Mythical Version of Three Kingdom

In truth, Xi Zhicai had always wanted Guo Jia’s mental ability, but Guo Jia’s ability was unique and impossible for Xi Zhicai to replicate. Although he couldn’t use it, Xi Zhicai was able to understand Guo Jia’s ability through his own talent. In this sense, Xi Zhicai’s ability had an additional feature beyond copying others’ abilities—it allowed him to gain insight into others’ mental abilities.

Due to the constraints of his own mental ability, Xi Zhicai could only copy three abilities at a time, but after ten days, he could swap one out for another. Over time, he might know more about others’ abilities than they knew about themselves. After all, those with mental abilities were among the top strategists and intellectuals in the world, giving Xi Zhicai a significant advantage. When necessary, he could even act as a detector for others’ abilities.

As for Guo Jia’s mental ability, it was the only one Xi Zhicai had encountered that he could replicate but not use. If using others’ abilities sometimes felt off, using Guo Jia’s ability felt outright dangerous to Xi Zhicai.

Xi Zhicai named Guo Jia’s ability ”Curse of Speech.” The activation conditions were extremely stringent, but its effect was terrifying enough to make Xi Zhicai wary. Essentially, when the probability of an event occurring was 50%, Guo Jia’s choice would influence the outcome.

In practical terms, this meant that during a battle where the outcome was uncertain and both sides had equal chances of victory, Guo Jia’s judgment could tip the scales.

For example, after the Jiangdong clans had been devastated by Sun Ce, their chances of seeking revenge were 50%, and their chances of killing Sun Ce were also 50%. Guo Jia judged that Sun Ce should die, and thus, Sun Ce met his end. This ability was terrifyingly effective, though its activation conditions were so restrictive that it could only be used in very specific circumstances. However, when it did activate, it could resolve many troublesome issues.

What made it even more unsettling was that Guo Jia’s ability didn’t seem to directly influence people’s minds or cause anything irrational to happen. Instead, the outcomes occurred naturally, as a result of a series of reasonable coincidences.

Because of this, Xi Zhicai was both envious and resentful of Guo Jia’s mental ability. No matter how difficult it was to activate, the ability was undeniably powerful. Xi Zhicai hadn’t yet figured out how to counter such a seemingly causality-driven talent.

From Xi Zhicai’s perspective, since Guo Jia had chosen to serve Liu Bei, it was only a matter of time before their masters clashed. If that happened, and if Guo Jia’s ability triggered at a critical moment, it could have disastrous consequences. Xi Zhicai had no doubt that Guo Jia hadn’t fully understood his own mental ability, but what if something unexpected happened?

Thinking back to the time when Guo Jia’s ability was awakening and they had played a game of flipping coins—winner gets to drink—Xi Zhicai often felt foolish for challenging Guo Jia in such a way.Standing atop the city walls, Xi Zhicai couldn’t help but reflect on how things had turned out. In hindsight, keeping the truth about Guo Jia’s ability to himself had been a wise decision.

Meanwhile, in Jiangxia, Sun Ce and Zhou Yu stood atop the city gate. Due to Yuan Shu’s trust in Sun Ce, the control of Jiangxia had effectively fallen into Sun Ce’s hands. Sun Ce had even been granted the power to appoint and dismiss officials. While this would have been an excellent opportunity to place his own people in key positions, neither Sun Ce nor his loyal followers mentioned it. They were too proud to bite the hand that fed them.

”Hmph, Liu Biao is really ungrateful!” Sun Ce sneered as he read the intelligence report. ”And that Wang Wei, he’s lucky to have survived Lu Bu’s wrath! Since they’ve dared to violate our borders, I’ll make sure Liu Biao suffers heavy losses!”

After speaking, Sun Ce turned to Zhou Yu. He had grown tired of thinking about military strategies and political schemes. In his eyes, Zhou Yu could solve any problem, and he trusted him implicitly.

