Years ago, when I first read Romance of the Three Kingdoms, I was deeply confused by one story. He Jin, who commanded the capital’s garrison and the imperial palace guard, wanted to eliminate the Ten Eunuchs. He first followed Yuan Shao’s plan to summon regional warlords to the capital; then, he foolishly entered the palace alone in response to Empress He’s summons—and was captured and killed. Later, Cao Cao remarked: “This could have been handled by a jailer.” I felt something must have been more complicated—that He Jin and Yuan Shao weren’t fools—but why did they make such an obvious mistake in hindsight? From their perspective: Empress He and the Ten Eunuchs held legitimate authority and couldn’t be arrested or killed outright; The eunuchs’ power came from the Empress and the young emperor, so they hoped external warlords would pressure the Empress into providing a legal justification for executing them; He Jin controlled the army and assumed the eunuchs wouldn’t dare act recklessly inside the palace. Thinking this way, it seemed reasonable. It’s very much like how most of us—even elites—approach problems: we want everything—legitimacy, safety, control—and refuse to accept that things rarely unfold according to plan. Cao Cao’s thinking was superior: it sounded simple, even crude, but it hit the core—the only correct solution. That’s the difference between true mastery and mere competence. Whenever I find myself overcomplicating a problem with what I think are clever steps and solutions, I remember that afternoon that decided He Jin’s fate.