Sima Yi had ambition. He had a lot of it, but ambition wasn't his only driving force.
He also had one very specific, very petty grudge.
After Liu Bei returned to Chengdu in triumph, the thankless job of governing Nanzhong fell to General Wu Yi. Although Sima Yi had been dragged to Yizhou entirely against his will, he adapted quickly enough. He kept his ears open and his opinions to himself.
Before long, he knew all the local gossip. The juicy stuff. The kind that would make court ladies blush and old ministers choke on their tea. Including the particularly interesting rumors about his Lord and a certain widow from the Wu family.
Because of that family connection, Sima Yi had exactly zero problems with Wu Yi becoming his boss. Nepotism wasn't just acceptable in his book. It was the entire damn library.
The world ran on connections, not merit. Anyone who said otherwise was either naive or lying.
Besides, Sima Yi had technically already served two masters.
Whenever he thought back to his days under Cao Cao in Wancheng, he felt a weird sense of peace wash over him. Compared to that circus of paranoid geniuses and inflated egos, this assignment was practically a vacation at a hot spring resort.
No, the person who truly bothered him was Wu Yi's second-in-command.
Zhang Ni.
Because by any reasonable measure, this arrangement made less sense than a fish trying to climb a tree.
First, seniority. When Sima Yi got dragged down to this mosquito-infested swamp at the edge of the world, Zhang Ni had just received his official summons. Same month. Same year. Same bureaucratic paperwork that probably smelled of cheap ink and desperation.
Then, family background. Let's talk about pedigree for a second.
The Sima clan of Henei wasn't just respected. They were legendary. Sima Yi's family tree read like a who's who of Han dynasty power players. His great-great-grandfather? Grand General of the Han. His great-grandfather? Governor of Yuzhang. His grandfather? Governor of Yingchuan. His father? Mayor of the Capital. The man probably learned to count using imperial seals instead of fingers.
And Zhang Ni?
The guy came from nowhere. His family history probably started with "Once upon a time, there was a farmer..."
Finally, experience. This was the real kicker.
Sima Yi had worked as a Bureau Head in the Prime Minister's office. He'd handled state secrets, advised on policy, rubbed shoulders with the most powerful men in the empire.
He knew how the game was played at the highest level.
Zhang Ni had been a county clerk in Nanchong. His biggest achievement was probably figuring out which farmer owed taxes on which pig. Groundbreaking stuff.
And yet somehow, through a series of events that Sima Yi could only describe as cosmic injustice, Zhang Ni was now his direct supervisor. The universe had clearly suffered a catastrophic system failure. Someone upstairs had dropped the ball, and Sima Yi was the one paying the price.
The whole matter left a bitter taste in his mouth.
It also strengthened his resolve.
Whatever task Liu Bei had given him, he wouldn't just complete it. He would absolutely crush it into dust. He would make it so flawless, so brilliant, so undeniably impressive that Zhang Ni would have no choice but to acknowledge his superiority.
Sima Yi pushed aside his tent flap and stepped out into the thick, humid Nanzhong air. The moisture clung to his skin like a wet blanket that hadn't been wrung out.
His fine northern robes, which had once marked him as a man of status and refinement, were now damp and clinging to his body like a second uncomfortable skin.
It was late October. Back home in the north, his household would be busy stocking up on charcoal and firewood, preparing for the harsh winter that always came. The servants would be airing out the heavy winter clothes, the cooks would be preserving food for the long cold months, and his family would be gathered around the hearth, telling stories and planning for the new year.
But down here in the south? The weather followed its own rules. Seasons were more like suggestions than laws. He watched bare-chested tribesmen walk through camp like it was the middle of summer, their skin gleaming with sweat under the relentless sun.
Sima Yi swallowed his homesickness and scanned the area. His eyes landed on someone useful.
"Meng Huo! Meng Huo! Walk with me."
A tall man jogged over, his features a blend of Han and tribal bloodlines. He moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew these jungles better than most people knew their own homes.
"Sima Xiansheng called for me?"
Sima Yi tucked his hands into his sleeves and nodded. "Let's take a stroll outside camp. I want to hear more about the Cuan clan. Tell me everything you know. Leave nothing out."
