Chapter One: A Face That Could Launch a Thousand Ships

Zhang Sifan’s emotions were in turmoil.

“Young master, open your mouth—ah—”

“Ying’er, perhaps you’d better give me the spoon…”

“Young master, did I do something wrong? Please tell me, I can change!”

“How could that be! You’re just too good… I’m not worthy of such beauty’s kindness.”

Looking at the little maid before him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, Zhang Sifan found himself beset by a happiness tinged with distress. After all, as a modern man, when had he ever been pampered like this?

He heard Ying’er continue, “You’ve only just recovered from a serious illness, now is the time to nourish yourself well. If the master and mistress learn I’ve neglected you, how could I possibly explain myself…”

“Well, since I’m here, I might as well go along with local customs,” Zhang Sifan sighed, unable to refuse this sweet-tempered girl. He reached out and pinched her soft cheek, watching her blush fiercely as she fed him, and found the scene both amusing and endearing.

In this era, marrying or taking a wife at twelve or thirteen was commonplace, and in wealthy households, such personal maids were often intimate companions to their masters. Though he had preserved his chastity for twenty years, as a new generation intellectual raised under the red banner of the Party and the guiding light of socialism, he certainly harbored no wicked desires toward a young girl barely in her teens.

Letting his mind go blank, he opened his mouth, chewed, and swallowed mechanically, all the while recalling the events of recent days.

He… must truly have transmigrated.

When he’d opened his eyes to see a carved wooden bed canopy and posts, a brocade-covered quilt over him, and, beyond the bed, three screens of shallow relief depicting lifelike birds and landscapes—Zhang Sifan quickly accepted the reality of being reborn as a wealthy young master.

As he’d guessed, the family into which Zhang Sifan was “reborn” was quite well-off. Not a great aristocratic clan, perhaps, but certainly affluent by any standard.

His father, Zhang Shiping, was a renowned merchant and squire of Zhongshan, dealing primarily in horse trading and other lucrative ventures. In Zhang Sifan’s estimation, his father would have been a veritable arms smuggler in modern times.

The young master he now inhabited was named Zhang Yu, courtesy name Yunu’er—a sickly, prematurely born child, frail and slow-witted, yet blessed with extraordinary good looks. Zhang Shiping doted on him ceaselessly, but dared not let him out into the world for fear of disgrace or the boy’s health failing.

Thus, locked away in the depths of the inner residence, sixteen years passed in seclusion.

But, as Murphy’s Law dictates, what you fear most is bound to happen.

Zhang Sifan dreaded transmigration, and so he transmigrated.

Zhang Shiping feared for his son’s safety, and sure enough, his son met with misfortune.

Luckily, fate wove a curious knot for these two timid souls—Zhang Sifan’s journey through time succeeded in lending life to the ailing son, nearly causing his father to die of overwhelming joy.

Transmigration, rebirth, five years younger, returned to the beloved Three Kingdoms era—the sheer weight of it all nearly broke the newly awakened Zhang Sifan, who lay bedridden for two days, reeling.

A devoted student of the Three Kingdoms, Zhang Sifan recalled that his new father and his father’s close friend Su Shuang were both horse traders in Zhongshan. They were known to history for sponsoring the penniless Liu Bei with fifty fine horses, five hundred taels of gold and silver, and a thousand catties of steel.

These riches allowed Liu Bei to muster his first troop, laying a solid foundation. The famed Twin Swords, Green Dragon Crescent Blade, and Serpent Spear, weapons that would later become legends, were all forged from that steel.

“This spendthrift old man—who’s really your son, Liu Bei or me? Well… neither, I suppose…”

Among the myriad figures of the Three Kingdoms, Zhang Sifan admired many—the unparalleled strategist Zhuge Kongming, the fearless White Horse General Zhao Yun, the darkly portrayed handsome Zhou Yu, even the cunning and ambitious Cao Mengde. This was precisely why he loved the era: an age of chaos that gave rise to heroes, a stage for the wise and the brave to shine. As a man, who would not yearn to join their ranks?

On second thought… perhaps not. The reasons need not be elaborated.

Yet, among so many mighty heroes, Zhang Sifan found himself least fond of the Imperial Uncle, Liu Xuande.

