Kongming stood quietly within the Chengdu government office. Although he could not fully understand the exact nature of Li Shimin's predicament, he could already sense the shape of it. Judging from the chaotic reactions of the future generations, this "Li Chengqian" was clearly a crown prince burdened with enormous political trouble.
Terms like "barbarian assimilation" and "complicated issues" rarely led anywhere good. In most histories, such phrases usually foreshadowed bloody struggles over succession.
Still, Kongming quickly set aside the imperial family drama of the future. His attention shifted upward toward the projected image of the Scroll of Surrendered Captives, the masterpiece signed by Yan Liben. He studied it with complete focus.
The arrangement of the civil and military officials was flawless, layered in precise ranks that conveyed unmistakable authority. The generals and soldiers radiated a disciplined, almost oppressive presence. Even the commoners and scholars painted along the edges were filled with life, their expressions carrying genuine pride in the glory of their nation.
To destroy an enemy kingdom and force its ruler to kneel beneath the palace gates was the highest expression of imperial triumph. This painting captured the spirit of the High Tang at its peak.
Until now, their understanding of Tang prosperity had existed only through scattered remarks from future generations. Lately, most discussions had even centered around the chaos of the late Tang collapse. But the moment they saw this scroll, personally painted by the era's "Divine Painter," the sheer weight of a true golden age finally became real.
Zhang Fei stared at the painting with unconcealed envy.
"No wonder," he muttered quietly. "No wonder the Guiyi Army of the late Tang still claimed to carry a fragment of the 'aura of the High Tang.' If this was their peak, then even a fragment would be enough to awe the world."
Wei Yan beside him shared the same feeling.
For veterans like them, many of their past military achievements suddenly seemed insignificant before the brushstrokes of this painting. Clever ambushes and desperate victories mattered little in the face of history's harsher standards.
Did you destroy an enemy nation and capture its ruler?
Could your achievements stand beside Wei Qing and Huo Qubing?
Would your name endure for ten thousand generations?
Liu Bei was equally absorbed by the scroll. His gaze lingered on the painted emperor standing atop the city gate.
Yan Liben truly deserved the title of Divine Painter. Every figure upon the silk seemed alive.
And because of that, Liu Bei noticed something immediately.
Li Shimin was terrifyingly young.
He had unified the realm, ascended to the highest throne under heaven, and was now reshaping the world itself, all while still in the prime of his life.
The sight stirred an old bitterness within Liu Bei.
Seven years ago in Jingzhou, he had once wept openly at a banquet while staring at the soft flesh that years of stagnation had left upon his thighs. He had spent most of his life struggling through war and hardship, yet achieved so little for so long.
Now, looking at the vigorous and triumphant Emperor of Tang, Liu Bei could not stop a surge of envy from rising in his heart.
But Liu Bei had begun life as a sandal-weaver in a remote village. More than anyone, he understood his own strengths and weaknesses.
Perhaps he would never possess Li Shimin's dazzling brilliance in war and governance. Perhaps he would never shine with that same overwhelming radiance.
Yet as his gaze swept across the room, the jealousy gradually faded.
Beside him stood two of the greatest strategists of the age. He had sworn brothers whose courage could shake battlefields, Zhao Yun whose loyalty never wavered, soldiers willing to die beneath his banner, and subjects who still longed for the restoration of the Han.
A quiet smile slowly formed on Liu Bei's face.
Why should he envy the Emperor of a Thousand Years?
The Han was not standing alone.
If the future Tang could create its golden age, then they too could build their own prosperity from the ashes of chaos.
Kongming noticed his lord cycling through several expressions in rapid succession, from bitterness to envy and finally calm determination. Completely unable to follow Liu Bei's train of thought, Kongming lightly scratched his head.
In the end, he decided not to ask.
Instead, he turned back toward Mi Zhu and resumed discussing matters of actual importance.
"The manufacturing methods for this new paper must be researched as quickly as possible," Kongming instructed.
