Twenty days had passed since the three cups in the peach garden. In those twenty days, a weapon came into the hands of each of the three.

In Liu Bei's hand lay the twin-hilt blade Shuanggujian (雙股劍): two slender swords in mirrored symmetry, one for the heart-side, one for the outer side; a sword shaped so that if one side falls, the other rises first. Two yet one.

In Guan Yu's hand lay the Qinglong Yanyuedao (靑龍偃月刀), the Green Dragon Crescent Blade, eighty-two catties in weight; its other name Lengyanju (冷艷鋸), the cold beautiful saw. When swung, it left behind only a streak of white light. Guan Yu took the blade without a word; he only brushed the tip of his beard against its spine. The sound resembled the blade receiving a greeting first.

In Zhang Fei's hand lay the Zhangbashema (丈八蛇矛), the Eighteen-Foot Serpent Spear, its shaft one zhang eight chi long; its point split in two like the tongue of a serpent. When swung, the sound of the wind splitting in two resembled, strangely, the grain of Zhang Fei's own voice.

Five hundred troops had been gathered: three hundred able-bodied men of the village, joined by two hundred who had heard the news from other towns. The three led them to Zou Jing (鄒靖), commandant (校尉) of You Province (幽州), who led them in turn to Liu Yan (劉焉), grand administrator of Zhuo Commandery (涿郡). Liu Yan heard Liu Bei's claim of distant descent from the Han house and received him gladly as a nephew; yet no official post was given.

Not long afterward, a captain of the Yellow Turbans advanced upon Zhuo Commandery with fifty thousand troops. His name was Cheng Yuanzhi (程遠志). Liu Yan, together with Zou Jing, sent the three out. Fifty thousand against five hundred. Yet the step of the three did not slow.

Beneath Daxing Mountain (大興山), the two camps stood face to face. Liu Bei rode to the very front; to his left, Guan Yu; to his right, Zhang Fei. Liu Bei's whip rose. "Traitors who have turned from the state. Why do you not surrender early?"

Cheng Yuanzhi's face flushed; he sent forth his lieutenant Deng Mao (鄧茂). Zhang Fei's Serpent Spear went straight ahead. One thrust. The sound of the spear-tip meeting the center of Deng Mao's chest rang short and hard before the fifty thousand troops. Deng Mao fell from his horse.

Cheng Yuanzhi rode forth, sword raised, toward Zhang Fei. In that same moment, Guan Yu's Green Dragon Crescent Blade swung, as a moon tips slowly. A streak of white light cut across the air. Cheng Yuanzhi's body split in two and fell beneath his horse. Just two sounds of weapons — Zhang Fei's spear, Guan Yu's blade.

The Yellow Turbans threw down their weapons and fled. Liu Bei pursued, yet gave two orders — strip off the enemies' yellow kerchiefs; do not kill, only strip. The instant the kerchief came off and the brow was uncovered, they were no longer enemies, but turned back into common farmers. The grain of that order was not the name of mercy, but the seed of a commoner's life that this commentary would carry for a lifetime.

Evening came. Torches burned bright before the Zhuo Commandery office; Liu Yan took Liu Bei's hand himself and, greatly pleased, granted rewards to the soldiers. Yet at the center of that self-congratulation the three sat a little apart. Liu Bei's hand held a cup of wine, still half-full. Guan Yu only brushed the tip of his beard; Zhang Fei, strangely, was quiet all evening.

By the time that evening ended, the three names had not climbed upon the office's paper. Only one line was written there: "Liu Yan, grand administrator of Zhuo Commandery, has greatly broken the Yellow Turbans." At the signature line below the paper, the three names were nowhere to be found.

Late in the night, Zhang Fei set down his cup and spoke in a low voice.

"Elder brother. Our names have not, this day, been written upon that paper."

Liu Bei gave no reply for a long while. In that long silence, he drew from the end of his sleeve a red thread that had been caught there — a place blood had scattered during today's fighting — and put it, quietly, not upon the ground, but into the pocket over his chest. As if he were folding one page of today inside himself.

"…That our names have not climbed up, younger brother, it means we must fight again."

Guan Yu added a line for the first time.

"Elder brother. Our names are perhaps names that are read first not upon paper, but on the side of the human heart. Today's five hundred will remember each other's faces sooner than today's fifty thousand. Today's document will vanish one day; yet today's memory of the five hundred does not easily vanish."

The fifth evening of Book 1 deepened quietly in the courtyard of the Zhuo Commandery office. The three characters Mumyeonggong (無名功, a deed whose name has not climbed) were being planted as a seed at the margin outside the office's paper. Behind the oath of the peach garden (Day 4), the seat of a deed whose name had not climbed was waiting.

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