Cao Cao had united the north. Now he marched south with an army whose camp fires stretched for hundreds of li along the Yangtze River.

"Two hundred thousand men," Zhuge Liang reported calmly, his crane-feather fan stirring the misty air. "Perhaps more."

The southern alliance — Liu Bei and Sun Quan, forced together by desperation — had only fifty thousand.

"We must use fire," Zhou Yu said, his hand tracing the river on the map. "Fire and wind."

Zhuge Liang smiled. "Leave the wind to me."

On the appointed night, when the southeast wind finally blew, Huang Gai sailed a fleet of fire ships into Cao Cao anchored navy. Each ship was packed with kindling, oil, and reeds. The moment they touched the enemy fleet, flames erupted like the wrath of heaven.

The river burned. The sky burned. Two hundred thousand soldiers fled in panic as the greatest navy on the Yangtze became ash.

Cao Cao, who had never lost a major battle, rode north through mud and rain, pursued by remnants of the southern army, his dream of unification reduced to cinders.

The Three Kingdoms era had truly begun.