Zhang Xin felt a lump rise in his throat, a sudden wave of emotion catching him completely off guard.
When he had first undertaken the monumental task of resettling a million Yellow Turbans and conducting land surveys back in Qingzhou, it had felt like pulling teeth. Every single inch of progress had been paid for in political capital; he had exhausted every resource at his disposal and offended an entire continent of entrenched elites.
But look at Jizhou.
Is this what it actually feels like to have the unconditional backing of the local gentry? he wondered, a wry smile touching his lips. There really is nothing quite like the fierce loyalty of fellow countrymen.
Tian Feng, ever the man of relentless action, didn't waste a single breath. The moment the official seal of the Chief Clerk of Jizhou was in his hands, he began packing his belongings, eager to personally ride out and court the region's most influential clans.
"Elder Tian, there is truly no need to rush," Zhang Xin urged, stepping forward to gently catch the older man's sleeve. "Resettling a million lives is a generational endeavor, not a fire to be put out in an afternoon. Why not settle into the State Prefecture first? Get a feel for the daily administration, and set off in a few days when you are rested."
Tian Feng firmly shook his head. "Saving the people is precisely like fighting a fire, my Lord. The Black Mountain bandits have bled this province dry for years. The common folk of Jizhou have suffered far too deeply, and none of the past Prefects possessed the spine or the capability to govern them."
He looked directly at Zhang Xin, his eyes burning with a fierce, newfound resolve. "Now that a true Lord has arrived who can govern, I must do everything in my power to help you stabilize Jizhou as swiftly as possible." He paused, gesturing toward their colleague. "Ju Shou possesses a rare and great talent; you can safely entrust the daily affairs of the State Prefecture to him. There will be no risk of failure."
The more deferential and respectful Zhang Xin was toward him, the more Tian Feng felt a burning obligation to produce immediate, undeniable results to repay the honor of being so deeply recognized.
Seeing the old man's unyielding determination, Ju Shou stepped in to smooth the waters. "Since Yuanhao is possessed by this noble intent, my Lord, you might as well grant it. I am entirely willing to shoulder the administrative burdens of the Prefecture in his stead."
Left with no choice but to yield to the stubborn old minister, Zhang Xin sighed softly. "In that case, I will have to heavily trouble you, Elder Tian."
Tian Feng bowed deeply, his voice resonant. "Lord, please do not speak of trouble. To receive the Lord's stipend and share the Lord's burdens is the fundamental duty of any loyal subject."
Before Tian Feng could depart, Zhang Xin insisted on leaving his own personal, official carriage for the old man's comfort. More importantly, he detached a battle-hardened squad of his own Personal Guards to flank him.
Turning to the guard captain, Zhang Xin's warm demeanor instantly hardened into steel. "You are to protect Elder Tian with your lives. If so much as a single hair on his head is harmed, do not bother returning to me. Bring me your head instead."
"Rest assured, my Lord!" The captain thundered, pounding his fist against his chest armor in a solemn vow.
It was a necessary precaution. Jizhou had been a meat grinder of constant warfare over the last few years. While it was in far better shape than the historical timeline—where the nomadic Wuhuan would have thoroughly pillaged the northern plains—the harsh reality remained: after two solid years of Han Fu's disastrous mismanagement and extortion, countless desperate peasants had fled into the mountains to become bandits. The highways were crawling with lawlessness.
With heavy hearts, Zhang Xin and Ju Shou bid farewell to Tian Feng before turning their horses back toward Ye City.
The return journey swallowed another two and a half days of hard riding.
The moment Zhang Xin dismounted at the State Prefecture, a breathless minor official hurried out to meet him. "My Lord, young Han De has been waiting for you in the main hall for hours."
Surprised, Zhang Xin threw his reins to a groom and walked briskly inside.
"Greetings, Governor," Han De said, scrambling to his feet the moment Zhang Xin entered. His face was a mask of nervous trepidation, his hands twitching slightly at his sides.
"Young Master Han," Zhang Xin said, offering a welcoming smile to ease the tension. "What brings you to the prefecture today?"
