After Cao Zhi and his troops departed, the remaining soldiers escorted the women back to the camp for temporary shelter. Among them was a young woman whose face was smudged with dark paint, her demeanor calm and reserved. She kept her head bowed, but her eyes, partially hidden beneath tangled hair, lingered on the direction Cao Zhi had left, betraying a complex, hard-to-read expression.
This young nobleman… he was unlike the rough soldiers she had seen before. His clothing, though not excessively luxurious, was finely tailored; his manners carried a natural elegance, a quiet nobility and composure. Most striking was the way he looked at her—there was sympathy, concern—a feeling so rare to someone who had endured the cruelty and greed of the Xiongnu.
Who exactly was he? Someone commanding elite cavalry, respected even by Zhang Liao—what sort of person was this?
After a short while, a younger, gentler-looking soldier entered carrying food for distribution. When it was her turn, she accepted the bowl, her fingers trembling slightly with nervousness. As the soldier turned to leave, she spoke in a tiny, almost swallowed voice, timid and hesitant:
“Mi…milord…pardon…th-th-the young nobleman who came to see us… which general… might he be? This humble woman… if I survive… I wish to… remember my benefactor…”
Her voice was hoarse and weak, full of humility and uncertainty, perfectly embodying a grateful, fearful refugee.
The soldier paused, glanced at her—an unattractive, trembling woman—and did not suspect anything. Instead, he spoke with pride: “Oh, you mean him? That is the third son of our Lord Cao Sike, Cao Zhi! A remarkable man, known throughout the land for his talent. He’s here to gain experience with the army. Consider yourselves lucky—our young master is kind-hearted!”
Third son… Cao Zhi!
He was Cao Cao’s son! The woman recalled her father’s old acquaintanceship with Cao Cao, when her father had studied under him. But people change—Cao Cao had become a powerful, controversial warlord, holding the emperor hostage. She could not reveal her true identity.
Countless thoughts flashed through her mind, dizzying her. She quickly bowed her head, masking her pale face, and spoke even more humbly: “S-So it is Young Master Cao… this humble woman… offers her thanks…” She tried to rise and perform a proper bow, awkward and uncertain.
The soldier waved his hand: “Enough, enough. The young master is generous; no need for formalities. Eat and rest.” He left.
**Cao Army Camp**
After the rescue, Zhao Yun and Cao Zhi returned to the newly built Cao camp with Zhang Liao. Cao Zhi’s thoughts lingered on the uniquely poised young woman who had provided crucial information. He returned under the pretext of checking on the rescued women.
Most of the women were dazed, but she still sat in the corner, back straight, unconsciously tracing patterns in the dust with a small stick. Her movements were gentle yet focused, as if performing an act both natural and important.
Cao Zhi approached quietly, careful not to disturb her. His gaze fell upon the marks in the dust—these were not Xiongnu symbols, but finely written Han clerical script, elegant and classical. For a simple woman who had just escaped Xiongnu captivity, such literacy was remarkable.
Cao Zhi cleared his throat softly.
Startled, she quickly wiped the markings, flinching as if her tail had been stepped on. Her hands clasped nervously, face briefly flashing panic.
Though her face bore blemishes, her features were remarkably refined. Had it not been for the paint and marks, she would have been strikingly beautiful. Perhaps she had intentionally disguised herself with difficult-to-remove pigments.
Cao Zhi’s curiosity deepened. “How did you fall into Xiongnu hands?” he asked.
The woman hesitated, then replied: “I served in a noble household in Luoyang, as a maid to the lady of the house. When the Xiongnu raided south, I, along with hundreds of other Han women, was captured and remained in their hands for several years.”
“Had it not been for your timely rescue, I would have perished without hope. I am eternally grateful for your aid.”
Cao Zhi thought her words somewhat rehearsed, but they explained her literacy. He replied gently: “No thanks are needed. The Han is weakened and cannot protect its people; this is not your fault.”
She looked up, surprised—she had not expected such words from a noble scion.
In these chaotic times, the capture and slaughter of civilians were common. Not only the Xiongnu, but even Han generals sometimes harmed the people, killing them for military merit. In such disorder, the common folk were as insignificant as ants, ignored by princes and officials.
In later times, Cai Wenji would memorialize these tragedies in her poems:
> “Not a soul left alive, corpses propped upright.
> By the horses hung men’s heads, women carried behind.”
Cao Zhi then asked for her name.
The woman instinctively said, “I am Zhao Ji… surname…”
Suddenly realizing, she quickly corrected herself: “Surname Chen.”
Cao Zhi thought: Chen Zhao… no notable Chen women at the time. Could this be a pseudonym? She might be the legendary talented lady, Cai Wenji. He refrained from pressing further, instead speaking on lighter topics, inquiring about life under the Xiongnu, showing sympathy.
Her answers remained brief and evasive, yet Cao Zhi noticed subtle signs—when certain Xiongnu words or customs were mentioned, her eyes flickered with understanding, even mild critical observation, more like a scholar studying a foreign culture than a simple victim.