Liu Bian at the start, so you're called Dong Zhuo, right?

Zhao Zhong continued without waiting for the two to speak:

"Ma Yuanyi came to Beijing to be the spark of destiny."

Xu Feng felt a chill run down his spine and couldn't help but ask:

"How can he enter the capital without attracting attention?"

Zhao Zhong glanced at him:

"He doesn't take the official route."

He traveled the trade routes.

"Have him bring in the old-style road signs from the Tian Chamber of Commerce—"

Xu Feng's expression changed: "But the road signs now have hidden markings—"

Zhao Zhong said calmly:

"The secret mark was added today."

"The old version can still be used for two more days."

"These two days should be enough for him to get to the capital."

"You just need to deliver the message to Jizhou and have Ma Yuanyi come—bring the rules for starting the uprising."

Xu Feng responded in a low voice, not daring to ask any more questions: "Yes."

Zhao Zhong murmured:

"He brings the regulations, and I'll give him a list of people who need to be killed in advance."

Xu Feng swayed, as if he had thought of something, but he didn't speak again.

Feng Xu panicked: "The list... includes the Crown Prince?"

Zhao Zhong glanced at him, then suddenly smiled:

"certainly."

"I have nothing left now."

"The only thing that can be exchanged is his head."

Feng Xu's throat tightened:

"Lord Zhao, he is close to the Crown Prince. Although Cao Cao is not here, the guards of the Eastern Palace are not weak, and Xun Yu is also here. It will not be easy for him to get close."

"Besides... this is the current Crown Prince!"

Zhao Zhong hummed in agreement, remaining calm and composed.

That's why we need Ma Yuanyi.

"He was the Yellow Turban's henchman in Luoyang. He knew the routes to pilgrims, temples, monasteries, palace markets, and more than you or I did."

"and--"

He lowered his voice slowly:

"He doesn't need to enter the Crown Prince's Palace."

"All we need to do is let the Crown Prince leave the palace once."

"I've also prepared a reason for him to leave the palace."

Feng Xu felt a chill run down his spine: "What reason?"

Zhao Zhong ignored him and instead said:

"Go and do it."

"Deliver it tonight."

"Use the old method."

Feng Xu wanted to ask more questions, but Xu Feng grabbed him and kowtowed, saying, "Yes."

The two got up and left the Zhao residence one after the other.

Zhao Zhong watched the two figures disappear into the distance, and smiled. In that smile was the exhilarating satisfaction of finally avenging a great grudge.

"Liu Bian, you have indeed played a brilliant move."

"Since I can't beat you at chess."

"I'll just flip this chessboard over."

-

That night, the wind outside Luoyang was very gentle.

But in the wind, a piece of paper, a message, a few coded words, like insects, burrowed into different door cracks.

At the incense burners of temples and monasteries, beside stalls selling talismanic water, among the porters carrying goods in the palace market, and even in the lining of a courier's belt—

There's something "inaudible" in everything.

-

The next day, on the border of Jizhou.

Imperial post station.

It was completely dark, and the entire inn was eerily quiet, with only a few distinct meows coming from afar.

Huangfu Song arrived at the post station last night, without drinking any wine or removing his armor, and had already rested for half the night.

Two guards stood watch outside the door, dozing against the wall—their eyelids were as heavy as lead from traveling all night.

Inns are places where it's easiest to relax.

Because it looks "orderly".

Suddenly, it got dark outside the window.

A shadow brushed against me, as light as a snake slithering through the night.

The shadow paused for a moment, as if listening.

Listen to the breathing in the room, the soft creaking of the bed, and the deep, resonant sound of someone "sound asleep."

Then it moved.

A very thin piece of iron was first inserted through the crack in the door. With a gentle push, the latch fell open silently.

The door hinges didn't make a sound—someone had applied oil beforehand.

He didn't walk in the middle.

Walking along the base of the wall, avoiding every creaking wooden plank, lightly touching the ground with your toes, even deliberately avoiding the corner of your clothes brushing against the back of the chair.

A dark figure stopped in front of the bed.

Someone was lying on their side on the couch, with their back to the door. Their armor sleeves were still on, their shoulders were steady, and their breathing was even.

It looks like she's really asleep.

The assassin lowered his breathing even further.

He stared at the back of the neck—where a mere half an inch of the needle would be enough to kill a person.

He raised his hand.

Align the knife tip.

The movements were clean and swift, without the slightest hesitation.

The next moment—

The knife fell.

"puff."

It's not wood, and it's not fabric.

It was the dull thud of a sharp blade piercing flesh.

The person on the bed shuddered violently, as if a nail had been driven into their bones.

The killer didn't stop.

He twisted the blade horizontally, as if to sever the life-giving organ in his neck.

The person on the bed let out a very short breath, as if blocked by blood.

The assassin leaned down, pressed his other hand against the man's shoulder, and with a fierce force, pinned the man firmly to the bed.

Blood gushed out quickly.

First it was hot, creeping along the back of the knife to the assassin's wrist, but the assassin's movements didn't stop.

Then the blood dripped down the edge of the bed and onto the ground. The sound of it hitting the ground was soft, but each drop was like the sound of a water clock being struck.

The person on the bed struggled for a moment.

Just once.

Like a final, instinctive twitch.

Then, my whole body went limp.

Breathing stopped.

