Zhang Xin had finally secured his position.
Although Liu Hua initially harbored doubts about him assuming command of the Yellow Turbans, the past twenty days had changed her perspective. Under Zhang Xin's leadership, strict discipline had been enforced, and his troops had caused no trouble wherever they went. Seeing this, her resistance gradually melted away.
After all, who could easily resist a man who was not only capable and composed, but also her savior—young, strong… no, more importantly, kind and principled?
Before dawn the next morning, Zhang Xin dragged himself out of bed, his eyes bloodshot with fatigue.
He would have preferred more rest, but he had made promises to his soldiers along the way—promises of reward and fairness. Now it was time to honor them.
Distributing money was not something he would entrust to others. Only by doing it personally could he ensure the soldiers knew exactly where their loyalty should lie.
He began at the Prefectural Governor's residence, rewarding the guards, then personally oversaw the transport of cartloads of copper coins. Going door to door, he handed out payments to the soldiers billeted among the civilians.
With each delivery, he offered encouragement, reassuring them that they would be allowed into the city in groups soon and urging patience. At the same time, he emphasized discipline once more—any violation would be met with execution.
His actions did not go unnoticed. Curious locals gathered to watch, and as they listened to his words and saw the order among his troops, their fear of the Yellow Turbans gradually eased. Some even approached, asking if the army was recruiting.
After finishing with the soldiers staying in civilian homes, Zhang Xin moved on to the county barracks, distributing rewards to soldiers and craftsmen alike.
Later, he sought out Yan Jin.
"Old Yan," he said, "I need you to forge a batch of horseshoes."
He carefully described their design and purpose.
Yan Jin considered it. "From your description, it doesn't sound difficult. But how do we fix iron to a horse's hoof without harming it?"
After a brief pause, Zhang Xin explained the process as best as he could recall—details he had picked up from scattered bits of knowledge.
"In that case," Yan Jin said, "leave a few horses with me so I can test it."
"Done," Zhang Xin nodded. "Also, I'd like you to produce a batch of lances."
His recent battles had made the shortcomings of traditional spears painfully clear. They were too long and unwieldy for mounted combat, and their broad blades made them awkward—neither efficient for thrusting nor effective for cutting.
On the battlefield, what mattered was not piercing cleanly through an enemy, but disabling them quickly. Zhang Xin remembered how, after impaling a Wuhuan warrior, he had been forced to shake the body loose before striking again—a dangerous delay.
A more suitable weapon would solve that.
Yan Jin agreed, though he raised one concern. "We don't have enough iron."
"Make a prototype first," Zhang Xin replied. "I'll handle the rest."
From there, Zhang Xin went straight to the county office.
Deng Xing greeted him promptly, but Zhang Xin wasted no time. "How much iron is left in the county? I want all of it."
Deng Xing complied without hesitation, personally leading him to the treasury and handing over the entire stockpile.
Zhang Xin had it transported to Yan Jin before returning to the Prefectural residence.
Inside, the minor officials were busy at work. Zhang Xin found Chen Song and asked about the situation.
"It's winter, so things are manageable for now," Chen Song replied with a troubled expression. "But come spring, we'll lack manpower. Planting may be delayed."
"I'll solve the manpower issue," Zhang Xin said. After a moment's thought, he added, "Bring me the records from previous years."
Chen Song led him to the archives.
Soon, bamboo slips filled the main hall as Zhang Xin ordered them brought out. Sitting down, he began reviewing them one by one.
The reports painted a grim picture.
Year after year, raids by nomadic tribes had left hundreds, sometimes thousands, dead or injured. As he read on, Zhang Xin's anger grew.
Over sixteen years, more than thirty thousand civilians in Yuyang had perished.
And that didn't even account for those taken captive, or those who later died from starvation and exposure.
He slammed a scroll onto the table, fury blazing in his eyes.
"We are sons of Han! How can we allow ourselves to be trampled like this?"
His voice rose with each accusation.
"What were the officials doing? The Prefect? The Commandant? The Colonel Protector of the Wuhuan? Zong Yuan—you coward! Ruthless against rebels, yet spineless against invaders!"
"No wonder the people rose up. With officials like you, how could they not?"
At that moment, a minor official rushed in.
"General, a Wuhuan envoy waits outside. He claims to represent the Hanlu King and requests an audience."
"Let him in," Zhang Xin said after a steadying breath. "And summon all officials to attend."
"Yes, General."
Left alone, Zhang Xin closed his eyes briefly, gathering his thoughts.
A gentle voice interrupted him.
"My lord, you've worked hard all day. It's time to eat."
Wang Rou approached, carrying a bowl of steaming noodles, dressed in a soft pink blouse.
Zhang Xin looked up—and couldn't help but study her.
She grew flustered under his gaze. "My lord… is something wrong?"
After a moment, he spoke.
"A'Rou… take off your outer robe."
She froze, her cheeks instantly flushing.
"My lord… it's still daylight. Isn't that… inappropriate?"