I Saw It With My Own Two Eyes
“Freeze right there. You dealing from the bottom of the deck?”
“The hell are you barking about? You got proof?”
“Right here! Look at this mark right here! You bastards kept pinching our supplies, so I marked every single crate. How about that, huh?”
“Son of a bitch...”
“What, did you think I’d never catch on? You take me for some brainless chump?”
“Damn it, what kind of petty bastard goes around putting secret marks on rations...”
“What did you say, you prick? Is that something a thieving rat has the nerve to say?”
“The only thieves around here are you White Wave Bandits!”
“You son of a bitch! Hey, fetch the blades! I’m lopping this bastard’s wrist off today!”
“Shut the hell up! Why is your tongue wagging so damn much? Beat the crap out of ’em!”
Thwack! Smack! Crunch!
The biting winds of late winter still cut through the bone, and today was no exception: the men under Dong Cheng and Han Xian had broken into yet another violent brawl over ration distributions.
Though no one had drawn steel just yet, a dozen soldiers had already piled into the melee, and the murderous air was thick enough that nobody would have blinked if a corpse turned up by the end of it. The squad leaders and junior officers who were supposed to rein them in did nothing of the sort; instead, they stood by glaring daggers at the opposing camp, stoking the hostility rather than checking their subordinates.
Watching the brawl unfold from a discreet distance stood another figure: Master of Writing Feng Shuo.
Even as the soldiers sworn to protect the Son of Heaven turned the camp into a chaotic shambles without an ounce of discipline, Feng Shuo’s face showed not the slightest hint of concern. On the contrary, a look of quiet satisfaction touched his features as he observed the two factions tear into each other a while longer. Satisfied, he turned on his heel and slipped away to a covert meeting with Palace Attendant Dai Chong.
“How does it look?” Dai Chong asked the moment Feng Shuo entered.
“Another brawl erupted among the rank and file today,” Feng Shuo replied. “The fruit appears ripe for the picking.”
“That is good news.”
In truth, the wedge being driven between Dong Cheng and Han Xian was entirely the work of these two officials. Sowing discord between warlords was normally a painstaking endeavor that demanded time and delicate maneuvering. Yet both Dong Cheng and Han Xian were so profoundly greedy that merely meddling with their supply lines and spreading a few choice rumors had been enough to poison their relationship overnight.
“Dong Cheng is a dangerous man,” Dai Chong murmured grimly.
It was not that Dai Chong and Feng Shuo harbored ambitions of sweeping aside every warlord to seize absolute power for themselves. Their target was Dong Cheng, and Dong Cheng alone.
“I still cannot forget the look in that man’s eyes when we crossed the Yellow River,” Dai Chong whispered.
On that desperate day of flight across the waters, Dai Chong and Feng Shuo had witnessed with their own eyes the atrocity Dong Cheng had committed against Empress Xiaoxian. From that moment on, they had branded him a mortal threat to the dynasty.
“Father of a Noble Consort or not, he dared swing a blade before Her Imperial Majesty. If that is not treason, what is?”
It had happened shortly before the chaotic ambush in which Emperor Xian was wounded by an arrow. Dong Cheng, in the midst of plundering fine silk carried by the Empress’s personal maidservant, had ruthlessly cut the maid down with his sword. The blow had landed so close that fresh blood had splattered across the hem of the Empress’s own robes.
Dong Cheng later offered the flimsy excuse that silk was urgently needed to fashion ropes for the imperial escape, and that he had acted out of desperation when the maid stubbornly refused to relinquish it. But Dai Chong had seen the truth plainly.
Dong Cheng’s blade had been aimed at the Empress from the very start. The maid holding the silk had thrown her own body into the path of the strike, shielding her mistress at the cost of her life.
In the frantic turmoil that followed, the matter had been swept under the rug, but to Dai Chong, it was undeniable proof that Dong Cheng harbored treacherous designs. If Her Imperial Majesty were to perish and Noble Consort Dong ascended to the position of Empress, there was no telling what depravities that insolent imperial in-law would inflict upon the realm.
