Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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As the council slowly disbanded, men standing stiffly, rolling their shoulders, rubbing weary eyes, Jia Xu paused at the door. His gaze swept over his companions, the men who had helped shape a realm from the chaos of a crumbling empire. ”We are witnessing the birth of new history,” he murmured softly, almost to himself. ”And we are its authors.”

The next day, the morning sun slanted through the tall windows of Xiapi Academy’s grand hall, casting golden light across the polished floors and illuminating the rows of towering shelves lined with scrolls and tomes. Outside, the academy gardens rustled quietly in the spring breeze, but inside, the air was thick with anticipation.

As the ten inner council advisors entered, their robes sweeping softly behind them, they moved with a weight of purpose.

Jia Xu, Xun You, Chen Qun, Liu Ye, Chen Gong, Lu Su, Sima Yi, Zhuge Liang, Pang Tong, and Xu Shu were men used to shaping policy, advising on military campaigns, and navigating the treacherous waters of politics, but today, they came bearing a matter of singular gravity.

Before them sat the five revered masters of the academy, Lu Zhi, Cai Yong, Zhuge Xuan, Sima Hui, Pang Degong, and Huang Chengyan. The room seemed to be still as the ten men paused, bowed deeply, and greeted the scholars with a respect that was rarely shown outside Lie Fan’s court.

Sima Hui, the oldest and most venerated among the scholars, raised a hand with a faint smile, his long white beard brushing against his chest. ”Come, gentlemen. Be at ease. Please, take your seats.”

The advisors settled themselves along the low cushions, exchanging brief glances among themselves. When the quiet stretched a moment longer, Sima Hui folded his hands calmly over his robe. ”Your visit surprises us this morning. What brings the minds and hands of the empire here to our humble hall?”

Jia Xu rose slightly from his seat, bowing his head. His voice was measured, carrying the slow cadence of a man who had weighed his words carefully. ”Revered masters, we come today seeking your wisdom. Our lord... Lie Fan... is preparing to announce his declaration as Emperor.”

At this, there was a slight intake of breath among the five scholars. Lu Zhi, the stern yet kind faced former teacher of imperial princes, sat a little straighter, his sharp gaze flicking over the faces of the gathered advisors. ”So the time has come,” he murmured, half to himself.

His eyes softened slightly as memories of a younger Lie Fan flickered behind them, the keen, spirited youth in the Han army who had stood before him years ago, full of ambition and promise. The thought of that boy now rising to Emperor stirred something warm and bittersweet in Lu Zhi’s chest.

Jia Xu continued, his voice dipping with respect. ”We have come to humbly ask for your counsel... on the name of the new dynasty.”

A hush fell across the hall. Even Cai Yong, whose usual elegance was rarely shaken, looked momentarily surprised. Zhuge Xuan glanced toward Sima Hui, his brows lifting faintly in surprise, while Pang Degong and Huang Chengyan exchanged subtle, thoughtful glances.

Lu Zhi cleared his throat gently, his voice touched with quiet wonder. ”I... did not expect to see this day so soon.” His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but something close. ”Yet, I cannot say I am surprised. That young man has become a force even Heaven must take notice of.”

Cai Yong, recovering his usual graceful composure, folded his hands and tilted his head slightly toward Jia Xu. ”And what names have you, the architects of this new empire, already considered?”

Jia Xu inclined his head, lifting a small scroll. ”We have four names that we arrived at after much deliberation. Zhongxin, meaning ’restoration and renewal,’ for the healing of the realm. Hengyuan, ’constant and far reaching,’ or ’perpetual and expansive,’ to speak to our lord’s enduring influence. Guangda, ’vastly great’ or ’magnificent expansion,’ to honor his conquests. And Rixin, ’daily renewal’ or ’ever new,’ symbolizing the continual progress and change under his rule.”

The scroll was passed to the scholars, each one examining the names with the slow, deliberate care of men accustomed to weighing legacies against the pull of eternity.

Time seemed to stretch as they mulled over the choices. The inner council advisors waited with quiet patience, some with hands clasped before them, others with fingers drumming lightly on their knees. Even Pang Tong, usually quick with a quip, sat unusually still, his sharp eyes flicking between the masters.

Lu Zhi was the first to speak, his voice thoughtful. ”Zhongxin is noble... it speaks to healing a fractured world, but it may not fully capture the breadth of what our lord has achieved.” He stroked his beard lightly.

Cai Yong nodded faintly. ”Guangda carries the grandness of ambition, but perhaps it leans too heavily toward conquest, and not enough toward the lasting stability that my lord will require.”

Zhuge Xuan tapped a slender finger against the scroll. ”Rixin... the idea of daily renewal is elegant, but perhaps too modest for this moment.”

Sima Hui finally lifted his eyes, his voice serene but sure. ”Hengyuan,” he said softly, almost reverently. ”Constant and far reaching. It speaks not only to military expansion but to governance, innovation, to a dynasty that will endure and spread its influence across generations.”

Huang Chengyan’s lips curved into a faint smile. ”It names not merely a conqueror, but a founder whose legacy will carry far beyond his own reign.”

The five scholars exchanged brief, knowing glances, and as though by silent accord, they turned back to the advisors. Sima Hui gave a small, firm nod. ”The Hengyuan Dynasty. That is our unanimous recommendation.”

