Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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All eyes were locked on Fa Zheng. An alliance with the Hengyuan Dynasty? The dynasty that had devoured the northern plains and whose shadow now stretched long over the Middle Kingdom? The one that have declared itself as Emperor long before the others, while not answering to His Majesty summon to save him? It was an audacious, terrifying, and crazy proposition.

The Hengyuan Dynasty?!” he said, waving a hand as though to dismiss his own tension. ”Hee we thought it would be a realistic suggestion, Master Fa Zheng. We are enemies, even if we are not... how might one secure such an alliance?”

Fa Zheng’s gaze never wavered. ”Through the bonds that even the heavens respect, Your Majesty, royal marriage.”

The words struck like thunder.

”Royal marriage?” Liu Zhang repeated, blinking in surprise. Around the hall, the murmurs swelled again, a tide of startled whispers.

Fa Zheng pressed his advantage, his voice taking on a persuasive, almost conspiratorial tone. ”Yes. Think of it, Your Majesty. A formal alliance, sealed not just with words and treaties, but with blood. A royal marriage. Your son or daughter, wed to a son or daughter of the great Emperor Lie Fan himself. Such a bond would be unbreakable. It would send a message to Cao Cao, and also, to all who would threaten the Han, that an attack on you is an attack on the full might of the Hengyuan. Your throne would be secure, not just for your lifetime, but for generations to come.”

The hall erupted into a cacophony of whispered exclamations. Some ministers looked horrified at the idea of tying their fate so irrevocably to the ascendant power. Others, more pragmatic, saw the undeniable logic. It was a shield, the strongest shield imaginable.

Emperor Xian sat frozen, every muscle in his body stiff, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. This was not a suggestion, it was a masterstroke of political maneuvering. Fa Zheng, Zhang Song, and Meng Da were not merely proposing an alliance. They were publicly cornering him.

To refuse would be to openly declare his distrust of the Hengyuan and, by extension, the three men who were the de facto rulers of his court. It would mark him as ungrateful for their military support and foolishly reckless with the dynasty’s security. It would expose his secret hopes for western allies as the desperate gambit they were.

But to accept... to accept was to formally chain the remnants of the Han Dynasty to the Hengyuan chariot. It was to make his own lineage a subsidiary branch of Lie Fan’s house. It was to surrender any last, fleeting dream of true, independent sovereignty. He would be trading one cage for another, albeit a far more gilded and secure one.

He looked at Fa Zheng’s placid, smiling face, at Zhang Song’s keen, observing eyes, at Meng Da’s impassive strength. He saw the expectation in the faces of his court. They saw a guarantee of survival. He saw the final nail in the coffin of his ambition.

For a long moment, the only sound was the frantic beating of his own heart. He was trapped, perfectly and utterly. The secret mission of Wu Yi and Wang Fu now seemed like a child’s fantasy, a pathetic attempt to dig a tunnel out of a prison that was, in reality, an entire continent. A desperate gamble to escape the shadow of men like Lie Fan, but he failed in the end.

He forced another smile, this one thinner, more brittle. He raised his cup, his hand trembling slightly, a tremor he hoped only he could feel.

”Master Fa Zheng,” he said, his voice straining for regal warmth. ”Your foresight, as always, leaves me in awe. A royal alliance with the Hengyuan Dynasty... it is a bold vision. A profound vision.” He paused, choosing his words with the care of a man walking a tightrope over a chasm. ”The security of the Han and the welfare of our people are my only concerns. Such a proposal... merits our most serious and immediate consideration. And yet...”

He gestured vaguely toward Liu Zhang. ”Such matters require deep deliberation. We must consult our astrologers, our historians, our ministers of rites—”

”Of course,” Fa Zheng interrupted smoothly, bowing slightly. ”Such a sacred bond deserves care. But I am certain the heavens would smile upon a union that restores harmony between east and west. The people would rejoice to see their Emperor forging ties with a dynasty that embodies virtue and order.”

His words were laced with just enough flattery to sound sincere and just enough weight to make refusal impossible.

Zhang Song added softly, ”It would also... assure stability in the eyes of the people. A united front between north and south, east and west.”

Meng Da raised his cup again. ”To the prospect of peace,” he said with a thin smile. ”And to the wisdom of our Emperor in accepting wise counsel.”

The courtiers, sensing the shift, began to murmur agreement, clinking their cups together hesitantly.

Emperor Xian felt the walls closing in. He smiled tightly, hiding the tension in his jaw. ”Then... let it be discussed,” he said finally, his tone carefully measured. ”We shall consider it, with the approval of Heaven and the will of our ancestors.”

The hall erupted in polite applause. It was not a refusal. It was not quite acceptance. It was a strategic retreat, a promise to discuss the matter he most dreaded. But in the politics of the Han court, a delay was often a form of surrender.

