The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a woman’s chest.
This was, under ordinary circumstances, an excellent way to begin a morning.
Unfortunately, there were several complications.
First, I didn’t know the woman.
Second, I didn’t know the room.
Third, judging from the pounding behind my eyes, somebody had spent the previous evening attempting to preserve my brain in wine.
And fourth, the beautiful stranger appeared to know me.
“Young Master?”
She was leaning over the bed to draw back the curtain.
Her robe covered her perfectly properly.
The problem was entirely my angle and, to be fair, my character.
She was perhaps twenty or a little older, with an oval face, clear dark eyes, and black hair held in a knot by a plain pin.
A servant, probably.
A very pretty one, with a tiny dark mole beneath her left eye.
“Young Master.” Sharper this time.
Her gaze dropped to where mine had been.
Ah.
I raised my eyes.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
Then my skull split open, and I groaned and pressed both hands to my temples.
The woman straightened.
“You deserved that.”
Interesting.
Either this was a remarkably equal society, or she had known me long enough to stop being afraid.
“How much did I drink?”
“Seven cups.”
Seven.
Not ideal.
“Large cups?”
Her hand stopped.
I understood immediately that this was not a question I normally asked.
“Never mind,” I said, and took the water she brought me.
The second swallow made me notice the cup.
The rim was uneven, the weight wrong.
A person had made it, not a machine.
I looked around.
Wooden beams.
A painted screen.
A bronze lamp, a lacquered chest, a low table, light coming through wooden lattice.
No ceiling light.
No switch.
No phone, no charger, no air conditioner.
Nothing.
Then a length of long black hair fell over my shoulder.
I picked it up.
The woman watched me.
I put it down.
She watched harder.
Excellent.
Whatever crisis I was having, I was handling it with tremendous subtlety.
♦
“Last night,” I said.
“Tell me.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Fragments.” I remembered nothing, but that answer usually ends with physicians in the room.
“I remember drinking.”
“Anyone could have guessed that.”
Good.
Sarcastic.
Definitely familiar.
“Miss Yue came after the second watch,” she went on.
A woman.
Promising.
“Pretty?”
Now she really stared, and I felt absurdly relieved.
That, apparently, sounded normal.
“You invited her.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“You told her she had the most beautiful hands in Luoyang.”
“Was I right?”
Her lips pressed together.
Not quite a smile.
“You listened to her play.
You drank.
You told her that her hands were too beautiful for sad music.”
“That isn’t bad.”
“She ignored you.”
“Completely?”
“She played the same sad song four more times.”
That almost got her.
“Then you told her you could play better.”
“Can I?”
“No.”
“And then?”
“You lost.”
“To the instrument?”
“To the wine.”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
“Then you vomited on Xu An.”
My brain, still mostly asleep, asked the next question before I could stop it.
“Who is Xu An?”
Her smile vanished.
Ah shit.
She simply looked at me, very carefully.
Before I could take it back, footsteps sounded outside.
“Qiao’er?”
A man’s voice.
The woman glanced at the door.
Qiao’er.
A name, delivered by Heaven itself.
A young man came in without knocking, saw me sitting up, and stopped.
Relief crossed his face, then irritation.
“You’re alive.”
“You’re Xu An.”
Now he stopped for a different reason.
I lifted my cup.
“I vomited on you.”
“Twice.”
“Twice?”
“Twice.”
I thought about it.
“Then I apologize for the first.”
“And the second?” Xu An demanded.
“You had warning.”
“I was holding the basin,” said Xu An, with great dignity.
Qiao’er turned to the window.
Her shoulders were shaking.
I liked them already, which created a problem.
These two knew how much I drank, which women I invited, whether I could play.
They knew the owner of this body.
I had only inherited it, and every sentence I spoke was a chance to prove it.
They were both watching me too carefully now.
I needed to act normal.
From everything I had heard so far, the original Dong Yu drank and chased women.
So I would chase a woman.
I looked at Qiao’er and searched for something charming.
“You have a lovely mole.”
Silence.
“Under your eye,” I added, in case that helped.
“I have had it for twenty years, Young Master,” said Qiao’er.
“You have never once looked at it.”
Xu An looked at me the way you look at a dog that has started talking.
Wonderful.
My attempt to act normal was now the strangest thing I had done all morning.
Xu An cleared his throat.
“Young Master.
The Master has sent for you twice.”
My amusement died.
“Why?”
