Traveling Through Chengji: When the Fog Rises in Luoyang

When I traveled to Chengji, there were only three days left before I was defeated by the three tribes of Yi. The historical records are very clear: I would stab the emperor Cao Mao in the chest with a spear in front of the palace gate, and then be silenced by the order of my master Sima Zhao. My whole family would die, and I would become a regicide nailed to the pillar of shame. I don't want to die, let alone die like this. I advised Cao Mao: "Your Majesty, please be patient and be an An Le Gong." The young emperor's eyes were burning with fire: "I would rather be broken into pieces!" I tested Sima Zhao, and his number one confidant Jia Chong patted me on the shoulder, hiding his sword in his smile: "This is the time to raise an army for a thousand days." Advance or retreat is a dead end. Then, don't blame me for flipping the table. I used modern chemistry knowledge to distill bad wine into sky-high-priced "nectar" and quietly corroded Sima Zhao's health; I use marketing thinking to curate Cao Cao's relics and rekindle the spark of Cao Wei in the hearts of aristocratic families; I found three thousand forgotten descendants of Danyang soldiers in the filthiest slums - their fathers' military achievements were wiped out by the Sima family. Their hatred is my best knife. After four years of dormancy, Sima Zhao finally left Beijing to conquer Shu. I stood on the huge building that symbolized his supreme authority and watched it slowly tilt and collapse according to the trajectory I calculated. A loud noise shook the early morning in Luoyang. That was my death knell for the old days.