Chapter One

In short, after repeated and careful observation, Lin Feng was certain he had returned to the past.

Of course, this had nothing to do with objects like the Moonlight Box, nor was there any particular reason for it—or if there was, Lin Feng couldn't make sense of it. Though he enjoyed reading "Science Fiction World" while sitting in the restroom and knew that an old man named Hawking from the Royal Society of the British Empire had famously theorized that it was impossible for humans to travel back in time, the circumstances before him clearly proved that assertion utterly wrong. Unfortunately, he could no longer return to the 21st century to expose this scientific fraud.

The previous night had been a merry one. A few friends had arranged to meet at a famous outdoor restaurant in the west of the city, where they feasted and drank into the night. By ten o'clock, everyone had parted ways, tipsy and content. Lin Feng had then walked alone along a dark street, and eventually, unable to go further, had collapsed somewhere—where, he did not know. Now, upon opening his eyes, all he saw was lush, verdant greenery.

He may not have become a pilot, but Lin Feng had absolute confidence in his eyesight. At this moment, he was standing atop a small hill, the landscape before him picturesque as a painting. Below, trees flourished on the plain, green grass carpeted the earth underfoot, a gentle breeze caressed his face, filling him with a sense of ease and serenity, as though he had entered a celestial paradise.

He didn’t know what it felt like to ride a horse, but at present, Lin Feng felt as though he were at sea, his stomach pressed tightly against the side of the saddle, jostled to the brink of death and wishing for release. Just as he was considering stealing his captor’s saber to end it all, his waist was suddenly loosened, and with a loud smack, he was thrown to the ground. His backside landed hard in the mud, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Reporting to the General! We’ve caught a spy!”

Lin Feng stole a glance. The knight on horseback before him was very different from the cavalrymen from earlier. Though his skin was not exactly fair, it was at least not as dark as those others, whose complexions resembled Africans. His beard had been carefully trimmed into several goat-like strands. His entire body gleamed, his armor clearly of superior quality, but his facial features were distinctly unrefined—small eyes, a flat nose, a weasel-like face that appeared rather sly, undermining the dignified effect of his attire. At present, he held a book in his hand and was scrutinizing Lin Feng with a stern expression.

Lin Feng wanted to offer some argument in his defense, but suddenly realized he had no idea what era he was in, nor what army he had fallen into. He could only curse inwardly at his predicament, his mind blank as to what he should say.

“The false Qing regime occupies the heartland; we sons of the Han must rise to resist the foreign invaders. You, a scholar, have read the classics—how do you not understand even this much?”

“Qing Dynasty?!” Lin Feng shuddered involuntarily, glancing around in panic. Whose army was this? Though he was a liberal arts student and reasonably well-versed in history, there were simply too many factions in these times—Li Zicheng, Zhang Xianzhong, Zuo Liangyu, and so on. Worse yet, these armies often viewed each other with hostility; a single misplaced word could cost him his head. The thought drained the blood from his face, and he dared not utter another word.

“Looking at your cropped hair and lack of queue, not wearing the Manchu attire, you must resent the Qing. So why do you remain silent?” the general observed, a sly smile on his face as he noted Lin Feng’s odd appearance.

Lin Feng touched his crew cut, glanced down at his T-shirt and jeans, and felt a surge of relief. Fortunately, the time travel had landed him in the right place—had he fallen straight into Qing territory, the soldiers would have chopped his head off without a word, unlike now, where at least there was a chance for conversation. Still, it was strange: even compared to those around him, his attire was bizarre, yet this fellow seemed not to find it particularly odd. Raising his head to face the sly and curious general, Lin Feng braced himself and replied, “General, you fight for righteousness. Though the Manchu usurpers wield power for the moment, with such a mighty army, as Confucius said, ‘Those who follow the Way have much support, those who defy it have little.’ Victory is certain!”

His words were vague and rambling, but that was probably for the best; flattery, like Newton’s laws, worked universally. With luck, he might muddle through.

Clearing his throat, Lin Feng forced his facial muscles into a look of reserve and humility, respectfully cupping his hands and asking, “May I ask, what is the state of affairs in the world?”

