Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!

________________________________

(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel a Dragon Age Inquisition novel named ”From Couch To The Inquisitor”, be sure to check it out and give some power stone)

...

From the quiet, civilized halls of academia, Lie Fan’s journey took a drastic, violent, and highly energetic turn. He arrived at the dusty, heavily fortified military training grounds on the rugged edge of the capital. The air here was incredibly thick with kicked up yellow dust, the sharp smell of sweat, and the deafening, rhythmic clashing of heavy steel weapons. There, Lie Fan found the fierce warrior queen, Lu Lingqi.

Of course, she was right in the middle of the chaotic, brutal dirt grounds. Clad in heavy, scuffed iron armor, her hair tied back in a tight warrior’s knot, she was mercilessly training the newly recruited female heavy infantry battalion.

Lie Fan leaned against a wooden fence, watching with an amused grin as Lingqi flawlessly demonstrated a devastating, incredibly fast halberd swing, effortlessly disarming a massive, heavily armored wooden training dummy and splintering its shield.

When she saw Lie Fan watching her, she didn’t soften. She barked a strict, terrifying order for the exhausted women to continue their grueling push ups in the dirt, before jogging over to her husband. Breathing heavily, she wiped dirt and sweat from her brow, stood at rigid attention, and gave him a sharp, fiercely proud military salute. The sheer intensity in her eyes showed Lie Fan that the martial spirit of the empire burned just as bright in its women as it did in its men.

Lastly, as the sun began to set, casting a beautiful, golden hue over the bustling capital, Lie Fan made his way to the absolute economic heart of the city, the towering, heavily guarded headquarters of the Yu Merchant Guild.

Entering the massive, sprawling guildhall, Lie Fan was immediately surrounded by mountains of luxurious imported silk, heavy crates of southern spices, and the non stop, rhythmic clicking of hundreds of abacuses calculating the empire’s vast wealth.

He made his way up the stairs to the grand central office. There, he found Zhen Ji, dressed in incredibly sharp, luxurious, and highly authoritative merchant clothing. She was flawlessly negotiating a massive, multi million coin trade route expansion with a dozen sweating, completely overwhelmed provincial merchants.

Watching her completely dominate the economic battlefield with her terrifyingly sharp, calculating mind was a majestic sight to behold. She backed the veteran merchants into a corner with flawless logic and impenetrable ledgers.

As the defeated, exhausted merchants were finally dismissed, bowing respectfully to her, Lie Fan entered the room. To his immense delight, he also happily met with his beloved mother, Yu Yan, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, observing the negotiations.

Yu Yan proudly patted Zhen Ji’s hand, looking up at her son with a beaming smile to show him just how incredibly competent his wife was at managing the endless, staggering wealth of the guild.

Sitting down to drink expensive tea with his brilliant merchant wife and his proud mother as the city lights began to twinkle outside the window, Lie Fan felt an overwhelming sense of absolute peace and accomplishment.

He had forged an empire of iron and blood, yes. But sitting there, he knew that his empire was truly thriving, not just on the brutal battlefield, but through the incredible, pioneering strength, intellect, and sheer brilliance of the women he loved.

While Lie Fan sat enveloped in the warm, golden light of the capital, enjoying the profound, hard won peace surrounded by the brilliant women of his life, a vastly different scene of imperial consolidation was unfolding thousands of miles to the east.

On the newly conquered, pacified island of Wa, the biting northern winds had given way to a mild, coastal breeze. Zhang Liao sat inside the grand, wooden paneled command pavilion in the heart of the rising island capital of Kyoto. The sprawling fortress city was still under massive construction, echoing with the sounds of thousands of native laborers hauling timber and stone, but Zhang Liao’s mind was already looking past the scaffolding. His colossal eastern campaign was officially over. Now, he faced his final, and perhaps most monumental, administrative duty: choosing the warden of the east.

Over the past several weeks, Zhang Liao had meticulously evaluated his vast officer corps. He poured over battle reports, logistical ledgers, and disciplinary records, searching for the absolute perfect, most capable general who would permanently stay behind and lead the Hengyuan Dynasty soldiers assigned to garrison this island. The man required for this position could not just be a blunt instrument of war, he needed to be a scalpel.

Finally, Zhang Liao had found him.

