Chapter 16: Setting One’s Ambition

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Gan Ning felt immensely gratified to have personally slain Li Da; settling their enmity today brought him great satisfaction. His lord, Liu Zhang, was decisive in judgment and action, righting wrongs and aiding the weak with the spirit of a chivalrous hero. Ordering him to kill Li Da had also allowed Gan Ning to vent some long-held frustration.

He glanced at Liu Mao, who sat on the ground dazed and blank-eyed, silently mocking him as a cowardly mouse. Though Gan Ning had only heard of Liu Mao’s reputation—said to embody the courage and decisiveness of his father—seeing him today revealed he was nothing more than a delicate, ornamental pillow, vastly inferior to his own lord.

To be so drunk during mourning, still demanding to watch singing and dancing, and then killing someone simply by relying on his status as a young master—truly, he was neither a worthy son nor a proper lord.

Gan Ning was relieved his own lord had become the Governor of Yizhou. Had someone like Liu Mao held that position, he thought it better to return to Bajun, farming the land there rather than serving as a deputy magistrate in Chengdu.

Using Li Da’s garment, Gan Ning wiped the blood from his treasured sword. Once cleaned, he examined it carefully.

The blade was forged from a rare black iron alloy called Xuan Tie, shimmering with a faint cold light. Despite having just severed a head, the edge bore no nick or flaw. The sword was inscribed with the characters “Qing Jun,” befitting a governor’s weapon—a truly priceless treasure. Sheathing the sword, Gan Ning held it out evenly with both hands toward Liu Zhang.

“Xingba, if you like it, keep it,” Liu Zhang said, seeing Gan Ning’s fondness for the blade.

“Thank you, my lord,” Gan Ning accepted without hesitation, hanging the sword at his waist.

It was time to establish new rules for the mansion. Liu Zhang looked toward the slowly cooling form of Lady Wang and Cawei, who was silently weeping.

At that moment, Pang Jing arrived. He had been out handling affairs earlier that morning and rushed back upon hearing of the conflict between the two young masters. Along the way, he had already gathered some understanding of the situation.

Not only Pang Jing, but all the junior stewards of the household had also gathered. Such matters, avoided by outsiders, were their concern—this was a family affair, involving their very lives.

“My lord,” Pang Jing first bowed to Liu Zhang, who surveyed the scene and guessed the events that had transpired.

“Jing, as steward, failed to correct your subordinates, allowing these villains to act recklessly, resulting in Lady Wang’s death. I am guilty; please punish me accordingly.”

Liu Zhang shook his head, denying Pang Jing’s self-blame: “Uncle Pang, this is not your fault. The fault lies with the crooked leadership at the top; the rules of this household have been rotten for a long time.”

Ultimately, the matter stemmed from his own elder brother, Liu Mao. Normally a pretentious figure in the mansion, Liu Mao’s true nature was revealed upon losing the chance to inherit the governorship of Yizhou. Unable to vent his anger on Liu Zhang, he took it out on his servants with beatings and punishments. Li Da, a treacherous flatterer, fanned the flames beside Liu Mao. The two conspired in evil, causing Lady Wang’s death today.

After a moment’s thought, Liu Zhang addressed the assembled crowd, delivering the final judgment: “Li Da sowed discord and caused Lady Wang’s death. I have already executed him on the spot. Others involved will be treated as accomplices. Uncle Pang, bind these two and send them to Chengdu to Magistrate Dong Youzai for proper handling.”

“Also, Uncle Pang, ensure Lady Wang receives a proper burial.”

“Yes, my lord,” Pang Jing acknowledged the orders.

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Liu Zhang then established a new decree, announcing to all: “From now on, all matters within the mansion, great or small, shall be handled by myself. Should I be absent, Steward Pang shall take charge. Especially in matters of rewards and punishments, no action is to be taken without approval from either myself or Steward Pang.”

“Yes, my lord,” the junior stewards responded in unison, not daring to show the slightest defiance.

They knew well—the days of the old order in the governor’s mansion were over.

Before leaving, Liu Zhang lowered his voice, instructing Pang Jing: “Uncle Pang, escort my brother to rest. For the next few days, do not let him drink. After causing such trouble, he must shut himself away and reflect deeply.”

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After such turmoil in the mansion, Liu Zhang no longer felt inclined to drink. Gan Ning and Gan Jiu wisely took their leave, claiming they must prepare for their journey back to Bajun and would return tomorrow to formally resign.

