Author's Pre-note: This is just me jotting a plot device on paper really. I'm not going to hide it. I am ripping directly off of Roland Emmerich's Anonymous; a conspiracy film about the politics surrounding Shakespeare's England. I liked the plot and acting, but the film does have some faults for those who aren't interested in Shakespeare or Elizabethan England.

For this story I'm spinning the screenplay to construct something a little more interesting. So don't flame me because I ripped off some of the film, I know that already, and I may be skinned alive for it. I deserve it. Although I will try not to take this thing seriously, I just wanted to get my idea on paper. I may not even finish it. There are very few OCs and a few real people that haven't been mentioned in Romance or Dynasty Warriors, but they are real people.

The world's a stage.

Act I Part I

The Romance of the Three Kingdoms...

The wonder of China's most turbulent times, filled with alliances, betrayals and emperors striving for something they cannot grasp.

For years the stories of the Shu, Wei, and Wu have been glamorized through books, and immortalized through dramatic operas, with actors filling the stage.

Cao Cao, Sun Quan, Liu Bei, Zhuge Liang.

Actors in this historical drama. They are the lead actors, correct? Every decision they made affected China's long history.

Or…did it?

You see not much is known about our leads, and even less is known about our supporting actors. During their time, very little has been accounted for by their contemporaries. What is known has been written and revised, to produce one of Asia's most enthralling classics of all time...over a thousand years after their deaths.

And yet, it is the supporting cast, men who stood behind those golden thrones, who hold the real truth.

So, what if I were to tell you that those lead actors, with all their power and military skill and posthumous fame, never constructed a single word of strategy.

Let's propose a different series of events, that tells us a story of brushes and scrolls, of bitter families, foreign powers, lies, and betrayal. Of kings and puppets and thrones. A time in which all that we know was guided not by the swords of rulers, but by invisible hands…


251 A.D

The storm was raging, lightning cracking, thunder rolling throughout the blackened sky. Shouts were heard and the clanking of swords and armor was dulled by the rush of constant flooding rain.

A tall, broad shouldered man with disheveled brown hair limped through the mud, his arms wrapped around several scrolls held in a cloth. The way he was carrying the cloth sack you'd think it was his first-born son.

He was breathless, wincing as the sprain in his ankle was causing considerable pain. The shouts were coming closer.

"This way! Towards the pavilion!"

The man opened the doors to the pavilion and rushed inside, struggling to close it. As the soldiers neared, the man took a wooden beam blocked the door with it, hoping it would buy some time.

The soldiers outside stopped at the doorway, the flames of their torches flickering in the rain.

"Break it down!"

Two soldiers thrust their shoulders against the wooden door.

Inside, the man backed away, panic in his eyes, as the door bowed against the strength of the soldiers. He began to frantically look around the vacant building. He rushed behind the bronze statue of Guanyin and into a storage room.

He found a banded chest and quickly opened it, his breathing becoming more labored as he heard the doors burst open.

"Sima Zhao! Where are you! Come out by the authority of Lord Sima Shi!"

Sima Zhao pulled out the pages of sutras from the chest and stuffed his cloth bag full of scrolls inside it.

He slammed it shut, and did his best to scramble behind a column to avoid being detected.

"There by the arcade!" a soldier shouted, catching the man trying to hide behind a column.

Sima Zhao stumbled as the pain in his sprain shot through his leg. Even as he scrambled away on his hands and knees, the soldiers rounded upon his and seized him.

Before he knew it, Sima Zhao was dragged to a dingy cellar, the flames from the fire pit issuing scorching heat, but giving little light in the dreary place. They sat him on a bench of rusted iron.

"Chain him here," Wen Yun, Sima Shi's most capable warrior, instructed another soldier.

The soldier pulled up the shackles that were attached to floor and bound Sima Zhao's arms behind his back.

The thin inquisitor stepped forward, his face passive as he addressed the younger Sima brother, "Sima Zhao, son of Sima Yi, Grand Adjutant of-"

"You work for my brother don't you," Sima Zhao said with sarcasm. "Of course you bloody well know who I am."

Wen Jun backhanded him with a heavy hand. It stung outright and Sima Zhao's head reeled back.

