Chapter Twenty-Five: Dong Zhuo Dismounts

“Brother, I can’t walk any further.”

“Your Majesty, allow this humble servant to carry you…”

The feeble voices belonged to the young Emperor Liu Xie and the Prince of Chenliu, Liu Bian. Weariness seeped through their limbs, their flesh, even their bones—so much so that Liu Xie’s body felt light and limp, unable to go on. At last, the young emperor sank to the ground. “I can’t walk anymore. Let’s rest for a while…”

The distant sound of horses’ hooves drifted closer and closer. Looking ahead, one could see clouds of dust rolling up—it was Minister Lu Zhi and Grand Commandant Liu Yan, leading their troops in pursuit.

Zhao Zhong and the others, knowing they had no way out, did not wait for the pursuers to arrive. They all knelt together. “Your Majesty… we can serve you no longer. Please, live on and take care of your health…”

With that, the two men glanced at the weapons lying nearby, then, weeping, took their own lives.

By now the thunder of hooves was upon them. Two elderly men, their temples streaked with white and faces marked by age, dismounted and hurried over. “Your Majesty, Prince of Chenliu, you’ve suffered greatly. We, your old ministers, have come to bring you home.”

Just as Lu Zhi was about to lift the young emperor into the carriage, someone cried out—far off, a black line was racing toward them, growing rapidly thicker and larger. The earth began to tremble with the pounding of hooves, the air filling with the mournful, wild cries of horses and shouts of men. The cacophony swirled through the rain-soaked sky, weaving a stage of chaos and dread.

As the force drew near, it revealed itself—a column of Xiliang cavalry, their banners streaming, war drums thundering, horses screaming as they charged through a haze of smoke and sand. The entire unit was mounted, row after row of ironclad warriors astride powerful warhorses. Their faces were half-shrouded by thick beards, their eyes glittering cold and bright, radiating a murderous aura that sent chills through all who beheld them. Truly, the Xiliang Iron Cavalry was a fearsome sight.

These horsemen hailed from Liangzhou, a borderland between the Han and the Qiang. Known for their martial spirit, the region was a strategic stronghold—“the throat controlling five counties, the line threading the vast wilderness.” Since time immemorial, the elite cavalry of Longyou had swept across the land; history recorded, “The great horses of Liangzhou roam the world.”

When the First Emperor of Qin possessed them, he unified the six kingdoms; when Emperor Taizong of Tang commanded them, he cast his gaze across the world. Their power was undeniable.

At the center of the host rode a burly, formidable man—a giant of a warrior, eyes blazing like torches, his entire frame brimming with explosive strength. His tigerish eyes were wide and angry; a harsh, piercing light flashed in their depths, betraying both contemplation and savagery. Hatred twisted his features.

He wore a copper lion helm, a gold-embossed belt with a beast’s head buckle, bronze mirror plates front and back, and a crimson robe adorned with floral designs, fastened by green velvet cords. A bow was slung at his left, a quiver at his right, and beneath him a dark red steed reared and neighed, exuding an air of unassailable might and violence.

The man’s cruel, predatory eyes seemed almost unfocused, their depths filled with ferocity—cruelty, malice, greed, cunning—all concentrated in a single figure. This was no good man.

Behind him, a burly standard-bearer raised a great black banner edged in white, emblazoned with the character “Dong” in bold strokes, flanked by the image of a black dragon coiling in the wind.

Lu Zhi, furious, brandished his sword and rode to block the carriage. “What force comes to rescue the emperor with such ferocity? In the presence of His Majesty, why do you not dismount and bow?”

Thousands of cavalrymen reined in their mounts, their voices booming.

“Where is His Majesty?”

Lu Zhi could barely contain his anger. These men did not dismount, did not bow, nor did they show the slightest respect. As a senior minister, how could he let this pass? Just then, Minister Wang Yun arrived with a group of officials to greet the emperor. Yuan Shu and Yuan Shao, both bloodstained and brimming with fierce energy, had also come to the rescue.

Dong Zhuo—Governor of Xiliang—Dong Zhuo… Judging by the display, this was no friendly visit. What was his intent? The assembled ministers exchanged uneasy glances and whispered among themselves. No sooner had the crisis ended than this troublesome figure appeared—what now?

Their anxious eyes turned to Yuan Shao. It was easy to invite a god; sending one away was another matter. Since it was he who had summoned this “god,” he would have to send him off as well.

Yuan Shao, noticing their looks, could not help but feel a touch of pride. He had earned merit by coming to the emperor’s aid, and now, with so many formidable Xiliang warriors at his back, what trouble could not be quelled?

“Dong Zhuo, Governor of Xiliang—I am Yuan Shao, styled Bendu. Thank you for leading your troops to our aid…” Yuan Shao straightened his back and called out loudly.

