General Hua was killed.
I did not move.
Father did.
His eyes came to me before the messenger had even finished lowering his head.
“The man you asked about.”
Fuck.
“I was hoping everyone had forgotten that.”
Li Ru spoke beside him.
“I had not.”
Of course he hadn’t.
Father looked from him to me.
“You asked about Guan Yu this morning.”
“I remember.”
“Before he killed Hua Xiong.”
“I remember that part too.”
That was the problem.
I remembered far too much and apparently not enough.
Hua Xiong had defeated Sun Jian.
Then several allied officers.
Then Guan Yu had come forward and killed him.
That was not the version of history I had trusted.
That was Romance.
The famous version.
The dramatic version.
The version where Guan Yu killed Hua Xiong so quickly that the wine poured for him was supposedly still warm when he returned.
Which meant one of two things.
Either reality had independently produced an event almost identical to a novel written centuries later.
Or the categories in my head were worthless.
History.
Romance.
Television.
Games.
All the things I had carefully separated during my first morning here had apparently decided to reunite.
Wonderful.
Father was still looking at me.
I needed to say something.
“Hua Xiong promised to return my carts.”
Nobody answered.
I looked toward the messenger.
“Did they survive?”
Father stared.
“The carts?”
“Yes.”
“Yu.”
“I liked him too.”
That was true.
Which made it worse.
Hua Xiong had been competent.
Professional.
He had listened when I complained about six wagons in the middle of a military campaign.
He had promised to return them.
Now he was dead because a man I had specifically asked about had appeared exactly where I had feared he might.
The room no longer felt warm.
Father’s face had changed too.
The victory from that morning was gone.
“Where is Guan Yu now?”
The messenger swallowed.
“With Liu Bei’s men, my lord.”
“Still near the allied camp?”
“Yes.”
Father turned toward the door.
“Call Fengxian.”
My stomach dropped.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
Hua Xiong died.
Then Lü Bu went out.
Then Zhang Fei.
Then Guan Yu.
Then Liu Bei.
Three men against Lü Bu.
A battle I had dismissed during my first hour in this world as something that probably never happened.
Probably.
That word had aged badly.
I looked toward Father.
“Do you need to send him?”
Father’s eyes moved back to me.
“Hua Xiong is dead.”
Fair.
That was difficult to argue against.
I tried anyway.
“Other generals exist.”
Niu Fu looked at me.
So did Uncle Min.
That had sounded more insulting than intended.
“I mean that positively.”
Father ignored me.
“Fengxian will hold the pass.”
I looked at Li Ru.
Nothing.
No rescue.
Apparently everyone had decided reenacting Romance was acceptable government policy.
Fine.
I had learned something.
Hua Xiong had died to Guan Yu.
If the rest followed Romance too, then at least I knew what happened next.
Probably.
I hated that word.
Lü Bu left before sunset.
The first report arrived the following morning.
He had met the coalition forces near the pass.
He had driven back one officer.
Then another.
Father was pleased.
I was not.
The second report arrived before noon.
More fighting.
More names.
None I cared about.
Then the third messenger arrived while I was eating.
I already hated horses for several excellent reasons.
Now I had another.
Someone had looked at bad news and decided it was arriving too slowly.
The messenger barely waited to catch his breath.
“General Lü engaged another warrior.”
Father set down his cup.
“Who?”
“A man named Zhang Fei.”
There it was.
My appetite disappeared.
Father noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I lowered my eyes to the table.
Do not speak.
That seemed like an extremely achievable task.
The messenger continued.
“The two fought for some time. Neither gained a clear advantage.”
“And?”
“Another man joined Zhang Fei.”
My fingers tightened around the cup.
The messenger said:
“Guan Yu.”
I kept looking at the table.
Excellent.
Still silent.
A skill I should have developed several weeks earlier.
Father asked:
“And then?”
“A third man entered.”
The messenger paused.
“Liu Bei.”
Fuck me.
Three Heroes against Lü Bu.
It happened.
Not metaphorically.
Not as some later exaggeration loosely based on several different battles.
Those three men had actually gone out together against Lü Bu.
Right now.
In the same world where I was sitting beside a bowl of grain and wondering whether my future wife’s father might eventually raise troops.
My historical knowledge had not become more reliable.
It had become less.
That was much worse.
And if that part of Romance could happen, there were other parts I could no longer dismiss.
Diao Chan came to mind.
I did not remember the details well enough to trust them. I remembered a beautiful woman, Father, Lü Bu, and Father eventually being very dead.