"I find it hard to stomach that a man of the Sima name would be caught betraying the orders and sanctions of his brother," the inquisitor stated.

Then a voice came from the shadows, "Ask him about the strategies."

Sima Zhao's jaw clenched as he turned towards the silhouette.

"Strategies?" he responded with a furrowed brow, then he sneered, "Which would you prefer Lord Zhuge Dan?"

The figure took a few steps forward, staring Sima Zhao down.

"A frontal attack?" Sima Zhao continued with spite, "A naval defense? A frontal naval defense? Attacking a frontal naval def-"

His sarcastic rant was interrupted Wen Yun hit him across the face again, harder this time.

"We aren't interested in your strategies, Sima Zhao," the inquisitor stated and he received a glare from the prisoner. "We are interested in the works given to your father by Lord Jia Xu."

Sima Zhao's eyes narrowed a bit and he tried to feign ignorance, "I'm sorry, but I do know not of whom you speak of."

This warranted a blinding hit to his jaw that split his lip. Sima Zhao's head hung limp and blood dripped from his mouth onto the stone floor.

The inquisitor was harsher in his questioning, "Were are the strategies?"

Sima Zhao was woozy but he fixed his gaze on the inquisitor, "What strategies?"

And Sima Zhao knew no more.


191 A.D.

The streets of Lujiang were damp as rain was falling, but people were still out and about doing their duties. Two distinguished men stuck out of peasants and merchants. One was a tall, broadly muscled man with kind, smiling eyes, scruffy beard, and short black hair. The other was shorter, thinner, but well-built, wearing finer clothes, including a doublet and black shoulder cape—and odd choice of clothing for ancient China. He had well groomed, combed, shoulder length black hair, a waxed mustache and goatee. His eyes were auburn, and way too keen, like he could see through everything. Both men carried themselves with unparalleled grace and dignity.

"I assume this is the place, cousin," the smaller man said with graceful tongue. He was referring to an old temple that had transformed into a theater ahead on the street they were walking.

"It is," the older man said, his face bright, even as he coughed into a white handkerchief, ignoring spots of red that appeared on it as he drew it away from his mouth.

For a moment, the shorter man looked skeptical, "This isn't one of those masked operas? Is it?"

The other shook his head, "I promise you, Zhou Shang. It's a full-fledged play. The stage craft is more imaginative than what we see in court."

Zhou Shang chuckled, "Nowadays, we could use a little imagination."

"Yes, especially in the south. With the death Sun Jian—"

"No more talk of that, cousin," Zhou Shang interrupted as he gracefully stepped over a chicken, "A fallen warrior is not something I wish to hear about before a comedy."

As the two noblemen reached the entrance of the temple-turned-theater, the crowds of peasants and middle class men parted, recognizing the two were nobles.

"Coming through," an usher called, "Make way for thy lords Zhou Shang of Danyang and Zhou Jing of Yu Province."

The theater did indeed impress Zhou Shang, the construction of the stage magnificent and broad, not as tight as seen in court halls. They had entered late, but it was clear that the comedy was still fresh as the people packed in roared in laughter.

Zhou Shang and his cousin Zhou Jing found their seats in one of the balconies where they got a bird's eye view of the entire play. The play was obviously a comedy by the superfluous makeup and paint the actors wore and their odd and wacky movements. The play was about a maiden who must endure inept attempts from suitors to gain her hand. All the bumbling suitors were farces and caricatures of actual government officials and nobles, but were given different names.

Zhou Shang grinned when he realized that one of the nobles was in the audience seemingly oblivious to the actors creating comedy at his expense.

That was until one of the characters started mocking the remaining suitors and pointed to the noble's caricature.

"See that noble there!" the actor addressed the audience, "Is a fool's foolish dog!"

There was an outward cry of roaring laughter from the audience, even as the actor playing the noble looked whimsical and oblivious, pointing to the real noble in question up in the balcony.

"Why the poor man was blessed with large eyes indeed, of which he cannot see a thing!"

The actors and crowd started laughing pointing at the noble, who stood beat red in the face. Disgruntled, the noble turned in the balcony and left, the cries and laughter still ringing through the theater.

