Ma Su practically skipped out of the main hall. Urgent missive delivered, duty fulfilled, and now he had a date with his true calling: standing very still and staring at the front gate. The cold did not bother him. The boredom did not bother him. He was a man with a post, and by heaven, he was going to guard that post like it owed him money.
Inside, the seasoned veterans of the Shu Han faction sat in a stillness so thick you could carve it.
"Another one?" someone muttered.
Zhuge Liang tapped his feather fan against his palm, clearly amused. "Lu Su. It has to be. I ran through every candidate I could think of, and Lu Zijing is the only man on that side of the river who would bother writing to me while acting like he is smuggling state secrets in a dumpling."
A general leaned forward. "Kongming, you know Lu Zijing serves under Zhou Yu with the rank of Army-Assisting Colonel. Is this secret letter supposed to make you convince our Lord to sail to Jiangdong and take a wife?"
Kongming shook his head slowly. He let out a sigh so soft and measured it might as well have been rehearsed.
"The Light Screen already showed us what happens to Zhou Yu. He dies at Baqiu from illness, mid-campaign, while planning to swallow the Shu region whole." He paused. "I watched that man at Red Cliffs. Radiant. Terrifying. The kind of conqueror who looks at a map and sees a dinner menu. But Lu Su?" He tilted his head. "Lu Su reads the strategic board three moves past Zhou Yu's ambition."
Guan Yu stroked his beard, his eyes drifting into the distance. Huang Zhong stared at a fixed point on the wall like it owed him an explanation. The geopolitical chess match was cruising at an altitude neither of them had the breath for. Zhao Yun stood to one side, chewing on something, saying nothing.
Zhang Fei slammed his palm on the desk. The wood groaned under the blow.
"Okay, I get it!" he roared, grinning from ear to ear. "Wolong and the Fengchu of Jiangdong are not sharing the same brain cell this time!"
Kongming smiled. Warm. Genuinely delighted. "Yide is exactly right. If my instincts hold true, Zhou Yu is pushing to use the Marquis of Wu's sister as bait. Lure our Lord across the river. Trap a dragon in Jiangdong. Lu Su wrote this letter to explain the stakes because he is playing both sides and fundamentally does not want our Lord dead."
Guan Yu blinked. Huang Zhong blinked. They had heard every word. Not one syllable was lost. And yet the reasoning had somehow skipped three steps ahead while they were still tying their shoes.
Zhang Fei surveyed their baffled faces. His eyebrows did a little smug dance.
"What is so hard? Look. Imagine you are selling pork back in Zhuo County. A horde of starving refugees rolls into town. The guy who immediately jacks up prices to make a fat, greedy profit in one afternoon? That is Zhou Yu. The guy who sells at cost to feed them so they return as steady customers later? That is Lu Su."
He leaned forward and waved a finger the size of a sausage.
"So right now, Zhou Yu is forcing Lu Su to follow his lead. Lu Su cannot publicly tell his commander to go hang himself. So what does he do? He sends a runner into the alley behind the market to whisper in the refugees' ear, 'Do not buy from that man. He is robbing you blind.'"
Kongming threw his head back and laughed. Actually laughed, his fan waving in pure delight. "Flawless. That is precisely what is happening."
"Next time, just call me General Who Defeats the Barbarians, Kongming." Zhang Fei puffed out his chest.
Kongming pointed the tip of his fan straight at him. Said nothing. Did not need to. The gesture alone said it all: I am deeply entertained by you, you magnificent idiot.
He broke the wax seal, unrolled the silk, scanned the brushwork, and shook his head.
"Just as we suspected."
He turned to Liu Bei with a slight bow. "My Lord might actually consider making the trip. There will be a few staged scares, zero real danger. Complain loudly to Lu Su the moment you arrive. The Marquis and the great families will not make things difficult once their chief diplomat is actively running interference."
"Let us hold off for now. Wait and see." Liu Bei waved a hand. The matter was closed.
He had far more important matters to occupy his mind. The Light Screen's next broadcast was due in ten days. The New Year would arrive five days after that. The last showing had carried a clear and thrilling hint. Next episode: exclusive coverage of a faction called Shu Han.
There was no possible world in which Liu Bei would skip a direct preview of his own future empire just because some noble lady in Jiangdong wished to play political marriage games.
He picked up his brush and set to work. One steady, uninterrupted session.
