"I can tell you right now," Zhang Xin said with absolute certainty, his voice dropping into a low, resonant register. "It must be a world of peace, stability, and prosperity for the common folk."
Yuan Shao stared at him, a weary, bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Then you probably still have a long, grueling way to go. This road is exceptionally long, brutally difficult, and fraught with lethal danger..."
The two had known each other for several years, navigating the intricate social circles of old Luoyang. As the saying goes, a gentleman judges others by their actions, not merely their high-minded intentions. On the surface, Zhang Xin behaved no differently from the traditional scholarly elite; he dutifully emphasized loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, righteousness, and the time-honored practice of treating worthy individuals with utmost respect.
Yet, analyzing Zhang Xin's sweeping military and economic actions over the past few years, Yuan Shao had long since come to a chilling realization: the "peace" Zhang Xin envisioned was fundamentally alien to the peace perceived by the noble gentry.
In truth, Zhang Xin was dangerously similar to the grand rebel Zhang Jiao. And yet, there was a profound, terrifying difference between them—Zhang Xin possessed the administrative sanity and structural discipline that the Yellow Turbans had entirely lacked.
"You don't need to worry yourself over that path, Benchu," Zhang Xin replied with a slight, enigmatic smile.
"You cannot possibly succeed," Yuan Shao muttered, shaking his head slowly. "The bloody lesson of Zhang Jiao's annihilation is still fresh in the memory of the realm."
"When autumn comes on the eighth of September, my flowers bloom and kill all others," Zhang Xin suddenly recited, his eyes flashing with a futuristic, revolutionary fire. "The fragrant scent permeates Chang'an; the entire city is covered in golden armor."
Yuan Shao frowned, a look of profound puzzlement washing over his face.
During the Han Dynasty, classical poetry was dominated by strict four- or five-character lines. While seven-character verses technically existed since the pre-Qin era, they were highly non-mainstream and sounded distinctly jarring to a traditional scholar's ear. Being born into a premier literary lineage, Yuan Shao easily deduced that the prose was a metaphor for chrysanthemums.
But the imagery made absolutely no contextual sense. It was currently the height of midsummer, miles away from the Double Ninth Festival, and they were standing inside the halls of Ye City, not the imperial streets of Chang'an. Why on earth was Zhang Xin suddenly reciting a bizarre, futuristic poem about golden chrysanthemums?
"Benchu, it is time to go on your way," Zhang Xin said, naturally refusing to explain the historical tragedy of Huang Chao to a dying man. He raised his voice to a formal pitch, gesturing dynamically toward the open courtyard doors.
Up until this moment, the two former acquaintances had been speaking in hushed, private whispers; the surrounding provincial officials could see their lips moving but couldn't decipher a single word. Now that Zhang Xin's voice boomed across the rafters, every eye in the grand hall instantly locked onto them.
Yuan Shao took one last, deep breath, his proud shoulders squaring. "Ziqing... what of my sons?"
"They will all go down to the underworld to accompany you shortly, so do not worry—you will not be lonely on the Yellow Springs," Zhang Xin said calmly. Then, noticing Yuan Shao's face visibly drop, he added in a softer tone, "However, regarding your youngest son... considering our old friendship back in the streets of Luoyang, I will personally see to it that he is placed with a good household."
The youngest boy, Yuan Mai, was barely a month old when the ambush struck, completely oblivious to the rise and fall of empires. Sparing an infant was a masterstroke of political calculation for Zhang Xin: it simultaneously broadcasted his profound benevolence to the watching world while drastically easing his impending subjugation of Yuan Shao's surviving cabinet, like Pang Ji.
By quietly farming the child out to an infertile, honest peasant family in a remote county, the boy would grow up to be a simple, law-abiding taxpayer who knew nothing of his bloodline. It was a flawless win-win scenario.
Deeply moved, Yuan Shao adjusted his tattered sleeves and delivered a profound, respectful bow to his executioner. "Ziqing... thank you."
"Let us move, prisoner," the armored guard called out, seeing the final farewell conclude.
Yuan Shao turned without a hint of hesitation and stepped firmly out into the dark night.
---
### The End of the Lineage
Zhang Xin slowly turned his gaze back toward the remaining captives brought in by Wang Meng. He easily recognized the battered forms of Pang Ji and Chunyu Qiong, but the other three young men were strangers to him, their faces thoroughly caked in mountain mud and trail dust.
"Which one of you is Yuan Tan?" Zhang Xin asked coldly.
Every eye in the hall instinctively gravitated toward a rigid, trembling young man. He gritted his teeth, stepping forward with a defiant but terrified posture. "Yuan Tan is here."