Nanzhong politics were a tangled mess. Like trying to untangle a ball of fishing line that had been chewed by a dog and then left in the rain.
Beyond the countless tribes hiding in the dense jungles, each with their own customs, languages, and grievances, there were also old Han families who had migrated south centuries ago, fleeing wars and disasters in the north.
These families had brought their culture, their traditions, and their prejudices with them, creating a complex web of alliances and enmities that shifted with the seasons.
The tribes and the settlers had spent generations going back and forth between fighting each other and marrying each other.
It was a complicated dance of blood and betrayal, of hatred and love, of war and peace. Some poor Han families, driven to desperation by poverty or persecution, had joined the tribes out of sheer survival instinct, abandoning their heritage to blend in with their new neighbors.
Some powerful tribal chiefs, seeing the advantages of aligning with the imperial court, had married Han women specifically to look good to the authorities, using their wives as political accessories and bridges to power.
After generations of this chaos, after countless battles and betrayals and marriages and alliances, two families had clawed their way to the top of the pile.
The Meng clan and the Cuan clan.
Meng Huo was the best of the current Meng generation. He looked more tribal than Han, but he carried a Han surname and wore Han clothes with pride. That mixed background made him the first local warlord to bow to Liu Bei.
The Cuan clan went the opposite direction. They clung to their tribal roots, kept to themselves, and had fought Liu Bei's southern expedition every step of the way.
Meng Huo scratched his head at the mention of his rivals. His expression soured.
"Those Cuan bastards. I heard they're building walls over in Tonglao. Reinforcing the place like they're expecting the end of the world."
He spat on the ground.
"Honestly, if they had more stonemasons and a few months of peace, they'd turn that whole damn area into an impregnable fortress. Even if we manage to crack Tonglao, which won't be easy, they can just fall back south. Kunze, Dianchi, and all the surrounding areas. They know that terrain better than I know my own face."
Meng Huo knew the geography like the back of his hand. The Meng and Cuan clans had been trying to kill each other for so long they'd lost count of the generations. They knew each other's tactics, each other's weaknesses, each other's favorite ambush spots.
Sima Yi filed all this information away in the mental filing cabinet he called his brain, each detail carefully catalogued and cross-referenced. When Liu Bei first took Meng Huo in, the Lord had treated him with genuine respect and kindness, not just as a conquered enemy but as a valued ally.
Sima Yi had used that goodwill, that trust, to quietly pump the tribal leader for every scrap of information he could get.
He was a scholar, not a soldier, but he understood the value of intelligence better than most generals. Knowledge was power, and in this case, knowledge was the key to unlocking Nanzhong's secrets.
The terrain around Kunze and Dianchi was mostly flat, open land that stretched for miles in every direction. It also had large freshwater lakes that provided water, fish, and transportation routes.
That combination of fertile land and strategic waterways made it the most valuable, most coveted land in all of Nanzhong. Naturally, Liu Bei wanted it. Any competent ruler would. Control that area, and you controlled the heart of Nanzhong.
But Sima Yi was thinking bigger. Dianchi was just the beginning.
From Dianchi, if you pushed southeast, you hit Bengu County and Wanwen City. Between them, a narrow gorge called Jincheng Pass cut through the mountains. That pass led straight to Jiaozhou in the far southeast.
If Sima Yi could map that corridor and secure it, the strategic payoff was enormous. Liu Bei's territories of Jingzhou and Yizhou would be connected into one solid block. They would have the Fangling route in the north, the Yiling route in the center, and the Jincheng route in the south.
It would be a logistical nightmare to pull off. They'd have to crush the Cuan clan first, which was no small feat given their reputation and their knowledge of the terrain.
Then they'd have to carve trade routes through hostile jungles filled with dangerous wildlife, treacherous terrain, and potentially hostile tribes who might not take kindly to outsiders marching through their lands.
And finally, they'd have to outmaneuver Shi Xie, the warlord who had turned Jiaozhou into his personal kingdom for decades and wasn't likely to give it up without a fight. The man was old, but he was cunning, and he had deep roots in the region.
