"You know Yuanzhi better than anyone, my lord. Why worry? A man with his talent does not simply vanish into the scenery," Kongming said.
He did not sound worried in the slightest. It was not arrogance. It was the quiet and unshakable faith of an old friend who knew exactly what kind of mind he had gone to school with.
Liu Bei sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I am not worried about his brain, Kongming. I am just... I do not know how to put it."
Kongming gave his feather fan a lazy and knowing wave.
He understood perfectly. If you studied the records, men like Fu Shiren and Mi Fang had no business holding critical posts like Jiangling or Gong'an. They were not tactical prodigies or administrative giants.
They were there for one reason, Liu Bei was a sentimentalist. He treated his old Friends with a grace that would have made Liu Bang, the founding emperors of the Han blush.
In Kongming's view, this was not actually a flaw, it was a good thing. So long as he was around to check the sums and patch the leaks, Liu Bei's Old Friends Club could keep their positions.
"Look at the bright side, my lord," Kongming continued, his voice settling into that smooth and instructive tone.
"We have specialists for everything now. A Silk Bureau. A Sugar Bureau. An Iron Bureau. An Irrigation Bureau. We are repairing the streets of Chengdu and dredging the river channels. At this moment, everyone in this city is far too busy to stir up trouble."
He was not exaggerating. Thanks to the flood of new projects and the shrinking piles of gold left behind by the previous governors, Chengdu had become a sprawling construction site with a serious silk-weaving addiction. If you were a woman or an elder, you wove or you farmed. If you were a young man, you hauled stone, smelted iron, or cleared the channels at Dujiangyan.
"Once January ends, the planting season begins," Kongming added. "The people won't have time to blink, let alone plot a rebellion."
Liu Bei nodded as the pieces clicked into place. "I see where you are going with this. We need to catch the ones who are not working yet, right?"
"Exactly."
"We build academies," Liu Bei said, his eyes sharpening as the plan took shape. "We gather up the children and start their education early. Get them into the system before the world turns them into bitter old men."
He did not even need to think about who would run it. ""We will put Zilong in charge of it. If there is one man the local clans will not dare to argue with, it is him. They have seen what happens when someone tests his patience."
And speaking of those clans, they will foot the bill. A charitable contribution to the future of their own neighborhoods. I do not expect these schools to churn out a thousand geniuses, Kongming. I just want them to grow up with a little common sense and a shred of loyalty. I'd like to avoid another 'Mi Fang Incident' in the next generation."
Kongming flashed a thumbs up and let out a genuine laugh. The silent understanding between him and his lord was getting so sharp it was almost unsettling.
While Chengdu buzzed with productivity, Jingzhou was just a wet and miserable mess.
Fu Shiren stood on the deck of a transport ship, wiping freezing rain from his face and letting out a violent sneeze. He rubbed his nose. His heart sank as he thought about his health. If he caught a lung fever out here in this damp hell, his already pathetic savings would vanish into some doctor's pockets.
He tugged his armor tighter, glaring at a muddy sandbar in the distance, he missed the warmth of a barracks charcoal fire so much it had become a physical ache.
Yunchang, please..... he thought. Just finish the meeting so we can go home and be dry.
On that very sandbar, Lu Su stepped off a small boat, trailed by four elite bodyguards. The moment his boots hit the mud, he felt his confidence waver. For safety's sake, he had handpicked the best fighters he could find and armed each of them with high-quality steel blades.
Guan Yu, however, was just sitting there.
Alone. No guards. No weapons. No armor. Just a man in a robe seated beside a small charcoal stove, a pot of wine sending up an inviting curl of steam.
Guan Yu gestured for the guards to stay where they were. When one of Lu Su's men tried to step closer, Lu Su shot him a look that could have curdled milk. The guards backed off, their discomfort written plainly across their faces.
"You certainly have a taste for the dramatic, Yunchang," Lu Su said, lowering himself into a chair already soaked through with rain.
"Drink this, Zijing. It will keep the frost from your bones." Guan Yu did not wait for an answer.
He filled a cup and pressed it into Lu Su's hands.
Lu Su took a long pull of the wine and nearly choked. "Ha! That's... that's got a kick. Good stuff."