”We should meet them in battle. Have General Han defend Jiangxia. Our strongest force is our navy, and whether on the Han River or the Yangtze River, we won’t lose,” Zhou Yu said with a smile. He didn’t underestimate Wang Wei and Wen Pin, but he was confident that no one could defeat him in a naval battle.

”Alright!” Sun Ce’s response was immediate, without a second thought. He knew all too well how formidable Zhou Yu was in naval warfare.

Ever since Zhou Yu had commanded a weaker force to achieve seven victories in seven battles against Huang Zu’s forces on the Yangtze River, Sun Ce had been convinced that Zhou Yu was a genius. Although Zhou Yu had little prior experience commanding a navy, after a few training exercises against Huang Zu, he had been able to decisively defeat what was once considered the strongest navy in the land.

As for land battles, Sun Ce believed his own strength was more than enough to make the Jingzhou troops regret ever provoking him. In fact, he dreamed of one day reaching Lu Bu’s level of combat prowess.

Unaware of the caliber of their opponents, Wang Wei and Wen Pin continued to march along the river, planning to leverage their reputation among the people of Jingzhou to capture Jiangxia. Little did they know that someone was already preparing to serve them up on a platter.

In eastern Qingzhou, a tall, lean man returned to the mountain stronghold, carrying a rabbit. Handing it to the man sitting on the main seat, he said, ”Yuan Shao, this is for you.”

”Sigh, the stronghold has no more food. We should go borrow some,” Pei Yuan Shao said, his eyes turning red as he accepted the rabbit. He sighed again and looked at Zhou Cang. ”A few days ago, Guan Hai came to ask if we wanted to join him in borrowing some grain.”

”Guan Hai!” Zhou Cang’s eyes showed a hint of wariness. Of all the Yellow Turbans in Qingzhou, Guan Hai was the most formidable. They had known each other since their early days serving the Great Teacher, although Zhou Cang had been a personal guard while Guan Hai had been a leader of troops.

”What do you think we should do, Zhou?” Pei Yuan Shao asked. Although Zhou Cang was the stronger of the two, Pei Yuan Shao led their troops.

Zhou Cang hesitated for a long time before finally sitting down heavily on the ground. ”Let’s surrender to Liu Bei. At least Liu Bei honors the Great Teacher’s principles. Even though the Great Teacher is gone, he used his life to pave a path for us Yellow Turbans.”

”And what about us? The ordinary Yellow Turbans are promised a pardon if they surrender. But what about us?” Pei Yuan Shao asked, though he made no move to oppose Zhou Cang’s decision. ”Forget it. Let’s lead the brothers to safety. We’ll go into hiding and live out our days quietly. After all, we’re nothing compared to the Great Teacher.”

”The brothers can’t even find enough to eat anymore. If not for our efforts to share what little we had, they might have already fled to Liu Bei’s territory. Let’s go pay our respects to the Great Teacher’s grave. After that, we can surrender. If we die, we die,” Zhou Cang said bitterly as he dusted off his clothes and stood up.

”I’ll gather the brothers. They’ve seen battle and are good soldiers. If they join Qingzhou’s garrison, they can still live a decent life,” Pei Yuan Shao said with a wry smile. Since Zhou Cang had made his decision, he would follow along. After all, Zhou Cang had saved his life. Accompanying Zhou Cang to the end seemed like the least he could do.

With their men gathered, Pei Yuan Shao and Zhou Cang led them to a nameless grave marker, where they solemnly placed incense.

This was a memorial they had erected after hearing of the Great Teacher’s self-sacrifice. Since they didn’t know how to write and couldn’t afford a proper stonecutter, they had simply placed an unmarked stone as a monument. Every so often, they would offer incense to honor the spirit of the Great Teacher.

Chen Xi had no idea that similar rituals were being conducted by Yellow Turbans across Qingzhou and Taishan. Although the Yellow Turbans might not remember what Zang Ba looked like, they knew that the life they now led was thanks to his sacrifice. Thus, they had erected memorials in his honor, and even Guan Hai, who harbored a deep hatred for the government, had offered incense.

