The sun hung pale and sickly, the cold wind cutting to the bone—only by drawing close to the brazier could one feel any hint of warmth.
The gatekeeper hurried to and fro, and before long, Xun Shuang, the Sikong, arrived from beyond the courtyard in scholarly robes.
After entering the capital, Dong Zhuo had selected renowned scholars from across the realm to stand in opposition to the court's established ministers. Unfortunately, having long resided in Xiliang, establishing his authority at court proved no easy task—even promoting no small number of scholars failed to suppress the voices of dissent against him.
Earlier, he had even tried to build good relations with those who refused to show him respect. Even when those men rejected his goodwill, abandoned their posts and fled while cursing his name, he bore no grudges and appointed them as regional Taishou as a gesture of reconciliation.
And what was the result? Those ungrateful dogs actually joined forces to launch a campaign against him.
Xiangguo Dong was full of pent-up fury, and he showed no kindness even to the renowned scholars he himself had elevated. "What business does the Sikong have gracing my humble abode?"
Fortunately, Xun Shuang had a good temper and paid no mind to his attitude—so long as appearances were maintained, that was enough; caring too much would only invite trouble. "Reporting to the Xiangguo, with the army recently returning to the capital, the selection of camp sites requires the Xiangguo's review."
—The Sikong oversaw matters of water and land; for all such works across the realm, at year's end he would report on their merits and demerits to determine rewards and punishments.
Xiangguo Dong was generous with titles, and the scope of water-and-land affairs was exceedingly broad—using the mere pretext of constructing military camps allowed him to naturally insert himself into all manner of military discussions.
In times of peace, the position of Sikong was one to be envied. But in the current climate, forget it—especially when one's present glory came only through "clinging to a powerful minister." Not being mocked upon leaving one's home was already fortunate; anything more was beyond daring to hope.
Xiangguo Dong had no shortage of strategists and advisors around him. The officials forcibly summoned to the capital were merely tools for dividing power—even one who held the rank of Sikong was no exception.
That said, one still had to "share the burdens" as expected.
Not long ago, remnants of the Huangjin—the Baibo Bandits—had breached Hedong Jun. Dong Zhuo dispatched his son-in-law Niu Fu to suppress them, but after two months of fighting, not only had the rebellion not been quelled, Niu Fu had been driven back in defeat by the Baibo Bandits and forced to return to the capital.
The defeated army needed to be settled, and the generals previously sent to various regions to recruit soldiers also needed accommodation.
General He's and Ding Zhijinwu's subordinates had all been absorbed under Xiangguo Dong's command. With the army now listless and lax, the Xiangguo needed to focus his efforts on winning over hearts and minds.
Dong Zhuo's expression softened slightly. "I appreciate the Sikong's trouble."
It wasn't in vain that he had entered the palace with weapons in hand upon arriving in the capital, demanding rehabilitation for the partisans. Even if most so-called renowned scholars were ungrateful and hollow in reputation, in the end there would still be a few he could put to use.
Speaking of which—just how many men had that dog He Jin sent out to recruit soldiers? Was killing a few eunuchs really worth such a grand production?
Xiangguo Dong stared at the list of generals that had once belonged to He Jin. Had He Jin not already been dead, he might have pried open the man's skull to see what was inside.
A butcher by birth, utterly brainless—no wonder he'd been killed by the eunuchs while trying to eliminate them. If he couldn't even manage to recruit soldiers properly, the very idea of him accomplishing anything was a joke to make the whole world laugh.
The troops originally under the Dajiangjun's command had already been scattered by him, and after Ding Yuan's death, the Bingzhoujun had likewise been broken apart. Now, military power in the capital rested solely in his hands alone.
Under his command were the battle-hardened Xiliang Tieqi. When suppressing rebellions and quelling unrest, he didn't trust deploying troops that had once belonged to others, nor did he think much of the newly recruited greenhorns. But leaving them to idle indefinitely wasn't a solution either—since they now belonged to him, Dong Zhongying, he couldn't allow them any chance to pine for their old masters.
Old Ding Yuan had some skill—the Bingzhoujun was filled with fierce warriors. Had he not used cunning to win over Lu Bu, taking control of Luoyangcheng would have been nigh impossible.
Dong Zhuo's eyes shifted subtly. A plan was already forming in his mind.
Xun Shuang did not remain in the council chamber long. Once he had finished reporting the matters that needed attention over the coming days, he rose and took his leave.
Some things need not be said outright. He only needed to offer a few guiding words on the side, and Dong Zhuo would arrive at the conclusion himself and handle it. Otherwise, why would he have deliberately chosen a time when the Xiangguo's strategists and advisors were all absent?
