Chapter One: The Commoner

Page 1 of 3

In September of the year 189, at the end of the Eastern Han dynasty, Dong Zhuo marched into the capital. Emperor Shao, Liu Bian, was deposed, and King Liu Xie of Chenliu ascended the throne as Emperor Xian of Han. Under the pretense of supporting the puppet emperor, Dong Zhuo sought to seize control of the court and command the mighty Han dynasty.

The following month, Dong Zhuo, the very man who had installed the emperor, poisoned Empress Dowager He and from then on wielded authority over the realm. Cao Cao’s attempt to assassinate Dong Zhuo failed, forcing him to flee Luoyang and prepare a manifesto to rally the nation to arms.

After General-in-Chief He Jin quelled the Yellow Turban Rebellion, the lords of the land, already mustering their forces with ambition for power, saw in Dong Zhuo’s actions the fulfillment of their own unspoken desires, a step they had not dared to take themselves.

The Han had lost its sacred deer, and now the world would chase after it together.

At this moment, the deer was closest to Dong Zhuo.

Fuchun County, located in Jiangdong and under the administration of Kuaiji Commandery, was a prosperous land. Beside it lay an inconspicuous little village.

On the fertile, dark earth, golden wheat spread across the abundant fields, the plump grains promising yet another bountiful harvest this year.

Amid the moist soil, a young man, his back to the azure sky, was cutting sheaves of wheat.

From the thatched cottages built on the stone dam within the village, wisps of blue smoke curled upwards. Since the suppression of the Yellow Turban Rebellion, the people had enjoyed a brief respite from chaos.

Jiang Wen, styled Changsu, was sixteen years old, and in these troubled times, had been favored with a handsome appearance.

His complexion was fair and rosy, his features scholarly, and though dressed in coarse homespun, he carried himself with remarkable elegance.

After binding the wheat into bundles and slinging them over his back, Jiang Wen took up his sickle and shoes, and walked barefoot back to his home.

“Second Uncle, I’m back.” Jiang Wen set the sickle aside, placed the sheaf of wheat on the ground, drew a bucket of clear water, and cleaned the mud from his body.

Inside sat a robust, dark-skinned, plain-faced middle-aged man—Jiang Hao, Jiang Wen’s second uncle.

When the Yellow Turban Rebellion broke out, Jiang Wen’s parents were killed by the rebels, and afterwards, Jiang Hao took it upon himself to care for his nephew.

“Come eat…” Jiang Hao, seeing Jiang Wen return, brought out fresh fish soup, two flatbreads, and two bowls of thin porridge from the wooden table.

Wiping the water from his hands, Jiang Wen joined his uncle at the table, picking up chopsticks and bowls. In these turbulent times, the simple pleasure of a meal was the greatest comfort for the common folk.

Jiang Hao took a sip of porridge, chewed on a piece of flatbread, and said, “Jiang Wen, your uncle has something to discuss with you.”

Jiang Wen glanced at his uncle, but, feeling the pangs of hunger, continued to drink his porridge. Though called porridge, it was little more than water with a few grains of rice; a few mouthfuls and the bowl was empty.

Even after eating, he was not full.

He picked up a piece of flatbread, dipped it into the fresh fish soup, and tried to fill his empty stomach.

Jiang Hao’s expression was somber, his tone hesitant. “The officials have begun recruiting soldiers again. When I went to Fuchun County, I saw the conscription notice. I wanted to tell you—now that you’re of age, it’s time for you to stand on your own.”

At the mention of conscription, a subtle change flickered across Jiang Wen’s face. He said nothing, simply broke off a piece of flatbread and chewed, eating with the soup.

No one could enjoy lasting peace in these troubled times; in the days of Emperors Huan and Ling, some had even resorted to cannibalism.

As Jiang Wen’s uncle, Jiang Hao’s thoughts were simple. With war looming, even he could not guarantee his own survival, let alone that of his newly grown nephew.

Page 2 of 3

Rather than let the boy be swept onto the battlefield and perish without reason, it was better for Jiang Wen to enlist voluntarily. With luck, he might even climb the ranks and bring honor to the humble Jiang family, raising them to the status of the gentry.

Jiang Hao finished his porridge in one gulp and ate the flatbread and fish soup. “I’ve packed your things in the little room. Inside are the three thousand coins I’ve saved over the years. If you decide to go, take your bundle and set out.”

Jiang Wen swallowed the last bite of flatbread, feeling little emotion. His uncle had done his utmost for him all these years; he had no reason to object.

But the road to officialdom was arduous, and becoming a magistrate was no easy task. The sons of the powerful, shielded by influential patrons, flooded the bureaucracy in droves, all seeking office.

The gentry sought office for power; the poor sought office for money.

An official’s life promised security and freedom from want. For this alone, countless sons of humble families bent their backs.

For the common people, life was bitter beyond words.

Prosperity brought misery to the people, and so did ruin.

The lives of the masses were worthless. A noble’s passing anger could stain a thousand li with blood. Dong Zhuo’s burning of Luoyang, Cao Cao’s massacre of Xuzhou—such acts spoke for themselves.

Yet even as officials, one’s life still hung by a thread; a noble’s fleeting whim could mean sudden death. In such chaotic times, who could claim innocence?

Jiang Wen watched his uncle’s sleeping face, then quietly left, carrying his bundle as he departed the village.

Fuchun belonged to Wu Commandery, and if Jiang Wen remembered correctly, before long, a local magnate would raise his own army and declare himself king. If he enlisted now, he would join Wu Commandery’s troops.

