In 189 AD, Dong Zhuo, the Governor of Bing Province, accepted the invitation of He Jin and Yuan Shao, and marched from Chang’an to Luoyang to eliminate the powerful eunuch faction known as the Ten Attendants. He Jin and Yuan Shao had schemed meticulously, intending to use Dong Zhuo as a tiger to devour the wolves (the eunuchs), only to end up inviting a wolf into their own house.
The Wolf at the Door
Seizing the opportunity as the ultimate beneficiary, Dong Zhuo deposed Emperor Liu Bian and installed Liu Xie on the throne. He then proclaimed himself Chancellor and Grand Tutor, thus plunging the realm into the chaotic era of the Three Kingdoms.
Yet, the men who eventually formed the coalition to overthrow him were, ironically, promoted by his own hand. Han Fu was sent to Ji Province, Liu Dai to Yan Province, and Kong Zhou to Yu Province. These three appointments all bore Dong Zhuo’s seal. Mere months later, these same men stood shoulder to shoulder with Yuan Shao, turning their weapons toward Luoyang. When the news reached Dong Zhuo, he must have found it utterly incomprehensible. In his youth, he had slaughtered a single draft ox to win a thousand head of livestock from the Qiang tribes. Later, when the court rewarded him with nine thousand bolts of silk, he distributed every single piece to his subordinates, keeping none for himself. He had always believed that if you gave things away generously, people’s hearts would naturally return to you. But in Luoyang, this formula suddenly ceased to work.
The Generosity of the Frontier
In his youth, Dong Zhuo had another face. Born in Longxi, he spent years traveling through Qiang territories. The tribal chieftains were willing to befriend him not only because of his exceptional horsemanship and strength but also because of his unreserved generosity. Once, a Qiang chieftain he had known in the past came to visit. By then, Dong Zhuo had returned home to farm, and his household had little to offer. Still, he slaughtered his draft ox to share meat and wine with his guest. The historical records do not say how he managed to farm his land the following year without the ox. They only record that after the chieftains returned, deeply moved by this gesture, they pooled together over a thousand head of livestock as a gift for him.
Later, after achieving military merit, the court awarded him nine thousand bolts of silk. Dong Zhuo declared, “I may have exerted the effort, but victory was won by the soldiers.” He gave it all away, leaving nothing for himself. Those who followed him on the frontier knew his courage and his willingness to share.
Relationships on the borderlands were direct: if you had shielded others from danger, they would mount their horses for you; if you laid bare what you had, there would still be someone standing behind you when you set out again. It was through this very method that Dong Zhuo walked step by step from Longxi to Luoyang.
The Illusion of Power
Yet, when he truly entered Luoyang, he had only three thousand infantry and cavalry at his back. The city had just endured a massive upheaval. He Jin was dead, and the young emperor had only recently returned from chaos. Armies, officials, and former factions were all watching, unsure of whom to follow next. Three thousand men could not hold down the entire city. So, Dong Zhuo ordered his troops to quietly slip out of the city gates at night every few days, only to march back in grand procession at dawn. Banners unfurled, drums thundered. The people of Luoyang believed that reinforcements from the west were arriving in continuous waves. The same army, in their eyes, had multiplied into many. What Dong Zhuo conquered first was the uncertainty in everyone’s minds. As the remnants of He Jin and He Miao’s forces were gradually absorbed, and Ding Yuan’s army defected to him under Lü Bu, the Liangzhou general who had arrived with only three thousand men finally became the most powerful man in Luoyang. He took this step with astonishing speed, leading many to believe that Dong Zhuo understood only the use of force.
The Currency of Titles
After seizing power, he did not immediately hand all prominent positions to his personal cronies. He appointed Wu Qiong, Zhou Bi, Zheng Tai, and He Yong, elevating men previously tainted by the Partisan Prohibitions, and made Xun Shuang the Minister over the Masses. Han Fu, Liu Dai, and Kong Zhou were dispatched to govern various provinces. His true intimates remained mostly within the army. He understood perfectly well that while the Liangzhou army could guard the palace gates for him, it could not make the empire acknowledge this court. He needed men of renown, and he was willing to give them a place.