But Sima Yi's ambition swelled anyway. Every obstacle was just another achievement waiting to be claimed. All of it would become his political capital, his ticket back to the north.
Besides, stuck down here in the swamps with Wu Yi and Zhang Ni breathing down his neck every damn day, watching his every move and waiting for him to make a mistake, Sima Yi didn't have many other options. He couldn't just sit around waiting for a promotion that would never come. He had to make his own opportunities, create his own path to power.
The Cuan clan would be his stepping stone. He would use their crushed remains, their defeated warriors, their abandoned strongholds, and their broken families, to climb back to the north where he belonged. Where he deserved to be. Where his family name still carried weight and respect.
---
Hundreds of miles to the north, in a completely different world, another young man was also staring at the horizon. But unlike Sima Yi with his grand schemes and political calculations that could fill entire libraries, Xue Li wasn't thinking about trade routes or outmaneuvering anyone.
He was thinking about how hungry he was.
His stomach growled like it was trying to escape his body. He ignored it. Hunger was an old friend, one he'd learned to live with.
Sitting on his horse at the very edge of his village, where the dirt road turned to wilderness and the last farmhouse disappeared behind him, Xue Li took stock of what he had. It wasn't much. Hell, it was barely anything. But it was everything he owned in this world, and he knew every inch of it like he knew the scars on his own hands.
One old ceremonial saber, its hilt worn smooth from generations of Xue men gripping it in battle and ceremony. The blade was nicked and scratched from years of use, each mark telling a story he'd been told since childhood, but it was still sharp enough to make a point.
One heavy war bow, so heavy most men his age couldn't draw it all the way. The wood had been worn smooth by his father's hands, by his grandfather's hands, by the hands of men who'd carried this family's name with pride. The string was still taut and ready, humming with potential energy every time he tested it.
Both weapons had belonged to his late father, passed down through generations of the Xue family like sacred relics. They were battered and scarred, yes, but the steel was good, the kind that didn't shatter when you needed it most.
The bow had serious pull, the kind that could punch through armor at fifty paces if you had the strength and the skill.
Together, they whispered of better days. Days when the Xue name actually meant something in these parts, when people didn't cross the street to avoid talking to you, when your family's reputation opened doors instead of closing them.
A few sets of coarse linen clothes, patched and mended so many times they were more patch than original fabric. A few strings of Kaiyuan copper coins that Squire Liu had pressed into his hand with shaking fingers. And several sealed official dispatches stamped with red wax, saying he was being summoned to the capital on urgent state business.
His transit pass was carefully wrapped around them like a precious treasure.
He remembered Squire Liu's frantic warnings. "Tuck that pass somewhere safe, boy. Don't lose it. Don't let anyone see it. Don't even breathe on it too hard. Best case, you get turned away at a checkpoint and sent back home in shame. Worst case, you spend a year rotting in a dungeon while officials argue about whether you're a spy or just an idiot who stole someone else's papers."
Xue Li unbuttoned his tunic and pressed the pass flat against his chest, right over his heart. His rough fingers brushed against something cold and smooth tucked beneath his clothes.
A slow smile spread across his face. He pulled it out and held it up to the morning light.
A delicate silver bracelet. Simple, elegant, the kind of thing a village girl shouldn't own but somehow did. It caught the light and sparkled like captured starlight. Miss Liu had slipped it off her wrist when no one was looking, her fingers brushing against his for just a moment longer than necessary, and pressed it into his palm before he left.
Her eyes had been bright with unshed tears, her voice barely a whisper.
"Don't forget where you came from," she'd said. "No matter what happens in the capital, no matter how far you go or how high you climb, don't forget this place. Don't forget us."
He tucked it back against his heart, right next to the transit pass, two treasures side by side. Then he took one last look north toward Longmen County, toward the only home he'd ever known, the only place where his family name meant anything at all, even if that meaning wasn't always good.
He yanked the reins and turned south. Toward Chang'an.
