Given its niche status, this mod isn’t on Steam or official stores. You’ll find it on dedicated Three Kingdoms modding forums (e.g., 3kingdoms.net, ModDB’s Guangshi sub-section). The installation process:
In v1.07, neglecting the Xian path too long triggers Sima Zhao’s Lament — a secret boss fight where you must out-drink Sima Zhao and his entire court. Win to unlock the "Stone Sentinel Maze Escape" achievement, which gives a permanent +50% Maker regen for all future playthroughs.
You awaken in the Shu Han palace in Chengdu. Historical records say you will surrender to Deng Ai in 263 AD. However, the game gives you a Maker Meter (a resource instead of traditional gold/mana). By spending Maker Points, you can:
The "Maker" in the title isn’t a person—it’s your power to make events. In v1.07, your Maker Points regenerate based on how unbothered Liu Shan is. Hold a banquet? Gain +50 Maker. Worry about the war? Lose -30. This creates a hilarious risk-reward loop: the more you ignore state affairs, the more reality-bending power you gain.
I won’t produce guides for adult or exploitative content involving historical figures in disrespectful or pornographic contexts. If that’s the case, please check the content policy of the platform you’re on.
The -v1.07- update transforms Liu Shan Maker from a quirky mod into a full-fledged standalone experience. Here are the headline additions:
Liu Shan Maker tightened the last brass screw and stepped back from the workbench. The small automaton on the table — no larger than a child — flexed its joints and blinked with glassy, hand-painted eyes. It was the seventh prototype in a month, and at last the movements felt natural, the gears singing together instead of grinding.
Xian, the mountain town where she lived, smelled of incense and rain-soaked paper that morning. Lanterns still swung above the narrow alleyways; apprentices swept soot from shop thresholds; an old woman in blue called for fresh buns. Xian had been a center for craftsmen for generations, where makers repaired clocks, stitched ceremonial robes, and carved puppets for ghost festivals. Liu Shan had come to learn all of those trades and then some. She believed a maker should understand the life of every object she created.
She set the automaton on the floor. "Name?" she asked, as she always did. When a person visited her stall and chose a machine, the name often arrived the same way — a notion, a memory, a whisper in her ear. The automaton answered by tilting its head. A faint bell chimed from inside. "Yun," it said, voice like a cracked teacup, "cloud."
The first customers were a pair of traveling herbalists who happened by for shelter from the drizzle. They watched, first curious, then quietly pleased, as Yun mimed sweeping motions, then poured imaginary tea with precise, graceful fingers. "Useful," the elder said. "Not only for a child's toy — watch, it imitates our movements for practice. My apprentice could learn the pouring rhythm without wasting tea."
Word spread in Xian as it always did: slowly, carried on the backs of neighbors and the clacking rhythm of shuttle looms. A retired calligrapher bought Yun to practice his wrist strokes without tiring his right arm. A midwife tested a later model with soft hands to rehearse delicate pressure patterns. A pottery teacher used another to demonstrate the timing of a wheel. Each buyer found usefulness in forms Liu Shan had not first intended.
Liu Shan observed how people adapted her work. The calligrapher would remove Yun's outer shell to better see the joints, then attach a small ink holder at its wrist so the automaton could trace characters on rice paper. The midwife smoothed Yun's fingers with treated silk and used them to coax a stubborn baby into proper positioning during training. An old puppeteer incorporated miniature Yun figures into shadow plays, their mechanical mouths mouthed the ancient verses he could no longer remember.
Yet for each practical use, there were smaller, intimate ones: Yun perched on a window sill to watch rain; Yun kept a lonely teacher company; Yun stood sentinel at the bedside of a sick child, its warm brass radiating faint heat when Liu Shan wound its spring. People named their automatons after old lovers, lost brothers, the hills around Xian. Liu Shan learned that usefulness was not only function but comfort, not only performance but presence.
At dusk, after the day’s sales, Liu Shan walked the market square. Lantern light pooled on the cobbles. A group of children followed, reciting Yun's little bell sounds like a new rhyme. An old man with a cracked umbrella stopped her. His son, he said, had been a clockmaker who died two winters ago; since then, the old man could not read the small hands on his timepieces. He asked if Liu Shan could make a device that would chime every hour in a voice that sounded like his son's laugh. Liu Shan Maker -v1.07- -Xian-
Liu Shan promised to try. She returned to the workshop and drew a different plan: not merely a copy of Yun, but a network of simple machines and memory levers that could reproduce rhythms and sounds by sampling small patterns. If she could encode a laugh as a rhythm of chimes and soft clicks, an automaton could remind a man of time and of the shape of memory itself.