A ripple passed through the advisors. Xu Shu let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Sima Yi and Zhuge Liang exchanged a brief, sharp eyed look of approval. Jia Xu’s expression softened in satisfaction, and even the normally dry Xun You allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

”We are grateful, revered masters,” Jia Xu said with a bow. ”Your counsel strengthens the very foundation for the arrival of this new era.”

The tension in the room eased, a sense of profound moment settling over them all. For a long, quiet moment, the twenty gathered men sat together in the grand hall, each acutely aware that they were not merely naming a dynasty, they were shaping the memory that future generations would carry.

At length, Lu Su rose, smoothing his robes, and inclined his head to the scholars. ”We shall continue to prepare for the announcement at once. And we will ensure that when the proclamation is read across the land, it will carry all the weight and majesty that this moment deserves.”

Zhuge Liang, precise, added, ”The Sun Clan and Sheng Xian have already been notified discreetly. They will announce their allegiance publicly once the declaration is made.”

The advisors filed out slowly, each pausing to bow one last time to the masters. When the advisors departed, the scholars remained seated for a while longer, speaking quietly among themselves, reflecting on the boy they had once glimpsed from afar, now on the cusp of ascending to heights no one had dared dream.

Outside, the sun was rising higher, casting its gold across Xiapi. And soon, across all the land, the name ”Hengyuan” would rise with it, carried on the lips of a people preparing to step into a new era.

Meanwhile, far to the northwest in the battered city of Tianshui, the sun hung pale and thin in the sky, veiled behind a haze of smoke rising from burning homes and shattered watchtowers. The once proud stronghold of the Ma Clan trembled under the relentless onslaught of Cao Cao’s army.

Inside the governor’s hall, Ma Teng slammed his fist onto the war table, rattling the lacquered wood and sending a tiny jade seal clattering to the ground.

His face was gaunt, drawn tight from sleepless nights and dwindling hope. Across from him, Ma Chao paced like a caged tiger, his armor stained with ash and blood, his eyes flashing with a fury that barely concealed the weight of exhaustion pulling at his shoulders.

”We’re running out of grain, my lord,” muttered Pang De grimly, seated near the tent entrance, wiping a bloodied halberd. ”By tomorrow, the men will begin fighting each other for scraps.”

”Damn Guo Jia...” Ma Teng snarled under his breath, dragging a rough hand through his graying hair. ”Damn Jia Kui... We underestimated them both.”

Outside, the muffled clangor of battle echoed faintly through the streets as Cao Cao’s forces pushed against the outer defenses. Guo Jia’s mind, sharp as a blade, had turned the siege into a slow suffocation.

Food wagons had been ambushed, and water supplies tainted. Jia Kui’s maneuvers had cut off every escape route. And worst of all, the Ma Clan’s once proud officer corps had been decimated, many low and mid ranking generals killed one after another, leaving gaps in the command structure that no amount of courage could mend.

Though Ma Chao and Pang De fought valiantly, though their names were feared and their blades unmatched, their brilliance was not enough.

On Cao Cao’s side, Zhang He and Xu Huang, two of the most capable commanders in the realm, countered them at every turn. Xiahou Dun and Li Dian, meanwhile, tore through the city’s defenses, leading relentless charges or striking from the shadows, like wolves gnawing at a wounded stag.

But within the battered walls, a danger even more insidious festered, one that Ma Teng had not seen, and perhaps would not have believed.

In a narrow house tucked among the common folk’s quarter, dim candlelight flickered over the tense faces of seven men. They were once trusted mid ranking generals of the Ma Clan named Wei Ping, Hou Kan, Liang Kuang, Qiang Ping, Song Jin, Bao Luan, and Duan Wei.

They were men who had bled on the battlefield and shouted themselves hoarse on countless marches. Now, they sat huddled, voices low and faces grim, plotting the unthinkable.

”I tell you, tonight is the only chance we’ll have,” Wei Ping whispered, his voice raspy. ”The wall guards are down to half rations. Their eyes are sunken, they can barely hold their spears straight. And Ma Teng, Ma Teng himself, will be walking the walls with Ma Chao.”

”We can’t take them both,” muttered Liang Kuang, his fingers drumming anxiously on the table.

”We don’t have to,” Hou Kan said sharply. ”We draw Ma Chao away. A skirmish, a fire, a feint, whatever it takes. Without him, Ma Teng is a crippled old man with no edge left.”

Qiang Ping leaned forward, his eyes shadowed. ”Do you understand what this means? We are handing over Tianshui. We are handing over the Ma Clan’s head.”

”And we are saving our skins,” Bao Luan spat, slamming his palm against the table. ”You’ve seen the writing on the wall. We’re outnumbered, starving, and the people are turning on us. Do you want to die for Ma Teng’s pride? Or do you want to live, serve under Cao Cao, and keep your family fed and alive?”

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Name: Lie Fan

Title: Overlord Of The Central Plains

Age: 34 (201 AD)

Level: 16

Next Level: 462,000

Renown: 1325

Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 9)

SP: 1,121,700

ATTRIBUTE POINTS

STR: 951 (+20)

VIT: 613 (+20)

AGI: 598 (+10)

INT: 617

CHR: 96

WIS: 519

WILL: 407

ATR Points: 0