In the first year of Zhongping, under the Jiazi cycle of the Eastern Han, twilight hung over the outskirts of Luoyang like ink. The Yellow River raged like a beast, flooding the streets and alleys. It swept along rotten leaves and filthy mud, slapping against the bluestone roads. Rain the size of copper coins pelted down, splattering the Jiazi Tongbao coins Dong Zhuo had minted with mud. The streets reeked of rot mingled with the tang of rusted copper. Wild chrysanthemums on the outskirts were drenched in black water and stained a sinister shade of red, just as the prophecy foretold: “Blood stains wild chrysanthemums; the divination hides a maze.” The Bronze Parasolwood Cauldron glimmered an eerie green in the dim light. Zhang Jue manifested miracles with talisman water, while the whispers of the Way of Great Peace mingled with wind and rain. The hooves of the Western Liang cavalry rumbled faintly across the earth, and the silhouettes of Youzhou’s elite cavalry lurked in the twilight. Like undercurrents, forces from every quarter quietly converged on the secrets of the Nine Cauldrons beneath the twilight of this chaotic Jiazi year.
