When Han Fu spoke the words "reunite with your family," it was meant as a soft, comforting balm from a man who had already laid down his spine. But to Yuan Shao, those words sounded like the rattling chains of an imperial dungeon.
His face turned from a panicked flush to a ghastly, translucent white. His three sons—Yuan Tan, Yuan Xi, and Yuan Shang—along with his primary wife, Lady Liu, had been captured during Zhang Xin's swift annexation of Bohai. For months, the knowledge that his bloodline was entirely at the mercy of the "Julu Rebel" had been a festering rot in his mind.
"Reunite?" Yuan Shao's voice cracked, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping his lips as he stepped deeper into the grand hall of the State Prefecture. "Lord Han, you speak of Zhang Ziqing as if he is a monk chanting sutras in a temple! Benevolent? Have you forgotten how he dragged Dong Zhuo's generals through the streets of Luoyang? Have you forgotten how he executed the gentry of Qing Province who dared to withhold a single copper of his land tax?!"
He pointed a shaking, ringed finger toward the south, his eyes bulging with wild intensity.
"My family is not being hosted as guests, Lord Han! They are hostages! If you surrender this city, you are not handing over a province; you are handing over the keys to my execution block! The second Zhang Xin's boots cross the threshold of Ye City, my head will be mounted on a pike above the southern gate!"
Han Fu winced, pulling back into his heavily cushioned chair. He was a man of letters, a bureaucratic weakling who collapsed under high voices and heavy stares. Yuan Shao's theatrical fury was exactly the kind of pressure that usually made him bend.
"But... But Benchu," Han Fu stammered, his eyes darting around the room for support. "Fifty thousand men. Fifty thousand. Gone in a matter of days. Yan Liang and Wen Chou were the fiercest blades in the north, and they didn't even last long enough to see the sunset. If I don't send Li Li with the seal tonight, what happens when Dian Wei's iron halberds reach the outer walls? Who will stand on the ramparts? You?"
Ju Shou's Cold Steel
Before Yuan Shao could unleash another torrent of desperate rhetoric, a cold, dry cough cut through the tension of the hall.
Ju Shou stepped forward, his expression carved from granite. He didn't look at Yuan Shao; his gaze remained entirely fixed on Han Fu.
"Lord Yuan's concern is for the house of Yuan," Ju Shou said, his voice flat, devoid of any narrative warmth. "But this council is for the province of Jizhou. Let us speak of realities, not families."
He turned his head slowly, his piercing eyes locking onto Yuan Shao's pale face.
"Lord Yuan speaks of fighting to the last man, of waiting for reinforcements from his brother, Yuan Shu, in the south. But let us look at the board. Sun Jian's tigers are currently pinning Yuan Shu's vanguard in Nanyang. Even if Yuan Shu wished to send a single horseman to our aid, he would have to cut through three provinces controlled by lords who despise the name Yuan. No help is coming."
"Ju Gongyu!" Yuan Shao roared, stepping toward the advisor, his knuckles whitening over his sword hilt. "You would advise your master to crawl like a dog before a peasant from Xiaquyang?!"
"I advise the Governor to save the five million souls of Jizhou from being trampled into ash!" Ju Shou snapped back, his voice rising with a rare, thunderous authority that shocked everyone in the room.
Ju Shou's Cold Calculations:
"If we fight, Zhang Xin will bring his entire host—the Xuanjia, the Trap Camp, the lancers of You Province. He has already won the hearts of the peasant soldiers we sent to Wei County by promising them the summer planting. If we lock these gates, the common people within these very walls will open them from the inside before the first catapult is built. A forced siege will end in the sack of Ye City. Han Fu will die, the gentry will be purged, and the streets will run red. But if we surrender now? Zhang Xin is a politician. To appease the old families of Hebei, he must present Han Fu as a model of peaceful transition. The Governor will keep his wealth, his estate, and his skin."
"And what of me?!" Yuan Shao shrieked, his aristocratic mask completely shattering. "What of the bloodline of the Four Three-Gung Ministers?!"
