Eastern Han Dynasty, not the Three Kingdoms

Everyone finally reached a consensus. Only Hua Tuo, leaning against the medicine cabinet, shook his head repeatedly, his fingers like withered branches rubbing the silver needles repeatedly, biting the words "rotten wood cannot be carved" until they hurt. Ma Chao clasped his fists in apology, but the old doctor just tossed his sleeves hard, and the aroma of medicine, wrapped in resentment, dissipated in the air.

Dusk dyed the blue tiles of the clinic a dark gold. Ma Chao bent down to place the last roll of blankets onto the carriage. He turned to look at Hua Tuo, who stood with his hands behind his back. "Sir, your medical skills are extraordinary. If we could go to the Heavenly Master's Mansion together, I'd be able to use them even better..."

"Hmph!" The old doctor raised his silver eyebrows and slammed his bamboo stick on the doorstep, shaking the herbs drying in the corridor. "Although my clinic outside the city is shabby, it can still allow beggars and refugees to open the door and seek medical treatment. The gate of the Tianshi Mansion is high and deep, and the threshold is higher than a person. Those patients who are half-naked may not even be able to enter the main door!" He suddenly turned around and poked Ma Chao's chest with a skinny finger. "But you, little bastard, don't think that you can take your life lightly just because you have some martial arts skills! If you can give orders on the battlefield, don't brandish guns and sticks!"

Ma Chao couldn't help but laugh at the old man's sullen back. Zhen Mi covered her lips lightly, her embroidered shoes making a soft crunching sound on the gravel. The old shopkeeper was busy checking the medicine chest, muttering, "This stubborn old man may be mean-spirited, but he's more concerned than anyone else."

"Take care, sir!" Ma Chao clasped his fists and bowed, the sound of armor clashing startling birds from beneath the eaves. Hua Tuo, without a backward glance, stalked into the clinic, leaving only the bamboo curtains swaying in the evening breeze. His voice, faintly rebuking the patient, could be heard: "Give me your hand! You're so slow, do you think my needles are vegetarian?"

The sound of the carriage wheels faded away. Zhen Mi leaned against the window and looked back, only to see the lantern of the clinic lit up in the twilight, like a gentle star in the dark night. The old shopkeeper smacked his lips and said, "This old man is harder than the stones of the Qinling Mountains, but his heart for healing and saving lives is sweeter than honey..." Before he could finish his words, he was interrupted by Ma Chao's hearty laughter: "It is a blessing for the people to have such a doctor guarding Hanzhong!"

A group of people walked towards the City Lord's Mansion in the afterglow. The eaves and corners of the Tianshi Mansion were already faintly visible under the clouds, and the small clinic with the aroma of medicine was wrapped in the fireworks of the world, guarding the people of this area.

The Celestial Master's Mansion was festooned with lanterns. Gilded lanterns dangled from the pine and cypress branches entwined around the vermilion pillars, tinting the dusk a warm crimson. Upon hearing that Ma Chao and his companions had arrived, Zhang Lu, accompanied by his children, had already gathered at the ceremonial gate. The cloud patterns on the Celestial Master's robe shone in the lanterns, a glint of auspiciousness.

"Marquis Wei and other distinguished guests have arrived just in time!" Zhang Lu raised his hand to invite them, his eyes sweeping over Zhen Mi's elegant skirt and the medicine box in the old shopkeeper's arms. "The end of the year is approaching, and we have received good news from Mi Cang Mountain. The mansion has prepared a small banquet, so please do not refuse." Before he finished speaking, drums and music sounded on both sides, and a boy holding a rice bucket sprinkled with cinnabar bowed and sprinkled the auspicious sign of a good harvest at everyone's feet.

Four young men and women emerged from behind Zhang Lu. The brothers Zhang Fu and Zhang Gui wore dark blue Taoist robes, jade pendants adorning their waists, and bowed with perfect courtesy. The two daughters of wealthy families were particularly striking in appearance. Zhang Qiying, with a magnolia flower pinned to her temples, shyly refused to look at Ma Chao. Zhang Fubao, a silver bell tinkling softly on her wrist, winked and made faces at Zhen Mi.

Zhang Lu stroked his beard and smiled as he stepped aside to make way for the main path. The bluestone bricks were already covered with red felt, leading directly to the brightly lit banquet hall. "Tonight we won't discuss military affairs, but rather family matters. I hope you all enjoy yourself!"

