Reborn Liu Bei: I'll lead this Three Kingdoms to victory!

On the first day of the fourth month of the seventh year of Jian'an, in Xuchang.

Sima Lang had been standing under the locust tree in his own courtyard for half an hour.

This tree was planted by his father, Sima Fang, when he was young. More than twenty years later, the trunk is so thick that one person cannot wrap their arms around it. Every spring, when the locust flowers bloom, the whole yard is filled with fragrance.

The locust flowers bloomed late this year; the buds, only the size of rice grains, have just begun to emerge on the branches.

He was waiting for someone. Someone who should have come, but hadn't. Three days ago, he received a letter from his second brother, Sima Yi. The letter contained only one sentence: "Noon on the first day of the month, at a teahouse south of the city."

He didn't ask who it was or what it was about.

From their ancestral home in Hanoi to Xuchang, three generations of the Sima family had lived in this city for decades. He had seen too much and knew that some things were better left unasked about.

The door rang. Not the main door, but the side door. Three short knocks, two long knocks, three short knocks.

Sima Lang walked over and opened the door.

A young man in his early twenties stood outside the door. He had an ordinary face, wore simple cloth clothes, and carried a cargo box on his shoulder, looking like a peddler who traveled from street to street.

"Sir, would you like to buy a needle and thread?"

Sima Lang looked at him. "I won't buy needles and thread. I'll buy information."

The young man smiled. It was a faint smile, as faint as a breeze rippling across water. "From the north?"

"Let's talk inside."

At noon, at a teahouse in the south of the city.

Zhao Yan sat in the corner, with a cold cup of tea in front of him.

He had been sitting here for half an hour.

The teahouse was bustling with people: merchants discussing business, women gossiping, and a few scholars gathered around a table, engaging in lively discussions about matters of the court.

Cao Cao has raised taxes again. Cao Cao is conscripting soldiers again. Cao Cao wants to become emperor.

Zhao Yan listened to these words all morning without showing any expression on his face.

He just sat there, drinking tea. Waiting for someone.

The curtain was lifted, and a middle-aged man entered. He wore a coarse cloth shirt and had dark skin, clearly someone who did manual labor year-round. He stood at the door for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the teahouse, before walking to the opposite side of Zhao Yan and sitting down.

"Excuse me, sir, could you please lend me a seat?"

Zhao Yan looked up. "I don't need a seat. Just let me pass."

The man looked at him and grinned. That smile seemed out of place on his rugged face.

"From the north?"

Zhao Yan nodded.

The man lowered his voice: "Of the thirty people, twenty-seven have arrived. The other three are still on their way."

Zhao Yan's hand paused slightly. Twenty-seven.

Twenty-seven new recruits are already in Xudu.

Some of them opened general stores in the east of the city, some worked as bricklayers in the west of the city, some infiltrated the Imperial Academy as laborers, and some set up stalls outside the military camp to sell steamed buns.

No one would notice them. Because they were too ordinary. As ordinary as every grain of dust in this city.

"Is there trouble?" Zhao Yan asked. The man shook his head.

"Not for now. But Wang Pu—" He paused, "he's been being watched recently."

Zhao Yan's heart tightened. Wang Pu. The deputy of the city gate captain. He was the most crucial of the thirty-seven men.

"Who's watching?"

"It's the people from the School Affairs Office," the man said. "They're not there for him, it's just a routine patrol. But Wang Pu hasn't dared to move these past few days, he hasn't even left his house."

Zhao Yan remained silent. The Imperial Secretariat. Cao Cao's spies were everywhere in the city. Any slight movement could be detected.

"Tell him not to move," Zhao Yan said softly. "Don't do anything. Go on duty when you're supposed to, go home when you're supposed to. Just like before."

The man nodded.

"Also," Zhao Yan paused, "tell those twenty-seven new recruits that they are not allowed to contact anyone for the first three months. Arrangements will be made after three months."

The man looked at him. "Three months?"

"Yes," Zhao Yan said. "The first three months are the hardest. Once you get through that, things will be stable."

The man didn't ask any more questions. He stood up, picked up the tattered crate, and strode out of the teahouse.

Zhao Yan sat alone and drank the now-cold tea in one gulp. It was bitter. But he didn't frown.

At 5 PM, at a general store in the east of the city.

The shop was small, just one storefront, piled high with needles, thread, oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar. The shopkeeper was a tall, thin man in his thirties who didn't talk much. He would smile when customers came in, and then sit behind the counter in a daze after they left.

No one knew that his name was Sun Fu, and that he was one of the thirty newcomers.

Even fewer people knew that he had served as a soldier in Liaodong and trained under Gao Shun for three months.

He stood behind the counter, holding a pair of scissors, slowly sharpening them. Not really sharpening, though. He was waiting for someone.

The curtain was lifted, and a person entered. It was a woman in her thirties, dressed in ordinary coarse cloth clothes, carrying a bamboo basket in her hand.

"Shopkeeper, do you have lamp oil?"

Sun Fu looked up. "Yes."

He turned around, took a small jar of lamp oil from the shelf, and placed it on the counter.

The woman paid, picked up the oil can, and left.

The whole process took less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea.

But just as she took the oil can, a note quietly slipped into Sun Fu's hand.

Sun Fu didn't look at it. He stuffed the note into his sleeve and continued sharpening the scissors.

He waited until it got dark. He waited until the door was closed. He waited until the night was deep and quiet. Only then, under the oil lamp, did he unfold the note.

