Blooming flowers scatter their petals and leaves.

Today, this boy tried to play the same old trick, but he hadn’t counted on meeting Li Miao. If Li Miao had any spare grain or money, perhaps the boy would have succeeded, but Li Miao could barely fill his own stomach. As for Li Miao, this cowardly wretch, if anyone tried to take his life, he would fight back with everything he had.

“At least I’m not the only one this kid fooled!” Li Miao consoled himself, glancing over at Yang Hong. Yang Hong merely looked a little flushed, unmoved by embarrassment, his skin thick enough to feel nothing. To be duped by a strategist or a minister is a matter of skill, but to be toyed with by a mere boy—that’s a question of intelligence.

“Why did this kid suddenly surrender?” Li Miao still couldn’t understand. According to Qin Huai’s explanation, the boy was leading a band of the old, weak, sick, and disabled, striking one place and then fleeing to another. If the city was defended by a fool, determined to perish with the walls, the boy would simply leave with his main force and find another city to raid. Yet today, when Li Miao refused to open the gates, the boy didn’t leave but instead surrendered, bound in ropes.

“You can kill me, even take my head for a reward, but please, spare the common folk—they’re innocent. I beg you to treat them kindly, just give them something to eat,” the unruly youth said, locking eyes with Li Miao.

“Take your head for a reward?” Li Miao froze, wondering where that would even earn him a reward. Was there money in it? How much?

Li Miao’s eyes glittered with visions of gold.

The youth looked at Li Miao with even greater disdain. Corrupt officials, just thinking of trading the peasants’ heads for military merit.

It was Yang Hong who leaned in and whispered something in Li Miao’s ear, causing Li Miao’s expression to fall.

These so-called commoners could almost be counted as half-bandits, and Li Miao’s own fate was worse—he was an outright rebel, the chief rebel at that. If he took the boy’s head to the imperial court as proof of loyalty, it would be like throwing a meat bun at a dog—gone forever, with no return.

Damn it, who are you calling a meat bun—Li Miao shook his head. This boy’s luck had run out: pretending to be a bandit, he’d run into the real thing. The Yellow Turban followers of Liu Pi from Yuzhou had already robbed them of all their grain. Wandering to Jiangting, they hoped to rob Li Miao, but instead tried their luck with a rebel lord. They couldn’t extort provisions, and now, with no food, they were too weak to run. Soon, everyone would be finished. Some in their group were already starving so badly that their eyes gleamed green as they looked at the dying—hunger had driven them to contemplate cannibalism. This boy, for all his bravado, still had loyalty, seeing that doom had come for his people.

So he offered his own head as a gift to the city guards, hoping that the general’s good mood might grant the starving folk a bite to eat.

“Men, take this boy away!” Li Miao waved to his officers. The boy was filthy beyond endurance, and Li Miao wanted him washed thoroughly—just standing beside him, the sour stench made Li Miao want to retch.

Was he to be executed? The youth’s heart turned bitter. Was he, Chen Dao, to die before he could avenge himself? Did he regret it? No, he did not. There were still so many people outside the city relying on his head to save them. To exchange his own life for theirs was worth it.

“Remember what you said!” Chen Dao, though young, was resolute.

“What did I say?” Li Miao asked, momentarily at a loss.

“You!” Chen Dao glared at Li Miao in fury. This dog official wanted his head but refused the people a way out? Chen Dao wanted to resist, but bound as he was, a wave of desolation overtook him. Now he was a prisoner at their mercy—killing him would be as easy as crushing an ant.

Truly, there was not a good official in this land. Chen Dao bitterly regretted ever trusting this greedy magistrate. Had he known, he would have fought to the death with the corrupt official alongside his people.

“Your Majesty, you promised to feed the people outside the city!” Qin Huai could not bear it any longer and reminded Li Miao. He wanted to say more, but Yang Hong shot him a glare, and he fell silent.

“Did I say that?” Li Miao had only heard the first part, about exchanging the boy’s head for grain and merit, but had entirely missed the rest.