While Zang Ba was long gone, his memory lived on as a kind of spiritual belief among the former Yellow Turbans who had transitioned into ordinary life. He had become a symbol of virtue, courage, and self-sacrifice, supplanting the original rebellious faith in the Great Teacher, Zhang Jue. Unlike Zhang Jue’s revolutionary doctrine, Zang Ba’s image was one of righteousness, making him a more positive and unifying figure.

If someone were to build a temple for Zang Ba one day, Chen Xi might very well turn a blind eye. After all, religious beliefs and sects were bound to emerge eventually, and it was better to foster a belief in someone like Zang Ba—a pure hero who had sacrificed himself for the greater good—than to allow more destructive ideologies to take root.

Unaware of this development, Chen Xi spent most of his time focused on governing and rarely ventured beyond the capital city of Fenggao. As a result, the small-scale veneration of Zang Ba went unnoticed by him. After all, those overseeing the administration saw no harm in allowing such practices and thus did not report them.

In this era, where values like filial piety and loyalty were paramount, a figure like Zang Ba was held in high regard. Even those like Huangfu Song and Li Ju, known for their harshness towards the Yellow Turbans, would have granted Zang Ba an honorable burial had they known the full extent of his sacrifice.

To be a hero meant deserving a hero’s treatment. This was the prevailing sentiment of the time. Zang Ba’s actions had earned him the respect of those who once doubted him, and his legacy had become a source of pride for the former Yellow Turbans.

After offering their respects, Pei Yuan Shao and Zhou Cang rallied their men. Though their forces were small, numbering just over a thousand, their decision to surrender to Liu Bei marked a significant shift. It was a sign that even the most loyal followers of Zhang Jue were beginning to place their trust in Liu Bei.

In Fenggao, a new round of construction had begun. While the capital itself focused on building structures, other parts of Qingzhou saw efforts concentrated on infrastructure—repairing roads, digging wells, fortifying riverbanks, and building bridges.

As usual, Chen Xi sat in the government office, sipping tea. News from Mi Zhu indicated that he was on his way back, traveling along the Yangtze River. Although he had encountered a naval battle between Sun Ce and Wen Pin, Zhou Yu had merely charged him a ten percent toll and let him pass. At this point, Mi Zhu was likely either in Yuzhou or Xuzhou, and it would be about ten days before he returned.

As for the plan to bring the Wu family into the merchants’ alliance, it had fallen through. Wu Yi had insisted on being made the leader of the alliance, which Mi Zhu couldn’t agree to. Despite his negotiations, Wu Yi wouldn’t budge, so Mi Zhu had no choice but to abandon the effort.

Mi Zhu had originally thought he could persuade Wu Yi to join by offering a position as deputy leader and other incentives. Given the influence of the Wu family, adding them to the alliance would have been a major boost. However, when he received letters from Lu Su, Liu Ye, Jia Xu, Li You, Fa Zheng, Jian Yong, Liu Yan, and Sun Qian, all urging him to return to Taishan, he decided to leave.

The letters had all conveyed the same message: ”Hurry back to Taishan. Chen Xi has a new plan, and the Zhen family is already there. If you don’t return soon, the benefits will go to them.”

After considering this for a brief moment, Mi Zhu went to the Wu family and made his final offer. He explained that he had urgent matters to attend to and would be leaving that day, hoping to reach an agreement before he departed. When Wu Yi brushed it off as a negotiation tactic, Mi Zhu left immediately.

Chen Xi’s promise of lucrative opportunities was no small matter to Mi Zhu, who had come to understand that when Chen Xi talked about making money, it often involved vast sums. If Chen Xi mentioned a major opportunity, it was likely that Wu Yi’s involvement was considered minor in comparison.

Of course, the fact that the Zhen family was already in Taishan played a role in Mi Zhu’s decision. He feared that if he delayed, Chen Xi might shift the benefits to the Zhen family. Given this concern, Mi Zhu decided that returning to Taishan was the safest move. As for the Wu family, they would have to be left behind. If he couldn’t secure their involvement, he could always try to bring the Zhen family into the alliance instead.

