Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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Tomorrow, he would not be merely a man with a dream. Tomorrow, he would start his journey as the Emperor of Hengyuan, a beacon to the people and a target to his enemies. The responsibilities would be greater, the stakes higher, and the challenges unlike anything he had faced before. But he would meet them all. For he was Lie Fan no longer. He was Emperor Hongyi. And the world would never be the same again.

The sound of celebration still echoed faintly down the corridors, a golden memory of triumph that clung to the air like incense. But in the quieter corners of the imperial palace, where moonlight filtered through patterned screens and lanterns burned low, the true work of empire was only just beginning.

After receiving toast after toast, from proud generals with flushed cheeks to silver tongues officials and wide eyed scholars, even from the wealthiest merchants who had swiftly aligned their fortunes with the young Emperor, Lie Fan had remained gracious and steady.

His cup was raised time and again, never too high, never too long. His words were kind but measured, the smile on his face composed yet warm.

The banquet, a kaleidoscope of color and sound, continued deep into the evening. Music filled the halls, dishes laden with delicacies from every corner of his realm circulated on polished lacquer trays, and laughter rose and fell like the tides. Yet, as the hour grew late, Lie Fan gently lifted a hand, silencing the din with nothing more than that simple motion.

He rose, tall and regal in his imperial robes, and addressed the hall with a voice both calm and resolute.

”Tonight marks the beginning of a new era,” he began, the room holding its collective breath. ”But tomorrow, we begin the work of building that era. The first Imperial Court will be held in the morning, and I ask all of you to take your rest early. Let us greet the dawn not with weariness, but with clear minds and firm purpose.”

No one hesitated. A chorus of voices rang out in unison, ”Your Majesty is wise. We will follow Your Majesty’s word.”

With a nod of satisfaction, Lie Fan turned and was the first to leave the hall. The ten members of his inner council followed in silence, their footsteps falling in rhythm behind him like the beat of war drums in reverse, no longer marching toward battle, but toward governance.

As the rest of the guests filed out and the fires in the great hall dimmed, Lie Fan did not return to his private chambers. Instead, he led his trusted advisors into one of the palace’s many secluded chambers, small but richly appointed, with a long hardwood table at its center and embroidered cushions arrayed along both sides.

Lie Fan took his seat at the head of the table. As for his advisors, without ceremony, they each took their place. Jia Xu, Xun You, Chen Qun, Liu Ye, Chen Gong, Lu Su, Sima Yi, Zhuge Liang, Pang Tong, and Xu Shu, all brilliant, all tempered by the forge of chaos and ambition, watched their liege settle at the head of the table. The Emperor no longer in name alone.

Lie Fan’s gaze was steady, yet his voice betrayed a note of earnestness. ”Tomorrow,” he said, ”marks more than just a proclamation. It is the beginning of an administration. We cannot delay in organizing the structure of the Imperial Court. I wish to revive the old Three Lords system of the Western Han: the Chancellor, the Grand Secretary, and the Grand Commandant. I value your counsel. Whom do you deem worthy of these positions?”

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the room. The flicker of torchlight danced across the polished wood as each man weighed not only his thoughts but the implications of his choices. Power in such a system would be concentrated, immense authority bestowed upon just three men. It had to be the right three.

Finally, the silence was broken.

Sima Yi stood, his arms clasped behind his back, posture immaculate. ”Your Majesty,” he said, voice crisp and thoughtful, ”the Chancellor oversees the entire imperial court, its personnel, and the flow of governance. So not only the person must understand policy, but people. He must be shrewd, impartial, and able to manage the affairs of state without becoming entangled in petty ambition.”

His eyes turned toward the end of the table.

”That man,” he continued, ”is none other than Master Jia Xu. As Grandmaster of the Oriole Agents, he has demonstrated unmatched skill in maneuvering through both overt and covert matters. His loyalty is unwavering, and he is beholden to none but Your Majesty. His experience, pragmatism, and neutrality make him the only suitable candidate.”

Heads began to nod around the room. Even Zhuge Liang, known for his exacting standards, gave a faint smile. Xu Shu offered a quiet ”Indeed,” while Chen Gong, who rarely gave praise freely, muttered, ”Can’t think of anyone better suited.”

Jia Xu, who had been idly tracing the rim of his wine cup, went very still. Then he sighed, long suffering, as if he had known this was coming. He closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled, less out of surprise, more out of the weary anticipation of inevitable burden. He stood, folding his hands in front of him.

”I thank Sima Yi for his words,” he said dryly, with a ghost of a smile. ”If this council believes me fit, and Your Majesty also shares this belief, then I will serve as Chancellor. But let it be known, I will not flatter, I will not conceal the truth, and I will not always be pleasant.”

Lie Fan let out a quiet laugh. ”That is precisely why I want you, Wenhe. You are the only one ruthless enough to keep the others in line.”

Jia Xu exhaled through his nose. ”Flattery will not make the workload lighter, Your Majesty.” But he stood, bowing. ”But since this is the will of Your Majesty, then I accept.”

With a satisfied nod, Lie Fan spoke, ”Then it is settled. Jia Xu shall serve as Chancellor of the Hengyuan Dynasty.”

He let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing.

