Chapter 342: Both Sides Report

The eight‑hundred‑li urgent dispatch, like sunlight piercing dark clouds, was delivered to Luoyang City at top speed.

The courier, with a red flag on his back, galloped his horse through the still bustling yet anxiously tense streets, straight into the palace gates.

"Great victory! Yingchuan great victory!"

"General Huangfu and General Zhu set fire to the Changshe camps, crushing the Yellow Turban bandits led by Bo Cai!"

"Cavalry Commandant Cao Cao arrived in time to reinforce, encircled them on three sides, beheaded tens of thousands, and the bandits fled a hundred li!"

The news, as if sprouting wings, quickly spread through every street and alley of Luoyang.

The heavy gloom that had shrouded the capital for days due to the Yellow Turban rampage and rumors was suddenly blown away by this strong east wind!

In taverns, tea houses, and alleys, everyone ran to tell each other, faces alight with joy, long‑suppressed worries turning into an uplifting sense of triumph.

The whole city trembled, and the joy and encouragement overflowed in words.

Inside the Imperial Palace, Liu Hong snatched the dispatch from the attendant and impatiently began to read it.

As his eyes moved across the silk, the gloom and recent vexation on his face vanished, replaced by ever‑growing exhilaration and excitement!

"Good! Good! Good!" he shouted three times, sprang up from the Dragon Throne, clutching the dispatch, pacing swiftly back and forth in the Great Hall, waving his sleeves, his voice trembling with excitement: "General Huangfu Yizhen, General Zhu Gongwei (Zhu Jun), you truly are my pillars! Cao Mengde is also a national stronghold! The bandits are crushed, the Capital is safe; this is Heaven blessing our great Han!"

He immediately ordered: "Dispatch messengers at once, bearing the seal, to the army! Promote Huangfu Song, Zhu Jun, Cao Cao and others, rewarding them according to merit with abundant titles!"

"Tell them that although the bandits are weakened, Zhang Jiao is not yet subdued; urge them to press on, clearing the demonic miasma for me, purifying the world!"

"Afterwards, I shall grant heavy rewards and lofty titles!"

The messenger took the order and hurried away.

Liu Hong then sat back on the Dragon Throne, his heart surging, his chest still rising and falling violently, unable to fully calm.

He lifted the jade cup on the desk, drank the slightly cool liquid in one gulp, trying to douse the boiling excitement.

Yet a thought rose uncontrollably in his mind, becoming clearer and clearer:

"Chi Xiao has only recently appeared in the world, and I have already achieved this great victory… Could this truly be… Destiny's decree, a auspicious sign brought by a divine artifact?"

He did not ponder further, but the scorching hopeful association had already taken root in his heart.

He seemed to see a broad road to revitalize the state and restore the Han, whose starting point was the Chi Xiao Sword symbolizing Destiny, and the mysterious sword‑bearer!

A long‑missing, almost youthful ambition surged in his chest.

He sprang to his feet, eyes blazing, facing the vast Great Hall as if swearing an oath to himself, and thundered in a deep voice:

"Come! Dispatch more elite personnel, let me search carefully, investigate thoroughly! Whatever it takes, we must find that Immortal Master!"

He seemed to already see that the day the Chi Xiao and the Immortal Master return will be the time Liu Hong, following his ancestors, recreates the splendor of the Han for centuries!

It took a long, long time before he finally calmed down.

The palace fell silent once more.

While Luoyang City rang with drums and gongs and the whole city celebrated the Changshe great victory, far away in Guangzong, Jizhou, the Yellow Turban Army's main camp was shrouded in gloomy clouds, the atmosphere oppressively suffocating.

In stark contrast to Luoyang's clamor, Guangzong City was silent, only the tattered banners whistling mournfully in the cold wind.

The brief joy and expansion that had arisen from Lu Zhi's demotion and the Imperial Army's morale dip had long been shattered by the news that Bo Cai's main force was completely annihilated, that illusory dawn fully consumed by deeper darkness.

The shadow of defeat spread through the army like a plague, panic, frustration and bewilderment cloaking every Yellow Turban soldier's heart.

In the central council hall, candlelight flickered, reflecting a series of solemn, dim faces.

All the higher‑ranking Yellow Turban commanders left behind in Guangzong gathered here, their gazes, without exception, fixed on the figure at the front—Great Sage Benevolent Master, Heavenly Duke General Zhang Jiao.

Zhang Jiao now appeared even more emaciated than the previous month; his once‑whole yellow Dao robe hung empty, as if a gust could topple him.

He stood silently, like a withered bamboo about to snap in a raging storm, bearing unimaginable pressure.

The entire hall was deathly quiet, a pin could be heard falling, heavy breaths rose and fell, yet no one dared to break the stillness.

The gloom of failure and future uncertainty weighed on each heart like a boulder.

At that moment, a rapid, heavy footfall approached from afar, shattering the suffocating silence.

A burly, armored, sword‑wielding middle‑aged Han man strode in like a dragon and tiger; his features resembled Zhang Jiao's but were coarser, his brows bristling with hostility.

It was the Public General Zhang Liang.

Zhang Liang surveyed the room, his gaze finally landing on his brother's gaunt silhouette; he clenched his fist, his voice like a cracked gong, fierce as burning the boats, and roared:

"Brother! The Imperial Army's momentum is high, Bo Cai's brothers have just been defeated, morale shifts here and there! If we continue to hold this ground, the troops will scatter and collapse without fighting!"

He stepped forward, his eyes flashing with near‑madness:

"Either way it's death! Better while we still have strength, gather all forces, and fight the damn Imperial Army! Concentrate power, charge straight ahead; perhaps we can carve a bloody path and snatch a sliver of hope!"

Zhang Liang's desperate roar, laden with a burn‑the‑boats resolve, echoed in the stifled council hall, shaking the candles.

Yet Zhang Jiao, standing at the front, remained as motionless as a dead tree, as if he had not heard his brother's restless shout.

Zhang Liang, seeing his brother unresponsive, grew both urgent and angry, and stepped forward again, his voice hoarse from excitement, almost questioning:

"Brother! What are you still waiting for? Must we really wait until the Imperial Army encircles us, until we, the brothers who rose with you, are all wiped out?!"

This near‑cursed remark finally pierced Zhang Jiao's outward silence like a needle.

He turned, slowly, exceedingly slowly.

When his face was fully illuminated by the wavering candlelight, Zhang Liang and all the generals in the hall involuntarily gasped, their hearts shaken.

The Zhang Jiao before them was more than gaunt; his cheeks were deeply hollow, cheekbones knife‑sharpened, skin tightly stretched over bone, a lifeless wax‑yellow and ashen hue, heavy shadows around his eye sockets, lips cracked and pale.

In a short time he seemed drained of his very essence, leaving only a skeleton barely upheld by belief and some heavy burden.

Zhang Liang, shocked by his brother's skeletal form, blurted instinctively: "Brother! How… how have you become so thin?!"

Zhang Jiao ignored his brother's exclamation, as if the battered husk meant nothing to him.

His gaze passed Zhang Liang, sweeping every shocked, worried, or bewildered face in the hall; finally, his cracked lips twitched slightly, and from deep in his throat he forced out a single word:

"Wait."