Dong Zhuo was dragged out of sleep by frantic shouting.
"Chancellor! Chancellor!"
His eyes snapped open, irritation flashing like fire.
"What is it?"
The anger almost spilled out—but he swallowed it when he saw who stood before him: the personal guard who had followed him for more than a decade.
Moments ago, he had been dreaming.
The palace. Silk. Laughter.
Even the taste of swan meat still lingered on his tongue.
Reality ruined it.
"Zhang Xin's army has left their camp," the guard reported, voice tight with excitement. "They're heading for Huai County."
Silence.
Then—
"What did you say?"
Dong Zhuo sat upright in an instant, all traces of sleep gone. His heavy body moved with startling speed.
"Zhang Xin's army has left the camp. They are marching on Huai County."
A grin spread across the guard's face.
"Huai County…"
Dong Zhuo repeated it slowly—then burst into laughter.
"Good! Good!"
His laughter was loud, unrestrained, almost savage.
"He's out of food," Dong Zhuo sneered. "Driven to desperation, he's turned his blade on Yuan Shao. He wants grain."
The guard laughed along, though his laughter carried a sharper edge—more anticipation than amusement.
He knew.
This was the moment Dong Zhuo had been waiting for.
"How many troops?" Dong Zhuo demanded.
"Judging by the torches… around twenty thousand."
"Twenty thousand…"
Dong Zhuo nodded slowly, eyes narrowing.
"So he's emptied his camp."
Months of standoff had given him a clear picture of Zhang Xin's strength.
Twenty-five thousand total.
Leave some behind, and this was all that could be spared.
"Cavalry?" he asked.
"…None spotted."
That answer made Dong Zhuo pause.
None?
He knew Zhang Xin had brought several thousand cavalry.
No commander would leave cavalry behind to guard a camp.
Unless—
"Either a trick…" Dong Zhuo muttered, glancing toward the dark sky, "or your scouts are blind."
He didn't wait for certainty.
"Pass the order. All units assemble. Proceed according to plan."
His voice dropped, cold and decisive.
"By dawn… we'll see the truth."
The guard bowed sharply and disappeared.
Dong Zhuo remained standing.
Sleep was gone.
He dressed slowly, then walked to the map, staring at it as if trying to peel back the layers beneath it.
Lines became possibilities.
Possibilities became blood.
Dawn crept in.
Yuan Shao groaned as he woke, his head pounding.
Wine still clung to his senses like a curse.
"Someone."
Servants rushed in, silent and efficient.
Tea. Water. Cloth.
He sat up sluggishly, took a willow twig, chewed it into bristles, dipped it into powder, and began to clean his teeth—face still pale from last night's indulgence.
Routine steadied him.
For a moment.
"Lord!"
Yan Liang burst in without ceremony, breath uneven.
"Zhang Xin—that brat—has sent troops! They're already ten li from our camp!"
The twig froze in Yuan Shao's hand.
"What?"
His voice cracked.
Yan Liang repeated it.
"Ten… li…"
Yuan Shao's face drained of color.
In his shock, he spat a mouthful of saltwater—directly onto the maid in front of him.
She flinched, but did not dare move.
"What do we do…?" he muttered, panic creeping in.
Then, as if remembering something vital—
"Summon them! Quickly! Xu You, Pang Ji, Guo Tu—now!"
They arrived swiftly.
Yuan Shao wasted no time.
"That bastard Zhang Xin has defected to Dong Zhuo!" he blurted. "Now he marches on me—what do we do?"
"Lord, do not panic," Pang Ji said calmly.
"Zhang Xin's camp is over sixty li away. For him to reach us this quickly, he must have marched through the night."
His eyes sharpened.
"His men are exhausted."
"This is our chance. Strike immediately—before they can form ranks. A sudden attack will break them."
Yuan Shao's breathing steadied.
"Yes… yes, that makes sense…"
But—
"Wait."
Xu You's voice cut in sharply.
He turned to Yan Liang.
"How many troops?"
"…Around twenty thousand."
Yuan Shao stiffened again.
"Twenty thousand?!"
Xu You's expression darkened.
"Then we should hold the camp. Send word to Wang Kuang—have him strike from the other side. Trap Zhang Xin between us."
"Yes—yes, that's safer…"
Yuan Shao nodded quickly—
"Wrong."
Pang Ji stepped forward, voice firm.
"Our army has thirty thousand. Rested. Ready."
"His has twenty thousand—after a forced march."
"Why should we hide behind walls like cowards?"
Yuan Shao hesitated again.
Victory…
A decisive victory over Zhang Xin would shake the world.
"Zhang Xin's troops are elite," Xu You snapped. "Ours are not. Why abandon our advantage?"
"And if they truly rushed, they would have arrived sooner. The delay means he paced them. They are not as exhausted as you think."
"Are you saying our army is inferior?"
Guo Tu's voice slid in, smooth but sharp.
His gaze flicked toward Yan Liang.
"Or that our generals—Yan Liang, Wen Chou—are incapable?"
The implication was obvious.
Yan Liang's face darkened instantly.
"Give me five thousand men," he growled, "and I'll make sure Zhang Xin never leaves alive."
Xu You's temper flared.
"When did I say that? Don't twist my words!"
But Guo Tu didn't back down.
"With superior numbers and rested troops, victory is certain."
Pang Ji nodded.
The two stood together—united.
Not by trust.
By convenience.
Xu You stood alone.
"Hold the camp," he said coldly. "We already have the winning position. Why gamble it?"
"And if Dong Zhuo moves?" Pang Ji shot back. "If Wang Kuang is pinned down?"
"Then we waste this chance."
Xu You sneered faintly.
"Even if Wang Kuang fails, we only need to hold for two days. Zhang Xin has no supplies. His army will collapse on its own."
"Or Dong Zhuo will arrive first," Pang Ji replied.
"Twenty thousand men don't vanish in two days," Xu You said. "Even pigs—"
"Enough!"
Yuan Shao pressed his temples, face twisted in pain.
The arguments blurred together.
Risk.
Safety.
Glory.
Fear.
Each voice pulled him in a different direction.
Guo Tu and Pang Ji stepped forward together, bowing deeply.
"Zhang Xin is weakening. Strike now!"
Xu You also bowed, slower, heavier.
"Zhang Xin is no ordinary general. A rash attack may destroy us. Please reconsider."
Silence fell.
Yuan Shao stood in the middle of it—
Sweating.
Hesitating.
Unable to choose.
His headache worsened.
Like something inside his skull… cracking.