Chapter 92: The Son-in-Law Who Piggybacked on Dong the Demon King’s Eyes

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“Zining, listen to your Great-Grandmother. War is harsh and dangerous. Tomorrow I’ll have your father-in-law arrange a civil appointment for you. You just stay with A Bai, settle down, and have a few children. Wouldn’t that be best?”

“Don’t worry, Great-Grandmother. As soon as I get back I’ll work hard—A Bai will bear ten, maybe eight. Then you can pick whichever child you like best, and they’ll all take the Dong surname.”

“You can’t possibly have eight, ten! Who in the world can do that?” she said, though her face had already brightened.

What a grand grandson-in-law he was.
He had a fine face, a broad frame, was filial, and would even listen to this old woman’s nagging.
Most of all, he was willing to let the children bear the Dong surname.
Great-Grandmother was overjoyed.

Chen Cong, sensing her mood, kneaded her shoulders and said with obsequious devotion, “Is the pressure right? Your grandson can press your head too; it will help your sleep.”

“Ay, good child, truly filial.”

Dong Zhuo trudged back to the residence, and the moment he walked in he saw Chen Wudi gripping his mother’s head and kneading it back and forth. He felt as if his spirit had nearly flown away.

He barked, “Chen Cong! Let go of my mother at once. If you had business, come to my house directly!”

Chen looked up, seeing Dong Zhuo with a heavy frame on one side, Lü Bu on the other, and behind him a dark mass of Tiger Guards, the empire’s elite. He did not understand what there was to fear.

He gave a broad smile, showing two neat rows of teeth, and said nothing.

Great-Grandmother glanced over at him with disdain. “Hm! Isn’t this the Grand Tutor himself? You return to your own house with such a full war formation—what is it for, to eat someone?”

Dong Zhuo was near panic. That was Chen Wudi, after all.
One palm from him could crack the spine of a warhorse; even a tiger in the hills was less dangerous than he was.
And here he was merely pressing a withered old woman, whose life was measured in candlewax and smoke, and still he was at risk of being flattened.
Better, he thought, to put his head into a tiger’s mouth and be done with it.
And most maddening of all, that half-dead rogue behind the grandmother was still making strange movements in places no one could see.

Now he tugged his sleeve up, showing corded forearm muscle, tight and knotted like snarled roots.
Now he rolled his neck so the fascia rose from either side of his jaw up to his shoulders.
Now he bit down hard, blue veins swelling, as if he might at any moment be ready to break a few skulls for sport.

Dong Zhuo’s posture softened. “Zining... if there’s something to discuss, we can work it out. Don’t make a scene.”

Seeing him behave that way made Chen want to laugh. He kept his hands moving and said, “You came at exactly the right time, Father-in-law. I just promised Great-Grandmother I’d leave arms for the pen. If you would arrange some office for this grandson-in-law, I’d be grateful.”

Great-Grandmother’s eyes lit up. “An office is good, an office is good! Why are you standing still?”

For her, sending sons and grandsons into war had always been a hidden wound.
Many had died in battles; what she loathed most was endless violence, the thought that some day one more accident would take another.
Now that Chen had gone to war, she was quietly delighted from the bottom of her heart.

“Where is A Bai?”

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Dong Zhuo’s casual question was no casual question. It was a reminder: he was old, not senile.
If Chen truly wanted office, why had he come to Luoyang alone?

“Oh, the road was rough. I sent a carriage for her; in a few days she’ll arrive.”

“Daughters are trouble. And how long must we wait—am I getting this arranged or not?” Great-Grandmother snapped.

Dong Zhuo took a breath and forced himself to calm. “We’ll recommend you as Prefect of Luoyang.”

“Too low. I don’t want it,” Chen refused. “Can a Luoyang prefect even move through the palace?”

“It isn’t too low. Don’t overreach.”

“Oh, then I’ll stay in the army,” he said.

At once Great-Grandmother’s patience snapped. She had been waiting to hold a great-grandchild in her arms; if Chen died, who would allow a child to carry the Dong name?
She glared at Dong Zhuo, one brow lifting, and said, “What now? Do you mean to drive Zining to death like you drove Xun’er? Why not finish us both and then take this old hag along?”

Dong Zhuo was shaken.
Xun’er had been his most treasured son, the old woman’s dearest grandson, and he had died during the suppression of the Yellow Turbans.
After that, those two words had become taboo in the Dong household; no one dared speak them.

