History frequently judges founders by different metrics. In the grand theater of the Three Kingdoms, Cao Cao's path was undeniably forged in a crucible of unmatched brutality. The Central Plains were a perpetual meat grinder; he spent his life trading blows with predatory warlords like Liu Bei, Lü Bu, and Yuan Shu, all while staring down the massive, four-province hegemony of Yuan Shao in the north.
Yet, if Cao Cao was a methodical juggernaut, Sun Ce was a comet.
It took Cao Cao eight agonizing years to pacify the Central Plains and another seven to systematically break Hebei—fifteen years of relentless, grinding warfare. Sun Ce had started his campaign with a measly thousand infantrymen and a handful of loyal cavalry. Within a mere five years, he had completely subjugated the entire, vast territory south of the Yangtze River.
During the historic climax at Guandu, while Cao Cao was sweating blood over fractured supply lines and the Yellow Turban peasant revolts in Runan, Sun Ce had already quietly amassed an elite strike force, fully prepared to launch a lethal, lightning raid straight into Xuchang to snatch the Emperor.
Had an assassin's poisoned arrow not claimed his life at that precise moment, the very concept of the Three Kingdoms might have been strangled in its cradle.
Instead, the southern realm fell into the hands of his younger brother, Sun Quan. Under his stagnant rule, Jiangdong didn't fight for decades, yet they famously couldn't even breach the gates of Hefei.
Thinking of Sun Quan's infamous military incompetence, a look of profound, unadulterated disgust suddenly flashed across Zhang Xin's face.
Sun Ce and Zhou Yu caught the sudden shift in his expression. The two boys exchanged a bewildered, anxious glance.
"Did we do something wrong?" they wondered, completely puzzled. "The General seemed to look upon us with immense favor just a moment ago. Why does he suddenly look like he swallowed a fly?"
Courtesies of the Realm
When Sun Jian had accepted the governorship of Yanzhou and relocated his household to the capital of Changyi, Zhou Yu had naturally accompanied his sworn brother. Sun Jian, observing Zhang Xin's darkened countenance, instantly assumed his young charges had inadvertently committed some grave breach of etiquette.
"General," Sun Jian spoke up cautiously, his tone defensive yet deferential. "Bofu and Gongjin have revered your legendary name for years. When they learned I was riding to meet you, they practically begged on bended knee for the honor to accompany me."
He bowed slightly, adding, "This rendezvous was arranged in great haste, and I failed to seek your formal permission beforehand. If their presence has caused offense, I humbly beg the General's forgiveness. If you do not wish to look upon them, I shall order them to ride back to Changyi immediately."
The words broke Zhang Xin out of his historical reverie. He instantly smoothed his features, laughing heartily to dispel the suffocating tension in the pavilion.
"Wentai, you wound me! You have entirely misunderstood," Zhang Xin smiled warmly, waving his hand. "Your son and nephew are clearly the finest stallions of their generation. Witnessing such breathtaking talent today brings me nothing but immense joy. How could I possibly harbor any resentment?"
With the misunderstanding cleared, Zhang Xin turned his gaze fully upon the elegant Zhou Yu.
"You are truly a magnificent youth," Zhang Xin praised genuinely. "A handsome Zhou Lang indeed."
Zhou Yu's chest swelled with quiet pride, and he immediately executed a flawless, graceful bow. "Yu thanks the General for such profound commendation."
Ever since he was a child, Zhou Yu had grown accustomed to the locals praising his exceptional looks. But a compliment from a provincial merchant was dirt; a compliment from Zhang Xin was pure gold.
Zhang Xin was the General of Chariots and Cavalry, a bearer of the imperial gold seal and purple ribbon, a premier disciple of the great Confucian scholar Cai Yong, and the undisputed titan of the East. In the Han Dynasty, the gentry held a sacred, foundational tradition of "character critique"—a practice where a single word from a renowned figure could elevate a nameless youth into imperial prominence overnight.
Though it was merely a compliment regarding his aesthetics, it was a massive political victory. After all, they had just met; Zhang Xin couldn't exactly praise his strategic acumen before they had even shared a cup of wine.
Seeing Zhou Yu receive such grand praise, Sun Jian breathed a massive sigh of relief. He cast a hopeful, expectant glance toward his own son. "If only the General could spare a single kind word for my boy..."
