Zhao Yun's (趙雲) horse reached the western hill of Liu Bei's (劉備) main body. The sun had not yet fully set behind the western horizon. A red glow still remained along one side of the sky.

Zhao Yun dismounted. At the moment his knees touched the earth, they buckled. The exhaustion of a long afternoon's breakthrough was only now settling upon him. On the outside of his armor, the blood of fifty had piled in layers. Inside those five outer layers, a single layer of white swaddling cloth remained, still clean and apart.

Liu Bei stepped forward from the slope of the hill. Kongming (孔明) stood a pace behind him. Guan Yu (關羽) and Zhang Fei (張飛) stood a pace apart on either side of Liu Bei. The steps of four men came to a halt before the horse.

Zhao Yun quietly loosed the swaddling cloth at his breast. Adou (阿斗), who had been sleeping, opened his eyes for the first time. The eyes of the infant — eyes that had not once awakened inside five thousand cavalry — looked up, for the first time, into Liu Bei's face.

Zhao Yun held Adou out with both hands toward Liu Bei's chest. His arms were trembling. The long afternoon's held breath was only now unraveling upon them.

"Your Lordship. It is Lady Gan's (甘夫人) last charge to me. I return this child — to you."

Liu Bei stepped forward. Yet his hands did not gather Adou into his chest. They halted a hand's breadth before the infant. Then, lifting Adou lightly from Zhao Yun's hands, he set him down, quietly and at once, upon the earth before his own feet.

The breath of four men was drawn in. Guan Yu's eyes opened wide. Zhang Fei's fists clenched tight. Kongming folded his fan, quietly.

Zhao Yun said nothing. Only, his eyes reddened.

Liu Bei's line came.

"Wei ru ruzi, ji sun wu yi yuan da jiang. For the sake of this small one, I nearly lost one of my generals. Zilong. Because of this child, the blood of five layers is on your armor. This child, this evening, came near to the life of one of my generals."

Finishing the line, Liu Bei lifted Adou from the earth once more. Then he showed him, again, before Zhao Yun. The weight of a hand's breadth of Adou and the weight of fifty layers of Zilong's blood had, this evening, in the middle of the four men's steps, been placed together upon a single scale.

Zhao Yun's eyes reddened again. Tears gathered, but did not fall. Eyes that had cut down fifty generals did not easily drop their tears. Yet his shoulder trembled, quietly. That single tremble was Zhao Yun's only answer, this evening.

Liu Bei returned Adou, once more, into Zhao Yun's breast.

"Zilong, put this child to sleep once more this evening. Your breast is, this evening, the first cradle of this child."

Zhao Yun received Adou back into his breast. Inside it, Adou quietly closed his eyes again. The second sleep of this evening had begun.

The evening wind passed over the shoulders of the four men, from north to south. Upon Liu Bei's shoulder it was a wind mingled half of the weight of a general's blood, half of the lightness of a child's swaddling cloth. Upon Kongming's shoulder it was a wind carrying the foretelling of tomorrow's dawn upon the northern road. Upon the shoulders of Guan Yu and Zhang Fei it was a wind holding the last traces of the afternoon's holding-on.

The wind that had crossed four shoulders passed, last, over Zhao Yun's. Upon his shoulder it was a wind holding the memory of each layer, each layer, that the horse had pierced through this evening.

Liu Bei, standing in the middle of the four, spoke quietly.

"I shall not forget this evening's wind until tomorrow's dawn."

The sun had fully set behind the western horizon. The sky grew dark. The first evening of Book 6 was closing, quietly, upon the western hill of Changban (長坂).

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