Chapter One: Awake from a Dream, All Is in Vain

Blinding yellow sand filled the sky, whipping through grass, bamboo, and stone with wild abandon. The scorching sun hung overhead, glaring down as birds screamed in the distance, while a thick stench of blood and decay invaded the nostrils with every breath.

Li Kong shot upright from the ground, a searing pain tearing through his back so sharply that he sucked in a cold breath. Yet the pain quickly faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of shock that filled his eyes.

Corpses—everywhere, corpses. Some clad in shining armor, others in fur pelts. The earth was littered with weapons of all kinds, twisted and slick with fresh crimson. Some of the dead looked as if they had only just fallen; others were already in advanced stages of decay.

“What in the world is this place?” Li Kong gritted his teeth and struggled to his feet, gripping a weapon that was uniquely his own—a “blade,” perhaps, though it was oddly shaped and marred by several cracks, as if the slightest force would shatter it.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar echoed from the distance. Through the raging wind, a vast shadow surged into Li Kong’s vision.

“Horses… so many horses!” Ten thousand steeds thundering as one?

He’d seen the phrase countless times in textbooks, but as a man of the new century, he knew such a sight no longer existed in the world. Even a hundred horses galloping together made a sizable herd, and that spectacle was nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to the steel torrent before his eyes, which looked capable of shattering anything in its path.

He shook his head desperately, trying to recall something—anything—but his mind was a blank, devoid of all memories belonging to this body. Only his own past remained; he couldn’t even remember his name.

The cavalry drew nearer. The sunlight pierced the swirling dust, glinting off their gleaming armor as they rode into view. Li Kong exhaled in relief; he was wearing the same armor as them—surely, they were his allies.

With his safety less in question, he began to analyze his circumstances. The type of armor, famed for its brilliance, had first appeared in the Three Kingdoms period and reached its zenith during the Zhenguan era of the Tang dynasty. The armor he wore now was clearly a matured version, suggesting he was somewhere between the late Sui and early Tang dynasties.

He glanced at the bodies again. Those in brilliant armor were clearly Han; those in fur were likely Turks from the steppe. But was this during Emperor Yang of Sui’s northern campaign against the Turks, or a Tang emperor’s battle with the Turks? The span between these events was too great—Li Kong’s head spun, unable to pin down the exact moment in history.

He did not know how much time had passed when, finally, the cavalry reached the edge of the battlefield. At their head rode a man in his thirties, clad in gold-threaded armor, wielding two massive battle-axes. His face was cold and stern, his entire bearing radiating an unmistakable aura of violence.

Battle-axes?

Li Kong’s eyes lit up at the sight. The battle-axe, among the eighteen classic weapons, was famous largely because of the Tang general, Cheng Yaojin. Without Cheng Yaojin, the battle-axe would have remained merely a woodcutter’s tool. From the Three Kingdoms through the Tang dynasty, few wielded this weapon in war, and only Cheng Yaojin had done so with renown. Not even his three sons had matched his feat.

“Could I have landed smack in the middle of the Zhenguan era of the Tang dynasty? Judging by his age, perhaps the Wude period or the early years of Zhenguan?”

Though he couldn’t be certain, the timeline had narrowed significantly, and as a history enthusiast, Li Kong felt a renewed hope for his survival.

By now, the soldiers had spotted him, a lone survivor. Several ran over, shouting, “What unit are you from?”

The thick accent of Guanzhong brought a warmth to Li Kong’s heart. He himself was from Guanzhong, and reportedly a descendant of Emperor Taizong. Perhaps that was why he never lost his regional accent and had an intimate knowledge of Tang history.

“I’m not sure… my head hurts…” His own Guanzhong dialect put the soldiers at ease. On the battlefield, a lost mind was a small price to pay—at least he was alive.

“You’re from Guanzhong?” the leader asked, scrutinizing Li Kong.

“I… I suppose I am from the same place as you?” Li Kong replied, bewildered.

The leader nodded. The accent was unmistakable—only a true native could speak it so purely. Not even those who had lived in Guanzhong for years could master it, let alone the Turks.

With the possibility of an infiltrator ruled out, the leader’s expression softened. “General Cheng has come to retrieve you. Are you the only one left?”

General Cheng? It really was Cheng Yaojin. Li Kong’s heart settled somewhat. He let his face fall in sorrow, his voice thick with grief: “They’re all dead. Every last one.”

“Come now, we’ll see to the fallen properly. You should rest and see if your memories return. Lost minds don’t last forever—and as long as you’re alive, you can always start anew.” The leader clapped Li Kong on the shoulder, his voice grave.

The gesture was too forceful, jarring Li Kong’s wound so sharply he couldn’t suppress a gasp.

The leader’s face paled. “You’re hurt? Medic! Fetch a medic, now!” He called for the others to carry Li Kong, who was quickly rushed toward the main force. The jolting nearly finished him—he felt like he might be the first person to die immediately after crossing into another world. A wry smile tugged at his lips.

His consciousness faded, growing heavier until he finally passed out.

…

When Li Kong awoke again, night had fallen, turning the sky into a vast black dome. Inside a spacious tent, several candles burned brightly, their flames dancing merrily whenever the wind slipped in.

The pain in his body had lessened, his wounds clearly tended, though weakness lingered and he could barely sit up.

The moment he moved, however, another groan escaped him.

“You’ve got nerve, boy—sneaking into a place like this! If that old man Li Ji, your father, finds out, he’ll beat you senseless.”

A voice, deep and thunderous as a great bell, startled Li Kong. Only now did he notice the man sitting at a desk less than three meters away. Who else could it be but Cheng Yaojin?

But… my father is Li Ji? Where did that come from?