Alone, Liu Zhang wandered to a pavilion in the backyard, gazing at the still surface of the pond. He sighed deeply; the heaviness in his heart had not yet lifted.

Lady Wang’s death was nothing compared to the real culprit—his brother Liu Mao. Yet he could never permit Gan Ning to simply cut down Liu Mao; fratricide was a grave crime.

Besides, Liu Mao was his only brother. Though Liu Zhang, having traveled through time, felt no familial affection, some things were simply forbidden. Even if he acted, it must leave no trace, no suspicion.

“Sooner or later,” Liu Zhang resolved.

Recalling his time since arriving in this era, he remembered moments of joy—sharing drinks with the ancient general Gan Ning, discussing worldly affairs with the scholar Dong He, admiring the exquisite Han dynasty war halberds.

But there were also disappointments, such as today’s events. As a modern man, Liu Zhang lacked notions of absolute hierarchy or filial obedience. He could not comprehend arbitrary punishments or accept the wrongful killing of others. Lady Wang’s death weighed heavily on him.

He understood the feudal era was such a time, each era marked by its own scars. To the upper classes, servants were little more than animals—cats and dogs—subject to arbitrary beating and killing without consequence.

Since the founding of the Eastern Han, Emperor Guangwu had repeatedly decreed: “Killing a servant shall not be excused; burning a servant shall be legally punished, and the burned servant shall be freed as a commoner; laws exempting servants who harm others have been abolished.”

Yet these laws had little effect. The Eastern Han depended on powerful clans; their status was deeply entrenched. Moreover, the emperors were mostly children, lacking the authority or dignity to restrain these clans. As a result, the great families acted with impunity, and the treatment of commoners and servants worsened.

Thinking of this, Liu Zhang could only smile bitterly. The current plight of commoners and servants might be the worst in two centuries—but looking ahead, their present state would be the best in the next two hundred years.

Looking to the future—the Three Kingdoms, the Two Jins, the Northern and Southern Dynasties.

In the north, commoners and servants were but two-legged sheep to the barbarians—prey to be taken at will, struggling to survive amid mountains of corpses and under foreign iron hooves.

In the south, things were no better. The upper class had no poor families; the lower had no aristocrats. The noble remained noble, the lowly remained lowly; for over two centuries, commoners and servants had no respite, no chance to rise.

Yet the southern aristocrats lived in lavish comfort—loose robes and wide hats, painted faces, traveling by carriage, greeted with deference at every door. Each was delicate and weak, panting as they walked.

Wang Fu, the magistrate of Jiankang County in Southern Liang, once trembled at the neighing of horses, exclaiming, “These are not horses at all, but tigers!”

Such people oppressed the common folk of the south for over two centuries.

Liu Zhang knew the rise of aristocratic clans and the decline of imperial power was the future trend. The aristocracy’s golden age was when kings ruled alongside their horses.

But did these clans deserve it?

They lacked strength in shoulders and hands. They couldn’t even mount horses, only skulking in the capital plotting and scheming. When the Western Jin fell, they packed up and fled eastward, abandoning the Central Plains to foreign invaders.

“Thinking of our ancestors, who braved frost and dew, cut through brambles, and secured every inch of land, yet their descendants hold it so lightly, offering it away as though it were worthless grass,” Liu Zhang recalled the words from Su Xun’s “On the Six Kingdoms.”

Since the Western Zhou, through the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, countless heroes had fought fiercely—sweeping away barbarians, securing the Central Plains. Emperor Wu of Han campaigned north against the Xiongnu, pacified Lingnan in the south, expanded westward to the Western Regions, and eastward to Liaodong—shedding untold blood for these lands.

Yet these aristocrats so lightly cast it aside, retreating to the south to indulge in vanity and complacency.

They held power but shirked responsibility, craving the pleasures it brought without paying any price.

For over two centuries, the world had been ruined by these clans. Throughout the Central Plains echoed the cries of countless lives lost.

“How can the world be left in the hands of those I despise?” Liu Zhang questioned himself. His mindset had shifted—not seeking mere stability, but harboring ambition to reshape the world.

At that moment, his gaze seemed to sweep across the mighty Bashan Mountains, cross the Qinling Range, leap over the Yellow River, follow the Taihang Mountains northward, traverse the Yanshan Range, turn back to the Central Plains, cross the Huai and Yangtze Rivers, ascend the Yangtze upstream, pass Xiangyang northward, and finally reach the ancient capital of Luoyang.

“This magnificent land must not fall to the aristocrats’ contempt nor be trampled under the iron hooves of the Five Barbarians.”