Chapter 1: The Last Emperor, Liu Chan

“…I was but a commoner, tilling the land in Nanyang, content to preserve my life in troubled times, without seeking fame among the nobles. The late Emperor, disregarding my humble status, visited me thrice in my humble cottage…”

Liu Tan lay on the soft couch, eyes closed, listening to this speech—strange yet familiar. The man reciting, walking back and forth with a feather fan in hand and a white beard flowing, was none other than Zhuge Kongming himself.

Anyone who had read the Romance of the Three Kingdoms would, upon seeing this scene, immediately think of Zhuge Kongming. Although there were some differences from the versions on film and television, the essence remained unmistakable.

A plain white robe, a feather fan—these were Zhuge Liang’s unmistakable trademarks in the Three Kingdoms era.

Liu Tan had actually regained consciousness more than ten minutes ago, but the environment had so shocked him that he nearly leapt from the bed. He managed to restrain himself at the last moment.

Beside the bed, a man in a black gauze cap was kowtowing repeatedly, his forehead thudding against the floor with a steady rhythm as he pleaded, “Prime Minister, spare me! Prime Minister, spare me!”

This scene—unless it was a film set—meant only one thing: he had transmigrated.

He had transmigrated into the body of Liu Chan, the last Emperor of Shu Han, known as Adou.

Recalling the moments before he awoke, everything became clear: caught in an affair with a married woman, the husband’s sudden return forced him to escape through the window. In his panic, he failed to grip the window ledge—and fell.

But that lady lived on the sixteenth floor. By now, his original body was likely nothing but a mangled heap.

Was this merely a dream? But how could a dream feel so vivid? And what a bizarre dream at that.

It took Liu Tan a long while to accept the truth. At least his consciousness still lived; in a way, he was still alive.

But to have transmigrated into the body of Adou, the last ruler of Shu Han—this was hard to swallow. Who was Adou? In the twenty-first century, his name was synonymous with stupidity and weakness—the quintessential good-for-nothing.

If he had to transmigrate, why not into the body of Qin Shi Huang, or Genghis Khan, or the emperors of Tang or Song? Instead, he became Liu Chan, the doomed ruler of a fallen kingdom. Was it merely because their names sounded alike?

Heaven help him! The former Emperor Liu Chan was called Liu Chan, and his own name was Liu Tan. Could fate really be so careless as to confuse the two?

Unable to feign unconsciousness any longer—nature was calling—Liu Tan coughed softly and slowly opened his eyes.

Zhuge Kongming was still reciting the memorial, nearing its end. The eunuch kneeling by the bed, however, watched Liu Tan intently; should the emperor not wake soon, he knew he would be in serious trouble.

“He’s awake!” the eunuch shrieked, scrambling up to peer more closely. Sure enough, the emperor was blinking at him.

He sprang to his feet in excitement. “Prime Minister! Prime Minister! His Majesty is awake!”

Zhuge Kongming halted his recitation and strode swiftly to the bedside, sitting down abruptly. Leaning forward, he grasped Liu Tan’s hand, his face full of concern. “Your Majesty, are you well?”

Liu Tan, at a loss for words, could only nod and blink in response.

“Thank heaven! Had anything happened to you, I would not know how to face the late Emperor.” Rising, he ordered, “Summon the imperial physicians again. His Majesty has injured his head—have them examine him thoroughly, lest any ailment remain.”

The eunuch, trembling, acknowledged the order and withdrew from the hall.

Zhuge Liang then once more took Liu Tan’s hand, his expression gentle but his tone grave. “Adou, you have inherited the late Emperor’s will. You must strive to improve yourself, not indulge in idleness and neglect your duties so!”

To Liu Tan, Zhuge Kongming seemed now like a benevolent father earnestly instructing his child, the ever-present feather fan lying forgotten on the couch.

His mind raced, searching for the proper way to respond—more precisely, how to address Zhuge Liang. A man as astute as Kongming would surely sense something amiss if he used the wrong title. Even if he could never guess Liu Tan was not Liu Chan, suspicion would be aroused—an unwelcome prospect in these unfamiliar surroundings.

Should he call him Prime Minister directly? Liu Tan quickly dismissed the idea; it was too formal.

He grew frustrated. Though he had heard countless stories from the Three Kingdoms, he paid little attention to the later years under Liu Chan; the tales were far less exciting than the adventures of Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei. Most people lost interest by this point in the story, finding the events too stifling.

He knew the general direction of history, but the details eluded him.

As anxiety mounted, voices could be heard from outside, and three or four men entered in single file.

Zhuge Liang rose at once. “Physicians, quickly examine His Majesty!”

They bowed respectfully. “Yes, Prime Minister!” Then they approached Liu Tan’s bedside. A man of about forty, with a goatee typical of the era, stepped forward and bowed low. “Your Majesty, allow me to take your pulse.”

Liu Tan extended his arm, letting the physician examine him. After a while, the physician straightened and reported to Zhuge Liang, “Prime Minister, His Majesty’s pulse is steady—there is no cause for concern.”

Another physician then took Liu Tan’s arm, quickly reached his conclusion, and addressed Zhuge Liang, “Prime Minister, I agree with Doctor Wu. His Majesty is out of danger.”

“Excellent!” Zhuge Liang stroked his beard and exhaled in relief.

Suddenly his expression grew stern, and Liu Tan felt a chill of apprehension.

“Guards!”

At Zhuge Liang’s command, four guards in ceremonial gear entered.

Zhuge Liang ordered, “Chamberlain Qian, as His Majesty’s close attendant, you failed to fulfill your duty both in service and in remonstrance. You are to be flogged to death—take him outside at once!”

The eunuch’s face turned ashen; he collapsed to the floor, banging his head against the ground as he wailed, “Prime Minister, have mercy! Please spare me!”

No one paid him any heed. The four guards hauled him out, and soon the dull thuds of clubs landing on flesh, mingled with his cries, reached Liu Tan’s ears.

Each blow resounded not only on the eunuch’s body but also in Liu Tan’s heart, making him tremble involuntarily.

The eunuch’s cries grew louder, then weaker, and finally ceased altogether. He was surely dead.

Liu Tan suddenly realized the peril of his situation. Living his whole life in a law-abiding society, he had never witnessed such brutality—not even the slaughter of a chicken. Now, faced with such cruel punishment, his shock was immense, even though he was not the victim.

“Your Majesty, what is wrong?”

Zhuge Liang suddenly sat beside him, grasped his hand, and asked, “Are you angry with your Prime Minister?”

Startled, Liu Tan pulled back his hand and shook his head. “No!” Then he remembered—two years ago, he had watched a TV drama called “The Advisors Alliance,” in which Liu Chan addressed Zhuge Liang as “Foster Father.” He had laughed at Liu Chan for this, thinking him a simpleton. Now, he was that very simpleton.

His face flushed as he stammered, “No, it’s just… Foster Father, I… I… I need to relieve myself!”

Zhuge Liang paused, then burst into hearty laughter.

Rising, he called out, “Attend to His Majesty—see to his needs!”