Luoyang.
The war camp stood beneath a gray winter sky.
Inside the main tent, Zhang Xin finally set aside the bamboo slips in his hands. Endless reports—troop movements, supply counts, battlefield updates—had consumed him day and night. He pressed his fingers against his temples, easing the ache in his eyes, then stepped outside.
Cold air struck his face.
"It's almost the New Year again…"
He exhaled slowly, watching his breath turn to mist.
"I wonder how Ning'er and the children are doing…"
For a moment, the battlefield faded.
But only for a moment.
From suppressing the Wuhuan… to conquering Qing Province… to marching against Dong Zhuo—
Year after year, the same pattern.
Zhang Xin suddenly laughed bitterly.
"Why am I always fighting during the New Year?"
The answer, of course, was simple.
Because peace never waited.
And neither could he.
Still, he knew—
If this dragged on, morale would crack.
The Qingzhou army had marched for nearly a full year. Though victorious, even the most hardened soldiers would begin to long for home.
Homesickness could kill an army just as surely as arrows.
"I have to end this quickly…"
His gaze sharpened.
"Push into Chang'an. End it before the year turns."
Just then, his thoughts shifted.
"Wentai reported capturing Mianchi… but Shan County is worse terrain. His troops must be exhausted."
Zhang Xin narrowed his eyes.
"Dong Yue and Zhang Ji are holding him there… It's time to reinforce him."
Before he could act further, a heavy set of footsteps approached.
Dian Wei.
"Lord, Zhao Yun requests an audience."
"Zilong is here? Let him in."
Moments later, Zhao Yun entered, his expression serious.
"Lord," he said, bowing, "the grain shipments from Nanyang… have decreased."
Zhang Xin's brows furrowed instantly.
"By how much?"
"Last batch: five thousand shi. This time… only three thousand."
Silence.
Then—
Zhang Xin rolled his eyes.
"Yuan Shu…"
Of all people.
Excuses might fool others, but not him.
Nanyang—rich, vast, overflowing with population and resources.
If that place couldn't support an army, then nowhere in the empire could.
This wasn't shortage.
This was interference.
Zhang Xin let out a short breath, already deciding.
"Dian Wei. Prepare men. We ride to Ruyang."
If Yuan Shu wouldn't behave—
Then someone needed to remind him how.
"Understood."
Dian Wei turned—
"Lord! A letter from Hedong!"
Zhang Xin paused, taking the letter.
He opened it.
His eyes widened.
Then—
"HAHAHA!"
A loud, unrestrained laugh broke through the camp.
"Good! GOOD!"
"I didn't favor him for nothing!"
Zhao Yun stepped closer, curiosity flashing.
"What news could make the Lord so pleased?"
Zhang Xin tossed him the letter.
"See for yourself."
Zhao Yun read—
And froze.
"…What?!"
Even his calm demeanor cracked.
Zhang Xin had already turned, voice sharp as a blade:
"Summon Yue Jin, Yu Jin, Xu Huang, Zhu Ling—now!"
Dian Wei blinked.
"Lord… aren't we going to Nanyang?"
"No need."
Zhang Xin's smile carried a dangerous edge.
"Let Wentai handle Yuan Shu himself."
Shan County
The battlefield roared.
"EXECUTE THE TRAITOR!"
Sun Jian's army surged forward like a tidal wave, slamming against Dong Yue's defenses.
Steel clashed. Blood sprayed.
After days of grinding battle, momentum finally shifted.
Dong Yue's troops faltered.
They began to retreat.
Sun Jian stood atop a ridge, eyes blazing.
"Now! Press the attack!"
Flags waved. Drums thundered.
Victory was within reach—
Then suddenly—
The gates of Shan County burst open.
A thousand cavalry charged out like a storm.
Straight into Sun Jian's flank.
"Damn it!"
Before chaos could spread, another force intercepted—
Cao Cao.
But the cavalry did not engage.
They curved smoothly, bypassing him entirely, leaving only dust behind.
Elegant.
Precise.
Mocking.
Sun Jian's expression darkened.
"Zhang Xiu…"
That young commander had disrupted him again and again.
Each time victory seemed near—
He appeared.
Fast as lightning.
Gone like the wind.
Sun Jian clenched his fists.
"If I had cavalry…"
But regret came too late.
Reluctance had cost him.
Now he paid the price.
With no better option, he ordered a retreat.
The Turning Point
Back in camp, Sun Jian prepared to write—
Then—
"Envoy from Marquis Xuanwei has arrived!"
His eyes lit up.
"Has he sent cavalry?"
The envoy entered, presenting a letter.
Sun Jian opened it.
Only one line.
"Yuan Shu is withholding grain. Wentai, handle it."
Silence.
Then—
"YUAN SHU, YOU BASTARD!"
Ruyang
Two and a half days.
Four hundred fifty li.
Sun Jian rode like a storm.
When he arrived—
He didn't wait.
"WHY ARE YOU NOT SENDING GRAIN?!"
He burst straight into Yuan Shu's hall.
Officials panicked.
Yuan Shu froze.
"I—I didn't—"
Clang!
Sun Jian drew his blade.
Steel rang through the chamber.
"I bleed on the front lines—"
"And you starve my army?!"
The room fell into chaos.
Yan Xiang stepped forward quickly, trying to salvage the situation.
Excuses.
Deflections.
Blame.
A scapegoat dragged out.
A head presented.
Order… barely restored.
Sun Jian watched coldly.
He understood.
But he also understood something else—
This was as far as he could push.
For now.
"I hope you keep your word."
Then he turned and left.
Luoyang Camp
Sun Jian arrived at Zhang Xin's camp.
But something was wrong.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
He frowned.
"Where is the Lord?"
The guards exchanged glances.
Then answered—
"The Lord… has already left."
Sun Jian's eyes widened.
"Left?"
"Where did he go?!"
No answer.
Only silence.
And a growing sense—
That the war had just taken a sudden, unexpected turn.