Eighty

“Big Brother, these girls are fresh and lovely—take your pick!” Lei Bo called to Chen Lan, who was seated on the stage. “Marry one and make her our sister-in-law, eh, brothers?”
“Yes, yes! Sister-in-law! Sister-in-law!” The second-in-command started the cheer, and the crowd quickly followed suit.

But Chen Lan frowned, his mood soured. “Second Brother, how many times must I tell you? Stay away from those county towns! Why don’t you listen?”

“Don’t worry, Big Brother. I haven’t touched a single city under Lord Cao. These girls are all spoils from that old Liu Xun of Lujiang!” Lei Bo replied with a careless laugh. Despite his rough appearance, Lei Bo was shrewd; he knew whom to provoke and whom to avoid. Cao Cao was not a man to cross, so Lei Bo kept clear of his territories, preferring to squeeze the softer ones.

After Li Shu’s defeat, all of Jianghuai descended into chaos. Opportunists of all stripes emerged: Liu Xun in Lujiang, the Zhou family in Shucheng, Mei Qian in Hefei, and Lei Bo was hunting for these very people.

“That’s good.” Chen Lan selected one of the girls and pulled her into his embrace, playing with her absentmindedly. Though he had wine to drink and beauty in his arms, his face betrayed no joy.

“Big Brother, you seem troubled?” Lei Bo could see Chen Lan’s unease.

“No, no! Drink, let’s drink!” Chen Lan raised his cup to mask his dejection.

“Big Brother, we’re family. What can’t you tell me? Why keep secrets from me?” Lei Bo grumbled, dissatisfied with Chen Lan’s evasiveness.

Chen Lan sighed, knowing he couldn’t hide it any longer. “Second Brother, tell me honestly—are you really content to be a bandit all your life?”

“Huh?” Lei Bo was taken aback. A life as a bandit? Though they’d lived freely for a while, only a fool would wish to be an outlaw forever. Wasn’t rebellion for the sake of a better future? And even if they were content, what of their descendants?

The mood in the hall grew heavy. The life of a bandit might be free, but it was no long-term path.

Chen Lan sighed again. He had betrayed Li Shu to avoid the stigma of traitor, yet now he had become little more than a bandit. What difference was there between rebel and brigand?

“Hmph, isn’t it because Cao Cao is blind and failed to reward you?” Lei Bo said bitterly. Chen Lan had turned on Li Shu not just because Li Shu had declared himself emperor and lost all support, but also because Cao Cao had promised Chen Lan rank and favor if he betrayed Li Shu and opened Tianzhu Mountain for Cao Cao’s army to attack Shouchun.

Chen Lan had agreed and rebelled. Yet, after Li Shu was defeated, there was no word from Cao Cao. Even when Chen Lan sent envoys, they were ignored. Occasionally, someone would bring vague messages, enough only to let Chen Lan imagine that Lord Cao had not forgotten him.

“Second Brother, mind your words!” Chen Lan warned. Who knew if the very walls had ears in this banquet hall?

“Hmph!” Lei Bo grunted, downing a bowl of wine to smother his anger.

“Report! Chief, Second Chief! There’s a group at the foot of the mountain asking to see the Chief!” A messenger burst into the hall, addressing Chen Lan and Lei Bo.

“Don’t see them, don’t see them! It’s my big brother’s wedding day—no visitors!” Lei Bo, in no mood for interruptions, waved the messenger off. Chen Lan’s silence was tacit approval.

“Chief, the visitor says—he says he wants to make a deal with you. He claims he can help you gain Lord Cao’s acceptance!”

---

“Your Highness Prince Fu, do you think Chen Lan and Lei Bo will see us today?” Zhang Xun asked, doubtful. From the foot of Tianzhu Mountain, the festive lights atop the peak were visible even at dusk—surely some celebration was underway. Would they bother with their visitors? By the time they arrived under the mountain, night was nearly upon them; Zhang Xun thought it best to wait until morning.

But Li Yin shook his head. Every day they delayed, his dear nephew’s supplies dwindled. As much as he disliked his so-called nephew, Li Yin still had to serve under him—unless he changed allegiances, his only option was to do his best. Any delay and that nephew would be left hungry, and Li Yin knew well his nephew’s vindictive nature. Should he give him any excuse for reprisal?

“Isn’t a wedding feast the perfect occasion?” Li Yin said. “We’ll just join the table—share the joy and get a decent meal out of it!” At Jiangting, they subsisted on plain fare; even a full belly was a struggle, let alone a good meal. Hadn’t their rebel emperor Li Shu died of a fit after being denied honey?

Zhang Xun frowned. Generals were used to hardship—on campaign, they sometimes ate grass or even flesh if supplies ran low. The food at Jiangting was at least edible, but Li Yin’s words made him uneasy. Had their forced march been just to catch this banquet?

He was about to protest when the gates of the bandit camp below Tianzhu Mountain swung open. A troop rode out, and a swaggering minor officer shouted, “Which of you is Li Yin?”

“I am,” Li Yin answered, stepping forward.

“All right, come with me. Our lord awaits!” The officer beckoned.

Were Chen Lan and Lei Bo really going to see Li Yin? Zhang Xun was surprised and quickly pulled Li Yin aside. “Your Highness, you shouldn’t go in alone—it could be a trap!” Zhang Xun had no fondness for Chen Lan and Lei Bo, considering them traitors, and trusted them not at all.

“A trap? Ha!” Li Yin chuckled. Zhang Xun was not Li Miao. If Li Miao were here, he’d send Li Yin in without hesitation, knowing they were birds of a feather—cowardly, always seeking survival above all.

