In the second year of Jianning (169 AD), outside Luoyang City.
The dusk was dark, and the leaden gray clouds were so low that they seemed to crush the cornices of this glorious imperial capital. The dead locust trees on both sides of the official road rustled in the wind, and their branches stabbed into the sky like ghost hands. A group of Yulin riders galloped past through the smoke and dust. The sound of horse hooves startled the jackdaws, and their neighing sound cut through the dead silence.
"Another party member has been killed..." The old farmer on the roadside curled up and stuffed half a piece of bran cake into his grandson's mouth. "In this world, even the sky is about to collapse."
——This world is indeed collapsing.
The Han Dynasty's 400-year-old foundation was being chewed into ashes inch by inch by the swords of the eunuchs' relatives, the blood of the refugees of the border generals, and the fire of famine and plague. In Peiguoqiao County, Yuzhou, a fourteen-year-old boy had just raised his father's privately-hidden Huanshou knife and slashed the first crack into the ancient locust tree in the courtyard. As sawdust splattered, he squinted his eyes stung by sweat, and vaguely saw an old prophecy floating in the shadow of the trees: "A capable minister in times of trouble will be a traitor in troubled times."
The boy's name is Cao Cao and his courtesy name is Meng De.
