Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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”My terms... are simple. I do not seek great wealth or lofty, empty titles. I ask only two things. First, that I remain as Governor of Hanzhong, to administer this land and its people, who know and follow me. And second, that my sect, the Way of the Five Pecks of Rice, be allowed to continue its teachings and practices without persecution. Our faith is one of peace and community. We seek only to tend to our followers.”

Fa Zheng’s eyebrow arched slightly. He had expected more, a plea for a noble rank, or a demand for gold, or a request for military authority. This humility was either shrewd or sincere, perhaps both. His gaze shifted again to Yan Pu, the quiet advisor standing just behind his lord’s shoulder.

’This,’ Fa Zheng thought, ’is the mind behind the moderation.’ Zhang Lu trusts him utterly. Without this man’s counsel, the governor would have likely fought to the last and lost everything. He is also the man who had convinced Zhang Lu to bow to Cao Cao years ago, and now, to step away from Cao Cao without hesitation.

Without Yan Pu, Zhang Lu would have resisted. Or delayed. Or tried to hedge. Without Yan Pu, Hanzhong would have burned. Such a mind... it is wasted merely on keeping one man afloat in a backwater. It could be channeled to serve an empire.

A faint, approving smile touched Fa Zheng’s lips. ”A very humble terms, Governor Zhang Lu. Astute ones. To seek to continue serving your people and preserving your faith demonstrates wisdom. I will report these terms directly to His Majesty. I have confidence he will see the benefit in stability and accept. The Hengyuan Dynasty rewards those who choose peace and order.”

Relief flickered, just barely, across Zhang Lu’s eyes.

”I thank you,” he said.

Fa Zheng rose. ”Rest assured. Hengyuan does not crush those who open their gates in reason.”

The meeting concluded with a tense formality. The fate of Hanzhong was sealed not with a signature on parchment, but with shared cups of tea and unspoken understandings. The south was secured.

A day’s march to the northeast, the atmosphere was not one of negotiated silence, but of looming, palpable collision. Lie Fan’s main army, a vast, living dragon of men and material, flowed to a halt before the legendary bottleneck of Tong Pass. The sight was imposing.

The pass itself was a natural monstrosity, a slit in the mountainous spine of the land, but now it had been transformed. The Wei defenders had been busy. The ancient walls were thickened with new timber and earthworks.

The river that curled beside it had been diverted into cunning channels and spiked traps, creating a moat that was a labyrinth of death, accessible only from the defenders’ side. The very geography had been weaponized.

Lie Fan stood at the edge of the sprawling encampment that was beginning to rise like a mechanical fungus on the plain.

With him were the three Marshalls of his army and main strategist. Zhang Liao, Huang Zhong, Taishi Ci, and Sima Yi who’s mind already dissecting the fortified puzzle before them.

Lie Fan’s hand resting lightly on the haft of his halberd, eyes calm as he took in the sight.

”So this is Tong Pass,” he said quietly.

Zhang Liao exhaled. ”He have turned it into a fortress within a fortress, Your Majesty.”

Huang Zhong squinted, his aged eyes sharp as a hawk’s. ”Even the river’s been prepared. He means to make us bleed for every step.”

Taishi Ci cracked his neck. ”Let him try. We can destroy it before he realized.”

Sima Yi stood slightly behind them, hands folded in his sleeves, gaze unreadable. ”Cao Cao is buying time, Your Majesty,” he said. ”Every hour he holds this pass is another chance for something... unforeseen.”

Lie Fan smiled faintly. ”Then we won’t give him that luxury.”

They then continue their conversation with a discussion about the deployment of the cannons, when a sound cut through the low rumble of army making. It was a voice, amplified by either the natural acoustics of the pass or sheer force of will, rolling down from the distant battlements.

”LIE FAN!”

The name echoed, clear and challenging.

Lie Fan stopped midsentence. He cocked his head, a hunter hearing a familiar call. ”Do you all hear that?”

Huang Zhong, despite his years, had the keenest ears among them. He nodded, his grizzled face grim. ”I hear it, Your Majesty. It’s direction is from the pass.”

Sima Yi’s eyes narrowed. ”What do you hear, Your Majesty?”

A slow, intrigued smile spread across Lie Fan’s face. ”My name. And unless I’m much mistaken... that is the voice of Cao Mengde.”

A ripple of surprise went through the generals. For the enemy sovereign to openly call out his counterpart was unheard of. It was a gesture from a bygone age of personal challenges.

”Your Majesty, it could be a trick,” Sima Yi cautioned. ”An attempt to draw you into range.”

”Of course it is,” Lie Fan said, his smile turning wolfish. ”But it’s an interesting trick. I want to hear what he has to say. What curses he has saved for me. What final words he wishes to shout from his last rock.”

He turned and whistled, a sharp, piercing sound. From the picket line, his immense black warhorse, Pangu, trotted forward, its intelligent eyes fixed on its master. The sight of the emperor preparing to mount up alone sent a jolt of alarm through his retinue.