Mi Zhu immediately nodded, his eyes already gleaming with the sharp focus of a seasoned merchant.
"We began experimenting with low-cost bamboo paper last year, and the results are finally becoming viable," he said, counting points off on his fingers. "Now we also know that the legendary Xuan paper uses green sandalwood bark, while ordinary rice straw and wheat straw can serve as additional materials. That gives us far more room to experiment."
He paused briefly, mentally calculating manpower and supply lines.
"We will need to recruit every skilled papermaker in Jingzhou. Our current workshops are nowhere near large enough for what comes next."
"It is good that you already have a thorough plan, Zizhong," Kongming replied with an approving nod.
"Furthermore," Mi Zhu continued thoughtfully, "the mounting techniques displayed by the future generations may become a valuable commercial weapon."
Kongming raised an eyebrow. "A commercial weapon?"
"Exactly." Mi Zhu smiled faintly. "The noble youths of Jiangdong care deeply about appearances. They spend absurd amounts of gold collecting calligraphy and paintings to flaunt their refinement. If we introduce properly mounted artworks of this quality, they will compete to empty their own treasuries for us."
The strategy was straightforward.
Profit from the vanity of Jiangdong's aristocratic heirs.
Kongming chuckled softly. Compared to the immense profits that mass-produced paper could generate, luxury mounting techniques were ultimately a smaller matter. Still, the craftsmanship displayed by the future generations was undeniably sophisticated. Simply reproducing the gold-and-jade scroll mountings would require extensive experimentation from their artisans.
As for the Hualou loom, the future had not provided any actual schematics, but the mention that it evolved from traditional Jacquard mechanisms was already enough to point their craftsmen in the right direction.
Above them, the light screen displayed its familiar three-month forecast, signaling the end of the broadcast.
The officials throughout the Chengdu office collectively let out tired groans as they stretched stiff necks and rubbed sore shoulders. This session had gone on unusually long, and spending hours staring upward at the light screen had left everyone physically exhausted.
Before Liu Bei could formally dismiss the court, several officials had already bowed and hurried out, eager to digest everything they had just witnessed.
Zhang Fei and Pang Tong were scheduled to depart immediately for Hanzhong. Yet just as he reached the doorway, Zhang Fei suddenly stopped and turned back toward his brother.
"Brother, during the battle at Yangping Pass, Liu Feng fought with the vanguard. He personally slew two enemy officers. Later, while pursuing the routed troops, he took three more heads."
Liu Bei did not even hesitate. "If he has earned promotion, then promote him. You do not need my approval for ordinary military rewards. Merit should always be rewarded."
"Excellent!" Zhang Fei grinned, clearly satisfied with the answer.
From the side, Mi Zhu cautiously stepped forward and lowered his voice. "General Zhang... regarding my foolish younger brother..."
Zhang Fei thought for a moment before answering with brutal simplicity.
"He is still breathing."
The report was hardly encouraging, yet Mi Zhu released an enormous sigh of relief. As long as Mi Fang had neither died nor defected, it could already be considered good news.
Since the matter of troublesome subordinates had come up, Liu Bei felt compelled to ask about the other problem lingering in his mind.
"And Ma Su? How did he perform?"
This time, Zhang Fei actually looked conflicted. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
"Well... he did not run away. That is already worth praising. But he has developed a strange habit. Whenever arrows start flying, he starts stuffing candy into his mouth."
Liu Bei stared blankly for a moment.
That was not remotely the answer he expected.
He immediately pulled Zhang Fei aside and demanded a full explanation of Ma Su's battlefield behavior. By the end of the story, Liu Bei could neither laugh nor scold properly.
"This Ma Su..." he sighed helplessly. "He truly is not suited for frontline command. His talents belong inside the strategy tent. He lacks the temperament needed for the battlefield."
Zhang Fei snorted dismissively.
"The battlefield is a meat grinder, Brother. There are no safe places there. If a man cannot harden his courage in war, then he should stay in the capital pushing documents. If panic spreads during a real crisis, it could kill everyone around him."