Fa Zheng bowed again, deeply, the picture of the loyal minister. ”Your Majesty’s wisdom illuminates the path for us all.”

But behind his lowered eyes, his thoughts were cold and sharp.

The Emperor had been warned. He was not the master of this court, not anymore.

As the music began again and laughter cautiously returned to the hall, Emperor Xian sat in silence, staring into his cup. The wine trembled faintly with the shaking of his hand.

While the musicians played and the nobles drank, the seeds of a new political order were being sown, one where the Han court would no longer act as it pleased, but dance to the quiet rhythm set by Lie Fan’s empire.

He did not yet realize that salvation and submission, were already walking toward him from the east.

The banquet then was ended under a veil of hollow smiles and heavy hearts. Emperor Xian, pale beneath the golden light of the lanterns, rose slowly from his seat, his hand still trembling faintly from the tension he’d barely concealed.

He announced, with that soft, tired voice of his, that fatigue had overtaken him and that the court should disperse. The courtiers bowed low, murmuring their wishes for his health. Yet even as he turned and began the slow walk toward the palace chambers, every man in the hall knew it was not weariness that plagued the Son of Heaven, it was despair.

The moment he was gone, the fragile illusion of imperial authority vanished with him.

Liu Zhang was the next to stand, gathering his robes with deliberate grace. ”The Emperor is wise to rest,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. Around him, the officials and ministers nodded, their eyes darting between one another, unsure if they should speak their thoughts aloud.

Within moments, the once grand banquet hall began to empty. Silk shoes shuffled softly against the marble floor, courtiers whispering to one another as they filed out, some glancing back nervously at the high dais where Fa Zheng and the others remained seated.

Only six men did not move.

Soon the hall was empty. The music had faded, the laughter died, and only the faint scent of wine and incense lingered in the still air.

The golden lamps flickered along the marble walls, throwing long shadows across the once lively chamber. The echo of the Emperor’s departure had barely settled before Fa Zheng’s expression shifted, from the polite serenity of a loyal minister to the calculating sharpness of a strategist who had just shifted the course of history.

He watched the last of the palace servants bow their way out, the rustle of silk fading down the corridor. Then, with a small gesture of his hand, he turned to the soldiers standing by the doors.

”Close the hall captain,” Fa Zheng said calmly. ”No one enters without my permission.”

The captain blinked, startled at first, but then straightened immediately. Everyone in the Imperial Palace knew who truly held power now. Not the frail Emperor sitting on the Dragon Throne, but the men who had just dined with him, Fa Zheng, Zhang Song, and Meng Da. The trio who spoke in the Emperor’s name, who commanded his armies, and who controlled the flow of his court’s lifeblood.

”As you command, Master Fa Zheng,” the captain replied, bowing low.

A few short moments later, the heavy bronze doors shut with a low, final thud. The sound reverberated through the chamber, sealing it off from the outside world. The windows were drawn closed. The guards took position beyond the doors, silent and motionless.

Fa Zheng stood at the center, still as a statue. Beside him were Zhang Song and Meng Da, his co conspirators and fellow architects of the court’s new order. Facing them were three others, Zhang Ren the steadfast general, Yan Yan the grizzled veteran, and Meng Huo the fierce chieftain from the southern mountains.

The silence stretched for a few heartbeats before Fa Zheng finally turned toward them, his expression unreadable.

”Well,” he began, his tone light but carrying a dangerous undertone, ”what did you all think of my... little maneuver?”

Zhang Song was the first to answer. He shook his head slowly, a thin smile tugging at his lips. ”You took even me by surprise, Master Fa Zheng. That speech of yours was a blade hidden in silk. I half expected you to consult us first before cornering His Majesty so openly, but I must admit... it was a masterstroke.”

His eyes gleamed. ”You reminded Emperor Xian of his true place. That this court, this realm, no longer belongs to him or to Liu Zhang, but to the six of us who hold the reins.”

Fa Zheng’s lips curved faintly, neither denying nor confirming.

Meng Da crossed his arms, his tone cooler, more pragmatic. ”It was necessary. The Emperor’s indecision was becoming dangerous. He still believes he can outwit us with his covert ambitions. But now, he’s bound by your words. If he rejects the alliance, he’ll appear a traitor to his own people, a fool who spurns salvation.”

He leaned slightly forward, his eyes narrowing. ”And besides... after what he’s done, he deserves to be boxed in.”

”Done?” Zhang Ren repeated, raising a brow. ”What has His Majesty done now?”

Meng Da and Fa Zheng exchanged a glance. It was Zhang Song who spoke next, his tone casual but laced with irony. ”Ah, our glorious Emperor has been playing a little game of diplomacy behind our backs. He’s sent two of his men, Wu Yi and Wang Fu, beyond the western frontier.”

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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