”Your Majesty, you cannot!” Sima Yi stepped forward, his usual composure cracking. ”It is a blatant trap! They will rain arrows upon you!”

Lie Fan swung himself into the saddle with easy grace. He hefted his halberd, spinning it once so it caught the light. ”Let them try. My halberd can make a roof of their arrows. And this armor,” he tapped the dark, expertly forged plate on his chest, ”has turned aside better steel than anything they have left on that wall. I am not a boy to be coddled, Zhongda. He calls. I will answer.”

Seeing the futility of direct command, Sima Yi switched tactics. ”Then at least take a guard! Generals!” He looked desperately at Zhang Liao, Huang Zhong, and Taishi Ci. ”The three of you go accompany Your Majesty!”

The three warriors needed no further urging. They called for their own horses, their faces set. At that moment, Dian Wei and Ji Ling, having finished their inspection of the rear formations, came riding up to report. Seeing the sudden flurry of activity around the emperor, they reined in.

”What’s happening?” Dian Wei rumbled, his hand on his massive axe.

”His Majesty intends to parley with Cao Cao at the foot of the wall,” Sima Yi said, the strain evident in his voice.

Ji Ling’s eyes widened. ”That’s madness. It’s a shooting gallery.”

”Which is why you will go with them,” Sima Yi commanded, his authority snapping into place. ”All five of you. Your sole duty is to protect His Majesty. Intercept any projectile. Do not, under any circumstances, allow him to be drawn into a personal duel or too close to the walls. Is that understood?”

The five generals, two veterans and three fierce champions, nodded as one. This was a duty they understood perfectly.

And so, a strange and breathtaking sight unfolded on the plain before Tong Pass. The Emperor of Hengyuan, Lie Fan, rode out from his vast army not at the head of a charge, but in a small, potent knot of six men. He rode at a steady walk, his banner held high by a standard bearer who had instinctively joined them.

Flanking him were Zhang Liao and Huang Zhong, shields held ready. Taishi Ci and Ji Ling took positions slightly ahead, their eyes scanning the battlements for the glint of archers. Dian Wei brought up the rear, a one man rearguard, his presence a warning against any sortie.

They rode into the shadow of the pass, into the zone where the first arrows would soon fall. The air grew still, thick with anticipation. On the walls, hundreds of Wei soldiers watched, their bows half drawn.

And at the center of the main gate’s parapet, a familiar figure in ornate armor stood, looking down as the small party came to a halt just right inside the effective range of a concentrated volley.

The two emperors, the architects of an era’s chaos and the final contestants for its unity, regarded each other across the son to be blood soaked ground. The last personal conversation of the war was about to begin.

The wind curled strangely at the foot of Tong Pass.

It carried dust from the plain, the iron tang of weapons, the low murmur of two vast armies holding their breath.

Beneath the towering stone walls, Lie Fan sat astride Pangu like a statue cut from black iron, his halberd resting easily against his shoulder. Around him, his escort formed a loose but lethal crescent, every man taut as a drawn bowstring.

Above them, on the parapet of the main gate, Cao Cao watched.

He stood straight despite the weight of years and illness pressing upon his body, his ornate armor catching the pale winter light. To his left and right gathered the sharpest minds and fiercest blades Wei could still muster, Xun Yu, Guo Jia, Xi Zhicai, Xiahou Dun, Xiahou Yuan, and Zhang He.

The seven riders below were like insects in a bowl, perfectly within range of the hundreds of bows drawn taut along the battlements.

Xiahou Dun leaned forward, his remaining eye narrowed as he judged the distance. ”They are well within range, Your Majesty,” he said, voice low but urgent. ”Give the order, and the archers can loose now. One volley, no, two, and even Lie Fan cannot goes against a sky we fill with enough arrows to blot out the sun over them.”

The temptation was a physical thing, a hot coal in Cao Cao’s chest. To erase his greatest rival, his tormentor, the man who held his son... with a wave of his hand. But the ruler in him, the man who understood the theater of power as much as its reality, smothered the impulse. He shook his head, a slow, deliberate movement.

”No,” he said, his voice carrying just enough for his inner circle to hear. Cao Cao did not raise his voice. He did not turn his head. But the authority in that single syllable was absolute.

Xiahou Dun stiffened. ”Your Majesty—”

”We asked for this parley,” Cao Cao said calmly. ”If we break faith now, what do you think happens next?”

He finally turned, his gaze sharp despite the fatigue lurking beneath it. ”Wei’s banners do not stand on strength alone. They stand on credibility. On order. On the belief of the common people that we are not butchers hiding behind walls.”

He gestured faintly toward the vast Hengyuan encampment below. ”Lie Fan has cultivated something dangerous, and that is legitimacy. We lose what little moral high ground we have left, If we turn this into a trap, the people will remember. They would remember not our defiance, but our treachery.”

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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