"What?!"
Dong Zhuo shot upright.
Sleep vanished from his eyes as if burned away.
For a heartbeat—
He simply stared.
Then came instinct.
"Impossible."
His voice hardened, clinging to certainty like a drowning man to driftwood.
"The Suanzao rabble has already scattered. Chenggao is guarded by two hundred thousand men. If anything had happened—"
His gaze sharpened.
"How could I not know?"
"Chancellor—it's true!"
The guard's voice trembled.
"It's not the coalition…"
A pause.
"It's Zhang Xin."
The name landed.
And something inside Dong Zhuo recoiled.
A flicker.
A memory.
Defeat.
Humiliation.
Fear.
"…Zhang Xin?"
Even speaking it felt wrong.
"When did he reach Chenggao?"
His voice dropped.
"How did he take it?"
"Luoshui."
The answer came quickly.
Too quickly.
"As the river froze, he crossed at night—leading over ten thousand men. He advanced along the Luoshui straight toward Luoyang."
"The Chenggao commander feared for your safety. He left the pass to reinforce—"
"And was ambushed."
Silence.
Then—
Rage.
"Madness!"
Dong Zhuo slammed his hand against the table.
"Who fights a war like that?!"
He knew the terrain.
Too well.
North—Mang Mountain, long and narrow like a blade pressed against the throat of Luoyang.
South—the Luoshui and Yishui, twisting and merging, unpredictable, treacherous.
That stretch of river—
Was not a road.
It was a trap.
No supply lines.
No retreat.
No survival.
An army entering there—
Was already dead.
"No one would do this…"
Dong Zhuo muttered.
"No one sane…"
And yet—
Zhang Xin had.
Because this was no longer a normal war.
Luoyang—
Burned.
By his own hand.
Its walls blackened.
Its defenses crippled.
Its pride reduced to ash.
And now—
There was nothing left to defend.
Dong Zhuo's breath grew heavier.
Understanding crept in—
Slow.
Cold.
Unavoidable.
Zhang Xin did not need supplies.
He did not need retreat.
He did not need time.
He needed only—
Speed.
A single strike.
Straight to the heart.
"If he reaches Luoyang…"
Dong Zhuo's fingers tightened.
"He doesn't need to defeat me…"
"He only needs to drive me away."
And once that happened—
Hangu Pass would fall.
The road west—
Severed.
All his forces beyond it—
Would become isolated.
Stranded.
Doomed.
"…That fool…"
Rage surged again.
"The Chenggao commander—!"
"Why did he leave the pass?!"
"Why?!"
He smashed whatever lay within reach.
Wood splintered.
Ceramics shattered.
The room echoed with violence.
The guards lowered their heads.
Silent.
Still.
As if even breathing might provoke death.
At last—
Dong Zhuo stopped.
Panting.
Sweat beading along his brow.
Anger would not save him.
Not now.
"Summon Wenhe."
His voice dropped to something colder.
Controlled.
"Immediately."
Jia Xu arrived soon after.
Still half-wrapped in sleep.
Unhurried.
Unbothered.
"Chancellor," he said calmly, "why summon me at such an hour?"
"Chenggao has fallen."
The words struck.
Hard.
Jia Xu froze.
Just for a moment.
Then—
The sleep vanished from his eyes.
"…Explain."
Dong Zhuo did.
Quickly.
Roughly.
Every detail.
By the time he finished—
The room had grown colder.
Jia Xu did not speak at once.
But his mind was already moving.
Fast.
Precise.
"Chenggao lost…"
he murmured.
"…then Luoyang is exposed."
No walls.
No terrain.
No delay.
And Zhang Xin—
Would not hesitate.
Then—
Another realization.
"Sun Jian…"
Jia Xu's eyes darkened.
"He is still attacking Guangcheng Pass."
"Thirty thousand men."
"A commander who does not fear death."
"And once—"
"He served under Zhang Xin."
The conclusion was obvious.
Brutal.
Final.
"If they join forces…"
Jia Xu looked up.
"Our defeat is certain."
Seventy thousand men.
Against less than fifty.
And worse—
Leadership.
Zhang Xin.
Sun Jian.
Steel.
And fire.
Dong Zhuo felt it.
The weight of it.
Crushing.
"Then what do we do?!"
For the first time—
There was urgency in his voice.
Not anger.
Not arrogance.
Fear.
Jia Xu answered immediately.
No hesitation.
"Gather all garrisons."
"Every pass. Every force."
"Retake Chenggao—at once."
His tone sharpened.
"If Zhang Xin secures Chenggao—"
"If he links with Sun Jian—"
"It is already over."
Dong Zhuo nodded.
Fast.
Almost desperate.
"Good."
"Anything else?"
Jia Xu paused.
Thinking.
Calculating.
"Build a defensive camp at West Garden."
"If Chenggao cannot be retaken…"
"Then that will be our final line."
He continued, voice steady:
"The Guandong warlords fear Zhang Xin."
"They have already begun to move against him politically."
"If we endure…"
"If we hold…"
"They will act."
Divide.
Distract.
Delay.
That was the only path left.
"Anything else?"
Dong Zhuo pressed again.
Jia Xu shook his head.
"No."
Because there was nothing more to say.
They were already—
On the edge.
"Then we act."
Dong Zhuo barked the orders.
Messengers rushed out.
Through the cold night.
But before they could even leave—
A scout burst in.
Breath ragged.
Eyes wide with terror.
"Chancellor—!"
"Disaster!"
Dong Zhuo turned.
Slowly.
As if already knowing.
"Speak."
"After destroying Chenggao—"
The scout swallowed hard.
"Zhang Xin did not stop."
A pause.
A heartbeat.
"He marched through the night."
Another.
"He is now—"
"Less than fifty li from Luoyang."
Silence.
This time—
No one spoke.
Because everyone understood.
The war—
Had already reached the gates.