Emperor Zhaolie of the late Han Dynasty: Rising to power in Liaoxi

Liucheng, the tent of the Wuhuan King in western Liaoning.

In late spring, the grasslands have just shed the last of the snow, and tender shoots of grass are emerging from the frozen earth.

It should have been the season for herding livestock by water and pasture, but most of the felt tents around the royal tent were tightly closed.

Even the shepherds' shouts and children's playful antics of the past have mostly disappeared, leaving only the soft sound of the wind rustling through the grass, carrying a faint scent of medicine.

Qiu Liju sat in the main seat covered with a black bear skin, his fingertips twirling a smooth wolf bone ornament.

His gaze fell on the several parchment scrolls spread out on the table, his expression serious, his brows slightly furrowed.

He was the leader of the Wuhuan people in western Liaoning, and the most prestigious and powerful figure among the three Wuhuan commanderies.

Since taking over the tribe, he has led his people to resist the Xianbei in the north, to ally with the Wuhuan of Shanggu in the west, and to form alliances with the aristocratic families of Youzhou in the south.

They transformed the Liaoxi Wuhuan from a scattered small tribe into a powerful steppe tribe with 5,000 archers and grazing lands spanning thousands of miles.

He had seen the frozen corpses scattered across the fields after the White Disaster, the pastures trampled by the Xianbei cavalry, and the powerful bows and crossbows of the Han border troops.

Having spent half his life in the military, he had long since developed a composure that remained unmoved even if Mount Tai collapsed before him.

However, the reports in the parchment scrolls on his desk still made him worry.

"In the pastoral tents along the Xilamulun River, 21 households were infected with the disease, 7 people died, and more than 100 cattle and sheep died from the disease."

"A man from Yanglebian City returned home with a high fever and coughed up blood. He died. All five people in the same tent are now showing symptoms."

The old shaman diagnosed the symptoms as resembling the plague in the Central Plains, for which there was no cure.

At the beginning of the epidemic, it had not yet reached an uncontrollable stage.

But Qiuliju knew better than anyone that these seemingly scattered cases harbored the seeds of disaster that could destroy the entire tribe.

The caravans returning from the Central Plains had already brought back news of the dire situation in the You and Ji prefectures.

The capital of Youzhou, Jicheng, had its city gates sealed off. The Han governors and prefects were helpless and could only watch the plague spread.

He had heard stories like this since he was a child: a great plague struck the Xiongnu royal court a hundred years ago, and the powerful army of 100,000 archers collapsed overnight.

"My lord, the chief of the Xiyan tribe requests an audience. He wishes to order all the infected herding tents to be moved to the northern wasteland." The guard lifted the curtain and entered, bowing to report.

Qiu Liju raised his eyes, his voice steady, carrying the unique majesty of a grassland warlord.

"It has already been moved."

"Pass down the order: no one is allowed to travel freely between tribes, and no herds are allowed to cross the border."

"Anyone returning from the border markets of Han territory shall be quarantined outside the camp for seven days before being allowed to enter the tent."

He had already issued these orders when the first case appeared.

Even so, new cases continue to emerge.

The old witch doctor searched through all the herbal remedies passed down from the grasslands, but he could only barely stabilize mild cases and could not stop the spread of the epidemic.

The tribal chiefs under the tent had long been restless. Hearing the noise, they lifted the curtain and came in, chattering amongst themselves.

"My lord, this plague is exactly the same as the one that struck the Central Plains. Even the Han court can't stop it. What can we do?"

"Why not move north, further away from Han territory!"

"They cannot be moved!"

"To the north lies the grazing land of the Xianbei chieftain Queji. If we bring the plague there, he will surely lead his troops to attack. At that point, we will be attacked from both sides, making the situation even more difficult to resolve!"

"I've heard that in Liaoxi Commandery to the south, there's a minor Han official named Liu Bei who managed to stabilize the plague in Liaoxi and even cured over a thousand people..."

Upon hearing this, the tent fell silent for a moment, then someone burst into laughter.

"You actually believe that?"

"Could a mere clerk really control a plague that's sweeping the land?"

"It's nothing but boasting by Han Chinese officials to achieve political success!"

Everyone echoed this sentiment, clearly not taking the rumor to heart.

Qiu Liju didn't speak, but twirled the wolf bone pendant between his fingers even faster.

This wasn't the first time he'd heard this rumor.

Liaoxi and Liucheng are very close, and caravans from the border market come and go in an endless stream. People had already spread the news of Liu Bei over.

He initially dismissed it as mere boasting from a Han official, but as the epidemic spread through his tribe, his thoughts began to stir.

If this rumor is true, then Liu Bei might be the key to solving this epidemic.

