Chapter Seventeen: An Old Friend in Luoyang

As comrade Wang Mang implemented a series of policies filled with heroic ambition, the embodiment of destiny, Emperor Guangwu Liu Xiu, made his dazzling appearance.

Liu Xiu was the quintessential figure in ancient tales of inspiration: a poor underdog rising to become a tall, wealthy, and handsome man; a beautiful and wealthy lady pursuing a humble and awkward man; a life of smooth sailing, success upon success, instant fame, and a model for generations to come.

In reality, Liu Xiu was born into a small landowning family in the countryside—there was an oddly familiar feeling about this—and his father was just a low-ranking government official who had already retired and returned home. Although a member of the Liu clan, they belonged to a distant branch.

When Liu Xiu reached marriageable age, a wealthy and beautiful lady was presented to him—Yin Lihua. The famous poet Li Taibai praised her beauty as “Lihua’s elegance and jade-like complexion, a Han woman’s delicate rosy face.” Beyond her unparalleled beauty, Yin Lihua was also the daughter of a truly affluent and noble family.

Moreover, Liu Xiu had even been imprisoned before. Typically, imprisonment either leads to death or severe suffering, but Liu Xiu emerged unscathed and unaltered; upon release, he immediately rebelled.

At that time, the major rebel faction was the Red Eyebrows Army, while the smaller one was the Green Forest Army. Liu Xiu joined the smaller group, which was soon crushed by Wang Mang’s larger Red Eyebrows Army with ease.

Then, something strange happened when the grand armies of Wang Mang’s regional commanders and the central imperial troops met Liu Xiu. A force of 400,000 soldiers confronted 20,000 local militia and bandits—and not only did they fail to win, they suffered a crushing defeat. Only 3,000 of Wang Mang’s massive army escaped back.

What exactly happened cannot be fully reconstructed from the sparse records, but it offers a glimpse: Wang Mang, who had been following the righteous path and prospering, stumbled on the stone that was Liu Xiu, never to recover. The heroic new dynasty of Nathanael ended, and history resumed its course along the path of feudal society.

Thus, the more Li Ru studied history, the more uneasy he grew. He had originally planned to spend about twenty years laying the groundwork for Dong Zhuo, building reputation and deep roots. But seeing the past events of Wang Mang and Liu Xiu, he realized he could never surpass Wang Mang’s achievements—and yet Wang Mang had failed so mysteriously. Could he guarantee that no second Liu Xiu would arise if he pursued the righteous path?

The righteous path was slow; the domineering path was fast. If he took the path of dominance, Li Ru estimated that if all went well, in just three years he could eliminate most of the opposition. The few remaining fringe elements would be negligible—provided, of course, he could withstand the risks that would erupt during those three years.

Li Ru summoned Jia Xu chiefly to hear his opinion. After showing him the letter, he watched silently, waiting.

Jia Xu knew exactly what Li Ru wanted to ask—but how could he advise? Should they choose the long-term steady development, resolving minor problems first while risking a future crisis beyond human control? Or should they accept immediate troubles, which might still be solved through human wisdom, and once overcome, rapidly expand their power to the maximum before the inevitable unsolvable crisis arrived?

Jia Xu counted on his fingers, muttering to himself. Even with his intelligence, he could not immediately weigh the pros and cons of these two paths.

This was no simple choice between noodles or rice today. The chosen path would determine the future, and the cost was not merely his own life or death but the fate of thousands of followers.

It was difficult. Jia Xu’s head throbbed, and he absentmindedly scratched his scalp with his greasy fingers.

Li Ru’s eye twitched again. Sometimes, if not for their shared master-disciple bond, he would find Jia Xu’s unkempt manner unbearable.

At that moment, a servant approached respectfully and handed over a card, saying that Langguan Fei Qian had come by invitation and asked whether Li Ru wished to see him.

“Bring him to the side hall to wait,” Li Ru instructed. Then, glancing at Jia Xu, he added, “There’s no rush; there’s still some time. Wenhe, you might as well consider carefully.”

Jia Xu rolled his eyes. “If it’s not urgent, why call me? Hmph. How much time do you think is left? Ah, this is truly vexing—neither path is easy…” They stood at the crossroads of righteousness and dominance. For now, the choice was flexible, but as time passed, switching paths would not be as simple as turning back; it would exact unimaginable costs and might even shake the foundation.

