The wind over Qingzhou carried the scent of blood and thawing earth.
By the time Zhang Xin reached the outskirts of Xi'an, everything had already been set in motion.
—
Bochang had fallen.
Lixian's reinforcements had been cut apart by Zuo Bao's cavalry before they could even see the city walls.
And in Xi'an—
Sima Ju had done nothing.
—
Inside the city, tension hung thick.
The Yellow Turban leaders gathered once more before Sima Ju, their faces filled with anger and disbelief.
"Bochang is lost!"
"It's only fifty li away! If we don't act now, the Han army will be at our gates!"
"Commander, are we really going to just sit here and wait to die?!"
But Sima Ju remained seated.
His face was pale, but his voice was firm.
"No one is to leave the city."
The room erupted.
"Why?!""We still have tens of thousands of men!""If we strike now, we can still turn the tide!"
Sima Ju suddenly slammed the table.
"Turn the tide?"
His eyes were bloodshot.
"With what?!"
Silence fell.
"You think I don't want to fight?" he said hoarsely. "Xu He had over ten thousand men—and he was wiped out."
"Zhang Xin's troops are not the same as before."
"They move in winter. They strike without warning. They don't follow rules."
He looked around the room.
"And you want me to march out… and meet him in the open?"
No one spoke.
Because deep down—
They were afraid too.
—
Sima Ju leaned back, exhaustion in his eyes.
"Xi'an has walls. Supplies. Men."
"As long as we hold the city…"
"We still have a chance."
But even as he said it—
He didn't sound convinced.
—
Outside the city, the Han army banners appeared on the horizon.
Black and red.
Orderly. Silent.
Like a tide that did not shout—only advanced.
Zhang Xin rode at the front, Dian Wei beside him.
He stopped on a small rise and looked toward Xi'an.
Tall walls.
Closed gates.
No movement.
"He chose to defend," Dian Wei muttered.
Zhang Xin nodded slightly.
"Of course he did."
"If he came out, he would die faster."
He studied the city for a moment, then asked:
"How much grain do we have in Bochang?"
"A few months at most," Dian Wei replied.
Zhang Xin smiled faintly.
"Enough."
—
He turned to the officers behind him.
"Send orders."
"Zhang Niujiao is to secure all routes around Xi'an."
"No one enters. No one leaves."
"Zuo Bao's cavalry will patrol the outer perimeter—cut down any scouts or messengers."
"Gao Shun will set up fortified camps to the south."
His gaze hardened.
"We will not storm the city."
A few officers were surprised.
"Not attack, my lord?"
Zhang Xin shook his head.
"Why waste lives?"
He pointed toward Xi'an.
"Inside that city are not just soldiers."
"There are refugees. Loot. Fear."
"And a commander who doesn't dare to fight."
He lowered his hand.
"All we have to do…"
"...is wait."
—
The siege began.
Days passed.
Then a week.
Inside Xi'an, the situation quickly deteriorated.
The supplies Sima Ju had gathered—
Grain, silk, treasures, even women—
Had come from looting the powerful clans.
But loot was not the same as order.
There was no system.
No distribution.
No trust.
The Yellow Turban soldiers, once united by belief, now quarreled over spoils.
Fights broke out.
Then killings.
Food began to run short—not because there wasn't enough, but because no one controlled it.
Outside, the Han army remained silent.
No attacks.
No shouting.
Just… waiting.
That silence became heavier than any assault.
—
One night, a group of Yellow Turban soldiers tried to open the gate and flee.
They were cut down by their own comrades before they could succeed.
The next night, another group tried.
This time, they made it out—
Only to be hunted down by Zuo Bao's cavalry in the darkness.
No one escaped.
—
Fear spread.
Then despair.
—
On the tenth day of the siege, a fire broke out in the eastern district.
No one knew who started it.
But in the chaos, several storehouses were burned.
Grain turned to ash.
Smoke filled the sky.
—
Sima Ju stood atop the walls, looking out at the unmoving Han camp.
His lips trembled slightly.
"He's… not attacking…"
A subordinate beside him whispered:
"That's what makes it worse."
—
By the fifteenth day—
The first cries of starvation were heard.
Not from soldiers.
From civilians.
—
And outside the walls, Zhang Xin simply watched.
Calm.
Patient.
Like a man who had already won—
And was just waiting for the result to arrive.