He had no idea why the court had summoned him. The dispatches were maddeningly vague, the kind of bureaucratic language designed to tell you everything and nothing at the same time. "Urgent state business." "Immediate reporting required." It could be anything. A promotion, though he couldn't imagine what he'd done to deserve one. A punishment, though he was pretty sure he'd remember if he'd committed a crime worthy of imperial attention. A clerical error that would get him laughed out of the capital and sent back home with his tail between his legs, the subject of village gossip for the rest of his life.
But Xue Li knew a turning point when he saw one. He'd spent his whole life watching for them, waiting for that one moment when everything could change. This was his shot. His one chance to drag the Xue family name out of the mud and dirt where it had been buried after his father's death, to wash off the shame and the poverty and the pitying looks.
The Squire's sudden change in attitude had told him everything he needed to know. One day Xue Li was worthless farm trash, someone to be pitied and occasionally mocked. The next day, with the imperial summons in hand, the old man was falling over himself to help. Offering money. Offering advice. Offering his daughter's silver bracelet.
The world changed when power changed hands. Xue Li had figured that out before he could grow a proper beard.
His motivation was simple. He could wrestle a bull to the ground with his bare hands. He'd done it more than once, just to prove he could. He had exactly zero interest in spending his life behind a plow, watching the seasons change while his muscles turned to fat and his dreams turned to dust.
Longmen County belonged to Jiang Prefecture in the Hedong Circuit, right next to Guannei Circuit. Xue Li followed the postal roads south, the well-worn paths that carried official messages and merchants between villages and towns.
He passed endless farmlands where farmers bent double under the sun, their backs glistening with sweat.
He passed villages where children ran barefoot through the dirt streets and old women sat in doorways mending clothes and gossiping about anyone who walked by.
After three days of hard riding, he reached Puban, a bustling river town that existed for one reason and one reason only. The Yellow River crossing.
The town was a chaotic symphony of noise and movement. Wagons rattled over cobblestones, merchants shouted prices at each other, boatmen barked orders, and the constant roar of the Yellow River provided the bassline to it all. The air smelled of sweat, horses, river mud, and cooking food from dozens of street vendors. It was overwhelming in the best possible way.
Here, he had to cross the Yellow River.
There was no bridge spanning the mighty waters, no tunnel running beneath them, no magical flying carpet or dragon to carry him across. Just a ferry that charged what Xue Li considered highway robbery but what the ferryman probably called a fair price for risking his life every single day.
He showed his transit pass to the garrison clerks at the crossing. They gave him strange looks, the kind that said they'd seen his type before and weren't impressed. But Xue Li was used to it. He was tall and built like a soldier, broad shoulders and thick arms, but his face was still young and smooth.
A beardless boy traveling alone on official business was a rare sight on these roads, and people tended to stare.
While waiting for the ferry to finish loading, Xue Li wandered over to a small shrine near the water's edge.
He dug into his coin pouch and bought a stick of cheap incense from an old woman who looked like she'd been selling incense since before his father was born.
"Good luck, young master," she said, her voice raspy like stones grinding together. She didn't ask his name or his business. She just handed him the incense and took his coin with a nod that suggested she'd seen thousands of young men just like him, all heading somewhere important, all hoping for something better.
Puban lived and died by the ferry traffic. The town existed because people needed to cross the river, and without that need, it would have been just another forgotten village along the Yellow River. The people who worked the Yellow River were superstitious as hell, and who could blame them? This wasn't some gentle stream you could wade across.
This was the Yellow River, the mother of Chinese civilization and also its occasional destroyer. She gave life and took it away with equal indifference. The riverbanks were dotted with small altars and shrines to protective deities, each one maintained by boatmen who knew better than to anger the gods of the water. They left offerings of food, wine, and incense, prayed before every crossing, and never spoke ill of the river, not even in jest.
Directly east of this crossing was Xie County, the home of the legendary general Guan Yu. The boatmen had built a shrine to him there, hoping some of his martial prowess and unwavering loyalty would rub off on them. It was the largest shrine on the riverbank, and the most frequently visited.
Guan Yu was the patron saint of anyone who made their living on dangerous waters, and the boatmen treated him with the reverence usually reserved for living emperors.
Xue Li planted the incense in the bronze bowl, the metal warm from the sun and previous offerings.