That seemed sufficient reason to hope I never met her.
Father was questioning the messenger.
Losses.
Position.
Whether Lü Bu had been wounded.
He had not.
Good.
That mattered more than I wanted to admit.
Eventually the messenger explained that Lü Bu had withdrawn toward the fortified position rather than remain exposed.
Father did not like that.
Neither did Niu Fu.
Uncle Min asked whether more allied forces were advancing.
Yes.
Not one army.
Several.
Not perfectly coordinated.
Not moving at the same speed.
But moving.
Li Ru had been silent through most of the report.
Then he pulled one of the route tablets closer.
“My lord.”
Father looked at him.
“Luoyang is becoming the coalition’s objective rather than our advantage.”
The room changed.
Not dramatically.
Nobody gasped.
Nobody needed to.
Father looked down at the route.
“The passes still hold.”
“For now.”
Niu Fu frowned.
“You want to abandon them?”
“No.”
Li Ru touched the map west of Luoyang.
“I want us to stop treating the capital as though remaining here is itself victory.”
My stomach tightened.
No.
I knew where this conversation went.
Father followed his finger.
“Chang’an.”
There it was.
Li Ru nodded.
“Your strongest support remains west. The passes west remain under our control. Chang’an can be defended.”
Father said nothing.
“The Emperor can be moved.”
There.
The Emperor.
The court.
Officials.
Stores.
Households.
Records.
Servants.
Carts.
My fucking carts.
I suddenly understood why I was going to hate this conversation.
Father looked toward one of the clerks.
“How quickly?”
The clerk froze.
“My lord?”
“How quickly could the court move?”
The man looked down at his records.
Then at another clerk.
Then at Li Ru.
Nobody answered.
Excellent.
Government had finally encountered a question large enough to frighten government.
Then Li Ru looked at me.
No.
I knew that look.
“No.”
Father turned.
“I said nothing.”
“I know.”
That was why I had answered early.
His eyes narrowed.
“What are you refusing?”
“Whatever happens after Lord Li looks at me like that.”
Niu Fu lowered his head.
Uncle Min suddenly found the route tablet very interesting.
Li Ru remained infuriatingly calm.
“The Young Master has already been checking the western properties.”
Father nodded.
“Registered grain.”
“No.”
“Actual grain.”
“No.”
“Movable grain.”
“Absolutely not.”
Father’s mouth moved.
Li Ru continued.
“Working carts. Draft animals. Drivers. Road conditions.”
I looked around the room.
“This feels like theft.”
“Of what?” Father asked.
“My retirement.”
That finally made Uncle Min laugh.
I did not.
I had worked very hard to avoid working.
Somehow even that had failed.
Father pointed toward the western records.
“How many carts can move now?”
I knew the answer.
That was humiliating.
“Across the properties we checked?”
“Yes.”
“Fourteen before Hua Xiong took six. Three were already carrying grain. Five remained reserved.”
“For your mother.”
“Yes.”
Father nodded.
“Good.”
No.
Not good.
The word had sounded far too final.
Li Ru began ordering more registers brought in.
Not household registers.
Government ones.
Imperial stores.
Road stations.
Official households.
Palace transport.
I watched the pile grow.
One bundle.
Then another.
Then another.
I looked at Li Ru.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
“I thought you wanted me to prepare an estate.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
Nothing in his face suggested that the answer had become ridiculous.
I pointed at the table.
“Then why are we suddenly moving the entire Han dynasty?”
For one moment, nobody spoke.
Father laughed first.
Uncle Min followed.
Even Niu Fu’s mouth moved.
I looked toward Li Ru.
He remained serious.
“We are not moving the entire Han dynasty.”
Relief.
Finally.
Someone reasonable.
Li Ru continued.
“Only His Majesty, the imperial household, the court, necessary officials, state records, selected stores, military support, and the households required to sustain them.”
I stared at him.
“Lord Li.”
“Yes, Young Master?”
“That is the Han dynasty.”
Father laughed harder.
I ignored him.
“This began with one estate.”
“Yes.”
“For me.”
“Yes.”
“With wine.”
“I do not recall the wine being part of the official preparation.”
“It was central.”
Li Ru looked back at the records.
“That may need to be reduced.”
I stared.
Now it was personal.
Father finally stopped laughing.
“Enough.”
Good.
At last.
He pointed toward the records.
“You will help Wenyou.”
“I can’t.”
Father frowned.
“Why not?”
“Unfortunately, I have already taken on another duty.”