But he was, after all, a leader of the Wuhuan people. He couldn't very well send someone to Liaoxi to ask an unknown Han official to treat the plague for his people.

If word gets out, not only will the tribes of the grasslands laugh at us, but even the tribal leaders under our command will be dissatisfied.

"That's enough!"

Qiu Liju raised his hand to silence the commotion and said in a deep voice, "Moving the camp is not advisable, nor is sitting and waiting."

"Prepare three white horses to offer as a sacrifice to the Eternal Heaven, and invite the high shaman to consult the oracle and see if the Eternal Heaven can show us a way to survive."

The Wuhuan people revere heaven and earth and believe in witchcraft and spirits. The white horse sacrifice is the most solemn ritual for inviting the gods on the grassland.

Upon hearing this, everyone bowed in agreement, and no one dared to say another word.

The sacrifice was held on the altar in front of the king's tent, and three pure white horses were led to the altar.

The high priest, draped in a robe of animal skin adorned with eagle feathers, wearing a deer bone mask and holding a bone staff inlaid with turquoise, danced a ritual to invoke the gods around the campfire.

The bone bells jingled, the incantations were ancient and obscure, and the campfire crackled, reflecting the dancing figures of the shaman, adding a touch of mystery to the twilight of the grassland.

Qiuliju led all the tribal leaders to kneel before the altar, their foreheads pressed against the cool grass, and performed the most solemn prostration in the direction of the Eternal Heaven.

The ritual lasted for more than an hour, until the blood of the three white horses was completely spilled into the bonfire, at which point the shaman stopped dancing.

He removed his mask, his face covered in sweat and solemn, and walked up to Qiuliju, bowing respectfully.

"The Eternal Heaven proclaims: The southern air enters the grass, bringing both good and bad fortune. The western waters cast shadows, which can be crossed or drowned. The plague is not an end of Heaven, but a way for people to survive."

After saying this, the shaman stepped aside, closed his eyes, and remained silent, refusing to explain another word.

The leaders under the command looked at each other, whispering amongst themselves, none of them able to decipher the prophecy.

"Are you suggesting we head south to the Xilamulun River? But the pastures there have long been abandoned!"

"Does this mean we have to go find some rare medicinal herbs?"

Qiu Liju stood up, his brows furrowed, repeatedly pondering the shaman's words.

Xishui, isn't it Bailangshui, which flows into Yangle from the southwest of Liucheng?

Could it be...?

Before he could figure it out, the guard outside the tent suddenly lifted the curtain and rushed in, kneeling on one knee, his voice filled with urgency and surprise.

"Sir! A group of Han Chinese are coming from the south!"

"He claimed to be Liu Bei, a military officer from Liaoxi Commandery, and led a dozen or so riders, standing just outside the camp gate."

"They say they've come specifically to offer a remedy for the epidemic and request an audience with you, sir!"

One sentence instantly silenced the previously noisy tent, making it so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

All the leaders were stunned, looking at Qiuliju and then at the shaman beside him, their eyes filled with disbelief.

The shaman had just finished talking about the south, the west, and people when Liu Bei arrived from Liaoxi!

Qiu Liju suddenly stood up, a glint of light flashing in his tiger-like eyes. What he hadn't understood before suddenly became clear in this moment.

This must be the guidance of the Eternal Heaven!

"Pass on the order!"

Qiu Liju's voice carried a subtle hint of excitement, and it resonated deeply.

"Open the main gate! I'll go greet you personally!"

"Prepare the finest mare's milk wine, roast the fattest whole lamb, and welcome Liu, the clerk, into the tent with the courtesy the Wuhuan people show to distinguished guests!"

The guard hesitated for a moment, then shouted his agreement and ran off.

It should be noted that Qiuliju was a high-ranking official of the Wuhuan people in western Liaoning.

Even if the governor of Liaoxi came in person, he might not come out of his tent to greet him.

Now, however, he has to personally go to the camp gate to welcome a lowly Han soldier.

But none of the leaders under his command felt anything was wrong at that moment.

They were even more convinced that the guidance of the Eternal Heaven was right before their eyes.

This Han Chinese man who brought the prescription for treating the epidemic was a distinguished guest of the grasslands, a savior who could relieve their plague.

Qiuliju strode out of the royal tent, facing the evening breeze of late spring, and looked towards the camp gate.

He didn't know if Liu Bei really had a way to cure the plague.

However, he had to give an explanation to his subordinates and to the tens of thousands of Wuhuan people.

Then why not let the Han people give an explanation?

At this moment, isn't Liu Bei the very path to survival that the Eternal Heaven has shown to the Wuhuan people of Liaoxi?