A few days later, Cao Zhi’s illness had mostly subsided. Though still weak, he could walk. The time spent with Zhen Mi had been comforting and warm, yet this place was no refuge—after all, this was the Three Kingdoms, a true era of chaos. As the saying went: it is better to be a dog in peacetime than a man in troubled times. Without power, one becomes a dog to be trampled at will. So, he prepared to take his leave from Zhen Mi.
Cao Zhi bowed deeply, eyes sincere. “For the life you have saved me, Chen Zhi will never forget! This debt, this kindness… if fate allows, I will repay it to the utmost of my ability!”
Zhen Mi understood that keeping him here indefinitely was impossible. Though reluctant, she did not try to stop him.
She instructed Xiao Tao to prepare thick old clothes, enough preserved food—hard biscuits, dried meat—a small packet of precious salt, and as much money as possible in silver and copper coins. Handing Cao Zhi a sturdy cloth bundle filled with provisions, she whispered, “Chen Zhi, the road ahead is dangerous. Take care of yourself. May you… reach your goals safely.” Her tone held concern, expectation, and a faint, almost imperceptible sorrow.
At midnight, Cao Zhi climbed over the wall to leave, pausing to look back at Zhen Mi’s small courtyard, now pitch-dark and silent. He silently promised: *Zhen Mi, wait for me. I will return. I will rewrite your fate.*
Yes, this was not about desire—he was repaying a debt of gratitude.
Cao Zhi disappeared into the snowy night. Zhen Mi stood by the window, watching the stormy darkness, her hands unconsciously stroking a worn, faded cloth that had served as his pillow during recovery. Her heart felt empty, leaving only the lingering shadow of the brilliant, enigmatic “Chen Zhi.”
Cao Zhi made inquiries and learned that Cao Cao had retreated to Xuchang with his remaining troops. Using the leftover coins, he rented a carriage to head there.
Along the way, he encountered Cao Cao’s scouts. Producing his token of identity, the scouts were shocked. After confirming his identity by appearance and attire, they joyfully rushed back to report to the Chancellor’s mansion. The carriage was guided directly to the chancellor’s residence.
The carriage rolled along the cobblestone streets of Xuchang. The familiar bustle, dust, and noise almost erased the bloodshed and desolation of Wancheng from his mind.
The imposing eaves and brackets of the chancellor’s mansion drew near. Their weight felt heavier than when he had left, pressing down on his chest. Cao Zhi’s heart beat nervously—he did not know what the pre-transmigration Cao Zhi had been like, or whether he could bluff his way past Cao Cao.
Before the carriage stopped, attendants rushed forward, unable to hide their excitement. “Master Zhi! You’ve finally returned! After Zhang Xiu’s rebellion, the lord has been searching for you. He has been anxious every day—come with us at once!”
Cao Zhi was supported out of the carriage, passing through the layered courtyards. Officials and servants along the way showed surprise and respect, bowing and stepping aside, eyes full of curiosity.
Outside the study, there was a pause. Inside, Cao Cao’s hurried voice could be heard: “…send more riders to scout! Alive or—” His words abruptly cut off.
The guards pushed the door open and reported loudly, “Lord, Third Son Cao Zhi has returned!”
Inside, the study was bright with candlelight. Cao Cao stood over a massive map, the desk piled high with documents. A bowl of obviously cold soup sat neglected nearby. At the announcement, Cao Cao spun around.
He froze, staring at the guard. “Who… who has returned?”
The guard repeated, “Master Cao Zhi, sir!”
Before he finished, Cao Cao rushed to the door.
Seeing his son, Cao Cao stopped abruptly.
He did not speak immediately; his chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. The taut air seemed to loosen slightly, then was replaced by more complex emotions. He took several steps forward, standing very close, exuding the weight and authority of a seasoned commander. The heat of his breath nearly touched Cao Zhi.
“Were you hurt?” Cao Cao asked, voice hoarser than usual.
“My father, I am unharmed. I will recover in a few days,” Cao Zhi replied, avoiding his father’s piercing gaze. The body’s instinctive fear and respect were present, but his transmigrated soul analyzed the man’s emotions with calm detachment.
Cao Cao tried to conceal his feelings but a quiver in his voice betrayed him: “It’s good you’ve returned… it’s good you’ve returned!”
“My father, your concern humbles me,” Cao Zhi answered softly, feeling a strange warmth. The father who had once seemed ruthless and unforgiving could indeed show tenderness.
With Wancheng recently fallen, and both Dian Wei and Cao Cao’s eldest son Cao Ang dead, Cao Cao still had many affairs to manage. He looked at Cao Zhi’s pale face, seeming to restrain emotion, and paused before saying, “Go on, let the physicians tend to you. If you need anything, take it from the stores directly.”
