All the heroes of the world are now in my grasp.

Chapter 1 A Dream Startling the Cold Stream

My head is splitting with pain.

Gao Zidan's last consciousness remained on the computer screen—the start screen of the "Romance of the Three Kingdoms XI" Bloodstained Robes MOD. The keyboard clicked crisply, the air conditioner blew a cool breeze, and a half-empty bottle of iced cola sat on the table. Outside the window, it was midday in the height of summer, cicadas chirped incessantly, and the sunlight was dazzlingly bright.

He's nineteen this year, just finished the college entrance exam, and is enjoying the most carefree summer vacation of his life. No homework, no pressure, only games, sleeping in late, ice-cold soda, and endless anticipation for university.

The next second, the world spun around.

A burst of white light erupted, and consciousness was pulled into an abyss by the gale, as if someone had forced their head down and slammed it into icy water, the biting cold instantly enveloping their entire body.

When I opened my eyes again, the world was completely upside down.

It wasn't the familiar air-conditioned room, nor the desk piled high with comics, nor the residential buildings and streets outside the window.

He lay on a cold, icy riverbank, his body beneath the sharp, jagged pebbles. The babbling brook sounded in his ears, carrying the chill of deep winter, and even the faint sound of icicles. The wind rustled the withered yellow grass, the sky was a gloomy gray, the wilderness desolate, and even the air was so cold that breathing it into his lungs felt like swallowing a handful of ice, causing him to curl up instantly in pain.

"……here it is……"

Gao Zidan propped himself up and sat up, his whole body numb from the cold, and a throbbing pain in the back of his head, as if he had been hit hard by a stone. He looked down and froze on the spot.

Gone were the short-sleeved shirt and shorts emblazoned with the game logo; now, a set of finely crafted, thick black leather armor, complete with chest, shoulder, and wrist guards, its edges worn yet still sturdy, the leather bearing semi-dry, dark red stains, emitting a faint rusty odor. A heavy, bronze-inlaid scimitar hung at his waist, its scabbard cold and menacing.

He frantically searched his entire body—his phone was gone, his keys were gone, his wallet was gone, everything belonging to the 21st century had vanished without a trace.

Looking up, there was no trace of modern civilization in sight. There were only endless wastelands, rolling hills, half-frozen streams, and a lingering, faint smell of blood in the air.

An absurd yet incredibly real thought suddenly crashed into my mind.

I...time traveled?

While playing Romance of the Three Kingdoms, I somehow ended up time-traveling?

He pinched himself hard, leaving a red mark on his arm instantly. The sharp pain was incredibly clear, shooting straight up his skull.

Not a dream.

What sent a chill down his spine was the stark contrast between the seasons.

Just minutes ago, he was enjoying the sweltering heat of the 21st century, sipping an air-conditioned drink and sipping an iced beverage, wanting nothing more than to stay indoors. But now, the wind is biting, the grass and trees are withered, and the world is filled with the bleak atmosphere of deep winter.

Short sleeves transformed into leather armor, sweltering heat turned into freezing winter.

In a second, two worlds.

This time, he had no more hope. It wasn't a coma, a hallucination, or a prank; he was genuinely dragged to a completely unfamiliar place.

After a brief moment of astonishment, a near-absurd excitement surged through him. Time travel? Something from a novel was actually happening to him? No need for endless practice problems, no need for cutthroat competition—maybe he could even make a name for himself in this world…

But that glimmer of light only lasted a moment before being completely swallowed up by an even more turbulent emotion.

His home.

His parents.

His newly purchased computer, his game account that he had saved for half a year, his classmate reunion that he hadn't yet attended, his carefree summer with air conditioning and watermelon.

Everything is gone.

He was only nineteen years old. He hadn't grown up yet, hadn't been able to take care of his parents, hadn't even seen the world properly, and was left all alone in this cold, unfamiliar place where he didn't even know the name.

"Dad... Mom..."

Gao Zidan covered his face, tears instantly soaking through his fingers, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably. He wasn't some chosen one, just an ordinary boy who had suddenly been stripped of everything.