The heavy bamboo doors of the pavilion slid open, and General Wei Han stepped inside. He was a towering, broad shouldered man in his late thirties, clad in heavy, scuffed iron armor that bore the deep gashes of the Shikoku mountain campaign. Yet, despite his intimidating, heavily muscled physique and the brutal, thick scar running down the left side of his jaw, his eyes were incredibly sharp, calm, and highly intelligent.

Wei Han was a terrifyingly well rounded commander. On the battlefield, he was a master of heavy martial arts, capable of wielding a massive iron mace that could shatter cavalry lines, inspiring his men from the absolute front lines. But what truly set him apart from the typical, blood hungry meathead generals was his brilliant, deeply nuanced understanding of politics. He inherently knew exactly how to read a delicate geopolitical situation.

”Deputy Grand General,” Wei Han said, delivering a crisp, flawless military salute, his fist striking his breastplate.

”Sit, Wei Han,” Zhang Liao commanded, gesturing to the heavy wooden chair across his map strewn desk.

As the veteran general sat, Zhang Liao poured them both a cup of hot tea. ”The island is broken. The Shaman Queen is currently sailing to the mainland in chains. But a broken horse still kicks if you don’t hold the reins properly. Tell me, General Wei, how do you evaluate our newly appointed puppet, Governor Tarashihiko?”

Wei Han took a slow sip of his tea, his sharp eyes never leaving Zhang Liao’s. ”He is a terrified dog, General. He barks only when we permit it. But ruling through a puppet requires a gentle hand wrapped entirely in an iron gauntlet. If we crush his throat, the native populace will view us as tyrants and constantly rebel in the shadows. If we loosen the leash even a fraction, he will secretly hoard silver and forge weapons in the mountain caves. We must give him the grand illusion of power, let him wear the fancy silks and collect the rice taxes, while we silently control the granaries, the armories, and the ports. He rules the mud, we rule him.”

Zhang Liao smiled, a genuine expression of deep approval crossing his hardened features. It was the exact, flawless political assessment he had been hoping for.

”Your mind is as sharp as your mace, Wei Han,” Zhang Liao stated, pulling a heavy, silk bound imperial edict from his desk. ”Because managing this island requires precisely that level of ruthless nuance, I am officially and proudly appointing you to the highest station of the eastern frontier. From this day forward, you are the absolute Military Governor of Hengyuan Dynasty of the Yamato Governorship.”

Wei Han’s eyes widened slightly at the sheer magnitude of the promotion, but he quickly stood, dropping to one knee to accept the heavy scroll. ”I will not fail the Emperor, nor will I fail you, General. This island will remain firmly beneath the Dragon’s claw.”

”I know it will,” Zhang Liao said, gesturing for him to rise. ”But we must discuss the reality of time. We are leaving exactly fifty thousand heavily armored elite men under your command to lock down the Wa archipelago forever. But an army left in isolation across an ocean for decades is a dangerous thing. Men grow lonely. They take local wives. They adopt local customs. Eventually, if we are not careful, they ’go native.’ In a generation, they might forget the mainland entirely and decide this island is their own kingdom.”

Wei Han nodded grimly, fully understanding the deeply profound, historical dangers of a stationed frontier garrison rebelling over time. ”Then we must ensure their roots to the Hengyuan Dynasty remain deeper than the ocean that separates us.”

For the next several hours, the two brilliant commanders engaged in a highly logistical, groundbreaking session of policy making. To ensure absolute, generational loyalty, they hammered out a series of breathtakingly generous and strategically flawless decrees.

”First,” Zhang Liao proposed, tracing the shipping lanes on the map, ”we establish a mandatory, fully funded military leave. Every single stationed soldier, including yourself, Wei Han, will periodically rotate back to the Hengyuan mainland to stay for a full month. The imperial navy will ferry them. This brilliant rotation ensures that they, and their future descendants, will absolutely never forget about their true roots, the majesty of their homeland, and the Emperor they serve. They must see the golden capital of Xiapi to remember what they are protecting.”

”An excellent decree,” Wei Han agreed, his mind rapidly calculating the morale boost. ”But what of their lives here? A soldier fights hardest when he has dirt to protect. As a grand reward for their ultimate sacrifice of guarding this isolated eastern frontier, I suggest we grant them property. Every single soldier staying behind will generously receive a modest, beautifully built wooden house in the newly secured valleys, along with massive plots of fertile agricultural fields. We make them landlords of the island.”

