That night, Old Cao drank heavily—more than he had ever drunk to drown his sorrows with wine since being captured by Wang Yan.
Knowing defeat was coming and having already been defeated were still two different things. No matter how much of a ruthless hero Old Cao was, he had served as a Han official for over twenty years and spent another twenty-odd years as a "pillar of the Han court." More than fifty years in total—most of his life had been wrapped up in it. Now that River Pass had fallen and Shu Land had no support, defeat was all but certain. Even with Old Cao's iron will, the blow was too much to bear.
The old fellow, who had still seemed fairly spirited before, suddenly lost all heart. He looked much older. Wang Yan comforted him thoughtfully, telling him not to underestimate India; the barbarians there had some strength after all. Even more thoughtfully, he examined Old Cao, prescribed medicine, and helped regulate his health, hoping that Old Cao would live to be a hundred.
Old Cao had originally only been destined to live into his sixties. For someone who had spent half his life in the saddle, campaigning north and south and fighting across the land, that was already quite decent. But Wang Yan thought Old Cao ought to live longer.
Without question, under Wang Yan's rule, Old Cao would have faced severe punishment. Even as the leader of a faction, he could not escape that Destiny. Death was certain, and it would have been a miserable one, meant to further consolidate Wang Yan's political foundation and strengthen his political course. It was not born of personal grudges, but of struggle.
But if Old Cao were to be driven across the plateau into India, that would not