“Because he wants you.”
“I gathered that.
Why?”
“How should I know?”
“You should go,” said Qiao’er, “before he sends someone again.”
“What happens then?”
Neither of them answered.
That told me enough.
♦
I stood up, and the room rolled to the left.
Xu An caught my arm.
Qiao’er had moved too, but she stopped when he reached me first.
A small hesitation, and an important one.
She handled my clothes and spoke freely to me in private, but she was still a servant in a powerful house, and there were lines.
I needed to learn them before my ignorance cost someone more than embarrassment.
“I’m fine.”
“You nearly fell,” said Xu An.
“A tactical withdrawal.”
“From the floor?”
“It was advancing.”
Xu An looked at Qiao’er.
“He’s still drunk.”
“Probably.”
Traitors.
Qiao’er held up a robe.
I stared at it.
She waited.
“Young Master.
Your arms.”
There were layers, ties, and an overlap that apparently mattered, and I put it across the wrong way.
Qiao’er looked at my hands, then at me.
I smiled.
“Headache.”
She stepped close and corrected it with quick, practiced fingers.
I caught the faint scent of her hair.
My eyes began to drop.
I sent them to the ceiling and kept them there.
Character development.
She tied the sash, and I said, “Thank you.”
Her hands stopped on the knot.
Xu An’s head came up.
“Qiao’er,” said Xu An slowly, “should I fetch the physician?”
Qiao’er finished the knot.
Tighter than necessary.
♦
“What happened yesterday?” I asked.
Both of them went still.
Too broad.
I touched my forehead.
“After noon.
Before the musicians.
It’s all mixed together.”
“The whole city was in chaos,” said Xu An.
“Why?”
“Young Master.
Everyone in Luoyang knows.”
“Then it will be easy to tell me.”
He sighed.
“The Prince of Chenliu ascended the throne.”
The world stopped.
I knew that title.
I told myself there had surely been several Princes of Chenliu.
“And the emperor before him?”
“He is the Prince of Hongnong now.”
There went hope.
Liu Bian deposed.
Liu Xie on the throne.
He Jin dead.
The eunuchs butchered.
Which meant Dong Zhuo was in Luoyang.
Which meant Ding Yuan, which meant Lü Bu, which meant Yuan Shao running east, which meant a coalition, which meant Luoyang on fire, Chang’an, Wang Yun, Diao Chan.
No.
Wait.
Diao Chan was the novel.
Mostly.
There was a real maid.
Lü Bu had an affair with her.
Or that was later.
Or that was a drama.
Or a game.
My knowledge of this period was a drawer someone had shaken: history, novels, dramas, games, articles read at two in the morning.
I had been the friend who explained why Three Kingdoms dramas were wrong.
Now my life depended on which of my explanations had been right.
Hulao Pass.
Did that even happen?
The three heroes against Lü Bu certainly did not.
Probably.
My history was betraying me before I even knew my own name.
I needed that name, and my father’s, and asking for either directly would be insane.
“Should I fetch Madam?” asked Qiao’er, watching me very closely now.
Madam.
Mother, probably.
“Wait.
Lord Yuan left Luoyang?”
“Yes,” said Xu An, confused.
Yuan Shao.
It had to be.
“After arguing with Father?”
Xu An and Qiao’er exchanged a look.
Qiao’er answered carefully.
“Everyone heard of the quarrel.”
My hands had gone cold.
One possibility remained, and I hated it.
“Uncle Min was with Father yesterday?”
“Of course.”
“Dong Min.”
Now both of them looked alarmed, and I had my answer.
Fuck.
“I am Dong Zhuo’s son.”
I had meant to think it.
I said it out loud.
Xu An stared.
Qiao’er stared.
I lay back down and covered my face.
“No.”
“Young Master?”
“No.
I reject this.
I reject the son, I reject the father, and I reject the year.”
They looked at each other.
Neither had the slightest idea what I was rejecting.
Good.
Dong Zhuo.
One of the most hated men in Chinese history.
Killed by Lü Bu in 192.
Afterward, the whole family went to the execution ground.
I remembered an old woman begging for her life.
Dong Zhuo’s mother, I thought.
Ninety years old.
Maybe.
Even my grandmother had an appointment with the Grim Reaper.
I had perhaps three years, assuming the timeline behaved, and assuming I survived this morning.
Qiao’er leaned over me.
Concern had replaced amusement.
