Chapter Sixty-Seven: Casting a Long Line for a Big Catch (Part One)

Clatter, clatter, clatter...

A troop of heavily armored cavalry from Xiliang thundered across the open plain. Whips cracked in the air, leaving welts on backs, as they drove dozens of wagons forward. At the head rode a portly, broad-faced general, barking orders to his soldiers to hasten their march.

“My elder brother is far too merciful. For the sake of a mere scholar—no matter how renowned Cai Yong is, he is still just a learned man with no weapon to his name. Aside from his famous writings, what else does he have? Yet my brother insists on sending us to escort him... Hmph!”

This man was Dong Min, younger brother of Dong Zhuo, holding power and prestige of his own. Styled Shuying, he hailed from Lintao County of Longxi Commandery in Liangzhou, now in Min County, Gansu. Dong Zhuo’s brother, he had risen to the rank of General of the Left and was ennobled as Marquis of Hu.

Now, being tasked to lead armored troops to protect a group of noncombatants left Dong Min disgruntled. Commanding men in battle was his calling. He was also resentful of his elder brother Dong Zhuo’s burning of Luoyang and flight to Chang’an; in his mind, with resolve and determination, the tide could yet be turned. Most galling of all was the order to escort Cai Yong, his family, and precious books—what a waste of elite soldiers.

After the Emperor Ling’s death, Dong Zhuo, as Minister of Works, seized control of the court. Hearing of Cai Yong’s reputation, he summoned him. Cai Yong claimed illness to decline, enraging Dong Zhuo, who declared, “I hold the power to exterminate entire clans. No matter how proud Cai Yong is, it would take but a turn of the foot to bring him down.” He then pressed provincial officials to summon Cai Yong to his residence.

Pressed by necessity, Cai Yong accepted the summons. Appointed acting Libationer, he soon won Dong Zhuo’s esteem. Promoted as a distinguished candidate, he held offices as Censor, Censor of the Archives, and Minister, all within three days—passing through the highest posts in rapid succession. Later, he became Prefect of Ba Commandery, but was retained as Palace Attendant. It could be said that Dong Zhuo did show him considerable respect.

Though the safety of the families under his guard was important, Dong Min wished above all to aid his brother in military affairs, to share the burden and responsibility. He saw the deployment of elite troops for escort as a waste.

Thus he devised a plan: to use this famed court scholar as bait, luring enemy cavalry into a trap under the pretense of rescue, for these great Confucians had students everywhere—and surely some hot-headed youth would come to save their master.

Cai Yong seemed to sense his intention, but could do nothing. He sighed deeply and said, “General, my life is of little value. I only ask you to protect the books and my daughter.”

“These books are beyond price. Should I perish, I beg you not to forget them... As it should be... as it should be...”

He then followed the Xiliang soldiers into another, more luxurious carriage.

A carriage bespoke status; the grander the carriage, the higher the rank and the more it attracted attention. After all, no one would risk their life for an unknown nobody.

In a carriage not far away, a pair of eyes watched all this unfold. The gaze withdrew, the curtain was lowered, and a figure settled back onto the soft seat.

“Xiu’er, remember: if your fists are not strong enough, you become meat on someone else’s chopping block. The world is treacherous—don’t forget this.”

Beside him, a veiled woman sat with poise. Hearing the elder’s words, she nodded slightly. The white veil trembled like mist, her facial lines faintly discernible.

“It’s all for selfish gain...”

The old man’s features grew clearer—it was none other than Wang Yun, Grand Minister of Works. He slapped his thigh in frustration and sighed, “The world has descended into chaos... How many will survive this flight to Chang’an? Alas! Countless commoners will die, what of our great Han dynasty!”

He closed his eyes, his face growing paler, and the veiled woman gently patted his back. “Minister, do not grieve. The Emperor still lives, there is yet a gasp of hope. You must take care of your health.”

He nodded, murmuring, “In days to come, hardship will fall to you.”

“I understand, Grandfather...” came her soft reply from behind the veil, and she sat calmly once more.

The carriages of many dukes and high ministers moved swiftly, the thunder of hooves raising clouds of dust along the mountain roads. Sunlight dappled through the trees as hooves splashed through puddles.

Only Cai Yong’s carriage moved slowly, with a few Xiliang soldiers posted symbolically nearby, while Dong Min led his cavalry to the hilltop, surveying all below.

It must be said, the splendid carriage was conspicuous. Other nobles, desperate to escape, had chosen the plainest of wagons to avoid attention. Only this golden carriage glared like a beacon, flanked by Xiliang soldiers—making it the prime target for the allied cavalry converging on their position.

Whoosh...

Arrows whistled over the plain. In the distance, a mounted rider tumbled dead to the ground, a shaft jutting from his forehead. Several scouts, jolted to their senses, pulled hard on their reins and sought cover—only to be struck down by a hail of arrows.

The wide plain was the domain of cavalry...

Moments later, all was silent once more. Only warhorses stood, orphaned, on the grassland. Soon, Xiliang soldiers emerged from hiding, glancing about before killing the riderless horses, stripping the dead scouts of their armor, and dragging the bodies away for burial. After several such ambushes, some three hundred Xiliang soldiers had donned the armor of the allied coalition.

Ahead, a band of allied cavalry rode in the opposite direction, hurrying toward their main camp. Word had already reached Zifan.

Zifan ordered the Embroidered Guards to report the cavalry’s exact position at once, and sent Ding Feng ahead with a detachment, while he led a squad of Black Armored troops himself to pursue, ensuring these were indeed allied cavalry and not Xiliang soldiers in disguise.

The coalition armies had scattered in all directions; no one knew the precise location of any unit. With tens of thousands escorting a million refugees, the land was blanketed in dust, a great vortex drawing all powers into its center.

A pair of cavalry galloped swiftly by. Wang Kuang, Prefect of Henei Commandery, received the news at once. He spurred his horse forward and saw, to his delight, that the coalition troops had surrounded a golden carriage—surely someone important sat within. In his excitement, he failed to notice the bloodthirsty eyes of the enemy general.

“Brother, have you caught a big fish? Might you let us share in the spoils?” his subordinate Fang Yue called out cheerfully, riding ahead, his wariness fading away.

As he spoke, another cavalry detachment rapidly approached from the forested hills, the thunder of hooves shaking the air. They drew swiftly close to the convoy. Wang Kuang immediately ordered his men to form up, spearmen in front, archers behind in a wild goose formation.

But no one noticed the Xiliang soldiers flanking the carriage signaling for an encirclement, guiding the others into a pincer movement to minimize their own casualties and outflank the enemy.

In the blink of an eye, a hundred bows were drawn taut, the air thick with tension.

The arrows loosed...

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh... Blood splattered in an instant, sharp blades plunged into Wang Kuang’s ranks, and crimson sprayed across the field.