Chapter 1: The Late Eastern Han Dynasty

Liu Zhang examined the lacquered double-handled cup set upon the table. Crafted with a wooden core, its interior was coated in red lacquer while the exterior gleamed with black; intricate patterns adorned the inside, the rim, and the twin handles of the vessel.

The quality of the lacquered cup was evidently fine, yet the myriad forms of cracks and the shifting textures upon its body silently spoke of its age. This was a well-worn relic, one that had passed through many hands. Only thus, with the high value of lacquerware, could it have ended up as a centerpiece in this roadside tavern, serving as a touch of dignity.

Within the cup was rustic rice wine, not especially clear, but rather somewhat cloudy.

He lifted the cup and took a light sip. The wine was not strong; its flavor was rather insipid.

Compared to the famed brews this body had once tasted—Zhongshan’s “Winter Brew,” Guanzhong’s “White Thin”—it fell far short. Even further, it paled beside the many liquors he had experienced in his former life, back in the twenty-first century.

The world was changed, the people and the drink alike. Liu Zhang did not linger over the taste but drained the cup in a single motion.

As the wine was finished, the base of the lacquered cup was revealed: a red-lacquered bottom painted with black swirling cloud patterns, and at the center, three characters: “Fortune’s Wine.”

“Fortune’s Wine.” Liu Zhang savored the phrase, inwardly marveling at the romantic flair of Han dynasty folk. Even a humble roadside inn, with a cup scavenged from the market, bore such elegant words at its base, gently encouraging guests to drink their fill.

He turned his head to look outside. This small tavern had no walls to block the view; on the side facing the main street, a low wooden fence served as a barrier.

This was a marketplace—Chengdu.

Here, wine was sold, also iron tools and silks. Goods of every kind, merchants from all corners. The cries of peddlers overlapped, the haggling never ceased.

It was truly a bustling market. The Yellow Turban rebels who had plunged the empire into chaos had not lingered long in Bashu, soon quashed by Jia Long, an official of Yizhou. And so, while the rest of the land was in turmoil, Bashu remained as stable as Mount Tai.

Gazing at this peaceful, harmonious Han dynasty market, Liu Zhang’s eyes grew somewhat dazed.

He was not a man of the Han dynasty—in truth, the soul within this body was not of this age at all. He hailed from the twenty-first century.

In his former life, he had been a corporate drudge who, after working late into the night, was struck and killed on his way home by a runaway dump truck. His body perished, but his soul found itself inhabiting the fourth son of Liu Yan, the Governor of Yizhou at the end of the Eastern Han—he had become Liu Zhang, styled Jiyu.

He had crossed through time.

With a disposition inclined to adapt, Liu Zhang soon accepted his new reality and took stock of the situation.

The year was the first of Xingping.

His adoptive father, the previous Governor of Yizhou, Liu Yan, had just succumbed to illness. The leading officials of Yizhou—Sima Zhao Wei and Chief Clerk Wang Shang among them—saw in Liu Zhang’s gentle nature someone easily controlled, and so they recommended him as the new Governor, sending formal notice to the imperial court.

As one of the Great Han’s thirteen provinces, Yizhou was populous and prosperous, renowned as the “Land of Abundance.” In these chaotic closing years of the Han, to sit as Governor of Yizhou was to be a lord in one’s own right, wielding great power.

“Yet, this seat is not an easy one,” Liu Zhang mused with a bitter smile, feeling as though he were perched upon a volcano, uncertain when it might erupt.

Internally, he had an elder brother, Liu Mao; by tradition, the position should have belonged to the eldest, not to himself as the younger.

Externally, the so-called recommendation by the powerful officials was hardly sincere; it was his predecessor’s weakness that made him convenient to manipulate.

There were also deep rifts between the “native” Yizhou faction and the “Eastern faction” his father Liu Yan had favored—men from Nanyang and the Three Adjuncts of Guanzhong, who had fled war and disaster to take refuge in Yizhou. Estranged from their homeland, uneasy and adrift, they became Liu Yan’s followers, while the natives resented their presence. Liu Yan, seeking to secure his rule, had used these newcomers to suppress the local gentry, and the result was enmity as deep as water and fire.

