The sky stretched clear for miles, white clouds drifting lazily by.
In the grand hall of Weiyang Palace at the southwest corner of Chang'an, Dong Zhuo and his trusted civil and military subordinates were holding council. Not a single official loyal to the Han Dynasty, such as Wang Yun, Yang Biao, or Zhu Jun, was present. Though Dong Zhuo had not yet seated himself upon the dragon throne atop the dais, he had openly made the hall the meeting place of his Western Liang Army. His wolfish ambitions were plain for all to see.
Li Ru said to Dong Zhuo, "My lord, those rotten officials who remain loyal to the Han Dynasty are the greatest obstacle to your ascension to the imperial throne. You should make a decision soon." This was the matter that infuriated Dong Zhuo most, yet left him most helpless. That bunch were like stones in a cesspit—stinking and hard. Worse still, they possessed tremendous prestige and were backed by deeply intertwined aristocratic clans and powerful noble families. If he killed them, he would surely enrage those clans, driving them to unite against him, Dong Zhuo.
The power wielded by those influential families far exceeded Dong Zhuo's imagination.
In the past, Dong Zhuo had acted without restraint or concern, doing whatever he pleased, and had lived quite freely. But when he obtained the Imperial Seal and, in a moment of hotheadedness, prepared to become emperor, he discovered that becoming emperor was not so easy. First of all, without the support of the great clans and aristocratic families, even if he became emperor, he would be nothing more than a commander without an army. After all, who would help him govern such a vast realm? Of the learned men in the land, eight or nine out of ten