Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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They stood there for a long while after, silent as the wind swept over the ramparts. Below, the stream of refugees continued, winding westward like a river of despair. The sun climbed higher, its light falling across the city’s rooftops, glinting off the armor of soldiers and the polished domes of temples. Luoyang was dying, but it would die with dignity.

By noon, the pace of the evacuation intensified. The city gates never closed, the sound of hooves and wheels thundered without pause. Soldiers guided long lines of oxen drawn carts bearing crates of golds, treasures, and scrolls. The Imperial Guards marched beside them, grim and silent, their red banners fluttering weakly in the dusty wind.

In the southern district, scribes carried bundles of bamboo slips, archives of state, decrees, ledgers, and records, stacking them onto wagons marked for Chang’an. Xun Yu had ordered every document of worth to be saved, every secret to be sealed, ànd the unimportant to be burned.

And in the northern quarter, teams of laborers, artisans, and engineers worked through the night to dismantle Luoyang armories and also dismantle the siege engines into pieces so that it could be transported. The air was thick with the smell of oil and smoke.

Panic had nearly broken out among the citizens when the edict was first read aloud. Thousands had thronged the main squares, shouting and weeping, fearing abandonment and forced to move. But when the Chancellor, Xun Yu himself appeared before them, calm, solemn, his voice steady as he promised order and protection, the crowd had quieted.

He had not ordered them to leave. He had given them the choice.

”Those who wish to follow the Wei Dynasty and Emperor Wu may come,” he had declared. ”Those who wish to remain may stay. No hand of ours will force you or your family to move form Luoyang.”

And so it had been.

Many choose to staye, clinging to their homes, their shops, their ancestors’ graves, and the place that they have worked hard to have. They believed, rightly perhaps, that the Hengyuan army would not slaughter civilians and plunder their wealth, from the rumours they heard. That the conquerors would seek order, not chaos.

But tens of thousands still left, following the banner of Wei westward. Among them were soldiers’ families, merchants, craftsmen, scholars, all that remained of the living sinew that had made Luoyang thrive.

By evening, the sky turned red with smoke from the eastern horizon. The faint rumble of distant thunder, or perhaps siege engines, could be heard echoing through the hills.

The Hengyuan Dynasty were coming.

Xun Yu stood once more atop the western wall, watching as the last light faded. His companions gathered beside him, Cheng Yu with his usual stoic calm, Tian Feng with quiet intensity, Jia Kui and Xu You murmuring final tallies.

”We’ll be ready in three days,” Jia Kui said softly. ”By then, the city will be stripped of anything they could use.”

”And then?” Cheng Yu asked, looking west.

”Then we leave,” Xun Yu replied. ”And Luoyang will no longer be Wei’s.”

He looked out one last time over the rooftops of the ancient city, the temples glowing faintly in the dusk, the imperial avenues empty save for the echo of departing footsteps.

”This city has seen too many dynasties rise and fall,” he murmured. ”Perhaps it is time for another to claim its ashes.”

His voice carried softly over the wind, half lament, half resignation.

”The Han was the past. Wei is the present. Hengyuan may be the future. But men like us... we are only the bridge between them.”

The others were silent. They understood.

As night fell, the great gates of Luoyang closed halfway for the first time in centuries, not as a barrier against invasion, but as a farewell gesture to the empire’s soul.

Meanwhile, to the east of Luoyang, at Hulao Gate, the ancient bulwark that had once stood as the guardian of the heartland, the ground trembled with the relentless rhythm of siege engines.

The once proud stone walls of the inner fortress, now marred by fissures and blackened scars, still stood tall against the thunderous barrage. Every hour, the great trebuchets and catapults of the Hengyuan Central and Western Command unleashed storms of stone and fire upon the bastion, their arcs tracing cruel patterns against the smoky sky.

The defenders within, remnants of the once formidable Wei garrison, clung desperately to what remained of their ramparts.

At the fortress command post, Commander Wu Ze stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his armor dented and his cloak torn by soot and wind. His eyes were fixed upon the field beyond, a gray, broken landscape littered with shattered engines, fallen banners, and the bodies of friend and foe alike.

Everywhere he looked, the signs of despair deepened. Men with bloodied bandages shuffled past, carrying the wounded to the inner courtyard. The air reeked of ash and iron. Beneath the roar of battle, he could hear the low moans of dying soldiers echoing between the stone corridors.

The once blue banners of Wei now hung tattered and soaked with rain, fluttering limply as if mourning their own decay.

Wu Ze’s heart was heavy. He had fought in countless campaigns under the banners of his emperor, Cao Cao, yet none had ever felt as hopeless as this. The outer walls had fallen five days ago, the secondary gates three. Now, all that remained was this fortress, their last refuge before Luoyang itself.

He turned slightly as his lieutenant, Shen Ming, entered the chamber. The young man’s armor was splattered with grime and dried blood, his face pale with exhaustion. He saluted sharply, though his hand trembled.