In the world of commerce, there were no permanent enemies, only permanent interests. Mi Zhu believed that Zhang Shi would be easier to negotiate with and, being closer, more accessible. If he could successfully bring the Zhen family into the alliance, it would still be a significant gain. As for the Wu family, he figured it was fate—sometimes you just had to accept what was.

After receiving news of Mi Zhu’s imminent return, Chen Xi felt more at ease. As long as the delay wasn’t too long, he was willing to wait. Handing over control to the Zhen family, however, was never a serious consideration. After all, this wasn’t just about money—it was about security.

Control over one’s own resources was crucial, and trusting others with it, even allies, was never ideal. Although Mi Zhu had legitimate reasons for his absence, Chen Xi wouldn’t have entrusted such power to the Zhen family. While the Zhen family might have intentions of aligning with Liu Bei, they were still a powerful clan. Giving them control over Liu Bei’s financial resources would only invite trouble.

Even if Mi Zhu hadn’t returned, Chen Xi wouldn’t have handed over the reins to the Zhen family. Public and private matters needed to be kept separate, and this time, the Zhen family wasn’t in a desperate enough situation to be entirely at his mercy.

If he had given them control, they would have had every reason to leverage that power against Liu Bei, expanding their own influence in the process. Given this, if Mi Zhu hadn’t returned, Chen Xi would have taken charge himself. Although he lacked Mi Zhu’s experience and connections, time and effort would eventually earn him the respect and cooperation of others.

However, Chen Xi was fully aware that it was best for him not to get involved personally. While Liu Bei might not mind, Chen Xi didn’t want to risk getting caught up in unnecessary complications. After all, Liu Bei had shown him great trust and had given him significant autonomy. It wouldn’t do for him to become too greedy and start overstepping his bounds.

This was why, despite having the authority to oversee all of Liu Bei’s officials, Chen Xi chose not to interfere. He preferred to delegate tasks to others, only involving himself in matters that truly interested him. His role was wide-ranging, touching on military, administrative, commercial, and agricultural affairs, yet he didn’t take direct control of anything. Instead, he let others handle the details while he focused on broader strategies and planning.

For now, Chen Xi was content to sip his tea in the government office. Although the new tax laws had been largely settled with Man Chong, there were still plenty of details to work out. Chen Xi had replaced many harsh penalties with labor reform, turning most forms of punishment into labor sentences.

Naturally, Man Chong wasn’t pleased with this approach. He could accept labor sentences for minor crimes, but for more serious offenses, like accidental manslaughter, reducing the punishment to labor seemed too lenient. This led to a heated debate between the two, with Man Chong ultimately choosing to reserve his judgment.

Chen Xi had made a strong argument: in an era where human lives were so valuable, it made more sense to put offenders to work rather than executing them. After all, dead people couldn’t contribute to society. In this time of population shortage, keeping people alive, even as laborers, was more beneficial. Besides, it allowed Liu Bei to maintain his image as a benevolent ruler.

As for the tax laws, the agricultural tax remained non-negotiable. Zhao Yun, with his spear in hand, strictly enforced a cap of thirty percent. Any attempt to exceed that limit would be met with swift retribution. Zhao Yun, ever the straightforward man, had consolidated all miscellaneous taxes into the agricultural tax, ensuring it wouldn’t exceed forty percent. His clear stance on the matter set the tone for the new policy.

Once agriculture was addressed, Zhao Yun turned a blind eye to other forms of taxation. Whether merchants were overtaxed or under-taxed was no concern of his. However, Chen Xi’s final tax plan left many officials scratching their heads. The taxes seemed too low, especially with no tolls for entering cities. How was the government supposed to sustain itself if merchants kept all their profits?

To Lu Su and others, the new transaction tax seemed unsustainable. It wouldn’t generate enough revenue to support Fenggao. Even with the luxury tax that charged fifteen times the normal rate, the lack of entry taxes seemed unreasonable.