The flames on the gilded candlesticks flickered, casting a shimmering light on the cups and dishes at the table. Ma Chao set down his bronze wine cup, his black armor gleaming coldly in the lamplight. "Thank you for your hospitality, Heavenly Master. However, the military situation is pressing, and I must pack my bags tonight." Before he finished speaking, everyone in the room was startled by the soft clang of the ivory chopsticks in Zhang Qiying's hand.

Zhang Lu hurriedly stood up, his sleeves sweeping across the mountain of roasted venison on the table. "Why don't you stay a few more days? The Nuo opera on New Year's Eve, the lantern riddles on the Lantern Festival..." His eyes swept over Ma Chao's tense jawline, and his tone became more earnest. "The people of Hanzhong are all looking forward to drinking Tusu wine with Marquis Wei!"

"Thank you for your kindness, Master." Ma Chao clasped his fists and saluted, the tassel of his silver spear dangling on the wine-stained blue bricks. "But the war drums outside Chang'an haven't stopped, and I really can't rest for a moment." He suddenly turned to look at Zhen Mi, who lowered her eyes as she stirred the soup, her hands trembling slightly. "This journey west is dangerous, and I have only one favor to ask of you—"

Zhang Lu's pupils shrank, and a bitter taste rose in his throat. He had known Ma Chao must have a request, but he hadn't imagined it would involve such a sensitive woman. Yuan Shao's prestige, as a man of three generations, and the might of Ma Chao's Western Liang cavalry clashed fiercely in his mind.

"Mi'er and I are of the same mind." Ma Chao's voice was filled with unquestionable determination. "Going to Chang'an, the swordplay is unpredictable, and I really can't bear to let her take any risks. I beg the Heavenly Master to protect her for the time being. After Chang'an is pacified, I will take her back to Xiliang!"

The hall was as silent as a grave. Zhang Lu stood there frozen for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter, causing the wine bottles on the table to buzz. "What are you talking about, my lord? Miss Zhen should be treated as a distinguished guest! Even if we have to vacate the East Pavilion of the Tianshi Mansion, we can't let this beautiful lady suffer!"

Zhang Fubao jumped up to Zhen Mi's side, the silver bells on her buns jingling. "Don't worry, Brother Ma!" She grasped Zhen Mi's slightly cold hand, her rouge-like cheeks dimpled with a smile. "I'll take my sister to see shadow puppet shows every day, and teach her to embroider our Hanzhong's five-peck rice pattern!"

Zhang Lu stroked his beard and laughed, clapping his palms together three times. Instantly, eight maids filed in, carrying a long, red-lacquered tray. The trays, embroidered with gold thread and cloud-thunder patterns, shimmered in the candlelight. They revealed a set of cold, gleaming silver armor and a moon-white brocade robe. "Your Excellency was ambushed by traitors in Chang'an, and your old armor is badly damaged." Zhang Lu personally peeled back the brocade. The dragon-swallowing beast-head shoulder guards on the silver armor gleamed coldly in the lamplight. "Since the battle at Micang Mountain, I've had the foreman work day and night—this armor is forged from refined iron mixed with meteorite iron, and can withstand powerful crossbows!"

Ma Chao was about to decline when he saw Zhang Lu holding up the breastplate, his eyes filled with an undeniable desire: "General, how can you go to the battlefield without being armed with weapons?" The warning of the old medical genius Hua Tuo suddenly echoed in his ears. He subconsciously pressed the wound under his ribs that had not yet healed, and finally nodded in thanks.

As the clink of armor echoed from behind the inner screen, Zhang Qiying lowered her eyes and sipped her tea, the faint redness of her ears reflected in the tea. When Ma Chao re-emerged, the hall suddenly fell silent—his silver armor accentuated his imposing figure, his pale complexion imbued with the fierceness of a blood-soaked god of war. Zhang Fubao was the first to applaud and cheer, while Zhang Gui's grip on his sword unconsciously tightened, thinking that if such a figure became an enemy, Hanzhong City would be flooded with blood.

"Good! Good!" Zhang Lu paced around Ma Chao, his fingertips tracing the delicate Taoist runes on the armor. "This armor truly complements the Marquis of Wei!" He paused, looking at the silver spear at Ma Chao's waist, his tone tinged with regret. "I only regret that time is running out and I haven't been able to forge a new divine weapon for you..."

"Master, I will always remember your kindness." Ma Chao saluted with his sword, the tip of his silver spear catching a candlelight. "This spear may not be as handy as the Tiger-Headed Golden Spear, but it helped me through my severe injuries." He gazed northwest, his eyes ablaze with vengeance. "When I return to Chang'an, I will personally take the old spear from the traitor and use it to pierce my enemy's heart!"

