword anymore,” Zhang Yu shook his head, then fumbled around his chest before unexpectedly drawing a feather fan, leisurely fanning himself.

After a long silence, they reached the gates of Meiwuwu.

“Your poetic talent is renowned across the land. How about composing a poem in honor of the Grand Tutor’s fortress?” Zhang Xiu broke the silence.

“Seven-character or five-character verse?”

“You dominate with seven-character verse. Write a seven-character one.”

“That should be easy enough—”

System, do you have any poems that mock Dong Zhuo? Give me two!

“Ding!”

Zhang Xiu looked at Zhang Yu atop his horse, while Zhang Liao pricked up his ears to listen silently.

A work from the Jade Master would surely be a masterpiece.

“Dong Gong once roamed unbridled,
In later years hid gold to evade war.
Heroes then matched wits alike,
Yan south, Zhao north, all were capitals.
Clad in heavy armor, why fear the fight?
Within the fortress, gold enough to retreat.
Yet among heroes, none compares,
The navel’s fat reflects no need for lamps.”