The second year of Chuping. New Year's Day.
Chang'an stood cloaked in ceremony.
Before dawn had fully broken, Dong Zhuo rose and led the court—civil officials and generals alike—into Weiyang Palace to pay formal respects to Emperor Xian of Han. Though war raged beyond the passes, the Son of Heaven was still the Son of Heaven. Ritual could not be abandoned.
Today, Dong Zhuo was in high spirits.
Sun Jian had taken Mianchi, yes—but his advance had stalled at Shan County. With Dong Yue and Zhang Ji holding firm, that line could endure at least another month. And even if it fell?
Behind it lay layer upon layer of defenses—Hongnong, Huxian, Huayin—each a gate carved into terrain that favored the defender.
The Xiaohan Ancient Road was narrow. Constricted.
No army, no matter how large, could deploy its full strength there.
Dong Zhuo had already calculated it: half a year.
Half a year of delay was all he needed.
Jia Xu had made it clear—this coalition was never stable. It was born from rivalry, not unity. Yuan Shao was trapped in Bohai. The other warlords had scattered, fallen, or retreated.
Only one force still pressed forward.
Zhang Xin.
Stubborn. Relentless.
Foolish.
"How long can he last?" Dong Zhuo thought.
Grain had to travel nearly a thousand li from Nanyang to Chang'an. The passes were treacherous. Supplies would thin. Morale would crack.
His own Xiliang troops, reunited with their families, had regained their spirit.
But Zhang Xin's Qingzhou soldiers?
They had been away too long.
Time… was Dong Zhuo's ally.
All he needed to do was hold.
"Your servants pay respects to Your Majesty…"
For once, Dong Zhuo knelt.
Just once.
A token gesture for the New Year.
"Rise," Emperor Xian said calmly.
But beneath that calm—
His heart surged.
For over a year, he had endured.
Silent. Obedient. Invisible.
He had obeyed his father's final words—endure, and wait.
When Liu Bian took the throne, he endured.
When the court fell into chaos, he endured.
When Dong Zhuo entered Luoyang… poisoned his mother… murdered his brother—
He endured.
But now…
There was hope.
"Uncle…" he thought quietly, almost painfully.
"Why haven't you come yet?"
Letters had come.
The warlords had risen.
And among them—
Only one had not faltered.
Only one continued to advance.
Zhang Xin.
"My uncle is truly loyal to the Han," the young emperor thought, suppressing the emotion in his chest.
"If not for his army pressing forward… would Dong Zhuo kneel today?"
Outwardly, he remained composed.
The rituals continued.
Rewards were distributed.
Then came the banquet.
Wine flowed.
Music played.
Laughter echoed.
Dong Zhuo ordered Cai Yong to perform on the zither. Then, in drunken arrogance, he drew his sword and began to dance.
The court applauded.
"Magnificent!"
"Unmatched!"
Their smiles were flawless.
Their hearts?
Cold.
To them, Dong Zhuo was no ruler.
Just a brute putting on a show.
When the performance ended, Dong Zhuo stood tall, basking in the illusion of admiration.
"Once Zhang Xin retreats," he thought, "Guanzhong will be mine."
If fortune favored him, he could dominate the realm.
If not—
He would still have enough to live out his days in power and comfort.
Unlike others, Dong Zhuo had little to leave behind. His sons were dead. No heirs remained—only a granddaughter, far away.
Strangely…
That made things simpler.
"Xiao Bai…" he muttered faintly, thinking of her.
Before the thought could settle—
A guard rushed in.
Whispered.
Just a few words.
Dong Zhuo's expression changed.
Only for a moment.
Then it vanished.
"Continue drinking," he said with a smile. "I need to change."
The officials bowed as he left, but their minds raced.
That flicker—
They had all seen it.
"News from the front?""Has Zhang Xin advanced again?"
Excitement stirred beneath careful restraint.
Dong Zhuo returned swiftly to the Chancellor's residence.
There, in the main hall, a disheveled man knelt.
Face pale.
Clothes in disarray.
The moment he saw Dong Zhuo, he bowed deeply.
"Your servant greets the Chancellor—"
"Spare me!"
Smack!
Dong Zhuo's palm struck like thunder.
The man spun, crashed to the ground, clutching his face—daring not lift his head.
"Niu Fu!"
Dong Zhuo's voice roared with fury.
"I entrusted Hedong to you—and you lost it?!"
Niu Fu trembled.
"Chancellor… please calm your anger…"
"It was Pingyang's magistrate—Niu Feng—he rebelled! I could not have foreseen it—"
"Niu Feng?"
Dong Zhuo froze for a brief second.
That name…
Familiar.
Then realization struck.
"Another Niu?" he snapped. "Your own clansman betrayed you, and you come back alive?!"
"No, Chancellor!" Niu Fu panicked. "He's not my clansman—he's Zhang Xin's man!"
Silence.
Heavy.
Dong Zhuo's expression darkened.
Zhang Xin.
Of course.
After pacifying Hedong, Zhang Xin had left someone behind.
A minor figure.
A nobody.
A scout captain who couldn't even tell directions properly.
That was why Dong Zhuo had ignored him.
Such a man… what threat could he pose?
If he were capable, Zhang Xin wouldn't have left him idle for over two years.
But now—
That "nobody" had ignited rebellion.
Dong Zhuo's fury reignited.
"A mere magistrate!" he thundered. "With a handful of local troops—while you had five thousand men! How did you lose Hedong?!"
Niu Fu swallowed hard.
"Chancellor… he has over ten thousand troops now…"
"…What?"
Dong Zhuo blinked.
"Where did he get ten thousand men?"
"And such a force moved—and you noticed nothing?!"
"I… I knew…" Niu Fu stammered.
"Then why didn't you act?!"
Niu Fu's voice shrank.
"I… consulted a diviner…"
"And… the divination said… it was inauspicious to send troops…"
For a moment—
Everything stopped.
Then—
Dong Zhuo's body shook violently.
His vision darkened.
And with a heavy crash—
He collapsed backward.