This was still the same method as the slaughtered ox: offering what he was most willing to part with in exchange for trust. But official titles and wine were fundamentally different. The Qiang, upon receiving his ox, remembered the bond of friendship. The eminent scholars, upon accepting his appointments, saw only a foreign warlord who controlled the emperor and upended the court’s order. The higher the office Dong Zhuo bestowed, the further its recipient stood from him.
In the first year of the Chuping era, the eastern provinces rose in arms. The names of Han Fu, Liu Dai, and Kong Zhou appeared on the rosters of the coalition against Dong Zhuo. Wu Qiong and Zhou Bi secretly took the other side. The ink on those appointment scrolls had barely dried, yet the appointees had become enemies. Dong Zhuo had personally sent them to the provinces, and from those very posts, they had gathered the strength to oppose him. He had once believed that rewards would make people remember him. Only now did he realize that some accepted the court’s offices and never saw them as personal favors from Dong Zhuo. This was perhaps the most crucial turning point in his fate. He had never learned how to earn genuine allegiance.
The Trap of Fear
He began to believe that if everyone was sufficiently afraid, at least no one would dare to leave. Luoyang could no longer contain his unease. Dong Zhuo grew increasingly reliant on his old Liangzhou comrades and ever more suspicious of voices within the court. The man who had once given away nine thousand bolts of silk now possessed far more, yet had fewer people who could sit beside him. When someone opposed him, he heard betrayal. When someone remained silent, he suspected they were merely waiting for an opportunity.
The entry of three thousand soldiers into Luoyang proved his judgment, his boldness, and his cunning. He knew how to seize the fleeting moment of a power vacuum, and he understood what armies, titles, and prestige could each buy. But human hearts could not be marched out of the city at night and brought back the next morning under raised banners. Once deceived, they could hardly be made to believe a second time.
In the end, Dong Zhuo entrusted his safety to Lü Bu. Lü Bu had originally been the most trusted subordinate of Ding Yuan. Dong Zhuo had lured him to his side with profit and position, sworn brotherhood with him, and kept him as a personal bodyguard. Dong Zhuo knew full well that Lü Bu had once abandoned a lord who trusted him. Yet he still believed that if he gave more, Lü Bu would never leave.
On one occasion, when Lü Bu displeased him slightly, Dong Zhuo hurled a hand halberd at him. Lü Bu dodged and immediately turned to apologize. Dong Zhuo’s anger vanished quickly. In his mind, the matter was settled. But in Lü Bu’s heart, a debt that could never be erased had been added. The man Dong Zhuo relied upon most was the very man he had pulled from another’s side. And later, the man waiting for him behind the palace gates was that same person.
The Weight of a Sigh
When news of Dong Zhuo’s downfall spread, people on the streets of Chang’an traded clothes and jewels for wine and meat, celebrating with one another.
When a man’s actions have brought an entire city to breathe a collective sigh of relief, his later deeds certainly cannot be offset by the generosity of his youth. The slaughtered ox could not save him, nor could nine thousand bolts of silk settle his account.
Yet, just as everyone believed there could be only one emotion, Cai Yong, the father of Cai Wenji, let out a sigh. Cai Yong had initially refused to come. He pleaded illness, but Dong Zhuo would not let him be. Cai Yong was forced to enter Luoyang. Once he arrived, Dong Zhuo showed him extraordinary courtesy, promoting him repeatedly in a matter of days and willingly seeking his counsel on important matters. When Dong Zhuo desired a higher honorific title, Cai Yong advised that the time was not yet ripe. Dong Zhuo listened and stopped. So when all of Chang’an celebrated, what Cai Yong recalled was perhaps only the Dong Zhuo he had known: the man who had forced him to come, yet had genuinely appreciated his talent.
Wang Yun could not accept that sigh. In Wang Yun’s view, Dong Zhuo had become the enemy of all under heaven; as a minister of Han, he should not harbor memories of private favor. But a person never lives solely within the ledger of the world. What Dong Zhuo had done to the empire, Cai Yong could not erase. Nor did the city’s celebrations mean that the recognition Dong Zhuo had once shown Cai Yong had never happened.
In his youth, Dong Zhuo slaughtered an ox, and the Qiang returned a thousand head of livestock. Later, he offered governorships and high office, only to receive in return a covenant to march against him. No longer believing in gratitude, he turned to fear. And in the end, the only sigh that lingered came from a man he had once forced to come. The wine was already set out on the streets of Chang’an. Cai Yong simply sat there and let out a soft sigh.
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