Entering the capital carried risk; answering the summons required caution. He was merely a former renowned scholar whose reputation had been tarnished in his twilight years—in the deep waters of the capital, he could not stir even a ripple. Whatever shifts occurred in the political landscape had nothing to do with him.
Sikong Xun thought thus, and with a smile, nodded toward the fierce-looking military officer leaning against the corridor pillar with vacant eyes, then continued on his way with an unhurried, composed demeanor.
"…?" Lu Bu's reaction was a beat too slow. By the time he scratched his head and straightened up, the Sikong who had just greeted him was already far off.
Dong Zhuo knew full well he had offended too many people. Not counting the righteous armies across the provinces and commanderies who wished to devour his flesh and sleep on his hide, there were countless even within the capital who wanted his head. To ensure the safety of his old life, he wished his adopted son—whose martial prowess was beyond compare—could stand guard by his side all twelve double-hours of the day.
Lu Bu stood around the Xiangguo's residence day in and day out as a bodyguard, and the strategists and guests who came and went all treated him as if he were invisible. Now, someone who actually greeted him upon meeting had caught him completely off guard.
No, this wasn't right.
Lu Bu knitted his brows tightly, watching the refined Sikong Xun walk into the distance, and the more he thought about it, the more unsettled he felt.
He had once been so mighty and arrogant. Even when Ding Yuan had assigned him the civil post of Zhubu, the trusted officers and soldiers around him still had to respectfully address him as "General Lu."
And now here he was, promoted to Zhonglangjiang and enfeoffed as Dutinghou—his official rank far higher than before—yet he'd somehow been reduced to an inconspicuous bodyguard, so much so that he felt flattered when someone merely nodded at him. Did that make any sense?
General Lü stared at the rear garden of the Chancellor's residence, still lush with flowers even in the dead of winter, and grew increasingly certain this was not the life he wanted.
What Lü Fengxian wanted was to build achievements and gallop across the battlefield, not to serve as a bodyguard summoned at a moment's notice and dismissed just as quickly. The battlefield was where a warrior belonged; lingering day after day beside that old villain would only dull his edge.
When the old villain Dong Zhuo had lured him into killing Ding Yuan, he'd promised high office, generous rewards, fine horses, and gold. But now that the deed was done, he'd turned his back on his word. On his lips he called him "my son Fengxian" with false affection, yet in practice he used him—a proper Zhonglangjiang and Dutinghou—as a common guard day in and day out. If this continued, everyone in the realm would only see him as Dong Zhuo's watchdog, and who would still remember his former valor?
Lu Bu ground his teeth, his grip tightening on the Fangtian Huaji until the veins on the back of his hand stood out.
He cared nothing for the political situation at court. Even if all the civil and military officials beat each other's brains out in the Chaotang, he couldn't care less. He only cared about himself.
With armies from all directions about to march on the capital, the Liangzhou army—being the Chancellor's trusted force—could be sent out to meet the enemy, while the Bingzhou army, seized halfway along the way, was treated like dirt. Did they really think the men of Bingzhou were all soft cloth tigers without a temper?
—This! Goddamn! Guard duty! Every! Single! Day! He! Couldn't! Take! It! Any! Longer!!
The General stood guard at the gate, nursing his fury, when through his irritation he heard the voice of his adopted father Dong Zhuo from the council hall: "Where is my son Fengxian?"
Here we go again—son, son, son, son my ass!
The adopted father and son, bound together by mutual interest, were already estranged in spirit, and with each passing day they seemed increasingly headed toward estrangement in appearance as well.
Chancellor Dong Zhuo acted tyrannically and slaughtered the loyal and good. Both court and common folk were gripped by fear. Every household in Luoyangcheng bolted its doors, and the streets were empty save for patrolling soldiers. Even the New Year passed without any festive spirit.
The city's desolation had nothing to do with the newly appointed young officer. Zhang Liao was absolutely delighted right now—he could have passed a stray dog slinking away with its tail between its legs and praised the mutt for being clever enough to avoid people.
Having connections made everything easier. He'd been prepared to ride alone into the capital to beg for supplies and be turned away, but who'd have thought the road would take an unexpected turn and connect him with the Xun Shi of Yingchuan?
Excellent!
The transfer order came faster than he'd imagined. Within a mere three to five days, the new recruits under his command had moved to the outskirts of Luoyangcheng to train alongside other newly conscripted soldiers, and he himself had transformed from an insignificant aide into a Qiduwei who could genuinely be addressed as "General."
Heaven never seals off all paths—he, Zhang Wenyuan, was clearly destined for great things!
"Ming Guang, the residence of Sūn Sīkōng is just ahead. I'll go visit some old friends and won't tag along to get in the way. See you around."
Zhang Liao walked with a spring in his step; when he was in a good mood, everything looked good.
