Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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(A/N: Don’t forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)

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It was undeniably ancient and culturally priceless, but in terms of sheer architectural scale, logistical functionality, and imperial grandeur, this palace was actually noticeably smaller and far less fortified than the breathtaking, monumental palace complex he had built from the ground up in his capital of Xiapi. Xiapi was the future, Chang’An was merely a glorious museum.

From this historic throne, Lie Fan unleashed a blizzard of administrative edicts. Sima Yi, Chen Deng, and the civil ministries were dispatched to oversee the total pacification of Chang’an.

Granaries that had been hoarded by Cao Cao’s military were thrown open to the starving civilian populace, instantly shifting the narrative of the Hengyuan army from demonic invaders to benevolent liberators.

​But the consolidation did not stop at the capital’s walls. Fast riders carrying the black and gold banners of Hengyuan galloped in every direction. They carried the Emperor’s seal to Luoyang, solidifying the reconstruction efforts in the ancient eastern capital.

They rode to Hongnong, transforming the strategic chokepoint into a permanent Hengyuan garrison. They rode deep into the west to Tianshui, ensuring the captured wei veterans were fully integrated and the supply lines secured.

Every medium and small sized town, every farming village scattered across the vast, fertile plains surrounding these major hubs, received the proclamation, The Wei Dynasty was dead. The Black Dragon now ruled the heavens.

Local magistrates who swore fealty were kept in their posts to maintain stability, those who resisted were systematically purged by Zhang Liao’s roaming cavalry units.

​While Lie Fan was submerged in the exhausting, endless ocean of imperial bureaucracy, dealing with tax ledgers, garrison rotations, and the integration of surrendered Wei soldiers, his eldest son was taking a different path through the conquered capital.

​Crown Prince Muchen, recognizing the profound educational opportunity before him, requested permission to explore the historical palace of Chang’an. Lie Fan, always eager to temper his son’s martial upbringing with cultural and historical appreciation, readily agreed.

​The thirteen year old prince walked through the sprawling, serene courtyards of the inner palace, his eyes wide with intelligent curiosity. He was not alone.

Walking a half step behind him, providing a running, deeply philosophical commentary on the architecture and the ghosts of dynasties past, were his esteemed tutors, the brilliant Zhuge Jin and the venerable, deeply respected military scholar Lu Zhi.

​Forming a protective, imposing perimeter around the prince were his newly assigned martial shadows, the fiercely proud Ma Chao, and the steadfast veteran Ji Ling, backed by a heavily armed detachment of the elite Imperial Guards.

​”Look at the eaves of this pavilion, Your Highness,” Zhuge Jin pointed out gently, gesturing toward the curving, tiled roof of a tranquil reading room. ”They lack the aggressive, soaring sweep of our architecture in Xiapi. The Han builders here favored balance and enduring weight. It is a philosophy of governance carved into wood and stone. They built to last a thousand years.”

​”Yet, it did not last, Master Zhuge,” Muchen observed Astutely, running his hand along a lacquered pillar that bore the fresh, deep gouge of a halberd strike. ”Dong Zhuo turned it upside down it. Li Jue and Guo Si bled it. And Cao Cao turned it into a fortress. It seems balance is an illusion when hungry men possess swords.”

​Lu Zhi stroked his long white beard, a look of profound pride settling in his aged eyes. ”A ruler’s insight, Your Highness. The stone may be designed for a millennium, but it is the virtue of the man sitting on the throne that determines its lifespan. Cao Cao possessed unparalleled brilliance, but his foundation was built on ambition and manipulation, not the genuine mandate of the people’s love. That is why his dynasty collapsed the moment his military strength fractured.”

​Ma Chao, walking on Muchen’s flank with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, scoffed lightly. ”Virtue is a fine shield, Master Lu. But I say it was the sheer, terrifying perfection of Your Majesty’s vanguard that decided the lifespan of this palace. Cao Cao’s walls didn’t fall to philosophy, they fell to iron and gunpowder.”