"Your father is about to meet his end. Why are you still standing around in my hall?" Zhang Xin waved his hand, summoning two more heavily armed executioners. "Take him out to join his sire."
Yuan Tan's entire frame convulsed with raw horror.
Pang Ji and the other captives opened their mouths, desperately wanting to plead for the young master's life, but the words died in their throats. Yuan Tan was an adult, legally recognized heir; under the brutal laws of political warfare, he was far too dangerous to be left alive. Furthermore, Zhang Xin had just granted an extraordinary act of mercy by sparing the infant Yuan Mai. If they pushed their luck by begging for the adult heir, they would not only fail to save Yuan Tan, but they would likely enrage their new lord and inadvertently seal the baby's fate as well.
The guards stepped forward, clamping their iron grips onto Yuan Tan's shoulders and dragging him backward out of the chamber. Though pure terror flashed across the young man's eyes, he refused to beg; instead, he bit his lip until it bled, staring intently at Zhang Xin until the heavy doors swung shut.
A few tense minutes ticked by before the guards re-entered the hall, solemnly presenting two bloody platters containing the severed heads of Yuan Shao and Yuan Tan. The grand overlord of Hebei was officially no more.
"Hang his head from the city gates for three days to signal the end of hostilities," Zhang Xin ordered, a complex swirl of philosophical emotions flashing through his mind as he looked upon his rival's dead visage. "Once the three days are up, bury his remains with the proper funeral rites of a commoner."
Turning away from the grim sight, Zhang Xin locked his eyes onto Chunyu Qiong and Pang Ji.
"Zhongjian, Yuantu. Are you two willing to enter my service?"
While **Chunyu Qiong** was never a world-class strategic mastermind, his baseline military capability was decent. In the romanticized folklore of later generations, he would be unfairly caricatured as a bumbling, drunken fool who lost the critical granaries of Wuchao because he was passed out in a wine jar. But in real history, when Cao Cao launched his desperate midnight raid, Chunyu Qiong had fought with ferocious, blood-soaked bravery until his dying breath. He possessed genuine loyalty and martial grit—a highly usable officer.
As for **Pang Ji**, his intellectual value was even greater. Historically, he was the brilliant architect who had devised the flawless political strategy for Yuan Shao to annex Jizhou from Han Fu in the first place, masterfully weaponizing Han Fu's psychological anxieties to secure an entire province without spilling a drop of blood. His only real flaw was the toxic, factional environment of Yuan Shao's court. Left to focus his immense intellect externally rather than fighting internal civil wars, his strategic output would be formidable.
"Governor!"
Before either captive could answer, General Geng Wu leaped up from his cushion, his finger pointing aggressively at Pang Ji. "Every single aggressive, malicious action Yuan Shao ever took against our province was actively advised by Guo Tu and this man, Pang Ji! He eagerly helped a tyrant abet evil! Why on earth are we not executing him alongside his master?!"
Pang Ji's body flinched at the accusation, his eyes flashing with a mix of raw resentment and desperate survival instincts as he looked up at the hostile general.
"To offer counsel was his sworn bureaucratic duty, and whether Yuan Shao chose to deploy those schemes was entirely Yuan Shao's executive prerogative. The two matters cannot be lazily confused," Zhang Xin said, casually waving his hand to dismiss the grievance. "The chief culprit has already been eradicated. There is absolutely no need to exhume past political grievances."
"Indeed, indeed," several original Jizhou officials quickly murmured in agreement, eager to curry favor with Zhang Xin's pragmatic stance. "To eat a lord's salary is to share a lord's burdens; this is the fundamental duty of any loyal subject. Does Wen Wei not understand basic administrative ethics?"
Seeing the shifting tides of the room, General Geng Wu could only grumble under his breath and sit back down.
A profound surge of gratitude welled up in Pang Ji's chest. He looked at Zhang Xin, his eyes shining, and immediately threw himself flat onto the stone floor, bowing with absolute reverence. "This humble subject, Pang Ji, is willing to serve My Lord with the unyielding loyalty of a hound or a horse!"
"Yuantu's strategic wisdom and administrative foresight are legendary throughout the realm," Zhang Xin laughed heartily. He stepped down from the dais, personally taking Pang Ji by the arms to hoist him back to his feet. "To acquire your assistance today fills my heart with boundless joy."
Seeing his colleague safely integrated, Chunyu Qiong quickly dropped to his knees as well. "I am entirely willing to serve the Upper Army!"
