Chapter Fifteen: Dong Zhuo Enters the Capital

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Dong Zhuo regarded Emperor Shaodi Liu Bian, who was two to three horse lengths ahead of him, with contempt. He turned his head and whispered to Li Ru, who was half a horse length behind, “How can a scion of the Liu family be so timid?”

In Dong Zhuo’s view, Emperor Ling of Han was already unworthy—no longer resembling a true man of the Liu clan, obsessed with petty sums of money. But this young Emperor Shaodi was even more lacking in the old Liu family’s spirit, a fact that someone like Dong Zhuo, who had grown up amid blood and fire, could hardly tolerate.

Yet, looking back, wasn’t it common for the late stages of dynasties to produce weak emperors? If there was even a shred of courage, the dynasty would not have fallen so easily; there would have been a desperate fight to the end.

The Han dynasty’s exalted place in history owes much to its emperors, who were mostly full of vigor. Traditionally, every prince had to undergo rigorous testing by the old emperor before ascending the throne. The weak and incompetent were excluded from succession. Unfortunately, Emperor Ling had many women but few children, leaving little choice.

However, during the reign of Emperor Shaodi, the common people still held vivid impressions of outstanding Liu family members like Liu Bang, Liu Xiu, and Liu Xie, leading most to expect excellence from any Liu scion.

To discover one who appeared weak and cowardly was a shattering blow to the idealized image—a collapse of the sacred idol in their hearts, something ordinary people could hardly accept.

Thus, Dong Zhuo was deeply disappointed. Initially, he had felt some gratitude; after all, his rank and position were granted by Emperor Ling. But now, seeing Emperor Shaodi, his scant loyalty evaporated entirely.

This explained Dong Zhuo’s outward deference mixed with disdain when meeting Emperor Shaodi.

By contrast, Dong Zhuo found Prince Chenliu more pleasing to the eye—at least he was bold, articulate, and bore some resemblance to a true Liu family scion.

Li Ru, observing Dong Zhuo’s expression, casually remarked of Prince Chenliu, “This youth was personally raised by Empress Dowager Dong.” Since Dong Zhuo disliked Emperor Shaodi, why not give the prince a bit more credit? Being raised by Empress Dowager Dong made him half a member of the Dong family, which was somewhat more intimate than being raised by Empress Dowager He, sister of He Jin, who raised Emperor Shaodi.

Is this your choice?

Li Ru glanced sideways at Wang Yun, the Minister over the Masses, and his retinue, who had been sidelined to the rear of the procession. He could guess their thoughts. Since ancient times, when the sovereign is strong, ministers are weak; when the sovereign is weak, ministers become arrogant. Only a weak and timid emperor gives ministers the chance to act high-handedly. A too-powerful emperor causes ministers to constantly live in fear.

Yet, Li Ru preferred a model where both emperor and ministers were strong, spurring each other on. Though fraught with friction, this relationship was mutually beneficial. Though difficult, this was the true royal path a man of vigor should follow. Hence, Li Ru looked down upon the soft-hearted Shandong gentry.

Li Ru summoned a messenger. “Deliver this order to the general: The vanguard forces are to hasten into the city. Deploy more soldiers along the route to announce that the Inspector of Xiliang, General Dong, has returned the emperor! The central and rear troops are to camp outside the city walls.”

The messenger glanced at Dong Zhuo, who nodded and waved. The messenger acknowledged and went on his way.

This was the bearing of a great ruler.

Knowing how to employ people, delegating authority, focusing on the big picture without fussing over trifles—Li Ru saw all these qualities in Dong Zhuo. As for his lustfulness and temper, Li Ru considered these minor faults.

Which emperor’s harem was not filled with beauties beyond count? Which emperor lacked a temper, occasionally killing to vent frustration?

***

“Xiliang warriors are too arrogant!”

Minister over the Masses Wang Yun returned home fuming. A sure chance to gain merit for escorting the emperor had slipped away. The cooked duck had flown off, so to speak, and the credit went entirely to Dong Zhuo of Xiliang. Everyone else was sidelined—including Wang Yun himself, a grand Minister of the Court—who, upon entering the city, was not even informed, simply abandoned. Worse still, when he tried to follow the emperor into the palace, Xiliang soldiers stopped him, claiming no one could enter without General Dong’s order.

Am I a mere bystander?

The outrage was suffocating.

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“Send someone! Deliver my calling card to Grand Tutor Yuan Wei’s mansion, saying new fine tea has arrived and inviting the Grand Tutor to come and sample it.”

This was the turf of the Shandong gentry!

You Xiliang warrior, if we don’t teach you a lesson, how will you know the sky’s height or the earth’s depth?

***

Cao Cao, Colonel of the Imperial Guards, also sat at home pounding the table in anger.

He had just received news from the palace: Both Emperor Shaodi and Prince Chenliu had returned, unexpectedly escorted by Dong Zhuo of Xiliang, not by Wang Yun’s faction as Cao Cao had anticipated.

Another critical piece of information: Almost all of Cao’s kin and allies inside the palace had been slaughtered in the recent chaos.

