Three Kingdoms: Ten Times Speed, Diao Chan Says I'm Too Fast

The night was as dark as ink, spilling across the streets and alleys of Xiapi.

The cold November wind, carrying shards of snow, howled through the peeling vermilion pillars of the governor's mansion, intensifying the stench of blood and burnt flesh.

The two stone lions in front of the mansion gate, one with half of its head chopped off, the cut frozen with blackish-purple blood ice, the other with several deep knife marks on its front paw, its once gilded eyes now gleaming with a deathly gray under the pale moonlight.

The once majestic gate had collapsed halfway, and the door panels were covered with arrows that stood out like hedgehogs. The broken door bolt and scattered armor plates were mixed in with the snow and trampled beyond recognition.

Inside the mansion's courtyard, the snow was stained a mottled dark red, and the blood pools in the low-lying areas had frozen solid, making a crisp "crack" sound when stepped on, like the whispers of the dead.

Several servants dressed in coarse cloth and short browns, with their necks hunched, cleaned up the mess by the dim light of the lamp in the corner.

The bamboo brooms in their hands swept across the blue brick floor, raising not only dust and snowflakes, but also dried scabs and broken hairs. When they swept deeper, they would occasionally bring out half a bloodstained piece of clothing or a finger severed by a sharp blade, which would frighten the servants so much that they would instinctively avoid looking at them, but they had no choice but to grit their teeth and gather the filth into the bamboo baskets.

The bronze crane lamp in the center of the courtyard had long since fallen over, its base twisted and deformed. The half-burnt pine resin had solidified on the ground, mixed with dark red bloodstains, forming an ugly, hard lump.

Several once neatly trimmed wintersweet trees had their branches broken off, some with torn pieces of clothing hanging from them, others with dark red chunks of flesh. The remaining buds trembled in the cold wind, and the bloodstains on the petals looked like congealed tears.

On the artificial rock not far away, several deep knife marks crisscrossed, revealing the bone. Broken arrow shafts were embedded in the cracks, their fletchings soaked in blood, black and foul-smelling.

Inside the main hall, the scene was even more appalling. The silk painting "Shepherds and Herdsmen" that had been hanging there had been slashed by a sharp blade, and the broken silk threads hung down, splattered with bloodstains, completely defiling the peaceful and prosperous scene depicted in the painting.

The two bronze square cauldrons on either side lay overturned on the ground, their bodies covered with dents. One of the cauldrons had three broken legs, and the remaining sacrificial offerings inside were mixed with congealed blood, emitting a nauseating fishy smell.

The straw mats on the ground were torn to shreds, soaked in large patches of blood, black and sticky, making them sticky to the servants' straw sandals when stepped on.

Several servants were dragging a corpse together. The corpse was wearing tattered armor, and a gruesome wound on its chest almost split the torso in two. Blood trailed long across the ground, mingling with the snow.

Another old servant squatted in the corner, wiping the bloodstains on the table with a rag. A piece of the edge of the table had been chopped off, revealing the pale wood underneath. The bloodstains had seeped deep into the wood grain and could not be wiped clean, leaving only dark red marks.

The air was thick with the stench of blood, burnt flesh, and the early signs of rotting corpses, mixed with the faint scent of burning mugwort—which the servants lit to ward off evil spirits, but which was almost imperceptible under the oppressive atmosphere.

Beneath the corridor, broken beams and pillars lean precariously, their painted decorations long since peeled away, revealing the blackened wood core. Some beams and pillars still emit wisps of smoke from past fires, occasionally crackling and dropping a few charred wood chips.

Countless broken weapons were scattered on the ground: a blunted ring-pommel sword, a broken spear, a deformed crossbow, and a flattened helmet with hair and bloodstains on the visor, looking gruesome and terrifying.

Several servants were carefully gathering the weapons together. Their hands were red from the cold, and their fingertips trembled slightly from touching too many limbs and fragments. Their eyes were full of fear and exhaustion.