“Mother, why bring that up?” Dong Zhuo said, turning slightly toward Chen with a wave of irritation. “Enough. You tell me yourself—what office do you want?”

Chen seemed surprised that he was truly being invited to name it.
He thought for a moment, then asked, “Could it be the Chancellor?”

Dong Zhuo: “What?!”

Such a rogue dare not even dream of it. Why not ask for the throne at once?

Seeing Dong Zhuo’s look, Chen hastily corrected himself. “Right, right, right—your face is so tight as is. Then the Commander of the Guards, then. Surely Wèi Wei will do?”

“No.”

The Commander of the Guards managed the imperial bodyguard, and Dong Zhuo even half-suspected Chen had come to save the Son of Heaven.

“Well then, Master of the Privy Stores. If not, let it be nothing. At worst, make me Chariot and Cavalry General. Didn’t you say before that that was a high rank? I heard it stands with the Three Dukes. Other than field commands all year round, every part of it is fine.”

Staring into Great-Grandmother’s death-deep gaze, Dong Zhuo finally caved.

Master of the Privy Stores...
It was only the private treasury of the Son of Heaven.
What private treasury does the Son of Heaven have that isn’t already Dong Zhuo’s?
Ah, let it be—call it a sacrifice to ward off calamity.

He said at once, “Fine. Tomorrow at court, I’ll submit it to the Son of Heaven and recommend you as Master of the Privy Stores.”

“Isn’t this too late? You’re busy moving the capital. You’ll have so much later that you’ll forget.”

Dong Zhuo was exhausted. His heart was tired.
He rubbed his temple in pain, said coldly, “Wait,” and then, with a huge train of men, strode out again.

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For all his former glory, even Dong the Demon-King had never before been handled like a mere household drudge.
What a shameless villain he was!

Chen Cong ate midday with Great-Grandmother and chatted idly for a while.
When Dong Zhuo finally brought back the seal, he skipped all the rituals and shoved it at Chen in a rough motion.

“Can you leave now?”

Chen liked the seal; privately he regretted that there was no separate imperial decree of formal appointment, which would have spared him another trip.

He turned toward Dong Zhuo and said, “What kind of host are you, Father-in-law? My grandson-in-law has come a long way to visit you. You can’t really expect me to sleep out in the street, can you?”

“You still dare to stay the night?” Dong Zhuo barked.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I when I return to my own home?”

The Grand Tutor’s residence sat in a perfect quarter—one street and a wall to the South Palace, two more to the Prefect’s House. Such a location, who could refuse to stay?
Chen had no intention of leaving.

“Very well, very well—I can’t argue with you. I’ll have the seals broken at the Cao estate now. That house is yours; just stop hanging around here.”

Chen rolled his eyes. “What sort of kennel is the Cao estate? I won’t stay there. Please send men to set up a small attic room for me, and arrange three or five maidservants, pretty ones.”

Saying so, he ignored whether Dong Zhuo had answered or not, took Great-Grandmother’s hand, and said, “Great-Grandmother, I’ll go out for a bit and return tonight to pay my respects.”

“Ah, yes. Bring more men; the streets are dangerous.”

“Yes, grandson.”

“Good boy.”

At Chen’s first movement, the Tiger Guards drew their swords in unison. Lü Bu stepped one stride forward to block Dong Zhuo, fearing some mishap.
As Chen moved on, the guards closed ranks and formed a ring around Dong Zhuo.
Lü Bu glared with bronze-bell eyes, the tips of their blades so near Chen’s face he might as well have brushed them.

“Fengxian, that new halberd is excellent. Stay close to me and serve Father-in-law well. When you return, secure yourself a place among the Nine Ministers like mine.”

“No need to trouble yourself,” Chen said.

He nodded, laid a hand on Lü Bu’s shoulder, parted the way, then passed slowly through the thicket of spears and halberds, hands clasped behind him, and walked out of the residence.
Every servant he passed called out to him warmly, “Young Master.”
He walked with the swagger of a true master of the house.

Dong Zhuo crushed his temples harder, still unable to understand one thing: if Chen were to stay at the Grand Tutor’s residence, who was to keep one eye open while he slept?
His head throbbed.

Lü Bu did not understand either. What relation was this between adoptive son and grandson-in-law?
How could a mere youth hold office among the Nine Ministers? He was only a General Fenwei, a Marquis of Duting.