Green Dragon crescent - moon blade

In the late Eastern Han Dynasty, the political situation was turbulent. The Han Dynasty, like an old man on his last legs, tottered in the storm. The Yellow Turban Uprising broke out. Zhang Jiao, the "Great Virtuous Teacher," uttered the words "The Azure Sky is dead; the Yellow Sky shall stand," which utterly doomed the Han Dynasty. Emperor Liu Hong had no choice but to abolish the provincial governor system established by Emperor Wu of Han and, acting on the advice of his ministers, adopted the prefecture governor system. Local counties and districts successively recruited soldiers to resist the nationwide rebellion. -- In Zhuo County, a notice for recruiting soldiers was posted on the city wall. A man with a kind and virtuous look sighed as he read the notice. At that moment, a butcher behind him looked over and shouted loudly, "A man of resolve should contribute to the country. Why sigh?" The man who had sighed turned around. He was seven chi and five cun tall, with ears that reached his shoulders and hands that hung below his knees—it was Liu Bei. Looking at the strong man with a leopard-like head, ringed eyes, a swallow-like chin, and tiger whiskers in front of him, he cupped his hands and said, "I am Liu Bei, a descendant of Prince Jing of Zhongshan. Seeing the world in chaos and the people suffering, yet being powerless to save the nation, I can't help but sigh." The strong man burst into a loud laugh, his voice booming like a bell: "I am Zhang Fei, styled Yide. I've lived in Zhuo County all my life, selling wine and butchering pigs, and I have some family wealth. If you, elder brother, have the intention, I'm willing to contribute all my assets to recruit villagers and warriors, and together we can strive for great undertakings!" Liu Bei, who was just worrying about having no plan, was both surprised and delighted. He took Zhang Fei into a tavern to talk in detail. After three rounds of wine, they suddenly heard someone outside the shop pushing a wheelbarrow to a stop, then entering and shouting for wine and meat. The two looked over and saw a man who was nine chi tall, with a two-chi-long beard, a face as red as a jujube, lips as red as painted fat, phoenix eyes, and silkworm eyebrows—it was Guan Yu. It turned out that Guan Yu was originally from Xieliang in Hedong. He had killed a local tyrant and fled around the country for five or six years. Now, seeing the recruitment notice, he had come to enlist. Liu Bei, impressed by his extraordinary appearance, invited him to sit together and talked about his ambition to support the Han Dynasty. The three hit it off immediately. The next day, they prepared sacrifices such as black oxen and white horses in the peach garden behind Zhang Fei's manor, burned incense, and kowtowed, vowing, "We do not seek to be born on the same day of the same year, but we wish to die on the same day of the same year." Thus, they became sworn brothers of different surnames. Later, Zhang Fei spent all his family wealth to recruit five hundred villagers as warriors. The craftsmen he hired forged the Green Dragon Crescent Blade for Guan Yu right then. With these preparations, they, along with over five hundred villagers, went to Zhuo County to join Colonel Zou Jing, thus embarking on the journey to contend in the troubled times. As dusk painted Zhuo County’s walls in hues of blood and bronze, Colonel Zou Jing paced his tent like a caged beast. Outside, the Yellow Turban rebels massed—an endless tide of tattered yellow silk, their war cries a dirge that seeped through the night. Inside, maps lay scattered, marked with red ink that looked eerily like the blood staining the horizon. “Sir,” a guard’s voice cracked, “the three brothers—Liu Bei, Guan Yu, Zhang Fei—request an audience.” Zou Jing’s head snapped up. Word of their arrival with five hundred villagers had reached him, but he’d dismissed it as foolhardy desperation. Now, with his veteran troops stretched thin and recruits trembling behind the walls, he had no room for pride. “Send them in.” The tent flaps parted, and the three stepped into the dim light. Liu Bei, robe dusty but posture unbowed, spoke first: “Colonel, we’ve seen the rebel host. Let us ride out—we’ll carve a path or die trying.” Zou Jing studied him, then Guan Yu—silent, the Green Dragon Crescent Blade at his side a promise of c*****e—and Zhang Fei, whose bulk seemed to fill the tent with raw, restless energy. “You’re villagers. Farmers. What can you do against ten thousand fanatics?” Zhang Fei’s laugh was a thunderclap. “Farmer? Sir, I’ve butchered more pigs than these rebels have teeth! And with Second Brother’s blade? We’ll turn their yellow turbans red!” Guan Yu’s voice was ice, cutting through Zhang Fei’s bravado: “We fight not as farmers, but as men sworn to protect the