The pursuit of mercury-based immortality elixirs was ultimately a dead end.
The explosive accidents born from that pursuit, however, would go on to reshape the world.
Standing in the courtyard, Zhuge Liang reflected on the Daoists' sudden revelation. To be fair, their conclusion was not entirely wrong. According to the fragmented memories he carried from the future, it would indeed be this so-called Elixir of Great Destruction that eventually pushed mankind's crafted vessels into the heavens, allowing humanity to observe the stars, the moon, and the vastness beyond.
That said, a small safety warning was probably necessary.
He needed to make sure these enthusiastic masters did not accidentally achieve "daylight ascension" by blowing themselves apart before discovering gunpowder's actual military value.
Leaving the soot-covered Daoists to passionately debate their new sacred path, Zhuge Liang wandered over to a nearby workbench and picked up their latest experimental formula draft.
Three parts saltpeter.
Three parts brown sugar.
One part realgar.
Pulverize separately, grind finely, and combine evenly to form the core.
Zhuge Liang stared at the bamboo slip. These Daoists... they really were keeping up with the times.
He felt an odd mixture of admiration and exhaustion. Refined cane sugar had only entered stable production in Sichuan half a year ago, yet these lunatics were already throwing it into their explosive crucibles without batting an eye.
The problem was that sugar production consumed absurd amounts of sugarcane. Yizhou's current harvests barely covered ordinary market demand, let alone industrial-scale experimentation. Because of that supply bottleneck, sugar prices remained expensive.
Zhuge Liang had already issued directives to massively expand sugarcane plantation, but the first major harvest would not arrive until autumn.
From a logistical perspective, the situation was deeply unpleasant.
Zhuge Liang pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
So, you guys basically don't have a single, economically viable recipe yet, do you?
In the end, he picked up a brush and recorded the "Smoke Elixir" formula into the archives for future reference. Once the province's sugar supply stabilized, they could revisit this particular branch of explosive research properly.
After leaving behind several written notes and corrections, Zhuge Liang pulled the heavy laboratory doors shut and quietly left the courtyard behind.
The Chengdu administrative compound had changed beyond recognition since the days of Liu Zhang's cautious and stagnant rule.
Although Liu Bei had recently moved his two wives into the provincial capital, their living quarters occupied only a handful of rooms. The enormous network of unused palace halls had therefore been repurposed with ruthless efficiency into state-funded research facilities.
One courtyard housed the increasingly unhinged Daoists refining explosives. Another had been taken over by craftsmen attempting to reverse-engineer glass production through sheer stubbornness. A separate wing had been converted into the so-called Minor Academy, an experimental educational project currently overseen by Zhang Song with deeply concerning levels of enthusiasm.
As for Zhuge Liang, he still had not relocated his own family to Chengdu.
Part of the reason was practical. Huang Yueying had already established several engineering workshops in Gong'an, where she was effectively leading a small-scale industrial revolution by herself. Her mechanical academies were thriving, and Zhuge Liang had no intention of dragging her away from work she genuinely loved.
More importantly, he wanted her accomplishments to stand on their own.
Ever since discovering records of the famed female artisan known as the Wife of Chen Baoguang, Zhuge Liang had become increasingly determined to ensure Huang Yueying's brilliance would one day be remembered just as clearly.
Within the Chengdu compound itself, Zhuge Liang maintained a heavily restricted workshop guarded by trusted personnel.
The room was glorious chaos.
Every table overflowed with wooden prototypes, engineering sketches, architectural drafts, and heavily annotated diagrams recreated from fragmented memories of the Dream Pool Essays he had glimpsed during the light screen phenomenon.
At the center of the workshop hung its single most important object.
A massive wooden sphere.
Perfectly round. Carefully polished. Suspended from an iron frame.
Across its surface, written with solemn brushstrokes, was a single word:
Earth.
At this moment, Zhuge Liang stood before the globe in deep thought, his attention drifting toward chemistry.
The light screen had mockingly referred to the ancient method of extracting alkali from plant ash as the work of "lunatics," but the actual process wasn't overwhelmingly complex.
You burned the vegetation, boiled the resulting ash in water, filtered the slurry through fine silk, and let it sit overnight. The crystal-clear liquid that settled at the top was an alkaline solution.
To the naked eye, it looked no different than water pulled from a river.
Yet, its chemical properties were borderline magical. If you used it to boil rice, the porridge became incredibly thick and viscous.
