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Dong Zhuo sat upright in his chariot, his face full of hardened flesh, watching the officials before him huddle like a flock of quails.
The ornate canopy of the chariot glittered in the sunlight, as if its brilliance was stinging the eyes of the Luoyang officials. Every one of them buried their heads deep into their chests, wishing they could shrink back into their ribcages.
Six horses drew the chariot.
It was adorned with gold and jade.
Though the entire chariot was exquisitely crafted and magnificent, no matter who looked at it, their visual focus would inevitably be seized by Dong Zhuo sitting within.
Dong Zhuo wore a cage-crown hat and ceremonial robes. The upper part was black, with wide sleeves. On the black fabric, golden thread had been embroidered into three-legged golden crows, one on each sleeve, glinting faintly in the sunlight as if flames were burning on them. Over his waist and legs lay a black-based apron decorated with embroidered scarlet dragons. Beneath the apron were red long robes. On his feet were red slippers. He carried himself with an imposing, mountain-like bearing.
One hand rested on the gilded cloud-patterned railing surrounding three sides of the chariot. The other hand gripped his sword hilt. His eyes were deeply sunken, with dark, heavy bags beneath them. Only his eyeballs themselves seemed like ghost fire flickering in boundless darkness, eerie and terrifying.
Chancellor Dong had won the battle at Xiaoping Ford and was returning to the capital in triumph. The remaining officials still in Luoyang, along with some of the great families who had not yet left, naturally came to offer congratulations and welcome him.
"Congratulations to the Chancellor on his triumphant return to the capital! Ten thousand victories to the Chancellor! Ten thousand victories to the Chancellor!" Under the direction of the master of ceremonies, the crowd lining the road bowed in unison, offering their congratulations.
Dong Zhuo's face was dark. He didn't move, didn't speak a word. He simply swept his gaze slowly over the kneeling crowd.
The scene was utterly silent.
With Dong Zhuo not speaking, the master of ceremonies dared not make a sound. The crowd dared not raise their heads or rise. They all stood like wooden statues, not daring to breathe loudly, not daring to move.
Though the temperature was not high, many had sweat streaming down their faces and bodies, drop by drop falling into the dust.
The hand resting on the chariot's railing finally lifted. It slowly turned, palm upward. The fingers moved slightly.
The master of ceremonies, seeing this, also breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly directed the crowd to rise.
According to custom, there should have been a ceremony for presenting captives. But now the emperor had already gone to Chang'an. In Luoyang, Dong Zhuo was supreme. Thus, there was naturally no need for such a ceremony. So Dong Zhuo hadn't brought any captives at all. Instead, he had brought three whole carts of severed heads.
There was no need to transport the heads into the city. They simply found an open space by the roadside and began piling them into a pyramid.
The men following Dong Zhuo were all old soldiers from Liang Province. They were completely accustomed to such things. They tossed the heads by the roadside like so many dirty meatballs. The heads landed with dull thuds. If one rolled too far, a Liang soldier standing nearby would kick it back into the pile with a smack.
But the people living in Luoyang had never seen such a sight. Their faces turned pale, their bodies trembled. But Dong Zhuo neither spoke nor entered the city. He just sat there. So the welcoming crowd had no choice but to endure.
Dong Zhuo narrowed his eyes, examining the crowd. His gaze suddenly fixed. The flesh on his face squirmed slightly. He raised his hand and summoned Lü Bu to his side, whispering a few words.
Lü Bu lowered his head to receive the order, then nodded. He dismounted and, with a few soldiers, charged straight into the crowd. He grabbed one man and dragged him before Dong Zhuo's chariot, throwing him to the ground.
"Minister of the Court for Sacrificial Worship..." Dong Zhuo looked at him coldly, his thick lips moving. "Why do you wear a sorrowful expression?"
The Minister trembled all over, kowtowing repeatedly, his voice tearful. "Chancellor, spare me... Chancellor, spare me..." It was so sudden, he was too flustered to think clearly. He didn't know what to say, only knew to cry for mercy.
Dong Zhuo tilted his head slightly.
Lü Bu drew his blade. With one hand, he grabbed the Minister's hair and yanked it to the side, exposing his neck. Then a flash of steel—one slash!
"Pfft..."
Blood sprayed out, splattering everywhere, even onto the faces and robes of nearby officials, dotting them with patches of red.
Though he had killed, Dong Zhuo felt no satisfaction. Instead, his inner agitation grew. He glared with bloodshot eyes, scanning the remaining officials.
"Minister of the Imperial Secretariat, why have you returned to Luoyang?" Dong Zhuo slowly extended a plump, rounded finger, pointing at a man in the crowd.
The other officials near the Minister recoiled as if fleeing from a plague, creating a circle of empty space. The Minister stood out like a crane among chickens.
Lü Bu waved his hand. Two Liang soldiers, like tigers or wolves, rushed forward, seized him, dragged him before Dong Zhuo's chariot, and kicked him to the ground.
"...Report to the Chancellor, this humble official... this humble official's family... had some items not fully transported... so I returned..." The Minister trembled all over, his upper and lower teeth chattering, but he managed to stammer out the meaning.
"Oh?" Dong Zhuo stared with bloodshot eyes, baring his teeth in a grimace. "Relocating the capital is a great state affair. Yet you, heh, would disregard state affairs for the sake of some household goods? Since you were unwilling to stay in the eastern capital, what use are you?"
"Chancellor..."
The Minister tried to explain further, but Dong Zhuo had no desire to listen. He waved his hand.
A flash of steel. Another head fell to the ground.
The crowd's faces were ashen. They wished they could find a hole in the ground to crawl into, to escape Dong Zhuo's gaze.
Several among the crowd who had snuck back for one reason or another instinctively began shrinking backward. But this behavior could not escape the gaze of the man sitting in the chariot. His plump finger pointed a few more times, and several more headless ghosts joined the pile.
One moment, they had been officials wearing tall hats and dignified robes. The next moment, without any interrogation or sentencing, their heads were cut off.
Blood flowed from the severed necks of the corpses on the ground, staining the entire road. The thick smell of blood was like a rusted iron plate pulled from a sewer, nauseating.
But Dong Zhuo seemed to feel his agitation settle somewhat. He took a breath, drawing the thick stench of blood deep into his lungs through his nostrils. Then he spoke. "Spread my command: In Luoyang City, within three days, the relocation must be complete. Any who linger and fail to leave will be executed and their property confiscated."
Having said this, Dong Zhuo left the stunned, nearly catatonic crowd behind and led his troops straight into the Northern Palace.
After a long while, the crowd suddenly came to their senses. Forgetting to maintain their composed images, they scurried into the city like a swarm of bees whose nest had been set on fire.
The severed heads of the former Minister of the Court for Sacrificial Worship, the Minister of the Imperial Secretariat, and the others lay in the chaos, kicked who knows where. Only a few headless corpses remained, lying silently in the yellow dust, bleeding their last drops.