​”Do not discount either, General Ma,” Ji Ling interjected gruffly, his eyes scanning the rooftops for any lingering assassins. ”An army without a righteous cause is just a horde of bandits. His Majesty wields both the iron and the mandate. That is why we stand here, and the Cao family sits in a cage.”

​Muchen listened to the debate, absorbing the contrasting viewpoints of the scholar and the soldier, his young mind actively synthesizing the lessons of power, history, and martial reality as he walked through the ashes of his father’s greatest rival.

​Miles away from the opulent, bustling center of the newly conquered palace, the atmosphere was a suffocating contrast of despair and sterile silence.

​The grand estate of the former Minister Wang, located in the affluent but isolated eastern district of Chang’an, had been transformed overnight into the most heavily guarded prison on the continent. The triple layered perimeter mandated by Lie Fan was absolute.

Elite Hengyuan heavy infantry patrolled the high outer walls in overlapping shifts. The streets surrounding the compound were blockaded and regularly swept by cavalry. Inside the compound itself, stern, unbribable guards stood at every doorway, their eyes watching the defeated royal family’s every move.

​Inside the main bedchamber of the sprawling mansion, the air was thick with the bitter, earthy stench of boiled ginseng, moxa, and impending death.

​Cao Cao’s brief, miraculous awakening in the Harem courtyard had been a cruel trick of his failing physiology, a final, adrenaline fueled surge of paternal desperation.

The intense philosophical debate with Lie Fan, the sheer emotional agony of begging for the continuation of his bloodline, and the violent coughing fit that followed had pushed his already shattered body past the point of no return.

​His condition had deteriorated into an absolute, critical spiral.

​He lay in a large, unadorned wooden bed, his skin the color of old ash, his breath rattling wetly in his ruined lungs. The imperial physicians, the three men whose lives had been spared by Fan Chou specifically to keep the warlord alive, were working in a state of frantic, terrified exhaustion.

They swapped out hot compresses, burned pungent herbs to stimulate his breathing, and checked his fading pulse every few minutes, praying to the heavens that they would not be executed if he finally succumbed.

​Sitting on the edge of the bed, a portrait of hollow, exhausted grief, was Grand Concubine Bian. She had not slept. She simply held a damp cloth, gently dabbing the cold sweat from her husband’s brow, her eyes red and puffy from endless crying.

​Standing at the foot of the bed, his shoulders slumped and his ceremonial armor replaced by plain, rough spun mourning clothes, was Cao Pi. He stared at his father, his mind a numb, echoing void.

​Slowly, with an agonizing groan that sounded like tearing parchment, Cao Cao’s eyelids fluttered open.

​His eyes were cloudy, struggling to focus on the ceiling of his gilded cage. He rolled his head slightly, his gaze finding the weeping form of his wife.

​”Bian...” Cao Cao rasped, his voice so weak it was barely a breath.

​”I am here, my Lord. I am right here,” Grand Concubine Bian sobbed, leaning forward to kiss his cold hand. ”Do not speak. Conserve your strength. The physicians are brewing a new root...”

​Cao Cao ignored the physicians. He forced his eyes past his wife, finding the pale, defeated face of his second son standing at the foot of the bed.

​”Pi...” Cao Cao wheezed, swallowing hard against the blood pooling in his throat. ”Come... closer.”

​Cao Pi stepped forward immediately, falling to his knees beside his mother, his hands gripping the wooden frame of the bed. ”Imperial Father.”

​Cao Cao’s eyes burned with a desperate, fragmented intensity. His memory was a shattered mosaic. He remembered the blinding pain in the council chamber, the darkness of the coma, and the terrifying, humiliating awakening in the courtyard surrounded by Hengyuan cavalry. But the connective tissue of the disaster was missing.