"Uh..." Han De hesitated, shifting his weight. "Didn't the Governor promise my father previously that our family would be permitted to return to our ancestral home?" He swallowed hard. "My father sent me to respectfully inquire... as to when we might be allowed to set off."
"Oh, that matter?" Zhang Xin slapped his forehead, a laugh escaping him. He had been so entirely consumed by the post-war logistics of Jizhou that the fate of the deposed Prefect had completely slipped his mind. "My apologies. When does Lord Han wish to leave?"
Han De bit the bullet, blurting out, "The sooner, the better, my Lord."
"Then let it be tomorrow morning," Zhang Xin nodded smoothly. "I shall host a grand banquet tonight to formally bid farewell to Lord Han."
Relief washed over Han De's face so visibly he looked as if he might collapse. He bowed until his forehead nearly touched the floor. "Thank you, Governor! Thank you!"
That evening, the grand hall of the State Prefecture was filled with music and wine. Zhang Xin invited every prominent official currently in the city to attend, allowing them one final night to pay their respects and bid a proper farewell to their former master.
Early the next morning, before the morning mist had even cleared from the valley, Zhang Xin arrived at the city gates. Behind him rolled several heavy wagons laden with gold, silver, and fine silks—wealth meticulously cataloged overnight, ensuring Han Fu and his descendants could live out their days in absolute, untroubled luxury.
He granted permission to any official who wished to escort Han Fu out of the city to do so. The procession stretched for ten miles, a somber but respectful affair, before the civilian officials finally bowed, fulfilled their duties of gratitude, and returned to the city to resume their duties under the new regime.
Only Zhang Xin, flanked by hundreds of elite Personal Guards, continued to ride alongside Han Fu's carriages, escorting them further south.
Thirty miles outside the city walls, Han Fu finally ordered his carriage to stop. He stepped down into the dust, bowing low to Zhang Xin. "Governor, please, you may stop here. I have my own family retainers to guard the road. We are entirely safe, and I dare not trouble your Excellency any further." He glanced toward the horizon. "Jizhou has only just been stabilized; a myriad of affairs await your hand. The Governor should return to Ye City."
"It is no trouble at all," Zhang Xin said with a casual wave of his hand. "I intend to escort Lord Han all the way to Liyang Ferry."
Han Fu's heart violently skipped a beat. A cold sweat broke out across his back. Liyang Ferry? Why is he insisting on following me into the wilderness? Could it be... is he looking for an isolated stretch of road to have his guards slit my throat?
The spiral of paranoia was instantaneous. The more Han Fu thought about it, the more terrified he became. His voice trembled slightly as he stammered, "No, no... please, there is truly no need... I really dare not trouble the Governor..."
Looking at the sheer, unadulterated terror radiating from the man, Zhang Xin instantly recognized the symptoms of Han Fu's chronic persecution mania. He couldn't help but chuckle softly.
"Lord Han, please, put your heart at ease," Zhang Xin said, his voice dropping to a reassuring, gentle register. "I am making this journey because I must board a vessel at Liyang Ferry myself. I am returning to Qingzhou to coordinate the transfer of money, grain, and emergency supplies between our two provinces."
He gestured toward the sweeping plains around them. "Since bandits are currently rampant throughout Jizhou, it is merely a happy coincidence that my guards can ensure your safety along the way."
Is that really the truth? Han Fu thought, entirely unconvinced.
But with Zhang Xin framing it so logically, he had no political leverage to refuse. Furthermore, he knew the bitter truth: Jizhou had been ruined under his own tenure. Zhang Xin having to personally ride back to Qingzhou to bail out the province with external grain was entirely a mess of Han Fu's own making.
Thus, the hundred-plus miles from Ye City to Liyang Ferry became a psychological torment. For Han Fu, every bump in the road felt like sitting on a bed of pins and needles.
When they finally arrived at Liyang Ferry, the grand warships of Guan Jian's naval fleet were already anchored along the shoreline, waiting in perfect formation.
While the sailors and dockworkers were busy loading supplies onto the flagships, Zhang Xin sought out Han Fu one last time.