“Can Han Xian truly suppress him on his own?” Feng Shuo asked, his brow furrowing slightly.
“At present, the only commander in camp who can match Han Xian as an equal is Yang Feng,” Dai Chong said with certainty. “Old Dong stands no chance against him.”
“Is that so? Then let us set the plan in motion.”
“Even so, my mind is not entirely at ease. If Han Xian grows bloated with pride after driving Dong Cheng out, what if he conceives treacherous ambitions of his own?”
Purging Dong Cheng was an absolute necessity, yet Feng Shuo could not bring himself to place any genuine trust in Han Xian’s bandit rabble. And Dai Chong felt precisely the same.
“Which is why we must entrust the court to someone truly worthy of our faith.”
“Are you speaking of Governor Yuan of Jizhou?”
Yuan Shao. Scion of a illustrious lineage spanning four generations of the Three Excellencies, champion of the Coalition Against Dong Zhuo, and the undisputed beacon of reverence for the Pure Stream faction.
If not him, Dai Chong thought, who else in this fractured realm could we possibly trust with the safety of His Imperial Majesty?
“I shall dispatch a secret missive through Zhang Yang, Administrator of Henei.”
Inside the government offices of Ye, the finest minds and sharpest talents of the northern realm had gathered in council.
Seated upon the highest dais was Yuan Shao, Governor of Jizhou. She radiated a majestic presence that the scholars of the Pure Stream extolled as an aura of pure gold. Just moments before, the secret letter from Dai Chong—imploring her to welcome and escort the Son of Heaven—had arrived by way of Zhang Yang.
Given the monumental gravity of the proposal, the assembled advisors were buzzing with palpable excitement. Yet Yuan Shao alone sat in unbroken silence, listening with her signature mask of impassive dignity.
Ju Shou, the strategist who had laid out the grand design for subjugating Hebei ever since Yuan Shao drove Han Fu from Jizhou, was the first to step forward.
“My lord, the hour has finally arrived to enact the grand strategy I proposed to you in days past. Let us move without delay to welcome the Son of Heaven to our lands!”
Before his words could settle, Xin Ping, a strategist hailing from Yingchuan in Yuzhou, voiced an immediate objection.
“Welcoming the Emperor is not a matter to be treated lightly. My lord, have you forgotten the fate of Dong Zhuo?”
Dong Zhuo had run wild with arrogance, to be sure, but Xin Ping’s warning was clear: harboring the Emperor made one an effortless target for every warlord under heaven. Should anyone find a pretext to accuse them of coercion, they would find themselves besieged on all sides.
Naturally, it had been Yuan Shao herself who spearheaded that very coalition back then.
Tian Feng, a native of Jizhou, promptly countered Xin Ping’s objection.
“Dong Zhuo brought ruin upon himself because he was tyrannical, arrogant, and blind to his own station! His tragic demise was merely the wretched end of a man who seized the moral high ground without possessing an ounce of virtue. What does that have to do with the person of His Imperial Majesty?”
All we have to do is bring him here and govern with virtue, Tian Feng’s argument implied.
Guo Tu, another strategist from Yingchuan, cut in with a dismissive scoff.
“To force ourselves into welcoming the Son of Heaven at this juncture is tantamount to pressing a blade against our own necks and kneeling before a new master. Every single policy and military campaign would require imperial sanction, tying our hands at every turn. It is the height of folly—nothing more than building a redundant roof atop an already finished house!”
In short: Why add another layer of bureaucracy above us? Don't you know anything about streamlining operations?
Chunyu Qiong nodded vigorously in agreement.
“Guo Gongze speaks the truth! The altars of Han have long since crumbled into ruin, leaving behind nothing but an empty title. Why pursue hollow prestige only to court tangible hardship? If we uphold the Son of Heaven, we must petition the throne and await imperial approval for every breath we take. That is not serving a sovereign—it is forging iron chains to strangle our own throats!”
To put it bluntly: The Han Dynasty is already dead.