"Upper Army" was a highly deliberate, nostalgic reference to the *Eight Commandants of the West Garden* from their old days in Luoyang. Back then, Zhang Xin had held the prestigious rank of Upper Army Commandant—making him, on paper, Chunyu Qiong's direct institutional superior. By using this specific title, Chunyu Qiong was brilliantly signaling their historical administrative ties. *Old boss, please look after your old subordinate.*
"Good, good, good!" Zhang Xin beamed, pulling the veteran general up before turning his curiosity toward the remaining two young men. "And who might you two gentlemen be...?"
"Governor Shen, courtesy name Shen Ping of Yingchuan, respectfully greets the Marquis Xuanwei," the slightly older brother said, bowing smoothly.
The younger brother stepped forward, his posture noticeably more rigid and precise. "Xin Pi, courtesy name Xin Zuozhi of Yingchuan, respectfully greets the Marquis Xuanwei."
*Ah, so it's these two brothers,* Zhang Xin thought, a sudden wave of historical realization washing over him. "Are you two willing to enter my service as well?"
In his knowledge of the original timeline, these two brothers left completely opposite legacies. The elder, **Shen Ping**, was historically a highly problematic figure who loved aligning himself with the toxic factionalism of Guo Tu, ultimately vanishing into obscurity after the disastrous internal civil wars between Yuan Shao's sons. The younger brother, **Xin Pi**, however, was a titan of administrative integrity and rigid loyalty, eventually rising to become one of the premier Nine Ministers (*Weiwei*) within the Cao Wei empire. Furthermore, Xin Pi would go on to father a daughter who became one of the most intellectually famous women of the era: **Xin Xianying**.
Regardless of their future trajectories, both possessed high-level bureaucratic training right now. It was infinitely better to recruit them immediately rather than letting them drift to rival warlords.
"My Lord's heroic posture is truly outstanding, your benevolence and righteousness are utterly unparalleled, and you possess the supreme strategy of a true king! You are a master worthy of the ages!" Shen Ping gushed, a massive, oily smile breaking across his face as he bowed nearly to the floor. "This subject is willing to serve you with absolute devotion! Even if my brains are splattered across the battlefield, I shall harbor no regrets!"
*Tsk, even a flatterer needs a baseline of technical skill. Look at this shameless sycophancy...* Zhang Xin mused internally, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips as he turned his gaze toward the younger brother.
"I am entirely willing to serve My Lord," Xin Pi stated. Compared to his brother's elaborate, theatrical rhetoric, his delivery was crisp, solemn, and devoid of empty fluff.
"With you two brilliant minds joining our administration, I feel exactly like a fish finally returning to water," Zhang Xin offered with impeccable diplomatic courtesy, helping both brothers to their feet. The pair bowed again, their faces flushed with relief and gratitude.
At this specific point in history, the Xin brothers were roughly the same age as Zhang Xin; their reputations were entirely localized, their true administrative capacities largely untested, and they had occupied minor, low-ranking roles under Yuan Shao's regime. For a titanic, court-appointed General of Chariots and Cavalry to treat them with such profound, personal humility was the ultimate manifestation of a lord truly valuing talent.
"We congratulate My Lord on acquiring such worthy individuals!" the assembled officials roared in unison, raising their cups.
Zhang Xin returned to his seat, his heart filled with a deep sense of strategic satisfaction. His core brain trust was finally expanding beyond the singular, exhausted shoulders of Xun You.
"You four have endured a grueling mountain trek and worked themselves to the bone today. Please, go and rest first," Zhang Xin said kindly to the new recruits. "Tomorrow evening, I shall host a dedicated grand banquet to formally welcome you all into our ranks."
The current banquet was, after all, technically a celebration of their military defeat and capture. Keeping them seated among the cheering generals would be a masterclass in psychological awkwardness.
"We thank My Lord for his profound consideration!" the four answered, bowing deeply before a minor official stepped forward to guide them toward premium lodging and hot meals within the compound.
---
### Sights Set on the Vanguard
With the captives safely settled, Zhang Xin turned back to the feast. "Jinglue, come here!" he called out, waving his hand dynamically. He ordered the servants to move the premium table originally set for Yuan Shao directly to his right side, seating his young brother-in-law in the position of honor.
"Thank you, My Lord," Wang Meng replied without any false modesty, adjusting his armored kilt and taking his seat. Zhang Xin personally leaned over to pour a cup of premium vintage for him—an extraordinary display of public favor that left the young officer feeling deeply vindicated.
After three full rounds of wine and five courses of food, the atmosphere became thoroughly loose and merry. Zhang Xin leaned in slightly, whispering, "Jinglue, what of Yuan Shao's other notable subordinates? Where are the likes of Guo Tu, Gao Gan, or Zhang Jingming?"
