Chapter Fifty-Nine: A Cup of Wine Arrives from the East, Astonishing Chang'an

Beneath the walls of Lunü, the Black Mountain Army pressed close.

Cavalry! They were all cavalry, every last one of them.

A black banner fluttered fiercely in the wind, bearing a single character—“Zhang”—with not a title or epithet beside it.

“Why are you looking for me? If you want revenge, go after my elder brother—go fight Gongsun Zan! I wasn’t the one who slaughtered you Black Mountain bandits; you brought this on yourselves, didn’t you?”

Standing atop the city wall, Zhang Yu felt his heart clench at the sight of the Black Mountain troops massed below. They stretched across the hills and fields, their momentum menacing.

Even ants, when numbering enough, can bring down an elephant—let alone these, who were no mere rabble. Whether bandits or soldiers, these men had blood on their blades and death on their hands.

Moreover, today’s force seemed far more elite than the Black Mountain troops Zhang Yu had first encountered in the mountain paths of Changshan. Here, over a thousand mounted soldiers stood in perfect order, calm and silent, their discipline sending a chill through the defenders.

“County Magistrate Gao, where is General Yuan? This is Yuan’s Zhongshan command, is it not?” Zhang Yu turned to the magistrate, appointed by Yuan Shao to rule Lunü.

Magistrate Gao had only just arrived from the Drunken Immortal Tavern. Though nominally the highest official in Lunü, and a scion of the prominent Gao family of Hebei, he dared not put on airs before the illustrious scion of Zhongshan. With a show of respect, he replied, “Riders have been dispatched to all the neighboring counties to seek aid. Relief should arrive within a few days, and Lunü’s peril will be relieved.”

“Your prudence and thoroughness are admirable, Magistrate. You face the Black Mountain threat with composure and wit—surely you will see the foe repelled. On behalf of Lunü’s people, I thank you deeply.”

“Haha! Young master, you are too kind. This is my duty. But what brings the Black Mountain Army here—?”

“Rest assured. Since they have come for me, I will see what they want.”

After the formal exchange, the crafty magistrate subtly pushed Zhang Yu forward. Zhang Yu stepped to the center of the wall and called down,

“I am Zhang Yu. Which general of the Black Mountain Army stands below, and what business have you with me?”

“Yu, have you forgotten your elder brother since you returned to Zhongshan?”

What was this?

Zhang Yu stared in confusion at the unfamiliar face calling up to him.

“I am your Brother Feiyan! That day in the mountains, we drank and spoke as brothers. Did you not promise to gift me fine wine today?”

Zhang Yan! It was Zhang Yan, the Black Mountain Army’s grand commander! But what was he playing at—surely it was not about a mere jug of wine.

Zhang Yu furrowed his brow, catching the strange looks from Magistrate Gao and the guards.

“Sowing discord! A vicious tactic! If I respond, this dog of a magistrate will only suspect me more. If I don’t, Zhang Yan will find some way to sully my name.”

The tallest tree in the forest is the first to feel the axe. Zhang Yu’s reputation was simply too great, too dazzling. Commoners revered him, but many saw him as a stumbling block.

Seeing Zhang Yu hesitate, Gao Ping’s eyes narrowed in calculation. “At last, I have something on Zhang Yu. So long as he is here, how will the people ever remember me?”

“Ah, I remember now!” Zhang Yu suddenly laughed. “That day in the mountains, I met my elder brother by chance, and only after joyous conversation did I learn you were the Black Mountain grand commander. I am but a humble commoner—how could I not be in awe? When I heard you planned to march on Lunü, I could not bear to see my fellow villagers suffer war’s calamity. For their sake, I promised you fine wine. What is a mere gift of wine? I would gladly give my very life for the people!

“Men, go to the Drunken Immortal Tavern and bring forth twenty jars of my family’s Exiled Immortal Brew as a gift to General Zhang Yan!”

At these words, the soldiers around him wore moved expressions—save for Gao Ping, whose face grew darker still.

Zhang Yan threw back his head and laughed, ordering his troops to withdraw a hundred paces, leaving a safe interval. Only after the twenty jars of Exiled Immortal Brew had been carried outside the walls and the gates closed again did his men step forward to receive the wine.