Deep down, this was an assessment shared by nearly everyone in the hall. For that very reason, those opposing the venture far outnumbered those who championed it.
“And yet, my lord...” Ju Shou pleaded, desperate to persuade Yuan Shao before the tide turned completely.
“This winter has been exceptionally harsh,” Yuan Shao said softly, breaking her long silence at last. “I fear His Imperial Majesty must be enduring terrible suffering.”
Ju Shou froze. Tian Feng’s expression briefly brightened at her lament for the Emperor’s plight, but Ju Shou’s face fell into dismay.
“As a loyal subject, my heart bleeds for him,” Yuan Shao continued, her voice measured and cool. “Nevertheless, I must decline Dai Chong’s proposal. I trust none of you have forgotten the events of the first year of Chuping.”
The first year of Chuping.
Back when the Coalition Against Dong Zhuo was forged, Yuan Shao had openly challenged the legitimacy of the current Emperor—who had been installed by Dong Zhuo’s hand—and had attempted to elevate Liu Yu, a respected scion of the imperial clan, to the imperial throne instead.
Her words today were an unmistakable proclamation: I have never recognized that child as the legitimate sovereign of this empire, and I will not do so now.
“Alas...” Tian Feng sighed softly, hanging his head as the council drew to an abrupt close.
Later that evening, after the day’s duties were finished.
“Phew...”
Having returned to her private quarters, Yuan Shao let out a long, shuddering breath as she began to unwind the tight cloth binding her chest.
To conceal a bust whose sheer volume could only be construed as vulgar avarice, she forced herself into these agonizing bindings day in and day out. There were times when the constriction made it difficult even to draw breath, yet she bore it without complaint. To maintain the untainted, noble image of a pure Confucian scholar, she had no other choice.
She had once spent six consecutive years in mourning, observing the full three-year mourning rites twice in succession purely to cement her public reputation.
Compared to that grueling political performance, what was a lifetime of tight chest wraps if it meant remaining the supreme idol of the Pure Stream?
Yet as the oppressive binding unraveled and sweet relief washed over her, an inevitable hollow frustration crept into her chest, dragging to the surface a memory she thought she had buried long ago.
...Bo'an.
“In the end, it turned out just as you desired, brother.”
Xin Pi, younger brother of Xin Ping, offered his congratulations with a knowing smile. But Xin Ping merely snorted in response.
“Do you truly think that was my desire? It was what the Governor desired all along.”
Though an array of strategists had brought forward dozens of elaborate arguments against escorting the Emperor, the inner circle knew the real reason.
Taking in the Son of Heaven was impossible for one reason, and one reason alone: Yuan Shao herself had zero desire to do so.
After all, two suns cannot share a single sky.
Xin Pi understood this truth just as well, and his lips curved into a bitter smirk.
“And yet Ju Shou continues to press the matter upon her so stubbornly. At this rate, I doubt the Army Supervisor will enjoy her favor for much longer.”
“What else can one expect? That is simply the man’s nature.”
For Xin Ping’s part, he was content to simply wait and gather whatever political spoils fell his way. Then, a thought crossed his mind.
“Speaking of which... I hear Wenruo has also been urging Cao Cao down in Yanzhou to welcome the Son of Heaven.”
“It won’t be easy for him either,” Xin Ping said flatly. “There are plenty of advisors in Yanzhou who will oppose it just as fiercely as we did.”
“I wonder about that...” Xin Pi mused, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Something tells me Cao of Yanzhou just might accept.”
Xun Yu, styled Wenruo. Ever since his youth, men had praised him as possessing the talent to aid a king—a true kingmaker.
He had once served Yuan Shao, only to abandon her court and cast his lot with Cao Cao. Back then, Xin Pi had found the decision baffling, but watching how events were unfolding now, he couldn't help but wonder if Xun Yu had seen further than them all.
What good is harboring the talent of a kingmaker if your lord refuses to heed your counsel? In the end, unheeded genius is worth nothing at all.
[Reference Image]
This is Yuan Shao.