While Yuan Shao's regime had ultimately collapsed, his total human capital was formidable. Beyond the four men he had just recruited, figures like Guo Tu and Gao Gan were still highly capable administrators and logistical coordinators. Zhang Xin's grand ambition meant he could never possibly have too many talents under his banner.
Wang Meng took a long swig of wine, scratching his neck with an awkward grin. "They were all shot completely to pieces, My Lord."
"...Shot to pieces?"
"Aye," Wang Meng explained, gesturing with his hands. "The mountain pass at Luoyuan Stream was incredibly narrow. The moment they entered our kill zone, I ordered our archers to unleash several massive, overlapping volleys of iron-tipped arrows. It was pitch black, and the arrows don't have eyes. By the time the dust settled and my infantry moved in to clear the wreckage, only these four and the Yuan family members were left breathing. The rest were basically turned into hedgehogs."
"Ah... I see," Zhang Xin nodded slowly, a faint pang of administrative regret hitting his chest. It was a slight waste of educated manpower, but such were the chaotic fortunes of a midnight mountain ambush.
As the celebratory banquet wrapped up later that night, Zhang Xin personally escorted a thoroughly exhausted Wang Meng to his quarters. Watching the young man's receding back, an entirely different, familial thought crossed Zhang Xin's mind. *Hmm... Jinglue is eighteen this year. Now that he's a highly decorated military commander, it's high time I find him a proper, noble wife back home.*
---
### The Five Elite Generals Complete
By the following dawn, the brief window for celebration slammed shut. Jizhou had been captured, but a province of this economic magnitude could not govern itself. A mountain of administrative duties descended upon the State Prefecture, and the workspace became a blur of frantic efficiency.
Orders, edicts, and proclamations flew out from the central palace like a flurry of winter snowflakes, riding with express couriers toward every remote county and garrison border.
Assisting at the central desk, **Ju Shou** found himself utterly spellbound by his new lord's executive style. Zhang Xin's sheer speed in resolving complex logistical crises was mind-boggling. Back when Han Fu was in charge, even a minor provincial dispute regarding water rights or grain tax would be passed around a dozen committees, debated endlessly for months, and usually shelved without a clear answer.
But under Zhang Xin's hands, the core of a problem was diagnosed instantly, a pragmatic policy was selected within minutes, and the executive seals were stamped before the ink on the brief could dry. *This,* Ju Shou thought with swelling professional enthusiasm, *is a true Sovereign born for these times.*
As the official proclamations reached the borders, the far-flung regional garrisons began to fall into line.
The first major domino to drop was **Zhang He**, who was currently entrenching his forces at Wu'an, a strategic stronghold located mere miles west of the capital. On the very night of Han Fu's peaceful surrender, Zhang He had received the co-signed grand edict.
The young commander had been completely flabbergasted. The garrison inside Ye City had possessed more than double the troop count of Zhang Xin's immediate vanguard! *How on earth did our CEO surrender the entire company before the board of directors even fought a single major battle?!*
However, with his supreme commander willingly stepping down, Zhang He possessed neither the political legitimacy nor the suicidal foolishness to mount a rogue resistance. Following the precise directives laid out in the document, he opened formal communications with the neighboring Black Mountain Yellow Turbans to declare a localized ceasefire, before personal marching his entire army back to the capital to submit.
The moment Zhang He entered the grand hall, Zhang Xin practically leaped out of his chair with pure, unrestrained joy.
```
[The Five Elite Generals of the Era]
1. Zhang Liao (Wenyuan)
2. Yue Jin (Wenqian)
3. Yu Jin (Wenzhe)
4. Xu Huang (Gongming)
5. Zhang He (Junyi) ─── [ACQUIRED]
```
With the acquisition of this legendary tactician from Hejian, the legendary set was officially complete under his banner!
Zhang He stepped into the chamber, dropping to one knee and cupping his hands with rigid military precision. "Zhang He of Hejian, respectfully greets the Marquis Xuanwei."
"Junyi! Please, rise quickly!" Zhang Xin smiled warmly, extending his hands to lift the young commander. "Years ago, when I was first appointed as the Colonel Protector of the Wuhuan, I sent an official envoy to recruit you to my staff. It was merely a great tragedy that you were entangled in pressing matters at the time and could not join our march. I have spent many long seasons deeply regretting that missed opportunity."
Zhang Xin paused, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection. "But today, looking upon your martial posture, my grandest wish has finally been fulfilled!"
Hearing those words, a profound wave of emotion and secret embarrassment washed through Zhang He's chest.
Back when the imperial court was suppressing the Yellow Turban rebellion under Huangfu Song, Zhang He had proudly led his personal household levies to fight *against* the peasant rebels. How could he have possibly rejected Zhang Xin's old recruitment offer due to "pressing personal matters"?