Knowing he was the one asking for a favor, Lu Su decided to be direct. "Regarding the incident at Gong'an, I can personally guarantee it will not happen again. Wu will not cross that line twice."
Guan Yu said nothing. He simply refilled the cup.
Lu Su drank again, his face warming. "But look, we are supposed to be allies. Family, even. Wu has more iron ore than we know what to do with, but our smelting methods are, well, outdated.
I have heard whispers that Jingzhou has developed a new way to work the forge. I am proposing a trade. Raw iron for your technical knowledge. What do you say, Yunchang?"
Guan Yu still did not speak. He refilled the cup a third time.
Lu Su stared down at the wine, feeling the weight of the silence pressing against him. Guan Yu poured himself a cup and drained it in one smooth motion.
Lu Su sighed, downed his own, and decided to lay his strongest card on the table.
"Fine. In addition to the iron ore, I will throw in the blueprints for our latest Mengchong and Doujian warships. Full schematics."
This was a massive offer. Lu Su had already discussed it with Bu Zhi, and they had concluded it was a safe bet. Eastern Wu had thousands of shipwrights. Jingzhou had a handful. By the time Guan Yu's people learned to build the old designs, Wu would have moved on to the next generation of naval technology anyway.
Guan Yu paused. His hand hovered over the wine pot.
Lu Su's eyes flew wide and he physically covered his cup with both hands. "Yunchang, I am begging you. No more wine. My head is already spinning."
Guan Yu looked faintly disappointed. He set the pot down.
Then he met Lu Su's eyes straight on. "Fine, Zijing. Our iron smelting methods in exchange for your ore and your ship designs. Three claps to seal the deal."
They struck palms together three times. The deal was struck.
As Guan Yu rose to leave, Lu Su spoke again, his voice carrying a heavier weight. "Since you have trusted Wu with this deal, Yunchang, Wu will not fail you."
Guan Yu stepped onto his boat. He paused and looked back at the diplomat through the drifting mist. "I am not trusting Wu, Zijing. I am trusting you."
He hesitated for a moment, as though there was something more he wanted to say, but in the end he settled on four simple words. "Zijing, Take care of yourself."
Then the boat surged forward like an arrow and vanished into the gray curtain of rain.
Once they were clear of the sandbar, Guan Yu turned to his aide, Zhao Lei. "Send word to Lady Huang. Tell her I have made the deal as she suggested. Ask her to prepare the... let us call it the basic version of the smelting process for our friends in the east."
Back on the sandbar, Lu Su stood alone for a long stretch. At last he lowered himself back into the chair, poured one final cup of the cooling wine, and stared out at the endless river. A long and heavy sigh escaped him.
"Oh, Gongjin," he whispered to the wind. "I hope I am doing the right thing."
July, the third year of Zhenguan.
In the Great Tang capital of Chang'an, Li Shimin paced the length of the Taiji Hall.
He remembered this time the year before. After watching the Light Screen with his closest advisors, he had sent secret orders to Zhang Gongjin to keep a hawk's eye on the Turkic tribes.
The timing had been flawless. The tribes were fractured, snapping at each other, ready to shatter, Tuli Qaghan had been the first to blink, all but begging to come to Chang'an and live out his remaining years as a wealthy retiree.
Li Shimin did not hesitate. He set loose the double terrors of the Tang military: Li Jing and Li Shiji.
Ten thousand elite cavalry under Li Jing's overall command had swept across the northern plains, the results were exactly what Li Shimin had expected from his finest generals.
By May, the Turkic forces lay in ruins. They had even managed to recover Empress Xiao of the fallen Sui Dynasty and her grandson, Yang Zhengdao.
Li Shimin was not a cruel man. He understood that Yang Zhengdao was only a boy, born after his father had been murdered by traitors.
The child and his grandmother had been handed around like trophies between warlords and nomads for years, when they finally reached Chang'an and stood before the Emperor, both of them broke down in tears.
Li Shimin gave them a comfortable residence in the Xingdao quarter and a quiet, undemanding government post to cover their expenses. But as he signed the decree, his thoughts drifted to the Empress Xiao from the Light Screen, the one who had commanded armies in the Liao Kingdom. A formidable woman, that one.
Then his mind turned to the Song Dynasty, a future empire that was supposedly his successor, cowering before a single woman. He had to suppress a laugh at the sheer and staggering patheticness of it.