Precisely because he feared death, Li Yin would never walk into a trap. There was no need to worry; he wouldn’t risk his life if he saw no chance of success.

“No, Your Highness. The Emperor ordered me to protect you. When the need arises, you must obey my command!” Zhang Xun insisted. Although Li Yin had led so far, Li Miao had granted Zhang Xun special authority to act as needed.

Li Yin could only smile bitterly. The “need” was his nephew’s fear that he would run away or abscond with the imperial guards. Zhang Xun was there to watch him, not protect him. Safety was about the grain, not his life.

Zhang Xun wanted to wait until morning, with three hundred Imperial Guards camped at the mountain’s base, before meeting Chen Lan and Lei Bo. Only then would he feel secure.

“Are you done? Our lord is busy—he hasn't time to wait around for you. Coming or not? If not, get lost!” The minor officer grew impatient.

“You—!” Zhang Xun fumed. Even Chen Lan and Lei Bo had never dared be so insolent to him; he remembered Chen Lan’s obsequiousness all too well. Now even a dog under Chen Lan dared to show such disrespect?

He was about to act, but Li Yin stopped him. This was Tianzhu Mountain—any skirmish could spark a disaster, and they had come to beg for grain.

“General Zhang Xun, the longer we delay, the longer our lord at Jiangting goes hungry. We can starve, but what of our master?” Li Yin pressed, knowing Zhang Xun’s weak spot was his young lord, Li Miao, to whom the dying Li Shu had entrusted him. Zhang Xun was not especially talented, but his loyalty was absolute; he valued promises above life itself. Otherwise, he’d have fled long ago, for he had long admired Sun Ce.

“But—” Zhang Xun faltered.

“No buts,” Li Yin insisted. “You know as well as I do that our lord has already diverted what little grain we have to us, deepening Jiangting’s crisis. Any further delay, and our master will suffer. If you’re worried, you can come with me—let’s see what tricks Chen Lan and Lei Bo have in store.”

With no other choice, Zhang Xun agreed, provided he could accompany Li Yin.

“Are you finished?” the minor officer urged them impatiently.

---

“All right, all right, good fellow, there will be four of us: myself, my two guards, and this gentleman,” Li Yin said, unfazed by the officer’s rudeness.

The officer frowned, then shrugged. “Fine, fine, what a fuss!” He was eager to return to the banquet, having been dragged away just as the merriment began. One extra or less hardly mattered, so long as their soldiers stayed outside. A handful of guests could cause little trouble.

“Let’s go,” Li Yin said, following the officer’s lead.

Zhang Xun left Qin Huai outside to set up camp ten miles from Tianzhu Mountain. The men were to stay armed through the night, sleeping in shifts and keeping a strict watch to ensure the camp’s safety.

Inside the grand hall atop Tianzhu Mountain, the revelry continued unabated. Wine and food flowed freely, and some impatient chiefs had already begun tearing at the clothes of the captive women, each rip met with shrieks and raucous laughter.

Amid the debauchery, the messenger officer returned, kneeling before Chen Lan. “My lord, Li Yin is here!”

“Oh?”

Four men were escorted into the hall, Li Yin among them. As they entered, the hall fell silent, all eyes turning to watch. Li Yin strode forward, clasped his fists in salute, and greeted Chen Lan with a smile. “General Chen Lan, it’s been a while.”

Before Chen Lan could reply, a minor officer shouted, “Insolent wretch, who are you? How dare you not kneel before our lord?”

Kneel? Li Yin paid him no heed, but smiled at Chen Lan. “General Chen Lan, my forefathers once received from the Han Emperor the privilege that no son of the Li family, unless before a Grand Minister or higher, need kneel. So tell me, General, should I kneel?”

The Li family had held three grand offices across four generations; their descendants were exempt from kneeling before all but the highest ministers. With Li’s disciples everywhere, it made little sense for juniors to kneel before every official, only to find the official’s superior was a Li clansman. Thus, kneeling was reserved for the most exalted ranks.

“The Han Emperor is nothing here! This is our lord’s hall!” the officer protested. They were bandits, after all.

“Is that so? General Chen Lan, do you no longer hold Lord Cao in regard?” Li Yin asked with a smile.

Chen Lan’s eyes narrowed, his brows knotted. He had intended to humble Li Yin with silence, but now Li Yin had invoked Cao Cao’s name.

Who was Cao Cao? In these times of moral collapse, the Han Emperor’s prestige had plummeted. Otherwise, Li Shu would not have made the farce of declaring himself emperor. The Han Emperor’s authority had long since faded; the Ten Attendants had used him, Dong Zhuo had played with him and even killed one, only for another to take his place. After Dong Zhuo, Wang Yun had his turn, followed by the likes of Li Jue and Guo Si.

In the end, the Han Emperor himself could barely fill his belly—much like Li Miao, the young prince of Zhongguo, who was perhaps better off, at least not starving.

Who cared for such an emperor? How many of Li Shu’s old followers even bothered with Li Miao?

Yet, for all that others disregarded the Han Emperor, there was one man who cared deeply—our Lord Cao, Cao Cao.

He had brought the Han Emperor home, fed him well, clothed him, and not as a mere plaything. He used the emperor as his signboard, ready to brand any who defied him as rebels. Like merchants slapping counterfeit labels on rivals’ goods, it might not cause real harm, but it was enough to disgust.

Old Cao hadn’t wanted to fight Li Shu; they had no enmity. Indeed, they had once been comrades in tricking Li Shao. But what could he do? Li Shu had made himself emperor, rendering Cao Cao’s Han Emperor signboard useless. There was only one thing for it—war.