”Agreed,” Zhang Liao nodded. ”Let the native populace work the fields for them. It elevates our soldiers to the absolute top of the social hierarchy.”

”Lastly,” Wei Han added, his voice softening slightly with empathy for his men, ”we must prevent homesickness, which breeds mutiny faster than starvation. If the soldiers and commanders have a family, a wife, or children back on the mainland, and they deeply desire to bring them here to settle their new estates, they will be provided with completely free, heavily guarded imperial naval transport. We bring their homes to them.”

With these incredibly generous, morale boosting policies firmly laid out and sealed with red wax, the stage was set for the final transition of power.

Three days later, a breathtaking, monumental ceremony was held in the newly established island capital of Kyoto.

The sprawling central valley was an ocean of terrifying martial discipline. Exactly 50,000 elite Hengyuan heavy infantrymen, halberdiers, and repeating crossbowmen stood in perfectly aligned, rigid squares. Their dark steel armor gleamed under the midday sun. Above them, thousands of massive crimson Hengyuan banners fluttered violently in the wind, casting long, bloody shadows over the dirt.

Standing on a towering, freshly constructed wooden dais overlooking the troops were the absolute titans of the empire. Zhang Liao stood at the center, with the four grand admirals beside him.

To the side of the dais stood the puppet Governor Tarashihiko. He was flanked by his native ministers, all of them visibly trembling, their faces pale as they looked out at the unfathomable, disciplined military machine that now permanently occupied their home. The native populace, gathered by the thousands along the surrounding hillsides, watched in absolute, terrifying awe. ℯℓ.

With a booming voice that echoed across the valley, amplified by the sheer silence of his men, Zhang Liao officially declared the grand promotion of Wei Han.

Wei Han, clad in a magnificent new suit of ceremonial black and gold armor, stepped forward to the edge of the dais. He drew his heavy steel sword and raised it toward the heavens.

”Soldiers of the Yamato Garrison!” Wei Han roared, his voice thick with unyielding pride. ”We are the absolute edge of the Emperor’s blade! We hold the eastern sun! We will build our homes here, we will raise our children here, and we will crush any who dare whisper treason against the Dragon Throne!”

The response from the 50,000 soldiers was a deafening, earth shattering roar that shook the very foundations of the rising city. They slammed their weapons against their shields in a thunderous, rhythmic cadence, swearing their absolute, eternal loyalty to their emperor. The terrifying sound caused Governor Tarashihiko to flinch violently, a stark reminder of his gilded cage.

After the flawless, disciplined placement of the garrison was officially showcased and secured, Zhang Liao turned to his high command. ”Our work in the east is done. The mainland calls.”

That afternoon, Zhang Liao, the remaining three peerless strategists, the four grand admirals, and the rest of the colossal imperial army marched down to the fortified docks of Osaka Bay. They boarded the massive, smoke belching steam warships and the towering galleons. As the heavy iron anchors were raised and the massive paddlewheels churned the ocean into white foam, the grand fleet began its triumphant, highly anticipated process of returning back to the mainland, leaving behind an island permanently chained to the Hengyuan Dynasty.

Meanwhile, a highly contrasting, deeply immersive scene was unfolding thousands of miles away to the deep southwest, far removed from the crisp coastal winds of the Wa archipelago.

Here, in the sweltering, humid, tropical delta of Samatata, the air was thick with the scent of monsoon rain, crushed lotus flowers, and pungent exotic spices. Inside the captured, opulent stone palaces of Karmanta, the temperature was oppressive, but the geopolitical work was relentless.

The veteran supreme commander Huang Zhong and the brilliant head strategist Xun You were fiercely overseeing the complex process of the kingdom’s consolidation. However, their methods were highly unexpected for an occupying force that had just utterly shattered the nation’s military. Rather than just ruling by the blunt edge of the sword and barking orders from behind a wall of shields, they were actively, meticulously integrating themselves into the fabric of the society they now controlled.

Inside a sprawling, open air courtyard of the palace, shaded by massive, ancient banyan trees, Xun You and Huang Zhong sat on plush, intricately woven silk cushions rather than heavy wooden chairs. They had stripped off their heavy mainland armor, opting for lighter, breathable silk robes suitable for the delta’s suffocating humidity.

