icarus. 

thewrathofheaven:

“That is where you are wrong.” The response was immediate; sharp and intentionally jarring. And it was true, in regards to several concerns. There were many ways in which one may learn from their mistakes; one of which was to study the past in preparation for the future through tactics of war and strategy. Stratagems could be learned from texts, and of course experience, but it also came from understanding others. Their own plans and motivations for one, and second to that was considering how their minds worked. Personality played a large part in it as well, as it often dictated what kind of tactics would be deployed. That was the art of war, or a fraction of it, though it was not necessarily the point Cao Cao intended to nail down.

“Considering the thoughts and aspirations of others provides insight.” Like Guo Jia, for an example. What would his take on their current situation be were he alive and well? Would he have suggested aught else, or would it have all fallen into place? “–And if you truly strive for betterment, my son, I suggest that you begin there.” And yes, while the comparison of his two sons was unjust, never once had he expressed that Pi become anything than less than he saw fit.

“Were he still with us, you would still be by my side, providing your interest in furthering the future of Wei were, indeed, still applicable.” He glanced at Cao Pi from the corner of his eye, picking out only pieces of his son’s apathy before his own gaze returned to the quickly-setting sun. 

     “Your time in the sun or shadow is wholly
      dependent no one but yourself.”

     It was not an unexpected response, but still one that would garner Cao Pi’s full attention. He was not about to question his father’s words – he was right, more than right about it. Still he knew not where to begin in doing such a thing, for he did not have the mindset of others. It proposed a challenge to begin to emulate any of them. It would certainly take some time to consider, long after the battle was won; but he was certain that with how his father expressed it, it was imperative for his future.

     In truth he hated to think of those lost. The reminder of finality, of never seeing them again, often brought a feeling of regret to him – it was perhaps one reason he avoided considering them. Even so, his expression went from that of certainty to humbled by his father’s insight. His mind wandered far from where they stood, to the distant memories of his brother; but not what of he would have done were he here. He could not if he wanted to.

     What troubled him was that not only could he not presume an answer to his internal question, but the realization came to him that he could hardly recall anything of his brother any longer. He knew with the utmost of certainty that Ang had a heart of gold, yet memories of it did not remain – a blurred smile, a voice he could no longer recognize. Remembering words spoken to him, but not the tone of which they had been said. Eleven years had passed since then, and Cao Pi was now almost the same age as his brother was when he had perished.

     He was hesitant to speak his name as though a forbidden word, lips having parted long before any word was uttered. “You knew Zixiu far more than I, yet seldom do you speak of him. Were he with us, would he be confident in our position, or cautiously optimistic?”

icarus. 

thewrathofheaven:

It was the dawning–the beginning of battle, a war; the end of all beginnings. The fleet that occupied the channel was monstrous, and to consider anything short of success was laughable. Cao Wei’s armada doubled, if not tripled that of the coalition forces of Shu and Wu; victory would be decisive and swift, and it would shatter the morale and momentum of the opposing militias. To say that Cao Cao was confident was nothing short of the truth, and quite frankly, he had every reason to be.

–But it was at the heart of the argosy that Cao Cao stood, eyes cast out towards the setting sun as it painted the shear, rocky cliffs in hues of scarlet and titian. At his back, darkness had already overtaken the sky, and the torches lining distant encampments flickered in the stillness upon the shore. His eyes narrowed then, mind shifting from confidence to morbid remembrance through the silence punctuated only by the sloshing of water beneath each rocking boat, and he thought on how Ang might have shared great pride in Wei’s accomplishments thus far, in comparison to Pi’s grave silence.

Two compare vastly different individuals was unreasonable, but also unavoidable. While much had fallen into Cao Pi’s favour after the untimely death of Cao Cao’s eldest son, much more pressure also befell his shoulders. Expectations that might have never seemed significant, accomplishments that never quite compared to that of Ang’s, and a lifestyle Cao Cao expected. Ang was, indeed, the perfect fit to take Wei’s reins once Cao Cao’s time had come to pass, but not all played out as he had initially planned or desire. Nothing did, truth be told, but that was life despite his attempt keep control.

“Zihuan,” he began abruptly, to draw his son’s attention; breaking from his own thoughts to share eventual wisdom. A lesson, but also warning. “Were Zixiu here, where do you believe you would now be?” Cao Cao’s favourtism was evident–for Ang was not only the eldest, but talented and loyal. In his youth, Pi had been quiet, though differently than he was now. Mengde expected much–as he did of anyone with notable worth–but with his son, it was exponentially more.

     “–And where do you expect to be going forward?”

     And how beautiful the sunset looked in the unreachable sky above. Yet even on an auspicious day as this with victory surely in sight, not a shred of joy could be seen on Cao Pi’s face. He merely looked onward, expression calmed as his eyes trailed along the horizon of ships. He had little desire to celebrate until the battle was over and won, merely feeling anxious as the time for war drew nearer.

     Unlike his father, Cao Pi’s thoughts did not wander to that of Ang’s demise; so the mention of his name caught him by surprise. Cao Pi inwardly grew discomfort in the memory of his elder brother - he recalled a perfect man. He was filial, he had courage, intelligence, and the capability of taking the reins when the time would come. Horrid a loss it had been, but yet even greater for his father. When he thought about it, he realized that he was now about as old as Ang was when he perished. Cao Pi thought in absolute sincerity that if it could bring his brother back, he would give up the potential of succession in a heartbeat. But it was those wistful thoughts that would lead him nowhere.

     “Were he here…” Cao Pi contemplated briefly before shaking his head. “In truth, I do not know. I rarely consider the what ifs beyond what could be done better next time. They bring nothing but yearning for what cannot be had. All that I know is that I would not be here, standing beside you.”

     His gaze would leave his father, instead turning to the mass of ships. “I cannot be him. He was a person of his own - henceforth, I strive to better myself. The future is unpredictable… but I do not want to live in the shadow of another forever.”