He bowed his head, his movements awkward but sincere, the kind of reverence you gave when you weren't sure if the gods were listening but you prayed anyway because what else could you do? Hope was free. Faith cost nothing but a moment of your time.
"Lord Guan," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the river's constant roar. "Watch over me on this journey. Keep me safe from bandits and bureaucrats alike. Let me make a name for myself, like you did. Let me bring honor back to my family."
He finished his prayer and heard the boatmen shouting. The ferry was ready.
Behind him, a minor official who'd been lurking near the shrine poked his head inside, hoping to find coins left as offerings. Finding nothing but burning incense and an empty bowl, he curled his lip in disgust.
"Look at the size of him. Built like an ox, dressed like a soldier. I thought he was some rich young master with money to burn. Prays to Lord Guan and doesn't even leave a copper coin. Pathetic. No wonder his family's in the dirt. Can't even afford to bribe the gods."
Xue Li had no idea. He was too busy worrying about his rapidly shrinking coin pouch. He'd paid the ferry fee for both himself and his horse, and now he weighed the remaining coins in his palm. It felt alarmingly light, like it had lost weight just sitting there.
If I'd known just existing outside my village was this expensive, I would have squeezed more cash out of the Squire. I would have sold the old plow. I would have sold my boots. Hell, I would have sold my horse if I thought I could make it to Chang'an on foot.
The imperial summons had said nothing about his mission, nothing about how long he'd be gone, nothing about whether he'd be paid or expected to support himself. It was just a piece of paper with official seals and vague language that could mean anything or nothing.
So Xue Li had refused to sell his family's remaining land, the last piece of property they owned, the one thing that still connected them to their ancestors and their history.
The Squire had practically begged to pay for everything, waving his hands and insisting it was an investment in Xue Li's future. But Xue Li's pride, that stubborn, inconvenient pride that had gotten him into trouble his whole life, had made him take only a few strings of cash. He'd wanted to prove he could do this on his own, that he didn't need charity, even from someone who genuinely cared about him.
He hadn't realized that ferrying a horse cost three times more than ferrying a person.
Nobody had told him.
He tossed his shrinking coin pouch in his hand and frowned, the coins clinking together like a death rattle.
Did the capital have day labor? he wondered. Could a man earn a few coins on the streets, doing odd jobs? Carrying packages for merchants? Loading wagons at the docks? Fighting in underground matches for entertainment?
According to the Squire, who'd once spent a month in Chang'an on business, dealing with imperial officials was an absolute nightmare. Just waiting in line to submit papers could take half a year if you didn't have connections or bribes.
The bureaucracy was a monster that fed on patience and spit out frustration, a labyrinth of red tape and petty officials who enjoyed making people suffer just because they could.
---
The ferry finally reached the western bank after what felt like an eternity of rocking and swaying on the churning waters. The boatmen tied up at the dock with practiced efficiency, their muscles straining against the current as they secured the heavy ropes. Xue Li was the first one off, his legs wobbly from the constant motion of the river. He stumbled onto solid ground, grateful for the stability beneath his feet.
They had arrived in Fengyi.
The town was smaller than Puban but busier. More purposeful. This wasn't just a crossing point. This was a gateway. A staging area for anyone heading to or from the capital. The air smelled different here too. Less of river mud and more of smoke from forges and cooking fires. The sound of hammering and shouting filled the air, a constant reminder that this place existed to serve Chang'an.
Xue Li rode in a slow circle, getting his bearings. Then, on impulse, he took a detour south. He'd heard stories about this place, and he wanted to see it for himself.
The ruins of Changchun Palace.
Thirteen years ago, this had been the heart of a rebellion. The current Emperor had garrisoned his army here, using these very ruins as a base of operations. From this spot, he had launched the final assault that broke the old dynasty's back and captured Chang'an, ending a civil war that had torn the empire apart for decades.
Xue Li stared at the crumbling walls and overgrown courtyards. Jealousy burned in his chest like a hot coal.
If he had been born a decade earlier, he could have been here. He could have joined the founding wars, fought alongside the Emperor, earned titles and land through blood and steel. He could have been one of the legends people told stories about around campfires. His name could have been carved into history alongside the great generals and heroes of the age.
