Chapter Seventeen: Hatred

It was deep into the night. From the rural lanes of Zengtin, more than a dozen swift horses thundered past. Though the hour was late and the paths shrouded in darkness, the distant mountain blaze painted half the sky red—a fiery glow visible even from over ten miles away.

Bathed in moonlight and firelight, Liu Bei, Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and Zhao Yun raced like the wind toward the inferno.

Halfway there, the sound of galloping hooves suddenly approached from ahead. Liu Bei and Zhang Fei, both natives of Youzhou, were intimately familiar with the rhythm of charging horses. Instinctively, they reined in their mounts and paused to observe.

In the distance, a lone horse galloped at the fore, chased by what seemed to be pursuers. Even with the aid of the fire’s glare, it was difficult to discern the details. Especially for Guan Yu—whose penchant for reading by candlelight at night had left him somewhat nearsighted—he could only make out a vague, approaching figure.

“Master, I believe that is the young scholar,” Zhao Yun said. Gifted with the sharpest sight among them, he could see, from half a mile away and by the mountain fire’s illumination, Shen Chen’s figure astride a horse.

At that moment, Shen Chen was desperately beating the horse’s flanks. For an eight-year-old child, riding without stirrups and not falling from the saddle was a formidable challenge. Yet, much depended on the mind. Once fear and hesitation were conquered, and one clung tightly to the saddle, it was possible to stay mounted.

Videos from later eras showed schoolchildren riding horses to school—perhaps jest, perhaps truth—but they rode with abandon, some girls even riding backwards.

Shen Chen’s horsemanship was nothing like theirs, but he gripped the saddle tightly, legs clamped to the horse's sides, leveraging the metal rings for support. No matter how the horse jolted, he refused to be thrown off. His brain felt as if it might shake loose, but as he settled into rhythm, his riding grew steadier. With his initial lead, he managed to leave Cao Ren’s pursuers behind.

Still, he dared not urge the horse to its full speed, keeping instead to a steady trot. The pace was far slower than one might imagine. By the time he left Zengyang and entered Zengtin territory, the pursuers had nearly caught up. He had released five horses, ridden off on one himself, leaving eight behind—now all following in pursuit.

As the pursuers grew closer, more hoofbeats sounded from ahead. Shen Chen grew even calmer. He raised his head to look, for he knew that Cao’s troops could not possibly be approaching from the direction of Shanyan County.

Cao Cao was desperate to return to Yan Province for a decisive battle with Lü Bu; he would never leave men guarding Shanyan—such a move would be sheer folly.

Thus, anyone arriving from that direction was likely Tao Qian’s troops—perhaps even Liu Bei himself.

“Young scholar!” Liu Bei's voice called from afar, and Shen Chen’s anxious heart finally settled.

They converged swiftly from both directions.

But Shen Chen, in seeking to escape his pursuers, had been urging his horse onward, lying flat against the saddle. If he were to let go and grab the reins, he risked being thrown. He dared not stop.

Fortunately, Zhao Yun, noticing this as they drew close, performed a flawless dismount, then nimbly swung onto Shen Chen's horse, wrapped an arm around him, and seized the reins.

“Whoa!” Zhao Yun brought the horse to a halt, bent down, and deftly set Shen Chen on the ground.

“Thank you!” Shen Chen’s face was streaked with blood, his eyes filled with calm. Yet that very calm suggested a storm of anger brewing beneath the surface.

The pursuers, having caught up, could hear the thunder of hooves and see the torches in the distance. Cao Ren immediately ordered his soldiers to halt; Shen Chen had let six horses go, taken one himself, leaving only eight. Now, seeing the number of horses ahead—at least a dozen by the firelight—and unsure if others lay in wait, he hesitated.

The only Cao army left in Xuzhou was Cao Ren’s. As Governor of Yan Province, Cao Cao had few horses to spare. Those with horses ahead could not be mere villagers—they must be Tao Qian’s regular troops.

Cao Ren, faced with sudden cavalry, dared not pursue further. “Withdraw!” he barked.

The eight horsemen turned and fled.

The two sides were about two hundred meters apart—just half a mile. In the dimness, only the flickering of distant figures against the burning Zengyang could be discerned.

Seeing the enemy depart, Liu Bei quickly asked, “Young scholar, I saw flames rise suddenly in Zengyang. What has happened?”

Shen Chen replied, his tone subdued and tinged with sorrow, yet underneath, an anger barely suppressed, “Cao Cao sent men to attack our village. All within were slaughtered. I narrowly escaped with my life.”

“What?” Liu Bei cried in shock. “How could Cao Cao do such a thing? As Governor of Yan Province, an official of the court, to send men to attack a village by night?”