If you used it to wash rough hemp garments, the harsh fibers softened dramatically. And if you introduced this alkaline water into the paper-making process, the resulting pulp was exceptionally white and pure.
But why? What was the fundamental, underlying principle governing this reaction?
Lost in thought, Zhuge Liang paced back to his desk, picked up a brush, and wrote three words on a blank sheet of paper: Plant Ash.
Directly beneath that, he wrote: Fertilizer.
Since the pre-Qin era, farmers had used plant ash to enrich their soil. But there was a glaring, geographical discrepancy in how much they used.
Tapping into his encyclopedic knowledge of agricultural reports, Zhuge Liang began to list the regional data points:
· Hedong Commandery (Far North): Fields require zero application of plant ash.
· Pingyuan Commandery (North-Central): Fields require roughly nine he of ash per acre.
· Nanyang Commandery (Central): Fields require one dou (ten he) of ash per acre.
· Wuling Commandery (Deep South): Fields require half a hu of ash per acre.
Half a hu was equal to five dou, which was fifty sheng, which translated to a staggering five hundred he.
Staring at the numbers, Zhuge Liang articulated the undeniable pattern: From north to south, the dependency on plant ash to fertilize crops increases exponentially.
He paused, letting the ink dry before writing his next deduction: Based on the extraction method, plant ash is highly concentrated in alkali.
He stopped again, his mind running through every possible variable to ensure there were no logical fallacies in his theory. Satisfied, he wrote down his grand, unified conclusion:
The soil in the North is naturally rich in alkali. The soil in the South is naturally deficient in alkali.
Immediately, the implications cascaded through his mind, and he hastily scribbled down a series of explosive hypotheses:
Is this the reason why sweet oranges thrive south of the Huai River but turn into bitter trifoliate oranges when planted north of it? Is it entirely dictated by the soil's alkaline balance?
The North struggles to grow bamboo, while the South struggles to grow thick leeks. Is this the exact same chemical principle at work?
For the first time in his life, he experienced something he could only describe as the pure joy of science.
These truths were not decrees issued by kings. They could not be altered by imperial command or rewritten through politics.
They were laws inherent to the world itself.
And through observation, comparison, and deduction, he had managed to glimpse them.
By tracing patterns and isolating differences, he felt as though he were slowly uncovering the hidden mechanisms beneath heaven and earth.
Perhaps one day, he could compile these discoveries into a complete body of knowledge. A foundation future generations could build upon for centuries.
A cool April breeze drifted through the workshop window, but Zhuge Liang felt heat rising in his chest instead.
Too restless to sleep, he stepped into the courtyard and paced beneath the moonlight for a long while before exhaustion finally overtook his excitement. Only then did he return to his quarters and collapse into bed without even changing out of his robes.
The very next morning, Zhuge Liang was violently jolted awake by an absurdly excited Liu Bei practically dragging him out of bed.
"Kongming! Xu Shu's boat has reached Jianwei County!"
Zhuge Liang's brain, still sluggish from last night's chemistry-induced enlightenment session, took a few seconds to process the geography. Jianwei sat roughly one hundred and forty li south of Chengdu.
Ah, that tracks, Zhuge Liang thought blearily. Xu Shu must've sailed up the Yangtze, passed Jiangzhou, followed the Min River through Jiangyang and Wuyang, then taken the final route straight into Chengdu. Spring and summer bring strong southeasterly winds through the basin. Sailing upriver from Jingzhou is basically a free tailwind speed boost.
By the time his brain fully booted up, Zhuge Liang found himself already standing beside Liu Bei at Chengdu's southern gates.
Liu Bei physically could not stand still.
The man paced back and forth like a caged tiger running on military-grade adrenaline, constantly stopping to crane his neck toward the southern road as if sheer emotional force could summon Xu Shu's boat into existence ahead of schedule.
Zhuge Liang waved for one of Chen Dao's guards to bring over a basin of cold water. After splashing his face awake, he casually offered a suggestion.
"My Lord, since you're already suffering from terminal impatience, why don't we just ride out and meet him ourselves?"
It was a harmless remark.
Zhuge Liang would come to regret it almost immediately.
Liu Bei's eyes lit up on the spot. Without hesitation, he grabbed his horse and dragged his still half-awake Chancellor ten li south of the city.
Then another ten.
Then another.