But look at the world now. The empire was too stable, too peaceful, too damn boring. The Northern Turks had been crushed into submission, their armies scattered to the winds. The southern tribes had been pacified, their leaders either dead or kneeling. The western warlords had been brought to heel, their territories absorbed into the empire. Where was a young man with ambition and strength supposed to find a proper war? Where was the glory, the excitement, the chance to prove himself and make his mark on the world?
His mood sank even further. Combined with his shrinking funds and the gnawing hunger in his stomach, Xue Li lost all interest in sightseeing. History was nice and all, but it didn't fill your belly or pay for a room. He kicked his horse into a gallop, the animal responding with a burst of energy that surprised them both, and headed for the capital.
He rode west along the Fengyi road for thirty miles, the landscape gradually changing from farmland to rolling hills. Finally, he crested a ridge and looked south. The world dropped away beneath him.
He rode west along the Fengyi road for thirty miles, the landscape gradually changing from farmland to rolling hills dotted with ancient cypress trees.
The road was well-maintained, wide enough for two wagons to pass comfortably, and marked with stone milestones that counted down the distance to Chang'an.
He passed other travelers heading the same way, merchants with their carts, officials with their retinues, pilgrims with their prayer beads. Everyone was going to Chang'an. Everyone wanted a piece of the capital.
Finally, he crested a ridge and looked south. The world dropped away beneath him, and his breath caught in his throat.
There it was. Chang'an.
The city was impossibly huge, a sprawling mass of buildings and walls that stretched to the horizon in every direction. It wasn't just big. It was monstrous. The walls rose up like cliffs carved by gods, so high they seemed to scrape the sky itself. They were made of packed earth faced with brick, weathered by centuries of wind and rain but still standing strong. The gates stood open, massive structures of wood and iron reinforced with bronze fittings that gleamed in the afternoon sun. Merchants, soldiers, officials, and travelers streamed in and out like ants marching into a mountain, a constant, unending flow of humanity that never seemed to stop.
Xue Li's jaw dropped. He'd heard stories about the capital's size, but hearing and seeing were two completely different things. This wasn't a city. This was a world unto itself.
Then Xue Li got a brutal geography lesson that no amount of storytelling could have prepared him for.
The city was right there. He could see it, smell it, almost taste it on the wind. But between him and those magnificent gates was the wide, rushing Wei River, its waters churning and frothing as they raced toward the Yellow River. The river was at least a hundred paces across, maybe more. There was no bridge in sight. No ferry. No way across except the official crossing point, which was probably another mile downstream and undoubtedly charged another outrageous fee.
Gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached, Xue Li paid another toll fee, this one even more outrageous than the ferry fee. Only then did he lead his exhausted horse under the shadow of Chang'an's great gates, feeling like an ant approaching a mountain.
It was a monster of a city. Following the strict capital laws that were posted on signs every hundred paces, Xue Li joined the endless line of traffic moving along the left side of the main avenue. The rules were clear. Keep left. No stopping. No blocking traffic. Violators would be fined, imprisoned, or worse.
The pace was agonizingly slow. He had time to lean back in his saddle and try to see the top of the gatehouse. He leaned so far his head hit his spine with a painful crack. He still couldn't see the highest roof tiles. The city was that tall.
Once he passed through the tunnel-like gate and entered the city proper, Xue Li's jaw dropped again and stayed that way. He'd thought the outside was impressive, but the inside was something else entirely. This was civilization on a scale he'd never imagined possible.
The streets were wide and clean, paved with stones that had been worn smooth by generations of feet and wheels. They were lined with drainage ditches covered by stone slabs, and the air smelled of incense and cooking food rather than the usual city stench of sewage and garbage.
The people walked with the arrogant confidence of those who lived at the center of the world, who knew they were at the heart of civilization while everyone else was just visiting.
They moved with purpose, dressed in fine silks and brocades, their faces clean and well-fed. The buildings were dense and colorful, arranged in perfect order like pieces on a chessboard. Markets, temples, government offices, residential districts, each area clearly marked and separated from the others by walls and gates.