“Corrupt official, you break your word. Even as a ghost, I, Chen Dao, will not let you go!” the boy shouted stubbornly.

At once, Li Miao’s expression changed—of all things, he detested being called a dog. Single dog, college dog, four-eyed dog—in his past life, the word dog had wounded him deeply.

“How dare you insult His Majesty!” Yang Hong immediately cried, turning to the officers. “Drag him out and behead him!”

But Li Miao was quicker than Yang Hong, and before the order was fully given, he slapped the boy twice across the head. “At your age, not learning anything good, just calling people dogs! What’s wrong with being a single dog? We don’t steal or rob, and we even use tissues to boost the GDP! What’s wrong with being a college dog? I’m proud to be educated! Four-eyed dog? It means I studied hard!” Li Miao rambled as he struck the boy’s head with such speed that even Zhang Zhao would be ashamed.

“Wait!” Li Miao suddenly stopped, his hand stinging, and asked, “What did you say your name was?”

“I spit on you, corrupt official! I, Chen Dao, will not change my name. Kill me if you must; in eighteen years, I’ll be a hero again!” The boy grew even more defiant, glaring at Li Miao.

“You’re from Yuzhou?” Li Miao’s eyes lit up as he studied the boy. If this really was Chen Dao, then he had struck gold.

“Hmph!” the boy snorted coldly.

“Chen Shuzhi?” Li Miao pressed.

The boy only snorted again, but Li Miao was overjoyed. The way the boy’s eyes changed, a hint of confusion surfacing, confirmed it—this was the Chen Dao of history, Chen Shuzhi.

The White-Robed God of War! Anyone who had read the tales of the Three Kingdoms knew of Zhao Yun, the quintessential white knight—skilled, loyal, and dashing. Yet few realize that half of Zhao Yun’s legendary exploits were actually Chen Dao’s. Both wore white, both wielded spears, and so Chen Dao’s deeds were forcibly attributed to Zhao Yun. The lesson: handsome men are heroes, while plain ones like Chen Dao are relegated to supporting roles.

The more Li Miao looked at the boy, the more satisfied he felt. Not as handsome as himself, perhaps, but strong, loyal—a true White-Robed God of War, now his to command.

“When did I ever say I’d kill you?”

“Aren’t you planning to use my head for merit, you corrupt official? Stop pretending!” Chen Dao glared as if he would devour him.

“Merit? Where would I seek merit? Who would reward me? Ridiculous. I am an emperor by Heaven’s mandate, my reign eternal—who would dare grant me merit?” Li Miao replied.

“You’re the Emperor of Han?” Chen Dao, though young, understood those words—only the emperor could say such things. But wasn’t the emperor in Xuchang?

“Ahem,” Li Miao coughed awkwardly. “I am an emperor, but not of Han. I am Emperor of the State of Zhong, not of the Han.”

“A rebel emperor?”

Li Miao’s face darkened. He’d seen shamelessness, but never to this degree.

“If I killed you and took your head, I’d gain nothing for it. Why should I kill you?” Li Miao waved dismissively.

A rebel emperor—Chen Dao might despise the term, but he understood: in this fractured land, anyone could change allegiances. Even Liu Pi, the Yellow Turban of Yuzhou, had been made governor of Runan by Cao Cao, serving the court. If someone took Chen Dao’s head to Cao Cao’s Yan province, perhaps they’d earn reward.

But Li Miao’s case was different—a rebel crowned emperor was rare. Even the Yellow Turbans only proclaimed the Mandate of Heaven, with Zhang Jiao styling himself as the General of Heaven, not daring to claim the throne. Only Li Shu—Li Gonglu—had gone so far as to declare himself emperor. As long as he withheld the imperial seal, he was a rebel in the eyes of the court.

Chen Dao, the would-be bandit, had stumbled into the rebel’s lair.

His gaze dimmed.