The night watch drum struck three, and the candlelight in the east pavilion of the Tianshi Mansion still flickered. Zhen Mi's fingertips trembled as she stroked Ma Chao's newly-worn silver armor. The cool metal brought heat to her eyes. "Your wound isn't fully healed..." Before she could finish her words, Ma Chao pulled her into his arms. The faint scent of gunpowder lingered between the crevices of the armor.

"Wait for me." Ma Chao rested his chin against the top of her head, his voice so low it seemed to be gushing from deep within his chest. "When the Xiliang battle flag is raised over the walls of Chang'an, I will come and marry you." He suddenly cupped her face and wiped away the falling tears with his fingertips. "Don't cry. I still need to save my strength to kill the enemy on the battlefield."

Zhen Mi burst into laughter and clutched the leather belt around his waist: "Then you promise me that you will never use force unless necessary, and bandage the injuries immediately..." She kept on talking until the morning light climbed up the window frame, dyeing their overlapping shadows golden.

The next morning, the mist still hung thick over the parade grounds. A thousand elite cavalrymen, clad in black armor, their horses' manes tied with red silk ribbons for blessings. Zhang Lu led the troops on the platform. Zhen Mi stood in the front row, her plain white dress rustling in the wind, the pearl hairpins in her hair trembling with the slightest movement.

"Take care!" Ma Chao clasped his fists on horseback, his silver spear piercing the sky with a shimmering morning glow. He glanced back one last time, his memory etched into Zhen Mi's tearful smile, and then turned his horse. The clatter of hooves, like war drums, ripped apart the tranquility of Hanzhong. Carrying the flames of revenge and unfulfilled alliances, he galloped towards the blood-soaked Chang'an.

On New Year's Eve, a chill wind whipped a fine snow across the wasteland. Ma Chao, wrapped tightly in his cloak, stood atop a hill. The night sky toward Chang'an shone a strange crimson, as if stained by years of war. He stared into the haze, his knuckles white from pinching, and the old wound beneath his armor began to ache again. The young man who had once bent his knees for the people of the world had long since perished in betrayal and slaughter.

The crackling bonfire cast flickering shadows on the soldiers' faces. As Ma Chao accepted the wine pouch, he felt the frozen, red hand of the soldier who had handed him the wine. He suddenly remembered Pan Feng's eyes widening before his death, and An Guo's fierce defense even as he was pierced by arrows. A sweet, fishy taste welled up in his throat. He tilted his head back and poured the liquor into the night sky, where it mixed with snow and sprinkled onto the charred earth.

"Bofu, look," he murmured to the snowstorm, his eyes flashing back to Sun Ce's bloodstained smile before his death. "Back then, we agreed to support the Han Dynasty, but those hypocritical fellows..." His voice trailed off as he ripped open his collar. The hideous scar on his face resembled a twisted venomous snake in the firelight. "In this world today, the only way to fight violence is with violence!"

The wine bag was hurled fiercely into the bonfire, the rising flames illuminating his bloodshot eyes. Ma Chao drew his silver spear, scooped up half a piece of frozen rations with the tip, and swallowed it with the strong liquor. The acrid liquor burned his throat, but it couldn't compare to the burning hatred in his heart. He gripped the spear tightly, the chill of the metal turning to frost in his palm. At dawn, this vengeful army would march straight to Chang'an and make the hypocritical emperor pay for the blood debt of all the wronged souls.

Inside the Chang'an Imperial Palace, gilded lanterns illuminated the nine-story palace as if it were daytime, and the warmth of sandalwood mixed with the fragrance of peppercorns permeated the vermilion columns. Even as the drums of the Western Liang cavalry could be faintly heard outside the city, the palace was filled with the extravagant atmosphere of the New Year. Newly planted red plum blossoms bloomed in the snow in the imperial gardens, and palace servants shuttled back and forth, carrying trays filled with amber wine and gold-inlaid cakes.

In the main hall of the Weiyang Palace, the emperor, clad in a robe decorated with twelve emblems and a crown adorned with tassels, sat upon a golden chair adorned with coiled dragons. Within the hall, string instruments blazed, and dancers' wide sleeves fluttered, their crimson skirts sweeping across the Persian carpeted floor. When the music paused, he sipped from the Nine-Dragon Jade Cup, a hint of satisfaction curling his lips—for him, this year was a monument to his efforts to quell the chaos of the world.