The grand hall emptied slowly, the heavy silence of the State Prefecture returning like a stagnant fog. The local officials scattered into the corridors, whispering frantically among themselves about the ghost of Zhu Jun and the high walls of Ye City.
Ju Shou did not leave with the crowd. He lingered in the shadow of a grand bronze censer, his hands tucked deep inside his wide sleeves, his eyes locked onto Han Fu.
The Governor looked completely spent. He slumped over his desk, rubbing his temples as if trying to erase the terrifying images Guo Tu and Pang Ji had painted—of Zhang Xin ripping out livers and painting the walls of Jizhou with the blood of the gentry.
Once the heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving only the trusted personal guards, Ju Shou stepped forward. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, and heavy with dread.
"Governor," Ju Shou spoke softly, his voice cutting through Han Fu's silent panic.
Han Fu flinched, looking up with bloodshot eyes. "Gongyu... why are you still here? The council is dismissed. Pang Yuantu is already preparing his horses. There is nothing left to say."
"There is everything to say, Lord Han," Ju Shou replied, coming to a halt directly before the desk. He did not bow; his posture was rigid with a grim, tragic finality. "Pang Ji's plan is not a shield. It is a noose. And you have willingly put your head through it."
The Illusion of the Old Tiger
Han Fu shifted uncomfortably, his voice rising in defensive anxiety. "What do you mean, a noose? You heard them! Zhu Jun is a veteran of the imperial court! His prestige is immense! When Zhang Xin was a mere peasant in the Yellow Turban ranks, Zhu Jun was already an Imperial General crushing rebellions! Zhang Xin mocked him in the capital—there is bad blood between them! If Zhu Jun steps in to mediate, Zhang Xin must halt his advance, if only to save face before the Emperor!"
Ju Shou let out a long, weary sigh, his expression full of pity.
Ju Shou's Private Warning:
"You see Zhu Jun as an imperial titan, Governor. But Zhang Xin sees him as a relic of a dying age. Do you truly believe a man who just annihilated fifty thousand of our finest troops in six days cares about a decade-old court grudge? Zhang Xin is not a standard warlord; he does not play by the rules of the gentry. If Zhu Jun moves his forces from Zhongmou to aid us, he will not save Ye City—he will merely provide Zhang Xin with a grander stage to slaughter another imperial army."
Han Fu's lips trembled. "But... but the city walls! Ye City has grain for years! A hundred thousand men can hold out against any siege!"
"A hundred thousand men who do not want to fight," Ju Shou hissed, leaning closer, his voice dropping into a fierce, urgent whisper. "The scouts report that Zhang Xin didn't just capture our men at Wei County—he fed them. He promised them their summer planting. Right now, the families of those thirty thousand captives live within these very walls. They know their sons are alive, well-fed, and being sent home with seed-grain. Do you think those fathers and brothers will pour boiling oil on Zhang Xin's lancers? They will cut the chains of the western gate the second his drums echo in the hills!"
Han Fu went completely rigid, the cold reality of Ju Shou's words sinking into his chest like a dagger. He looked at his hands, realizing the terrifying truth: he was ruling a city that had already mentally surrendered.
"Then... then what do I do?" Han Fu whimpered, his fragile resolve crumbling entirely. "If I surrender, Yuan Shao says my family dies. If I fight, you say the city falls from within. Gongyu, you are my Biejia! Save me!"
Ju Shou closed his eyes, his heart heavy with the tragedy of serving an incompetent master. "If you had sent Li Li with the seal two hours ago, you would have retained your honor. Now, with Pang Ji riding south to spark a wider war, Zhang Xin will see your hesitation as treachery. When Ye City falls—and it will fall—your fate will no longer be a peaceful retirement, but the judgment of a conqueror."
Without waiting for Han Fu's response, Ju Shou turned on his heel, his long robes sweeping the dust of the floor as he walked out into the cool night, leaving the Governor alone with his terrors.
The Midnight Messenger
Outside the city gates, the darkness was absolute.
Pang Ji did not waste a single heartbeat. Clad in a dark traveling cloak, he led a small, elite squad of ten horsemen through the southern sally port. In his breast pocket lay Han Fu's personal, wax-sealed plea for aid, alongside a massive draft of gold and silk promised to Zhu Jun's mercenary treasury.
"Spur the mounts!" Pang Ji commanded, his voice tight with urgency. "We ride through the night. Avoid the main roads near Wei County—Zhang Xin's Xuanjia scouts are everywhere. We take the western mountain paths toward Zhongmou!"
"Understood!"
The small troop kicked their horses into a fierce gallop, their silhouettes vanishing into the swallowing shadows of the Taihang foothills. Pang Ji knew the stakes. If he could reach Zhu Jun within three days, the old general's prestigious banner could march north and force a diplomatic stalemate before Zhang Xin's iron siege engines could be built.
But Pang Ji had underestimated the reach of the eye that watched Jizhou.
The Shadow over Wei County
Sixty li away, inside the brightly lit county office of Wei County, Zhang Xin stood before a massive leather map pinned to a heavy timber table.
Guan Yu sat to his left, meticulously polishing the crescent blade of his Green Dragon Dao with a silk cloth, while Zhao Yun stood to his right, pointing a slender bronze rod at the topography of Ye City.
Step. Step. Step.
A shadow detached itself from the doorway. A operative from the Xuanjia Intelligence Net, dressed in the nondescript garb of a local merchant, knelt silently in the center of the room.
"Report," Zhang Xin said, not looking up from the map.
"My Lord," the spy spoke rapidly. "The State Prefecture in Ye City has concluded its council. Yuan Shao and his advisors successfully terrified Han Fu out of his initial urge to surrender. They have dispatched Pang Ji with a small cavalry escort. He left through the southern gates under the cover of midnight."
Zhang Xin raised an eyebrow, a cold, amused smile playing on his lips. "Oh? And where is our dear friend Yuantu riding in such a hurry?"
"South, my Lord. Toward Zhongmou. Han Fu seeks to invoke the aid of Zhu Jun."
Clang.
Guan Yu's polishing stopped. The giant general looked up, his magnificent beard twitching as a low, rumbling chuckle escaped his chest. "Zhu Jun? The old man who lost his wits against the Yellow Turbans at Changshe? Han Fu is truly grasping at dead branches if he thinks that ancient ghost can halt our advance."
Zhao Yun frowned slightly, his tactical mind analyzing the move. "Lord, though Zhu Jun's military teeth are dull, his prestige among the imperial gentry remains high. If he issues a formal decree of cessation in the name of the Han court, continuing our march might give the scholars in Luoyang a reason to label us as blatant rebels."
Zhang Xin let out a soft, sharp laugh, his fingers tracing the official road leading straight to the heart of Ye.
"Let him ride," Zhang Xin said, his voice dripping with supreme confidence. "Let Pang Ji run his horse into the dirt. I know Zhu Jun better than Han Fu does. The old man is proud, stubborn, and obsessed with his imperial legacy—but he is no fool. He knows exactly what happened to Dong Zhuo when he tried to stand in our path."
He looked up at his commanders, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam.
"Gao Shun! Yu Jin!"
"Present!" The two veteran infantry commanders stepped forward from the shadows.
"The captives from Wei County have been fed and organized. Give them their seed-grain tomorrow morning and disband them as promised. Let them walk back into the villages of Jizhou and spread the word of our benevolence."
Zhang Xin slammed his fist onto the map, directly over the gilded symbol of Ye City.
"And the day after that... we march. We will give Han Fu exactly ten days to pray for his reinforcements—and then we will take his city."