The Rotting Heart of Luoyang
The imperial palace in Luoyang was in an uproar for days on end. The court’s victory proclamation declaring the Yellow Turban Rebellion crushed had spread across the realm, and both inside and outside the palace overflowed with wine and roasted meat. Dancers adorned with golden ornaments twirled gracefully while musicians summoned from every corner plucked strings and sang of a Taiping Shengshi—a golden age of peace and prosperity.
Yet behind the splendor of the main audience hall, in a deep inner chamber hidden beneath the shadow of Beimang Mountain, an entirely different kind of performance was unfolding.
Eunuchs dressed in black-and-crimson uniforms worked beneath robes meant for the emperor. At the pinnacle of these eunuchs stood one of the Ten Eunuchs—Jang Yang. He covered his mouth with a hand, unable to suppress his laughter.
“The leaders of the Yellow Turbans have all been beheaded, and the people’s hearts have been stabilized. This is the perfect moment to emulate the virtue of Emperor Gaozu of the Han and bestow widespread benevolence upon the realm.”
The other eunuchs beside him—Jo Chung, Gwak Seung, Dan Gyu, and the rest—nodded in unison. Jo Chung chimed in with a chuckle.
“The people’s hearts… heh heh. What is so grand about the people’s hearts? If His Majesty simply issues a sacred edict across the land, won’t the commoners weep with gratitude?”
At Jo Chung’s words, Jang Yang’s smile spread like cheap silk, thin and slippery.
“One does not reward a dog simply because it barks. Guarding the house is merely fulfilling its duty. Those who clamor for rewards while speaking of merit… one fears they will only reveal their own foolishness and fall from His Majesty’s favor.”
The other eunuchs—Son Jang, Pil Ram, Yul Sung, Go Mang, Jang Gong, Han Ri, and Song Jeon—readily recited ancient phrases.
“As the Records of the Grand Historian says, gonggojinju—when one’s merit is so great it shakes the ruler. How many such figures exist in this court today?”
“Then what should be done? The Grand General Ha Jin is His Majesty’s relative by marriage and enjoys great trust…”
“That treacherous man dares to receive His Majesty’s favor while trying to deceive him. Lately he has been winning over the people’s hearts. He gathers ruffians and has even made contact with prestigious nobles.”
A brief silence fell. Then Gwak Seung whispered in a low voice.
“It is time to begin checking him, slowly but surely.”
“But we need proper justification. How can we move openly?”
Jang Yang lifted his cup and smiled.
“That is why the bestowal of titles and rewards must be done wisely. Men like Won So and Jo Jo, who rose from humble origins, have rendered service yet shown no sincerity.”
Gwak Seung slapped his knee.
“What if we send them to Yanzhou? I hear remnants of the bandits are gathering there once again.”
Jang Yang nodded at the suggestion.
“Indeed, strange movements have been reported in Yanzhou lately. Give them suitable provisions and troops, then order them to pacify the region. That should suffice.”
“And if… they return alive?”
“Then they will have achieved even greater merit. Even without sincerity, they will have no choice but to receive official titles and ranks.”
Their conversation was wrapped in refined, elegant language, yet the stench of blood lingered at the end of every sentence. Deciding who would live and who would die was the exclusive domain of the ten eunuchs coiled like serpents in the depths of the palace.
They spoke of Confucian ideals and the righteous way of the Han imperial house, but their tongues were sharper than blades and slicker than oil.
That night, the court remained peaceful, and the emperor laughed while embracing women as fleeting as clouds. Yet behind this so-called golden age, a dark shadow was spreading.
In the northern outer city of Luoyang, far from the imperial palace, a different kind of authority reigned—one of austere restraint rather than gaudy gold and jade.
Ha Jin, the Grand General, sat inside a pavilion wearing black silk court robes. Beside him, a trumpet creeper flower that had not yet fully withered was quietly dying. Across from him knelt a man with a face like white jade and deep, piercing eyes.
His name was Won So, courtesy name Boncho. He was the legitimate heir of the prestigious Yuan clan, which had produced three generations of the Three Excellencies. Though he bowed his head respectfully, the glint in his eyes was sharper than any blade.
“His Majesty has issued a proclamation declaring the Yellow Turbans suppressed, yet it was we who achieved that victory. Nevertheless, the court now views anyone who speaks of merit with suspicion.”
