108 Hostages

In the pitch-black night, all was quiet save for the occasional heart-stirring hoot of an owl and the hoarse lament of a crow. At this turning point between spring and summer, the insects busied themselves licking the wounds left by their emergence from their shells, while across the mountains and plains, the vegetation hung heavy with sorrowful tears.

On this moonlit night, so still that scarcely a sound could be heard, a rapid thunder of hoofbeats approached from afar—nearer and nearer.

At the head of the mounted troop rode a man clad in silver armor. Under the moonlight, his helmet shone with a pure, sacred milky hue. It had been carved in the shape of a lotus: luxurious and elegant, its lofty form seeming utterly out of place amid the brutality of the battlefield. Yet the meaning it embodied was profound and thought-provoking.

The lotus rises from the mire. Before it breaks the surface and reveals its boundless beauty, when it is still no more than a seed, it must struggle against the filth and stones in the chaotic mud. Only by breaking through them can it pierce the void and become the radiant flower blooming upon the water.

In an age of turmoil, the mud; in an age of prosperity, the flower.

Beneath the exquisite lotus-shaped helmet, a suit of brilliantly polished silver armor, adorned with masterful engravings, covered a tall but not powerfully built frame. A huge blood-red cross was carved into the armor, beginning three inches below the neck and extending all the way to the lower abdomen.

The owner of that armor was Luan Yi.

They had not ridden far before the air grew faintly damp. They must already be close to the great river, which meant their destination was near.

“Dog Left, where are the carts and horses abandoned by the merchant caravan you saw this afternoon?” The speaker was none other than Zhao Yun. Together with Dian Wei, he had led two hundred elite cavalrymen of the Templar Battalion in pursuit of Luan Yi. The rest of the generals—Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, Huang Zhong, Xu Huang, Taishi Ci, and the others—had already returned to Licheng with the main army under Xu Shu and Mao Jie.

Dog Left answered, “My lord knight, they are just ahead. After another hundred paces or so, you should be able to see the caravan banner.”

Zhao Yun raised a hand and dismissed him. Then he relayed the information to Luan Yi and asked, “High Priest, shall we go and take a look?”

“No need.” Luan Yi waved his hand. “There is no point in investigating it. We would only waste time. We already know that Zhu Ying intends to seize the Zhen family’s ships and cross northward. We need only follow the riverbank east. Before long, we should find Zhu Ying’s trail.”

“Understood!” Zhao Yun saluted with a raised hand. Every movement made the fittings of his armor ring and clatter crisply, lending him an air of incomparable ease and elegance. “All men, heed my command! Head for the riverbank—forward at full speed!”

The thunder of galloping hooves rose once more.

Clatter… clatter-clatter… rumble, rumble…

The great river—the very river that later generations would call the Yellow River.

After finally defeating the Zhen family guards, who had fought with the desperation of doomed men, Zhu Ying wiped the blood from his long sword with the hem of his robe. With a murderous expression, he strode toward the six remaining members of the Zhen family caravan, who were trapped and surrounded.

His gaze swept over the cross insignias on their chests, and a sinister smile touched his lips.

“Heh-heh… Now that things have come to this, where is your Holy Mother? Why hasn’t she come out to bless you?”

The Yellow Turban soldiers were about to laugh along with Zhu Ying when a handsome youth suddenly stepped out from behind the five Zhen household servants. His lips were red, his teeth white, and his features refined. Though he wore the clothes of a servant, there was an indistinct majesty about him—the bearing of one accustomed to command.

With eyes bright as crystal and blazing with anger, he stared straight at Zhu Ying.

“The Holy Mother is everywhere. She will surely protect us. But you…” He glared fiercely. “Do not blame this young master for failing to warn you. This is the territory of the Kingdom of Jinan, the holy land of the Sacred Faith. For committing such a vile act of robbery here, you will certainly not escape the wrath of our High Priest. He will bring you to justice for your crimes against his fellow believers and leave not even your bones intact!”

“You…”

The mention of Luan Yi set Zhu Ying’s temper ablaze.