“You’d best leave, and take your villagers with you,” Li Miao said, waving his hand as if shooing him away. Why should he give them grain? Even the boy’s head brought no reward. Li Miao even had Qin Huai untie Chen Dao, as if to send him off.

Chen Dao gritted his teeth. There was no point in feigning an attack now. With only ten thousand old, weak, and sick, he had no force to storm the city. Li Miao had three hundred elite soldiers, and those in the city were not unarmed peasants.

In the past, if Li Miao let them go, Chen Dao would have left without complaint. But now, after fleeing Yuzhou and losing all their grain to Liu Pi, the so-called Runan governor, his people had survived only by sheer will, eating bark and grass. They could not last much longer—without food, death was certain. Was it so unthinkable to trade his head for some grain?

Leaving now would mean certain death. Chen Dao clenched his teeth, then, with a thud, knelt before Li Miao. “Your Majesty, I beg you, please save these people!”

He kowtowed so hard that the sound echoed against the city wall, its stone foundations stained quickly by his blood. Even Li Miao felt a pang of pity.

“Enough!” Li Miao frowned. If this were a grown man or a soldier, he would have watched him kowtow to death without a flicker of emotion—grain in times of chaos is life itself. But Chen Dao was but a half-grown boy, who in another world would be quietly studying in middle school.

“It’s not that I can’t give you grain. I can give your people something to eat,” Li Miao said.

“Your Majesty, you mustn’t!” Yang Hong and Li Yin protested. There were more than ten thousand outside—how much grain did they have left to feed so many?

But Li Miao thought otherwise. One meal each, then send them on their way; how much could they possibly eat?

“Thank you, Your Majesty! Thank you!” Chen Dao kowtowed in gratitude, tears in his eyes.

“But this meal is not for nothing,” Li Miao said.

“Ah?” Chen Dao was stunned, not understanding the meaning.

“I want you,” Li Miao said, pointing at Chen Dao.

Was death still inevitable? Chen Dao felt bitterness well up again. When Li Miao said he wouldn’t kill him, relief had flooded his heart—who wants to die? But now—

“Rest assured, Your Majesty. As long as the people can eat, I, Chen Dao, will not force Your Highness to take my life. I will hang myself right here,” he said solemnly.

“No, no!” Li Miao hurried to stop him. He wanted the White-Robed God of War alive, not dead—he was no butcher. “I want you—alive!” Li Miao blurted out.

Everyone was stunned, then their expressions turned strange.

Yang Hong eyed Chen Dao—though not handsome, he was clean-featured. Could it be…? The thought made Yang Hong quickly kneel before Li Miao. “Your Majesty, reconsider! The way of yin and yang is the proper order. Indulging in such a passion would harm the imperial body.”

“Master, as head of the Li family, you must continue the line,” Li Yin added.

“The way of yin and yang? The proper order?” Li Miao was confused until the last phrase—“such a passion.”

So they thought he had designs on Chen Dao’s… charms.

Li Miao was nearly apoplectic. He wanted to tell his lackeys that he was a man’s man, with absolutely normal preferences.

Even Chen Dao had a look of martyrdom, as if willing to sacrifice himself as long as his people were fed.

Damn it! Li Miao wanted to throttle Yang Hong. He wanted Chen Dao alive so he could swear fealty, to have a loyal white-robed champion to conquer the world—or at least guard his side—not to make him, well…

Still, it was understandable. Among the gentry, a taste for boys was not unusual. Were it not for the crisis facing Zhong, perhaps Yang Hong would have helped Li Miao find a suitable companion.

“Chen Dao, what I want is your loyalty—just like Qin Huai is loyal to me. Swear yourself to me as your lord, and I’ll see that your people have food,” Li Miao declared.

So the master only wanted Chen Dao’s allegiance? Li Yin breathed a sigh of relief. Yang Hong nodded too, though if Li Miao knew what Yang Hong was really thinking, he’d have chopped him up. The young master grows wiser—some things are best done in secret. Once Chen Dao swore loyalty, getting him into the master’s bed would be easy. The young master is shrewd and insightful.