Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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Silence, absolute and profound, descended. The manic laughter was gone, replaced by a ragged, wet gurgle. Liu Xie lay on the cold floor, his eyes wide, staring up at the painted dragons on the ceiling he would never command again. A dark, rapidly spreading stain bloomed across the brilliant yellow silk over his heart.

The self inflicted wound, an accident born of a failed assassination, became his final, tragic act of defiance. The last Emperor of the Han Dynasty did not die on a battlefield or in his bed.

He died on the floor of his own throne room, at the foot of the steps he had fallen down, a victim of the elaborate trap that had finally, and utterly, closed around him.

The wheel of life had turned, and he was the first to be crushed beneath it. The hall remained frozen, the courtiers and the three ministers staring at the still body, the only sound the distant, fading roar of the mob outside, a mob that no longer had an emperor to demand.

Someone shouted, ”A physician!”

But it was already too late.

The shouted cry for a physician was a reflex, a human response to sudden violence, but it died in the tense air. Everyone in the hall knew it was pointless. The fall, the angle, the depth of the blade... it was over. The long, torturous drama of the Han Dynasty had reached its final, unexpected act.

For a handful of heartbeats, the court remained a tableau of shock. Then, as if a single string controlling them all had been pulled, they turned their gazes from the body to the man who still stood on the dais. Fa Zheng.

He took a slow, deliberate breath, smoothing the front of his robes where Liu Xie had nearly struck him. His face, which had registered a flicker of genuine surprise at the lunge, was now a mask of composed authority. He looked down at the body, not with pity, nor triumph, but with the cold assessment of a strategist surveying a concluded operation.

His voice, when it broke the silence, was not loud, but it carried with the clarity of a judge’s gavel. ”Record it,” he instructed, his gaze shifting to a pale, trembling scribe from the Ministry of Rites who clutched his inkstone and brush.

”Former Emperor Liu Xie, overwhelmed by guilt and despair for the suffering he brought upon the people, in a moment of deranged confusion, attempted to assassinate a loyal minister. In the struggle, he lost his footing and perished by his own hand.”

The words were not a suggestion, they were a decree, shaping the raw event into the official narrative. No one dared to object. To argue would be to question the entire fabricated reality they had all participated in building.

The scribe’s brush trembled as it touched the parchment.

Ink spread across silk in neat, disciplined strokes, but the hand that guided it shook all the same. The official from the Ministry of Rites swallowed hard, nodded once toward Fa Zheng, and continued to write exactly as instructed, word for word, sealing reality into something that could never again be challenged.

Former Emperor Liu Xie, overwhelmed by guilt and despair...

The narrative was born.

Around him, the court slowly began to move again, breath returning to lungs that had forgotten how to draw air. A few officials wiped sweat from their brows. Others stared at the body on the floor a moment longer before deliberately looking away, as if averting their eyes could erase the image from memory.

Zhang Song, ever the master of public sentiment, stepped forward, picking up the thread. ”Prepare the public announcement,” he said, his voice taking on a somber, almost priestly tone.

Several heads turned toward him.

Zhang Song meanwhile continued, his tone heavy with rehearsed sorrow. ”Emperor Xian, in his final hours, was consumed by anguish. The weight of his people’s suffering, which he had finally come to see, shattered his mind. In a tragic confusion, he turned to violence against his own court, and heaven, in its justice, allowed his own hand to be his end. His death signifies that the Mandate of Heaven has left the House of Han. Their time is concluded.”

An official from the Ministry of Personnel bowed deeply. ”This humble servant will draft the announcement at once.”

Fa Zheng nodded once, approving. The body of Liu Xie had already been quietly removed by palace attendants who did not meet anyone’s eyes.

Where the last emperor had fallen, there was now only a dark stain on the polished stone, hastily covered by a ceremonial rug. The throne loomed above it all, empty and accusing.

With the machinery of posthumous reputation already in motion, Fa Zheng turned his attention back to the living. He looked out over the sea of faces, all now turned toward him, awaiting direction. The pretense was over.

”The tragic event before us,” Fa Zheng began, his voice resonating in the hushed hall, ”only underscores the urgency of the situation. The Han Dynasty, as a governing force, has proven itself... terminally unstable. It is clear to all present what must come next.”

He paused, letting the implication settle. ”The time has come for a formal vote. To dismantle the legal fiction of the Han Dynasty and to formally surrender the territory of Yi Province into the wise and benevolent stewardship of the Hengyuan Dynasty, under the glorious reign of Emperor Hongyi.”

He allowed a faint, knowing smile to touch his lips. ”I believe Masters Zhuge Liang and Lu Xun, our esteemed guests, have been waiting for this moment. As has His Majesty, Emperor Hongyi, who has long seen the potential for peace and prosperity here in Yi Province.”

