Dong Zhuo, furious to learn that Yuan Shao had fled, drew his sword. Li Ru warned, “It is not yet time to kill him in secret.” Yuan Shao, sword in hand, bade the court farewell, rode through the Eastern Gate, and fled back to his power base in Jizhou. Dong Zhuo turned to Tutor Yuan Kui: “Your nephew acts without decorum—but for your sake I forgive him. What of our plan to depose the Emperor and enthrone the Prince of Chenliu?” Yuan Kui bowed, “My lord may proceed.” Dong Zhuo thundered, “Whoever opposes this will be executed by military law!” The ministers trembled and bowed in assent. After the feast, Dong Zhuo asked Censor Zhou Bi and Colonel Wu Qiong about Yuan Shao’s flight. “He left in anger,” said Zhou Bi, “and may raise arms against us. His clan’s prestige spans four generations, and his followers are many. Better to grant him a governorship, reassure him, and win his loyalty.” Wu Qiong agreed, “Yuan Shao schemes without resolve; let him hold office, and the people’s hearts will follow.” Dong Zhuo at once appointed Yuan Shao as Governor of Bohai Commandery.
On the first day of the ninth month, he summoned the Emperor to the Jiade Hall for a grand assembly of civil and military officials. Drawing his sword, Dong Zhuo proclaimed, “The Son of Heaven is weak and unfit to rule. I have composed a directive to be read aloud.” He bade Li Ru read the edict:
“Emperor Ling brought ruin on the realm; his successor, though renowned, has proven frivolous, unfit even to observe the rites of mourning. His Empress Dowager failed in her duty of motherly virtue; chaos reigns within the palace. In stark contrast, the Prince of Chenliu, Cao Bian, is solemn and upright, his mourning respectful, his words free of folly. His worthy deeds are praised throughout the land. Let him be deposed and raised to the Dragon Throne, to relieve the people of their anxieties.”
No sooner had Li Ru finished than Dong Zhuo seized the Emperor’s jade seal and robes, knelt him before the hall, and forced him to confess his abdication. Tearfully, the Dowager and court officials complied.
Suddenly, an aged minister leapt forward, clutching a jade tablet. “Traitorous Dong Zhuo,” he cried, “dare you mock Heaven itself? I will splash my blood upon you!” With a single blow he struck the hall’s marble floor. Dong Zhuo roared for his guards, and they dragged the minister out to be executed. He was Ding Guan of the Secretariat. Even as his head fell, he spat curses at his executioners. A later verse mourned:
“Dong Zhuo’s plots would shake the realm to dust, He robbed the Han of its rites and crushed its throne. The court was filled with craven servants— Only Ding Guan stood tall as a man.”
Dong Zhuo then installed the Prince of Chenliu in the imperial seat. Whispers of sorrow filled the hall at the sight of the deposed boy-emperor, now demoted to King of Hongnong—a reign of only four short months. The new sovereign, Cao Bian, was but nine years old; his era was named “Chuping.” Dong Zhuo assumed the title Chancellor, entering court on horseback, his sword at his side, unmatched in power.
Li Ru urged Dong Zhuo to win the people’s favor by patronage of scholars, recommending the high-minded Cai Yong. Summoning him, Dong Zhuo found Cai Yong hesitating and threatened to annihilate his clan. Fearful, Cai Yong came—and within a single month was promoted three times to serve as Palace Attendant, earning Dong Zhuo’s warm regard.
Meanwhile, within the sealed walls of the old palace, the young deposed Emperor, Empress Dowager He, and Consort Tang saw their food and clothing wane. The boy’s tears never dried. One day he spied two orioles alighting in the courtyard and composed a poem:
“New green grass clings to morning mist, Two orioles circle in twin flight. A single stream threads Luoyang’s bounds, All who pass its banks gaze in delight. Yet deep clouds mask my former home— Who, by honor, will free my soul?”
When Dong Zhuo received the poem, he snarled, “Poetry of discontent—he must die.” He dispatched Li Ru and ten guards to the old palace to slay the boy and his mother. Li Ru offered poisoned wine under the pretense of a birthday toast. The Dowager urged him to taste first; enraged, he thrust out a dagger and forced them to drink. Consort Tang knelt and begged, “Let me drink in his stead—spare my son!” Li Ru sneered, “Who are you to die in his place?” He stabbed her, then drowned the boy in poisoned wine.