Everything was organized, planned, efficient. It was nothing like the chaotic, haphazard villages he'd grown up in.
Overwhelmed by the sheer scale and complexity of it all, Xue Li drifted through the crowds like a leaf in a river, carried along by the current of humanity.
He had no idea where he was going or what he was looking for.
He just followed the flow, his eyes wide with wonder and his mouth hanging open like a country bumpkin who'd never seen a city before. Which, to be fair, was exactly what he was.
Paradise. That was the only word for it. He saw ten thousand exotic goods he couldn't name, couldn't even imagine. Silks from the east, spices from the south, gems from the west, furs from the north. Merchants shouted in a dozen different languages, haggling and bargaining and making deals that would feed their families for years. The air smelled of roasting meat, exotic spices, fresh bread, and a hundred other scents that made his mouth water and his stomach growl like a wild animal that hadn't eaten in weeks.
Xue Li fell in love with the capital instantly. This was everything he'd dreamed of, everything he'd hoped for. This was where a man could make his fortune, make his name, make his mark on the world.
Then he looked at the prices.
Reality hit him like a bucket of ice-cold water dumped over his head. A single meal cost more than he made in a week back home. A decent room for the night cost more than his horse was worth. A simple silk shirt cost more than his entire family's annual income.
Clutching his pathetic coin pouch like a lifeline, Xue Li walked out of the market, his dreams temporarily shattered.
He took three steps, looked back at the food stalls with longing. Three more steps, another wistful look. He tore himself away from the tantalizing smells and colorful displays like a man being forced to leave his true love behind, promising himself he'd return someday when he had real money in his pockets.
After stopping a dozen heavily armed guards for directions, each one more impatient and dismissive than the last, Xue Li finally found the imperial posthouse. It was a large, imposing building near the city center, its red walls and golden roof tiles marking it as an official government facility.
The place was bustling with activity, officials rushing in and out, messengers arriving and departing, clerks shouting orders and arguing over paperwork.
He walked in, his boots echoing on the polished stone floor, and handed his transit pass to the clerk behind the counter.
The clerk was a middle-aged man with a bored expression and ink-stained fingers, the kind of bureaucrat who'd been doing the same job for twenty years and hated every minute of it.
He barely glanced at Xue Li before taking the pass.
The clerk glanced at the pass. His eyes went wide, comically wide, like someone had just told him he'd won the imperial lottery. He let out a yelp that was halfway between surprise and terror, dropped his brush so hard it splattered ink across his paperwork, and ran out the back door like the building was on fire and he was the only one who knew.
Xue Li stood alone in the lobby, blinking in confusion.
The place was eerily quiet now that the clerk was gone. The other officials and messengers had stopped what they were doing to stare at him.
Wait, he thought. The Squire said free lodging and hot meals for officials on state business. Where is the guy going with my food? And my room? This isn't how this is supposed to work.
Before he could investigate, before he could even decide whether to follow the clerk or just wait patiently like a good little country bumpkin, the clerk burst back in. He wasn't alone.
Six large, angry-looking government workers followed him, their faces set in grim expressions that suggested they'd been interrupted in the middle of something important.
Without a word, without any explanation or warning, they grabbed Xue Li by his arms and legs and lifted him clean off the floor. He was so surprised he didn't even have time to struggle.
"Hey! Where are we going?!" Xue Li shouted, panic rising in his chest like a tide. "What's happening? I'm an official! I have a summons! Let me go!"
The clerks screamed at him in thick capital dialect, their words coming so fast and slurred together that he couldn't understand a single syllable. It was like listening to a foreign language spoken by angry bees. He caught a few words here and there. "Palace." "Clean." "Now." But the rest was just noise.
Before he could decide whether to start swinging, using the martial arts his father had taught him to break free and make a run for it, cold air hit his skin. They had ripped his dusty, travel-stained clothes right off his body, leaving him standing there in nothing but his undershorts. The fabric tore with a loud ripping sound that made him wince.
The room spun around him. A second later, Xue Li splashed into a huge wooden tub filled with steaming hot water. The temperature was almost scalding, and he gasped, his muscles seizing up from the shock. The water smelled of herbs and soap, and it was so hot it made his skin turn red almost immediately.
