Chapter Two: I Have a System?!

Kingdom of Zhongshan lay in the northwestern part of Jizhou, with its administrative seat at Lunu. Its domain corresponded to the region south of Mount Heng at the border of today’s Shanxi and Hebei, north of Wuji and Shenze in Hebei, east of Tang County, and west of Qingyuan.

Zhang Shiping was the wealthiest merchant in Zhongshan. Together with his close friend Su Shuang, he controlled the trading of military horses not only in Zhongshan but across all of Jizhou. To say his wealth was immeasurable and his fortune multiplied daily would be no exaggeration. Only the Zhen family of Wuji could rival them in the province.

Zhang Sifan walked through the winding corridors of his own residence, struggling to restrain his curiosity and not gawk at every turn, yet he was deeply awed by the grandeur of the estate. Early summer had arrived, but the courtyard was shrouded in lush shade, shielding it from the oppressive heat. Beyond the covered walkways, a small lake lay within the grounds, its waters clear as crystal. At the center stood a solitary pavilion, delicate and graceful, reminiscent of a maiden holding a parasol and gazing into the distance.

Absorbed in this sight, Zhang Sifan realized it had taken him a full ten minutes to reach this spot from his room. He thought to himself that, without a maid to guide him, it would be easy to lose one's way until one became familiar with the layout.

Now, it was the first year of Chuping, or 190 CE.

Six years prior, one of the largest peasant uprisings in Chinese history—the Yellow Turban Rebellion—had erupted. The renowned mystic Zhang Jiao, just as in the annals of history, cried, “The blue heavens are dead, the yellow heavens must stand,” and, with his two brothers, led a desperate throng of the poor and downtrodden, donned in yellow scarves, down the path of open revolt.

Though the rebellion was largely suppressed within nine months, its repercussions had by no means faded. That same year, Beigong Boyu, Bian Zhang, and Han Sui raised arms in the northwest. The Emperor Ling remained oblivious, his extravagant ways unchanged, embodying the royal indifference of “After me, let the floods come.”

The following year, Zhang Niujiao and Chu Feiyan, remnants of the Yellow Turbans, rose in Black Mountain, gathering an army said to number a million and threatening Hebei.

So, one insurrection after another swept the land—chaos in Jingzhou, the Wuling tribes’ uprising, Xianbei invasions of You and Bing provinces, Qiang and Hu mutinies at the borders, the brothers Zhang Chun and Zhang Ju colluding with the Wuhuan. All were brimming with ambition, eager to take their turn in tearing holes in this decaying realm.

Thus, the realm fell into turmoil.

In the sixth year of Zhongping, or 189 CE, Liu Hong, master of indulgence, finally exhausted himself to death. The Han dynasty, four centuries in the making, was already in its twilight, teetering on the brink of collapse.

Earlier this year, the eighteen warlords of Guanzhong rose against Dong Zhuo, forming an alliance under Yuan Shao. In February, the coalition’s might forced Dong Zhuo to burn Luoyang and move the capital to Chang’an, dividing fiefdoms in his wake. All at once, the warlords rose; the grand edifice of the Han was crumbling, and the age of chaos at the end of the Eastern Han had begun in earnest.

Such was the state of things before Zhang Sifan crossed over. As he followed the maid’s footsteps, he calculated in his mind.

“Fortunately, I haven’t missed too much of the excitement. If I’d arrived straight into the autumn winds of Wuzhang Plains, I’d die of regret.”

As previously mentioned, Zhang Sifan’s adaptability was remarkable. After all, as a die-hard fan of the Three Kingdoms era, the chance to travel back in time was a rare fortune. It would be foolish to think that taking his own life might somehow reverse the journey.

After several twists and turns, they finally reached the main hall. The maid answered at the door and withdrew with a respectful bow; at either side of the entrance stood two house guards.

As Zhang Sifan pushed open the door, he heard the sudden sound of someone rising from their seat inside.

He slowly opened the finely crafted wooden door to see his father’s face alight with excitement, striding towards him with great steps.

“Yunuer! Who allowed you out of bed? Where is Ying’er?” Zhang Shiping’s voice held both authority and reproach, yet his deep affection could not be masked.

This was Zhang Sifan’s first true look at his father in this life. When he had first crossed over, his mind was still clouded and his body weak, so he’d only caught a fleeting glimpse of both parents before drifting into sleep.