He'd have liked to accompany his worthy younger brother Ming Guang to pay respects to the elder, but the threshold of the Sikong's residence was too high for him. He could only entrust his regards to the younger man to convey, while he went to seek out fellow Bingzhou comrades in the capital to catch up and gather information.
Their current top commander, Dutinghou Lü Fengxian, was also from Bingzhou like him, and had previously served under Ding Zhi as well. Though there'd been a bit of a problem with their superior later on, the two of them still had a decent relationship.
Xun Ye looked at the Sikong's residence now within arm's reach, waved his hand toward Zhang Liao—who had already run out of sight—and said, "See you around."
If the man didn't hear him, that wasn't his problem. He'd said it, after all.
Before meeting him, he'd had a thick filter of admiration for this Xiaoyaojin war god who'd fought eight hundred against a hundred thousand. But after a few days of acquaintance, he realized he'd put the filter on too early—he should have waited until they were both in the history books.
Zhang Wenyuan had slipped away, leaving him as the only one to visit his grand-uncle. His grandfather had passed away when his beautiful father was still young, and this was the first time in his life he'd met an elder of his grandfather's generation—he was rather nervous.
Thanks to those film and television works of later ages, he knew of famous Xun family figures like Xun Yu and Xun You, but anything more obscure was beyond him.
Leaving one's name in history was both simple and difficult. The simple ones got passed down through generations with a single line like "Not as deep as Wang Lun's love for me," while the difficult ones might possess world-shaking talent yet remain utterly unknown.
Of course, the most important thing was that he was uneducated and only knew the famous emperors, generals, and ministers—anyone slightly more obscure left him with no impression at all. Otherwise, he'd never have failed to know he was in the late Donghan era until Uncle Wenruo came knocking.
His beautiful father was a man of vast learning and exquisite refinement, with shelves upon shelves of profound and abstruse works in the study. Not knowing his beautiful father's name was his own ignorance, and had nothing whatsoever to do with his beautiful father.
By the same logic: not having heard of his grand-uncle's name was also his own ignorance, and had nothing whatsoever to do with his grand-uncle.
In the study of the residence, Xun Shuang, who had been sitting in conversation with Xun You, smiled upon hearing the gatekeeper's announcement. "Ming Guang has left home for the first time, and Gongda hasn't seen the boy in years—perfect opportunity to meet him together."
Xun You smoothed his robes and rose, accompanying his grand-uncle to the main hall. "A pity I won't be able to see my uncles."
Xun Shuang shook his head, feeling somewhat regretful himself. "We'll meet soon enough; there's no need to rush."
Xun Sikong had only seen his grand-nephew in family letters. Xun You, however, had met this younger cousin, more than a decade his junior, many years ago—though his impression of the boy remained that of a dazed, vacant child. In the blink of an eye, so many years had passed, and the frail little one who had barely survived infancy had grown up safe and sound.
When the Xun clan members left Mixian, they had communicated with Jingcheng. The gatekeeper of the Sikong residence knew that a young master would be coming to pay his respects in the coming days, so he led the visitor inside while announcing his arrival.
Xun Ye's heart was racing. He felt inexplicably like a grade-schooler being called to the office for a one-on-one talk with the teacher. The more nervous he grew, the more his mind wandered—beneath his composed exterior, a rapid barrage of thoughts scrolled through his head.
How to put it? It was simply that he hadn't met them often enough. If he'd seen them every day as a child, he certainly wouldn't be nervous now.
Unfortunately, his grandfather's generation had been caught up in the Danggu Zhihuo. After his grand-uncle resigned from office, he hadn't returned to Yingchuan but instead found a remote mountain valley far away and secluded himself there for over a decade.
He reasonably suspected that "being a homebody" was a recessive gene in their family—one never knew when the trait might randomly manifest.
Following the gatekeeper's guidance, the young man arrived at the main hall, respectfully performed the ritual bow to his grand-uncle, whom he was meeting for the first time, and then knelt neatly and obediently before the low table.
To be honest, this was his first time experiencing such a formal reception.
But that didn't stop him from exercising his eloquence, flattering his elder to win his favor.
Xun Shuang was already in his sixties and could tell at a glance that the boy was nervous. He'd been considering whether the formal hall was too stiff and whether they should move elsewhere to talk, but to his surprise, the young man adapted with remarkable speed after sitting down—the complete opposite of his quiet, taciturn father.
Most of the younger generation in their family were cautious and reserved; he hadn't expected they'd managed to raise one who loved to talk and laugh.
Xun Shuang's expression was kind and genial as he watched his grand-nephew chatter away, growing fonder with each passing moment.
Beside him, the "slow-witted and dull" Xun Gongda: …