Shen Chen bowed solemnly. “Lord Xuande, I beg you, save my parents. This debt I will remember forever.”

Liu Bei replied gravely, “Young scholar, rest assured. Since Lord Tao invited me to aid Xuzhou, I am bound to save its people from disaster. Yun Chang, Yide, come with me. Zilong, stay and protect the young scholar.”

“I wish to go with you, Lord Xuande,” Shen Chen said, shaking his head. “The Cao troops have already burned my home. Until I find my parents, I cannot be at ease.”

It was a bold request; war was no game, and Shen Chen was but a child of eight. If Zhao Yun had to protect him in the midst of battle, a single misstep could prove disastrous.

Yet Shen Chen had no choice—his parents’ fate was unknown, and the situation at the village grim. Moreover, he could serve as their guide; without him, Liu Bei’s party could reach Zengyang at most, but not the other villages near Huangmen Pavilion.

“Zilong!” Liu Bei hesitated, then looked to Zhao Yun.

Zhao Yun flashed a bright smile. “Leave it to me.”

“Very well.” Liu Bei nodded, then said to Shen Chen, “Young scholar, Zilong will look after you.”

“Thank you, Uncle Zilong.” Shen Chen bowed earnestly. Zhao Yun, at twenty-seven, was indeed old enough to be called uncle.

The group remounted and sped after the fleeing enemy.

They rode for four or five miles before reaching Zengyang. The fire raged across the sky, casting the world in a crimson hue. Ash drifted thick on the air, ruined houses and broken walls lay everywhere, and the fields had become wasteland.

With grief-filled eyes, Shen Chen gazed upon the devastation. This was the land that had raised him for eight years, the home of Shen Chen of the Han, if one set aside the memories of a life before. Now, his kin were corpses, the trees were ash, houses and fields reduced to cinders, the mulberry grove of his childhood engulfed in flames.

Alongside the smell of burning, a faint tang of blood lingered in the air—perhaps from the remains of an uncle or friend, perhaps the sorrow of a hundred wronged souls.

At that moment, Shen Chen suddenly collapsed to his knees. He had not cried upon hearing that Cao Cao would massacre Xuzhou; he had not cried when the villagers dismissed his warnings; not even when his back was burned and pain wracked his body. But now, tears fell like pearls down his cheeks. He knelt, trembling, covering his face, and wept softly.

Here lay the remains of family, friends, and kin. Only yesterday, they had greeted him with warmth—some called him uncle, some called him by his given name, some even joked about marrying their daughters to him.

Uncle Seven kept chickens, and every year when one was slaughtered, he was invited. Uncle Five had once lost a cow—he was given the best meat. His eldest uncle showered him with affection, gifting him all the clan’s treasured books when he learned of Shen Chen’s love for reading.

Now, all was ashes.

Liu Bei sighed quietly. In such chaotic times, he had seen too many tragedies such as this.

Guan Yu turned his eyes away, unable to bear the sorrow.

Zhao Yun gently stroked Shen Chen’s back. “Young scholar...” he murmured.

“I… I’m fine,” Shen Chen replied, wiping his tears and staggering to his feet. Though weak, he stood once more. His face was still etched with grief, but now his eyes burned with hatred.

Liu Bei’s voice turned cold. “Young scholar, the Cao troops cannot have gone far. Let us catch them and avenge you!”

“Wait,” Shen Chen interjected, shaking his head. “Do not hurry, Lord Xuande. Please follow the Cao soldiers at a distance. Do not pursue them at once.”

Liu Bei asked, “Why?”

Shen Chen explained, “My clan has been training militia near Lanshan. The commotion here cannot have escaped their notice. They will surely march to investigate. If they encounter the Cao troops on the way, they can block them. Then, Lord Xuande, you may strike from behind—an assault from both sides will guarantee victory.”

The inferno at Zengyang lit the sky. If anyone in the villages northwest of Huangmen Pavilion saw it, they would sound the drums and rouse the people. True, at this hour, organizing the militia would be slow, unlike Liu Bei’s rapid arrival.

Cao Ren was only just fleeing northwest. If Liu Bei pursued now, his small party would face a larger enemy force. Shen Chen did not know the exact numbers, but it was certainly many. No matter how valiant Liu Bei, Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and Zhao Yun, the enemy’s numbers, coupled with the darkness, would put them at a disadvantage.

Thus, caution dictated that they join forces with the militia from Huangmen Pavilion for a coordinated attack, ensuring both their own safety and the utter destruction of the invaders.

This strategy was prudent. Liu Bei immediately agreed. The party mounted up once more and pressed forward, following the path of the Cao army. After about four miles, they finally caught up with Cao Cao’s fleeing soldiers.