In history class, the professor had just reached “Dong Zhuo’s rebellion in the first year of Zhaoning” when I opened my eyes again and found myself as nine-year-old Emperor Xian of Han, Liu Xie.
Before me, Luoyang was burning. Smoke blotted out the sky, and Dong Zhuo’s iron-clamp grip dragged me into a jolting carriage.
“Hold tight, Your Majesty. We’re moving the capital to Chang’an!” The laughter of the Xiliang soldiers mingled with the people’s screams, piercing my ears.
My memories from my past life stirred with every jolt. I recognized this scene: the death march of the first year of Chuping.
The jade imperial seal dug painfully into my sleeve. Through a gap in the carriage curtain, I stared fixedly at the back of Dong Zhuo’s thick neck.
“Grand Tutor…” My childish voice rang out amid the wind and smoke. “How does Chang’an’s Weiyang Palace compare to Luoyang’s Southern Palace?”
This is the story of a young hero, with no golden finger and no System. He relies entirely on himself.
“What I want is not ‘peace’ built on mountains of corpses! I want a righteous imperial army that sweeps away every villain and cleanses the world! Let the people rejoice in living, not merely feel safe out of fear!”
Liu Bei, Cao Cao, Sun Jian… How am I supposed to make a life for myself among these warlords…
