On the day of Ding Si, in the fifth month of the seventh year of Huangchu, Emperor Wen of Wei, Cao Pi, died at Jiafu Hall in Luoyang.
Crown Prince Cao Rui ascended the throne before his father's coffin at the age of twenty-two. The histories passed over the day in just a few words: “On Ding Si, he assumed the imperial title and granted a general amnesty.”
But the histories left out one thing: the Cao Rui kneeling before the coffin that day carried the soul of someone from a thousand years in the future.
Chen Rui, a graduate student in history, had died after staying up all night watching the World Cup. When he woke, he found himself kneeling in front of Cao Pi's coffin. He remembered everything about Cao Rui: his mother Zhen Shi being put to death, “her hair hanging over her face, her mouth stuffed with bran”; the names of the four regents; the unfathomable eyes of Sima Yi; and the fact that he would not live past thirty-six.
He also remembered the cold line in the history books: “After Cao Shuang and the others were executed, the imperial house of Wei was utterly wiped out.”
But now, he raised his head and saw Cao Zhen standing by the palace doors, hand on his sword, the scar on his face gleaming in the afternoon light. Cao Xiu knelt behind him, his thick brows furrowed. Chen Qun stood with his head lowered, his silver hair perfectly neat. And Sima Yi, the man who would later launch the Gaoping Tombs Coup and slaughter the Cao clan until none remained, stood with his eyes lowered, as deferential as a statue.
Outside the palace doors, an urgent military dispatch was racing toward them from eight hundred li away: taking advantage of the mourning period, Sun Quan had personally led fifty thousand troops to lay siege to Jiangxia.
The people gathered in court did not know that the twenty-two-year-old emperor before them held in his hands a history book with an ending already written.
And his task was to rewrite every page.
Come on, author!