Prologue One: The Transition of Power in the Wei and Jin Dynasties

The collapse of the Han Dynasty was not merely the fall of a dynasty. As the first truly unified empire on Chinese soil, the Han Empire reshaped the contemporary scholars’ imagination of reality.

When Liu Bang, the founding emperor of the Han, first established the empire, neither the ambitious men outside the court nor the meritorious officials within, including Liu Bang himself, knew how long it would endure. Perhaps it would vanish a hundred years after his death, or perhaps just a year later—who could say? People only knew that this empire would likely not last for eternity. After all, the previous dynasty, which claimed to inherit from the First Emperor for all generations, had already fallen by its second ruler.

What a strange country this was! In terms of governance, the Han combined Qin’s innovative county system with the feudal enfeoffments of the Shang and Zhou eras, while the emperor ruled using the principles of Huang-Lao philosophy. Culturally, it was filled with the mystical romanticism of the Chu region, yet retained the chivalrous spirit of Youyan and Sanjin, and was frequently stirred by Confucian scholars advocating loyalty, filial piety, and self-sacrifice.

From every angle, these elements seemed incompatible, suggesting the Han should not have lasted. Yet it did, maintaining a delicate balance through four successive reigns.

When power passed to Emperor Wu, Liu Che, observers gradually realized the empire was not in a fragile balance but in an innocent childhood. Its contradictions stemmed from its immaturity, and its diversity signaled infinite possibilities. Now, the empire’s childhood was ending. The passion it had nurtured could no longer be suppressed; vibrant life was about to break through barriers, and great history was about to erupt, determined to turn infinite possibilities into reality.

Thus, heroes rose: the empire broke the Xiongnu in the north, pacified the various Yue peoples in the south, took Korea in the east, opened the western regions of Longyou, governed a hundred states as protectorates, and through the reigns of Emperor Zhao and Emperor Xuan, the Han history was composed into an unprecedented magnificent chapter.

Though the usurpation of Wang Mang caused turmoil, the restoration by Emperor Guangwu, along with the diligent governance of Emperors Ming and Zhang, eventually renewed a golden age during the reign of Emperor He. Unbeknownst to many, the Han Empire had already existed for three centuries.

Over those three hundred years, the empire changed profoundly. The enfeoffment system became obsolete, the twenty ranks of military merit devised by Shang Yang degenerated beyond recognition, replaced entirely by the civil recommendation system. Yet those recommended by local governors—filial and incorrupt candidates, scholars—often disappointed. The martial spirit declined, the doctrines of loyalty and filial piety grew rigid and hypocritical, and with recurring natural and man-made disasters, many began to awaken to a harsh truth: the empire was aging, and no matter how great its history, its end was inevitable.

But most would not fully grasp this until after the death of Emperor Ling.

That day, the Ten Eunuchs beheaded General He Jin, the Colonel of the Capital Guards Yuan Shao swiftly orchestrated a massacre, and Yuan Shu set fire to the South Palace’s Nine-Dragon Gate, flames soaring so high they seemed to redden the moon itself. Cao Cao, Dong Zhuo, Wang Yun, Lu Zhi, Liu Bei, and others witnessed the spectacular inferno in Luoyang. This fire consumed all imperial authority and interrogated everyone under heaven: what path will you take next?

Faced with this brutal reality, some chose to usurp power and sow chaos, others sacrificed themselves for the nation, some sought seclusion, others established new factions, and a few vowed to save the empire once again.

Perhaps because the Han’s history was too glorious, or because most were lost about the future, the empire experienced a brief revival under two prime ministers.

The first prime minister was Cao Cao. Whether sincere or not, Cao Cao indeed brought the emperor to Xuchang and, leveraging imperial legitimacy, restructured the north amid blood and corpses.

But two questions immediately confronted him. The first was political: could the Han system continue to be used? The second concerned his personal fate: could he accept being purged afterward, like Huo Guang, becoming a mere footnote in Han history?

For the first, Cao Cao answered no. For the second, he refused.

Thus, Cao Cao betrayed his youthful ideals and became a traitor to the Han, much like Wang Mang before him.

He established the state of Wei, with its capital at Ye City, instituting systems like the Four Expeditions and Four Garrisons, hereditary military families, and the Nine-Rank system. Could these reforms solve Han’s problems? Cao Cao did not know. Before his death, he comforted himself with the hope: “If Heaven’s mandate is with me, I shall be the Duke Wen of Zhou,” aspiring that his descendants would surpass him and found a great dynasty lasting eight centuries.

