Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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He looked from Zhen Ji to Ying Yue, the corner of his mouth lifting. ”Please check her, Yue’er,” he said, the edge of eagerness in his voice unmistakable. ”Tell us if it’s what I think it is.”

Ying Yue’s gentle smile deepened. ”Of course, Husband.” She stood, exchanging places with Lu Lingqi, who vacated the seat beside Zhen Ji. Taking Zhen Ji’s slender wrist in her hand, Ying Yue’s fingers pressed lightly against the pulse point.

The pavilion fell silent. Even the rustle of the wisteria leaves seemed to hush as all eyes fixed on the two women. Zhen Ji’s own gaze had softened, a fragile brightness in it, the kind of hope she dared not yet name.

Ying Yue’s brows lifted ever so slightly, the warmth in her expression blooming like the flowers around them. She looked up at Zhen Ji, then over her shoulder to Lie Fan, and said softly, ,”Congratulations, Sister Zhen Ji. You’re pregnant.”

The moment broke like a sunbeam through clouds.

Zhen Ji’s lips parted, her breath catching, then she smiled, wide and radiant, tears glinting at the corners of her eyes. Lie Fan laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained, and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

”It seems,” he said, voice low and teasing, ”that my hard work has finally paid off.”

Her cheeks flamed instantly. ”Husband—!”

The other wives weren’t far behind in their blushes, not because the remark was so scandalous on its own, but because they, too, remembered certain... well documented evenings in the harem palace, evenings that the Imperial Maids had whispered about and, more damningly, evenings in which they had all eventually participated.

And in those battles, none had emerged victorious against him.

Lie Fan’s grin turned positively wicked. ”Why don’t we all test that again tonight, hmm? See if you can finally defeat me.”

Six pairs of eyes turned on him in perfect unison. ”Beast,” they said together, throwing napkins at him, the word ringing like a chorus.

He only laughed, utterly unrepentant.

Then, without warning, he bent and lifted Zhen Ji from her seat. She gave a startled gasp, instinctively clutching his shoulders, but he only lowered himself into her chair, settling her gently on his lap.

”This,” he said, one arm circling her waist with easy possessiveness, ”is your special treatment for today. After all, you’ve brought us both a precious gift.”

Her blush deepened, but the way she leaned back into him betrayed her pleasure at the attention. The others, though still pretending exasperation, were smiling too, the kind of smiles that came from shared joy.

Lie Fan with Zhen Ji in his lap, have his fingers idly tracing circles on her waist as the others chattered around them. The meal had stopped due to the big newe, as none were in a hurry to continue their lunch.

Ying Yue, ever the practical one, was already outlining plans. ”We’ll need to adjust the palace physicians’ schedules. And your diet, Sister Zhen, more ginger for the nausea, and—”

Zhen Ji groaned, burying her face in Lie Fan’s shoulder. ”Must we talk about this now?”

Diao Chan smirked. ”Oh, but this is only the beginning. Wait until the cravings start. I once heard of a noblewoman who demanded pickled plums in the middle of the night.”

Lu Lingqi snorted. ”As if you wouldn’t do the same.”

Cai Wenji, much more serene and scholarly, tilted her head. ”Have you thought of names yet?”

Lie Fan chuckled. ”Plenty of time for that.” His hand drifted lower, settling protectively over Zhen Ji’s abdomen. ”For now, let’s just enjoy the moment.”

The rest of their time passed in a haze of laughter, teasing, and the kind of warm conversation that filled not just the stomach, but the heart. From the pavilion, their voices floated over the gardens, mingling with the scent of flowers and the distant ripple of the pond.

Far from Xiapi, the world still held its storms.

West of the capital, in the rugged passes of Sichuan, Jianmen Pass was stirring back to life after its ordeal. The once scorched pass had been rebuilt to nearly half their former glory, the charred timbers replaced with fresh cut beams, the blackened stone scrubbed clean of soot. Workers swarmed over the fortifications, their hammers and chisels ringing in a steady rhythm.

From the highest point of the wall, Cao Cao surveyed the scene, the wind tugging at his robes. Below, the scars of fire still marked the ground, a reminder of Guo Jia’s ruthless suggestion to burn the place in order to purge the poisonous snakes and insects left behind.

Now, with the work nearly halfway complete and the army well rested, the air was thick with renewed purpose.

Cao Cao turned to the two men standing at his side. ”The men’s morale is high. Supplies are stocked. Tell me, should we advance toward Zitong now?”

Guo Jia stepped forward, inclining his head. ”Your Majesty,” he said, his voice steady and assured, ”I believe this is indeed the right moment. Jianmen Pass stands at forty percent of its former strength, enough to hold our rear should we press forward.”

