By mid-November, Zhao Yun and Huang Zhong had finished assembling at Qi County and marched upstream along the winding Jing River.
The winter wind howled. Most of the trees on the mountainsides had shed their leaves; only evergreens such as pines and cypresses remained lush and green. Twenty thousand Han soldiers advanced at an even pace alongside the grain transport ships, covering only a little over thirty li each day.
After two days of marching, Huang Zhong grew increasingly anxious and urged Zhao Yun, "Zilong, the army is moving far too slowly. Yide was already better prepared than us to begin with. If we keep dawdling along, we'll lose. How about having each unit pick up the pace a little?"
"Transporting grain is inconvenient in winter, so slower is fine. As long as we win the war in the end, why take winning or losing so heavily? Could it be that the old general placed a wager?" Zhao Yun teased with a smile.
"At my age, what use do I have for worldly possessions? I merely wish to repay His Majesty's recognition and favor. Besides, had the Grand Commandant not offered that plan at Dingjun Mountain, I would never have earned such merit. When someone gives you a peach, you must return a plum, mustn't you?" Huang Zhong said solemnly.
"Then I shall naturally oblige you. When we meet Cao Zhen and Zhang He in a few days, I'll let the old general take the field first," Zhao Yun replied magnanimously.
Huang Zhong furrowed his white brows and said sternly, "Zilong, don't change the subject. I'm saying our march is too slow. At this rate, Third General may well have already taken Wuwei. Starting tomorrow, we must cover fifty li a day."
"The weather is turning colder, and the soldiers