When he first read the Three Kingdoms as a child, his thinking was immature—he followed the story’s grandeur without question. But as he grew and learned the true history behind the novel’s embellishments, his view of the supposedly loyal and righteous Uncle changed.

The Romance of the Three Kingdoms undeniably exalts Liu Bei and denigrates Cao Cao. As a boy, Zhang Sifan had often lamented: with the Five Tiger Generals and the likes of Wolong and Fengchu on their side, how could Shu fail so spectacularly?

With thought comes progress. Over time, Liu Bei’s image merged in his mind with that of Song Jiang from the Water Margin—both squandered strong hands, neither true masters behind the wheel.

Later, Zhang Sifan realized that history is not a role-playing game; its complexities defy simple judgment. Liu Bei was neither Song Jiang nor a paragon of virtue, but rather, much like his ancestor Liu Bang, a true schemer—righteousness and benevolence had little place in such times.

Rising from obscurity, bearing the burden of family honor, Liu Bei was tenacious beyond compare, surviving and striving despite endless setbacks. If Lü Bu was infamous for his shifting loyalties, Liu Bei probably needed to rewrite the Book of Surnames, yet his indomitable spirit commanded respect.

Reflecting on the Imperial Uncle’s deeds, a few memorable examples stood out for Zhang Sifan:

He unwittingly took another man’s wife, then, upon learning the truth, was so moved he promoted the man to office.

He famously declared, “Brothers are like limbs, women like clothes,” and indeed had his sworn brother cross five passes and slay six generals to rescue his “clothes.” A point for Guan Yu.

He once tossed his own son to the ground to win Zhao Yun’s devotion, which perhaps caused the boy’s wit to wither and the Shu dynasty to wane.

On the lands tilled for generations by his kin and under his former superior’s domain, Liu Bei “visited” and then established the state of Shu.

He rarely displayed grand strategy but was a master of dissembling; his performance at the “wine debate of heroes” was worthy of an Oscar. His brothers were always at a loss before his tears—Zhang Sifan sometimes suspected they spent their lives caught in Liu Bei’s act.

His one moment of true wrath—avenging his sworn brother—cost Shu more than half its strength and led to its downfall, even sacrificing another brother. One wonders how Prime Minister Zhuge coped.

He constantly spoke of restoring the Han and bringing peace, yet became the very source of endless turmoil.

Of course, many of these impressions were colored by Zhang Sifan’s personal biases and perhaps a penchant for criticizing for criticism’s sake, but his dislike for Liu Bei was genuine.

Not to mention, that man had seized a fortune that, by all rights, should have belonged to him—how could one stand for such a thing?

Lost in these thoughts, Zhang Sifan’s brow furrowed, startling Ying’er into halting her actions.

“Young master, is it too hot?” she asked, touching the spoon to her lips to test the temperature, “It’s not hot… ah!”

Before she could react, Zhang Sifan took the bowl of porridge and drank it down in one go. Wiping his mouth, he set the bowl and cloth on the wooden tray.

“Ying’er, you may go for now. I need to rest.”

“But young master, you’ve only just awakened! Are you feeling unwell? Should I fetch the doctor…”

“Are you going to disobey even me now?” Zhang Sifan put on an air of authority, intimidating Ying’er into a hasty retreat. The sensation of being an ancient, domineering young lord pleased him immensely.

Instinctively, he raised a hand to his face. His fingertips met an unbelievably smooth surface. He hurried to the bronze mirror, but its misty reflection gave him only a vague image. Fortunately, Ying’er had just brought a basin of water for him to wash.

Leaning over, he examined his features closely in the water’s reflection, and for a moment, he was utterly entranced—it felt like a dream.

Sword-like brows, eyes like stars, a striking and handsome face, skin as fair as jade, a natural aura of nobility.

“Handsome… More incredible than transmigration is how handsome I’ve become.”

After tossing and turning in bed a while longer, and feeling hunger return, Zhang Sifan rose, straightened his clothes, called for Ying’er to comb and tie his hair, and, once properly groomed, noticed an almost feverish adoration in her gaze.

“Come, take me to see Father.”