Returning to Dong Zhuo, Li Ru reported the deed, and Dong Zhuo had them buried beyond the city walls. Thenceforth he nightly violated palace women and slept upon the Empress’s dragon bed. One day in Yangcheng, during the spring festivals, he slaughtered the assembled villagers, raped the women, and displayed a thousand severed heads upon his chariot.
Captains like Wu Fu, incensed by Dong Zhuo’s savagery, attempted assassination within the palace, only to be seized by Lü Bu and torn limb from limb. A later song honored him:
“Wu Fu’s righteous wrath rang through the court— A spirit unmatched in that brutal age.”
As Dong Zhuo’s tyranny worsened, Yuan Shao, then Governor of Bohai, sent a secret letter to Tutor Wang Yun:
“Dong Zhuo’s treachery mocks Heaven; he will depose emperors at whim. If you stand idle, how may loyal ministers serve the realm? I marshal forces in the north but await your word to move.”
Wang Yun gathered his trusted colleagues under the pretense of a private birthday feast. In the darkened hall he wept, lamenting Dong Zhuo’s betrayal of the Han. The ministers wept with him, until Cao Cao stood laughing: “You cry all night but offer no plan. Better a deed than empty tears!” Furious, Wang Yun rebuked him: “How dare you mock us?” Cao Cao declared, “I may lack words, but I have a blade that can fell Dong Zhuo himself. I offer you that knife. Let me strike down the rebel!”
Wang Yun asked, “Have you the courage?” Cao Cao swore an oath over wine and presented the legendary Seven-Jewel Sword. He excused himself and departed.
The next day, Cao Cao entered Dong Zhuo’s residence, greeted the Chancellor, and waited in the inner chamber. Dong Zhuo, noting his delay, invited Lü Bu to select a prized horse for him. Lü Bu led away the Red Hare, leaving Cao Cao alone. Sensing his chance, Cao Cao drew the sword—but dared not strike the mighty warlord. Dong Zhuo rose to change position, and Cao Cao again lifted the blade—until Dong Zhuo, inspecting himself in a mirror, noticed the motion and demanded, “Why draw the sword, Cheng Duke?” At that moment Li Ru arrived and explained, “If Cao Cao truly sought to kill you, he would not wait beside your mirror. If he shrinks from this summons, he must indeed be plotting assassination.” Dong Zhuo agreed, and sent jailers to seize Cao Cao at sight: “Any who harbor him shall share his fate; his capture earns a thousand taels of gold and the rank of marquis.”
Cao Cao fled the capital by dawn, racing to Qiao Commandery. Caught by a local magistrate at a border post, he claimed to be a traveling merchant named Sima. The magistrate, recognizing Cao Cao, feigned ignorance and lodged him under gentle guard, promising to petition the court in the morning. But late that night the magistrate, Chen Gong, confronted him: “Why risk your life so?” Cao Cao replied, “Small birds know not the aim of the swan. My ancestors served the Han; I only bend to purge this traitor Dong Zhuo. Fate denied me success—so I ride to muster allies against him.” Moved, Chen Gong freed him, donned armor, and swore loyalty. Together they rode toward Chenliu Commandery.
Three days later they reached Chenggao at dusk. Cao Cao urged, “Let us seek my sworn brother Lü Boze—he dwells nearby.” Chen Gong agreed. At Boze’s village they were welcomed. After supper, Boze departed on errands, leaving them alone. Soon they heard the hiss of steel. “They plot to murder us,” whispered Cao Cao—and he and Chen Gong slew eight attackers in Boze’s courtyard. Mounting their horses, they fled. Boze returned with wine and fruit: “Dear nephews, why depart so swiftly?” Cao Cao replied, “Men who slay without cause will not rest. Better to strike first than be struck later.” Chen Gong protested, “Such treachery is unworthy.” Cao Cao answered, “I would rather fail the world than let the world fail me.”
That night they reached an inn. Chen Gong, aghast at Cao Cao’s ruthlessness, drew his dagger, ready to end his host’s life. As the old proverb says:
“The heart that broods harsh deeds is no man’s friend; For Cao and Dong are kin in cruelty.”
Thus, Cao Cao’s fate hung in the balance—awaiting the next turn in the coming days.