It wasn't until the road deteriorated into a muddy riverbank trail completely unusable for cavalry that Liu Bei finally reined in his horse.
After getting battered around in the saddle for nearly an hour, Zhuge Liang was now thoroughly awake against his will. Sitting atop his horse, he slowly waved his feather fan and gave his lord a look filled with exhausted sarcasm.
"My Lord," Zhuge Liang said flatly, pointing ahead with his fan, "why don't you just mobilize a labor corps and flatten that mountain too? It's clearly obstructing your view of Yuanzhi's beautiful face."
Liu Bei shamelessly burst into loud laughter.
"Kongming, from the moment I heard Yuanzhi was returning, I haven't slept properly for days!" Liu Bei declared, eyes practically glowing. "I've waited nearly a month already. Why should I suffer one extra moment?!"
Zhuge Liang chuckled and shook his head.
He absolutely did not believe the "couldn't sleep" part. But if Liu Bei truly wasn't anxious, he definitely wouldn't have dragged his prime minister thirty li into the wilderness until the road itself gave up.
Thankfully, the wait didn't last long.
From around the bend beyond the distant hill, a modest riverboat emerged, slicing cleanly through the rushing current.
Seated atop his horse, Zhuge Liang narrowed his eyes against the glare bouncing off the water. At the very front of the bow stood a lean scholarly figure. His robes whipped violently in the wind as he stared toward the northern shoreline with unwavering focus.
Beside him, Liu Bei instantly lost all composure.
"Yuanzhi!" Liu Bei roared, his voice exploding across the river. "I am here! Yuanzhi!"
Unfortunately, either the riverside trees were too dense or the rushing current swallowed the sound entirely, because the boat showed absolutely no sign of slowing down.
The color immediately drained from Liu Bei's face.
Without a second thought, he kicked his warhorse straight into the river.
Water exploded everywhere as the heavy horse charged into the shallows. Liu Bei waved both arms like a man trying to flag down fate itself, shouting at the top of his lungs and nearly giving Zhuge Liang and the bodyguards collective heart failure.
"My Lord, no!"
Several guards instantly hurled themselves off their mounts and splashed into the river, grabbing the horse's reins while desperately trying to drag the supreme ruler of three provinces back toward shore before he accidentally drowned himself in emotional enthusiasm.
Even while being forcibly turned around, Liu Bei twisted violently in the saddle, still shouting with everything he had.
"Yuanzhi~~!"
At that point, ignoring the commotion became physically impossible.
The boat finally noticed the chaos onshore and immediately began slowing down, its rudder turning sharply toward the shallows.
Through the misting spray, Zhuge Liang could see the figure at the bow pacing frantically while shouting rapid-fire orders at the oarsmen.
Before the hull even scraped against the gravel bank, Xu Shu moved first.
He took a running start and leapt directly off the bow.
Splash!
Water surged up around him as he landed knee-deep in the river.
The moment Liu Bei saw that, he abandoned all remaining dignity as a ruler, vaulted off his horse, and charged straight into the muddy shallows himself. Reaching out with both arms, he grabbed the soaked and stumbling strategist and hauled him firmly onto solid ground.
Their hands locked together tightly.
Liu Bei looked down at Xu Shu's drenched robes and mud-soaked boots, his voice trembling with anxious reproach.
"Yuanzhi, why would you take such a reckless risk? We're only thirty li from Chengdu! You would've arrived safely within the hour. You must value your own safety!"
Xu Shu stared at the man who had once pulled him from obscurity through nothing but sincerity and conviction.
His eyes trembled with countless emotions that words could no longer properly carry. Guilt. Relief. Loyalty. Gratitude.
Slowly, Xu Shu bowed deeply.
"My Lord..." His voice cracked slightly. "Your servant has finally returned."
"Good! Good!" Liu Bei nodded repeatedly, his own eyes visibly reddening. One hand still gripping Xu Shu tightly, he used the other to clap him heavily on the shoulder. "As long as you're back... nothing else matters."
Stepping back slightly, Liu Bei looked Xu Shu up and down before a brilliant smile spread uncontrollably across his face.
He grabbed Xu Shu firmly by the arm.
"Now that Yuanzhi has returned to my side, we can devote ourselves fully to restoring the Han!" Liu Bei declared loudly. "I no longer have a single regret left in this life!"
The two men stood there together on the muddy riverbank, clothes soaked and boots ruined, completely unconcerned with appearances as they immediately fell into rapid conversation.
