Chapter Thirty: The Banquet at Hongmen (Part Two)

Now, all the prominent ministers of the court had gathered, and Zi Fan’s immediate superior, Liu Yan, had also arrived at the banquet. Moreover, Liu Yan shared the imperial surname and was closely related by blood to the present Han royal family—a true scion of imperial kinship and nobility.

Liu Yan, initially appointed as a court official due to his royal lineage, had served as Commandant, Magistrate of Luoyang, Inspector of Jizhou, Governor of Nanyang, Director of the Imperial Clan, and Grand Minister of Ceremonies. Witnessing the disorder and decline of the imperial household under Emperor Ling, he had once advised the throne, “Inspectors and governors purchase their offices through bribery, oppress the people, and breed betrayal and isolation. It would be wise to select upright officials from the court to govern the provinces and counties, thereby stabilizing and safeguarding the realm.” His words radiated a sense of unwavering loyalty.

Of course, one must not be deceived by appearances and mistake Liu Yan for a loyal servant devoted solely to the court. He simply sought to escape the chaos of the times. As a man of true power and imperial blood in these turbulent days, Liu Yan naturally claimed a seat at the very front. Zi Fan, though second-in-command of Youzhou, was a newcomer to the capital and had not yet woven himself into the intricate web of courtly alliances; thus, he was largely overlooked. No matter how dazzling his previous achievements, they amounted to little more than fleeting brilliance. In this age of upheaval, personal interests reigned supreme.

Seated beside Liu Yan was another wily old fox of the court: Minister Wang Yun. Born to a prestigious family in Shanxi, Wang Yun’s ancestors had long held significant provincial offices, earning him great influence and renown. Gifted and perceptive from a young age, he harbored ambitions not only to inherit and elevate his family’s legacy, but also to serve his country and benefit the Han society.

To realize this ambition, Wang Yun had always cultivated himself with diligence. Though born into privilege, he eschewed luxury and comfort, instead making the most of his family’s resources to immerse himself in classical texts and histories. Even as a youth, he had earned a reputation as a scholar of vast learning, admired by literati far and wide.

Wang Yun, this old fox of a Minister, was no ordinary schemer. Unlike others, he quietly observed every shift within the court, and no matter how minor a figure, if someone offered the slightest value, Wang Yun would find a way to make use of them.

Yet, it must be said that Wang Yun was utterly loyal to the Han. In the face of the empire’s decline, as rebellious lords rose and the nation teetered on collapse, he boldly shouldered the responsibility of restoring and reforming the Han government and society, never wavering or shrinking from his duty. To restore order, he joined other faithful ministers in devising strategies to reestablish the emperor’s absolute authority, winning great merit in the process.

“It has been a while, Minister. Are you well?” Regardless of their differences, as a senior minister wholly devoted to the court, Wang Yun still deserved respect from Liu Yan, himself an imperial kinsman.

“Thank you, Lord Liu, for your concern. To know you hold me in your thoughts is an honor that unsettles my sleep and fills me with gratitude...” As two old foxes of the court, they naturally found common ground.

After a lengthy conversation, Liu Yan felt it necessary to build connections on behalf of his own subordinate—after all, Zi Fan was his own protégé.

“This is my subordinate, Sima of Youzhou—Zi Fan.” As he introduced Zi Fan, Liu Yan’s face betrayed a complex mixture of fondness and frustration. One could hardly blame him: Zi Fan was too prone to stirring up trouble, stealing the spotlight at court and thrusting his own superior into the center of attention. Outwardly, Liu Yan maintained a genial demeanor, but inwardly he was never free from anxiety. Such an unruly subordinate both delighted and vexed him.

Following Liu Yan’s gaze, Minister Wang Yun turned to Zi Fan with a kindly expression. Zi Fan’s appearance was already firmly etched in his memory; to Wang Yun, Zi Fan was wholly devoted to the Han and blessed with remarkable talent—truly a fortune for the empire.

—

“Greetings, Minister,” Zi Fan responded, quickly stepping forward. Wang Yun, ever the picture of gentle refinement, said nothing but smiled broadly, showing his impeccable white teeth. Rising on tiptoe, he gave Zi Fan’s shoulder a hearty pat—his own way of offering praise.

