In the dust of Liangzhou (涼州), far west of Meiwu, one man’s quiet line turned, in a single breath, the direction of four men’s flight, so that they faced again toward Chang’an.

Li Jue (李傕), Guo Si (郭汜), Zhang Ji (張濟), and Fan Chou (樊稠) — having heard within that night of Dong Zhuo’s death — led the three thousand of the Flying Bear Army (飛熊軍) and fled westward to Liangzhou. At a border village in Shanxi (陝西) they pitched a temporary camp and sent a messenger up to Chang’an to plead amnesty.

Minister over the Masses Wang Yun received the plea and shook his head low. “Dong Zhuo’s tyranny was aided, step by step, by these four. Even if an amnesty is issued today for all under heaven, these four alone shall not be pardoned.” The messenger took that line and rode back westward, raising dust again.

At the foot of a Shanxi hill, within Li Jue’s tent, the four gathered. Upon hearing the messenger’s report, Li Jue’s face settled heavy. “Since amnesty is not to be had, each of us must seek his own way to live.”

The air inside the tent fell low. The hands of the four each gripped their sword-hilts and released. A fear that this seat might be their last of the evening settled heavily upon four shoulders.

At that moment, from a corner of the tent one man opened his mouth. He was Li Jue’s counselor. His name was Jia Xu (賈詡).

Jia Xu’s voice was low and slow. “If the gentlemen now throw away the army and go each alone, even one village constable (亭長) can bind you. One who has lost power is lighter than a blade of grass on the road.”

The four bowed their heads. Jia Xu’s single line was already nudging the air of the seat slowly in that direction.

A breath later, Jia Xu spoke again, more plainly. “Rather, gather the men of Shanxi; together with the main force, drive toward Chang’an. Under the name of avenging Grand Preceptor Dong, set up the posture of righteousness first. If the thing succeeds, you can serve the court and set all under heaven right; if you do not win, then you may still flee, and it will not be too late.”

That line turned, in a single breath, the heavy air above the four shoulders in the Shanxi tent this evening. Soldiers of a cause can be gathered; the men of a failed cause are harder to gather. Yet Jia Xu had found the single pretext under which the four would no longer be fugitives but avengers.

Li Jue sprang up from his seat. “Jia Xu’s single line is right. From tonight we gather the men of Shanxi. Raise again the banner of avenging Grand Preceptor Dong.”

Fan Chou, Guo Si, and Zhang Ji bowed their heads deeply. They gathered the old main force of Dong Zhuo in Shanxi and drew in even the displaced people of Liangzhou. Within a few days, some hundred thousand soldiers were gathered at the foot of the Shanxi hill. Upon Li Jue’s banner, six red characters were written: “To avenge Grand Preceptor Dong” (為董太師報讎).

News crossed to Chang’an. Wang Yun stood at the center of the court, his face setting large. “Jia Xu. The single line of one man has turned the grain of all under heaven.”

Lü Bu came forward with his halberd. “Minister. I shall ride out and smash this army.” Wang Yun nodded. Yet his face had settled quietly in a different way from yesterday. The order of the court, not yet properly rebuilt after the assassination of Dong Zhuo, and the grain of a great outside army bearing down upon it together. The plan that had written itself, not long ago, in twelve names at the lamp of a thatched hall had freed a city from one name; it had not taught the city how to hold that freedom against one hundred thousand spears from outside.

Wang Yun stayed at the center of the hall alone after the others had withdrawn. Upon the paper of the first line of the new order, ink had only just dried. He did not roll it up. He only looked upon it a long while, and thought — perhaps for the first time — that the seed within one sigh (嘆中種 of Day 30), in setting down one master, had now called up four. That, too, was the grain of certain seeds: they plant not only what they intended, but also what walked beside what they intended.

The eleventh evening of Book 2 deepened quietly across two seats: the tent at the foot of the Shanxi hill, and the Chang’an court. The three characters Gahueon (賈詡言, a word of Jia Xu) were planted as a seed: the posture in which one man’s quiet line turned four men’s roads in a single breath. Behind the extinguished lamps of Day 40’s Odeungjin, a new fire of a new army was rising.

—

WIA Code 스캐너로 비추면 인터넷 없이 발행 사실과 위·변조 여부를 확인할 수 있습니다.
휴대폰 기본 카메라로 찍으면 스캐너 안내 페이지가 열립니다 — 기사 바로 열기

움직이는 코드는 스트림입니다 — WIA Code 스캐너로 약 35초 비추면 기사 전문(사진 포함)이 폰에 저장되어 인터넷 없이도 읽을 수 있습니다.

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