Chapter 2: Chen Cong's Ambition

Just one wall apart stood the ancestral hall of the Cao residence.

The young lady, named Rong, had blossomed into a graceful beauty at sixteen. Her eyes shimmered like gentle ripples on a windless lake, brows arched as slender willows, her skin outshining snow in its pale radiance, with delicate shoulders and a supple waist lending her an air of ethereal lightness. She knelt on a soft cushion before the ancestral tablets, though her darting eyes betrayed a mischievous liveliness, three parts playful, seven parts spirited.

If not for her mother’s stern presence, she would have seemed even more lively.

“Kneel properly. Do you realize your mistake?” her mother demanded.

“Mother, you’re so fierce. I’m afraid,” the girl replied, feigning timidity.

“Afraid?” Madam Ding’s brows arched in annoyance. “Were you afraid when you harbored a criminal in our home?”

“He’s not a criminal,” Rong muttered, thinking of that handsome face. “He’s precisely the elegant youth Brother described, poised and graceful.”

“Cao Rong! Have you no shame as a young lady?” An unmarried girl brazenly discussing a man’s looks—if word got out, who would dare seek the hand of the Cao family’s eldest daughter? Furious, Madam Ding snatched up the cane from the table, intent on punishment.

“Madam! Let’s talk this through!”

In a flash, a dark figure darted through the side door and rushed into the hall, interposing himself between the cane and Rong, absorbing the full weight of maternal fury.

Cao Cao hunched over, rubbing his back and hissing in pain, yet still forcing a smile. “Madam! Madam, spare your thunderous wrath, lest others overhear and mock us.”

“Father, you’re back!” Rong exclaimed.

Madam Ding pressed Rong’s shoulders, ensuring she knelt straight, and turned to Cao Cao, scolding, “You’re to blame for raising such a reckless daughter! She dared to hide a criminal under our roof.”

Cao Cao shrugged it off, answering without hesitation, “With the court in disarray and the world plunged into chaos, traitors brazenly parade the streets while upright families are wrongfully condemned. Can you truly be certain that so-called criminal is guilty?”

Madam Ding’s face blanched at his words. “Mengde! Mind your tongue!”

Cao Cao started, then awkwardly repeated, “Yes, I must be careful…”

To think that even within his own halls, speaking to wife and daughter, he must watch his words—what justice or law remains in such times? Though anger seethed within him, he dared say no more. As a favored henchman of Dong Zhuo, he had been gifted not a few slaves and maids by the tyrant; if word got out, his death would be the least of it—his whole household might be implicated.

“Father, he truly isn’t a criminal, but a refined and handsome youth. You’ll see for yourself if you visit the woodshed.”

Uh…

Rong’s words shattered the tense silence, though they stung her father somewhat.

Since when did being handsome disqualify someone from being a criminal? If the magistrate of Luoyang judged guilt by looks, Cao Cao himself would be in prison by tomorrow.

“Father!”

“Must I go before supper?” Cao Cao forced a smile.

“You drink all day outside, one meal won’t make a difference. Go on, and take the food box on the table to him,” his precious daughter urged mercilessly.

Fine!

No need to guess—he was surely harboring a most dangerous fugitive.

…

Three planks and two stone stools made a crude single bed. Lying on it, one could see blue sky and drifting clouds through the wooden window’s cracks.

He had crossed over—to the late Han.

A true age of chaos, where human life was worth less than grass.

Though not a history major, as a genuine Romance of the Three Kingdoms enthusiast, Chen Cong knew a bit about the current era. In the mid-late Han, the population was over fifty million; by the end of the Three Kingdoms, Wei, Shu, and Wu combined had fewer than eight million. In other words, out of every ten people, more than eight would die unnatural deaths—a thought enough to make one’s scalp tingle.

Worse yet, fate had shortchanged him on the standard perks of a transmigrator. He’d spent an entire afternoon in his mind shouting for a system, but not so much as a hair had appeared.

Still.

Once he calmed down, Chen Cong felt little panic. Reclining with his legs swinging, he was rather at ease. Though he had no status, no background, no system, no money, and could barely recognize archaic script, rendering him nearly illiterate, he had one thing—courage!

At first, it had all seemed unreal, but after lying here for so long, he’d fully accepted his situation. Who else could slap a tall warhorse to death with one hand? Not even tigers in a zoo had such strength. With a chance to learn martial arts, he’d become a mighty general in no time.

A general! Armor and horses, swallowing ten thousand miles like a tiger! To dine on barbarian flesh when hungry, to drink enemy blood with a laugh—such was the fiery dream of every adolescent soul, Chen Cong no exception.

What’s more, by a twist of fate, he’d ended up in the Cao household—one of the three major powers at the end of Han, and the strongest at that.

Cao the Traitor…

No, no—Cao Cao, Boss Cao.

Though often unscrupulous, he was a man of discernment. If you were truly capable, your status and wealth would soar. If you were as brilliant as Guo Jia, you might even be invited to hear music in the pleasure quarters with Old Cao; if you were as unmatched as Guan Yu, Old Cao would practically worship you, serving you three meals a day and fretting whether you’d eaten enough.

According to Zhi Hua, Cao Cao now resided in Luoyang as Colonel of Cavalry, a favorite of Grand Tutor Dong Zhuo. In other words, forging ties now would guarantee a founding elder’s treatment once Boss Cao rose to power.

To be sure, among the three great powers at the end of Han, Liu the Runner was Chen Cong’s true favorite. But ideals are one thing, reality another. For one, he was in Luoyang, not about to trek halfway across China to reach Liu Bei in Pingyuan. Even if Liu Bei stood before him, he would still choose Cao Cao without hesitation.

Shu Han was romantic, but for a man making his way in the world, salary and benefits mattered most. Liu Bei rose too late, struggling in hardship until the fifteenth year of Jian’an before finally establishing his footing—a full twenty-one years ahead of where things stood now in the sixth year of Zhongping. A lifetime of striving for only a few years of success—hardly a worthwhile investment.

As for helping Liu Bei gain a foothold early, Chen Cong could only shake his head. He was no Zhuge Liang, to divide the empire with a few words, nor was he Mi Zhu with vast wealth to back repeated comebacks. Even the advantage of a transmigrator’s foreknowledge was questionable—who knew if it would work here?

After all, Chen Cong wasn’t sure whether he’d landed in the world of the novel, actual history, or some unknown parallel universe. Giving advice blindly could get him killed without even knowing how.

For the sake of his future, wealth, survival, and a peaceful life, Chen Cong would only choose Cao Cao. No matter how beloved his favorite might be, nothing surpassed his own well-being.

At worst, if they met on the battlefield someday, he could simply strike down his favorite early—elevating him to the status of a cherished but lost memory.