Old Cao wearily jumped off his horse, casually tossed his treasured sword aside, and plopped down on the ground without a shred of dignity, gasping for breath. Riding at full speed was also quite physically draining. Old Cao was already fifty-three; his body had long since ceased to be so robust.
"I have heard of your great name, Ziyan, for over twenty years. Never did I imagine that our meeting would take place under such circumstances."
Wang Yan smiled as he dismounted as well, driving the horse lance in his hand into the ground. Leaning on his sword, he looked at Old Cao in the distance. "I have likewise heard of Mengde's great name for over twenty years. Back then, Mengde forged an edict and summoned the lords of the realm to jointly strike Dong Zhuo. That was truly the deed of a hero. Yet today, on the battlefield, you had your commanding general disguise himself as a guard to ambush me, while you disguised yourself as an ordinary soldier. That rather diminishes the openness and righteousness expected of a hero."
Old Cao was not the least bit embarrassed by Wang Yan's mockery. Instead, he burst into laughter. "The victor becomes king, the loser a bandit. If you had died in battle, who would have known of my scheme? The world would only know that Wang Yan died on the battlefield, while Cao Cao ruled the realm!"
There was some imperiousness in Old Cao's words, but even more resignation and relief. He certainly had not come to terms with it of his own accord, or this battle would never have been fought. He had first been helpless, and now that he had become a prisoner, he could only accept it. What else could he do if he did not? He