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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The yard was deathly silent, save for the grim, metallic scrape of the executioners slowly pulling their heavy blades free from the bloody wood. Lie Fan rested his hands on the armrests of his chair, the cold morning wind pulling at his crimson robes. The generals were dead. The easy part of the day was over. Now, he had to wait for the sun to reach its zenith, where the poisoned cup awaited for the Cao Clan.

Time passed by with agonizing slowness as Emperor Lie Fan sat upon the raised wooden platform, his eyes tracking the gradual, inevitable ascent of the sun toward the center of the pale, cloudless sky. The hard packed dirt of the execution yard had already begun to absorb the dark pools of blood, leaving behind a stark, macabre stain that served as a brutal testament to the cost of unification.

​Lie Fan slowly raised his right hand, extending two fingers in a silent, absolute command toward the captain of his elite heavy infantry.

​”Treat their remains not as the refuse of common traitors, but as the fallen pillars of a bygone age,” Lie Fan ordered, his voice cutting through the lingering chill of the morning wind. ”Collect the heads and the bodies of the five generals. Have them meticulously cleaned by the morticians. Wash the blood from their faces and sew their heads back to their shoulders with the utmost care. Wrap them in the finest, unblemished white silk our weavers can provide.”

​The captain of the guard bowed so deeply his helmet nearly grazed the dirt. ”It shall be done perfectly, Your Imperial Majesty.”

​”When the final judgments of the day are concluded,” Lie Fan continued, his gaze drifting over the fallen bodies of the men who had once terrified the central plains, ”they are to be buried in the earth directly surrounding the grave of Cao Mengde and the male members of the Cao Clan. They served as his shield in life, they shall serve as his eternal vanguard in death.”

​The soldiers immediately mobilized, following the explicit, respectful order of their Emperor without a moment of hesitation. They moved with a profound, solemn reverence, carefully lifting the massive frame of Xu Chu, the gaunt form of Xiahou Dun, and the bodies of their comrades.

They handled the fallen Wei generals with the professional, unspoken respect that only seasoned warriors could harbor for formidable adversaries, placing them onto wooden stretchers to be respectfully secured and transported to the mortuary tents.

​As the yard was systematically cleared of the grim physical remnants of the execution, Lie Fan turned his attention to the logistical and philosophical matters of the impending burial. He gestured toward a nearby eunuch.

​”Summon Lu Su,” Lie Fan commanded. ”Have him join me here, alongside Chancellor Jia Xu and Minister Chen Gong.”

​Within moments, Lu Su, the Minister of Rites, a man celebrated for his profound diplomatic tact and deep understanding of historical optics, hurried across the courtyard. He ascended the wooden steps of the platform, his flowing robes catching the wind, and bowed deeply alongside Jia Xu and Chen Gong.

​”Your Imperial Majesty summoned me,” Lu Su said softly, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered.

​Lie Fan gestured for the three brilliant minds to step closer, forming a tight, private council atop the execution platform.

​”The blood has been spilled, and by this afternoon, the Wei Dynasty will be nothing but a memory recorded on bamboo slips,” Lie Fan began, his tone philosophical and weary. ”But an empire is judged not only by how it kills its enemies, but by how it buries them. I ask the three of you, where is the most appropriate place to bury Cao Cao, his clan, and these five generals?”

​Lie Fan leaned forward, outlining the incredibly delicate, diplomatic tightrope they needed to walk. ”I want their burial to be respectful. It must be befitting of the monumental things they have accomplished in this world. Cao Cao ended the Yellow Turban threat in his region, he stabilized the center for a decade, and he wrote poetry that will be remembered for centuries.”

”However, at the exact same time, we must absolutely ensure we do not put them on a pedestal. We cannot inadvertently create a holy site for future rebellions to rally around. It must not be treated as a martyr’s shrine, but simply as Hengyuan’s formal, dignified respect for the end of an era.”

​Hearing what their Emperor had just articulated, Jia Xu, Chen Gong, and Lu Su were not surprised in the slightest. They had served Lie Fan long enough to intimately understand the complex, profound respect he harbored for Cao Cao, a respect that transcended the bitter, bloody rivalry of the Warlord era.

​The three advisors fell silent for a long, contemplative moment. The cold wind ruffled their silk sleeves as their minds raced, calculating the geographical, political, and psychological implications of a tomb that would house the greatest threat their empire had ever faced.

​Interestingly, as they formulated their answers, all three of them arrived at the exact same foundational baseline, the burial must be located outside the towering walls of the capital, Xiapi, and the geographical distance from the outer city should be substantial enough to prevent it from becoming a daily spectacle.