“At least ten days,” Li Ru answered, understanding what Jia Xu meant. The court had just experienced turmoil; factions were watching each other, reshuffling alliances, and waiting for the powerful Dong Zhuo to declare his stance. But that time would not be long—the estimate was about the maximum limit.

“Only ten days!” Jia Xu held his head. “There’s so much to recalculate; ten days isn’t nearly enough. Why do you still look so unhurried? Ah, where are you going?”

Li Ru rose and walked out calmly. “To see an old friend.”

“You still have old friends in Luoyang? Wait, I’ll come along to see for myself.”

************

Fei Qian was somewhat uneasy. How had he become connected with Li Ru, Dong Zhuo’s chief strategist? Although this invitation was likely more auspicious than ominous—if they truly wanted to deal with a reserve official like him, why bother sending a Feathered Forest officer? A mere clerk would suffice; even Fei Qian himself couldn’t withstand rough treatment—yet it was not guaranteed that something unexpected wouldn’t happen.

This was Fei Qian’s first encounter with a notable figure from the Three Kingdoms era. His heart pounded; after all, Li Ru was the wise man who had elevated Dong Zhuo from a local junior officer to the top warlord controlling the court.

As Fei Qian’s nerves fluttered, he caught sight of a man entering from the rear hall. He quickly stood, bowed his head and stood solemnly aside. Taking advantage of the man’s gaze not resting on him, he subtly glanced up. The newcomer wore a tall ceremonial hat and long robes, exuding an elegant and refined air.

This was Li Ru?

It completely shattered Fei Qian’s preconceived notions. In later generations, movies and TV dramas portrayed Li Ru as a repulsive, sickly man with a constipated expression—nothing like the handsome man in his thirties before him.

In truth, ancient times demanded officials to meet high standards of appearance—not necessarily breathtaking beauty, but at least dignified and upright. Those unfortunately unattractive were often shunned; those with truly terrifying looks were usually advised to abandon hopes of officialdom.

Therefore, Li Ru was not the repugnant figure of later dramatizations. Having spent years in Xiliang with a group of Qiang underlings who enjoyed more meat than the Central Plains people, he was physically robust—not a feeble scholar who might be blown away by a gust of wind.

Li Ru gestured for Fei Qian to take a seat without ceremony; Fei Qian thanked him and sat silently.

Li Ru quietly observed Fei Qian without speaking.

Fei Qian knelt steadily, knowing in such circumstances only Li Ru had the right to speak first; it would be a breach of protocol to speak first.

Li Ru studied Fei Qian’s features, gradually matching the image he had from two decades prior. “You are twenty years old this year?”

“Exactly.”

“Your birthday is the twenty-sixth day of the eleventh month?”

“Exactly.” Fei Qian did not understand why Li Ru asked these personal questions but answered honestly.

Li Ru nodded. “Then it is you. Are you currently appointed to an official post as a Langguan?”

“Not yet.” Fei Qian was merely one of many reserve officials, not yet formally assigned any responsibility. During the Han dynasty, there were over five thousand Langguan at their peak. Though the title sounded official, those without posts were only nominal officials, often ranked below some clerks under higher officials.

Li Ru adjusted his beard and said, “In that case, there is a vacancy as an assistant officer in the General’s Office. Would you be willing to take the position?”

Fei Qian’s heart surged like thousands of wild horses. What was this? Li Ru was offering him an official post? The assistant officer in the General’s Office was effectively the aide to Li Ru himself, the office’s chief of staff. It was neither insignificant nor grand, but with Dong Zhuo’s current prominence—and his plan to enthrone Liu Bian and become Chancellor—the ranks of his subordinates would naturally rise.

This position seemed promising and bright, yet Fei Qian knew all too well that Dong Zhuo’s end would be grim. How much future could there be following him? Perhaps just a few years before being cut down…

What if he declined Li Ru’s offer?

At this stage, Dong Zhuo’s word was law. Fei Qian recalled several officials who had offended Dong Zhuo and were instantly executed on the spot, without even a trial. Although Li Ru was merely asking his opinion now, what if he angered Li Ru, who might see him as ungrateful and disrespectful—refusing a toast and forcing a punitive drink? That would be disastrous.

Could he delay?

Suddenly, Fei Qian realized he had no excuse to stall. Others might claim the matter was weighty and needed family consultation, but Fei Qian’s parents were deceased, he belonged to a distant branch, and had no elders to consult. Who would believe him?

What was he to do? Sweat beaded on his brow.