The slaughter did not stop.
Xu Rong drove his cavalry forward without mercy, their hooves pounding like thunder over broken men.
There was no formation left.
No resistance.
Only collapse.
The Yu Province soldiers saw it clearly—
their commander had fled.
What reason was there to fight?
They were infantry.
Slow.
Exposed.
Doomed.
So they knelt.
One after another.
Throwing down weapons. Pressing their foreheads into the dirt. Begging for life.
It made no difference.
Sun Jian rode like a hunted beast.
Twenty li.
More.
Still the sound of pursuit echoed behind him.
Too close.
Too relentless.
Panic began to claw at his chest.
Then—
"Lord!"
Zhu Mao's voice cut through the chaos.
His eyes locked onto the red turban.
Understanding struck instantly.
"Give it to me!"
No hesitation.
Sun Jian tore it off and thrust it into his hands, snatching the helmet in return.
In war—
identity was death.
Zhu Mao tied the turban tightly around his head.
Then he saw it.
A narrow path.
A chance.
"Take the small road. I'll draw them away."
Sun Jian's grip tightened.
"Come back alive."
But they both knew—
that was a lie meant for comfort.
Zhu Mao spurred his horse and fled down the main road.
A bright target.
A living signal.
From afar, the Dong cavalry saw the red flash and surged after it without question.
The trap held.
Zhu Mao rode until his horse gave out.
A graveyard.
Silent.
Burnt offerings scattered among the dead.
He dismounted.
Breathing hard.
Thinking fast.
A charred wooden post stood nearby.
He wrapped the red turban around it.
Then vanished into the grass.
Weapon in hand.
Waiting.
Moments later—
the cavalry arrived.
They surrounded the "target," closing in slowly.
Excitement spread through the ranks.
"Sun Jian dies today!" Xu Rong said, his voice filled with anticipation.
A major general.
A noble.
A prize worth mountains of merit.
But when they reached it—
Silence.
A post.
Cloth fluttering in the wind.
Realization hit.
"General… we've been tricked."
Xu Rong's expression darkened.
Then flattened.
"Withdraw."
The prize was gone.
There was no point wasting time.
That was when Zhu Mao moved.
From the grass—like a ghost—he lunged straight at Xu Rong.
A final strike.
A final gamble.
But before he could even reach him—
The guards reacted.
Horses surged forward.
Impact.
A crushing force slammed into him, throwing his body into the dirt.
Bones shattered.
Breath torn away.
He screamed—
once.
Then blades fell.
Again.
Again.
Until there was nothing left.
A soldier lifted the severed head, grinning.
"General! Sun Jian is dead!"
Xu Rong barely glanced at it.
"Fake."
His voice was cold.
"If it were real… he wouldn't be alone."
The smile vanished.
The soldier hesitated—
then cut off the left ear.
Proof.
Merit.
The rest—
was discarded like trash.
Xu Rong returned to Guangcheng Pass.
The tally came soon after.
Thousands killed.
Thousands captured.
More than ten thousand taken in total.
Even Li Min—
captured alive.
The report was sent.
In Luoyang—
Dong Zhuo was pleased.
Very pleased.
So pleased—
he ordered Li Min to be boiled alive.
As for the surrendered soldiers—
They were bound.
Hung inverted.
Boiling water poured into their bodies.
Screams filled the camps for days.
This was not punishment.
This was a message.
Sun Jian made it back.
Alive.
Barely.
He waited.
One day.
Two.
Zhu Mao did not return.
So he sent Huang Gai to search.
Two more days—
And the truth came back.
A corpse.
Mutilated.
Ear gone.
Sun Jian stared at it in silence.
Then—
he broke.
Tears fell.
Not for defeat.
But for loyalty repaid with death.
He ordered the head sewn back.
A wooden ear carved.
The body made whole—
so it could rest.
He tried to rebuild.
Gathered the scattered.
Reformed the ranks.
Prepared to fight again.
But then—
the stories spread.
Boiling.
Torture.
Surrender meant worse than death.
Fear spread faster than fire.
Men began to flee.
One after another.
Sun Jian killed over a hundred deserters—
only then did it slow.
But the damage was done.
This army—
could not fight.
Not now.
Letters were sent.
To all the lords.
I have fought.
Twice.
Where are you?
Silence answered.
Yuan Shu was busy squeezing Nanyang dry.
The Suanzao lords hid behind wine and fear.
Yuan Shao entertained guests, building influence instead of armies.
Only one reply came.
From Zhang Xin.
One word.
Wait.
Sun Jian stared at it.
"…Wait for what?"
But he had no choice.
So he stayed.
And endured.
Zhang Xin was waiting.
For morale to rot.
For cracks to widen.
For the moment to strike.
Dong Zhuo was waiting too.
When news of fear and collapse reached him—
he moved.
Force had been shown.
Now—
came temptation.
Envoys were sent.
Scholars.
Officials.
Men with reputations.
Men with ties.
Promises of power.
Of survival.
Of submission.
Among them—
Cai Yong.
Sent for one purpose.
Zhang Xin.
Elsewhere, blood answered diplomacy.
Envoys were killed.
Names stained.
Reputations shattered.
The alliance decayed further.
When Zhang Xin heard—
he only laughed coldly.
Dogs killing even their own kin to please their masters.
Nothing surprising.
Then—
"Lord, Master Cai has arrived."
For a moment—
everything else faded.
Zhang Xin rose immediately.
At the camp gate—
he saw him.
His teacher.
He bowed deeply.
"Teacher."
"Rise, Zi Qing…"
Cai Yong's smile was strained.
Forced.
Zhang Xin understood instantly.
"Come. Let's speak inside."
The Dong soldiers tried to follow.
They were stopped.
"We are envoys of the Chancellor!"
Zhang Xin glanced back, his voice flat.
"Another word… and you die."
Weapons rose.
Silence followed.
Inside the tent—
they sat.
Master above.
Student below.
"Teacher," Zhang Xin said calmly, "Dong Zhuo sent you to persuade me?"
Cai Yong hesitated.
Then spoke.
"…Lord Dong has a daughter."
"She is of age."
"He wishes… to give her to you as a concubine."
Silence.
Then—
Bang!
The table shattered under Zhang Xin's hand.
"Dong Zhuo—!"
His voice burned with fury.
"That bastard—!"
"He wants to be my father?!"
Even Cai Yong looked uncomfortable.
The anger lingered—
then slowly faded.
Zhang Xin exhaled.
Sat back down.
Eyes narrowing slightly.
"Teacher…"
A pause.
Then, almost casually—
"Is she beautiful?"