Chapter 1: Storm Over Chengdu – A Victory Banquet Meets Unpalatable Truth
In the nineteenth year of Jian'an, Chengdu still smelled of war and smoke, yet the air was already thick with the extravagant scent of wine and meat. Liu Bei's army had just entered the city, and his generals were already eyeing the treasury greedily. They had not yet grown tired of the spoils from the last state treasury division, and now they craved the fertile fields and fine mansions within the city.
"My lord! It is time to reward our merits!" a general slammed the table. "Chengdu is a land of thousands of miles of fertile soil, perfect to grant to our brothers as their estates!"
Liu Bei's hand holding the wine cup paused slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man standing below with hand on sword, his silver armor glinting coldly in the candlelight.
"What say you, Zilong?"
Zhao Yun stepped forward, his voice deep and resonant: "Huo Qubing once said, 'How can one think of home while the Xiongnu still roam free?' Now Cao Cao and Sun Quan watch us like tigers. Yi Province is newly pacified, and the people have only just escaped the flames of war. To seize their fields and homes by force – how is that different from a tyrant?" He abruptly drew his sword, and the scabbard struck the brick floor with a heavy thud. "Return the land to the people, secure their homes! Only when the people are at peace can we recruit soldiers and collect taxes. This is the way of long-term stability!"
A deathly silence fell over the tent. Liu Bei stared at the eight-foot-tall warrior from Changshan, then suddenly smashed his wine cup to the ground. "Zilong speaks the truth! Issue my order: all fields and mansions shall be returned to their original owners!"
That night, lamps burned late in every household in Chengdu. In Zhao Yun's tent, beside a scroll of The Art of War, lay an old jade pendant carved with the word "Changshan".
Chapter 2: Charging In and Out Seven Times at Changban Slope – A Bloodstained Swaddling Cloth
In the autumn of the thirteenth year of Jian'an, the road at Dangyang was soaked in blood under the iron hooves of Cao Cao's army.
"My lord! Lady Gan and Adou are gone!"
Upon hearing this, Zhao Yun turned his horse and charged straight into Cao's formation. His silver spear whirled like blossoming pear flowers; helmets sent flying by its tip rolled in the dust, reflecting his bloodstained face.
"Zilong! Come back!" Zhang Fei roared from the Dangyang Bridge, his eighteen-foot serpent spear drawing a desperate arc.
No one could stop the frenzied general. He searched through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, and finally found Lady Mi huddled in a corner under a broken wall, holding the infant. "General, go quickly!" Lady Mi pressed Adou into his arms, then turned and leaped into a dry well.
Zhao Yun pushed a wall over to cover the well, then bound the swaddled baby tightly to his chest. A stray arrow grazed his forehead, and blood immediately blurred his left eye – yet he held the child even closer. When he burst through the siege drenched in blood, even Zhang Fei on the bridge could barely grip his spear.
"My lord, I have not failed my mission!" He knelt and held up the quiet swaddling cloth with both hands.
Liu Bei took the baby, then suddenly slammed him to the ground. "For this brat, I nearly lost one of my greatest generals!" Zhao Yun hurriedly picked up Adou, only to hear the infant gurgling happily – Liu Bei had cushioned the fall with his sleeve.
That night, the candle in Zhao Yun's tent burned all night. He stroked the bloodstains on Adou's swaddling clothes, and suddenly remembered ten years before, when the folks of Changshan had sent him off to war, placing their hopes in his hands just like this.
Chapter 3: Refusing Marriage in Guiyang – A General's Clarity
On the day Guiyang fell, Governor Zhao Fan held a victory banquet. After several rounds of wine, Zhao Fan leaned close to Zhao Yun and said mysteriously: "General, I have a widowed sister-in-law, Lady Fan. She is heavenly beautiful, and I wish to marry her to you."
Zhao Yun's cup paused. The moonlight shone bright outside. He thought of Lady Mi, who had died at Changban, and of the people sleeping peacefully in Chengdu. "Governor Zhao," he set down his cup, "the national traitor is not yet defeated. How can I think of marriage? Besides, you have only just surrendered…"
Before he finished, a commotion broke out outside – Zhao Fan's men were drawing their swords. Zhao Yun twisted one man's arm behind his back in an instant, his silver spear pressed to Zhao Fan's throat. "I have said this," his gaze turned icy cold, "I serve one who practices benevolent rule, not a scheming opportunist."
Three days later, Zhao Fan indeed rebelled and fled. Zhuge Liang clapped Zhao Yun on the shoulder and laughed: "Zilong, Zilong – your eyes are sharper than your spear!"
Only Zhao Yun knew that every deep night, he dreamed of the snow in Changshan. When he had led volunteers to join Gongsun Zan all those years ago, his elderly mother had given him not gold or silver, but a handful of soil from his hometown.
Chapter 4: The Empty Camp Strategy at the Han River – Utterly Fearless
By the Han River, one hundred thousand of Cao Cao's troops closed in.
"General! Retreat!" his deputy trembled. "We have only five thousand men!"
But Zhao Yun ordered: "Open the camp gates! Lower the flags and silence the drums!"
As Cao Cao's army hesitated before the camp, Zhao Yun suddenly drew his sword and pointed to the sky. "Beat the drums! Loose the arrows!"
Amid earth-shaking drums, Cao's army believed they had walked into an ambush, and countless men were trampled to death in the panic. When Liu Bei arrived, he saw Zhao Yun leaning on his silver spear, his battle robe fluttering in the wind. "Zilong is utterly fearless!" Liu Bei clapped and laughed.
Yet at the victory banquet that night, Zhao Yun climbed the city tower alone. The Han River's waves glinted off his graying hair. He thought of the young man who had followed Gongsun Zan in the early years of Jian'an, of the blood-red sunset at Changban, of the lantern-lit streets of Chengdu.
"The Xiongnu are not yet defeated… how can one think of home?" he whispered softly, as if hearing Huo Qubing's sigh across the ages.
Epilogue: The Legacy of Marquis Shunping
In the seventh year of Jianxing, Zhao Yun passed away from illness. The Later Lord Liu Chan posthumously titled him Marquis Shunping. On the day of his funeral, the people of Chengdu knelt along the streets spontaneously. It was said that the general's spirit returned to Changshan, and upon his silver spear hung not enemy heads, but a swaddling cloth, a scroll of military doctrine, and a handful of hometown soil.
Wang Fuzhi wrote in Comments on Reading the Zizhi Tongjian: "Zhao Yun remained unwaveringly loyal to Emperor Zhaolie, upholding great righteousness to the end."
In folk storytelling, the narrator always slams the wooden block and cries: "Zhao Zilong of Changshan, eight feet tall, majestic in appearance –"
The children in the crowd immediately shout in unison: "I am Zhao Zilong of Changshan!"
Their voices ring clear as striking jade, piercing a thousand years of time, reaching the ears of every Chinese person who still holds a pure and loyal heart.