“Thank you, father.”
Cao Zhi was escorted into his own courtyard.
The door closed softly behind him, cutting off the outside noise.
He walked to the seat by the window, exhausted from days of travel, his bones aching.
“Master, you’ve finally returned!” his personal attendant, Aqin, hurried forward, smiling, holding a lacquer tray with a bowl of chilled plum soup, beads of condensation on the rim. “Knowing you dislike heat, we cooled it with well water. Drink to soothe your throat.”
Aqin set the bowl on the table, picked up a feather fan, and fanned gently. His eyes repeatedly glanced at Cao Zhi, curious about what had happened during his absence, though he dared not ask about Wancheng directly.
An older maid, Yun Xiu, stood quietly, preparing to remove his dust-covered outer robe and replace it with a clean one.
Cao Zhi noted: these attendants must have grown up with me; they know me well. I can get information from them, but must be careful not to raise suspicion.
As Yun Xiu reached for his robe, Cao Zhi suddenly stepped back, bumping into the table. The soup wobbled.
“Forgive me, mistress!” the girl knelt instantly, voice trembling.
Aqin looked pale. “Master, forgive! It was my clumsiness. Sister Yun Xiu is used to helping you with your clothes…”
Ah, so his name was Aqin, and hers Yun Xiu. Cao Zhi reassured them: “It’s fine, I was careless. Get up.”
Yun Xiu quickly said, “Thank you, Master.”
Cao Zhi asked, “Yun Xiu, tell me what has happened here while I was away.”
“Yes, Master,” she replied.
Cao Zhi listened while resting, slowly catching up on the current state of the Cao household.
Once rested, he moved toward the study. Aqin hastened ahead to push open the lattice doors, while Yun Xiu silently withdrew to prepare hot water for bathing.
The desk was meticulously organized; brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone were in perfect order. Cao Zhi pulled a scroll and sat by the window. Aqin directed the fan toward him and stood quietly in the corner, careful not to disturb him.
Shadows of trees swayed outside; cicadas chirped loudly.
Suddenly, a voice came from the door:
“Zi Jian? Are you inside? Your elder brother has come to see you.”
“Elder brother?” Could it be Cao Pi? History records that after declaring himself emperor, he cared little for his siblings, forcing Cao Zhi to compose the famous *Seven Steps Poem* under threat of death. And after Yuan Shao’s defeat, he seized Zhen Mi and ultimately caused her demise through slander.
Cao Zhi quickly straightened, washed his face, and forced a weak, exhausted smile. “Brother, please enter.”
The door opened. Cao Pi stepped in, dressed in deep indigo robes, a subtle curve at the corner of his mouth. His gaze swept over Cao Zhi like a brushstroke.
Cao Pi said regretfully, “It’s good you’ve returned. Wancheng was a dangerous place, full of swords and death. These past few days I’ve been sleepless, fearing the worst…”
He stepped closer, eyes scanning Cao Zhi’s neck and chest as if searching for unseen injuries. “Seeing you here, safe and whole, I can finally relax a little.” Though his words seemed comforting, his gaze betrayed the thought: *Why didn’t you die there?*
Cao Zhi’s stomach churned, but he forced a weak smile. “Brother, I was lucky… merely lucky.”
“Ah, siblings,” Cao Pi waved dismissively. His eyes flicked over the empty desk, voice light: “As long as you’re intact, it’s fine. From now on, stay at home, read poetry, enjoy the scenery. Avoid the fighting—lest…” His words carried a cold weight beneath the sweet veneer, warning that he would not tolerate Cao Zhi as a mere aesthete forever.
Cao Zhi nodded obediently, “Your advice is well taken, brother.”
Cao Pi seemed satisfied, his tone cold: “Rest well. Look at you, pale as paper. Take care not to fall ill again.” He emphasized “ill” as if expecting something else.
Finally, Cao Pi left slowly, his gaze leaving an unsettling chill as he surveyed Cao Zhi one last time.
The door closed.
Cao Zhi collapsed onto the floor, cold sweat soaking his inner robe. His stomach churned with acid. Cao Pi wasn’t checking if I survived—he wanted to see why I *hadn’t* died.
Truly, a wonderful brother.
Cao Zhi’s gaze drifted to the scroll, mind wandering. Wancheng’s danger had passed, but here was no guarantee of peace—the crisis was far from over.
With Cao Ang dead, only he and Cao Pi remained as heirs. Power… without it, one must always watch others’ eyes. Only with it could he seize what he wanted. His eyes burned with desire for authority.