The cold truth was simple: back then, he had deeply looked down upon Zhang Xin's peasant, Yellow Turban lineage, viewing him as nothing more than a lucky rebel who had managed to buy a court title. In his arrogance, he had not only rejected the offer but had fiercely berated the official envoys Zhang Xin had dispatched to his estate.
Yet today, facing their first face-to-face meeting, Zhang Xin not only refused to hold a lethal grudge over that past insult, but he had actively manufactured a beautiful, face-saving excuse to preserve Zhang He's dignity in front of the entire court.
*What more could a warrior possibly ask from a lord?*
"This subject is entirely willing to serve My Lord with the absolute loyalty of a hound or a horse!" Zhang He roared, dropping back to both knees with a resounding thud.
In truth, over the past few years, Zhang He had spent countless sleepless nights kicking himself for his youthful arrogance. The man he had looked down upon had achieved a meteoric rise unmatched in the annals of the Han Dynasty: Colonel Protector of the Wuhuan, Marquis of Wuxiang, Marquis Xuanwei, General Pacifying Bandits, General Who Guards the East... and now, the supreme General of Chariots and Cavalry. In less than eight years, Zhang Xin had transformed himself from a desperate rebel into the third highest-ranking military figure in the entire Han Empire.
Meanwhile, the peers who *had* accepted that early recruitment—men like Zhang Liao and Zhao Yun—were already legendary generals drawing grand imperial salaries of *Two Thousand Dan*, with immense military merits waiting to be formalized into noble marquisates after this campaign. In stark contrast, Zhang He had spent those same eight years grinding away as an illegitimate, regional military officer under a stagnant governor.
Surrendering to this rising sun was the easiest career decision he had ever made.
---
### The Two Hundred Thousand Mouths
That very evening, Zhang Xin deployed his formidable charm over a magnificent welcoming feast, completely captivating Zhang He's loyalty. Two days later, the strategic dominoes continued to tumble as **Gao Lan**, who had been fiercely holding the line at Julu Commandery, led his veteran garrison back to the capital to formally pledge his alignment.
With two massive Hebei generals safely integrated into his high command, Zhang Xin officially handed over the daily civil administration of the State Prefecture to the capable hands of Ju Shou, shifting his entire executive focus to the sprawling military camps encircling Ye City.
The sheer numbers were staggering. With the peaceful surrender of Han Fu's main army, the integration of Zhang He and Gao Lan's border garrisons, and the massive, rolling arrival of Yang Feng's Black Mountain factions, the total military headcount crammed into the valley had swollen to a jaw-dropping **two hundred thousand personnel**.
It was a logistical nightmare. Just keeping this massive, non-productive mass of humanity fed required an astronomical mountain of grain every single morning, rapidly bleeding the capital's reserve granaries dry. Furthermore, a massive percentage of Han Fu's standing army consisted of terrified, untrained local peasants who had been forcibly dragged from their family farms via emergency conscription—possessing nearly zero actual combat effectiveness.
"Demobilize! We must demobilize immediately!" Zhang Xin declared, slamming his hand onto the strategy table.
For the original Jizhou standing forces, Zhang Xin instituted a ruthless vetting process: they would select only ten thousand of the absolute strongest, most disciplined able-bodied men to be integrated into his professional regular army. The remaining masses would be given standard travel expenses, handed a set of basic agricultural tools, and sent straight back to their native villages to tend to their neglected crops.
As for the Black Mountain Yellow Turbans, Zhang Xin turned to their primary leader, presenting a strict organizational ceiling. "General Yang, I can grant your core fighting force a permanent, professional regular army quota of exactly five thousand elite men. They will receive full imperial wages, premium iron armor, and standard government rations."
Zhang Xin leaned over the map, his finger tracing the fertile, untamed plains of the province. "The remaining hundreds of thousands of your Black Mountain followers will be immediately converted into legitimate civilian households and systematically settled into our new **military-agricultural colonies** (*Tuntian*)."
Yang Feng's face twisted into a deeply troubled, anxious expression. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, his voice hesitant. "Young General... my brothers are more than willing to lay down their weapons and till the soil. But we are talking about a total population of nearly a million Black Mountain souls when you count the women, children, and elderly up in the ridges. Can the State Prefecture genuinely provide such an unimaginable expanse of arable land to settle them all safely?"
Yang Feng looked up, pleading with his eyes. "Could My Lord perhaps grant us a few more regular military quotas? For so many winters now, thousands of my fiercest brothers have known absolutely no other way to put food in their families' bellies except by holding a spear..."
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