Liu Bei fell silent.
He knew Zhang Fei was right.
"Then let Liu Feng handle his training," Liu Bei finally decided. "Have him hammer some backbone into the boy."
---
The journey from Yizhou to Hanzhong was long and exhausting, divided between dangerous mountain roads and winding river routes.
After leaving Chengdu, Zhang Fei and Pang Tong traveled for several days before arriving at the formidable Jiameng Pass. From there, they transferred onto a small riverboat and rode the swift currents of the Han River, reaching Hanzhong half a day later.
Pang Tong's health had always been frail. The difficult journey left him pale and coughing, and he immediately withdrew to rest.
Zhang Fei, however, still looked as energetic as ever.
The moment he arrived in Hanzhong, his first order was to summon Liu Feng.
When the young commander entered the room, Zhang Fei studied him carefully.
Liu Feng resembled Liu Bei very little. Liu Bei possessed refined and gentle features, while Liu Feng looked carved from stone. His face was sharp and severe, carrying a cold hardness that had only deepened after surviving multiple campaigns. The last traces of youthful arrogance had long since vanished, replaced by the heavy aura of a seasoned veteran.
Zhang Fei wasted no time with pleasantries.
He tossed a heavy bronze tally across the room.
Liu Feng caught it effortlessly.
It was the command seal of a Cavalry Captain.
"Do not disappoint your father," Zhang Fei said.
A flicker of fierce pride appeared in Liu Feng's eyes before he quickly suppressed it. Stepping back, he gave a crisp military salute.
"I hear and obey."
Zhang Fei's expression softened slightly.
"Your father and Zizhong have another assignment for you. You are to personally supervise Mi Fang and Ma Su."
Liu Feng blinked. "Sir?"
"The standards are not high," Zhang Fei grunted. "Just make them behave like actual men. Beat the cowardice out of them if necessary."
It sounded like a basic request.
In reality, it was an enormous challenge.
With a wave of his hand, Zhang Fei dismissed the newly promoted officer. After another hour spent reviewing Hanzhong's defensive logistics, the exhausted general finally retired for the night.
---
The next morning, Zhang Fei entered the main hall and found Pang Tong sitting at the table with a bowl of plain rice porridge. The strategist was reading a letter while shaking his head with faint amusement.
"Shiyuan," Zhang Fei called as he pulled over a chair. "News from Dong Jue in Chengdu?"
Pang Tong tapped the parchment.
"No. It is a letter from Ma Chao. He wants us to advance through the Qishan trails and join him in attacking Han Sui."
Zhang Fei burst out laughing while gesturing for breakfast.
"The warlords of Liangzhou change sides faster than the weather."
The situation in Liang and Yong provinces remained chaotic.
Ma Chao currently controlled the eastern territories and the prosperous Longshan corridor, while Han Sui had been forced farther west into harsher lands. If Zhang Fei marched through Qishan now, the first thing waiting for him would likely be Han Sui's desperate troops preparing an ambush.
Pang Tong slowly drank another spoonful of porridge.
"I guarantee Han Sui's envoy is already riding toward us," he said calmly. "And that envoy is probably carrying a proposal to help him destroy Ma Chao instead."
Zhang Fei snorted and stirred his bowl.
"Then we ignore both of them. Let those two dogs tear each other apart. Their family feud has nothing to do with us."
Pang Tong's eyes narrowed slightly.
"But think carefully, Yide. What happens if Han Sui realizes we will not help him? What if his envoy skips Hanzhong entirely and rides straight to Guanzhong instead?"
Zhang Fei's expression slowly hardened.
Pang Tong set down his bowl.
"What if that envoy asks Xiahou Yuan to launch a joint attack against Ma Chao?"
The room suddenly felt much colder.
Pang Tong leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on Zhang Fei.
"If Cao Cao's finest commander suddenly marches toward our borders... what will you do then, Yide?"