Now, observing closely, his father’s features were honest and square, with thick brows, large eyes, a broad face, and a short beard. His skin, darkened and roughened by years of business travel, only added to his masculine air—a fine figure of a man.

“Well, I’ve got two thousand years more experience than these ancients. I can’t lose my composure; I must appear at ease. Otherwise, how can I be worthy of this remarkable face of mine?”

Collecting his thoughts, Zhang Sifan let the natural affability of his features shine as he took his father’s arms in his own.

“Father, it isn’t Ying’er’s fault. I felt much recovered, and seeing you and Mother so worried these days made me uneasy. I could not bear to wait any longer and came here on my own, so you both might be at ease.”

He spoke with all the grace of a scholar, silently congratulating himself. Seeing the astonishment in Zhang Shiping’s eyes, he smiled teasingly. “Surely Father doesn’t find his son unsightly?”

Indeed, confidence goes hand in hand with appearance—how true for the ancients!

Zhang Shiping gazed at his beloved son, and it was as if a bottle of vinegar had burst inside him—astonishment giving way to a surge of joy and long-held emotion. A man seasoned by decades of business rivalries and tempests, he could not help but grow hoarse with feeling.

“How could I! Wonderful, wonderful! Heaven is just to grant my Yunuer such wisdom and clarity—my life’s diligence and virtue have not been in vain!”

Clasping Zhang Sifan, he led him further into the hall, then turned to the steward not far away. “Zhang Shuo, today the Zhang family will open our granaries—go and see to it! Come, Yunuer, our guest today has ties to you. I shall introduce you.”

Zhen Yan, having heard the maid’s announcement, started involuntarily. Then, hearing the clear, melodious voice outside, and the brilliant repartee with Zhang Shiping, he could not hide his curiosity and rose to his feet.

“This is the second son of your Uncle Zhen, Zhen Yan.”

“Yu, greets Brother Zhen Yan.”

A flawless gentleman in troubled times, unmatched in grace and bearing.

Upon seeing Zhang Sifan for the first time, this phrase came unbidden to Zhen Yan’s mind.

“Yan greets his virtuous younger brother. I have long heard of your fine looks and have admired you from afar. Now that I see you, the tales are true indeed!”

Within, Zhang Sifan’s thoughts rippled with surprise. “Zhen Yan… isn’t that Zhen Mi’s second brother? Could it be that the goddess of the Luo River is connected to our family? But then, it makes sense—Wuji is part of Zhongshan, and the Zhen family’s influence in commerce is immense. In a few years, they’ll dominate logistics throughout Hebei. It’s no wonder they know my father.”

“Yu’er, what are you thinking? Your brother is speaking to you,” Zhang Shiping gently reminded him.

“Oh—pardon me, Brother. I am not yet fully recovered from illness and was momentarily distracted. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Of course, you must take care of your health and recover swiftly,” Zhen Yan replied, his tone carrying a subtle complexity. He sighed inwardly, “In background and appearance, this Yunuer lacks nothing—indeed, he is stunning at first sight. But he seems frail; perhaps Father’s last wishes were too hasty.”

“You are right, my nephew. Yu’er, you must return to rest. Once I’ve finished discussing business with your brother, your mother and I will come to see you.”

“I obey, Father. Brother, I take my leave.”

Stepping out, Zhang Sifan gently closed the door behind him, wiped the sweat from his brow, and exhaled deeply. “Speaking like this is truly exhausting—having to translate everything in my mind… Still, my identity seems secure now—”

Just then, a clear “ding” sounded in his mind, followed by two notifications tinged with emotion.

“Congratulations, Host. You have successfully established yourself as Zhang Shiping’s son, Zhang Yu, claiming full ownership of both identity and body. System activated. Experience gained: 500. Current experience: 500.”

“What the heck?!”

“Congratulations, Host. You have successfully bound to the Universal Transmigration System!

Transmigration Time: First Year of Chuping, Eastern Han.
Transmigration Identity: Zhang Yu of Zhongshan.
Initial Attributes:
Martial Prowess—18
Leadership—14
Intelligence—42
Politics—27
Charisma—88

Initial Badges:
[Gentleman Like Jade] (Trait: The host possesses irresistible charm, easily winning others’ favor.)
[Long Illness] (Trait: Due to chronic sickness, the host is physically frail and at risk of relapse in poor conditions.)”

With the announcement, a character information panel, much like that in the Romance of the Three Kingdoms games, appeared before Zhang Sifan’s eyes.

“…I—I even have a system?!”