Takatsuki

Year 189, Luoyang, Suzaku Avenue, Drunken Immortal Pavilion.

Yuan Xi reflected deeply on the events of recent years, on the girl, Gao Yue, whose presence had cast a beam of light into his otherwise dull existence. From that moment, Yuan Xi felt as though he had truly begun to immerse himself in the life of the late Han dynasty, and Gao Yue became, in his heart, both his radiant white moonlight and the cherished vermilion mark.

...

In the summer of 182 CE, the unbearable heat was far greater than in previous years. At the time, some claimed it was an omen of impending war. That omen was indeed the outbreak of the Yellow Turban Rebellion, which was already showing signs.

Grand Commandant Yang Ci warned Emperor Ling, but his caution was ignored. Another insightful figure, Cao Cao, shared Yang Ci’s concerns. Zhang Jiao had preached for over a decade, his disciples scattered throughout the land, and rebellion was inevitable. However, Cao Cao’s low rank and limited influence left him unheard.

As a close friend of Yuan Shao, Cao Cao was a frequent visitor to the Yuan household. Young Yuan Xi often secretly peered through the door cracks to observe this cunning hero. Cao Cao was calm and experienced, his eyes revealing a ruthless sharpness, a stark contrast to the refined elegance of Yuan Shao. It was the look of a man who had endured trials and emerged decisive, vigilant, and adaptable.

That year, Cao Cao was frustrated, a hero with no place to prove himself.

At the end of 183 CE, the Yellow Turban Uprising erupted, arriving months earlier than expected—perhaps influenced by Yuan Xi, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

“The old order has died, the new heaven must rise; the year is Jia-Zi, the world awaits auspiciousness!”

With Zhang Jiao’s rallying cry, the Yellow Turban Rebellion erupted like wildfire, quickly sweeping across the vast Han empire, continuing into the following year, 184 CE.

The Yellow Turbans grew mighty, the imperial court powerless to suppress them, forcing Emperor Ling into reluctant compromise. The party purges were lifted, and established aristocrats were reinstated. Authority was delegated to local officials to raise armies and quell the rebels themselves.

While this strategy eventually eradicated the remaining Yellow Turban forces, it also officially marked the beginning of the Eastern Han’s fragmentation and the era of warlordism. It sounded the death knell of the Han dynasty, which now clung to nothing but a thin veil of dignity.

The Yuan family, however, capitalized on the chaos, expanding their influence rapidly.

Thus, the once-mighty Han dynasty, which had proudly declared, "Where the sun and moon shine, where rivers flow, that is Han soil," and which had sealed its glory with the epitaphs on Mount Langju and Yanran, which had driven the Xiongnu westward like mountains pressing down on the Western Regions, began to crumble.

Soon after, Emperor Ling passed away. Dong Zhuo seized power, sowing chaos, compounded by the Li and Guo rebellions, draining the last vestiges of the Han’s vitality.

...

In the centuries that followed, warlords battled endlessly, leading to the tripartite division of the Three Kingdoms. The Sima clan usurped Wei, the Five Barbarians ravaged China, and the literati fled southward.

Yet, perhaps there was still a chance for change. That chance was Yuan Xi—the butterfly whose appearance might yet alter the course of history.

...

Yuan Xi met Gao Yue around 183 CE. They had actually crossed paths once before in 182, though Yuan Xi’s attention was elsewhere—they had been forcibly sent by Yuan Shao to receive their early education.

At that time, seven-year-old Yuan Xi was at the home of Gao Langzhong, Gao Jing’s household, accompanying Yuan Shao on a visit to his aunt.

In the backyard, young Yuan Xi practiced his calligraphy alone. It was late spring, the end of the third lunar month, and through the window, he gazed out upon a grove of green plum trees.

The plums at the treetops were just beginning to ripen.

Thinking of the sweet and sour taste, a mouthwatering sensation welled up in Yuan Xi’s mouth—a faint echo of the phrase “gazing at plums to quench thirst.” It sounded oddly familiar.

Though Yuan Xi’s soul was mature beyond his years due to time travel and fragmented memories of a past life, his body remained that of a child, and his instincts held strong sway.

Despite his patient and diligent practice, he had hit a bottleneck in his calligraphy, which made him restless—a dangerous state for one writing characters, for “impatience” was the enemy of art.

So he decided to pick some plums to eat, which wouldn’t interfere with his practice.

There were no modern drinks in this era; fruit was a child’s favorite treat.

Stepping outside, he entered the plum grove.

Fate’s threads were already weaving their pattern.

The fragrance of the plums calmed his restless spirit.

Standing amid the trees, he suddenly realized he was too short to reach the fruit. He truly had become, as the saying went, one who “gazes at plums to quench thirst”—a disappointing prospect.

At that moment, he heard rustling from the treetops. He initially assumed it was just a bird.

Looking more closely, he saw a nimble young girl perched in the branches, casually picking plums. Yuan Xi was astonished and fascinated.

Instinctively, he folded his small hands—a gesture he often made when thinking. A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes; those who knew him well would understand that someone was about to be in trouble.

Then, in his childish voice, he shouted, “Help! Thief! Someone’s stealing! Help!”

His voice was not loud, but sudden. The grove was otherwise empty, just him and the agile figure in the tree.

Startled, the girl lost her footing and fell—right onto Yuan Xi’s body below.

Yuan Xi felt trapped by his own prank. The girl, appearing no older than seven or eight, had fallen directly on top of him.

Fortunately, the tree wasn’t very tall, or both could have been seriously hurt. A failed scheme, a loss of effort—he was in trouble.

Pinned beneath the girl, Yuan Xi’s nose was enveloped in her fresh scent, stirring a faint flutter in his heart.

But the pain from her weight made his small face contort in discomfort.

The girl rubbed her head, pushed herself up, and looked down at the boy beneath her with a dazed expression that gradually gave way to surprise and then a mix of shock and embarrassed anger.

Yuan Xi looked up at the girl innocently. She was quite pretty and her clothes suggested she was no common thief.

He guessed she must be from the Gao family.

The girl’s gaze met Yuan Xi’s deep, dark eyes, which gave her an inexplicable unease, though it seemed she recalled something.

Her face then showed a flicker of annoyance as she said, “Hey, did you just scare me? You’d better explain yourself.”

Yuan Xi thought to himself that today was truly unlucky. Why had he gotten the mischievous idea to play a prank? A girl agile enough to pick fruit from trees was probably lively and spirited. He might not be able to best her after all. Ah, a miscalculation.

...

The endless Yangtze River flows eastward, washing away heroes like fleeting waves. Right and wrong, success and failure—all turn to emptiness in hindsight. The green mountains remain, and countless sunsets have come and gone; the affairs of old now but laughter in stories.

Every young man harbors a dream of the Three Kingdoms. As for me, I admire Xiahou Dun—blessed with great fortune. If I could, I’d gladly be the general’s horse holder.

Yuan Xi: “Father-in-law, I hope all is well.”

Xiahou Dun: “Hmph, I will never surrender.”

Yuan Xi: “Alright, alright, rest assured.”

Xiahou Dun: “Yuan Xi, give up on that thought.”

Yuan Xi: “Alright, alright, I understand.”

Xiahou Dun: “Huh???”