The Road to Luoyang - The Human Hunt
The Yellow Turbans of Jizhou, whose numbers had once swelled to one hundred and fifty thousand, had been annihilated. Yet the word “annihilated” did not mean every last one of the fifteen thousand had been slaughtered. That would have been impossible, and more importantly, unwise. This was not a foreign war; it was a civil conflict within the Han Empire itself. The aftermath had to be considered. Whatever else they were, these people had been subjects of the Han, and with the Yellow Turbans broken they would remain Han subjects. Slaughtering them to the last man would have been foolish—especially in an era when the vast majority lived by farming. Every soldier, Dong Zhuo included, understood this perfectly.
So they fought just enough to force surrender, took those who yielded prisoner, and chased those who fled. The slow ones died; the fast ones were allowed to escape. In the end, how many had been killed or captured? Zhang Jue himself was dead, but his two younger brothers still lived. There remained the possibility they might rally fresh forces around them. While letting some flee was acceptable, they still needed to kill or capture enough to ensure any future gathering would be manageable. Roughly thirty percent of the original host—some forty to fifty thousand—had been taken or slain.
Or so one might think. In modern warfare a thirty-percent loss is often considered total collapse, but this was the year 184. Military doctrine from two millennia later had no place here. Besides, the Yellow Turbans had never been professional soldiers; they were a rabble of untrained peasants. Once thoroughly terrified, they would spend the rest of their lives trembling in obedience. There had been no need to massacre four or five myriads. Dong Zhuo’s punitive army had achieved a kill-or-capture count of roughly twenty thousand—seven thousand dead and thirteen thousand taken alive. Even that relatively modest butcher’s bill had been inflated by the natural bloodlust of Dong Zhuo and her Xiliang riders.
Why so few casualties? The answer was simple: the battle had ended almost before it began. The moment the sandstorm Zhang Jue summoned with his sorcery was blown away by ordinary rain, the rebels’ morale had hit rock bottom. To every eye it looked as though Heaven itself stood with the punitive force. Many fled before the first arrow was loosed. When Zhang Jue fell in the opening moments, any thought of heroic resistance died with him. How many men could still be expected to fight bravely? Fight? There was no fight. Surrender or flight was the order of the day.
Thus the punitive army, having suffered almost no losses, was in a festive mood. And it was not merely an atmosphere—they were literally preparing a feast. Just outside the tents lay heaps of corpses, yet inside the same tents the mood was one of boisterous celebration. It was grotesque if one stopped to think about it. Yet something felt even more off. Were these men truly preparing a banquet without bothering to bury the bodies? When exactly were the dead to be interred—after the meal?
The correct answer was: they were not going to be buried at all.
Even in this era it was basic courtesy to inter the bodies of one’s enemies. At the very least, common sense dictated they should be burned if burial was too troublesome. The people of this time were not so stupid as to ignore the fact that unburied corpses bred plague. A pile of bodies? That was a guaranteed epidemic. So why leave them?
Was it because Dong Zhuo enjoyed tormenting the common people? Or because she liked plagues? While she would one day take sadistic pleasure in oppressing the populace, that day had not yet come. (Even then she had shown no fondness for plague; she preferred tearing people apart with her own hands.) The reason was simpler: these were rebels. In this age there existed the belief that a body had to be properly tended before the soul could journey to the afterlife. Bury traitors? Why grant such mercy to wretches who had risen against the throne? Of course plague would spread… but the people of Han would rather die of disease than show kindness to the corpses of rebels.
And if they showed such contempt even for the dead, how likely were they to treat living prisoners gently? Especially these Xiliang barbarians?
Of course they would not.
Shiiik—!
Thwack!
“Aaaaagh!”
“A hit!”
“Khehehehe! Hey, Chiyeon! Your archery improves by the day!”
“Hah! No matter how well I shoot, how could I ever match my lord?”
The Xiliang men’s laughter rang loud and merry. At that same moment the prisoners shook with terror, for their hell was only beginning.
Guo Si, who had been enjoying the banquet and applauding Li Jue’s party trick of “shooting arrows to sever fingers,” licked his lips with clear disappointment.
“Still, my lord, isn’t it a little unsatisfying? These bastards aren’t as quick as the horse-riding tribes, nor are they particularly rebellious. There should have been far more of the dull-witted ones, yet we only have about ten thousand. I worry there won’t be much sport in that hunt.”
That hunt?