That actually made him pause.
“What duty?”
“Courtship.”
Silence.
I added, “There is correspondence.”
Father stared at me.
“Lady Wei can wait.”
Cruel.
Absolutely cruel.
“She has already waited through several councils.”
“She will survive another.”
“You do not know that.”
“She has survived meeting you twice.”
Uncle Min looked away.
I stared at Father.
I had expected parental support during courtship.
Instead I had received professional sabotage.
Li Ru quietly moved one of the registers toward me.
I looked at it.
Then at him.
“You enjoyed that.”
“No.”
Liar.
I opened the register.
If they were actually serious about moving the court, the household figures were almost useless.
Mother could decide what Mother left behind.
The Emperor could not.
Officials would bring attendants.
Attendants would bring baggage.
Records needed carts.
Stores needed carts.
Food needed carts.
Horses and oxen needed fodder.
Thousands of people needed somewhere to sleep once they reached the other end.
I hated that I understood the problem.
Understanding things was becoming expensive.
Father noticed me reading.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You made the face.”
“I have only one face.”
“The one you make before saying something troublesome.”
Li Ru looked at me.
I hated that they were learning.
I tapped the imperial transport figure.
“Is this how many carts exist?”
The clerk answered.
“Yes, Young Master.”
Wrong answer.
I looked at him.
“Exist where?”
He hesitated.
Better.
“How many are in Luoyang?”
He checked.
“How many can actually move today?”
Another register.
“How many have animals?”
Silence.
There it was.
I sat back.
Father looked toward Li Ru.
Li Ru looked almost pleased.
I immediately regretted everything.
“The same problem,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Registered.”
“Yes.”
“Actual.”
“Yes.”
“And movable.”
I looked at him.
“I would appreciate it if you stopped saying that like I invented numbers.”
Father laughed once.
Li Ru ignored me.
He began issuing orders.
Physical tallies.
Road stations.
Draft animals.
Storage west.
Available drivers.
Grain at destination.
I had asked three questions.
He had created an administration.
Again.
This man was dangerous.
By the time the meeting ended, the sun had moved far enough that Lady Wei could reasonably accuse the government of interfering with our relationship.
I intended to mention this in my next letter.
Father dismissed the others.
I stood immediately.
“Yu.”
I stopped.
Of course.
“What?”
“We move if Wenyou confirms it can be done.”
The humor left the room.
I looked at the route toward Chang’an.
Luoyang.
West.
The direction I had wanted from the beginning.
I should have been happy.
This was what I wanted.
The household west.
Mother west.
Distance from Yuan Shao.
Distance from Cao Cao.
Distance from the coalition.
Except now the Emperor was coming.
The court was coming.
Father was coming.
Half the government was coming.
I had wanted to escape history.
History had apparently decided to relocate with me.
“Wonderful,” I said.
Father frowned.
“You do not sound pleased.”
“I wanted an estate.”
“You may still have one.”
“Will the Emperor be nearby?”
Father smiled.
I already knew the answer.
I left.
Qiao’er was waiting outside my rooms when I returned.
She took one look at me.
Then at the bundle of records under Xu An’s arms.
Her eyebrows rose.
“What happened?”
“I asked for land.”
“That happened weeks ago.”
“I am still suffering the consequences.”
Xu An dropped the records onto the table.
Qiao’er looked at them.
“More properties?”
“Apparently.”
She reached for the top bundle.
I stopped her.
“Imperial transport.”
Her hand paused.
Then she looked at me.
I nodded.
“Father may move the court west.”
The amusement disappeared.
“To Chang’an?”
“Yes.”
She was quiet for a moment.
Then:
“And Young Master?”
“I have been assigned the great honor of discovering whether civilization owns enough oxen.”
Her mouth moved.
“Do not laugh.”
“I did not.”
“Your face continues to have disciplinary problems.”
She lowered her eyes.
I sat.
Qiao’er stepped closer and straightened my collar.
I looked at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Making you presentable.”
“I’m not going.”
She adjusted my sleeve.
“Then Young Master may refuse His Excellency while properly dressed.”
I stared at her.
Right.
There was still another meeting tomorrow.
Another register.
Another discussion.
Possibly more oxen.
I looked toward the records.
Then west.
Somewhere beyond Luoyang was the quiet estate I had imagined on my first morning.
Food.
Wine.
A beautiful wife.
Mother safe.
Qiao’er nearby.
No office.
No command.
No famous people.
It had been a modest dream.
Now the Emperor was coming.