Xu Xiang fell silent.
If it were merely a claim of beheading over twenty-five thousand enemies, it might have been dismissed as an exaggeration of military merit. But Zhang Xin had already sent the Xianbei chieftains to Luoyang—how could such a thing be falsified?
For a matter of this magnitude, the court need only dispatch an envoy to verify it. There was no possibility of deception.
The officials immediately broke into discussion.
Back then, when Dou Xian carved his inscription at Yanran Mountain, he had slain just over thirteen thousand Northern Xiongnu.
And now Zhang Xin had doubled that?
How many troops had Dou Xian commanded? Eight thousand elite central soldiers, reinforced by the forces of twelve Liangzhou commanderies, along with Southern Xiongnu and Qiang cavalry—over fifty thousand in total.
And Zhang Xin?
At the time of the Xianbei invasion, he could not mobilize the full strength of Youzhou. At most, with his Yellow Turban troops and Wuhuan cavalry, he had barely over ten thousand men.
How could such a force account for more than twenty-five thousand kills?
Inevitably, the court's thoughts turned to one name—
Huo Qubing.
At eighteen, Huo Qubing had led eight hundred cavalry and slain over two thousand Xiongnu on his first campaign.
Zhang Xin was about the same age, was he not?
Ten thousand against twenty-five thousand…
The proportions matched.
"Could this man be the reincarnation of the Marquis of Champion?" one official exclaimed.
At that, Tian Kai unconsciously puffed out his chest, his earlier fatigue forgotten.
After all, he was Zhang Xin's subordinate—his lord's glory was his own.
"My cousin truly has an eye for talent," he said with pride.
Even Liu Hong could not hide his delight.
"Quickly—bring the memorial forward!"
Zhang Rang descended the steps and took the document from Tian Kai. The moment he saw it, he let out a soft exclamation.
"This… is a memorial?"
"Yes," Tian Kai replied with a slight bow. "Prefect Zhang has developed a new kind of paper. It is durable, smooth to write on, resistant to insects, and preserves ink clearly. All official documents in Yuyang are now written on it."
A murmur spread through the court.
New paper?
Curiosity flickered across many faces—but compared to Zhang Xin's military achievement, this innovation drew only mild interest.
After all, paper was not new. Cai Lun had already introduced it years ago.
Still, no one objected. There was no strict rule forbidding paper memorials—and given Zhang Xin's contributions, no one would nitpick.
Zhang Rang presented the memorial.
Liu Hong opened it—and his eyes lit up.
"Excellent paper!"
It was thicker and sturdier than existing varieties, faintly fragrant from herbal treatment. The ink stood out sharply against the pale yellow surface—far clearer than bamboo slips.
He quickly read through the document, then handed it back.
"Read it aloud."
Zhang Rang complied.
The memorial was long—detailing strategy, execution, and every step of the campaign. By the time he finished, his throat was nearly dry.
Only then did the officials fully understand.
The bulk of the victory had come from surprise attacks on undefended Xianbei settlements—not direct battlefield confrontation.
In truth, only a few hundred had fallen in open combat during the final engagement.
This explained everything.
The Xianbei had always been elusive—striking when strong, fleeing when weak. Even if the Han army caught them, supply lines became a crippling issue.
Meanwhile, the Xianbei's mobility allowed them to roam freely across vast frontiers that the Han could never fully defend.
Zhang Xin had not defeated them by force alone—he had outthought them.
When the reading ended, Liu Hong stood and sighed deeply.
"I regret not heeding Xia Yu's counsel."
Xia Yu had once proposed a nearly identical strategy: strike in winter when Xianbei settlements were exposed, and disrupt their herds in spring.
But Liu Hong had hesitated.
Later, under pressure from Wang Fu, he approved a poorly timed campaign instead. The result had been disastrous—most of the army lost.
Since then, he had abandoned offensive action against the Xianbei.
And now, Zhang Xin had succeeded using the very plan he had once rejected.
Worse still, Xia Yu had perished in the chaos of the Liangzhou Rebellion.
Regret lingered in the emperor's voice.
"The failure of the past was due to treacherous officials," said Zhang Yan, stepping forward. "Your Majesty's wisdom is unmatched. Remove such men, and the Han will be invincible."
Zhang Rang's expression darkened immediately.
Though Wang Fu was long dead, the implication was obvious.
The two began arguing.
"Enough!" Liu Hong snapped.
After silencing them, he gave an order:
"Posthumously grant Xia Yu the title of Marquis of Duting. Let his eldest son inherit it."
Then he looked out across the court.
"As for Zhang Xin… how should he be rewarded?"
The hall buzzed again.
His achievements were undeniable.
Brilliant strategy. Decisive execution. Firm postwar control.
More than twenty thousand slain.
And most astonishing of all—over sixty Xianbei leaders had come to Luoyang to surrender.
Such a feat had not been seen since the restoration under Emperor Guangwu of Han.
"A noble title is only fitting," many agreed.
Even Dong Zhuo had been rewarded with marquis rank for far lesser achievements.
At last, He Jin stepped forward.
"Your Majesty," he said solemnly, "I propose that Zhang Xin be granted the title—"
"—Marquis of Champion."