”Now, we must determine who shall serve as Grand Secretary and Grand Commandant.”

This time, the silence was shorter. The room erupted not into argument, but discussion, a sincere and intense conversation between equals.

Zhuge Liang, ever the idealist, suggested that the Grand Secretary must possess both literary brilliance and administrative acumen. ”It is not merely a post for scholars,” he said, ”but for those who can transform thought into governance. That role, in my view, should fall to Master Chen Qun.”

Chen Qun, the embodiment of Confucian rectitude and one of the most diligent men in the empire, bowed his head modestly but said nothing. It was Pang Tong who backed the choice, leaning forward and adding, ”He’s tireless, incorruptible, and understands both the spirit and the letter of the law. No better fit, Your Majesty.”

Lie Fan looked to the others. Murmurs of agreement followed. Even Chen Gong, who’d once viewed Chen Qun as too rigid, admitted, ”We’ll need someone that strict to manage the bureaucracy and it’s officials, especially it’s officials.”

”Then we are agreed,” Lie Fan said. ”Chen Qun shall become the Grand Secretary.”

That left one chair, Grand Commandant.

This one was harder. More subtle. Military matters were often fraught with pride, but this time it was Xun You, the quiet and reserved strategist, who was brought forth.

”Master Xun You is the one who has overseen military reforms, coordinated defense systems, and advised on every major campaign,” Liu Ye said. ”He is methodical, analytical, and utterly unshakable.”

Zhuge Liang added thoughtfully, ”And while he may not be the loudest among us, he is often the wisest.”

Lu Su gave a nod. ”He also has the temperament to work with volatile generals and maintain harmony within the military chain of command. Makes him the perfect and suitable choice, Your Majesty.”

Finally, Xun You himself spoke, calm and composed. ”If His Majesty believes I can serve the realm best in this way, then I shall accept your decree.”

Lie Fan looked around, each of his counselors now united in quiet agreement.

”Then it is decided,” he said at last. ”Jia Xu shall be Chancellor, Chen Qun the Grand Secretary, and Xun You the Grand Commandant. With these appointments, we establish the backbone of our new government.”

The meeting did not end there. They stayed, speaking further of tomorrow’s court, of edicts to be drafted, of appointments to be confirmed and military positions to be clarified. But the tension had broken. They had chosen well and they knew it.

Hours passed, until the moon had traveled far across the sky. ”Tomorrow, these appointments will be made public. The court will convene. The empire will take its first true steps.” He paused. ”But know this, titles do not make you indispensable. Actions do. Serve well, and history will remember you. Serve poorly...”

He didn’t need to finish.

Jia Xu’s lips curled. ”We’ll end up like those ministers of Han Dynasty under the ten attendants. Understood, Your Majesty.”

A beat. Then Lie Fan chuckled. ”Dismissed.”

After dismissing all of his inner council advisors, Lie Fan, now Emperor Hongyi of the Hengyuan Dynasty, left the secluded chamber flanked by two of his. Yellow Ghost Bodyguards and two pages who, though clad in the plain garb of youthful attendants, were in truth Oriole Agents in disguise.

The corridors were quiet now, emptied of revelry and echoing only with the soft sounds of torches crackling in their sconces and the padded footsteps of his retinue. His destination, the Emperor’s Palace, a residence more symbol than shelter, a space of reverence and power, but also solitude.

Unlike the previous dynasties whose palatial structures isolated the imperial family from one another, Lie Fan had ordered the Harem Palace to be built adjacent to the Emperor’s Palace.

The reason was simple but profound, so that his wives and children could visit him freely and he, in turn, could keep closer watch over his harem.

It was both a gesture of familial warmth and political prudence. His dynasty would not suffer the secret manipulations of eunuchs and concubines whispering behind silk curtains, as had plagued the late Han and many dynasties before and after in the original timeline of his past lice.

Upon entering his private chamber, the attendants silently bowed and withdrew, leaving Lie Fan to the privacy of the imperial quarters. There, for a brief moment, the weight slipped from his shoulders. He changed from ceremonial garb to a more comfortable robe, let out a deep breath, and allowed himself to rest.

Sleep came, not quickly, but deeply when it did, uninterrupted until the first notes of the morning drum echoed across the palace grounds.

Dawn bathed the capital in soft hues of gold and rose. Inside the Emperor’s Palace, a chamberlain entered the imperial bedchamber to announce the beginning of the day.

Lie Fan rose early, as was now his duty, and underwent the meticulous rituals of morning preparation. He was dressed in his formal imperial robes, bright yellow trimmed with black and gold, the fabric thick with fine embroidery depicting dragons and auspicious clouds.

Upon his head, the crown of the Emperor rested. A tall, regal headpiece adorned with strings of pearl beads that cascaded down in rows before his eyes, symbols of divine wisdom and impartiality. And he hold the royal scepter in his hand, which he want to become a new heirloom and symbol just like the Imperial Seal.

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Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 34 (201 AD)

Level: 16

Next Level: 462,000

Renown: 2325

Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 9)

SP: 1,121,700

ATTRIBUTE POINTS

STR: 966 (+20)

VIT: 623 (+20)

AGI: 623 (+10)

INT: 667

CHR: 98

WIS: 549

WILL: 432

ATR Points: 0