He began with fond reminiscence of the glorious Sun-Liu alliance, laying the courtesy on thick. Then he turned sharply to the realities of the wider world. Cao Cao's vast domains. His horse-breeding lands that supplied endless cavalry. His hundreds of thousands of battle-ready troops. A gentle but firm reminder that the true enemy was pressing against everyone's borders, so this was hardly the time to hatch risky marriage traps.
Buried near the end was a carefully phrased note of regard for the Marquis's sister. Just one small logistical question, however: could they skip the long journey all the way to Dantu? Might they meet somewhere halfway instead? Besides, the Spring Festival was nearly upon them. Traveling during the holidays would be most unseemly.
A masterpiece of polite, diplomatic stalling. He sealed the letter and summoned Ma Su back into the hall.
When the young clerk returned, Liu Bei placed the package in his hands. Then he clasped both of Ma Su's hands in his own and shook them earnestly. He looked deep into the young man's eyes. Was the gate duty too cold? Were the hours too long? Was he being fed properly?
Ma Su trembled like a tightly drawn bowstring, his eyes glowing with a devotion so pure it bordered on reverence.
Zhang Fei watched his brother buy a man's eternal devotion for the price of a handshake and a few kind words, then leaned over toward Guan Yu.
"Second Brother, is Guan Ping not coming back for the New Year?"
Guan Yu's hand paused mid-stroke along his beard. "A commander acts as a commander. If he abandons his post for the holidays, how can he expect his men to remain at theirs?"
His tone was flat and unemotional, like a man reading directly from a supply manifest.
Guan Ping was stationed in Changsha, clearing mountain bandits, settling refugees, and proving himself a capable young man far from home.
Zhang Fei had no argument to offer.
Ever since the boy had come of age, he had either been posted to some remote corner of the realm, hauling supplies through dangerous terrain, or marching into battle at his father's side.
He had also inherited Guan Yu's gift for stoic reserve, and Zhang Fei genuinely could not remember the last time they had shared a simple, ordinary conversation.
"You left him in charge of a whole chaotic region alone. Is he short on help?"
Guan Yu's expression softened into a smile that transformed his entire face, turning the stern general into someone altogether warmer. "Just before the Battle of Red Cliffs, a young man joined our ranks. Good family. Wei Yan is his name. Sharp mind, bold in battle, full of spirit. He and Guan Ping hit it off straight away. They cover each other's weak points. I rest easy knowing they stand together."
Zhang Fei screamed inwardly. You just spoke of your own son without a flicker of warmth. Yet the moment you mention some talented newcomer, you light up like he is your favorite person in the world.
He filed the thought away under one simple heading: Guan Yu's Parenting, A Tragedy in Several Acts.
Nearby, Zhang Fei caught the tail end of Kongming's latest proposal to Liu Bei.
"…and so the side hall will need to be expanded."
Zhang Fei threw both hands in the air. "It absolutely does! Otherwise we will all be sitting on the floor watching the Screen while our stomachs growl! Everyone deserves their own table! Last time, when we watched the segment on Cao Cao's disastrous family drama, I could not even drink wine in peace. A massive regret. A personal wound."
Every head in the room turned.
Huang Zhong cleared his throat. "Yide, what Kongming means is his own residence. Madam Huang needs more space for her mechanical inventions."
"I heard him perfectly," Zhang Fei replied, entirely unbothered. "I am saying this hall needs expanding too. Jian Xianhe and Mi Zizhong will be back soon. This room will not hold us all."
That casual observation struck Liu Bei like a bucket of cold water.
Right. His circle was not just the generals in this room. They had only gathered because the Nanjun campaign had wound down and everyone was resting. Jian Yong was in Jiaozhou, building ties with the local warlord Wu Ju. Mi Zhu was running trade caravans to keep the army's bottomless hunger for silver fed. Both were due back before the New Year.
Sun Qian too. Good old Sun Gongyou. Loyal since the dark days in Xuzhou. Quiet and unassuming, yet he worked harder than anyone. Liu Bei mentally apologized to the heavens for nearly overlooking him.
And Pang Tong, practically already riding toward them. And Ma Chao, who according to the Screen's spoilers would eventually surrender and join their cause.
Liu Bei did a quick headcount. Then he slapped his hand firmly on the desk.
Expansion approved.
Then the complications set in. The side hall was where the Screen appeared. Sacred ground. If construction noise disturbed the heavens, or if the layout shifted and the Screen stopped coming entirely, the consequences did not bear thinking about.
The compromise was architectural sacrilege. Dismantle the outer doors, build a new extension in the courtyard, and connect the two mismatched sections with temporary roofing.
---
Three days before the Spring Festival, Jian Yong and Mi Zhu finally returned from their long journeys.
