History's Course, Personal Struggle

A game of life-sized Chinese chess to conquer the world?

If anyone else had said that to this group of fierce men from the martial battlefield, they would have grabbed their weapons and started fighting.

But Jia Rong was the one who said it—the only Supreme Grandmaster—so they could not make a move.

Actually, it had little to do with his status as a Supreme Grandmaster. They had fought him beforehand, and they could not beat him.

Who agreed? Who objected?

This was not a matter of whether they agreed or objected. It concerned the future course of the world.

"If no one objects, then you're consenting by default," Tang Luo said.

"Wait—" Sun Quan said. "I need to go back and discuss this with my brother."

"That's right." Xiahou Dun nodded, indicating that he too needed to return and discuss it with the King of Wei.

"Same here," Zhang Fei said proactively when Guan Yu showed no intention of speaking.

"Fine." Tang Luo said, "But what about you? I want to know your opinions. Are you for it or against it?"

They exchanged glances and answered with silence.

They were indeed battlefield generals. The compassionate could not command armies; when they struck, they showed no mercy. They were skilled in battle and loved to fight.

But it was impossible to say that they truly enjoyed serving as meat grinders on the battlefield, chopping the enemies before them apart until flesh and blood flew everywhere.

Forget killing people—even if someone put a hundred chickens in front of them and had them slaughter the birds one by one, they would vomit from the killing.

Even if these generals' nerves were as tough as steel rebar, they would gradually be eroded.

"How about we try it first?" Tang Luo suddenly said.

"How?"