Late Han Dynasty, the first year of Jianning. 168 AD.

The Yellow River flowed as it always had — wide, muddy, and indifferent. Like the dynasty it had sustained for four hundred years, slowly dying without knowing it.

In a small town called Zhuo, a man was weaving sandals. Twenty-eight years old. His name was Liu Bei, courtesy name Xuande. They said he was a distant descendant of the imperial family, but that hadn't meant anything for generations.

Liu Bei wove sandals and straw mats. He lived with his mother in a leaking hut that let the rain in during summer and the wind through in winter. He stood about 174 centimeters tall, with unusually long arms that reached below his knees and large drooping ears — so large, they said, he could see them without a mirror. He wore a smile on his face, but his eyes were always looking somewhere far away.

When a person has gone hungry for months, they become one of two things: resigned, or furious.

That year, the entire continent chose fury.

— · —

There was a man named Zhang Jue. He called himself the "Great Virtuous Teacher" and spread a religion called the Way of Supreme Peace. His teaching was simple:

"The heavens have fallen. A new heaven shall rise."

What sweeter words could there be for a starving people? Zhang Jue's followers wrapped yellow scarves around their heads. That is why history remembers them as the Yellow Turbans.

It happened fast. Hundreds of thousands joined. Government offices burned. Officials fled. The empire was crumbling from the bottom up.

The imperial court issued an urgent decree. Notices were posted across the land:

"Brave men wanted — those willing to fight the Yellow Turban rebellion, step forward."

— · —

Liu Bei stood before one of those notices. At the edge of his village, the paper fluttered in the wind.

He stood there for a long time. His hands trembled — the same hands that wove sandals every day. No. It wasn't his hands that trembled. It was his heart.

Can someone like me really make a difference?

Then, from behind him, a voice like thunder:

"If you call yourself a man, fight for your country! What good is standing there sighing?"

Liu Bei turned around.

A man stood there, easily 190 centimeters tall. Leopard eyes. A jaw like a swallow's beak. A voice like rolling thunder. But what struck Liu Bei most was the raw, undisguised fury burning in that rough face.

"Your name?"

"Zhang Fei. Courtesy name Yide. I sell wine and butcher hogs in this town."

Zhang Fei looked Liu Bei up and down, then narrowed his eyes.

"You... you're different."

Liu Bei smiled bitterly. "Different how? I'm just a sandal weaver."

"No." Zhang Fei shook his head. "Those aren't a sandal weaver's eyes."

Liu Bei couldn't speak. This rough stranger had read in an instant what no one had seen in twenty-eight years.

— · —

Zhang Fei made a suggestion. "Come have a drink at my place. The wine just finished brewing."

They walked to Zhang Fei's tavern. Zhang Fei poured wine and sliced meat. Liu Bei drank quietly.

As they talked, a commotion rose outside. A giant of a man pulling a heavy cart had stopped in front of the tavern. Nearly 206 centimeters tall. A face red as a jujube fruit. Silkworm eyebrows. Phoenix eyes. And a beard that flowed all the way down to his waist. People on the street stepped aside without thinking — he had that kind of presence.

"I'd like a cup of wine. Is there a seat?"

Zhang Fei leapt to his feet. "Sit here. Are you also headed to fight the Yellow Turbans?"

The giant nodded. "Guan Yu. Courtesy name Yunchang. From Xie in Hedong. I killed a man and have been wandering for five years."

Liu Bei's eyes shifted. A killer with eyes like those?

Guan Yu's eyes were fierce, but buried within them was an inexplicable sadness. The eyes of a man who could not stomach injustice, who killed because of it, and who had carried that weight on his back for five years.

And so three men sat together. A sandal weaver, a butcher, and a killer.

Night deepened. Wine flowed. Stories piled up. Liu Bei spoke:

"I want to set this country right."

Zhang Fei said: "So do I."

Guan Yu said: "So do I."

Three pairs of eyes met. No one smiled.

Something was beginning.