Ever since that day he saw the sand table, Pang Tong's view of Kongming had shifted from admiration into something far deeper, something bordering on awe, or perhaps suspicion dressed up as respect.
It was not just Kongming either.
Even that ever-smiling Jiang Gongyan would glance at him now and then with a look that seemed to say everything and nothing at once, a look that made Pang Tong feel as though he had walked into a game where everyone else had already read the rulebook three times over.
From summer into autumn, the lands of Jing and Xiang entered a rare and almost unnatural calm.
Peace, real peace, not the kind that hides a blade behind its back.
The documents passing through Pang Tong's hands painted a clear picture.
Yue Jin had gone completely silent. Losing six thousand troops had clearly taken the wind out of his sails. Either he was licking his wounds in Xiangyang or kneeling somewhere in Xu Capital writing a very long apology letter. Any real offensive would have to wait until spring.
As for the four commanderies of Jing Province, minus that troublesome half of Nan Commandery, they had all slipped neatly into steady development.
The officials previously promoted by the lord and Kongming had scattered like seeds across the countryside. They carried with them everything they had learned in Gong'an, teaching the peasants how to compost, how to cultivate rice properly, how to coax the land into giving more than it ever had before. The results were visible even without reports. The fields themselves were testimony enough.
Public sentiment was high. Suspiciously high.
Zhang Song had arrived in a rush of excitement and left only after several days, reluctant to go, turning back every few steps as if hoping someone might call him back.
And as the end of October drew near, something subtle began to change.
The flow of people in Gong'an did not increase, yet the air itself seemed to tighten, like the pause before a drumbeat.
Pang Tong noticed it immediately.
The upper ranks under Liu Bei had all grown slightly distracted over the past few days. They spoke less, waited more, as though anticipating something that had not yet arrived.
Jian Yong, usually the very model of composed elegance, had begun walking faster, his steps carrying an urgency he did not bother to hide.
More telling still were the orders passing through Pang Tong's hands.
Jiangling. Guan Yu and Ma Liang to return on the twenty-fourth.
Linju. Zhang Fei to return on the twenty-fourth.
Changsha. Zhao Yun to return on the twenty-fourth.
Everything converged on one day.
Is this the "change" Kongming hinted at?
Pang Tong said nothing. Outwardly calm, inwardly calculating, he continued his routine as if nothing had changed, working when it was time to work, sleeping when it was time to sleep.
Only on the twenty-third did he turn in unusually early.
He did not know what would happen tomorrow, but he knew one thing very clearly.
He was Pang Tong, famed as the equal of the Sleeping Dragon.
If Kongming could stand as the foremost among the lord's strategists, then he, Pang Tong, would not allow his own name to dim beside it.
Before dawn, he rose, dressed, and followed the new public notices by washing with hot water. By the time the sun climbed over the horizon, he had already arrived at the county office.
Something was different.
The familiar compound was now heavily guarded, three steps a post, five steps a sentry. Pang Tong's expression did not change, but his eyes took everything in with quiet interest.
In the courtyard stood a tightly sealed cage. As he passed by, he heard faint snoring from within. He paused for half a breath, then moved on, curiosity carefully stored away for later.
At the entrance to the side hall stood Chen Dao himself, personally on guard.
When he saw Pang Tong, the usually stern general forced a slight upward curl at the corner of his mouth.
"Military Advisor Pang. My lord and the others are already waiting."
The door opened.
The hall, which usually felt spacious, was now filled to the brim.
On the left sat Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, Zhao Yun, Wei Yan, and the rest, arranged in order, their presence alone enough to weigh down the room.
On the right sat Kongming, Huang Yueying, Jian Yong, Mi Zhu, Ma Liang, Jiang Wan, each pair seated in composed readiness.
Liu Bei sat at the head, relaxed as ever, as though this gathering of nearly every capable figure under his command was nothing more than a casual tea meeting.
Seeing Pang Tong, he waved him over.
"Shiyuan, you're here. Sit."
He pointed to the empty seat beside Kongming.
Aside from Huang Zhong, who had to remain on garrison duty, this was nearly everyone of rank and ability gathered in one place.
Pang Tong's heart stirred.
He sat down and leaned slightly toward Kongming, lowering his voice.
"So it begins at last? The campaign for Yi Province?"
Kongming shook his head.
"Then… a strike to the north? Yue Jin is weakened. A naval assault could break him in one blow."
Kongming shook his head again.
Pang Tong frowned.
"Then surely not against Marquis Sun, right? Breaking the alliance to attack an ally would be most unwise."
Kongming continued to shake his head, calm as still water.
"Shiyuan," Liu Bei's voice came, warm with amusement, cutting through Pang Tong's guesses, "just wait."
Pang Tong fell silent.
On the other side, Wei Yan, attending for the first time, sat quietly, eyes closed like Guan Yu, his composure that of a seasoned general. Liu Bei and Kongming exchanged subtle glances of approval.
