The manors and fortified estates each had their own armed retainers, and their resistance was initially strong. Yet the Yellow Turbans were vast in number, and Guan Hai himself was fierce and formidable. With him leading the assault, those strongholds fell one after another, unable to hold out for long.
Once inside, the Yellow Turbans looted grain and wealth, slaughtered the men, and drove the women outside. After waves of plunder and brutality, their morale surged.
Just as Guan Hai was gathering the spoils and preparing to withdraw, Zhang Xin arrived.
Having just fought two battles, the Yellow Turbans were exhausted and in no condition to fight again. Guan Hai immediately led his forces in retreat. Zhang Xin did not pursue. Instead, he dispatched troops and conscripted laborers to transport the seized grain and wealth back to Linzi, then summoned the Prime Minister of Beihai to survey and register the lands.
Guan Hai fled to Anchang and repeated the same pattern—plunder, withdraw.
Again, Zhang Xin arrived.
Again, Guan Hai fled.
Zhang Xin would take the recovered supplies, measure and register the land, and press forward in pursuit. Guan Hai ran, Zhang Xin followed. He fled, was chased, yet could not escape. He wanted to surrender, yet hesitated, feeling wronged. He plundered, Zhang Xin reclaimed—over and over, until even Guan Hai himself was worn thin.
The powerful clans could endure no more.
"Uncle Shepherd, please allow him to surrender! If this continues, Qingzhou will be completely ravaged!"
After more than half a month of pursuit, Guan Hai had devastated most of Beihai before finally retreating to Jimo. Zhang Xin joined forces with Xu Huang, their combined strength reaching eight thousand, and continued the chase without pause.
Representatives from powerful families across the counties came to Zhang Xin's camp, pleading for him to accept Guan Hai's surrender. Even the gentry of Donglai sent envoys.
Under normal circumstances, they would have welcomed the complete destruction of the Yellow Turbans. But resettling surrendered rebels required land—and that land would have to come from them. Worse still, Guan Hai moved too quickly; even Zhang Xin could not catch him. As he fled, he looted relentlessly. Now the clans feared he might appear at their own gates next.
The command tent was soon filled with petitioners urging clemency.
"I have already said," Zhang Xin replied firmly, "those who surrender after three months, or only when surrounded, will not be pardoned."
"I always keep my word. Are you asking me to break my promise for personal gain? If I allow them to surrender now, would that not make us a laughingstock?"
A scholar of about thirty stepped forward, bowed, and spoke:
"Your Excellency is wise. Since your arrival in Qingzhou, you have governed with benevolence and righteousness. Men like Sima Ju surrendered upon hearing of your virtue, and in only a few months, most of Qingzhou has been restored."
"I do not know why Your Excellency has recently taken a harsher stance. Yet Donglai remains unrecovered. If Guan Hai is denied surrender, the Yellow Turbans there will surely resist to the death, and countless innocents will suffer."
"Now that Guan Hai has lost his resolve, it would be best to extend benevolence and allow him to submit. In this way, the remaining rebels will lose the will to fight, and the recovery of Qingzhou will be achieved with far less cost."
"I humbly ask Your Excellency to place the people first."
When he finished, he bowed deeply. The others echoed his plea.
Zhang Xin studied him. "May I ask your name?"
"Sun Qian of Yingling, courtesy name Gongyou."
Zhang Xin suddenly understood. No wonder he spoke so persuasively.
After a moment, Zhang Xin sighed.
"Recently, I heard that His Majesty is ill. I wished to recover Qingzhou swiftly and report good news to the court—perhaps to lift His Majesty's spirits."
The crowd nodded in realization.
"Yet in my haste, I nearly made a grave mistake. If not for Gongyou's counsel…"
He turned to Sun Qian. "Very well. We shall accept Guan Hai's surrender."
The tent erupted in relief and praise.
Thus, all three sides benefited: Zhang Xin gained reputation, troops, and resources; Guan Hai preserved his forces; and the powerful clans gained a measure of peace.
On the sixth day of the third month in the sixth year of Zhongping, Guan Hai formally surrendered. Zhang Xin accepted his troops, treated them kindly, and settled them properly.
Soon after, representatives from the various clans returned.
"Uncle Shepherd, when will you return our land, grain, and wealth?"
Zhang Xin looked at them in confusion. "What land, grain, and wealth?"
They froze.
"The property the Yellow Turbans seized from us…"
"If it was taken by the Yellow Turbans, then you should seek it from them. Why ask me?" Zhang Xin replied.
Unease spread among them.
"But those goods are now in your possession…"
Zhang Xin picked up a cup and set it on the table.
"This represents your property."
He moved it. "The Yellow Turbans seized it—so it became theirs."
He moved it again, placing it before himself. "Then the government defeated them and took it. By right, it now belongs to the state. Is that not so?"
They hesitated, but could not refute the logic.
"In that case, what is there to return? Did I take anything from you?"
They fell silent.
"These are spoils of war—public property, not my personal possessions. If they were mine, I might give them to you. But since they belong to the state… you may leave."
One man protested loudly, "Does Your Excellency not fear losing the hearts of Qingzhou's scholars?"
Zhang Xin waved his hand. "Remove him."
Armored guards entered and dragged the man out. The rest, realizing there would be no restitution, departed with resentment.
After some time, Sun Qian came to bid farewell. He had not joined the others in their demands; his purpose had only been to offer counsel.
"Gongyou," Zhang Xin greeted warmly, pulling him to sit.
"Do not rush off. I wish to appoint you as Chief Administrator of Qingzhou. Would you be willing to accept?"