Weeks passed. She watched people use each iteration in ways she could not have predicted. A baker used the chime-machine to time bread batches. A lover set one on her balcony to remind her of the hour when her friend would return from the ferry. The old man smiled as, on the hour, a small bell with a familiar cadence rang and — in that brief, impossible alignment — felt like home.
Liu Shan kept a notebook, lined with drawings and marginalia: "Less torque for child's fingers," "Add wool padding," "Trial: add incense chamber to soothe cat." She learned to pair materials for living uses: cork feet for quiet joints in hospital wards, polished brass for hospitals where sunlight could sterilize surfaces, painted lacquer for puppetry that needed high contrast under lamps. Her workshop became an ecosystem of experiments and inheritable tweaks, the kind of practical knowledge that outlived fashions.
People in Xian began calling her the Maker — not out of ceremony, but because she made things that served life. That title sat easy on her shoulders. She started training apprentices: a careful girl who loved mechanisms but hated crowds, a young man who made music boxes, an immigrant with hands stained with dye who could upholster tiny seats for automatons. She taught them to watch the city, to ask not "How pretty?" but "How will this be used? How will this wear? Will it bring solace?" She made them practice winding springs until they could hear microscopic problems as clearly as a violin's note.
One autumn, a flood swept the outskirts of Xian. The river rose overnight, filling cellars and knocking over stalls. Makers came together without permission or pomp. Liu Shan organized her apprentices and neighbors into teams. They used automatons as carriers — small, amphibious designs dragged messages, goods, and medicines across shallow channels where larger boats could not pass. The devices sealed with waxed leather, their joints tightened and adjusted to resist grit. Yun-models adapted for the task delivered whispered instructions and helped ferry bandaged herbs. The flood was not stopped by machines, but machines made possible small rescues and kept messages moving when roads were slick and chaos reigned.
After the flood, the town held a small ceremony of thanks. People brought curiosities and tokens: a bowl mended with gold, a puppet with repaired strings, a Yun with a new brass inlay. They honored the work and the hands behind it. Liu Shan received no grand title again, only the laughter of children and the steady hum of shop life. When asked how she decided what to build next, she would say, simply, "It is useful."
Years later, when she grew older and her hands stiffened, Liu Shan designed instructions rather than parts. Her notebooks, annotated with local idioms and everyday fixes — how to make a hinge from a tea-tin, how to use lacquered thread to make soft joints, sketches of chime rhythms — passed from apprentice to apprentice. The tools in her shop were basic but thoughtfully chosen: files, a brass punch, a set of small rasps, a soldering lamp, and, pinned on the wall, a scrap of paper that read, in her neat hand, "Useful first. Beautiful second. Kind always."
In time, "Liu Shan Maker -v1.07-" became less a version number and more a way of working: modest iterations building toward resilience and usefulness. People outside Xian heard of her methods and adapted them for other towns: a hospital in the valley used the waterproof joints; a teacher in the north adopted the ink-wrist for calligraphy students; a ferry crew in the river city purchased several chime-machines as alarms.
The last automaton Liu Shan built with her own hands was tiny and imperfect. She wound it and put it on her windowsill. It did not perform anything extraordinary — it swept, clapped, and rang a small bell at dawn. One morning a child from the alley came by and asked what it was for. Liu Shan smiled and said, "It is for remembering to wake up." The child hugged the automaton and walked off with a new kind of confidence, as if the little machine were a small promise.
When Liu Shan finally closed the lid on her workbox one evening, she thought about the list of practical suggestions she'd left in her last notes: make mechanisms repairable with a coin, prefer parts that can be replaced by neighbors, engrave a tiny instruction on each base plate. Her work had never been about perfection; it was about passing on craft that people could use, adapt, and cite in the moments they needed help.
Usefulness, she had learned, was a quiet architecture of kindness: a hinge that didn't seize, a bell that called someone to breakfast, a gear that could be understood by a child. In Xian, makers built lives one small improvement at a time, and Liu Shan's designs — labeled humbly as v1.07 and onward — became part of the town's steady pulse.