Liu Bei excitedly recounted every miraculous victory achieved during Xu Shu's absence, while Xu Shu listened with a warm smile and occasionally added sharp observations about the political climate he had witnessed during his years trapped in Xuchang.
Only after Liu Bei finally pulled Xu Shu up onto his own horse did the former Yingchuan swordsman finally turn toward Zhuge Liang.
"If I had known the name of the Marquis of Wu would one day shake the heavens," Xu Shu called out with laughing eyes, "I would've tied you up and dragged you out of that thatched hut myself!"
Watching Liu Bei climb up behind Xu Shu to share the saddle, Zhuge Liang lazily snapped his feather fan shut and offered a crisp salute.
"To restore the legacy of the Han," Zhuge Liang replied with a faint smirk, "no timing is ever too late."
The two strategists looked at one another and burst into loud laughter together.
The thirty-li ride back to Chengdu was far more relaxed than the chaos that had preceded it. The three men allowed their horses to move at an unhurried pace, as they exchanged intelligence and caught up on the shifting currents of the realm.
"Is Shiyuan currently in Chengdu?" Xu Shu asked, referring to their mutual friend Pang Tong.
"He is stationed in Hanzhong, overseeing military operations," Zhuge Liang replied. "The situation in Yongzhou and Liangzhou is highly unstable, and the Guanxi warlords are becoming restless. He cannot easily leave his post."
Xu Shu nodded, his mind immediately mapping the strategic implications.
"If Cao Cao secures Yongzhou and Liangzhou, he will connect his supply lines directly to the Guanzhong plain. Hanzhong would become nearly impossible to attack. But if we can align the western provinces, then Cao Cao's control over Chang'an becomes fragile. He would be forced back to Tong Pass. You are right. Hanzhong absolutely requires a mastermind of Shiyuan's caliber."
"Not necessarily," Zhuge Liang said smoothly. "Our Lord recently acquired a brilliant military tactician here in Chengdu named Fa Zheng. He has the ruthless edge of a wandering swordsman and the intellect to easily manage Hanzhong."
"Oh?" Xu Shu raised his eyebrows. "I must meet him."
Cough, cough.
Liu Bei cleared his throat with deliberate timing, trying to prevent his two strategists from drifting straight into a full military war council in the middle of the road.
Taking the hint, Zhuge Liang shifted the topic.
"Our Lord mentioned that Guangyuan intends to settle down in Jiangling?"
Xu Shu exhaled lightly. He was referring to Shi Tao.
"Guangyuan is not a vassal of Cao Cao, but he also harbors no desire to formally serve our Lord. He escorted me all the way to Yizhou purely out of brotherhood. I could not force him to stay. When he dropped me off, he mentioned he would look for an administrative post in Jiangling and see where the future takes him."
See where the future takes him... Zhuge Liang nodded. Each man had his own path. Forcing alignment often did more harm than good.
Xu Shu suddenly chuckled, as if remembering something unpleasantly amusing.
"By the way, the Divine Physician Zhang had quite a few complaints about you during the journey."
"Oh?"
"He said you clearly possess an extremely deep understanding of medicine, yet you insist on speaking in cryptic riddles. He had to reconstruct your meaning through independent research. He found it extremely irritating."
Zhuge Liang blinked once, then laughed openly.
"I am relieved he arrived safely. The mountains of Yizhou are vast, the population is thin, and medicinal resources are abundant. For someone like Physician Zhang, this place is practically paradise."
Amid light conversation and occasional laughter, the tall walls of Chengdu finally came into view.
As they approached the main road leading to the gates, Zhuge Liang's gaze paused.
A familiar figure stood quietly by the roadside.
Lady Wu.
Her posture was immaculate, composed, and unmistakably deliberate.
Zhuge Liang leaned slightly toward Liu Bei, a faint smile on his lips.
"Whether you intend to accept or refuse, My Lord, you should make a decision soon."
Xu Shu followed his gaze. "And she is…?"
At that exact moment, Liu Bei's expression stiffened in visible embarrassment.
Zhuge Liang casually flicked his fan.
"The daughter of the prominent Wu clan of Chengdu. A physiognomist once said her face carries the destiny of immense nobility."
Xu Shu paused for half a beat.
Then he laughed loudly.
"If we are speaking of immense nobility," Xu Shu said, looking directly at Liu Bei, "there is only one man in this world worthy of standing beside it."