No wonder people said Wang Yun’s talent advanced by leaps and bounds, that he was born for high office—the reputation was well deserved. That he would one day conspire to assassinate Dong Zhuo was no surprise. Wang Yun was a man of deep cunning, yet he spent his life in tireless service to the Han, a loyal minister through and through.

Zi Fan had intended to slip into an inconspicuous seat, but before he could, an attendant approached respectfully and announced, “Lord Dong has personally instructed me to reserve you a seat at the very front. Please, General, take your place.”

Oh! A special arrangement for me? Zi Fan looked up at Dong Zhuo upon the dais, puzzled. Dong Zhuo was in rare form today, clad in a crimson robe and a fur hat trimmed with bright yellow brocade, embroidered with countless inverted “fortune” characters, a superb piece of jade at his brow. The specially arranged seat was conspicuously placed to the right—a position of the highest honor in ancient times. This was a naked attempt at winning him over.

“Hahaha! Brother Zi Fan, don’t just stand there—come take your seat! I arranged it just for you.” Dong Zhuo greeted him with a rare smile.

An overt attempt at recruitment—so blatant it could not be ignored.

Liu Yan, his superior, grew restless and shot Zi Fan an anxious look.

Minister Wang Yun’s face was equally troubled.

Even the ever-composed Cao Cao gave Zi Fan a subtle shake of the head, concern written plainly across his face.

The officials below wore various expressions—Zi Fan’s valor was well known, and with such elite troops at his command, it was obvious to all that, though Liu Yan held nominal authority, he could hardly command this ironclad force. A sheep leading tigers could only end in disaster. Should such a man serve Dong Zhuo, their combined might would be unstoppable—giving wings to a tiger. Who could resist?

Wang Yun stood by, ill at ease. Now, with Dong Zhuo wielding supreme power and unrivaled troops, the seat at his right hand would make its occupant the undisputed second-in-command of the Xiliang army—second only to Dong Zhuo himself. Though Zi Fan was already Youzhou’s second-ranking commander, the difference in status was plain for all to see. This was temptation in its purest form.

—

The assembled ministers watched Zi Fan with bated breath. Such naked temptation—who could resist the chance to rise to glory in a single stride? Sighs echoed throughout the hall; the moment had come, and nothing could alter its course.

Faced with so many enticements, how many could hold fast to themselves? How many would not lose their way? Everyone present swallowed nervously and asked themselves if they could do the same—most knew they could not.

Zi Fan stood at the center of a furnace; one misstep could send him plummeting into the abyss. Yet, it was also an opportunity to alter the course of history. Who could remain unmoved? “What should I do now? Is this man trying to ruin me?” he thought. The seat before him brimmed with allure, but to accept it would be to incur the scorn of the world, to stand against all under heaven and the common people. As a devotee of the Three Kingdoms, Zi Fan understood well—Dong Zhuo was doomed to fail.

Water can bear a boat, but it can also capsize it—a truth all must heed. Though Dong Zhuo offered him the highest honor and rank above all but the greatest ministers, to stand against the people was an unforgivable sin. Were he an ordinary man, or any of the ministers present, they would have fought to the death for such a seat.

“Thank you for your kindness, Lord Dong, but I am merely a soldier and unworthy of such an honor. Please, I beg you to rescind your command—I will take a seat toward the rear.” With that, he found an unremarkable place beside Cao Cao and sat down. The court’s great ministers all sighed with relief; the tension melted away. Yet many looked at Zi Fan as if he were a fool—who would give away such a chance at instant glory? It was almost endearingly naïve.

But those with insight raised their estimation of Zi Fan. Wealth could not corrupt him, power could not sway him—such a young man was a model for his peers. Minister Wang Yun smiled broadly, his desire to recruit Zi Fan growing even stronger. To let such a loyal man slip away would be a true loss.

“Hahaha! Just as I thought—you have character, and I like that.” Was this fate? I offered him everything, yet he remains unmoved. Dong Zhuo smiled, but a cold, murderous glint flashed in his eyes.

If I can’t have him, I’ll destroy him.