​”Tell me,” Cao Cao commanded, every syllable costing him a fraction of his remaining life. ”What happened... after the pain took me? How did my impenetrable fortress... fall so fast? How are we... in this cage?”

​Cao Pi swallowed a thick knot of sorrow and shame. To recount his own absolute failure to the man he revered and feared above all others was a torture worse than the Hengyuan ropes. But he could not deny his dying father the truth.

​”When you fainted, Father... the Heavens wept for Wei,” Cao Pi began, his voice trembling, tears spilling hot and fast down his cheeks. ”The bombardment from the east, west, and south was unlike anything recorded in history. Lie Fan’s thunderous siege weapons shattered the outer gates. Marshal Xiahou Dun sounded the retreat, pulling everyone back to the inner fortress to make a final stand.”

​Cao Cao closed his eyes, a low groan escaping his lips. ”The Hedgehog Plan... failed.”

​”We did not have the men, Father. The west betrayed us as you now. We were surrounded,” Cao Pi continued, his voice breaking. ”Master Xun Yu and the council... they demanded I take the mantle of leadership to steady the men while you rested. I tried, Father. I swear to the ancestors, I tried. But when the Hengyuan vanguard hit the inner walls...”

​Cao Pi bowed his head, unable to look his father in the eyes. ”It was not a battle. It was a butchery. Lie Fan sent monsters. Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, Dian Wei, Taishi Ci, Zhang Liao. They scaled the walls and simply erased our command structure. Gao Lan, Yu Jin, Pang De, Cao Xiu, Cao Chun... they were all overwhelmed and captured in a matter of minutes. The defense collapsed entirely.”

​Cao Cao’s breathing hitched, a tear leaking from the corner of his closed eye as he heard the names of his finest, most loyal commanders treated as casual prisoners of war.

​”Master Guo Jia formulated a plan,” Cao Pi whispered, recounting the final, darkest moments of their freedom. ”He told us to burn the inner fortress to the ground to cover our escape through the northern tunnels. Marshal Xiahou Dun, Xu Huang, and Zhang He launched a suicidal rear guard charge against the Hengyuan elite just to buy us the seconds to reach the secret passage. We made it to the Harem Palace. We loaded you onto a stretcher. We fled into the dark.”

​Cao Pi’s hands tightened on the bedframe until his knuckles cracked. ”But Lie Fan’s intelligence... his tactical foresight is demonic. He didn’t just chase us. He had already sent Xu Rong and Fan Chou’s heavy cavalry to secure every sally port and hidden exit on the northern perimeter. When we opened the secret door, expecting freedom... we walked directly into a wall of lances. We were captured without striking a single blow. And now... now we are here.”

​The silence in the room was absolute, save for the frantic, wet sound of Cao Cao trying to draw breath. The warlord absorbed the totality of their annihilation. He didn’t scream. He didn’t curse his son for his failures, for he knew that against a tidal wave, a pebble cannot be blamed for being washed away.

”It was... destiny,” Cao Cao finally whispered, opening his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling. ”The mandate... has shifted. We are... ghosts.”

As the heavy, suffocating despair settled over the sickroom, a sudden, loud commotion erupted from the outer courtyards of the mansion.

Cao Pi flinched, instinctively looking toward the door. The sound of heavy Hengyuan boots stomping against the cobblestones echoed loudly, followed by the sharp, authoritative shouting of the guards unlocking the massive iron reinforced gates of the compound.

”What is happening?” Grand Concubine Bian gasped, wiping her tears, a fresh wave of terror gripping her heart. ”Are they coming for us? Did Lie Fan change his mind?”

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Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 36 (203 AD)

Level: 16

Next Level: 462,000

Renown: 2325

Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 11)

SP: 1,121,700

ATTRIBUTE POINTS

STR: 1,010 (+20)

VIT: 659 (+20)

AGI: 653 (+10)

INT: 691

CHR: 98

WIS: 569

WILL: 436

ATR Points: 0