The note contained only four words: "No action for three months."

Sun Fu stared at those four words, remaining silent for a long time. Three months. Three months of doing nothing. He could only wait. He stuffed the note into his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it.

Then he blew out the light, lay down on the bed, and stared at the dark ceiling.

He couldn't sleep. But he told himself: He had to open the shop tomorrow. He had to sell needles and thread. He had to smile at the customers.

Same as before.

At the hour of Xu (7-9 PM), in the barracks of the city gate captain, Wang Pu sat at his desk, an account book spread out before him. He had been looking at it for half an hour, but hadn't absorbed a single word.

The school administration officials came again today.

Despite claiming it was a routine inspection, he walked around the room three times, looking east and west, without saying a word.

After he left, Wang Pu realized that the back of his clothes was soaked. He thought of his wife and his two children. His eldest son was twelve years old, and his youngest daughter was only seven.

He didn't know what he was doing. He knew that if he were discovered, those people wouldn't let his wife and children go.

But he did it anyway. Because he couldn't forget that incident—

Xun Yu saved him three years ago.

At that time, he was a minor official in the quartermaster department. He was framed for embezzlement and was about to lose his head. It was Xun Yu who stood up for him and saved his life.

Xun Yu asked him: What is your name?

He said: Wang Pu.

Xun Yu nodded and left. Wang Pu never saw Xun Yu again after that. Until three months ago, someone approached him and asked if he would be willing to help Xun Lingjun's people.

He agreed. Without hesitation. Not because he wasn't afraid. It was because he was afraid, yet he agreed nonetheless. There was a knock on the door. Three short knocks, two long knocks, three short knocks. Wang Pu's heart leaped.

He stood up and opened the door. A man stood outside, draped in a black cloak, his face obscured. "Captain Wang."

The man's voice was very soft. "He asked me to deliver a message from the north—"

Wang Pu looked at him. "What did you say?"

"Do nothing for the next three months. Go on duty when you're supposed to, go home when you're supposed to. Just like before."

Wang Pu remained silent. Three months. Three months of doing nothing. Just waiting.

"And another thing," the man added, "you're being watched. By the School Affairs Office."

Wang Pu's hands trembled slightly. He knew. He knew he was being watched. But what could he do even if he knew?

He could only continue working, continue going home, and continue smiling at his wife and children. Just like before. "I understand," he said.

The man nodded, turned, and disappeared into the night.

Wang Pu closed the door, leaned against it, and closed his eyes. He remained motionless for a very long time.

At 9:00 PM, in Xiapi.

In the secret chamber where no one could sue at night, Sima Yi and Pang Tong sat facing each other.

On the table lay a secret report that had just been delivered from Xudu. "Twenty-seven men are in place. Wang Pu is being watched. He will not be moved for three months."

Pang Tong took a swig of wine. "Three months," he said. "Will that be enough?"

Sima Yi remained silent for a moment.

"That's enough," he said. "Cao Cao's men won't keep an eye on one person for three months. As long as Wang Pu holds his ground, they'll relax after two months."

Pang Tong looked at him. "Where's your brother?"

Sima Yi's hand paused slightly. "He hasn't sent a message back yet."

"Worry?"

Sima Yi shook his head. "I'm not worried."

Pang Tong smiled. There was something unreadable in that smile. "Zhongda, you say you're not worried, but what are you really thinking?"

Sima Yi did not answer.

He simply stared at the oil lamp on the table, at the flickering flame. After a long while, he spoke, "I'm thinking, he's been living peacefully in Xuchang for so many years. Now that he's suddenly made a move, could it be..." He didn't finish his sentence.

Pang Tong finished his sentence for him: "Won't people notice?"

Sima Yi nodded. Pang Tong took a swig of wine. "Your brother didn't live in vain for thirty years in Xuchang," he said. "He knew how to hide. He hid better than anyone else."

Sima Yi remained silent. He simply continued to gaze at the lamp.

At midnight, in a secluded alley south of Xuchang City.

A young man who looked like a scholar was carrying a lantern and walking slowly.

His name was Zhou Yuan, a handyman at the Imperial Academy, and he had been there for seven days. For seven days, all he did was sweep the floor, wipe the tables, and serve tea and water to the young masters.

No one spoke to him. He didn't speak to anyone either. Tonight, he went out for the first time. Not on business. Just wanted to see the city.

Look at this city where he will live for a very long time to come.

The alley was deep and dark, with only the lantern in his hand illuminating a small patch of light. He walked on and then suddenly stopped.

There is a person ahead.

A person wrapped in a black cloak stood motionless in the middle of the alley.

Zhou Yuan's hand tightened slightly. But he didn't stop. He continued walking, until he reached the person. The two brushed past each other. In that instant, the person whispered something:

"Nothing for three months."

Zhou Yuan didn't look back. He continued walking, disappearing into the deeper night. He remained motionless for three months. He remembered it.

At dawn.

The sky was beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn. Xudu City slowly awoke in the morning light.

The city gates opened, vegetable vendors carried their loads into the city, people drove their oxcarts out of the city to the market, stall owners began to claim their spots, and smoke rose from the ovens of the pancake shops.

Business as usual.

Wang Pu stood by the city gate, watching the people coming and going. His face was as expressionless as ever. No one knew that he hadn't slept a wink all night.

No one knew that he had a note hidden in his sleeve. Even fewer knew that this note would, three months later, turn into a knife.