Zhou Shang did his best not to burst out laughing. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief, to withhold his laughter. It would not do well in court if someone caught him laughing at a nobleman's expense.

The actors disappeared behind the partition, as a new act was about to begin. The crowd turned into a dull roar of discussion.

"I daresay, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves," Zhou Jing said with a smirk.

Zhou Shang nodded, "Everyone except for our Lord Fa Teng."

Then soldiers wearing the Imperial colors marched through the crowd towards the stage, "Make way! Make way! Stand aside."

The captain of the guards jumped on stage and addressed the crowd, "This play has been proclaimed seditious in the name of the Emperor!"

The crowd groaned and a lone man shouted, "The Emperor? Or his overly sensitive officiating man servants?"

The captain motioned to the man, "Arrest him there. Disperse! Everyone clear out!"

Upon seeing the crowd slowly file out of the theater, Zhou Shang closed his eyes and sighed with dismay. Even Zhou Jing slumped back in his chair in mild disappointment.

The muscled man then slapped his knees with finality, "Well, leave it to the Imperial voice to ruin our fun."

Zhou Jing left his seat while Zhou Shang stayed. The well-dressed, eccentric man remained seated for a while, stroking his beard, gazing at the mass of people leaving, an inspired twinkle in his eye.

The two cousins headed back towards one of Lord Yuan Shao's houses where they were staying for the night, but they stopped by the market because Zhou Jing was feeling hungry.

As Zhou Jing bought a peach from a fruit vendor, Zhou Shang became distracted staring off in the direction of the theater.

"Jing," Zhou Shang addressed his cousin as he was taking a bite out of his peach, "how many people do you think was at that play."

Zhou Jing shrugged his large shoulders, "I don't know, a thousand? Maybe more. There were a few others standing outside the theater waiting to find spaces to fit in."

"And," Zhou Shang paused as they continued walking down the street, "how many performances of a play like that do you suppose there are?"

"Seven, possibly," Zhou Jing responded.

"That's seven thousand eyes and ears. All experiencing the ideas of one man. That's power!"

Zhou Jing smirked at his cousin's conclusion, "Only a private poet like yourself would see such things. You'd best not let your brother hear you talk of words and power. He would emphatically disagree. When do words ever win a kingdom?"

"Zhou Yi is more or less tired of having his family be filled with administrators and officials, while men like our late Lord Sun Jian win fame and glory through the sword," Zhou Shang replied with a wry smirk, "He wants a warlord."

"And when one does not desire it, he makes one himself."

"Warlords are the people's heroes nowadays. Even my Lord Yuan Shu is even more popular than the Emperor," Zhou Shang observed.

"Then maybe Han should surrender to the passions of its guardians."

Zhou Shang glanced at his cousin in mild shock, "And provoke more war? Another Dong Zhuo incident."

They stopped in the middle of the street, their voices hushed, "Come off it, Zhou Shang. Surely you can see it. I for one would rather see the fall of the Han—"

They paused as a nobleman passed them and bowed, "My lords."

As soon as the noble passed, Zhou Jing continued, "I would rather see the fall of the Han than see this country fall to nothing or ruin."

Zhou Shang's brow was furrowed, but with a jerk of his head motioned for them to continue down the road.

"Do you really believe we should be led by the likes of Dong Zhuo?" Zhou Shang said as they continued walking.

Zhou Jing shook his head, "No, but certainly young Emperor Xian can't stop him. He's his puppet after the death of his brother. It was his father who brought the Westerners into court to work with the eunuchs and now those same foreigners are being paid by Dong Zhuo to fight any resistance."

After pause, Zhou Jing took a deep bite from his peach. Zhou Shang gripped his shoulder, "You don't worry about Dong Zhuo. The coalition has enough of the people behind them to stop any momentum he may have."

"It's my job to worry about him. It's your job to worry about Yuan Shu."

With a smirk, Zhou Shang shook his head, "I'd rather not discuss that man at the moment."


A/N: There it is. I had hoped to make it more exciting but I suppose backwoods conspiracy stories aren't that action-packed.