He tried to stand, to get his bearings and figure out what the hell was happening.
Smack.
Something heavy and wet hit him on the head. Hard.
Xue Li rubbed his skull and looked up, blinking water from his eyes. A burly worker stood over him, holding a massive brush made of stiff pig bristles. The man looked stressed, like he was being timed or judged on his performance.
"How are you supposed to enter the Imperial Palace looking like a wild boar that just rolled in mud?" the worker barked, his voice sharp with irritation. "Stop moving and let me do my job! You think the Emperor wants to see some dirty peasant? You think the court officials want to smell you from across the room? Sit still!"
The thick capital dialect finally pierced through Xue Li's panic and confusion. He understood the words, even if he didn't understand the situation.
Enter the Imperial Palace? Why?
His father's saber and bow were gone. Confiscated. He could see them stacked in the corner with his clothes, out of reach. He did the math on his current situation. Naked. Surrounded by six large men. In a government building. With no weapons. No allies. No idea what was happening.
He decided to sit still and take the scrubbing. Sometimes the smartest move was the one that didn't get you killed.
Fifteen minutes later, a violently pink Xue Li, his skin scrubbed raw and his hair dripping wet, was hauled out of the tub like a caught fish. The workers shoved him into clean official clothes, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar against his skin. Before he could even tie the sash properly, before he could ask a single question, he was dragged outside and thrown into a waiting carriage.
The whole thing felt like a fever dream, the kind of strange, disjointed nightmare where nothing made sense but everything felt urgent. Xue Li was no longer a person with thoughts and feelings and a future. He was a package, a delivery, being shipped to an unknown location for unknown reasons.
The carriage thundered through the streets, the wheels rattling over cobblestones, the horses snorting and straining against their harnesses. Xue Li couldn't see outside. The windows were covered. He had no idea where they were going or how long the ride would last.
Finally, the carriage stopped. The door opened. Bright sunlight streamed in, momentarily blinding him.
After a rapid exchange of shouting and paperwork that Xue Li couldn't follow, massive gates groaned open on well-oiled hinges.
A eunuch in green silk robes, his face smooth and expressionless, took custody of Xue Li with a gentle but firm grip on his arm. The eunuch motioned for him to follow, his movements graceful and precise.
They walked through a maze of crimson walls that seemed to stretch forever, across marble bridges that arched over tranquil ponds filled with koi fish that swam in lazy circles, through silent courtyards where the only sounds were birdsong and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The air smelled of incense and flowers and something else, something he couldn't quite identify but that made him feel calm and uneasy at the same time. Everything was perfect, ordered, beautiful. It was nothing like the chaotic, noisy city he'd just left behind. This was a different world entirely.
Finally, they passed through a moon gate carved with intricate patterns of dragons and clouds and entered a large martial arts training ground. The space was open and airy, surrounded by covered walkways where officials could observe without getting in the way.
A solitary man stood in the center of the training ground. He wore a loose robe of imperial yellow, the color reserved for the Emperor alone. No one else in the empire was allowed to wear that color. In his hands, he held a massive composite bow, fully drawn, the string pulled back to his ear. The man's muscles were taut with the strain, but his face was calm, focused. The string hummed in the quiet air, vibrating with potential energy.
Thwack.
Xue Li had sharp eyes, the kind that could spot a deer at a hundred paces. He tracked the arrow as it flew across the training ground, a blur of motion against the blue sky. It slammed into the center of a leather shield mounted on a wooden frame at the far end of the field. The arrow buried itself deep into the leather, its feathers quivering from the impact.
The man lowered the bow and turned around. His face radiated authority, the kind that came from a lifetime of command and the absolute certainty that everyone around him would obey.
A sharp smile played on his lips, the kind of smile that suggested he knew something you didn't and was enjoying your confusion.
"Tell me, Rengui," the Emperor asked smoothly, his voice calm but carrying across the entire training ground. "What do you think of my archery?"
Xue Li froze. His brain short-circuited. His mouth opened but no words came out.
Wait! Who the hell is Rengui?