“Sacred Faith? Hah! A vile cult, that’s what it is. Bah!” He spat. “I, Commander Zhu, may not be a good man, but neither am I some villain. Before I kill you, I may as well do you a kindness and let you die knowing the truth.”

His eyes shifted as he deceived the youth.

“Several days ago, the General of Heaven ordered me to lead fifty thousand men into the Kingdom of Jinan. By now, the kingdom has changed its banners and become the territory of the Way of the Yellow Heaven. As for that Luan Yi…” Zhu Ying threw back his head and laughed. “He died amid the chaos of battle. I fed his corpse to the dogs myself!”

“Fifty thousand troops?”

The handsome youth trembled inwardly. He knew perfectly well how small the Kingdom of Jinan was. How many people could it possibly have—perhaps a hundred or two hundred thousand? Of those, how many were able-bodied men? And how many could actually take the field? The number could never approach fifty thousand.

That meant the defenders of the Sacred Faith were vastly outnumbered by the Yellow Turbans. With the enemy strong and his own side weak, could Jinan hold? Had the Grand Cathedral of Saint Nuwa already fallen?

The youth did not want to think about it. He did not dare think about it. More than anything, he refused to believe that the nightmare in his mind was true.

“You are lying! The High Priest is wise and mighty, a savior chosen by the gods. How could he be defeated and killed by a despicable wretch like you? Wait… You are a commander?”

At that instant, the youth understood the truth. He threw back his head and laughed.

Zhu Ying furrowed his brows. “You are about to die, and yet you laugh? What is so amusing?”

“What is amusing? Your shamelessness. You call yourself a commander—a commander of an entire division. If you truly conquered the Kingdom of Jinan, why would you be fleeing to the riverbank in the middle of the night?”

The more the youth thought about it, the more pleased he became.

“Your army must have been routed and scattered like an avalanche. You are running for your life, aren’t you?”

“You…”

With his lie exposed, Zhu Ying’s face burned with humiliation and fury. He lifted his sword and charged.

“You stinking brat! You seek death!”

“Wait, wait! General—no, Commander, Commander! Please calm yourself. Peace brings prosperity. Let us remain peaceful… Surely everything can be discussed.”

An old man suddenly stepped out from among the caravan servants, bowing repeatedly and begging for mercy.

“Discuss this!” Zhu Ying snarled. “Get out of my way!”

He kicked the old man to the ground. Then he raised his sword, murder radiating from him.

“Commander, you must not kill him!” the old man cried.

It was Zhen Po, steward of the Zhen family. Seeing the youth in danger, he shouted desperately, “If you spare him, our Zhen family of Jizhou is willing to offer ten thousand gold pieces!”

“Hm?” Zhu Ying’s eyes lit up. “What did you say?”

“If you spare his life, our master will pay ten thousand gold pieces!”

“That is not what I meant.” Zhu Ying sheathed his sword and asked, “You said you were from which family?”

“The Zhen family of Jizhou!”

“The enormously wealthy Zhen family of Jizhou?”

Zhen Po answered, “Indeed!”

Zhu Ying planted his hands on his hips, a cunning glimmer passing through the corners of his eyes.

“I do not believe you. Who is this boy, that the Zhen family would spend so much to save him?”

“This… this is…” Zhen Po stammered. “He is our Second Young Master, the son most dearly loved by our late lord!”

“Young master?” Zhu Ying nodded. “Since he is the legitimate son, I shall believe you for now. Once you have escorted me back to Hebei and delivered the ransom, I will release you all unharmed.”

“That would be wonderful! Truly wonderful!”

Zhu Ying had no time to celebrate the unexpected prospect of ten thousand gold pieces. What he wanted to know most was where the Zhen family had moored its merchant ship.

“What are you waiting for? Take us to the ship!”

“Yes, yes, of course…” Zhen Po replied. “It is not far to the east. The boatmen are waiting for us there.”

Yet before the band of fleeing Yellow Turbans could set off, a deep rumble rolled across the earth.