Zhao Yun, who had been grimacing at the mere mention of the Xiliang full-course blood feast, pricked up his ears at the word. Ah, so in Xiliang they finished their banquets with a hunt? Given how many beasts roamed those lands it made sense. But this was Jizhou—would there be enough game for so many men to hunt together? It was the most developed region in Hebei, after all.
“Zilong! Just by looking at your face I can tell exactly what you’re thinking: ‘Will there even be enough game in Jizhou?’ Am I right?”
Unlike Zhao Yun, Cao Cao had been thoroughly enjoying the Xiliang blood-feast course. She looked at his expression and spoke with a teasing lilt.
“…Was it that obvious?”
Zhao Yun’s face flushed with embarrassment. Cao Cao giggled as though he were the most adorable thing in the world and reached out to ruffle his hair like a child.
“Goodness…! Zilong, you really can be so cute! It reminds me of my younger siblings when they were small. Since we’ve come this far, why don’t you just call me Big Sister? We’re that close, aren’t we?”
Just what kind of relationship did this woman think they had? Or perhaps it was simply one of her habitual quirks. Even the first time they met she had spoken as if they were already intimate. More importantly, how long did she intend to keep stroking his head? He wished she would stop soon—everyone was watching!
Slap!
“You lewd sluts and bastards. I should have known an uneducated rabble would act obscenely in front of others without shame. That one has always been a commoner, so I suppose it can’t be helped… but Cao Cao! Weren’t you at least educated in the household of a eunuch? Or are you simply a whore by nature?”
As always, Yuan Shu cut in with a sharp rebuke and slapped Cao Cao’s hand away from Zhao Yun’s head. Normally Cao Cao would have brushed her off with some nonsense, but—
“Aha! So Lady Yuan Shu, being a properly raised young lady, only visits Zilong’s tent in secret? Mm… Indeed, it seems Gonglu truly is the pride of the Yuan family of Runan.”
“What?! H-how did you— I mean, what nonsense are you spouting? Slandering others so freely… it seems you really did learn something from those eunuchs after all.”
Yuan Shu tried to feign ignorance, but her face had flushed crimson all the way to the back of her neck. It was obviously a lie to anyone watching. Meanwhile, Zhao Yun did not react with shock at Cao Cao’s accusation—How did she know?—because it was only natural. Yuan Shu had stood outside his tent screaming at the top of her lungs. Stupid woman. If she wanted to keep the visit secret she should have left as quietly as she arrived instead of throwing a tantrum.
Though it was true that Zhao Yun had kicked her womb and used her throat like an onahole, the one who had come looking for him first had been Yuan Shu. Moreover, it had not been for her own pleasure alone; he had done it to save everyone. Therefore Zhao Yun felt perfectly justified. …A little guilty, perhaps, but justified all the same.
While Cao Cao and Yuan Shu bickered, a sudden drumbeat rolled across the camp.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Dong Zhuo, who had been presiding over the Xiliang-style feast, signaled a nearby soldier. The untimely sound of drums filled the banquet area. When every eye turned toward her, the voluptuous woman rose to her feet, drained her cup in one gulp, and spoke.
“Well? Are you all enjoying the feast? I hope you’ve drunk in moderation! Those who know me already understand—in Xiliang we always go hunting together before the closing banquet to secure fresh meat! This time will be no different!”
A thunderous cheer erupted from the Xiliang men while the others looked on with varying degrees of discomfort. A small handful simply blinked in confusion at the sudden declaration. Zhao Yun, of course, was among the confused. Was there some great hunting ground in Jizhou?
His question was answered when Dong Zhuo opened her mouth again.
“But this damned province is sorely lacking in proper game! I don’t know how people live in such a boring place. Fortunately, His Majesty the Emperor has bestowed upon us some truly exquisite prey! The meat won’t be fresh, but that can’t be helped.”
The Xiliang men roared with laughter at her joke. The others fought down nausea. Won’t be fresh? Meat that can’t be eaten…? Surely she didn’t mean—
“Still, the prizes remain the same, so don’t worry! Kehehe… That’s right! I’ve always taken first place, so the grand prize is pointless for me, but the first-place reward stays the same!”
At those words the men howled like beasts.
“Right then! The hunt begins! Open the gates! Release the prisoners!! Let them run while the drum beats a hundred times! …The human hunt starts now!!!”
Fuck these crazy bastards… The prey were none other than the prisoners.