A cold wind blew in through the broken window frame, stirring the flickering flame of the dim lamp in the hall. As the light and shadow swayed, the bloody handprints and knife marks on the wall appeared and disappeared, as if countless wronged souls were spying in the dark.

A young servant was sweeping the threshold of the main hall when he suddenly slipped and fell to the ground. His hand landed on something warm and sticky. Looking down, he saw that it was half a liver that was not completely frozen. He screamed in fright and scrambled back, his face ashen and vomiting uncontrollably.

The old servant beside him sighed, shook his head, picked up the bamboo basket and collected the filth, his eyes filled with numbness and sorrow.

The governor's mansion's rear residence, once elegant, was also severely damaged.

The windows of the boudoir were smashed to pieces, the dressing mirror inside was cracked into spiderwebs, and the powder box was smashed on the ground, the powder mixed with bloodstains, forming a strange color.

Beside the well in the courtyard, the snow was stained dark brown, the well rope was broken, the bucket was floating on the water, and a few strands of long hair were floating on the surface.

Several servants were using wooden buckets to scoop water out of the well in an attempt to clean the bloodstains, but they could only watch helplessly as the dark red water flowed down the well's edge and froze into ice on the ground.

The night was deep, and the cold wind grew even more biting, howling through the mansion with swirling snowflakes.

The servants continued their cleaning work, their figures appearing thin and small in the dim light of the flickering lamp. Every time they bent over and swept, it was as if they were fighting against the lingering effects of the bloody massacre.

The vermilion walls and black tiles of the governor's mansion were reduced to a dilapidated outline in the night. The former prosperity and majesty had long since vanished, leaving only broken walls, bloodstains, and deathly silence, telling the story of the brutal battle that had just passed.

The stench of blood lingered in the air, as if it were about to completely permeate the mansion, while the howling of the cold wind sounded more like the wails of countless dead souls, echoing for a long time in the winter night of Pengcheng.

"Congratulations, Imperial Uncle, on acquiring Xuzhou!"

"Congratulations, Imperial Uncle, on acquiring Xuzhou!"

Two congratulatory shouts, delivered in unison, broke the silence in the study of Governor Tao Qian's residence.

Zhuge Gui was dressed in a dark blue robe, his temples slightly frosted. When he clasped his hands, his sleeves lightly brushed against the bamboo slips on the table. Sima Fang, standing beside him, was tall and straight, his black robe tightly bound. He clasped his hands in front of his chest, his bowing posture respectful yet composed.

The two men stared intently at the center of the study, where Liu Bei, who had just returned from outside the city, stood.

At this moment, Liu Bei was standing in front of the seat that originally belonged to Tao Qian.

He slowly raised his right hand, his fingertips gently brushing across the cool surface of the table.

The tabletop was made of the finest catalpa wood, polished smooth as a mirror, and still retained a faint trace of sandalwood—the incense that Tao Qian used to use when he was alive, which now served as evidence that its former master was gone.

Once upon a time, when he was living under someone else's roof in Langya County, he had come to this city of Xuzhou and stepped into this study.

At that time, he was still an unknown distant relative of the imperial clan. He came to visit Tao Qian with Gongsun Zan's delegation. Standing in the corner of this study, he didn't even have the courage to look Tao Qian in the eye.

But now, he stands here, at the center of power in Xuzhou.

However, things have changed in the end.

Liu Bei's fingers tightened slightly, and a barely perceptible pain flashed in his eyes.

When he came to Xuzhou that year, Yun Chang and Yi De were also with him.

The three brothers, full of youthful vigor, swore an oath of life and death in the Peach Garden, promising to die on the same day, month, and year and work together for a great cause.

But now, Guan Yu has been defeated at Maicheng, his body severed from his head; Zhang Fei has been killed by his own general, his blood spilled in his tent. Those fervent vows ultimately could not withstand the swords and shadows of a chaotic world, becoming regrets that can never be fulfilled.

The candlelight in the hall flickered gently, casting his long shadow.

The crisscrossing scars on his face became even clearer in the firelight.