​However, when it came to the specific direction of the burial site, the three brilliant minds diverged entirely, each presenting a vision heavily influenced by their own respective ministries and philosophies.

​Chen Gong, the rigid, uncompromising Minister of Law, stepped forward first. ”Your Majesty, I propose they be buried exactly thirty miles to the North of the capital. The northern steppes represent the harsh, unforgiving reality of the law.”

”By burying them facing the barren north winds, we send a clear, unequivocal message to the entire continent, no matter how high a man rises, treason against the true mandate leads only to a desolate end. It respects their stature by giving them a designated tomb, but legally categorizes them alongside the defeated, exiled tribes of antiquity.”

​Jia Xu, the Chancellor and architect of shadows, offered a thin, calculating smile as he gave his counsel. ”I must respectfully disagree with Master Chen Gong. They should be buried thirty miles to the West. Let their tombs face toward Luoyang and the breached walls of Chang’An. Let them spend eternity looking back at the ashes of their former power, at the empire they failed to hold. It is a poetic, psychological closure. It reminds any who visit the grave that the sun of the Wei Dynasty has permanently set in the west, and will never rise again.”

​Lu Su, the Minister of Rites and master of grand diplomatic optics, stepped forward last, bowing gracefully. ”Both of my esteemed colleagues offer brilliant, albeit punitive, visions. But Your Majesty explicitly asked to show the magnanimity of a new era. I suggest they be buried thirty miles to the East, upon a quiet, tranquil hill.”

​Lu Su looked out over the courtyard, his eyes shining with profound foresight. ”By burying them in the East, their tombs will perpetually face the rising sun. But more importantly, they will face the capital of Hengyuan. We do not bury them looking at their failures, we bury them forcing their ghosts to witness the magnificent, unshakeable prosperity of the new era they failed to build. It neutralizes them as bitter spirits of rebellion and transforms them into silent, eternal witnesses to Your Majesty’s glory. It is the ultimate display of imperial confidence and grace.”

​Lie Fan sat in the high backed wooden chair, his chin resting on his hand as he carefully listened to the profound, layered opinions of his advisors. Each argument was a masterclass in statecraft. Chen Gong’s north offered strict legal deterrence. Jia Xu’s west offered crushing psychological closure.

​But it was Lu Su’s east that perfectly captured the complex, transcendent legacy Lie Fan wished to forge. To let Cao Mengde’s spirit watch the sun rise over a unified, peaceful Hengyuan Empire was a final, undeniable victory of ideology.

​”Your counsel is invaluable, as always, my lords,” Lie Fan said, dipping his head in a gesture of sincere gratitude. He turned his eyes toward the Minister of Rites. ”After weighing your visions, I have decided to follow through with Master Lu Su’s suggestion. The eastern hills shall serve as the final resting place for Cao Cao, his clan, and his five vanguard generals. Let them watch the dawn of the Black Dragon for the rest of time.”

​Hearing that their Emperor had reached a verdict, Jia Xu and Chen Gong seamlessly nodded their heads, instantly and respectfully accepting the decision without a single word of protest.

​”Minister Lu Su,” Lie Fan commanded, shifting his posture. ”I give you the absolute responsibility to prepare and handle this burial. As the Minister of Rites, ensure the geomancy is appropriate, the stone is unmarked by royal titles but crafted of high quality, and the rites are performed cleanly. It is in your hands.”

​”I am honored by your trust, Your Imperial Majesty,” Lu Su replied, bowing so deeply his sleeves brushed the wooden floorboards of the platform. ”I shall ensure the burial perfectly reflects the boundless grace and absolute authority of Hengyuan.”

​With his task assigned, Lu Su took a respectful step backward, fading from the immediate center of the council.

​The moment Lu Su stepped back, Jia Xu smoothly took his place. The Chancellor did not look at the bloodstained dirt of the execution yard. Instead, he tilted his head back, his dark, calculating eyes tracking the blinding light in the pale sky.

​The shadows in the courtyard had shrunk until they were practically non existent, pooling tightly directly beneath the boots of the soldiers.

​”Your Imperial Majesty,” Jia Xu murmured, his voice dropping to a dry, hollow rasp that signaled the end of the reprieve. ”The sun has reached its zenith. The hour of the execution has come.”

