"What did you say—Puban Ford has fallen?!"
Inside the Chancellor's Residence, Dong Zhuo's roar shook the rafters. His eyes bulged as he stared at the scout kneeling below.
"How was it lost?!"
He already knew Zhang Xin had reached River East three days prior. But Dong Min commanded eight thousand elite troops, backed by the natural barrier of the Yellow River. No matter how one calculated it, losing Puban in mere days made no sense.
The scout lowered his head and spoke quickly.
"The night before last, Zhang Xin's main force broke camp and moved toward Puban Ford under cover of darkness. General Dong Min immediately led troops to intercept."
He paused, then continued.
"But that was only a feint. Zhang Xin had already dispatched another force in secret—marching overnight to Fengling Ford. They crossed before we could react."
Dong Zhuo's fingers twitched.
"And Huayin?" he asked slowly.
The scout swallowed.
"General Duan Wei led troops out to block them… but the prominent clans within the city suddenly rose in rebellion. They seized the gates."
"Duan Wei was caught between enemies—he had no path left. He… surrendered."
Silence.
Then—
"What?! Huayin has fallen as well?!"
"Yes, Chancellor."
Dong Zhuo staggered back a step, as if struck.
"Huayin… the clans…"
His breathing grew heavy, anger boiling over.
"Yang… the Yang clan… Yang Biao!"
His voice turned venomous.
Among Huayin's great families, only the Yang clan possessed the prestige and influence to rally all others. A lineage of power—four generations producing Three Excellencies.
If anyone could overturn a city from within…
It was them.
"I raised him to high office! I spared him despite past grievances! And this is how he repays me?!"
Dong Zhuo slammed his fist against the table.
"Guards! Arrest Yang Biao immediately!"
"Yes, Chancellor!"
The guards rushed out.
But fate had already moved ahead of him.
Moments later, they returned.
"Chancellor… Yang Biao fled on the third day of the New Year. He claimed to return home for ancestral rites—but escaped with his son."
"What?!"
Rage exploded.
Dong Zhuo drew his sword and hacked wildly through the hall—tables shattered, screens split, fragments flying. Servants shrank into corners, trembling, afraid the blade might turn on them next.
Only after a long outburst did he stop, chest heaving.
"Aristocratic families… aristocratic families!" he growled, pacing like a caged beast.
Everything was unraveling.
Huayin was not just a city—it was the keystone of his defenses.
With Puban Ford lost, he had still hoped to hold the line at the Wei River.
With Huayin gone—
There was no second line.
No buffer.
Only Zheng County remained between Zhang Xin and Chang'an.
And behind Zheng County…
The capital itself.
Dong Zhuo's eyes darkened with grim resolve.
"Listen carefully," he ordered coldly. "Summon Niu Fu—have him investigate every contact Yang Biao had. Arrest them all."
"Recall Dong Min to the capital."
"Order Dong Huang and Fan Chou to assemble five thousand troops."
A pause.
Then, each word fell like iron.
"I will personally retake Huayin."
Orders rippled outward.
Niu Fu, pale and shaken, scrambled from his home to carry out arrests.
Dong Min withdrew to Chang'an.
Dong Zhuo gathered his forces—combining troops to form an army of over thirteen thousand—and marched without rest toward Huayin.
He had no choice.
If Huayin stabilized under Zhang Xin, everything would collapse.
Supply lines would be severed.
Allied armies would flood through the Xiaohan Ancient Road.
Zheng County would stand alone—and fall.
Huayin had to be retaken.
Now.
Meanwhile, within Huayin City—
The atmosphere could not have been more different.
In the county yamen, Zhang Xin sat at the head seat, smiling warmly as wine flowed and laughter filled the hall.
Officials and prominent clan leaders surrounded him, raising cups in celebration.
"This victory," Zhang Xin said, rising with a cup in hand, "owes much to Grand Commandant Yang and all esteemed gentlemen here."
He bowed deeply.
"Xin thanks you all."
He approached Yang Biao personally and lifted his cup.
"Grand Commandant—please."
Yang Biao stood, smiling calmly.
"Dong Zhuo is a tyrant who oppresses the Son of Heaven and brings chaos to the realm. Though the lords east of the mountains rose in righteousness, they feared his strength and dared not advance."
"But you, my lord—you pressed forward without fear, defeated him repeatedly, and reclaimed Luoyang. Your prestige shakes the world."
He raised his cup higher.
"Now that the king's army has arrived, how could the people of Huayin not welcome you with open arms?"
The hall echoed with agreement.
Zhang Xin watched him quietly, emotion stirring beneath his composed expression.
This had not been his original plan.
He had intended only to secure a crossing at Fengling Ford—establish a foothold, wait for reinforcements, then slowly advance.
But the moment Duan Wei left the city—
The gates had opened from within.
No siege.
No prolonged battle.
Victory had been handed to him.
Zhang Xin lifted his cup slowly, gazing across the hall of smiling faces, loyal voices, and eager allies.
In that moment, a single thought surfaced in his mind—
Clearer than ever before.
The righteous have many supporters…
The unrighteous have few.