A worried Qiao’er would fetch Mother, and Mother would ask questions I could not answer.
“I should call Madam.”
“I’m fine.”
“You forgot Xu An.”
“Understandable.”
Xu An swore under his breath.
“You forgot your uncle.”
“Briefly.”
“You said you reject being your father’s son.”
She had been listening more carefully than I had been talking.
I softened my voice.
“Give me a little time.
My head is bad.
That’s all.”
She hesitated.
Then nodded once.
Not convinced, but willing.
“For a little while.”
“Thank you.”
That made her look at me again.
Apparently gratitude was suspicious too.
“Qiao’er.
What do I usually do in a day?”
She did not even need to think.
“Young Master wakes at noon.
Young Master drinks.
Young Master sleeps.”
“And then?”
“Then it is noon again.”
Xu An nodded, as if she had described a great man’s routine.
Nineteen years, and the original Dong Yu had never once been useful.
Nobody watches a man who does nothing.
Perhaps this was salvageable.
So.
A plan.
Dong Zhuo dies in 192.
I leave in 191.
I have always believed in being early, especially to things that are not my execution.
Take money.
Buy an estate so quiet no army has heard of it.
Sleep late.
Eat well.
Marry a beautiful woman whose family is so unimportant that no historian will ever write her name down.
Perhaps a concubine later.
I was not greedy.
Survival required goals.
No office.
No command.
No famous friends.
If a man’s face might one day appear on a game cover, I would cross the street.
Above all, avoid Lü Bu.
His career consisted mostly of killing the men he called Father.
I had no wish to become even slightly memorable to him.
I did not need to conquer China.
I only needed to avoid it.
♦
The door opened.
Xu An straightened.
Qiao’er stepped aside and lowered her head.
Nobody needed to tell me who this was.
Mother was in her forties and still beautiful, with the composed face of a woman for whom shouting had long ago become unnecessary.
Her eyes went first, not to me, but to Qiao’er.
“What happened?”
“He remembers little of last night, Madam.”
“That is hardly unusual.”
“He was confused about several things.”
Thank you, Qiao’er.
“What things?”
Qiao’er hesitated, which I appreciated.
“Names.”
Mother’s gaze snapped to me, which I appreciated less.
She laid the back of her hand on my forehead, then ran her fingers along the side of my head.
“No fever.
You fell?”
“On Xu An.”
Behind me, Xu An opened his mouth, remembered who was in the room, and closed it again.
“Qiao’er doesn’t think you’re well,” Mother said.
So that was the hierarchy.
Qiao’er could argue with me, but when something actually mattered, she went to my mother.
Reasonable.
Terrible for me.
“What else?”
Qiao’er glanced at me.
“Young Master noticed my mole.”
Of all the betrayals available to her, she had chosen that one.
Mother looked at Qiao’er’s face, then at me.
“At nineteen?”
Xu An turned to face the wall.
I pointed at Qiao’er.
“I have always known she had a face.”
“Have you?”
“I could describe it.”
Mother’s expression did not move.
Qiao’er’s did, slightly.
“Young Master,” said Qiao’er softly, eyes lowered in perfect obedience, “usually looks a little lower.”
There was not a trace of insolence in her posture.
The line had simply already been delivered.
Oh, I liked this woman.
Mother’s mouth almost moved.
“You are well enough.
Your father sent for you.”
There went my mood.
“I was hoping to recover.
Tell him I’m asleep.”
“He knows you’re awake.”
“Tell him I died.”
“Then he will want to see the body.
Yu’er.”
That tone crossed two thousand years without translation.
“What does he want?”
“Ask him.”
“You have been married to him for decades.
Surely you can read his mind.”
“If I could read your father’s mind, I would not have married him.”
Reasonable.
“Can you guess?”
“Work.”
The horror on my face was so sincere that Qiao’er finally relaxed.
“You see?” I said.
“I am gravely ill.”
“You have been gravely ill whenever your father mentions responsibility.”
“Then we have identified the cause.”
She straightened my collar.
“Whatever he asks, listen before refusing.”
“And then I can refuse?”
“Then you can agree.”
She went on, in the voice of a mother discussing a disappointing son: “Your father replaced the emperor yesterday.
You spent the evening drinking with musicians.
At least try not to embarrass him this morning.”
My father replaced the emperor yesterday.
Dong Zhuo.
Dad.
That would take some adjustment.
Most people’s fathers changed jobs.
Mine had changed emperors.
