Prologue
Jang Myeong was born in the second year of Jianning (169 AD) in Xu Province's Langya Commandery. His family was a merchant noble house that had never held office but amassed wealth through commerce.
At the age of six, I became aware of my reincarnation.
Recalling my past life wasn't difficult. As my head grew, the memories resurfaced one after another.
For a fortnight after awakening to my previous existence, I mulled over the principles behind it—but eventually set it aside. Even if I figured it out, nothing would change.
Instead, to gauge the era, I asked my father.
“Father. What country do we live in now?”
“We live under the Han Dynasty, my son.”
Father closed the ledger he had been poring over and answered.
Han Dynasty. At least it wasn't before the Qin or after the Tang. But his words alone couldn't distinguish between the Former Han and the Latter Han.
“Then, who has been the greatest traitor in the realm so far?”
“The greatest was Wang Mang. A mere subject who dared to found his own state.”
Wang Mang, tied to the Usurper Dynasty—his mention confirmed it was the Latter Han. If it had been the Former Han, Father might have named Xiang Yu or Han Xin instead.
But knowing it's the Latter Han—what good does that do?
Still, it wasn't enough information. The only period I knew well was the late Latter Han to begin with.
“In that case, who holds sway over the court these days?”
“The Ten Attendants, those eunuchs.”
Ten Attendants. The fact that they passed Father's lips meant this was the late Latter Han.
Fuck?
If we narrowed it to Chinese history, this was the era I knew best. A child emperor too weak to rule, eunuchs toying with the state. Offices sold like common goods, the people wandering as vagrants in the end times.
The moment I heard his answer, the opening lines of Romance of the Three Kingdoms sprang to mind.
The realm long divided must unite;
long united must divide.
In my previous life, I'd dismissed those words as mere literary flourish.
I was wrong.
Those fourteen characters weren't scrawled in black ink—they were written in blood.
And it was in that blood-soaked age that my second life began.
Life () had only just started, yet death () was already breathing down my neck.