He tried desperately to recall even the slightest memory of this place or this body, but apart from his nineteen years of student life that seemed like a mirage, all that remained was a blank.

He didn't know who he was, what the owner of this body was called, why he was lying in this desolate wilderness wearing leather armor, where the smell of blood came from, or which dynasty or realm this land belonged to.

Everything is unknown.

This bewildering fear was more piercing than the cold. He lay curled up on the icy riverbank, suppressed sobs escaping his throat, gradually turning from quiet whimpers into uncontrollable weeping. The cries were swept away by the cold wind across the empty field, leaving not a single echo.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to that ordinary yet warm and safe summer, and hear his mother call out "Dinner's ready!" again.

But there's nothing here.

He cried until his vision blurred, his whole body trembled, and he couldn't even hear the sounds around him clearly.

He didn't know how much time had passed when a rapid, thunderous sound of hooves approached from afar, crashing over the withered grass. The sound of iron hooves striking the frozen earth grew louder and louder, like a heavy hammer pounding on his heart.

Gao Zidan froze abruptly, her crying abruptly ceasing.

He looked up in alarm.

Dozens of knights had surrounded him like an iron barrel.

Nomadic attire, scimitars, longbows, and sturdy horses—everyone was clad in leather armor, their faces weathered and fierce, their eyes cold and piercing, exuding a chilling aura of killing intent. The clashing of armor, the snorting of horses, and the slight twang of bowstrings sounded particularly jarring by the quiet stream.

Gao Zidan's blood seemed to freeze instantly. He scrambled backward, but the horses behind him blocked his way, leaving him nowhere to retreat. In his entire life, he had only ever seen such a scene on television and in games. The real killing intent was overwhelming, making it almost impossible for him to breathe, and even his teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

The lead rider slowly stepped forward.

The man was tall and imposing, with broad shoulders like a monument, a fierce and sharp face, and eagle-like eyes. He sat upright on his horse, wearing a heavy fur cloak, looking down at the disheveled and weeping boy on the riverbank. There was no pity in his eyes, only scrutiny, possession, and a hint of barely perceptible amusement.

Gao Zidan's heart pounded. He opened his mouth, but found he couldn't utter a single complete sentence. He didn't know who these people were, what they wanted to do, or what grudge the owner of this body had against them.

The tall, leading knight scrutinized Gao Zidan for a moment before asking loudly, "I am Liu Yao, the Chanyu of the Yongming tribe of the Xiongnu. Are you Gao Zidan of the Shanggu branch of the Gao clan of Bohai?"

A single, seemingly casual remark struck Gao Zidan's heart like a massive boulder.

The Xiongnu? Chanyu? Liu Yao?

As an outstanding liberal arts student, Gao Zidan was well-versed in history. When the name "Liu Yao" came out of the other person's mouth, he instantly clenched the grass stem. The brutality of this founding monarch of the Former Zhao and the terminator of the Western Jin Dynasty was merely text in textbooks, but at this moment it transformed into a vivid horror.

He stared at the gleaming scimitar at the Xiongnu chieftain's waist, a sudden rusty smell filling his nostrils—the scent of the Sixteen Kingdoms period from his memories. The cold words in the history books suddenly transformed into tangible horror: when the Xiongnu's iron hooves shattered the palaces of Luoyang, Han Chinese were called "two-legged sheep" and used as military rations; wherever Shi Le's army of the Jie tribe passed, villages turned into white plains piled with withered bones; Fu Sheng of the Di-Qin dynasty took pleasure in killing, displaying the heads of palace women before the palace. The scimitar at the chieftain's waist might very well be the very weapon used to sever the heads of rebels. A sliver of hope rose in his heart: perhaps it was just a coincidence of names? Or perhaps this was some parallel universe at the turn of the Jin dynasty? As long as it wasn't the darkest period of the Sixteen Kingdoms, where the Han Chinese mortality rate was as high as 70%, and cannibalism was a daily spectacle in the fortified villages, perhaps…