​Hearing those fateful words, Lie Fan looked up from the platform. He squinted against the harsh, brilliant glare of the midday sun. True enough, the golden orb sat precisely at the highest point in the heavens. It was a beautiful, cloudless day, a stark, agonizing contrast to the absolute darkness that was about to descend upon the Wang Estate.

​The time for philosophical reflection and martial respect had passed. It was time for the butcher’s work.

​”Then let us not keep the Emperor of Wei and his family waiting,” Lie Fan said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal register.

​He stood up from the wooden chair, the dark crimson dragons embroidered on his robes seeming to writhe in the midday light. With a final, sweeping glance at the empty execution blocks, Lie Fan descended the wooden steps of the platform. He moved with the slow, terrifying, inevitable momentum of a tidal wave, bringing Jia Xu, Chen Gong, and the entire, heavily armed phalanx of the Yellow Ghost Bodyguards with him.

​They marched away from the hard packed dirt of the martial yard, transitioning back into the opulent, intricately landscaped inner gardens of the estate.

​As they moved toward the designated inner courtyard, the beautifully manicured, stone paved square where the male members of the Cao Clan had been gathered to drink their final cups, the profound, oppressive silence of the estate began to crack.

​Before Lie Fan even saw them, the sound reached his ears.

​It was the sound of weeping.

​It was not the dignified, stoic silence of battle hardened generals, nor was it the furious, prideful curses of defeated warlords. It was the high, thin, desperately terrified sound of young boys crying.

​Lie Fan’s jaw clenched, a muscle feathering visibly in his cheek. As he stepped through the moon gate and into the inner courtyard, the horrific reality of his decree was laid bare before him in the bright sunlight.

​The courtyard was heavily guarded, ringed entirely by elite Hengyuan infantry whose faces were hidden behind impassive iron masks. In the center of the stone paved square, arranged in immaculate, hierarchical rows, knelt the condemned men of the Wei Dynasty.

​Lie Fan’s eyes swept over the formation, his heart hardening into absolute, unyielding ice to protect himself from the psychological trauma of the slaughter.

​At the very front of the formation, sitting calmly on a simple woven mat, was Cao Cao.

​Directly behind him knelt his most capable, ambitious sons. Cao Pi, his face pale and twisted with a mixture of raw terror and bitter resentment. Cao Ang, stoic but deeply sorrowful, accepting his fate with quiet dignity. Cao Zhang, his broad, martial shoulders trembling with suppressed, helpless rage. and the brilliant poet Cao Zhi, tears streaming silently down his cheeks as he mourned the sudden, violent end to a world of beauty.

​Behind the sons knelt Cao Cao’s blood siblings, his uncles, his older cousins, and his nephews. Dozens of men, the absolute intellectual and political lifeblood of the Wei Dynasty, all bound by hemp ropes, kneeling in the shadow of their impending demise.

​And scattered among the rear ranks were the boys. The young nephews and minor sons who had passed the age of eight winters, the age Lie Fan had brutally calculated as the threshold of memory and vengeance. They were weeping openly, their small faces buried in their bound hands, sobbing for their mothers, terrified of the silent soldiers holding the porcelain cups.

​Lie Fan ignored the crying. He had to. If he allowed himself to feel the agonizing sorrow of those children, his resolve would shatter, and the cycle of dynastic bloodshed would inevitably repeat itself a decade from now when those boys grew into vengeful men. He steeled his heart, burying his humanity beneath the cold, iron mantle of the Emperor.

​He walked purposefully across the stone courtyard toward a raised dais where the local magistrate had been presiding over the final roll call.

​The magistrate, his robes drenched in cold sweat, took one look at the approaching Sovereign and practically leaped out of his chair. He scurried backward, bowing furiously, vacating the seat of authority for the only man who possessed the right to command this mass extinction.

​Lie Fan turned and sat down heavily in the chair. He did not speak. He simply looked out over the courtyard.

​Every single pair of eyes in the formation, except for the weeping boys, was locked onto Lie Fan. The uncles glared with hatred, the cousins looked away in despair, and Cao Pi stared with a venomous intensity that proved exactly why Lie Fan could never allow him to live.

​But Lie Fan ignored them all. He looked only at the man at the front of the formation.

​Cao Cao looked back.

In this final, breathless moment, Cao Cao did not look like a prisoner. He looked like an Emperor holding court in his own garden. He sat with his back perfectly straight, his dark crimson robes immaculate, his eyes calm and clear.

He looked at Lie Fan, and in that gaze, there was no plea for mercy, no sudden surge of panic, and no lingering resentment. There was only the profound, silent understanding of the game they had played, and the absolute acceptance of its rules.

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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