Ha Jin silently lifted his teacup and warmed his twisted lips with the liquid.
“So? What would you have me do?”
Won So carefully straightened his posture. His voice was quiet, but the spirit within it was unmistakable.
“What this servant fears is that a court which ignores merit will once again betray the people’s hearts. The root cause of such behavior is the Ten Eunuchs who blind His Majesty’s eyes and ears. Now is the time for the Grand General to draw his sword.”
Ha Jin’s eyebrows twitched faintly.
“You know as well as I do that His Majesty trusts the Ten Eunuchs greatly and keeps them close. They were recently enfeoffed as marquises. If an outsider like myself, a mere relative by marriage, attempts to purge the eunuchs, the court will brand us as traitors plotting rebellion.”
Won So answered with firm composure.
“The Han does not belong to His Majesty alone—it must uphold ye, the proper rites. The eunuchs hold the blades while the ministers keep their mouths shut. The discipline of the realm has long since collapsed. Confucius said that tyrannical government is fiercer than a tiger. The people suffer in misery and the people’s hearts waver. This is the moment when loyal subjects must take up arms.”
Ha Jin remained silent. His gaze appeared steady, yet the hand holding the cup trembled.
Won So lowered his head deeply.
“My words may sound presumptuous, but the Ten Eunuchs must be eliminated as soon as possible. If they are not cut out, the court will lose the people’s hearts again, and flames of rebellion will ignite across the realm once more.”
Ha Jin stared at the garden for a long moment before finally speaking.
“Removing the Ten Eunuchs will throw the court into chaos. Yet you say that chaos is necessary… I have come to agree.”
A brief flash of triumph crossed Won So’s eyes. He bowed his head even lower and continued.
“That chaos is an essential storm required to usher in a true golden age.”
Ha Jin set down his cup and rose quietly.
“I will engrave your counsel in my heart. But do not forget—we now stand upon the edge of a blade.”
At those words, Won So finally allowed himself a small smile.
“This servant… has always lived upon the edge of a blade.”
At that moment, a breeze swept through, and the trumpet creeper flower, which had been clinging desperately to life, finally fell. The resolve of the two men beneath the pavilion was calling forth a massive storm over Luoyang.
Near the city of He.
The sound of horse hooves echoed across the devastated land. A general wearing a black helmet slowly rode his horse through a village still smoldering from the recent battle against the remaining Yellow Turbans. His name was Jo Jo, courtesy name Mengde.
A man who looked at the court with one eye and at himself with the other. On the surface he spoke of great causes, but inside he always pursued his own interests.
Ha Hu Don, riding behind him, whispered.
“Mengde, I hear bandit groups are gathering again in Yanzhou. The suppression order hasn’t been issued yet, but the movements look ominous.”
Jo Jo gave a slight nod from atop his horse. He surveyed the surroundings—corpses scattered across the ground, collapsed homes, a pond stained red with blood. Looking at it all, he spoke quietly.
“The Yellow Turban Rebellion was only the beginning. The people’s hearts have already turned away. The court pretends to care about the people’s hearts, but in the end they are only busy securing their own interests.”
Ha Hu Don asked indifferently.
“Then what do you plan to do? Are you going to save the people?”
Jo Jo curled his lips.
“Saving the people… those fools who move only on such lofty justifications always rot away in the countryside. What this world needs now is a plausible justification—and beneath it, a well-honed, razor-sharp blade.”
He slowly stroked the sword at his waist. It was a blade still wet with blood from the battlefield, not yet dry.
“I will shout about justice and great causes, but in the end, they are nothing but tools.”
Ha Hu Don shrugged. He already knew. Jo Jo was not a simple ambitious man. He was a greedy bastard who disguised his greed as ambition, and disguised his ambition as ideals.
Jo Jo raised his head and gazed at the hazy sky in the distance.
“I realized before anyone else that this country is rotting. But I cannot simply lament like the others. The rotten roots must be cut away. That is the path for both this country and for me.”
He turned his horse’s head northward. Ha Hu Don quickly followed.
Rumors were already spreading that the Yellow Turbans were gathering once more in Yanzhou, and that the Ten Eunuchs intended to send those who had rendered military service but shown no sincerity. Yet even after hearing such rumors, Jo Jo’s expression did not change in the slightest.