A talented man must choose the right master, just as a fine bird picks the right tree. If he joined Wu’s forces, he would be placed under the command of a reckless upstart—Jiang Wen had no wish to throw his life away.

Among the Three Kingdoms, the greatest lords were Liu, Cao, and Sun. The Big-Eared Thief was a master of false benevolence; Cao Cao, a suspicious and ambitious man. After some thought, Jiang Wen resolved to seek service under Sun Jian, the Governor of Changsha.

The Sun family, in terms of intrigue, might lag behind Cao Cao and Liu Bei, but their military prowess was unmatched.

After Sun Jian’s death, Sun Ce, with only a few thousand men, swept across Jiangdong—well deserving of the title Little Conqueror.

Sadly, the heroes of Wu were all short-lived. Sun Ce, having just pacified Jiangdong, fell to an assassin’s blade. The burning of Red Cliffs left Cao Mengde with a deep respect for Zhou Gongjin, yet Zhou Yu too soon died from wounds inflicted by a poisoned arrow.

Lu Meng’s death was shrouded in mystery—some said he died from Sun Quan’s suspicion, others from plague.

Had it been otherwise, the true contest of history would have been between Wu and Wei. Zhuge Liang marched seven times to Qishan, Sun Quan with his hundred thousand troops held fast—this alone showed the difference.

Jiang Wen knew that, in terms of scholarship, he might not match the most brilliant minds of his age; but he did possess a deep knowledge of this period’s history, and a unique perspective.

Now that he had decided, his next step was to reach Changsha. The journey from Fuchun to Changsha was long—by fast horse, it would take forty days.

He considered: if he enlisted as an ordinary soldier, he would be just another nameless recruit. With his thin arms and legs, even if he became a soldier, who could he best in battle? He would be nothing but cannon fodder, his corpse abandoned on the field.

All he would do is add a line to someone’s tally of merits and waste a length of white cloth—nothing more.

If he wished to avoid becoming a mere recruit, he needed someone to recommend him.

After walking for eight days from his village, Jiang Wen arrived at Youquan County, where a crowd of peasants, carrying hoes and bamboo baskets, was gathered around a notice at the city gate.

“The Han is in decline, His Majesty suffers every insult, and the traitor Dong Zhuo has slain his liege—a true enemy of the Han! Sons of Jiangdong, now is the time for immortal deeds. Sun Jian, Governor of Changsha, is recruiting here. Any man with ambition, follow me to war!”

Jiang Wen’s gaze flickered as he read the notice. Armies were being raised across the land. If he was right, there were still three months before the lords would respond to Cao Cao’s call to arms against Dong Zhuo.

Page 3 of 3

In three months, the allied armies would gather to punish Dong Zhuo. Yet for all the talk of alliance, the lords spent more time fighting among themselves than against their common foe; in truth, only the valiant Sun Jian would face Dong Zhuo in battle.

While Yuan Shao and others sat safely at the rear, idly discussing strategy, Sun Jian led his troops directly to assault Hulao Gate. Alas, Yuan Shu’s refusal to supply rations led to Sun Jian’s defeat.

Except for Sun Quan, the Sun family were all warriors—straightforward and bold, lacking the deep suspicion of other ambitious lords. Sun Jian’s ranks boasted many mighty generals, but few capable of offering wise counsel. What they needed now was a strategist.

Here lay Jiang Wen’s opportunity.

He entered Youquan County without expression. By the roadside lay a corpse covered by a white cloth; before it knelt a filthy, disheveled figure.

The townsfolk were long accustomed to death in the streets, and paid the scene no heed.

Jiang Wen approached and squinted at the crooked writing on the ground—ugly and hard to decipher, but he recognized it: selling oneself to bury one’s father.

There were many wanderers in these chaotic times. Jiang Wen checked the three thousand coins in his purse—enough for the journey—and squatted down to ask, “How much?”

He couldn’t make out the other’s face, so dirtied it was, but the eyes were bright and lively.

The beggar, sizing Jiang Wen up in turn, answered hesitantly, “Three hundred coins…”

A faint sound of swallowing followed. Jiang Wen stood up and left. The beggar, seeing this rare chance slip away, was filled with regret, thinking he should have asked for less.

“Here, a hot bun—want it?”

Just as the beggar was lamenting his mistake, Jiang Wen appeared with a bun wrapped in grass leaves and placed it before him.

Jiang Wen said calmly, “Three hundred coins is too much. I’ll give you two hundred. But I don’t want you—I just want you to find a proper place to bury your father. If you’re a son, leaving your father’s corpse exposed is unfilial.”

The beggar wolfed down the bun in a few bites, his face relaxing with satisfaction, though still yearning for more. “Doesn’t matter if I don’t bury him—he’s not my father anyway.”

Jiang Wen raised an eyebrow, looked more closely at the corpse, and sighed. “You carry the back end.”

“What for?”

Jiang Wen ignored him, lifted the front of the litter, and the beggar took the rear, puffing out his cheeks with effort.

Outside the city, Jiang Hao found a spot and, being used to farm work, dug a pit in an hour and buried the body properly.

The beggar watched Jiang Wen’s actions, his heart moved, eyes shining as he grinned, showing white teeth. “You’re a good man. I’ve decided to follow you!”

Jiang Wen replied coolly, “You’re not a good man. I don’t want you following me.”

He re-entered the county, now trailed by a filthy little companion.

“I can cook, wash clothes, look after your house. If you run out of money, we can try the same trick again—only this time, you play the corpse!”

“How about I call you ‘Master’ from now on?”