"Understood!"
Cui Yan's reply was firm—like iron striking stone.
Zhang Xin stepped forward and grasped his hand tightly, his voice carrying rare warmth beneath the urgency.
"Ji Gui… you've come two thousand li through chaos and blades. You should rest."
A pause.
"But the fire is already at our gates."
"I have no one else to entrust this to."
From Pingyuan to Chang'an—two thousand li.
From Chang'an to Zhuxian—another two thousand.
Cui Yan had crossed a land filled with enemies, slipping through scouts and armies like a shadow.
Rest was what he deserved.
Duty was what he chose.
"To eat my lord's grain," Cui Yan said simply, "is to bear my lord's burdens."
Zhang Xin nodded.
"Good."
Gold was given.
An escort of hardened veterans assigned.
And without another word—
Cui Yan turned and rode back into the storm.
Soon after, another envoy departed.
Sun Qian, carrying Zhang Xin's letter, rode toward Liu Dai.
Two blades.
Two directions.
Both meant to carve open the siege around Pingyuan.
Meanwhile—
The army began to withdraw.
Tens of thousands moved like a receding tide, pulling back from Chang'an toward Zheng County.
Zhang Xin stood at the gate, unmoving.
In the distance—
Weiyang Palace.
So close.
So unreachable.
He exhaled slowly.
"General!"
A shout broke the stillness.
Several officers rode forward, urgency written across their faces.
"Wu Kuang and Zhang Zhang request an audience!"
Zhang Xin nodded.
"Let them through."
They came quickly.
Disarmed, but not powerless.
Men who had once served under He Jin… then Dong Zhuo… and now stood at a crossroads.
Wu Kuang stepped forward first, voice tight.
"General… are you truly withdrawing?"
"Will you abandon us here to die?"
Zhang Xin didn't answer immediately.
Dian Wei shifted slightly, watching.
Then—
"I don't want to withdraw."
His voice was calm.
"But I have lost the chance."
He explained—briefly.
Xu Province burning.
Soldiers losing heart.
The officials' obstruction.
Everything collapsing at once.
Wu Kuang's face twisted with anger.
"Yuan Shao—that dog—how dare he!"
Zhang Zhang, more composed, stepped forward.
"General… there is still a way."
"Let one commander lead troops back to reinforce Xu Province."
"You stay."
"Lead us."
"Finish Dong Zhuo."
The others followed immediately.
"Yes!"
"The Northern Army! The West Garden Army—we all obey you!"
"General—stay in Chang'an!"
Zhang Xin looked at them.
Then smiled faintly.
"Convince the officials to let me attack freely."
Silence.
Awkward.
Helpless.
They couldn't.
No one could.
Not in this age.
Not under heaven's mandate.
Even Zhang Xin himself—
Dared not cross that final line.
He bowed slightly.
"Take care."
Then turned—
And left.
Back in the main camp—
Another storm awaited.
Xu Rong stepped forward, face grim.
"My lord… the Xiliang troops are restless."
Zhang Xin understood instantly.
They had followed him for three reasons:
Survival.
Family.
Reward.
Now—
Only uncertainty remained.
"If they wish to return home," Zhang Xin said after a moment, "give them a year's pay."
"If they stay—reward them when we reach Xu Province."
No coercion.
Only choice.
Xu Rong nodded and departed.
Moments later—
Wu Kuang and the others returned.
But this time—
They knelt.
All of them.
"General."
Wu Kuang's voice was steady.
"We've discussed it."
"Take us with you."
"Take us with you!"
The plea echoed as one.
Zhang Xin looked at them for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"Gather your men."
"All who wish to follow—come."
Joy broke across their faces like sunlight after storm.
They left at once.
The withdrawal continued.
Orderly—but heavy.
The Xu Province troops moved first.
Then others in waves.
Zhang Xin remained behind—
Holding the gate.
Waiting.
Leaving a path open.
Within the palace—
Dong Zhuo laughed.
"Let him linger."
"He's already lost."
But outside—
Men were choosing their fate.
The next day—
Xu Rong returned.
His face told the story before his words did.
"Of eighteen thousand Xiliang troops…"
"Less than three thousand will follow us."
Zhang Xin nodded.
No anger.
No disappointment.
Only understanding.
Their homes were far—too far.
Wu Kuang's side brought better news.
Six to seven thousand men.
The remnants of the Northern and West Garden armies.
Battle-worn.
But loyal.
Orders were given.
Those who left—
Were paid.
Those who stayed—
Were armed.
And something unexpected happened.
Some Xiliang soldiers—
Turned back.
Money in hand.
Hearts stirred.
More than a thousand chose to remain.
Before departing—
Even those who left turned and bowed toward Zhang Xin.
A silent farewell.
The army reformed.
Ten thousand strong.
Perhaps more.
Not victorious.
But unbroken.
Zhang Xin mounted his horse.
Looked back once—
At Chang'an.
At the palace.
At the chance that slipped through his fingers.
Then—
He turned.
And rode.
Behind him—
Hell opened.
Dong Zhuo reclaimed the city.
And with it—
Vengeance.
Names were read.
Doors were broken.
Officials dragged out like animals.
A banquet was held.
A grotesque mockery of civility.
Then—
Screams.
Limbs severed.
Eyes gouged.
Tongues torn out.
Bodies thrown alive into boiling cauldrons.
Dong Zhuo laughed.
Loud.
Wild.
"Eat."
He commanded.
The officials trembled.
Forced to consume what remained of their peers.
Faces twisted in horror.
Souls breaking.
One man—
Before his tongue was taken—
Spoke the truth all shared.
"I regret… not stopping Marquis Xuanwei…"
Too late.
Far too late.
The cauldrons boiled on.
One after another.
Outside—
The Xiliang soldiers feasted.
Oil dripping.
Laughter rising.
"The flesh of scholars…" one muttered with a grin,
"…is sour."