Three times he called, but the cavalrymen made not a sound. As the mounted troops pressed ever closer, the assembled officials could no longer remain calm. Shock, doubt, and above all, fear filled their hearts.

The two forces faced each other.

Yet the ministers showed no sign of fighting spirit; the disparity in strength was obvious. There was no hope—they could only look to their sole pillar of support, the young Emperor Liu Xie. But the child emperor was timid by nature, pampered since birth, untested by hardship, and entirely unequipped to command such a scene. Exhausted by fear and fatigue, he was unable to utter a single word.

“Sister…”

Seeing his only kin, Princess Taiping, hurrying over, Liu Xie broke down in tears. He was, after all, only nine years old. How much courage could he muster? The journey had been a nightmare of corpses and slaughter, the air still heavy with the stench of blood. He was utterly terrified.

Now, the only one who could uphold the dignity of the imperial house was the princess herself.

Princess Taiping clenched her fists and summoned all her courage. Standing tall, she pointed straight at Dong Zhuo. “Dong Zhuo, how dare you! In the presence of the Son of Heaven, why do you not kneel? Are you planning to rebel?” Her voice was brave—courage within, decisiveness without. Though it was the duty of a princess to uphold the Han dynasty’s honor, the irony was not lost on anyone.

Her words caused a stir among the troops. Dong Zhuo pondered carefully—it was not yet time for open rebellion. Though the Han dynasty was rotten, even a dying camel is bigger than a horse. To make himself a target now would be to invite the enmity of all factions. The time was not right, and the situation unclear.

“Your subject Dong Zhuo, having heard of turmoil in Luoyang, has come only to help. I have no other intention, Your Highness. Please be at ease…”

Dong Zhuo’s words, though somewhat conciliatory, were not accompanied by any gesture of submission. He merely halted his army and had them sheathe their weapons, a show of respect for the Han dynasty and the princess—though whether it was sincere, none could say.

“If you truly come to save the emperor, His Majesty is here. How can you refuse to kneel?” Princess Taiping, unsure where to place her hands, palms slick with cold sweat, stood her ground. For a woman to go so far was the mark of a true heroine.

“To kneel?” Dong Zhuo’s face clouded with difficulty. The Han dynasty still held majesty, but for Dong Zhuo to kneel was no easy matter, especially before his own men. To do so would be a loss of face—no amount of imperial authority could outweigh his pride. Torn between two paths, Dong Zhuo decided to ride forward alone, testing whether the court would yield, whether its dignity still held.

Thud… thud… thud… The heavy hoofbeats beat like drums upon the earth, horses screaming, ministers trembling in fear, some collapsing outright—they had never witnessed such a scene.

No matter how brave a woman might be, she was still a woman. In this moment of crisis, it ought to be a man who stood forth. Under such pressure, Princess Taiping’s heart was fragile, yet for the sake of the Han dynasty’s honor, she had no choice but to stand tall. Now, she sought a pillar of her own, her tear-filled eyes turning to Zifan, pitiful and plaintive.

Such a lovely girl—how could anyone else make her cry?

To the rescue, for the sake of beauty!

Beneath Zifan, the dragon horse reared, its coat blazing red, black mane flying, muscles rippling like a prizefighter’s—powerful and striking.

Zifan gripped his Crescent Moon Bow, the bronze curve inlaid with a few scattered gems, simple yet noble, not ostentatious. He drew a barbed eagle-feather arrow, notched it to the sinew string, but hesitated—at this distance, he could kill Dong Zhuo for certain, but the Xiliang cavalry would be another matter. With the civil and military officials utterly defenseless, he could not guarantee everyone’s safety. He had to find a balanced solution.

The bow arched like an autumn moon, the arrow sped like lightning—swift, straight, unwavering. The shot flew high, its path as graceful as the moon’s journey through the sky, the arrow like a meteor falling to earth, the bowstring humming like the tide swallowing the sun. All eyes turned in astonishment to the whistling shaft. The Xiliang cavalry, too, were transfixed, every gaze locked on the flying arrow.

Strike the horse first to unseat the rider, seize the king to capture the bandit. The arrow skimmed past Dong Zhuo’s head; startled, Dong Zhuo groped his fat scalp to check for injury, then exhaled with relief, his eyes full of mocking disdain. If you lack the skill, don’t play the hero.

The arrow, undiminished in speed, flew straight to the great “Dong” banner, striking it with a crack. The mighty black dragon standard crashed down, sending shockwaves through the entire army.

“Dong Zhuo, dismount!” Zifan’s voice rang out in fury, his hair bristling with anger. “If I become a Buddha, there will be no more demons in the world. If I become a demon, what can the Buddha do to me? If you make the woman I love cry, do you not consider the consequences? If heaven oppresses me, I will split the sky; if earth binds me, I will shatter the ground. We are born free—who dares stand above us? Against force, only greater force will suffice…”