Chapter One: Historical Changes Caused by the Meteorite

“Young master, young master~” Chen Xi vaguely heard someone murmuring in his ear.

His head felt heavy as he struggled to open his eyes. *If only I hadn’t drunk so much...*

Three days had passed, and Chen Xi finally grasped the situation. It was the broad era of the Three Kingdoms, right after the Yellow Turban Rebellion had been quelled—a time of heroes rising one after another. This was the era he had once daydreamed about during his idle moments. After all, whether it was the white horse and silver spear of Zhao Zilong or the embodiment of wisdom in Zhuge Kongming, the fan base in later generations was immense. Given China’s vast population, it was inevitable.

He was currently a distant branch of the Chen family from Yingchuan, somewhat related but so minor that no one paid him much attention. At home, he had only a maid who took care of him and an old steward—typical of someone who could eat well alone while the rest of the family went hungry.

Watching the steward wield a sword so skillfully that the water couldn’t even splash off it, Chen Xi was at a loss for how to react. Were people of this era really so formidable? Could the historical accounts be accurate—that the qualities of ancient people utterly surpassed modern ones by leagues? Chen Xi was skeptical.

“Master Chen, how have you been feeling lately?” an elderly man dressed as a physician poked his head in with a smile.

“Much better now,” Chen Xi replied promptly, bowing slightly. To his knowledge, even a mild headache or slight fever in this era could be fatal. The fact that this elder had managed to pull him back from such a severe illness was no small feat.

“Your complexion has improved considerably. Master Chen should continue practicing internal energy cultivation,” the old man advised with a smile. “Since that is so, I shall not keep you any longer.”

“Uncle Chen,” Chen Xi called out as the man turned to leave.

The steward swiftly led a horse over at an incredible pace.

“Uncle, seeing you in such a hurry to depart, I presume urgent matters call you away. Please accept this horse as a token of my gratitude, something to aid your travels. I hope you won’t find it lacking,” Chen Xi said, pressing the reins into the man’s hand. Despite all this time, Chen Xi still didn’t know the man’s name, and the man never mentioned his own.

The old man glanced at Chen Xi, thought for a moment, then nodded in acceptance. Indeed, he had urgent business, and a horse would ease his journey greatly.

*Phew, after all, a life-saving favor must be repaid when possible. The heart of a healer is like that of a parent, but ultimately, it’s my responsibility. The chaos is imminent; if something were to befall him, there’d be no way to return the kindness later.*

After the old man’s departure, Chen Xi closed the door and prepared to return to his study. Nothing was more important to him now than immersing himself in the texts of this era. Though he retained memories from before, they were incomplete.

“Young master, that horse was a gift from your father when he returned from Bingzhou. Giving it away might not be proper,” Steward Chen spoke up after Chen Xi shut the door.

“It’s nothing—I have no use for that horse. By the way, bring all the books from the study to my room; I want to review everything,” Chen Xi shook his head. He understood the value of the horse, but compared to a life saved, it was a small price to pay. At least, he could live with himself.

Chen Xi’s family was far from poor; they were once a wealthy household. But after his father Chen Luo’s death, Chen Xi fell gravely ill. Medical expenses drained the family fortune, and internal strife within the clan further weakened their standing. What was once a prosperous family had now fallen on hard times.

Yet, to Steward Chen, as long as Chen Xi recovered, there was still hope for the Chen family’s resurgence. When Chen Xi first fell ill, most servants and entertainers had left. Now, only the steward and Chen Lan, a singer who also served as a maid, remained.

Chen Xi took this in stride; those who left were gone, but the two most loyal remained, which was a blessing.

Since recovering, Chen Xi had not stepped outside the Chen estate for three months. In that time, he had mastered all he had previously learned—literacy, music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Most importantly, he focused on spiritual energy and formations.

After reviewing these subjects, Chen Xi realized this late Eastern Han was unlike the one in his memories. History might be the same, but the world had changed utterly.

While poring over the history of the Chu-Han Contention, Chen Xi silently noted a passage: At the siege of Gaixia, Xiang Yu broke through alone, defeating thirty thousand elite troops of Liu Bang by himself before dying of exhaustion. Though escape was possible, Xiang Yu chose to die in battle rather than disappoint the youth of Jiangdong. The undefeated Overlord—dead, yet no one dared approach.

Carefully cross-examining all historical records, Chen Xi confirmed one truth: history had already diverged during the Chu-Han era four centuries ago.

The initial change came from a meteorite, recorded as a divine stone falling upon the Central Plains—a stone that altered the physique of the people.

Previously, only a rare few could cultivate qi to strengthen themselves during the seven centuries of the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods. Even fewer could refine spiritual energy to resonate with heaven and earth. But that stone caused a mutation throughout the land, fundamentally transforming everyone’s constitution.

Now, almost anyone could cultivate qi, and the difficulty of refining spiritual energy had greatly diminished. This led to the steadily increasing martial prowess of warriors in the Chu-Han period, with Xiang Yu standing at the pinnacle.

“Strength to uproot mountains, qi that dominates the world”—what once sounded like exaggeration in original history was entirely accurate here. At his peak, Xiang Yu could pull a small mountain from the earth and hurl it away; he could compress air into liquid form, using it like missiles to carve craters in the ground. In short, he was no longer human.

Over the following four centuries of Han rule, various martial cultivation schools emerged. Those warriors who once relied solely on innate talent systematically developed training paths. The legendary “one slash kills a thousand” ceased to be myth and became reality.

Similarly, spiritual energy refinement developed its own lineages. Secret arts and Taoist magic appeared, alongside counters designed to suppress top-tier warriors. Formations emerged, greatly diminishing the killing power of elite fighters. Of course, lone soldiers or scattered troops faced only death.

Four hundred years of development had made qi and spiritual energy widespread. Though most wielded them poorly, many were qualified to access these powers. This meant the late Han world was filled with farmers capable of hurling hundred-kilogram boulders over ten meters.

As for the strength of warriors, historical records clearly stated Xiang Yu could uproot and throw mountains. By proportion, Chen Xi reckoned that Lü Bu’s full strike could shatter mountains into rubble.

This was no longer the historical Three Kingdoms era; it was a mythical version of it, Chen Xi thought silently.