"Lord Han, our paths diverge here. Let us part ways."
"Good, good, excellent," Han Fu said, his bows hurried and frantic. "Governor, please take care of yourself on the river."
"Lord Han, take care," Zhang Xin replied, returning the bow with flawless etiquette. He paused, looking deeply into the older man's anxious eyes. "Before you go, I have one piece of advice for you. I wonder if you would be willing to hear it?"
"Governor, please speak! I am listening," Han Fu nodded repeatedly, looking like a chick pecking frantically at grain.
"You are a capable, honorable minister when the realm is at peace, but you do not possess the stomach or the nature for an age of chaos," Zhang Xin said, his voice entirely devoid of malice, carrying only stark realism. "The world has fractured. If you wish to protect your life, safeguard your family, and reach a peaceful, natural end to your days... do not harbor a single thought of rising to power again once you return home. Do not meddle in the affairs of the warlords."
In the original fabric of history, Han Fu's tragedy had been born of his own restless insecurity. Unable to accept his forced retirement after Yuan Shao ousted him, he hadn't gone home to Henan at all. Instead, he had fled to the warlord Zhang Miao—a known rival of Yuan Shao. His paranoia eventually consumed him so utterly that when a minor envoy from Yuan Shao arrived to speak with Zhang Miao, Han Fu was so completely paralyzed by the fear of imminent execution that he fled to a latrine and used a small scraping knife to slit his own throat.
Zhang Xin wanted to completely abort that pathetic sequence of events. If Han Fu ran off to some random warlord's territory and died of a panic attack caused by a stray rumor, it would look terrible on paper.
The political calculus was simple: the more comfortably and peacefully Han Fu lived out his retirement, the higher the loyalty and trust of the former Jizhou faction would be toward Zhang Xin. If Han Fu died under mysterious, terrified circumstances elsewhere, conspiracy theories would inevitably spark, whispering that Zhang Xin had secretly orchestrated his demise.
Han Fu's life itself didn't matter to the grand strategy. But allowing his death to cast a shadow over Zhang Xin's reputation was unacceptable. A simple, stern warning was a cheap preventative measure.
"Thank you for your profound instruction, Governor. I shall remember it in my bones," Han Fu said, his posture humbler than it had ever been.
A horn blew across the water. The naval officers approached, bowing to inform Zhang Xin that the fleet was ready for departure. Zhang Xin nodded, ensuring a sturdy, comfortable transport vessel was assigned to Han Fu's family to ferry them safely across the shifting currents of the Yellow River.
It was only when his boots firmly touched the southern soil of Henan that Han Fu finally let out a long, shuddering breath, the phantom weight lifted from his shoulders.
"Father," Han De said, walking up beside him as the servants secured their luggage. "The wealth, the grain, and the supplies are all safely accounted for. Shall we make for the ancestral home?"
"Yes, home," Han Fu murmured. He turned back, watching the massive sails of Zhang Xin's fleet catch the wind, drifting further and further down the river until they were mere specks against the horizon.
"A-De," Han Fu sighed, a profound, complex wave of emotion settling over him. He looked at his son, his voice quiet. "Whatever else they say of him... Zhang Xin is a truly loyal and honest man."
Meanwhile, back in the Jizhou State Prefecture, Ju Shou walked into the central command hall holding a stack of urgent administrative reports. Expecting to find the Governor at his desk, he stopped short when he found a different man organizing the scrolls.
It was Wang Meng.
"Jinglue," Ju Shou said, adjusting his robes and offering a polite greeting. "Where is the Lord?"
Given that Wang Meng had been the mastermind behind the brilliant capture of Yuan Shao, he possessed immense merit and was known to be an intimate confidant of Zhang Xin. Ju Shou, despite his high rank as Chief Clerk, treated him with immense respect.
"Chief Clerk Ju," Wang Meng replied, instantly rising from the desk and returning the bow with flawless discipline, refusing to let his proximity to power make him arrogant. He gestured toward the open windows looking south.
"The Lord has already boarded the fleet. He has returned to Qingzhou."