A murmur rippled through the assembly, but it was not one of dissent or fear. It was a low hum of relief, of anticipation, of a burden being lifted. The charade of loyalty to a hollow throne was exhausting.

The promise of stability, of attaching themselves to the ascendant, powerful empire whose envoys had just coldly severed the last thread of hope, was intoxicating. They were not being conquered, they were being saved, and they would be on the right side of history.

”Let the vote commence,” Fa Zheng announced, his voice taking on a ceremonial rhythm. ”All in favor of dissolving the Han Dynasty and integrating Yi Province into the Hengyuan Empire, signify by raising your plaque.”

He did not wait. His own jade plaque, marking his rank as an Excellency, was raised high. Beside him, Zhang Song and Meng Da lifted theirs in unison.

It was the signal. As one, a forest of arms rose throughout the great hall. Lacquered wood, polished jade, and inscribed ivory caught the light as every single official and courtier, from the highest minister to the lowest attendant granted a vote for this occasion, held their plaque aloft.

There were no hesitant pauses, no dissenting voices. The unity was absolute, a terrifying and beautiful display of orchestrated political will.

Fa Zheng’s smirk returned, wider this time, a crack in his usually impassive facade. ”Then it is settled. Unanimous. By the authority of this, the final council of Han, I declare: the Han Dynasty is no more. Its mandate is extinguished. Long live the Hengyuan Dynasty! Long live His Majesty, Emperor Hongyi!”

Zhang Song and Meng Da echoed the cry, their voices booming. ”LONG LIVE HENGYUAN DYNASTY! LONG LIVE EMPEROR HONGYI!”

The hall erupted. The cry was taken up by every throat, a thunderous wave of sound that seemed to shake the very ghosts of Liu Xie’s ancestors from the rafters. It was not a cheer of joy, but a roar of release and realignment.

Outside, the transformation was swift and breathtaking. The drafted announcements were copied by a small army of scribes and read by town criers at every major intersection in Chengdu, and dispatched by fast horse to every commandery.

At the main palace gate, where the angry mob still seethed, a senior official climbed onto a platform, flanked by guards. He unrolled the scroll and read the proclamation in a loud, clear voice. He spoke of the emperor’s ”anguish,” his ”tragic confusion,” and his ”accidental” death by his own hand, a clear sign of Heaven’s withdrawn mandate.

The mob, primed for blood and revolution, listened in stunned silence. The news of the emperor’s death, not by their hands, but by what sounded like divine retribution, took the fiery edge off their rage.

Then, cheers.

Not because they mourned Liu Xie. Not because they understood the implications. But because the tyrant, as they had been taught to believe, was gone.

”Heaven has answered us!”

”The Emperor is dead!”

”The suffering will end!”

Men laughed. Women wept. Some fell to their knees in prayer. Others embraced strangers. The mob that had come to demand blood now roared with triumph. Then immediately after that came the second part of the announcement, the dissolution of Han and the surrender to Hengyuan.

For a moment, there was confusion. The end of Han? Surrender? Then, the context provided by the rumors of the last weeks filled the void. Hengyuan... where the emperor is wise... where there is no banditry... where taxes are fair... The narrative crafted by Fa Zheng’s agents seamlessly merged with the official announcement. The tyrant was dead, struck down by heaven.

And in his place would come not another corrupt Han bureaucrat, but the legendary Emperor Hongyi, the bringer of order and prosperity. A ragged cheer went up, then another, growing into a genuine celebration.

The riot dissipated, transforming into a festival of desperate hope. Across Chengdu, lanterns were lit. Wine jars were opened. Someone set off firecrackers meant for a wedding that had never happened. Laughter returned to streets stained with blood only days before.

As for across Yi Province, in towns and villages, the reaction was similar, shock, followed by a profound, weary sense of relief. The long, stagnant nightmare of Han’s death throes was over. A new sun was rising, and its name was Hengyuan.

Celebrations spread like wildfire.

Only the palace remained quiet.

Zhuge Liang and Lu Xun were escorted through its gates under heavy guard, not as prisoners, but as honored witnesses. The corridors they walked were scrubbed clean, banners of Han already being lowered, folded, removed.

The throne room awaited them.

When they entered, the absence was palpable.

The throne stood empty.

No body. No blood. Only the faint scent of incense meant to mask death.

The entire former Han court was assembled, standing in orderly rows. At their forefront stood Fa Zheng, Zhang Song, and Meng Da. As the two Hengyuan envoys entered, the three men bowed deeply, a gesture of respect not to equals, but to the representatives of their new sovereign.

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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