She turned to go.
“Mother,” I said, and the word felt strange in my mouth.
“If I wanted an estate west of Luoyang…”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“For retirement.”
“Retirement,” said Mother.
“From what?”
“Drinking.
Nineteen years of it.
I’m exhausted.”
Qiao’er bit her lip and stared hard at the floor.
The corner of Mother’s lips moved against her will.
Good.
Still useless.
Still safe.
“Ask your father.”
That was less good.
♦
The residence was a nobleman’s house full of soldiers.
Painted eaves, with spears leaning under them.
Carved railings, with saddles thrown over them.
A garden pond, with a horse drinking out of it.
I had expected Dong Zhuo’s house to look decadent.
It looked temporary and military instead.
These people had not grown fat in Luoyang.
Not yet.
That frightened me more.
Qiao’er stayed behind to tidy my room.
I glanced back once.
Xu An noticed.
“Forgot something?”
“No.”
“Qiao’er?”
I looked at him.
He grinned.
“Be quiet,” I said.
Good.
The original Dong Yu’s reputation was already working.
“Do I have money?”
His grin vanished.
“Yes.”
“Am I rich?”
He gave me the look reserved for stupid questions.
“Your father is Dong Zhuo.”
“That answers whether Father is rich.”
“You are his son.”
“That answers genealogy.”
“Why do you suddenly care?”
Because I intended to flee history with as much portable wealth as I could carry.
“Women are expensive.”
Xu An accepted this instantly.
Then his face changed.
“Not Miss Yue again, Young Master.
Please.
We are out of basins.”
Before I could answer, a horse screamed in the courtyard ahead.
A dark stallion had torn half free and was dragging a groom across the stones.
Then someone stepped between them.
Tall, broad-shouldered, he took the rein short and moved with the horse instead of hauling against it.
It reared and came down hard, and he never once looked hurried.
That was what disturbed me.
Everyone else was reacting to the horse.
He looked as if he had already decided how this would end and was waiting for the horse to agree.
He handed the rein to the groom.
“Walk him.
Do not mount him again this morning.”
Then he turned toward us.
“Fengxian,” said Mother.
Oh… Shit.
“Madam.” He saluted her.
Lü Bu.
I had fought this man in a hundred games.
I had lost every time.
In the games, I could restart.
Here, there was no X in the corner to click.
In person it was worse.
He was just a man, with a sword at his hip and dust on his boots, and every absurd legend about him suddenly felt much less absurd.
“Young Master.”
“Commandant Lü,” I said, and bowed.
Too formal?
The original me probably called him something else.
Brother Fengxian?
Let’s not joke around here.
I would die before volunteering for a family relationship with this man.
Historically, that was already Father’s hobby.
His eyes stayed on me a heartbeat too long, and I understood why.
I was staring at him like a tiger that had somehow learned to wear clothes.
I looked away.
Very smooth.
“Another new one?” Mother asked.
“From Bing Province.”
“Difficult?”
“Young.”
Mother looked at the groom nursing his shoulder.
“Outer stable.”
He nodded.
His attention returned to me.
“You look pale.”
“Wine.”
“Again?” There was faint contempt in it.
Wonderful.
Please, keep thinking I’m useless.
“An old enemy.”
Something small changed in his eyes.
Not quite amusement.
Close.
Stop being charming, I told myself.
Do not accidentally charm Lü Bu.
That job was meant for Diao Chan.
Oh no.
I hoped very much that she wasn’t real.
Mother walked on, and I followed her at once.
In the next passage, Xu An leaned in.
“That was strange.
You greeted him.”
“What do I normally do?”
“Avoid him.”
My soul filled with gratitude toward the dead young man whose life I had taken.
“A wise habit.”
“You usually say he makes you want to practice riding.”
“That doesn’t sound wise.”
“You hate riding.”
So avoiding Lü Bu had been about exercise.
Perfect.
Nothing needed to change.
Father’s hall was at the end of the passage.
A servant drew the doors open.
Inside, I could smell meat and hear a big man laughing.
Behind me, boots crossed the stones.
Lü Bu was following us.
“Father sent for me as well,” he said.
Father.
He meant my father.
Whatever Dong Zhuo wanted from his useless son this morning, he wanted Lü Bu in the room for it.
Some receive legendary weapons.
I received a hangover, Dong Zhuo as a father, and Lü Bu standing approximately thirty steps from my bedroom.
I would like to reroll.