Zhang Xin did not keep him waiting. He turned to the radiant Sun Ce, his smile widening. "And you... you are a magnificent young master. A true Sun Lang."
"Ah... ah, thank you, General! You flatter this clumsy youth!"
Sun Ce immediately began scratching the back of his head, his face flushing crimson as he offered a sheepish, awkward grin. He looked exactly like a copy of his father. Yet, because the youth was so genuinely handsome, the unpolished gesture wasn't irritating; instead, it radiated an endearing, completely authentic charm.
Zhang Xin sighed inwardly. "Indeed, from ancient times to the present day, being staggeringly good-looking is a massive cheat code."
Sun Jian was grinning from ear to ear. He poured a cup of wine and leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "Just a moment ago, I noticed the General seemed gripped by a sudden melancholy. If I may be so bold to ask... what memory troubled your mind?"
"Nothing of grave import," Zhang Xin replied smoothly, gesturing for Sun Jian and the boys to take their cushions around the low tables. "I merely recalled an old friend."
"An old friend?" Sun Jian asked as he settled onto his knees. "Who?"
Zhang Xin rolled his eyes toward the sky, a wry smile playing on his lips. "That black-complexioned fellow."
He was, of course, referring to Cao Cao.
Realization dawned on Sun Jian's gruff face, and a look of comedic, shared disgust instantly mirrored Zhang Xin's own.
Sun Ce and Zhou Yu watched the two warlords, their youthful curiosity burning. Sun Jian cleared his throat, launching into a colorful, rambling retelling of their old campaigns before looking at the teenagers. "Young Mengde may be a bit of an eccentric novice in certain matters, but his unyielding loyalty to the imperial house and his sheer, gritty righteousness in the field are highly commendable."
Sun Jian clapped his hand on the table. "Should the fortunes of war ever bring you face-to-face with him in the future, you must treat him with the absolute respect due to an uncle."
During the anti-Dong coalition, Sun Jian had spent months drinking and bleeding alongside Zhang Xin, effortlessly picking up many of the warlord's casual modern idioms. Sun Ce and Zhou Yu nodded respectfully, committing the directive to heart.
The Feasting of Heroes
With the pleasantries concluded, Zhang Xin's personal guards marched into the pavilion, bearing heavy wooden platters laden with the prepared feast.
The succulent, freshly slaughtered mutton had been roasted over premium white-hot charcoal until the skin cracked with a golden crisp, perfectly paired with the rich, warmed vintages of Qingzhou. The four men fell upon the feast with the ravenous hunger of soldiers.
The dynamics within the pavilion were flawless. Zhang Xin and Sun Jian frequently traded booming laughs as they reminisced about the bloody trenches of the anti-Dong campaign, before Zhang Xin seamlessly pivoted to engage the two teenagers.
Both Sun Ce and Zhou Yu proved themselves to be exceptionally articulate and polished. Sun Ce was a sunbeam—warm, boisterous, and fiercely charismatic; Zhou Yu was a sheet of silk—refined, elegant, and sharp-witted. Zhang Xin found himself thoroughly enjoying their company.
"Wentai is blessed with such an extraordinary heir; it is truly a matter of grand envy..."
After consuming a heavy goblet of wine, Zhang Xin looked at the radiant Sun Ce and couldn't suppress a deep, genuine sigh. "I only regret that Sun Ce was not born into my own household!"
Putting aside the boy's tragic historical expiration date, the version of Sun Ce sitting before him was the absolute, platonic ideal of a sovereign successor.
"If my own younger brother can manage to manifest even eighty percent of Sun Ce's raw capability in the future," Zhang Xin thought to himself, "I can finally retire to the mountains and sleep in absolute peace."
Hearing such an astronomical compliment from the General of Chariots and Cavalry, Sun Jian's smile practically threatened to split his face. A sudden, brilliant spark of political ambition struck his mind.
"Since the General harbors such a profound affection for the boy," Sun Jian suggested, his eyes gleaming, "why don't our two houses formally bind our destinies through a marriage alliance?"
The Complications of a Proposal
"A marriage alliance?"
Zhang Xin paused, his goblet hovering halfway to his lips as he stared at Sun Ce. The more he looked at the youth, the more the idea appealed to him.
