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Fei Qian recounted to Cai Yong everything that had happened at Li Ru's residence, particularly detailing the advice he had given Li Ru regarding the relocation of Luoyang's citizens and Li Ru's response—appointing Fei Qian as the Left Assistant Secretary of the Imperial Secretariat.
After listening, Cai Yong stroked his beard slowly, remaining silent for a long while.
Finally, Cai Yong spoke in a measured tone, "Ziyuan, these are not favorable times…"
By all reasoning, a teacher should be pleased when his student puts his learning to practical use. Yet Cai Yong found it difficult to rejoice, given the chaotic state of affairs and the fact that Fei Qian was now stepping into the treacherous world of politics at such a time.
Fei Qian sighed inwardly. Cai Yong, the old man, was as kind-hearted as ever. Instead of focusing on anything else, his first concern was still Fei Qian's safety.
Cai Yong continued, "Now that Chancellor Dong Zhuo seeks to move the capital, he urgently needs officials to carry out his orders. Thus, your appointment as Assistant Secretary is certain. However, though your strategy is sound, it may earn you the enmity of the eastern factions…"
The eastern gentry, particularly the Hongnong Yang clan, were locked in opposition to Dong Zhuo's faction. While Fei Qian's advice was aimed at minimizing civilian casualties, the eastern gentry would not necessarily see it that way.
Their current strategy was to stall, hoping to drag out Dong Zhuo's relocation plan until it collapsed on its own—a bloodless victory. But Fei Qian's plan would accelerate the process. If the Hongnong Yang clan and other eastern factions learned of his involvement, they would undoubtedly despise him to the bone.
Fei Qian smiled wryly. "To sit by and watch innocents perish is something I cannot bear. I only wished to do what little I could, so that my conscience may remain clear."
When Fei Qian first returned to Luoyang, his primary goal had been to save Cai Yong and his daughter from their tragic fate. His second was to preserve the invaluable texts in Cai Yong's library. And his third was to do whatever he could to prevent the mass deaths of Luoyang's common people.
Fei Qian did not consider himself a saint. But when faced with an impending catastrophe, if he had the chance and the ability to act, yet chose to do nothing, he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life—even as a time-traveler with no deep emotional ties to this era.
If Luoyang were destroyed, its people could rebuild it in five years, perhaps eight. But if both the city and its people perished, recovery would take generations.
When Fei Qian first arrived in the Han Dynasty, he had been lost.
In his previous life, he had been like a spinning top, constantly whipped forward—primary school to secondary, secondary to university, university to a job, then fighting for promotions. Every day was a fixed routine between two points. Suddenly thrust into the Han Dynasty, he couldn't immediately raise a rebellion, nor could he recklessly pledge loyalty to Liu Bei, Cao Cao, or Sun Quan and expect instant favor. Neither could he declare grand ambitions to save the world and miraculously summon celestial beings to his aid.
Back then, Fei Qian knew he was just an ordinary man.
But people change.
In the Han Dynasty, every person he met had slowly reshaped him.
From Uncle Fu, who cared for him with unwavering devotion, to Cai Yong and Liu Hong—teachers who treated him with kindness despite having no prior ties. There was also Pang Degong, wise and detached from worldly strife, and Huang Yueying, who stayed up late sewing armor for him.
Had he not come to the Han Dynasty, Fei Qian would never have imagined that a master-disciple bond could surpass even familial ties. In his eyes, his teachers had treated him a hundred times better than his own blood relatives.
And then there was that girl, Huang Yueying. In his past life, she would have been at an age where girls were either spoiled princesses or mischievous sprites. Yet here, she had stitched her feelings into the very fabric of his armor.
Bit by bit, Fei Qian experienced emotions in the Han Dynasty that, in his previous life, had been reserved only for family.
These accumulating emotions changed him, making him truly part of this era. Now, there were moments when Fei Qian wondered if he had always been a man of the Han Dynasty, and whether his past life had merely been an elaborate dream.
Moreover, people learn.
Fei Qian had started by learning the basics—how to eat, dress, and speak like a Han noble. Then he progressed to scholarly skills—reading, writing, composing poetry. Finally, he studied advanced disciplines like spearplay, the Zuo Zhuan, and the Six Secret Teachings—knowledge beyond the reach of common folk.
The more he learned, the more he realized his own ignorance. The deeper his understanding grew, the more he recognized how little he truly knew.
In his past life, idle hours might have been spent drinking with friends, playing games, or arguing online over trivial matters. But in the Han Dynasty, he couldn't remember how many days had passed where he opened his eyes to books and closed them only after reading late into the night.
Sometimes, he wondered—if he had worked half as hard in his previous life, perhaps he would have excelled long ago.
And one more thing: people adapt.
Fei Qian had once reached for his phone whenever his hands were empty. Now, he instinctively picked up bamboo scrolls. Where he once drank by playing dice or finger-guessing games, he now composed poetry for drinking rounds. Where he once spoke without thinking, he now turned every sentence over in his mind three times before speaking.
Most importantly, Fei Qian had adapted to his identity. He no longer felt giddy excitement at meeting famous figures of the Three Kingdoms, nor did he fear intellectual duels with strategists. Now, he was no longer an observer—he was a participant.
His first steps into participation began with saving Cai Yong and his daughter, preserving ancient texts, and protecting Luoyang's people. Though he lacked the power to openly challenge Li Ru or others, he had thought deeply and worked earnestly toward these goals.
That was why, when Cai Yong warned him of the eastern gentry's potential hatred, Fei Qian could only smile bitterly and say he sought only a clear conscience. Perhaps this, too, was adaptation. In his past life, "a clear conscience" had often been a flimsy excuse to mask guilt. But now, those four words carried a weight he could truly feel.
Cai Yong nodded slightly, then shook his head and sighed. "Ziyuan, do you know that when Lu Zhi was imprisoned in Guangzong, stripped of his rank as Northern General and thrown into jail, he also said he sought only 'a clear conscience'? Yet the world is harsh…"
Cai Yong had been moved by Lu Zhi's words back then. Now, hearing his own disciple echo them, he felt both pride and worry—for Fei Qian's words carried the same resolve.
Fei Qian had indeed changed step by step to reach this point…