This line fit perfectly with the style of "Romance of the Three Kingdoms," and the general took the bait. He lifted his right leg, preparing to dismount, but caught his foot on the saddle and nearly fell. Only the quick intervention of a bodyguard kept him upright. His face flushed with embarrassment as he forced a laugh. “My armor is not properly fastened, forgive the spectacle.” Seeing his soldiers suppressing their grins, he waved irritably, “What are you looking at? Move along!”

Having seen many comedic skits in his time, Lin Feng managed to keep a straight face, maintaining a respectful demeanor.

The general dismounted and approached, cupping his hands to Lin Feng. “I am Li Qingliu, currently serving as staff officer and general under Lord Geng Jingzhong, Prince of Jingnan. May I ask your honored name, sir?”

“I am Lin Feng, a humble tiller of the fields, a man of the countryside—unworthy of praise!” Lin Feng had heard enough of these half-classical, half-vernacular pleasantries to handle them with ease.

After the exchange of courtesies, Li Qingliu removed his helmet and handed it to his attendant. The stubble on his forehead was only a few inches long, clearly newly grown. “Sir, the situation in the realm is unsettled. The false Qing Emperor Kangxi and the Grand Marshal of the Great Zhou, Wu Sangui, are the most powerful. The Great Zhou army now holds Yunnan, Guizhou, Sichuan, and Hunan. Prince Shang Kexi and our own forces are in Guangdong and Fujian, opposing the Qing. South of the Yangtze, the situation is chaotic and our prospects uncertain.”

Hearing this, Lin Feng felt a chill run through him; his face turned ashen as he realized he had landed squarely in the midst of the Revolt of the Three Feudatories at the dawn of the Qing Dynasty, and, as luck would have it, had fallen into the hands of Geng Jingzhong’s rebel forces. This was a disaster. He had hoped for the era of Hong Taiji or Dorgon’s invasion, when the land was fractured and he might have found ways to maneuver for power, perhaps restoring the Ming if fortune favored him, or supporting the unification of the country if not. Knowing the course of history, he’d have had a chance to be a high official with a fine horse. But now, captured by rebels, defeat after defeat awaited, and he might die without even knowing how.

And their enemy? The Kangxi Emperor of Qing. They might not know, but Lin Feng did. Aisin Gioro Xuanye was a remarkable figure—he quelled the Three Feudatories, reclaimed Taiwan, killed Galdan, fought the Russians; a man of both literary and martial prowess, one who stood out in five thousand years of history. Though Wu Sangui was now at his peak, soon he would be crushed. It was over—truly over. With the rebels, he was doomed to die an ignominious death.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lin Feng caught Li Qingliu watching him intently. Lin Feng’s heart pounded. What if he refused to join them—would they simply have him dragged off and executed on the spot?

Li Qingliu noticed Lin Feng’s expression shifting—from dejection to hesitation, yet saying nothing. He was about to ask when Lin Feng spoke up: “General Li, though the situation is unclear, I do know that Zheng Jing’s forces in Taiwan intend to attack Fujian. With enemies before and behind, our position is precarious!”

Li Qingliu had not expected Lin Feng to say anything of substance, but his staff was lacking in scholars and strategists, so he had thought to recruit this seemingly learned man. Hearing Lin Feng’s insightful assessment, Li Qingliu was pleasantly surprised. “You are perceptive, sir. His lordship has indeed been troubled by this very issue in recent days!”

Lin Feng relaxed inwardly and added a flattering remark, “If I am not mistaken, the general must be greatly trusted by the Prince of Jingnan, or you would not be entrusted with such important responsibilities. As they say, ‘Before the army marches, provisions must be secured.’ Overseeing the transport of supplies, your future prospects are bright indeed!”

Li Qingliu beamed, returning the salute repeatedly. “I dare not claim such credit—thank you for your kind words.” He glanced at Lin Feng, coughed softly, and said, “At present, my staff is in need of talented men. Would you consider joining us?”

“I am willing to serve, General!” Lin Feng bowed deeply and replied respectfully.

He was a lone wanderer, after all. Judging by the situation ahead, the battlefield couldn’t be far. He dared not wander off on his own; at least here he’d have food and shelter. He decided to go along with them for a while, and if things went badly, he could reconsider his options.