On the morning after a three-line edict had bound three rings around Xiapi (下邳), the great army of Cao Cao (曹操) of Xudu (許都) arrived before the western plain of Xiapi.

Upon the table of Cao Cao's main camp, a map lay open. Xun You (荀攸) set his finger on a single point of it. "My Lord. The walled city of Xiapi stands like a cliff. To strike the wall head-on would gather a season's blood beneath that wall. Yet the geography (地理) of Xiapi lies deeply open to a water-attack (水攻)." Cao Cao nodded low. "Go on."

Xun You continued in a low voice. "The Sishui (泗水) flows to the north of Xiapi, and the Yishui (沂水) to the west. Raise the depth of these two rivers, draw their streams into the walled city, and the floor within will rise in a single breath along the grain of water. Instead of a season's blood, a season's water will open this walled city of its own accord."

Guo Jia (郭嘉) gave a low smile. "My Lord. There was an evening on which a line of estrangement pushed Zhang Liao's step inward. Today's water-attack is a move firmer still. When the air inside the walled city grows difficult to breathe, grain by grain, the binding within the tent will come loose at one stroke." Cao Cao nodded.

Cao Cao issued the command. Xiahou Dun (夏侯惇) began to dig a ditch to block the stream of the Sishui. Xiahou Yuan (夏侯淵) began to raise a dike to block the stream of the Yishui. Cao Ren (曹仁) arrayed thirty thousand of the main army before the western gate of Xiapi. Li Dian (李典) stood to the south; Yue Jin (樂進) to the north; Yu Jin (于禁) to the east, each in turn.

Upon the wall of Xiapi, Chen Gong (陳宮) looked down on that scene. He swallowed a low sigh. "Today Cao Cao's move has turned to a water-attack. The breath inside the walled city will grow heavier grain by grain." Lü Bu (呂布) stood beside him. "Gongtai. How long will this water-attack last?" Chen Gong answered low. "My Lord. Until the water of the two rivers reaches the floor of the walled city is one month; until that floor rises to the knee in sand is another month. Your Lordship must endure a breath of two months inside the walled city."

Lü Bu nodded. Yet his two eyes looked shallower than a moment before. Chen Gong looked deep into that shallowing. Whether his own lord could endure the breath of these two months — a small doubt settled in Chen Gong's chest.

That evening, Xiahou Dun's shovel lifted the first shovelful of earth that turned the stream of the Sishui. A single strand of water flowed into the new ditch. The first breath of the water-attack thus began upon the earth of that single shovel. Xiahou Dun's one eye sank a little lower. The seat of the one eye he had lost long ago to an arrow breathed once more upon the earth of this evening's shovel.

Upon the table of Xudu's main camp, meanwhile, Liu Bei (劉備) held a cup of tea. Cao Cao sat beside him. "Xuande. From today, the water-attack of Xiapi has begun. The grain of Lü Bu's tent will loosen grain by grain." Liu Bei bowed his head low. "General Cao. My two younger brothers now stand upon one side of Xiapi. I beg you, do not let the breath of this water-attack reach the heads of my two younger brothers." Cao Cao gave a low smile. "Xuande. Do not worry. The two names have already been inscribed upon my tent-roll."

Outside Xiapi's western gate, the shovels of a hundred men moved in one rhythm. No one sang. A water-attack whose first breath has been begun is, in its first evening, usually a quiet thing. The quiet comes not from discipline, but from the fact that each shoveler understands, without being told, that the sound of this first evening belongs to the water. Tonight the water was only a thread, wide enough to fit a single finger. By the end of the week it would run wide enough to fit a man; by the end of the month, wide enough to carry a boat. The shovels knew this. They did not speak over it.

Inside the tent of Xiapi, Gao Shun sat on a low stool and took off his own armor for the first time in three evenings. He laid it on the floor beside him and did not polish it. A captain who has understood that his season has turned from the blade toward the water rarely polishes his armor in the hour he understands. He looked at the armor's surface; a thin streak of rust from the salt air of the western plain had already begun upon the shoulder strap. Rust in autumn is slower than rust in summer, and faster than rust in winter. He counted the time by the color of the streak, and said nothing to anyone.

The seventy-first evening of Book 3 deepened quietly upon the earth of Xiahou Dun's shovel. The three characters Sugong-cho (水攻初, the first breath of the water-attack) were planted as a seed: the breath on which the streams of two rivers, a single shovelful of earth, two shallow eyes upon a wall, and one cup of tea lay together at a single seat. The three rings of Day 70's Samhwanseong (三環城) had, this evening, been bound a shade deeper upon the earth of that first shovel.

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