A hint of relief and smugness flashed in the shadowy figure's eyes.

What famous generals? They were all just victims of my blade.

It was much easier than I had imagined.

-

Meanwhile, within Jizhou, outside Jieting.

The sky was overcast, and the air was thick with the stench of blood.

Cao Cao had been pursued for six whole days.

But tonight, the pursuers suddenly became impatient.

No more delays, no more probing, no more empty promises.

They started to really "go to great lengths".

In the ruins, Cao Cao leaned against the broken wall, his armor covered in dried bloodstains, but his eyes were as cold as well water.

There were only three people left with him.

Xiahou Yuan was covered in wounds, with a gash on his right arm, yet he still gripped the knife tightly.

The other two attendants, one limping and the other with a cloth wrapped around his chest, were pale and looked like they could collapse at any moment.

They started as a dozen or so people and have fought their way to this point.

More than twenty enemy corpses lay on the ground outside.

But the footsteps of the pursuers were still dense and numerous.

A full hundred people.

The first arrow was shot out of the fog.

With a "whoosh," it embedded itself in the broken wall, the arrow's fletching still trembling.

Then came the second and the third—

It wasn't a sporadic drizzle, but a dense, continuous downpour.

Arrows rained down on the crumbling wall, sending wood chips flying and bricks shattering, as if someone had chiseled countless small holes in the wall.

The two attendants were a little slow to dodge, and blood immediately appeared on their shoulders and legs, flowing down and soaking their leg wrappings.

He simply raised his hand and pressed the lame attendant into the corner, his voice so low it was like whispering in his ear:

"Move to the inside. Don't look up."

Xiahou Yuan's face was half covered in blood, but his eyes were still bright as he stared at the gray shadow outside the wall:

"They're trying to devour us all at once."

Cao Cao did not reply immediately.

He changed his grip on the knife; his palms were already blistered from the handle, and the blisters had burst, leaving them sticky and slippery, so he could only grip it even tighter.

The footsteps outside the wall grew closer.

"Six days have passed! Where are the soldiers in Luoyang?"

"Where's the road decree for the Eastern Palace? Where's the Crown Prince? Why aren't they coming to your rescue!"

Laughter rolled in from the fog, heavy and arrogant.

Upon hearing this, Cao Cao's lips curled into a slight twitch.

Of course, he was waiting too.

He knew better than anyone else that once His Highness received official recognition, he would definitely come.

As long as that flag is raised, this group of people will not dare to delay.

But alas—the flag didn't fly.

Over the course of six days, he heard too many sounds that "sounded like reinforcements": the wind in the distance, the hoofbeats of horses galloping on the post road, and even the rustling of wings of birds flying around at night, all of which he mistook for the prelude to military drums.

Every time expectations rise, they are pressed back down by an even deeper silence.

"His Highness... should be arriving soon." The attendant, his chest wrapped in cloth, spoke in a dry, sandpaper-like voice, "Let's hold out for one more night—"

Cao Cao glanced at him, said nothing, and simply handed him the small water pouch at his waist.

The water bladder was pitifully light.

The attendant took it, shook it, and poured out two mouthfuls of murky water, not even daring to swallow it too quickly.

Cao Cao himself did not drink it.

He pressed the tip of his tongue against his palate, his throat felt like it was on fire, and even breathing was painful.

Suddenly, a short whistle blew outside.

The next moment, a muffled roar came from the fog:

"superior--!"

The figures suddenly became denser.

They attacked from three sides, shields in front and spears behind, their movements synchronized, clearly indicating they were trained.

The first shield struck the gap in the broken wall, and the bricks were squeezed and cracked with a "crack".

The second shield came up and widened the gap by half a foot.

Cao Cao raised his sword and slashed.

The blade had become dull, and when it struck the edge of the shield, it only sent up a shower of sparks, which made his hand go numb and almost caused him to drop the blade.

Xiahou Yuan roared and pounced forward, slashing diagonally with his sword, cutting down a man holding a spear. Blood sprayed like hot soup, splattering onto the man's face.

There are too many people.

If one falls, immediately replace it with two more.

Soon, one of the five people who were still inside the ruined wall fell down.

The man was pierced through the ribs by a spear. His body stiffened, his eyes widened as if he wanted to shout, but he only spat out a mouthful of blood.

As he fell, his hand was still outstretched towards Cao Cao, as if trying to grab something.

Cao Cao didn't look at it, fearing that if he did, his men would slow down.

If you're too slow, you'll die.

"There are only four of us left," Xiahou Yuan said, panting. "They... are still adding more people."

Cao Cao glanced outside.

The figures were indistinct in the fog, mostly people.

Front row of shield bearers, back row of spearmen, and behind them, archers drawing their bows—

Layer upon layer, as if treating you like a wild beast trapped in a pit, preparing to slowly peel your skin.

The seriously wounded follower leaned against the wall, barely able to stand, his knife trembling, yet he gritted his teeth:

"Defense... I can still—"

Before he could finish speaking, an arrow flew in through the gap and struck him squarely in the throat.

He seemed to be choked, his voice stopped abruptly, and he slid down, his lips parted, only to spit out a mouthful of warm blood.

Before my eyes, more and more figures gathered, and all I could hear were footsteps, panting breaths, and the scraping sound of blades against bone.

Cao Cao suddenly realized for the first time clearly—

He might really die here.