In June, Li Jing's forces finished the work. On the twenty-seventh day, at the foot of the Yin Mountains, the Tang cavalry sprang the trap. They seized Illig Qaghan himself, the Great Jieli.
The military dispatch had arrived just one day after the latest Light Screen broadcast.
Now Li Shimin was pacing again, this time in the Liangyi Hall. Every few minutes he would stop and study the massive map of the Tang Empire stretched across his desk. He had updated it based on the celestial maps from the Light Screen. The Tang's territory was clearly marked, but calling it dominant would have been generous.
But now? Now that Jieli was in chains?
Li Shimin picked up a brush dipped in bright vermillion ink. With a steady hand, he painted over an enormous stretch of empty space to the north.
He stepped back, admiring the new borders.
A servant entered and bowed low. "Your Majesty, Generals Li Jing and Li Shiji have arrived. They have the Qaghan with them."
"Open the Shuntian Gate!" Li Shimin shouted.
He could not wait. He raced to the gatehouse and stood atop the towering stone walls of the palace, looking out over his city.
Chang'an had become a sea of noise and color. The main thoroughfare was so packed with bodies that the street itself had vanished beneath a living carpet of humanity.
At the front of the procession rode Li Jing. Li Shiji followed, half a horse-length behind. Both generals wore the mask of professional composure, though neither could entirely suppress their grins as the citizens began pelting them with flowers.
Behind them came Jieli Qaghan.
He was a shattered man, bound tightly and slumped over his horse, trying to fold himself into as small a shape as possible.
The shame was a physical weight pressing down on him. He could not follow most of what the crowds were shouting, but he understood the laughter. He understood the mockery. For a man who had once ruled the steppes, this was a torment far worse than death.
Behind the captive rode the Tang cavalry. Their armor was dented and scarred, their faces caked with the dust of a thousand li. But their eyes burned with the fire of victory. They were talking over each other, recounting how they had hunted the Turkic riders through the mountains, how they had shattered the line, how the Great Qaghan himself had dropped to his knees in the dirt and begged for his life.
The citizens of Chang'an erupted. They screamed things they did not even understand themselves.
They flung copper coins, silk handkerchiefs, and flower petals at the soldiers, desperate to touch the moment with their own hands.
Is this the empire I've built? Li Shimin wondered. No. This is just the prologue.
Suddenly, he saw the map in his mind again, but this time the entire eastern world was painted in that same brilliant and defiant red.
"Your Majesty?" A voice tugged at his sleeve.
Li Shimin blinked and returned to the moment. The procession had reached the base of the gatehouse, Li Jing and Li Shiji had dismounted.
Jieli Qaghan lay curled on the ground, waiting for the word that would end his life or seal his captivity.
Li Shimin had imagined this moment a thousand times. He had pictured himself screaming at the captive until his voice gave out, he had dreamed of storming into his father's palace and boasting until his throat was dry. But when the moment finally came, he simply smiled.
A small and tired smile.
"Present him to the Imperial Ancestors!" he roared.
The command was seized by a hundred attendants and echoed down the lines into the surging crowd.
He watched Jieli Qaghan collapse like a heap of wet laundry. He saw his generals salute him from the mud.
He watched his soldiers cheering until their voices cracked.
And he heard the people of the Tang, their voices merging into a single and earth-shaking roar that filled his ears to bursting.
"LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR!"
"GREAT TANG, VICTORIOUS!"
The officials on the wall pressed in around him, shouting their congratulations. Li Shimin threw his head back and laughed.
The ritual at the ancestral temple would not be simple. The attendants dragged Jieli away.
They had until the next morning to scrub him clean and make him presentable enough to be offered as a gift to the Emperor's ancestors.
That night, Li Shimin did not even wait for his generals to shed their armor, he seized Li Jing and Li Shiji and marched straight into the Da'an Palace to see his father, Li Yuan.
The servants waiting outside never learned exactly what passed within those walls, all they knew was that every prince and princess in the city was summoned before the night was over.
Until the sun crept back above the horizon, the sound of lutes and laughter spilled through the palace walls.
But what did it matter? Every servant in the city was celebrating too, whenever they crossed paths in the corridors, they traded the same grin and the same whispered prayer.
"Long live the Tang."