To Luoyang (1)
As evening deepened, the relay station plunged into a thick clamor. The worn, grimy wooden floor creaked incessantly under the shuffling feet of patrons, while in one corner, the dull rhythm of coachmen chopping fodder droned on steadily. Amid the greasy haze hanging in the air, oil lamps flickered precariously at the slightest draft seeping through the door cracks.
Beneath that dim glow, men with flushed faces from cheap millet wine puffed up rumors they'd picked up in Luoyang, each outdoing the last.
"Hey, listen to this! That bastard Dong Zhuo's finally got the young emperor as his puppet!"
"Tsk tsk, the whole palace inside and out is crawling with those northern barbarians from Xiliang. The ministers can't even breathe too loud."
"The Yuan family won't just sit idle, mark my words. With their legacy of four generations of ministers and three dukedoms, they won't let some frontier bumpkin walk all over them, right?"
In the midst of the buzzing din, Minju slowly set down his teacup. Clink. The faint sound of porcelain meeting the rough wooden table rang out lightly. Even in the rowdy station, it echoed sharply in Minju's ears.
It's finally starting.
The vast torrent of history, until now just vague fragments in his mind, now loomed so close he could feel it tugging at his sleeves. Suppressing the Yellow Turbans? That was merely the shallow overture to this mad, chaotic era. The real hell—the true age of blood—began right now.
Dong Zhuo seizing Luoyang by force, anti-Dong Zhuo coalition forces rising like wildfires across the land in rebellion, countless warlords baring their ambitions and tearing the realm asunder. And at the tail end of that horrific chaos, Zhang Fei met a futile end, his head severed.
Minju's thick fingertips trembled faintly. Instinctual dread of death, or perhaps the pressure of facing an immense fate. To hide it, he clenched the hand that had held the cup tightly in his lap.
Beating down a few Yellow Turban remnants doesn't end the game. That was just the ticket to step onto this era's stage. If I really want to live long... I have to change history!
It was then.
Liu Bei, who had been quietly sipping his millet wine beside him, spoke in a low, gentle voice.
"Yide. You've seemed lost in thought for a while now. Your tea's getting cold."
Minju startled and looked up at his eldest brother. Liu Bei was always like this—eyes that caught even the fleeting shadow on a man's face, blending sharp insight with profound kindness.
Across from him, Guan Yu said nothing, but his signature phoenix eyes narrowed as he fixed them on Minju. A piercing yet composed gaze, as if seeing straight through to his core.
What could let him survive long alongside these two? Only one thing. Unifying the realm.
That's the only way, isn't it?
The ultimate goal and ending of every Three Kingdoms game on the market. Though this wasn't a game, Minju's gut told him it was still his only shot at survival right now.
For that, he needed to act.
I have to move more aggressively from now on!
Not drifting with history's current—but steering it himself.
Minju paused before answering, glancing around. Among the drunken babblers, informants or spies might lurk with ears perked. This station had too many listening for loose words.
"Brother. Better to speak outside."
At Minju's solemn tone, Liu Bei nodded silently.
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The three rose and headed to the back of the station. Between the stables and a waste ditch, a narrow, deserted clearing reeked pungently of rot. In the darkness, Minju spoke first.
"Brother. We must go to Luoyang."
Liu Bei's serene gaze rippled faintly at the blunt words.
"To Luoyang, you say?"
"Yes. The court is fully in the grip of that jackal Dong Zhuo. As long as he wields the emperor like a stone in his pocket, toppling a few more bandit bands on the frontier won't save a rotting realm. You can't revive a tree with diseased roots by pruning branches."
Before Minju finished, Guan Yu cut in sharply from beside him.
"Yide. Your logic holds. But it's too soon."
Minju turned to his second brother. Even in the gloom, Guan Yu's massive frame stood unshakable as a mountain.
"We're just a minor local official with the county lieutenant post in Anxi— a tiny frontier force. Our troops number barely a few hundred, funds are meager, and our name's only just starting to spread. The power struggles at the capital aren't a game we brothers can crash with a few swords and hot blood."
"You think now's not the time to move?"
"Not yet, at least."
Guan Yu stepped forward, chin raised.
"If Dong Zhuo's hijacking the court, rebels will rise against him soon enough. But those 'heroes' will likely eye real power over the throne's safety. Whether Yuan Shao in Henei or Cao Cao in Chenliu, the massive game around Luoyang doesn't turn on shallow loyalty. If we leap into that torrent too hastily, Big Brother could end up a pawn, dragged down unjustly."
Minju ground his teeth inwardly. Guan Yu's insight was spot-on—flawlessly, irrefutably right. That's why it frustrated him all the more.
No. If we build strength slowly by the book like Second Brother says, it'll be too late.
Minju swallowed the words rising to his tongue. He couldn't reveal everything. How to explain he was a modern transmigrator who knew fragments of the future?
Lu Bu, Zhang Liao, Jia Xu, and more. Hand those irregular talents to others, and Liu Bei's forces would bleed dearly later. To stand toe-to-toe with Cao Cao or Sun Quan, they had to snatch every promising talent now, in this chaos.
Only if Liu Bei shone in the massive anti-Dong Zhuo coalition would elites flock to him. The current Liu Bei wouldn't draw them.
And above all.
If Liu Bei doesn't grow his power now and weakens, even I as Zhang Fei will die before my time!
Minju steadied his breath and spoke low and firm.
"We need to see where the realm's scales are tipping, whom to claim and whom to abandon. Without watching the game from the highest seats, we'll be sidelined on the frontier with no chance to act later."
"What could we possibly gain from that den of tigers?"
Minju's eyes cooled in the dark.
"Something."
"What?"
A heavy silence fell. Minju licked his lips but didn't answer immediately, organizing his thoughts. Then, slowly:
"Dong Zhuo's ranks aren't just filled with beasts gnawing flesh. There are massive spears and blades to shake the chaos—and minds to upend the world. If we recruit them, it'll greatly expand our strength."
"You mean Lu Bu?"
"Yes, exactly."
Guan Yu stared at Minju in disbelief.
"How do we bring that Lu Bu to our side?"
"We can. Leave it to me."
"......"
Guan Yu narrowed his eyes, looking at Minju like a stranger.
"Yide. Today you speak as if you've already peered into the distant future."
Minju's heart plummeted. Guan Yu's intuition was chillingly sharp. But ignoring the cold sweat down his back, he kept his face impassive.
"I'm just sharing what I've learned rolling in battlefields, drenched in blood. Only those with nothing to lose can seize the greatest prizes."
Zhang Fei spouting unusually shrewd words all day was suspicious, but the point wasn't wrong, so Guan Yu fell silent. Tension crackled between the brothers until Liu Bei, who had listened quietly, raised a hand.
"Enough."
Both turned to him. Even under the pitch-black sky, his face seemed woven with myriad thoughts. He gazed at the stars awhile, then murmured with a deep sigh.
"Yunzhang's right a hundred times over. Yet... Yide's not wrong either. We're too small to speak of the realm now. But some chances, once missed, never return."
His callused hand drifted to the hilt of the paired swords at his waist.
"Give me a little time. I'll ponder through the night if need be."
This wasn't mere deferral—it signaled his mind was tilting. Minju and Guan Yu bowed without further argument.
"Yes, Brother."