They stood in the courtyard of the Gong'an county office, dropped their luggage in the dust, and stared.
The main government building had sprouted a growth. A lopsided, weathered wooden addition bolted to its side like a parasite that had lost a fight with symmetry.
Mi Zhu's merchant mind went straight to wasted resources. "My Lord, if funds for repairs are short, I will set out tonight. Xianhe tells me the southern shores of Jiaozhou are thick with pearl oysters. I will organize a trading fleet. You do not need to live like this."
Jian Yong tilted his head, studying the monstrosity with a mixture of curiosity and horror. "Is our Lord experimenting with some bold new architectural trend? Very avant-garde. Very cursed."
Liu Bei hurried out, caught both dust-caked men by the sleeves, and ushered them inside. He forced them to sit, then let out a sigh heavy with the burden of having to explain the inexplicable.
"My dear friends, over the past two months, heaven has shown us profound favor. A true and undeniable blessing has descended upon this very room."
Jian Yong sprang to his feet. "Who dares fill our Lord's head with demonic nonsense?"
Mi Zhu slammed his fist onto his knee. "My Lord, if you need my entire fortune for the army or to aid the people, take it all. Every last coin. I will not hesitate. But if some charlatan is clouding your mind with cheap tricks to drain your wealth, I will not stand for it!"
Liu Bei stared at them.
"My Lord, you have been swindled by a street priest, have you not!" Jian Yong declared.
"My Lord, you simply want a larger residence and you are inventing reasons to spend public funds, is that it!" Mi Zhu added.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Liu Bei surrendered. Reason had left the room. He would meet them where they stood.
"Xianhe. Zizhong. You are covered in dust and exhausted. Go home. Bathe. Rest. Come back to this ugly hall the day after tomorrow. Then you will see the Light Screen with your own eyes."
He refused to endure their judgment a moment longer. Turned. Brushed his sleeves wide. Strode away with long, angry steps.
Jian Yong watched him go. He leaned close to Mi Zhu and lowered his voice to a sharp whisper. "There is a smooth-talking flatterer poisoning our Lord's ear."
Mi Zhu nodded grimly. "Damn it. How did Kongming fail to root out such a manipulative schemer before he gained influence?"
They locked eyes. A wordless and deadly understanding passed between them.
"We must go home. We need to prepare," Jian Yong murmured. "And when we find the one who sold our Lord this fake miracle, we will deal with him."
---
That night, Liu Bei sat in his study, rubbing his temples. The headache had been building for hours.
Governing a growing faction was hard work. Managing the strong, fiercely loyal, deeply eccentric personalities in his inner circle was a different kind of warfare entirely.
He thought of the letter sent to Jiangdong. A powder keg waiting for a spark. If Zhou Yu realized Liu Bei was deliberately stalling, he might abandon diplomacy and order a naval strike.
Yet beneath the worry lay a steady confidence. The Screen had already shown him the future. It had shown him Cao Cao's fleet in flames at Red Cliffs before the battle was even fully fought. It had shown borders shifting like dunes in the wind. And in two days, it would reveal the rise of his own dynasty.
Shu Han.
The words tasted like fine wine. Legitimacy. Proof that decades of running, bleeding, losing, and starting over had not been in vain. That it had all meant something.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Zhang Fei snoring in the barracks. He could picture Guan Yu under the moonlight, polishing his halberd with slow, steady strokes. He could imagine Kongming seated by a warm fire, sipping tea and calmly plotting the downfall of three rival warlords.
And Jian Yong and Mi Zhu, safe in their homes, sharpening blades and balancing ledgers, ready to purge the scoundrel they believed was tricking their Lord.
Liu Bei smiled. Truly smiled. The chaos was maddening. But it was his chaos. His loud, messy, fiercely devoted family, forged from the ashes of a fallen empire.
"Let them plot," he murmured to the empty room. "In two days, the heavens open. Then we shall see who has the last laugh."
He reached for a fresh slip of bamboo.
The Screen would show him what lay ahead. But the present still required grain, steel, and blood.
Deep in the narrow alleys of Gong'an, Jian Yong drew a newly honed short sword across his thumb. A thin line of red welled up. Perfect.
Across the room, Mi Zhu was poring over account books, calculating how much silver it would take to buy off the guards and clear the way for justice.
"We strike during the welcome feast," Mi Zhu said without looking up. "Whoever brings up this 'auspicious sign' first gets the blade."
Jian Yong nodded. His eyes were cold and sharp, stripped of every trace of his usual wit and warmth. "For our Lord. We cut out the rot."