On the morning after the lone horse of Jianghuai (江淮) had settled upon the earth, an envoy arrived before the gate of Xiapi (下邳).

Inside the envoy’s bosom lay a fragment of jade seal (玉璽). The fragment from Sun Jian’s (孫堅) old well, having passed through Yuan Shu’s (袁術) single year, stood this morning again before the gate of Xiapi. Within the gate, the envoy stood before the tent of Lü Bu (呂布).

A step to Lü Bu’s side, Chen Gong (陳宮) spoke low. “My Lord. Do not take it into your bosom. This fragment is a stone that draws the blade of Cao Cao of Xudu (許都) toward Xiapi. Send the envoy back as he came.” Lü Bu fixed his gaze upon the fragment in the envoy’s bosom. A breath of silence swallowed a fistful of the tent’s air.

Lü Bu answered low. “That a fragment of jade seal comes into my bosom is not the grain in which I block it. I know the grain of Chen Gong’s word, but refusing is not my grain.” The envoy drew the fragment from his bosom and held it out with two hands. Lü Bu received that fragment with two hands. Sun Ce’s father’s last breath and Yuan Shu’s last breath lay together upon its surface.

That news reached Cao Cao’s ear at Xudu. Xun Yu (荀彧) continued low. “My Lord. A fragment bearing a usurper’s name has entered the bosom of Xiapi. The jade seal of Cao Cao’s name and the fragment in Lü Bu’s bosom cannot rest beneath the same sky. Xudu’s next blade must turn toward Xiapi.”

Cao Cao nodded deeply. Guo Jia (郭嘉) laid down a quiet plan. “My Lord. Lü Bu of Xiapi is strong of force and broad of grain, yet he does not hold those around him long. Chen Gong (陳宮) cannot remain long at Lü Bu’s ear; Zhang Liao (張遼) and Gao Shun (高順), two generals, fall short of breath beneath Lü Bu’s blade. Into that gap, lay a line of estrangement (離間). The fragment in Lü Bu’s bosom will detach his own surroundings, piece by piece, of its own accord.”

Cao Cao laughed low. “Since a fragment of jade seal has walked to Lü Bu’s side on its own feet, from today that fragment will unravel his surroundings of its own accord.” A new line was added to an edict of Xudu. The direction of Cao Cao’s main army had been set toward Xiapi.

Meanwhile, at Liu Bei’s Xiaopei (小沛), the news reached the ears of Guan Yu (關羽) and Zhang Fei (張飛). Zhang Fei grumbled low. “Elder brother. Now that Lü Bu has received a fragment of usurpation into his bosom, from today our position beneath Lü Bu’s roof will grow perilous, grain by grain.” Liu Bei answered low. “Today, let us not move. Until Xudu’s edict has set its direction toward Xiapi, let our blade only steady its breath inside the gate of Xiaopei.”

Inside the tent of Xiapi, Lü Bu placed the fragment of jade upon his desk and lifted a cup of wine. Beside him, Diaochan (貂蟬) sat low. She smiled softly and said quietly. “My Lord. The fragment you received today adds a grain of weight upon your shoulder.” Lü Bu nodded. Yet behind Diaochan’s low smile, a small grain of unease at his ear lay hidden, and deeper still.

That night, outside the tent, Chen Gong swallowed a long breath. That his word had not passed through his own lord’s ear this day would become the first line of the long days of Xiapi ahead. In Chen Gong’s mind, his own old step of leaving Cao Cao in the time of the Li Jue and Guo Si chaos flashed briefly — a step by which he had, long ago, chosen a different sky. That step lay once more tonight upon the night of Xiapi.

Outside the tent of Xiapi, the same moon that a year ago had lit the altar of Shouchun was rising above a plain of reeds. The reeds bent under a low wind; some of the younger ones were not yet tall enough to bend. Gao Shun stood at the flap of his tent and did not look toward the moon. A general whose lord has just received a usurper’s stone into his bosom does not look at moons for a long time afterward. He looked at the edge of his halberd. It had been sharpened two evenings before. It did not need sharpening. He sat down and sharpened it again anyway.

Far to the west, at the south gate of Xudu, a courier took a new edict in a folded sleeve. The edict bore, at its first line, a request that Liu Bei begin to count, inside Xiaopei, the number of horses that could ride three days without rest and the number of soldiers whose feet were sound. The edict did not say why. Xun Yu, who had drafted it, did not need to say why. A counselor who has just laid the seed of estrangement at Xiapi has already begun to lay a second seed at Xiaopei; and a lord who counts horses on a neighbor’s behalf is already half the neighbor’s army. The courier rode east.

The sixty-sixth night of Book 3 deepened quietly beneath the fragment of jade in the bosom of Xiapi. The three characters Habihoe (下邳懷, the bosom of Xiapi) were planted as a seed: the breath on which the envoy’s bosom, Lü Bu’s two hands, Cao Cao’s single-direction blade, and Diaochan’s low smile lay at one seat. The breath of Day 65’s Ganghwaima (江淮馬) had, this night, moved into the bosom of Xiapi.

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