Before them sat several terrified but eager high ranking Samatata nobles and a council of Brahmanical priests. A grand feast of local cuisine was laid out on low brass tables, steaming bowls of heavily spiced fish curries, bright yellow lentils, and mounds of fragrant, long-grain rice, all foods completely alien to the northern Chinese palate.

Huang Zhong, ever the fearless warrior, took a large bite of a fiery red curry. He coughed slightly as the intense heat of the local chilies hit the back of his throat, but he quickly masked it with a hearty, booming laugh, washing it down with a cup of sweet palm wine.

”Your spices are as fierce as your elephants, my friends,” Huang Zhong chuckled, wiping his white beard. The translation provided by the Funan scholars caused the tense Samatata nobles to cautiously smile, visibly relaxing at the old general’s jovial, surprisingly human demeanor.

Xun You, picking elegantly at his rice, was not just eating; he was working. He and Huang Zhong were meticulously learning about the complex Samatata culture, their deeply entrenched, rigid caste systems, and their daily way of life. They spent hours quietly observing the local Buddhist and Brahmanical rituals, asking respectful questions about the pantheon of gods that adorned the palace walls, and studying the delta’s complex, flood-based agricultural cycles.

They did this with a brilliant, calculated purpose. They knew that political and economic consolidation could only work wonderfully and seamlessly if the locals felt understood and respected rather than just violently oppressed. By respecting their temples and eating their food, the Hengyuan commanders were subtly disarming the population’s rebellious spirit, making the bitter pill of absolute subjugation infinitely easier to swallow.

Of course, beneath this veneer of cultural exchange, Xun You was playing a terrifyingly sharp game of political chess.

He poured a cup of palm wine for an older, talkative Samatata noble who had previously served as the kingdom’s minister of trade.

”This delta is incredibly wealthy,” Xun You noted through the translator, his voice smooth and conversational. ”But surely, such wealth attracts the envy of your neighbors. I have read reports of the kingdom of Vanga to your south. Their ships are said to be quite grand.”

Xun You intentionally left the statement hanging, brilliantly baiting the noble’s pride. It worked flawlessly.

The Samatata minister scoffed, waving his hand dismissively, his eyes flashing with ancient, entrenched hatred. ”Vanga? They are nothing but arrogant, glorified pirates who stink of fish and sea salt! Their ships are large, yes, but they lack the sophistication of our river galleys. They constantly harass our southern fishing fleets. For three generations, my family has lost cargo to their vile blockades. They believe they own the Bay of Bengal, but they are cowards who refuse to fight a true land battle!”

Xun You nodded sympathetically, his mind rapidly filing away the deep seated resentment. ”A tragedy. And what of the north? The chariots of Pundravardhana?”

”Brutes,” another Brahmanical priest spat, forgetting his fear of the Hengyuan conquerors in his passionate hatred for his local rivals. ”They are uncultured warmongers who constantly try to dam the rivers that flow into our lands, attempting to steal our agricultural lifeblood. They think their proximity to the Kushan Empire makes them invincible, but they are just as barbaric as the steppe riders they fight.”

As the Samatata elite spent the next hour passionately ranting about the perceived evils, historical slights, and tactical weaknesses of their neighbors, Xun You casually sipped his wine, a cold, predatory intelligence gleaming in his eyes.

He was using this opportunity to learn much more about Samatata’s powerful neighbors strictly through Samatata’s heavily biased eyes. He was mapping the ancient blood feuds, the economic rivalries, and the regional hatreds that the Hengyuan Dynasty could effortlessly exploit, manipulate, and weaponize in the near future.

Later that evening, after the nobles had been dismissed, Huang Zhong leaned over the map table in their private quarters, chuckling deeply.

”They practically handed us the daggers to stab their neighbors with,” the veteran general noted. ”They hate Vanga more than they hate us for conquering them.”

”Hatred is a universal blindness, General,” Xun You replied, writing down the intelligence in rapid, elegant calligraphy. ”And we will use their blindness to make them march against Vanga when the time is right. But to do that, we need to know exactly what Vanga is doing. The Oriole must spread its wings.”

While the high command played the grand, elegant geopolitical game in the brightly lit, incense scented palace above, a dark, gritty, and highly secretive scene was unfolding in the sprawling, muddy underbelly of Karmanta. Here, detailing the terrifying, invisible expansion of the Oriole Agents, the true, shadowy strength of Lie Fan’s empire was taking root.

______________________________

Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 37 (204 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

Open readable version