"The house of Yuan chose its path when it tried to assassinate Zhang Xin at the alliance gates," Ju Shou said coldly, stepping back into the shadows of the pillars. "Jizhou is under no obligation to die as your shield."
The Weight of the Seal
The hall fell into a suffocating, heavy silence. The surrounding state officials—the ministers of finance, the keepers of the granaries, the local magistrates—all kept their heads bowed tightly against their chests. Ju Shou had spoken aloud the unspoken truth that every single one of them harbored in their hearts. They were tired of paying for a war that wasn't theirs. They wanted to go back to their estates. They wanted to survive.
Han Fu looked at Yuan Shao, then at Ju Shou, and finally at Li Li, who stood waiting with the silk-wrapped box containing the official provincial seal.
"Benchu..." Han Fu whispered, his voice trembling but strangely resolute with the certainty of a coward who had found an exit. "I have made my decision. I am the Governor of Jizhou, but I am a man of peace. I cannot watch this city burn."
He waved his hand feebly toward Li Li. "Go. Take the seal. Ride to Wei County before the morning watch. Tell the General of Chariots and Cavalry... tell Zhang Ziqing... that Ye City is his."
"Han Fu! You old fool!" Yuan Shao screamed, lunging forward, his hand flying to his sword grip.
Clang.
A dozen personal guards of the State Prefecture instantly stepped into his path, their halberds crossing with a sharp, metallic ring right before Yuan Shao's chest. The tips of the blades hovered mere inches from his throat.
"Lord Yuan," Li Li said softly, picking up the seal box and bowing deeply to Han Fu. "Please preserve your dignity."
Without another word, the Zhizhong turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the main hall, his footsteps echoing through the long corridors like the ticking of a doomsday clock.
The Donkey Cart of Despair
Yuan Shao stood frozen behind the wall of crossed halberds, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. He looked around the room, but every single official turned their eyes away from him, refusing to meet the gaze of a falling star.
"Good... Good..." Yuan Shao spat, his voice dropping into a dangerous, venomous hiss. "You think you buy peace? You buy your own chains. When the Julu rebel takes your lands and strips your titles, do not look to the heavens for mercy."
He turned violently, his heavy silk cape whipping through the air as he stormed out of the State Prefecture.
By the time he reached the outer courtyard, the sun had fully set, plunging the city into a dark, suffocating gloom. His advisors, Guo Tu and Pang Ji, were just arriving on horseback, their faces pale with anxiety as they saw their master stumble out alone.
"My Lord!" Guo Tu scrambled off his mount. "What happened inside? Did Han Fu listen?"
"The old dog has given away the province," Yuan Shao whispered, his eyes unfocused, staring blankly into the dark streets. "Li Li has already left with the seal. The vanguard of Qing Province will be at our throats within forty-eight hours."
Pang Ji's breath hitched. "Then... then we must flee. If we stay in Ye City, we are rats in a filling bucket. We must ride west, into the Taihang Mountains! Join with Zhang Yan and the Black Mountain bandits! It is our only refuge!"
"To the mountains?" Yuan Shao looked down at his hands, the hands of an imperial nobleman, now trembling in the dark. "To live among thieves and cave-dwellers? A descendant of the Yuan family, begging for scraps from a mountain bandit?"
He let out a ragged sigh, the last remnants of his grand ambition withering away in the cold night air. He didn't mount his horse. Instead, he dragged his heavy, limping legs back toward his modest donkey cart, climbing onto the wooden seat like an old man who had lost his way.
"My Lord?" Guo Tu watched him, his heart sinking.
"Pack the scrolls," Yuan Shao said, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Pack the gold we have left. We leave through the western gate before midnight. If the heavens truly have eyes... they will let me see my sons one last time before the end."
He lashed the whip. The small donkey brayed in protest, its hooves clattering loudly against the cobblestones as the cart rattled away from the state palace, leaving the glittering capital of Jizhou behind to await its new master.