Reborn In The Three Kingdoms

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Zang Hong’s eyes widened a fraction. Chen Deng’s breath caught. A sharp silence settled over the tent. Because the meaning was undeniable. Their emperor, Lie Fan, had planned for this even in his youth. Sima Yi placed both figurines down and leaned slightly over the table. ”Cao Cao,” he murmured, ”was the whetstone upon which His Majesty sharpened his blade.”

Those words broke something open in the minds of the two men. They exchanged glances, seeing the truth reflected in one another’s eyes.

Their emperor had used Cao Cao.

Not maliciously. Not recklessly.

Strategically.

Brilliantly.

A long, slow exhale escaped from Zang Hong’s lips. ”To think... His Majesty had such foresight even then.”

Chen Deng nodded. ”And now, at the peak of his prime, that foresight has become something terrifying.”

A ghost of a smile touched Sima Yi’s mouth.

”That is why,” he said softly, ”we cannot afford to fail in this campaign.”

At that, the air thickened again with tension. Chen Deng straightened his back. Zang Hong leaned closer to the map.

And the three men resumed hammering their minds against the problem that had tormented them for thirty four days.

How to break Hongnong.

How to counter Guo Jia, Xi Zhicai, and Jia Kui, minds as sharp as blades, fortified behind solid walls and veteran soldiers.

The lamps burned lower.

Night deepened.

But their discussion only intensified.

Inside Hongnong itself, another gathering took place, one far heavier in spirit.

The main council chamber, though damaged by tremors from siege artillery, still held its structure. Roof beams were cracked. Walls were scorched from earlier fire attacks. Bloodstains still clung to the stone floor in corners where triage stations had stood earlier in the day.

Despite the exhaustion, six figures stood around a makeshift command table carved from hastily salvaged planks.

Guo Jia.

Xi Zhicai.

Xun Yu.

Jia Kui.

Tian Feng.

Xu You.

Every one of them bore signs of strain. Every one had dark smudges beneath their eyes. Every one carried the weight of the city on his shoulders.

Guo Jia was the first to break the silence.

He leaned heavily on one hand, his usually sharp posture dulled by fatigue that even he could no longer fully hide. His lips curved into a faint smirk, one half born of confidence, the other half masking his worry.

”Well,” he began, voice hoarse but still carrying that familiar hint of playful sharpness, ”they pulled back again. That makes tonight their... what? Thirty fourth night of frustrated retreat?”

Jia Kui let out a slow breath. ”If only the situation were amusing as you make it sound, Fengxiao.”

Xi Zhicai moved a figurine slightly on the defensive line. ”They will come again tomorrow. And harder.”

Xu You groaned softly and rubbed his temples. ”Sima Yi has been too quiet these last few days. He is waiting. Thinking. Plotting.” He shivered. ”And when that man finally acts... it will be painful.”

Xun Yu stood with his arms clasped behind his back. His posture remained impeccable even after weeks of sleepless nights. His gaze traveled across the map and then lifted toward the cracked ceiling.

”Hongnong’s spirit remains unbroken,” he said. ”But spirit alone cannot hold walls forever.”

Tian Feng, ever stern, ever brooding, clicked his tongue. ”We have endured a month. Longer than most expected. But endurance is not victory.”

Guo Jia’s smirk deepened, though his eyes revealed nothing but ice-cold calculation.

”True,” he said. ”But let us not forget... we are not fighting fools.”

He tapped a finger against the map.

”Sima Yi. Zang Hong. Chen Deng. Three brilliant men. Three relentless thinkers. And... if their Emperor, Lie Fan, is watching from afar... then perhaps even more eyes are on us to pick off our defences.”

A hush fell briefly.

Xi Zhicai let out a slow exhale.

”Tomorrow,” he said quietly, ”will be the hardest day.”

Jia Kui nodded. ”We must shore up the western gate. That’s where their ram pressure is strongest.”

Tian Feng added, ”And reinforce the eastern watchtowers. Their archers have been gradually adjusting their ranges. They are preparing for something.”

Xun Yu’s gaze hardened.

”And we,” he said, ”must prepare for everything.”

Guo Jia finally straightened, rolling his shoulders to shake off his fatigue. His smile returned, thin, dangerous, and knowing.

”Good,” he murmured. ”Then let us begin...”

He gestured to the map, eyes shining despite his exhaustion.

”...to make Sima Yi suffer.”

Xi Zhicai chuckled under his breath. ”Fengxiao, you always did enjoy provoking the enemy strategist.”

Guo Jia winked. ”It is my life’s greatest pleasure.”

And so their council began, a storm of ideas, countermeasures, layered deceptions, trap designs, counter-barrages, projected feints, emergency fallback plans, and surgical strikes meant to prolong the siege and bleed the enemy dry.

Outside, the moon climbed higher.

The wind grew colder.

Two councils, one outside Hongnong, one within, worked tirelessly, each determined to outmaneuver the other.

Tomorrow would be a day carved into history.

A day of mind against mind.

Steel against steel.

Fate against fate.

Twogeoup of minds of two empires.

Two storms gathering strength.

Two philosophies clashing without a single word exchanged.

And above Hongnong, the moon watched silently, bearing witness to the quiet preparations for another day of blood.

Dawn was a pale, exhausted gray, one of those mornings when even the sun seemed uncertain about rising. The month long siege had weighed heavily on the sky itself, as if the heavens, too, were tired of watching men slaughter one another. A thin fog clung to the earth, swirling around the Hengyuan siege camp like the breath of some slumbering beast.

But the moment the drums sounded, deep, slow, rolling like thunder, the fog scattered beneath the rhythmic pound of marching boots.

The next clash had begun.