innocent. Zhuo County’s people will not be fodder for these beasts.” Zou Jing’s gaze lingered on the resolve in their eyes—something he hadn’t seen in seasoned soldiers lately. “Very well. Take two hundred men. Prove your worth—or become another stain on these walls.” Liu Bei bowed, calm but determined. “We’ll return with news of victory… or not at all.” Outside, the five hundred villagers huddled, spears clutched tight. When Liu Bei told them of the plan, a hush fell—then Zhang Fei’s roar: “Who’s with us?!” The answer came as a single, ragged shout, five hundred voices merging into one. Guan Yu mounted the Red Hare, the blade’s edge catching the last light of dusk. “Brothers,” he said, voice carrying to the farthest ranks, “tonight, we show the world what happens when ordinary men choose to be heroes.” As they rode out, the gates of Zhuo County creaked open behind them. Ahead lay the Yellow Turban horde, and beyond that—for those who survived—legend. The thunderous roar of war drums ripped through the morning mist as Zhang Fei’s warhorse reared, hooves kicking up dust that billowed like a yellow dragon. Five hundred villagers, spears quivering in their hands, clustered behind Liu Bei’s banner—raw recruits, but their eyes burned with the fire of brothers sworn in peach blossoms. Guan Yu sat astride the Red Hare, the Green Dragon Crescent Blade’s cold steel glinting under the dawn. The blade, forged not days prior but already humming with an ancient fury, seemed to drink in the chaos to come. Before them loomed the Yellow Turban rebels—rank upon rank of tattered robes, faces masked by rage and desperation. Their leader, a brute named Tiger Claw, brandished a spiked mace, its iron teeth glistening with the blood of too many innocents. He howled a challenge, spittle flying as he cursed the “royal lapdogs” come to crush their revolt. Guan Yu’s gaze never wavered. His voice, low but sharp as the blade’s edge, cut through the drumbeats: “Brothers—today, we carve our names into the sky. No step back.” The Red Hare surged forward, and in that instant, the world narrowed to the flash of steel and the roar of a warrior unchained. Tiger Claw met him with a mace swing meant to shatter bone. But Guan Yu’s blade moved faster—no flourish, no show, just a single, devastating arc. The Green Dragon bit through the mace’s iron snout as if it were paper, the crescent edge shearing through wood and muscle and bone in one fluid stroke. Tiger Claw’s scream died in his throat as the blade tore him from shoulder to hip, sending a geyser of blood into the air. The rebel leader crumpled, half his body still upright, eyes wide with disbelief. The Yellow Turbans froze—then broke. Guan Yu didn’t pause. The Red Hare danced through the ranks, and where his blade fell, chaos reigned. A rebel spearman thrust at his horse; Guan Yu parried with the back of his blade, the force of it shattering the spear and sending the man spinning into the dirt. Another tried to shield himself with a wooden shield—Guan Yu cleaved through it and the man behind in one blow, the blade’s momentum carrying it into the chest of a third rebel before he could even draw breath. Zhang Fei’s voice boomed like thunder: “Charge! Show these dogs what happens when they mess with the Three Brothers!” The villagers, galvanized by the spectacle of Guan Yu’s wrath, let out a raw, primal shout and surged forward. Spears thrust, blades fell, but Guan Yu was already among the enemy’s rear, cutting down archers before they could loose an arrow. His blade seemed to know no fatigue—each swing a death sentence, each motion a dance of destruction. A young rebel, no older than a boy, stumbled into his path, eyes wide with terror. For a heartbeat, Guan Yu hesitated—then the boy raised a rusted dagger, and the moment broke. The Green Dragon swept out, not to kill, but to knock the dagger from his hand, sending it spinning into the mud. “Run home,” Guan Yu growled, his voice a storm cloud. “War is no place for children.” The boy fled, and Guan Yu turned back to the fight, his fury now a focused, merciless thing. By the time the sun climbed high, the battlefield was a sea of broken spears and fallen rebels. Guan Yu’s armor was slick with blood, the Red Hare’s hide flecked with gore, but his stance remained unbowed. He sheathed the Green Dragon with a final, ringing clang, the blade singing a dirge for the fallen. Liu Bei rode up, eyes shining with pride. “Second Brother—you fought like a god of war.” Guan Yu’s gaze swept the c*****e, then settled on the horizon. “A warrior fights not for glory, but for what’s right.” His voice was quiet, but it carried over the field, a vow etched in blood. The Red Hare pawed the ground, and as the three brothers rode toward Zhuo County, the morning mist parted—revealing a road paved with the first steps of legend.