Victory had returned to Luoyang.
Or so they believed.
The West Garden blazed with light.
Wine flowed like rivers.
Music drowned out memory.
Dong Zhuo laughed.
For the first time in many days—
He laughed without restraint.
The Suanzao Alliance had collapsed.
Two hundred thousand men—
Gone.
Scattered like dust before the wind.
The weight that had pressed upon his chest—
Lifted.
And in its place—
Came indulgence.
"Drink!"
Dong Zhuo strode through the banquet, goblet in hand, his voice booming.
"Tonight, we celebrate!"
Generals rose.
Officials bowed.
No one refused.
Because this—
Was how power reassured itself.
Only one man did not smile.
Zhu Jun stood, cup untouched.
"Chancellor."
His voice cut through the music.
"Zhang Xin and Sun Jian still remain. They watch us even now. This is no time for celebration."
The hall fell quiet for a moment.
Then—
Coldness.
Dong Zhuo's smile stiffened.
Zhang Xin.
Again.
Always that name.
Like a shadow that would not leave.
"Drink first," he said flatly.
Ignoring the warning.
Rejecting the thought.
Jia Xu stepped forward gently.
"Perhaps… we should hear him out."
Dong Zhuo paused.
Then nodded.
Not because he agreed—
But because he needed to.
Zhu Jun spoke clearly.
"Withdraw the garrisons from the passes. Concentrate our forces. Strike Zhang Xin decisively."
His gaze was steady.
"If he falls, Sun Jian will not stand alone."
Simple.
Direct.
Risky.
For a moment—
Dong Zhuo considered.
Because beneath the wine—
He understood something.
Morale did not last.
Not like this.
Not built on gold and grave-robbed treasures.
Fear still lingered.
Homesickness still festered.
And Zhang Xin—
Still watched.
He turned to Jia Xu.
"What do you think?"
Jia Xu did not answer immediately.
He weighed the moment.
The mood.
The fragility beneath the surface.
Then—
"The plan has merit."
"Now, morale is high. The alliance has collapsed. If we do not strike now… we may never have this chance again."
That was enough.
Dong Zhuo nodded slowly.
Then smiled.
This time—
Genuinely.
"Good."
"Then we will fight."
Zhu Jun felt something rise in his chest.
At last—
His words mattered.
At last—
He was heard.
The humiliation he once endured—
The scorn.
The dismissal—
Seemed, for a fleeting moment, repaid.
Dong Zhuo raised his cup.
"After tonight, we prepare for battle!"
Laughter returned.
Voices rose.
Confidence spread like fire.
And then—
Reality arrived.
A soldier burst into the hall.
Breathless.
Covered in dust.
"Chancellor—!"
The music stopped.
"Zhang Xin has launched a surprise attack on Beimang Mountain!"
The hall froze.
Wine trembled in cups.
Dong Zhuo's expression hardened instantly.
"Status?"
"General Xu Rong is holding—but the enemy attacks without regard for losses. He requests immediate reinforcement!"
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
Dong Zhuo laughed.
Not loudly.
Not wildly.
But with something sharp beneath it.
"Of course."
"Of all the warlords—only Zhang Xin dares."
He looked around the hall.
"Do you see?"
"As soon as the alliance collapses, he attacks desperately."
"This is not strength."
"This is fear."
The others nodded quickly.
Eagerly.
Because belief—
Needed to be maintained.
"He is gambling," Dong Zhuo continued.
"A final struggle."
"Then let him struggle."
Reinforcements were sent.
Five thousand men.
No more.
No less.
Because in Dong Zhuo's mind—
The outcome was already decided.
By sunset—
The report came.
Zhang Xin had withdrawn.
Victory.
Again.
That night—
Dong Zhuo slept deeply.
Dreaming of triumph.
Of crushing Zhang Xin.
Of ending the war with a single blow.
At dawn—
Orders were issued.
Messengers rode.
Garrisons were recalled.
The army gathered.
The decisive battle approached.
Everything—
Was proceeding exactly as planned.
Until night fell again.
Dong Zhuo slept.
And in his dreams—
He stood victorious.
Zhang Xin kneeling.
The world restored beneath his rule.
Then—
He was shaken awake.
Roughly.
Urgently.
"Chancellor!"
Dong Zhuo frowned, dragged from his dream.
"What is it?"
The guard's face was pale.
Voice tight.
"Chenggao…"
A pause.
Then—
"It has fallen."
Silence.
For a moment—
Dong Zhuo did not understand.
Not the words.
But their meaning.
Chenggao.
A gate.
A lock.
A line between control—
And collapse.
And now—
Gone.
The dream shattered.