As a Three Kingdoms enthusiast, Liu Zhang recalled clearly that in the fifth year of Jian’an, these tensions would explode into a war that would devastate Bashu.

Liu Zhang felt a headache coming on. Yizhou was riddled with pitfalls; if he was to survive here, he would have to resolve these problems—otherwise, he might not even know how he died.

A youthful voice interrupted his thoughts. “Young master, what’s so good about this rustic rice wine? It’s nothing compared to the fine Tuqing in the residence.”

Liu Zhang turned to his left, where sat Pang Que, a handsome youth—the son of Pang Jing, chief steward of the governor’s mansion. Ever since Liu Zhang’s arrival in Yizhou during the second year of Chuping, it was Pang Que who had attended him.

The Tuqing Pang Que mentioned was a famed wine of Bashu. Having tasted such quality, the youth could not appreciate common country brews.

Liu Zhang smiled and shook his head, gently patting Pang Que on the head. “You’re too young to understand. What I drink is not just wine, but the ways of the world, and human sentiment.”

Seated in the tavern, sipping wine while observing the people of this era, Liu Zhang found the experience singularly rewarding. He needed to immerse himself in this time.

Across the street, at a silk stall, two graceful young women were bargaining with a vendor—clearly mistress and maid. The mistress seemed interested in a pale, elegant piece of Shu brocade, haggling over the price.

Shopping, it seemed, was an eternal ritual; buyers and sellers had always wrangled over price.

Just then, two men entered the tavern. Leading was a burly man in blue official robes, clean-shaven, with a commanding presence. His robust frame stretched the loose garment tight.

Liu Zhang could not help but admire him—a fine specimen of a man.

His companion was lean, in short attire, a straw hat on his head.

The two found a quiet spot to sit, ordered two flasks of warm wine, and began to chat.

Though they were some distance away, Liu Zhang’s keen ears caught fragments of their conversation. The lean man spoke in a coaxing tone.

“Chief, the brothers miss you dearly.”

“Life in Ba Commandery is better than serving as a mere functionary here in Chengdu.”

The word “Chief” surprised Liu Zhang—so, this burly man was once the leader of an armed group in Ba Commandery, now turned official in Chengdu. The lean man seemed to be persuading his former chief to shed his official robes and lead his men to fortune once more.

So, this was truly the late Eastern Han. The exchange reminded Liu Zhang of tales from the Water Margin, where the bandits repeatedly entreated Song Jiang to join their cause.

The lean man persisted, lowering his voice. “The new governor is Liu Zhang—I hear he’s weak and incompetent. Brother, you’ll never make your mark here.”

“Ah Jiu, you think I don’t know that?” The burly man downed a cup, sighing. “But my old mother disapproves of my wandering ways.” With that, he fell silent, drinking on, his resolve visibly wavering.

Liu Zhang was half-amused, half-exasperated—to think he had become the subject of gossip, the very example of what not to be. Yet he did not rise to defend himself, but instead drained another cup, reflecting that he could not allow the label of “weak and incompetent” to follow him, or none would ever rally to his side.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside. A melodious, clear girl’s voice rang out, “Sir Captain, please behave yourself.”

Everyone in the tavern turned their gaze to the street.

Five men, adorned with martial caps and crimson robes, had blocked the two young women who had just purchased the brocade.

The leader, far from restraining himself, spoke with lascivious insolence. “Such a lovely voice—don’t call me Captain, call me General and let me hear it.”

His four followers erupted in raucous laughter.

Eastern men—men from Guanzhong. Liu Zhang recognized their accents. He had just been pondering the trouble with these Easterners when they appeared before him.

His father, Liu Yan, had been far too lenient with these men; emboldened by such indulgence, they now dared to bully the locals in broad daylight.

No wonder, when the time came, Minister Zhao Wei could so easily stir the people of Shu to rebellion, nearly costing Liu Zhang his life.

Where there is oppression, there is resistance; the people of Yizhou had suffered enough under the Easterners.

With a sigh, Liu Zhang prepared to rise and intervene—he could not let this go on, not if he wished to live in peace even a few more years.

But at that moment, the burly man known as “Chief” slammed his palm down, shattering his wine table, and thundered toward the street.

“You scoundrels—how dare you!”