When a bronze arrowhead pierced the mist and lodged in the modern pocket watch on his chest, a rift in time and space silently tore open. A soul from the twenty-first century fell into an age of chaos and war, landing atop the walls of Luoyang before Dong Zhuo's downfall. Beneath the blood-red sunset, he watched blades sever loyalty and schemes devour ideals.
When he first arrived in this world, he was merely an adviser in a warlord's camp, trapped in a courtly maelstrom where aristocratic clans held power and it was hard to tell the loyal from the treacherous. A forged plan from Longzhong unexpectedly set a blazing fire in Cao Cao's eyes. The turning point began with a daring gamble: under the guise of borrowing the east wind, he laid a trap of thunder and fire, turning the tide amid the flames of Guandu. But victory came at a price: he personally sent his close friend to the stake, earning a reputation as an invincible strategist for life.
Iron cavalry trampled Qingzhou, and war drums echoed across Jiangdong. He wielded intellect like a blade, cutting through history's old shell, yet with every change he made, he heard the heavy sigh of fate. The shadow of the aristocratic clans wound like ivy around the new emperor's throne, while the swords of the martial world could not pierce the icy chill in people's hearts. He once thought he had command of the board on which the whole realm was playing, never realizing that he had long been caught up in the game himself.
As the river of history surged once more toward an unknown end, he stood atop a hill, gazing at the boiling realm beneath him, and murmured to himself: If wisdom can rewrite fate, where, then, should the human heart belong?
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