Time passed.
Two cups of tea.
Half a plate of dried persimmons.
Pang Tong even reached the point of studying the wood grain on the table, counting its lines just to occupy his mind.
Then suddenly, Liu Bei straightened slightly, his voice carrying unmistakable delight.
"It has finally arrived."
Pang Tong looked up.
And then he froze.
In the empty air before them, something began to unfold.
A luminous screen, spreading slowly like a curtain drawn across the heavens.
Did I eat too many persimmons and start hallucinating? He rubbed his face hard, blinked, and looked again.
It was still there.
Fully formed now.
Images moved within it.
A voice, completely unfamiliar, echoed directly into his ears.
---
[Lightscreen]
["Hey hey hey! It's your illiterate history content creator, Wen Mang!
Everyone knows the Battle of Yiling. It was the founding war of Shu-Han, but in a sense, it was also the war that doomed both Shu-Han and Sun-Wu.
Lu Xun's seven-hundred-li fire completely burned away the road to the third restoration of the Han. The vital forces of Shu-Han were decimated, and Liu Bei died of illness at Baidicheng.
Simultaneously, Lu Xun used this merit to ascend the political stage of Sun-Wu. From that point on, the political structure of Sun-Wu shifted—ministers dominated the sovereign, and guests became the masters. The increasingly brutal power struggles tolled the death knell for the Eastern Wu!]
---
Pang Tong's mouth opened, but no words came out.
Beside him, Wei Yan let out a startled yelp, having accidentally yanked a strand of his own beard.
"This… this…"
Pang Tong turned to Liu Bei, then to Kongming, searching for an explanation.
Both men were completely focused on the screen.
And then Pang Tong noticed something else.
Floating lines of text, drifting across the screen like spirits.
---
[Server Chat Log]
[@SunQuan_Slayer_99: He's coming, he's coming! Every time Sun 'Shinwan'is mentioned (1/1), I leave satisfied.
@Strategy_Doomposter: Sigh, it's true. The defeat at Yiling destroyed ten years' worth of Shu-Han's elites and middle-tier officers in one battle. The newborn Shu-Han was weaned before it even got its first taste of milk. It was too hard...
@Fiscal_History_Nerd: In history, it was even harder. For the sake of the Yiling campaign, Uncle Liu adopted Liu Ba's plan to 'compete with the people for profit.' They essentially fought Yiling on a loan and lost big. The economy, livelihoods, and military were all in dire straits. If it weren't for the Prime Minister's magic touch, Shu-Han would have collapsed then and there.
@Loyalty_Simp: "To hell with the world! Third Brother, go avenge your Second Brother!" Cold-blooded monarchs are as common as river silt, but brothers with such loyalty and righteousness are one of a kind.
@Emotional_Wreck: Ciao, don't use the 'emotion knife' on me. Thinking about Lord Guan's death makes me feel even worse...
@Real_Human_Bean: So what if Uncle Liu wasn't a 'success' in the end? So what if the third restoration failed? History has too many successful winners and too few flesh-and-blood human beings.
@Hefei_Deliveries: "A son should be like Sun Zhongmou, who brings a hundred thousand men to Hefei just to deliver heads." Who among the heroes of this world is a match? Two fires: Red Cliffs and Yiling.
@Childhood_Trauma_Unlocked: Sigh, when I was a kid, I thought the Three Kingdoms ended after Yiling. I couldn't bear to keep watching.
@Wuzhang_Grief_Counselor: Watch it! Why not? I want to see the Chancellor's six campaigns from Mount Qi! Although I don't dare watch Wuzhang Plains either; it's all 'knives' (painful moments)...]
---
Ma Liang and Jiang Wan were already copying everything down onto Zhuge paper in elegant script.
Pang Tong glanced at the text, then back at the screen.
He could read the words.
Individually, they made sense.
Together, they felt like a storm he could not yet grasp.
Finally, Liu Bei turned to him, thoroughly enjoying the rare sight of Pang Tong looking completely lost.
"Shiyuan, this is a heavenly omen, the Light Screen. What we see is the world one thousand eight hundred years in the future."
He paused, then added with a smile that reached his eyes.
"And they still call themselves Han."
Pang Tong lowered his head, thinking hard.
Then he looked at Kongming.
"The rotary waterwheel, the improvements to ironworking, the papermaking, the agricultural methods… all derived from this Light Screen?"
Kongming nodded without hesitation.
"Much has been inferred from fragments shown within it."
Pang Tong's chest tightened.
"Zhuge Kongming."
A surge of ambition rose within him like fire catching dry grass.
"Now that we both behold this Light Screen… I will not lose to you."
---
Far away, in Chang'an, within Ganlu Hall, Li Shimin looked at his assembled ministers with undisguised satisfaction.
"Did I not say I would not speak lightly of ghosts and spirits for mere selection?"
He turned to Du Ruhui.
"Keming, what say you now?"