Yet, twenty-nine years after Cao Cao’s death, Grand Tutor Sima Yi and his sons Sima Shi and Sima Zhao launched the Gaoping Tombs coup in Luoyang, exterminated their political rival Cao Shuang’s entire clan, and seized the highest power in Wei. This scene bore a striking resemblance to the arson set by the Yuan brothers fifty years prior in Luoyang. The difference was there was no Dong Zhuo intervening mid-course, nor many loyal ministers dying for the country.

The scholars who once supported Cao Cao’s replacement of the Han naturally turned to the Sima clan, including members of the Cao Wei imperial family itself. With the Han’s sacred authority abolished, Cao Wei failed to establish an equally grand narrative and only further dissipated it.

More and more people began to ponder: why is the Son of Heaven the Son of Heaven? There had once been only one great Han Empire. Would such an empire ever exist again?

The second prime minister was Zhuge Liang. Initially a farmer in seclusion at Longzhong, reluctant to engage in worldly affairs, he was eventually moved by Liu Bei’s sincere visits or driven by hatred for Cao Cao’s usurpation. Zhuge Liang emerged to serve, securing a foothold for the empire in Yizhou.

He faced the same two questions but answered differently.

Regarding the first, Zhuge Liang acknowledged Han’s system was outdated but believed Cao Wei’s was even more corrupt.

Regarding the second, his answer was resolute willingness.

As a sage destined for historical remembrance, Zhuge Liang loved the Han deeply. In the years that followed, he burned himself out, dedicating all his talent, passion, and effort to prolonging the Han’s life.

Though confined to the southwest and suffering repeated setbacks, his character was destined to be immortalized, his perseverance a shining light through the ages.

Even though he ultimately failed to revive the Han, his spirit of utmost dedication and self-sacrifice overshadowed Sima Yi in their rivalry and left a lingering resonance in the empire’s final chapter.

After Zhuge Liang’s death at Wuzhang Plains, Jiang Wan, Fei Yi, and Jiang Wei inherited his legacy. These seemingly insignificant figures continued to struggle with the empire’s fate, hoping to gain even a moment’s advantage in the race against time.

Sima Yi watched these choices coldly. For him, the past was neither lamentable nor worthy of nostalgia. He knew everything was destined to be destroyed but still grasped tightly at the precarious power in his hands.

Cao Cao’s suspicion had long made Sima Yi ruthless, causing him to forget the Han’s bright side and instead revel in the bloody storms of power struggles. Victory led to victory, achieved by any means. But what was the price of victory?

When Sima Zhao faced the corpse of the Duke of Gaogui, he finally grasped something faintly and wept openly in the street.

Many called Sima Zhao’s tears hypocritical, but they were not. Every politician could smell a cruel truth—this cruelty had begun with Yuan Shu’s fire, which still burned, consuming everyone equally. All systems and virtues became fuel for this fire.

When the Son of Heaven could die in the streets of Luoyang, who could remain indifferent?

Thus, Sima Zhao resolved to attack Shu at all costs, intending to use the last glimmers of the Han Empire to salvage this spiraling disaster.

Yet no one expected that Zhong Hui’s siege of Jianmen and Deng Ai’s secret crossing of Yinping would become footnotes to Jiang Wei’s heroic death. After this earth-shaking demise, Shu Han finally ended.

With Shu Han’s fall, Eastern Wu trembled, and it seemed a new great unified empire would soon arise.

Just as with the Han’s founding, this new empire was filled with strange peoples and systems: the twenty ranks of military merit and the Nine-Rank system; hereditary military families and recruited soldiers; three thousand death warriors and filial Confucian scholars...

But it bore a great difference from the Han: people no longer saw love or hope. Neither young nor old had a faith they could trust their lives to. They only held a sword in one hand and five-peck powder in the other, trying to ease their despair and rage.

The Han Dynasty collapsed, but not only the Han collapsed.

A great era ended. Though disaster had not yet arrived, the scarred land was strewn with the ruins of the Han Empire. Later generations passed through, listening to heroic legends while confusedly choosing their own destinies. Perhaps all was over, or perhaps not. Yet an ancient saying from the Han lingered: even dead ashes can rekindle.

In the corner of the ruins, a spark still waited to be nurtured.