Hengyuan soldiers surged forward in waves, shields raised in disciplined formation, their armor still damp with the dew of early morning. Their breath came out in faint white clouds as they advanced beneath the banners fluttering overhead, bold as a blade.

Sima Yi stood upon the command platform, expression unreadable, his hands tucked behind his back. Even from afar, he felt the shift in the air. There was a certain heaviness to the battlefield that had not been present the day before. Something strained. Something fraying near its limits.

Thirty four days of relentless assault could do that to an army.

But thirty four days of unbroken defense could do even more.

Up on the walls of Hongnong, Wei soldiers had already taken their positions, archers lined row upon row, silhouettes sharp against the brightness of early dawn. The moment the first horn from Hengyuan sounded, Guo Jia stepped to the front of the battlement, cloak fluttering behind him, eyes narrowed against the wind.

His usually pale face looked even more ghostly today, dark shadows clinging beneath his eyes. But there was a fire within him, thin and cold, but unmistakable.

He lifted his arm.

And hundreds of bows drew back in unison.

Xi Zhicai stood beside him, equally worn, equally resolute. The faint tang of burning oil and smoldering wood drifted upward from last night’s cleanup efforts, a reminder of how little rest Hongnong had gotten.

But none of that mattered now.

The moment Guo Jia’s hand dropped—

”Loose!”

The wall erupted in a thunderstorm of arrows.

They shot downward like iron rain, whistling so fast that even the air seemed to vibrate. The sky briefly darkened under the sheer number of projectiles.

Hengyuan soldiers reacted with trained precision, shields locking overhead in overlapping formation. Arrows embedded into the wooden surfaces like deadly quills. Some bounced off. Some snapped. Some found the narrow gaps between shields and armor and plunged into flesh.

Cries of pain echoed across the battlefield, swallowed quickly by the relentless drumbeats.

But then something strange happened.

A Hengyuan soldier barely grazed by an arrow, just a scratch on the side of his neck, stumbled.

He blinked rapidly.

Collapsed.

Convulsed.

And within seconds... he was dead.

Another man grazed across the thigh fell moments later, eyes wide with terror as foam bubbled at his lips.

The realization spread like wildfire among the ranks.

”Poison!” someone screamed.

”THE ARROWS ARE POISONED!”

Even Sima Yi stiffened slightly, his calm demeanor cracking for the briefest of moments.

Poisoned arrows.

Wei had grown desperate.

Desperate enough to abandon decorum and battlefield ethics, not that war had ever truly been ethical, but using poison openly, in daylight, was a boldness usually reserved for commanders brought to the edge.

Sima Yi’s jaw tightened, though it was subtle.

”They have decided to bare their fangs,” he murmured. ”Even if those fangs drip poison.”

Zang Hong’s face paled slightly beneath the grime and dust clinging to his skin.

”Master Sima... if they begin using poison so openly...”

”It means,” Sima Yi said quietly, ”that Hongnong bleeds. Their walls stand, but their resolve cracks.”

He lifted his hand and motioned Zang Hong closer.

”There is something we will do in return.”

Zang Hong leaned in. Then his eyes widened, sharply, almost comically.

”Master Sima... that—”

Sima Yi nodded once.

”It is time.”

For a heartbeat, Zang Hong hesitated, only because of shock, not because of doubt. Then he bowed, spun sharply on his heel, and rushed across the platform, shouting rapid orders as he descended the stairs and sprinted toward the siege engines.

Minutes later, the ground trembled.

The massive wooden arms of Hengyuan’s trebuchets strained backward, creaking under tension.

But this time...

They lacked the heavy silhouettes of stone.

Instead—

Tied bundles of clay jars, each sealed by tar and wrapped in cloth drenched in oil, rested where boulders normally sat.

Flames danced beneath them, bright orange tongues licking the underside of the payload.

Zang Hong raised his arm.

”FIRE!”

The trebuchets roared.

The jars soared into the sky, spinning, trailing sparks as the flames caught along the oil-soaked cloth.

Guo Jia and Xi Zhicai glanced up instinctively.

”This angle...” Guo Jia murmured.

”...No stones?” Xi Zhicai frowned.

The jars arced downward.

And then—

BOOM.

A mushroom of fire exploded against the battlements like the breath of a dragon unleashed. A scorching wave burst outward, consuming the walkway atop the wall. Wei soldiers screamed as flames swallowed armor, cloth, and flesh alike.

A second jar hit.

BOOM.

Fire cascaded over the battlements, onto shields, onto hair, onto skin.

Wei archers scrambled, rolling across the stone to extinguish the flames, shouting for sand, for water—anything.

But clay jars bursting into fireballs?

No one had prepared for this.

Guo Jia’s eyes widened only a fraction, barely visible, but enough to betray his shock.

”Sima Yi...”

”He retaliated this quickly?” Xi Zhicai managed, stunned.

Before Guo Jia could answer, another volley soared overhead.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Three more impacts.

Three more eruptions of heat that sent chunks of burning debris flying outward, setting clothing and wooden defenses aflame.

”Form shield clusters!” Xi Zhicai shouted suddenly, breaking from his stupor. ”Layered formation, double row!” Soldiers obeyed instantly, slamming large shields together, creating overlapping barriers to absorb both the explosion and the flames. Even so, the fire licked through the seams. Guo Jia stepped back, lifting his sleeve to shield his mouth from the smoke.

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Name: Lie Fan

Title: Founding Emperor Of Hengyuan Dynasty

Age: 35 (202 AD)

Level: 16

Next Level: 462,000

Renown: 2325

Cultivation: Yin Yang Separation (level 9)

SP: 1,121,700

ATTRIBUTE POINTS

STR: 966 (+20)

VIT: 623 (+20)

AGI: 623 (+10)

INT: 667

CHR: 98

WIS: 549

WILL: 432

ATR Points: 0