Beside him, Xi Zhicai nodded in agreement, his sharp gaze already fixed eastward toward the next battlefield.

Cao Cao’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. The memory of the tiger, the snakes, the humiliation of that retreat burned in his chest.

But now? Now the tables would turn.

”Then we march at dawn,” he said, his voice cutting through the wind like a blade. ”Zitong will fall. And this time, there will be no tricks to save them.”

Guo Jia and Xi Zhicai exchanged a single glance, brief, but heavy with understanding. Without a word, they both straightened, cupped their hands, and bowed deeply to Cao Cao.

”We will carry out Your Majesty’s order,” Guo Jia said, his tone as calm as the unshaken core of a seasoned strategist.

Xi Zhicai’s voice followed, more clipped but equally certain, ”by dawn tomorrow, the men will be ready to march toward Zitong, Your Majesty.”

Cao Cao inclined his head, satisfied. He didn’t need flowery oaths, he needed results. And with these two, results always delivered to him.

The pair turned on their heels and descended the stone steps, their robes sweeping in a measured rhythm. Even before their figures disappeared from sight, Cao Cao could hear their voices calling to the officers below, the tone brisk and efficient. Orders were being relayed, the wheels of the great machine of war had begun to move again.

He remained where he was, high on the battlements, letting the cool wind carry away the smell of charred wood that still lingered faintly in the air. The horizon ahead was jagged with mountains, and somewhere beyond those peaks lay Zitong, the next obstacle, the next prize.

A quiet shuffle of feet behind him broke his thoughts. Two familiar figures approached, stepping out from the shadow of the inner gate tower.

Cao Ang and Cao Pi.

His sons moved with a certain gravity, one the measured, grounded pace of the crown prince, the other a shade quicker, more restless, the gait of a man whose ambition burned hot.

They came to stand on either side of him, saying nothing at first. Cao Cao’s eyes softened for a fleeting moment at the sight, his blood and his legacy, but he let them remain in silence, as they all turned their gaze to the sprawling construction below.

The sound of hammer and chisel echoed faintly upward. The sight might have been heartening to some, but here, in this stillness, the tension between past defeat and future ambition hummed just beneath the surface.

It was Cao Pi who broke the quiet first. He bowed his head slightly toward his father, his tone respectful, but edged with the sharp curiosity that often slipped through his polished manner.

”Imperial Father,” he began, ”may I ask your thoughts on our current position in this campaign against the Han and Liu Zhang? Do you judge it favorable... or do we need to reconsider our course?”

Cao Cao’s brow lifted faintly, but he didn’t interrupt.

Cao Pi pressed on. ”After all, we bled heavily to seize Jianmen Pass, only to find it infested with poisonous snakes, biting insects, and even a hungry tiger. And now—” he gestured toward the busy scene below ”—we pour vast resources into rebuilding it after we ourselves burned it, just to purge the versions they left behind. Was it worth the cost?”

The question was not insolent, not from son to father, not from subject to sovereign, but it was bold, and Cao Pi’s eyes searched his father’s face for the truth beneath the iron mask.

Cao Cao turned to him fully, meeting his gaze. The wind tugged at his sleeves as he answered, his voice low but carrying the weight of iron certainty.

”This campaign,” he said, ”will proceed exactly as I intended from the start. The goal has not changed. We will destroy the Han Dynasty completely, .so that our Wei stands as the sole, legitimate ruler of this land. And we will take the whole of Yi Province into our hands. No matter the losses we suffer, so long as they remain within what I deem acceptable, we move forward. Because if we do not take Yi Province now...”

His gaze sharpened, the steel in it turning toward the southern horizon. ”...then Lie Fan will. And if that happens, we will find ourselves surrounded by his territory on all sides.”

Cao Pi’s lips pressed together. The truth of the words was plain, but he remained silent, turning them over in his mind.

It was then that Cao Ang, ever the more measured of the two, spoke up. As crown prince and eldest son, he weighed his words carefully, but there was a hint of challenge in his tone.

”Imperial Father,” he said, ”forgive my bluntness, but while we press here in the south west, we also wage our western campaign, to claim the Gansu Corridor and the Qinghai Plateau. Should we truly fear being surrounded by Lie Fan? We have another route, another lifeline. And since he proclaimed himself Emperor and founded his Hengyuan Dynasty, he has made no move against us. Perhaps his realm is not as stable as it appears to the outside world.”

Cao Cao turned his head slowly to look at him. There was no anger in his expression, only the weight of years, of battlefields won and lost, of lessons carved deep by blood and fire. ”You think so, Ang?” he said, his tone more weary than mocking. A sigh escaped him before he continued.

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Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 35 (202 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