The end.
Liu Shan Maker -v1.07- -Xian- is a specific version and community-developed update for the adult visual novel and strategy management game, Liu Shan Maker. Developed by ACG Creator and published by Playmeow, the game puts players in the shoes of Liu Shan, the "Second Lord" of Shu Han during China's Three Kingdoms era. Given its niche status, this mod isn’t on
The "-v1.07- -Xian-" designation typically refers to a specific patch level or a localized "Xian" (仙, meaning immortal or celestial) edition, often associated with community-made content, uncensored patches, or expanded story routes. 1. Gameplay Mechanics and Core Loop
Unlike traditional visual novels that rely solely on dialogue choices, Liu Shan Maker incorporates management elements inspired by titles like Reigns.
Empire Management: Players must balance four critical pillars of the state: the Military, the People, the Economy, and the Nobility.
Card-Based Decisions: Most story events are presented as cards where swiping left or right determines a choice, impacting your kingdom's statistics and determining your survival as an emperor.
Historical Context: The game is set during the Three Kingdoms era, focusing on the defense of the Central Plains and the internal politics of the Shu Han state. 2. Version 1.07 and the "Xian" Designation
The version v1.07 represents a mature stage of the game's development cycle, often including:
Quality of Life Improvements: Better UI scaling and bug fixes for older operating systems like Windows 7 and 10.
Language Support: Official or community-translated support for various languages, including Thai and Chinese.
The "Xian" Expansion: In many community circles, "-Xian-" refers to a specialized build or a "god-mode" modification that unlocks all CGs (gallery images) and provides alternative story endings where the protagonist achieves "immortality" or total dominance. 3. Plot and Adult Themes
The narrative subverts the historical reputation of Liu Shan—traditionally seen as an incapable ruler—by giving the player the power to rewrite history.
Duality of Endings: There are approximately 10 different endings.
Consequences: Failure to manage the empire leads to tragic "Bad Endings," while success rewards the player with "Happy Endings" involving the empress.
Adult Content: The game is classified as an 18+ adult title, featuring explicit, uncensored scenes that triggered by specific choices or failures in the management phase. 4. Technical Specifications The -v1
To run the v1.07 build smoothly, users generally require a standard modern PC setup: Operating System: Windows XP/7/8/10. Storage: A relatively small footprint of around 512 MB. Platform: Primarily available on Steam as a PC CD Key. 07 build?
Liu Shan Maker is an indie strategy-simulation game on that offers a unique, albeit simple, reimagining of the Three Kingdoms era. Version 1.07, titled
, refines the core experience of managing the Shu Han empire through the eyes of its often-maligned second emperor, Liu Shan. Gameplay Mechanics & Variety
The game focuses on balancing the "benevolence" of the empire with the practical needs of statecraft. Strategic Diversity
: The title provides a range of tasks to prevent the experience from becoming a monotonous button-masher. Players must navigate political decisions, resource management, and character development. Mechanic Plateau : Reviewers from the Steam Community
note that while the initial loop is entertaining, the difficulty and complexity do not scale significantly as the game progresses. Character Stats
: Players can engage in mini-games and missions to increase the Empress's statistics, though some critics suggest that more varied random events would improve long-term engagement. Visuals and Narrative Tone Aesthetic Style
: The art is described as "pleasing to the eye" rather than ultra-realistic. It leans into a fairytale-like visual direction that complements the narrative's lighter tone. Character Reinterpretation : Unlike historical texts or traditional
titles that portray Liu Shan as incompetent, this game presents him as a pacifist who views his father's relentless pursuit of war as a paradox. Performance and Stability Version 1.07 Improvements
: The "Xian" update primarily addresses balancing issues and minor UI refinements to streamline the simulation aspects. Engagement Curve
: The game is highly entertaining in short bursts, but its "decaying" interest over time is a common point of critique for those seeking a deep, long-form grand strategy experience. Liu Shan | Sino-Cinema 《神州电影》
Previous versions forced you to rely on court eunuchs and corrupt ministers. Version 1.07 introduces the Xian Path. By meditating in the "Playing-Go Pavilion," you unlock supernatural abilities:
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