Weary from bloody battle, the warriors grieved,
With defeat in Jizhou, the tide could scarcely be turned.
The sons of Cao Wei had all perished,
Imperial ambitions and hegemonic dreams ended here.
Only after Cao Wei's leaders and their remaining army had fled across the Yellow River did they finally breathe a little easier.
Cao Cao looked over the battered remnants of his army one by one. Every man was in a wretched state.
Too many had died in this battle. Even among the survivors, almost everyone was wounded.
Guo Jia, whose health had always been poor, could barely walk. He seemed to be on his last breath, and no one knew whether he could hold on.
Finally, Cao Cao gazed at the Yellow River, still surging endlessly east, and cried out in grief, "How laughable, how laughable!
"On this very river, I held my lance across my knees and composed verse. On this very river, I brimmed with ambition.
"O Heaven.
"Why did you give me hope, only to destroy it with your own hands?"
Hearing all the thwarted ambition in his father's words, Cao Ang could not hold back his tears. "Father, let us return to Luoyang. Who is to say we will never have a chance to roll back in?"
Cao Cao was a bedraggled sight. The crown he had fastened on his head was gone, his tangled hair was covered in mud and water, his eyes were dim, and his lips were pale. This defeat had all but crushed his will.
Once, failure had never brought him low.
Once, even against the mighty Yuan Shao, he had held on until the opportunity came when Yuan Shao went to war with Yan State.
He had been young then, with countless years to correct his mistakes. Whatever failed