Chapter Twenty-Five: Heroes Admire Each Other

He patted his sturdy, tiger-like head and glanced at the fallen black dragon banner emblazoned with the character "Dong" behind him. Dong Zhuo shifted his gaze from the young emperor's carriage to Zifan, his eyes hungry as a famished beast, yet not a trace of anger could be found. Instead, they revealed excitement and fervor, as if one hero admired another. Indeed, there is truth in the saying: heroes cherish heroes.

It was the look of men who find kinship too late, both recognizing each other as uncommon souls, where heroism knows no origin, and meeting you is worthy of this life. Zifan felt his skin crawl at the sight—was it possible that, contrary to the tales of the Three Kingdoms, Dong Zhuo had no taste for women, but for men?

Dong Zhuo was nothing like those gluttonous wastrels; he had set his ambitions early, vowing that a true man born in times of chaos must forge a grand enterprise, serve his country, and repay the court and the people. Yet, time wears away resolve, and now Dong Zhuo was cruel and ruthless, violent, arrogant, and acted as he pleased, swift and merciless, killing without hesitation—he had become almost mad.

Zifan raised his mighty halberd, swiftly encircling the convoy. Three thousand black cavalry surrounded the imperial carriage, forming the defensive Crane Wing formation. Zifan stood near the center, heavily guarded, the sides spreading like the wings of a crane—a formation balanced for attack and defense. It could outflank Dong Zhuo's Western Liang Iron Cavalry on both sides, but it demanded high tactical skill from Zifan, allowing the wings to open and close at will, striking the enemy’s flanks or joining to crush foes that broke through the center. The main force’s defense must be tight, preventing enemy breakthroughs; the wings agile and closely coordinated, attacking fiercely, or the formation would fail its purpose. A trained army's mark is proficiency in formations. As The Art of War teaches, the six qualities—swift as wind, steady as forest, fierce as fire, unmovable as mountain, inscrutable as shadow, sudden as thunder—describe the highest mastery of formations. Three thousand black cavalry against six thousand Western Liang Iron Cavalry—though outnumbered, the outcome was far from certain. War is never won by numbers alone; quality is paramount...

"Bold Dong Zhuo, how dare you not dismount before His Majesty! If you persist, do not blame me for being merciless..." Princess Taiping, her face pleading, wept as she looked at Zifan. Zifan, who in his previous life had only experienced love once, had never seen a woman cry so pitifully. It was said that tears are a woman's greatest weapon, and that women are made of water—this was no lie.

Her ceaseless tears proved the truth. Now, protected by the army, the angry ministers were like a river swollen to its banks, suddenly bursting forth and roaring, unstoppable in their fury, veins bulging, faces flushed from neck to ears, nostrils flaring, exhaling like bellows. All displayed expressions of willingness to bleed for the Han dynasty. Zifan, hand to his forehead, sighed, "Ah—so brave online, meek in reality—just pretending to be tough..."

"Your servant, Dong Zhuo, Governor of Western Liang... pays homage to His Majesty." Faced with the scene before him, Dong Zhuo had no choice but to dismount and bow. The Han dynasty, though corrupt, was still the Han; a dead camel is larger than a horse. Though the Han was battered, the realm remained theirs. Dong Zhuo, cruel as he was, was no fool. He understood the wisdom of bending when needed; though he bowed outwardly, his heart rebelled. With their commander dismounted and bowing, the Western Liang Iron Cavalry followed suit, kneeling in unison. The ministers breathed relief and shouted, "Long live the emperor! Long live!"

Now, the ferocious tiger was nearly subdued—only the final push remained. Zifan knew his moment to pressure had passed; now it was time for the young emperor to perform. If he could summon even a fraction of courage, the tiger would be tamed, unable to resist. All eyes turned toward the young emperor, hoping he would astonish them, showing the qualities of a wise ruler.

Amid the uproar, only one thing stirred me most—my heart and soul fixed upon you. The world changes, thoughts race, yet my mind is as blank as snow. Though a thousand sounds resound, only the beating within my heart fills my ears. The young emperor Liu Xie was but an ordinary boy; though raised in the palace, he lacked experience in the treacheries of court, and now anxiety plagued him. Under the hopeful gazes of all, Liu Xie could no longer hold himself together.

"Waaah..." In that moment, the young emperor Liu Bian, under countless expectant eyes, burst into sobs. History cannot be reversed; Liu Xie's nature doomed him to mediocrity. As emperor, he was utterly unfit—perhaps as a common man, he would have sufficed.

Born into royalty, one enjoys endless treasures and unmatched status, but there are hidden sorrows and bitterness as well. Entering the noble door is like plunging into a deep sea; from then on, lovers are strangers. The Han was already riddled with wounds; had the young emperor Liu Bian established awe-inspiring authority, gripping the tiger firmly and preventing its struggle, perhaps none of what followed would have occurred. But as things stood—well...

No matter how Princess Taiping comforted and encouraged him, he remained unmoved; the emperor's cries would not cease. Princess Taiping, anxious and helpless, could only turn her gaze to the nearby Prince of Chenliu... Liu Bian. Now, only Prince Chenliu, Liu Xie, could step forward. At such a moment, a man of the Liu family must stand up—this was the dignity of the Han dynasty and the honor of their house. The Han needed a lion to lead, but the one on the throne was sorely lacking.

Princess Taiping, quick-witted as ever, gently instructed her brother Liu Bian to speak. Under her expectant gaze, Prince Chenliu, Liu Xie, summoned his courage. Timid but resolute, he stepped forward, a stark contrast to the emperor Liu Xie. At only seven years old, Liu Bian was undeniably brave and clever, at least bold enough to take that difficult first step.

"Lord Dong, you have worked hard. Both His Majesty and I are deeply gratified. The realm is still the Han's, and your loyalty is evident to heaven and earth. You shall be richly rewarded in time, but I hope you will act cautiously henceforth..." It was the classic approach: first a blow, then a sweet reward. It suppressed Dong Zhuo’s rebellious thoughts for the moment—should he seize power, how could the world accept it? Yet it soothed him, proving the Han dynasty still had the means to restrain ambitious lords, praising loyal subjects while preserving Dong Zhuo’s dignity and face. The underlying message: the Han is not so easily toppled; weigh your actions carefully.

Dong Zhuo lifted his head, looking at the sobbing emperor Liu Xie, then at the resolute Prince Chenliu Liu Bian and Princess Taiping standing behind him, nodding thoughtfully.

No doubt that crafty Dong Zhuo understood well. "Thank you, Your Majesty, thank you, Prince... Long live the emperor! I seek no reward, only to defend the Han borderlands." With these words, Dong Zhuo’s expression grew complex as he shouted loudly.

"Prepare to return to the palace!" Now, Prince Chenliu Liu Xie seemed more the emperor. With a wave of his small hand, he commanded the assembly.

"Ah!" The elder ministers below bowed their heads and sighed. If Prince Chenliu Liu Xie were placed upon the throne, he might be the most suitable—but history cannot be undone...