The Aging Warlord’s Uncharacteristic Campaign

In the tenth lunar month of 216 AD, a 62-year-old Cao Cao—his skull throbbing with chronic pain—launched yet another campaign against his southern rival Sun Quan. But this military expedition was unlike any before it. The normally decisive strategist moved with puzzling lethargy, spending over a month merely reaching his hometown of Qiao County, where he lingered for weeks before advancing to Juchao (modern Chaohu, Anhui). Observers whispered that the campaign seemed purposeless—as if Cao Cao fought simply for fighting’s sake.

Sun Quan had fortified the Ruxu defenses along the Yangtze’s western bank, remembering their previous clashes where Cao Cao’s navy suffered disastrous defeats. This time, Cao Cao wisely avoided naval engagements, but even on land, his famed tactical brilliance failed to materialize. Soldiers noted their commander’s diminished presence—his face contorted in pain during inspections, his spirit broken by relentless headaches.

A War Without Winners

The conflict became a grinding stalemate. Sun Quan’s navy, crippled by a freak Yangtze storm, offered no support to land forces. Both sides exchanged indecisive skirmishes until March 217 AD, when even the blind could see neither could achieve victory. Cao Cao began withdrawing—but with a masterstroke. He left 26 elite legions under generals Zhang Liao and Cao Ren along the Hefei frontline, creating an immovable threat on Sun Quan’s doorstep.

When Sun Quan mockingly bid farewell, asking why Cao Cao retreated, the warlord laughed: “Fool! Look at your borders!” The revelation stunned Sun Quan. These forces weren’t invaders—they were a psychological cage. Like “thugs camped outside one’s home,” they paralyzed Sun Quan’s strategic freedom, forcing him into permanent vigilance while Liu Bei expanded westward.

The Hollow Truce and Strategic Gambits

Sun Quan soon sued for peace. In their Ye City negotiations, Cao Cao demanded Sun Quan acknowledge the Eastern Han’s authority and relocate to the imperial court—a thinly veiled hostage scenario. Sun Quan’s envoy countered with partial submission, citing “northern food disagreeing with his stomach.”

Advisors split: Xun You urged pragmatism (“An alliance is victory enough”), while Sima Yi advocated deception (“Stabilize the south, crush Liu Bei first”). Though Cao Cao scolded Sima Yi, he adopted the plan. The truce allowed Cao Cao to redirect forces against Liu Bei—but first, he faced a more intimate crisis: choosing an heir among his 25 surviving sons.

The Poisoned Chalice of Succession

Two candidates remained: the disciplined, politically astute Cao Pi (eldest surviving son) and the charismatic poet Cao Zhi, whose literary genius mirrored Cao Cao’s own. Initially, Cao Zhi’s faction—led by the brilliant but arrogant strategist Yang Xiu—gained ground. Yang Xiu’s ability to anticipate Cao Cao’s thoughts allowed Cao Zhi to impress in policy debates, until Cao Cao discovered the cheating.

The turning point came during a farewell ceremony. As Cao Zhi recited lavish poetry, Cao Pi staged a masterful emotional play—weeping subtly about his father’s advanced age campaigning. The display of filial piety moved Cao Cao profoundly. Meanwhile, Cao Zhi’s fatal mistake—using imperial roads reserved for Cao Cao—sealed his fate.

The Art of Winning Without Fighting

Jia Xu, Cao Pi’s strategist, had advised the perfect non-campaign: “Do nothing extraordinary. Maintain propriety.” This Daoist-inspired patience allowed Cao Pi to win by default, as the bureaucracy naturally favored the eldest heir. When Cao Cao consulted advisors, Jia Xu’s oblique reference to Yuan Shao’s succession disaster—which led to his dynasty’s collapse—decided the matter.

In 217 AD, Cao Pi was named heir. The defeated Cao Zhi awoke to Yang Xiu’s hollow encouragement: “The game isn’t over!” But the writing was on the palace walls—written in the ink of political inevitability.

Legacy of the Forgotten Campaign

Cao Cao’s final southern campaign, often overshadowed by Red Cliffs or Guandu, revealed his late-career genius. The Hefei garrison became Sun Quan’s eternal strategic shackle, while the succession crisis demonstrated how even the mightiest rulers are haunted by mortality. The Cao brothers’ rivalry birthed literary masterpieces (like Cao Zhi’s “Seven-Step Poem”) but also weakened Wei’s foundations—a lesson Sima Yi would exploit decades later when founding the Jin Dynasty.

Historically, this period marks the transition from charismatic warlordism to bureaucratic empire—where poetry and politics became inseparable, and where winning sometimes meant simply outlasting your enemies, both on the battlefield and in the palace corridors.