”Commander,” Shen Ming said, his voice tight. ”Scouts report more siege engines being moved into position by the Hengyuan forces. They’ve reinforced their western lin, looks like another major assault by dusk. We also lost another hundred men. The medical tents are overflowing, and the surgeons... they’re out of supplies. They’re using boiled rags and wine, but the infections...” He trailed off, the unspoken horror hanging between them.

Wu Ze gave a tired nod, stepping forward to gaze through the narrow slit window. In the distance, beyond the smoke, he could faintly make out the banners of the enemy, the golden dragon of Hengyuan, gleaming like fire under the hazy sun.

”They work with frightening precision,” Wu Ze murmured. ”Every formation moves like clockwork. It’s no wonder Hulao’s outer defenses fell so quickly.”

There was a pause before Shen Ming spoke again, his tone hesitant. ”My lord... there are rumors among the men. Talk of mutiny.”

Wu Ze didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a dry, weary laugh, the sound of a man who had expected nothing less.

”I know, Lieutenant. I have ears. And I have loyal men who report more than just enemy movements.” He finally glanced at Shen Ming, seeing the fear and the unasked question in his eyes. ”They whisper in the latrines, around the cook fires that we dare not light at night. They whisper because they have no scream left.”

”But Commander,” the lieutenant insisted, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper, ”shouldn’t we... do something? Round up the ringleaders? Make an example? If this culminates in a real mutiny—”

”What would that achieve?” Wu Ze interrupted, his voice flat and exhausted. ”String up a few desperate men from the walls? That would be the spark, not the dampener. Right now, their whispers are a steam valve. It lets out the pressure of their terror. If we seal it, the boiler will explode.”

He placed a heavy hand on Shen Ming shoulder. ”Your concern is noted, and your loyalty is valued. But your duty right now is to the section I assigned you. Go. Ensure the fire pots are ready for their next assault. Let me worry about the morale of the whole.”

The lieutenant hesitated, torn between discipline and understanding. At last, he bowed his head. ”Yes, Commander. I will see to my post.”

”Good,” Wu Ze replied, his tone softening. ”Hold your position on the eastern wall. We may not survive this, Shen Ming, but we can still decide how we fall.”

The young man saluted again, this time with something like pride, and left.

Wu Ze lingered, staring upward. The sky above Hulao was gray, streaked with drifting ash and the faint, ghostly remnants of sunlight.

He whispered to himself, almost a prayer, ”Let Luoyang be evacuated in time... Let our deaths mean something.”

Across at the outer wall of Hulao Gate, the banners of the Hengyuan Dynasty fluttered proudly under the rising wind.

Within a the command wall, lit by oil lamps and the flicker of maps spread across a broad wooden table, Sima Yi stood surrounded by Zhang Liao, Taishi Ci, and Zang Hong among them. The air inside was thick with tension and the earthy scent of sweat and parchment.

”Another full day’s bombardment, and still it stands,” Zhang Liao grumbled, his calm voice edged with reluctant admiration. ”I’ve fought a lifetime’s worth of battles, and I’ve rarely seen walls this stubborn. It’s been over a week of full assault on this fortress, they should’ve broken by now.”

Sima Yi, hands folded calmly behind his back, gave a slow nod. His sharp eyes gleamed with quiet calculation, ever unreadable. ”Indeed. Even I did not expect Hulao’s inner fortress to endure this long. It speaks volumes of both its design and its commander.”

Zang Hong crossed his arms, scowling slightly. ”A mere pass general, yet he’s managed to delay our advance for seven days. It’s thrown off His Majesty’s entire timetable. If Cao Cao’s top advisors that are in Luoyang and doesn’t follow him at his campaign, they’ve surely begun evacuating Luoyang by now.”

Sima Yi’s lips curved faintly into something that was not quite a smile. ”They have. Oriole agents confirm Xun Yu ordered a full evacuation three days past. But it changes nothing. His Majesty does not care for Cao Cao’s family, nor for the trinkets of Luoyang. What he seeks is momentum. Once Luoyang falls, Hongnong will follow, and with it, the entire eastern corridor to Chang’an.”

Zhang Liao chuckled dryly. ”Still, we shouldn’t underestimate that commander in the fortress. Loyal, brave, and clever, he fights like a man who knows his death is already written.”

”Exactly why he must be respected,” Sima Yi replied. ”Such men are dangerous not because they win, but because they inspire others to die well. But even courage has its limits.”

Taishi Ci, towering beside the table, frowned. ”You sound confident. Do you have something planned, Minister Sima?”

A flicker of satisfaction crossed Sima Yi’s face. ”At nightfall,” he said quietly, ”an opportunity will present itself, one we have prepared carefully.”

The others exchanged glances. Sima Yi stepped closer to the map, pointing toward a section of the fortress wall marked with small red dots. ”Our Oriole agents within have infiltrated the fortress ranks. They’ve been waiting for my signal. Tonight, when the moon is high, they will ignite the inner powder stores and open the eastern gate of the fortress.”

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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