"In this timeline, because of my intervention, Sun Jian has broken clean away from Yuan Shu's toxic shadow. He won't be foolishly ambushed and shot to death by Huang Zu's archers at Xiangyang," Zhang Xin analyzed rapidly. "And if Sun Jian lives, Sun Ce will never be forced to trade the Imperial Seal for a handful of troops, nor will he ever cross paths with Xu Gong's vengeful retainers... his tragic, early death is effectively erased."
As the old adage dictated: A son-in-law is worth half a son. If Sun Ce was fated to survive and grow into his full glory, having him as a son-in-law would be an unbelievable geopolitical coup.
Furthermore, unlike his younger brother Sun Quan—who collected concubines like currency—historical records showed Sun Ce was remarkably disciplined. Aside from his primary legal wife and the legendary Da Qiao, he maintained no vast harem. He was no lecherous beast. If his daughter, Zhang An, married into the Sun household, she would never have to worry about being discarded or left to wither in a forgotten courtyard.
"Little An-an is seven years old this year," Zhang Xin calculated. "She is exactly eleven years younger than Sun Ce. In this era, a marriage gap like that is entirely within the realm of propriety."
Decision made, Zhang Xin looked across the table at Sun Jian. "My eldest daughter has just reached her seventh year. If Wentai does not deem her unworthy, I would be honored to grant her hand to Sun Ce to be his lawful wife."
The moment the words left his mouth, Zhou Yu turned to look at Sun Ce with an incredibly bizarre, strained expression. Sun Ce's face instantly flushed into a deep, burning scarlet.
Both boys were eighteen years old this year.
While Zhang Xin's towering military achievements and supreme imperial rank frequently caused people to completely blind themselves to his youth, the brutal reality remained: Zhang Xin was a mere twenty-four years old.
The two "generations" sitting across from each other were separated by a microscopic six years of age.
Yes, they revered Zhang Xin as a god of war. But... the sheer psychological horror of being forced to call a man practically your own age "Father" was almost too much for the young Little Tyrant to process.
"Oh! No, no, General! Forgive me, you have completely misunderstood my meaning!" Sun Jian spluttered, waving his hands frantically as he saw the blood rush to his son's face.
"Hmm?"
Zhang Xin's brows knitted together, a cold drop in temperature rippling through his tone. His face darkened with immediate displeasure.
"What is the meaning of this, Wentai? I finally swallow my pride and offer my precious, high-born daughter to your house, and you instantly walk it back? Are you playing games with me at an official state summit?"
"It is my fault! I failed to articulate the matter clearly, General. I beg your forgiveness," Sun Jian apologized profusely, sweat practically beading on his forehead. "The fact that the General holds my clumsy boy in such high esteem that he would offer his own flesh and blood... it fills my house with boundless honor. However... many years ago, while we were still in Xuzhou, I already formally betrothed Sun Ce to a daughter of the Xu clan. I dare not break a sacred marital contract."
Sun Jian bowed lower. "The General's daughter possesses the blood of the high nobility. How could I ever allow her to enter my house as a mere secondary concubine? It would be an insult to your lineage!"
"Ah, the boy is already spoken for."
Understanding the context, the dangerous flare of anger instantly evaporated from Zhang Xin's chest. In fact, he respected Sun Jian more for it; had Sun Jian immediately discarded his prior commitment to the Xu family just to curry favor with the rising star of Qingzhou, Zhang Xin would have viewed him as a dishonorable reptile.
"My true intention," Sun Jian continued, his eyes locked onto Zhang Xin's with an intense, nervous anxiety, "is that I possess a young daughter who has recently turned three years old. It is my dearest wish to arrange a marriage contract between her and the General's infant son."
"Your daughter... marrying my boy?"
Zhang Xin blinked, a wave of mild disappointment washing over him. His brain was still stubbornly clinging to the dream of having the magnificent Sun Ce as his son-in-law.
But then, the gears of history turned in his mind, and his eyes suddenly widened to the size of saucers. His jaw nearly dropped into his wine cup.
"Holy mother of heaven..." Zhang Xin thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Sun Jian's daughter... three years old right now... isn't that the legendary, bow-wielding warrior princess herself—Sun Shangxiang?!"