Chapter Seventy-Two: First Encounter with the Master of Poisons

“Elder brother of the Han Emperor?”

The general in silver armor burst out laughing. “Do you take me for a fool? Who doesn’t know the Emperor’s surname is Liu?”

Zhang Yu’s air of command lasted less than three seconds; he nearly slipped from his horse. “Can’t you send someone with a functioning brain to speak with me?”

A soldier beside him leaned in to whisper, “General Duan, I think he’s the real deal. His Majesty recently acknowledged a distant elder brother and uncle—everyone in Chang’an is talking about it.”

The armored general’s face darkened. He spat on the ground. “Bah! Even if it’s true, so what? Even the Emperor himself has to listen to the Prime Minister these days. And you think a so-called imperial brother counts for anything?”

“Then tell me,” Zhang Yu said from atop his white horse, looking down at him, “why does the Son of Heaven obey Dong Zhuo?”

“Ha! Is it not because the Prime Minister sweeps the empire before him, his might unquestioned?”

“Then shouldn’t you all obey me as well?”

“What?”

“Because—don’t take it personally,” Zhang Yu’s lips curled into a wicked smile, unable to hide the devilish glint in his eyes, “every Xiliang soldier here is nothing but trash.”

Before the general could respond, the Xiliang troops suddenly found their rear ablaze. The sounds of fighting erupted at the end of the street—clashing weapons and furious shouts, threatening to turn the nine markets of Chang’an upside down.

“Today is the day my Eighteen Riders of Yanmen make their name!” Zhang Yu declared.

A squad of a dozen or so men, each carrying a longbow and clad in the rattan armor distributed by Zhang Yu, fought with the valor of ten men apiece. They swept through the Xiliang soldiers with the precision and force of a powerful crossbow, leaving no resistance.

The silver-armored general had not foreseen such a rapid reversal of fortune. As he opened his mouth to shout orders, Cao Xing loosed an arrow that struck the plume on his helmet, and before he could recover, Han Meng seized him.

“Now, will you listen to me?” Zhang Yu’s smile remained unshaken.

“Let me go!” the silver-armored general struggled, his hair disheveled. “If my elder brother hears of this, he’ll see you punished, whether you call yourself imperial uncle or brother!”

“Oh? And who are you, and who is your brother?”

“I am Deputy General Duan Ao! My brother is the Prime Minister’s favored commander, Duan Wei! He commands a great army in Huayin—”

“General Ao, that’s enough.”

With the sound of new voices, the fierce Xiliang warriors automatically parted, allowing the Eighteen Riders and a middle-aged scholar to enter.

This scholar had a pair of moustaches like brushstrokes, and his broad features exuded a restrained, unassuming air. He hurried forward, greeting Zhang Yu and Yan with courtesy. “I, Jia Xu, have long heard of Imperial Brother Zhang’s reputation. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Duan Ao was misled by traitors and acted rashly, for which we will take full responsibility for the consequences. Thankfully, Imperial Brother Zhang and your brave men handled matters well, preventing disaster—my Xiliang soldiers can attest to that. Since this was but a farce, I beg your mercy on his behalf. He is, after all, a general. To keep him would only be a burden—why not let me take him back? I will see that you are well rewarded.”

With this speech, he not only praised Zhang Yu and shifted blame, but took on consequences that were not his, and most importantly, removed any reason for Zhang Yu to refuse, all while leaving Zhang Yu feeling satisfied.

“Sir, what brings you here?” Zhang Yu asked.

“If I hadn’t come, I fear General Zhongming’s honor would be in tatters. Used as another’s weapon and not even knowing it—did you really think the Elder Brother of the Han could not handle a mere deputy general?”

The scholar scolded Duan Ao, who, for all his bluster, did not dare retort, but lowered his head obediently.

“Why do I feel as though…this man is your real elder brother?” Han Meng muttered to Duan Ao, who, in a strangely offhand manner, replied, “Not my brother, but almost as close—this is Master Wenhe, after all…”

At this, Zhang Yu felt as though his emotions were as disordered as Little White’s mane in the wind. Seeing this man’s humble posture before him, he dismounted at once and returned the salute. “So it is Master Wenhe in person. Forgive me for my lack of courtesy.”

Jia Xu—Wenhe—was a fox of a thousand years.

In Zhang Yu’s mind, he ranked among the top three strategists of the Three Kingdoms.

In the Chronicle of Zhuge Liang in the Records of the Three Kingdoms, Chen Shou described Kongming as “long on administration, short on cunning.” Compared to Zhuge Liang’s governance, his stratagems were seen as somewhat lacking.

But in Zhang Yu’s eyes, the one man in all the Three Kingdoms who truly deserved the title “a genius bordering on the demonic” was this seemingly harmless poisoner before him.

His power was evident in this: it is said that after Dong Zhuo’s death, there were still hundreds of thousands of households in the Three Adjuncts region, but after a single stratagem from Jia Xu, “the people had all but eaten each other.”

And yet, what was most remarkable was not merely his ruthless and brilliant schemes, but that after so much villainy, he withdrew quietly into government, rose to the position of Grand Commandant, and died with his reputation intact.

Zhuge Liang eschewed cunning for the path of worldly righteousness, which is why he cast aside the “Ziwu Valley ruse” as one would discard a worn shoe.

But Jia Xu was a master of the unorthodox, a man who anticipated every move—not only did he scheme against the world, but he secured his own fate as well.

Seeing Zhang Yu’s respect, Jia Xu feigned humility. “What virtue or talent do I have, that the Emperor’s own brother should bow to me? Please, Imperial Brother Zhang, you will ruin me with such honor.”

“Ah! Others may not deserve it, but Master Wenhe certainly does. In my eyes, you and Li Ru are the only true strategists among the Xiliang forces.”

“Not at all! Master Wenyu has devoted himself to the Prime Minister, shaping the present order with his own hands. I am but a minor functionary, a firefly’s glow unworthy of comparison to the full moon.”

And so they exchanged empty courtesies, neither outdoing the other in wit or shamelessness, until finally they both laughed and Zhang Yu returned Duan Ao.

“You there, escort General Duan back. Master Xu has other duties—I thank Imperial Brother Zhang for your generosity today.”

“You are too kind, sir. But…what of the reward you promised?”

“Haha, patience! I do not forget a debt. The time has not yet come—please wait a little while longer, Imperial Brother Zhang.”

Zhang Yu’s heart skipped a beat. Why did Jia Xu’s words sound so ominous coming from his lips?

This man was truly venomous; more than one land and people had perished in the course of his laughter and casual conversation. Could it be that after returning his man so politely, Jia Xu still meant to deal with him? Should he strike preemptively…

By the time Zhang Yu had finished this thought, Jia Xu was already at the end of the ranks. The burly man sitting on the ground watched him approach, looking aggrieved.

“Hu Che’er, recount every detail of today’s events.”

“Yesterday, we received a secret message that rebels and foreign tribes would stir up trouble in the Western Market today. General Duan and I waited and waited, but saw no rebels—only that foreign woman…”

“Who sent the message?”

“I don’t know exactly. I only heard it came from above General Duan—orders for us to stand guard.”

“Foreigners,” Jia Xu murmured, closing his eyes for a moment before heading toward a carriage at the side of the street.

“Close ties with Zhang Yu, an unusual relationship with the Grand Herald…at his age, and still leaving so many clues.”

Sitting in the carriage, Jia Xu shook his head. “This imperial brother Zhang Yu is quite intriguing… Chang’an is entering turbulent times indeed.”