In his eyes burned only one thing—the ambition to survive this chaotic age and rise to the highest “seat.” For that goal, he was ready at any moment to put on the mouth that sang of justice or the body that swore loyalty.
And the one capable of doing so would become the true victor of this turbulent era.
Near Youzhou.
The endless plains had been burned black, leaving only traces behind. Across the smoke-filled field, heavy footsteps trod carefully.
A lightly armed man stood before a collapsed wall. Anyone passing by would feel their heart grow calm at the sight of him. His long ears that reached down to his chin were an unforgettable feature.
This man who resembled a Buddha was Liu Bei, courtesy name Xuande. He was a descendant of Liu Jeong, son of Liu Seung the Prince of Zhongshan. Though he had grown up in poverty as a very distant member of the imperial clan, no one around him acknowledged it.
Beside him stood a man with a long red beard that reached his chest. His imposing aura evoked the war gods of the jianghu. He stood with arms crossed. His name was Guan Yu, courtesy name Yunchang.
Opposite them, a man with thick arms and a heavy iron mace hanging at his waist sat leaning against the wall. His name was Zhang Fei, courtesy name Yide. Despite his massive build, he possessed the refined air of a nobleman—though the look in his eyes was anything but gentle.
“This whole village… burned to the ground,” Zhang Fei muttered, spitting out the blade of grass he had been chewing. “And those fake bastards are still running around.”
Guan Yu nodded slowly.
“Even if they are remnants of the Yellow Turbans… this is too cruel. The entire village burned, and only the elderly and children remain.”
Liu Bei gazed at the collapsed gate before speaking softly.
“If there are no people, then for whom does the Han exist…? The only reason we fight is for them.”
Zhang Fei snorted at those words.
“Big Brother, but last time when those high officials gave you sweet talk about official posts, your eyes lit up like lanterns, didn’t they?”
Liu Bei did not smile. Guan Yu gently rebuked him.
“Elder Brother desires an official post so he can save even more people.”
There was firm faith in Guan Yu’s words. But Liu Bei remained silent for a long time before finally speaking.
“That’s right. I want to obtain an official position.”
Both sworn brothers looked at him at the same time.
“If I can rise to a high position through office and save more of the people… then I believe that is not greed, but justice.”
Guan Yu nodded. Zhang Fei stood up and said,
“If Big Brother wants to do it, there’s no need to stop him. But even after you rise to that position, don’t forget about these little ones here.”
Zhang Fei pointed. A few children wrapped in ragged cloth were huddled together. One of them cautiously lifted his head. Liu Bei walked over slowly and placed his hand on the child’s head. The small, bony hand clutched at Liu Bei’s sleeve.
“Elder Brother,” Guan Yu called in a low voice. “Rumors say the remaining Yellow Turbans are gathering again around Jizhou. The court may soon organize another suppression force.”
Liu Bei carefully lifted the child into his arms and stood.
“Then we must fight again. So that no more children like these are born.”
Zhang Fei added heavily,
“Still, remember this. If the day comes when you only shout about ‘justice’ and lose sight of your true heart… then I’ll be the first to punch you in the face.”
Liu Bei smiled. And within that smile lay both a man’s sense of justice and his desire. What he wished to protect and what he wished to obtain were, at their root, not so different.
And that night, yellow banners once again rose in Jizhou.
On a plain in Yanzhou.
A night where even the moonlight hid behind murky clouds. A massive shadow filled the plain. The wind was cold, but their eyes burned like fire.
Ragged clothing. Torn robes. Belts woven from dark red cloth and yellow headbands tied once more across their foreheads.
“The General of Heaven has returned to the void. The Generals of Earth and Man have also had their necks severed by the hands of oppressors…”
A man with bloodshot eyes raised his voice. In his hand he clutched an old talisman that Zhang Jiao had once used to heal the masses.
“Yet the heavens have not yet changed. The blue sky is already dead. The yellow sky shall rise again… The realm will surely return to the hands of us, the common people!”
At his cry, the surrounding crowd began lighting their torches. Countless banners rose at once and fluttered in the wind.
The flames of rage and faith bloomed once more beneath the rotten rule of the court. They carved the final sentence spoken by the General of Heaven, Zhang Jiao, upon their lips.
“The blue sky is dead—therefore the yellow sky shall rise!”
The Yellow Turbans’ uprising was stirring once again. The winds of Yanzhou, carrying the scent of blood, began to blow quietly toward the imperial court.