Had Cao Cao not split from Yuan Shao immediately after the breach and protected several palace-bound family members, the Cao clan’s presence in the palace would have been wiped out completely.

These aristocrats had struck ruthlessly!

Now, Cao’s palace network was nearly severed, rendering the efforts of two or three generations wasted, forcing him to start anew. The time and resources invested were all for naught.

What troubled Cao Cao even more was that despite his efforts to align with these gentry families, he remained an outsider. Though the Cao clan suffered heavy losses standing on the front lines against the eunuchs, when the forces assembled to welcome the emperor, Cao Cao was excluded.

Even Left Colonel of the Imperial Guards, Chunyu Qiong, a bon vivant, and Right Colonel Zhao Meng, an incompetent, were notified, but Cao Cao, an official Imperial Guard colonel, was deliberately overlooked.

What hurt even more was Yuan family’s nature—was it always so indifferent?

Yuan Shu had long been out of sync. Whether or not the Yuan family had secretly given orders, yesterday was clearly a betrayal. Though debts of gratitude and enmity would be settled later, Yuan Shao, who had been betrayed alongside Cao Cao and fought shoulder to shoulder, now abandoned his comrade at the first sign of advantage, returning to curry favor with his own family. Could he not show some backbone or principles?

Did he not realize the Yuan family was merely placating him with crumbs, keeping him from being destroyed outright?

If even Yuan Shao showed no concern, how could Cao Cao justify holding Yuan Shu accountable?

Yuan Benchu, oh Yuan Benchu—was a mere bit of credit for escorting the emperor so vital? You are no longer the impetuous and straightforward man you once were.

Cao Cao closed his eyes in deep thought.

He sighed long and low, rose, and went inside. Taking out a small wicker box, he caressed it for a long moment but did not open it. Instead, he ordered a small fire lit in the courtyard, then threw the box into the flames and turned away.

The fire roared, quickly consuming the small wicker box.

As the box warped and swelled under heat, it revealed several bamboo horses and bamboo swords that had been stored inside.

Since the path of the gentry is barred to me, I, Cao Cao, shall forge my own way!

From now on, I care only about success or failure, not friendship.

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***

Having done what was needed, Fei Qian did not linger long at the Cui household. After a quick meal of dried meat, he took his leave.

Cui Hou wished Fei Qian could stay longer, hoping he might instruct the family’s master craftsman further. But Cui Yi had been greatly angered by Min Gong that morning and was feeling unwell. The matter of the glazed tiles would have to wait. Caring for the elder was priority. With regret, Cui Hou saw Fei Qian to the outskirts of Luoyang before returning.

The city defenses of Luoyang were now under control of the Xiliang army. On the city walls, the massive banner bearing the character for “Dong” fluttered in the wind.

The streets bore many fresh scorch marks, with local officials shouting and organizing men to clean up. Along the way, faint traces of blood could still be seen. Though covered by sand, the metallic scent of blood lingered.

It was time to withdraw. Though Fei Qian no longer planned to flee, Luoyang was imperiled. Without power or influence, merely a junior official, he could not protect himself.

Though he had appeared briefly before Emperor Shaodi and Prince Chenliu, this was only planting a seed. How long it would take to bear fruit was unknown, so he could not place all hopes on it.

Groups of Xiliang soldiers roamed the streets, causing havoc.

Fei Qian wore brocade robes and a tall hat, a clear sign of status. The soldiers dared not trouble him, but many commoners in short tunics suffered beatings or theft.

Fei Qian frowned, ordering several times for the soldiers to stop. The ruffians merely crossed their arms casually and, after a perfunctory bow, dispersed. Fei Qian was powerless.

Without office or authority, what could he do?

His frustration grew. This was the capital of the nation. Did the high-ranking officials not know how the Xiliang soldiers behaved? Why did no one come out to stop them?

The Xiliang soldiers were truly ungrateful and disrespectful, ignorant of rank and order. But that was not the whole story. Whenever someone like Fei Qian—a non-official—raised a voice, the soldiers would cease. Clearly, if higher officials intervened, the populace would not suffer so much.

But from the current state of affairs, these officials deliberately neglected their duties, allowing the Xiliang soldiers free rein. Their sole aim was to tarnish Dong Zhuo’s reputation.

Yet Fei Qian could not understand why the Xiliang commanders also allowed their men to run wild. He shook his head. Did Dong Zhuo not realize this would ruin his own name?

Returning home in confusion, Fei Qian was handed a calling card by Uncle Fu.

“Former General’s Chief Clerk Li?” Fei Qian was momentarily at a loss. Did he know this man? Who was this? An invitation to tea?

A chill ran through him. In later times, being invited for tea was a euphemism for being taken in for interrogation. Never mind the official institution, even a minor supervisor could use a tea invitation to hold a political witch-hunt.

“Uncle Fu, where did this calling card come from?”

“A while ago, before young master returned, a Yulin officer delivered it.” Uncle Fu looked worried. Receiving an invitation from a high official so mysteriously would unnerve anyone.

Who exactly was this?