One of Zhu Ying’s personal guards dropped to the ground and listened. A moment later, he cried out in alarm, “Commander, this is bad! The cultists have caught up with us!”

“What are you panicking for? Run east! Once we board the ship, those cultists will not be able to do anything to us.”

The guard shook his head. “We cannot! The sound of the waves concealed the hoofbeats, so we failed to notice them. The cultists are now less than two miles away. We cannot outrun horses on foot. There is no time!”

“Damn it!”

Zhu Ying stamped furiously and stared toward the great river, whose rolling waters formed an impassable natural barrier. He looked wildly about for a way to escape—and happened to spot the Zhen family’s young master through a gap in the crowd.

An idea flashed through his mind.

He drew his sword and strode toward the fair-skinned youth.

“Come here!”

“What are you trying to do?” The young master of the Zhen family recoiled in alarm.

“I said, come here!”

Zhu Ying quickened his pace and caught up with him in a few strides. The four Zhen guards on either side attempted to intervene, but the Yellow Turban soldiers rushing in behind Zhu Ying beat them to the ground and brutally kicked them.

Zhen Po struggled to his feet and pleaded, “Commander, Commander, show mercy! You promised not to harm a hair on our heads. You must keep your word!”

“Do not worry. I still have my eyes on those ten thousand gold pieces. I will not hurt him.”

As he spoke, Zhu Ying seized the young master by the arm and dragged him into his embrace, pressing his sword against the youth’s pale, jade-like throat.

Before long, the distant cries of men and horses began to carry across the night, growing steadily clearer. Clusters of torches approached like winding dragons of fire.

Seeing torches burning along the riverbank as well, Zhu Ying realized that the enemy had spotted them. The pursuing force slowed and halted a hundred paces away, watching the Yellow Turban fugitives from a distance.

“Luan Yi, you really came in person after all. Hahaha!”

Luan Yi swept his gaze over Zhu Ying and the others. Then his eyes fixed upon the handsome youth held in Zhu Ying’s arms. The moment he saw the cross medal fastened to the youth’s chest, his gaze faltered.

He quickly concealed the worry and compassion that had surfaced in his eyes and said sternly, “Zhu Ying, you treacherous cur! You are on the brink of death, yet you still dare to act so arrogantly. Why do you not surrender?”

“Surrender? Hmph! I, Zhu Ying, have roamed the world for decades. I would rather die standing than live on my knees!”

“Hahaha!” Luan Yi laughed without restraint. “Indeed! Commander Zhu would never raise his hands and surrender. But your skill at fleeing is truly extraordinary. Your timing and technique are both impeccable. I, Luan Yi, admit that I cannot compare. And now…”

After that string of humiliating remarks, the elite Templar cavalry burst into laughter.

“Runaway! Runaway! Runaway!”

“Silence!” Zhu Ying roared. “My conduct is not for you to judge!”

Luan Yi glanced at the youth in Zhu Ying’s arms and continued mockingly, “I never imagined that Commander Zhu had learned yet another new trick. What is this? Kidnapping an unarmed scholar and threatening me with his life? How laughable…”

He raised the hand holding his riding crop.

“All commanders, heed my order! Zhu Ying is a traitor who has rebelled against the realm. Seize him at once. If he resists, kill him without mercy!”

“Yes!”

The two hundred cavalrymen surged with killing intent. Striking the horses’ rumps with the backs of their spears, they prepared to charge Zhu Ying and his men.

“Do not move!”

Zhu Ying pressed his sword more tightly against the youth’s neck. The blade cut through the boy’s delicate skin, which seemed almost capable of breaking at a touch, and a thin line of blood slowly appeared.

“Ah…”

Zhen Po panicked.

“Commander, Commander! Release him at once! You promised this old man that you would not harm our young—our young master! You cannot break your word! You cannot!”

Then he shouted toward Luan Yi:

“High Priest! High Priest! I am Zhen Po of Jizhou! Do not act rashly! My young master is in the hands of the Yellow Turbans! The man he is threatening is our young master! Stop! Stop at once!”

“What?”