“Truly worthy of the name Yu! You have my respect, brother. To receive twenty jars of peerless wine—my journey was not in vain. We shall meet again!”

With a boisterous laugh, Zhang Yan and his thousand elite cavalrymen vanished like the wind.

“Meet again, my foot! May you regret this day!” Zhang Yu cursed inwardly, glancing at the Bond System. Zhang Yan’s affinity score had already risen to sixty-six.

“Do I have some hidden achievement called ‘Zhangs Attract’? First Zhang He, now Zhang Yan—never mind Zhang Fei—their fondness grows faster than I can keep up.”

As Zhang Yu descended the wall, he failed to notice that Magistrate Gao Ping had already slipped away.

…

At the start of last year, the first of Chuping, Dong Zhuo seized the Emperor and moved the capital to Chang’an.

Countless wealthy families, branded as traitors and rebels, were executed. Millions of Luoyang’s people were driven west; countless perished along the way.

The Eastern Han capital, Luoyang, with all its imperial grandeur, was reduced to ashes.

The southern and northern palaces were joined by flames; the palaces of Eternal Happiness became scorched earth. By the time Sun Jian arrived, the city was, “a distant inferno reaching the sky, black smoke blanketing the earth, for two or three hundred miles not a chicken or dog remained.”

Yet the architect of this devastation reveled in luxury far away, still sowing chaos at the heart of government.

That place was Chang’an.

Chang’an, Grand Tutor’s Mansion.

The ancient zither’s notes rose and fell, mimicking the gallop of horses, the sweeping of wind over yellow sands, as if conjuring a scene of lone smoke over the desert and the sun setting behind the river’s bend.

“Ah, Master Cai’s zither playing has reached new heights again!”

“In my humble opinion, if not for Bojie himself playing the scorched-tail zither, it would sound no better than an ordinary instrument!”

Among these words of praise—

“Gentlemen!” A rough, thunderous voice cut through, chilling all present. The hall fell instantly silent.

“Today, I, the Grand Tutor, have acquired three rare treasures, which I wish to share with you all!”

The man on the dais was as massive as a bear, powerfully built, his tiger eyes and thick brows glared down at the assembled officials, the ruthless dominance of his visage unmistakable.

As he finished, attendants entered bearing four wine jars, each smaller than the last.

The two largest jars were glazed white, decorated with birds, beasts, insects, and fish, and the image of a carefree youth in white robes.

Dong Zhuo pointed and said, “These two jars are called Exiled Immortal’s Drunkenness.” At his order, the jars were opened; instantly, a heady fragrance filled the hall.

Yet even with such fine wine before them, the officials, cowed by Dong Zhuo’s tyranny, dared not show so much as a flicker of curiosity.

“Fill the cups for all present!” Dong Zhuo commanded.

Two brawny attendants took up the jars, pouring a cupful for each of the several dozen nobles and ministers.

The aroma drifted to each seat, and a chorus of barely stifled sighs arose. But Dong Zhuo was ruthless—who could say there was no poison in the wine? Who could know if, in a moment, he might seize a nobleman to slaughter for sport?

“I drink to you all—today, none may leave without being drunk!”

Plainly, there would be no leaving without drinking. Surely, even Dong Zhuo would not poison everyone present; if he meant to kill, none could escape.

Thinking thus, the first of the officials raised their cups and drained them in one bold draught, as if going to their deaths.

“Ah!”

“Spicy!”

“Hiss—Roar!”

Witnessing their colleagues’ reactions, those who had yet to drink stiffened, righteous indignation in their hearts: “Would this traitor Dong truly dare to slaughter us all?”

Just as one was about to overturn the table and risk everything, Dong Zhuo’s booming laughter chilled their blood once more.

“Fools! Do you think this Exiled Immortal Brew is like the swill you usually drink? This wine is meant to be savored, not guzzled! For men of your station, you show all the subtlety of cattle chewing peonies—wasting my rarest treasure!”

None of the ministers dared protest at this insult. The first to drink, tears in their eyes, sipped the rest of their wine slowly.

“Thank you, Grand Tutor, for bestowing this immortal wine!”

“To have tasted this wine, I have no regrets in this life!”