Zhang Zhongjing's clinic was a place that never knew stillness.
In the chaotic world of the late Han, a man who could genuinely cure the sick was rarer than a phoenix, and one who did so with a gentle smile was little short of a god.
But the true reason the crowds swelled around his doors like a rising tide was the price.
A normal consultation elsewhere would cost a man at least 100 coins.
Here, the Divine Doctor charged only 10.
Whenever people asked why, Zhang Zhongjing would simply explain that Liu Huangsu, Governor of Jingzhou, subsidized the rest.
As a result, both doctor and lord reaped a harvest of gratitude from the people that rivaled the autumn crops.
One side effect of such benevolence was that the people of Gong'an no longer tried to endure their illnesses without a word.
At the slightest hint of fever, stomach pain, or a lingering cough, they immediately flocked to the clinic.
Unbothered by the constant noise, Zhang Zhongjing carefully examined a child who insisted his stomach was twisted in knots.
After a thorough inspection and a careful reading of the boy's pulse, the doctor gave his verdict with calm certainty.
"He has simply overeaten."
Zhang Zhongjing patted the boy's head.
"No medicine is needed. Take him for two slow laps around the city walls and he will be fine. Since there is no illness, there is no charge. Next."
The mother bowed repeatedly in frantic gratitude.
Zhang Zhongjing then beckoned one of his senior disciples to take over.
Ignoring the groans of disappointment from those still waiting in line, he stepped out into the courtyard, where Zhuge Liang was already waiting in the shadows.
"I have 400 portions of the medicinal powder prepared," Zhang Zhongjing said in a lowered voice. "Come with me."
The two men walked south toward a small hydraulic workshop commissioned by Jiang Wan.
A modest wooden plaque hung above the entrance.
'Reserved for the Divine Doctor'
Inside, there were no grain grinders or milling tools.
Instead, the space was dominated by two specialized troughs and several massive stone pestles, all connected to a giant waterwheel by an intricate arrangement of wooden gears.
As the river current drove the wheel, the machinery groaned to life.
The pestles rose and fell in a steady, tireless rhythm, pounding raw herbs into a fine and uniform powder.
"Lady Huang truly is a woman of singular genius," Zhang Zhongjing said, watching the heavy stone rhythmically descend.
"Though this machine lacks the delicate control of the human hand, it does the work of 100 men. Running day and night, it can produce enough medicine to save thousands."
Zhuge Liang smiled but said nothing.
He knew Huang Yueying was currently outside the city attempting to cultivate medicinal fields, intending it as a surprise for the old doctor.
After hearing from the Lightscreen that grapes required specific climates and soil conditions to thrive, she had reasoned that medicinal herbs must be no different.
She had abandoned the old mystical theories of spiritual nature and instead begun replicating the native conditions in which the herbs grew in the wild, hoping to mass-produce medicine on a reliable scale.
Zhang Zhongjing pointed toward a stack of neatly wrapped paper packets in the corner.
The bitter herbal scent was so strong it felt almost tangible.
Zhuge Liang unwrapped one, dipped a fingertip into the powder, and touched it lightly to his tongue.
He immediately winced.
Bitter. Truly bitter.
"As instructed, Kongming," Zhang Zhongjing explained, "these are standard golden-sore powders. They may be applied externally to wounds or taken internally, though they are most effective when steeped in boiling water."
"That is sufficient," Zhuge Liang replied.
Then, remembering another important matter, he asked, "And the Military Medical Manual? Is it complete?"
"You requested a handbook focused solely on plague prevention and the treatment of battlefield injuries."
Zhang Zhongjing drew a thin hand-bound booklet from his sleeve.
"That was simple enough. It is finished."
Zhuge Liang reached out to take it.
But Zhang Zhongjing did not let go.
The doctor looked directly into Zhuge Liang's eyes, his gaze burning with a desperate intensity.
"Earlier, Kongming promised to establish a formal School of Medicine."
His voice trembled slightly.
"Was that... was that a sincere vow?"
Zhuge Liang's expression immediately turned solemn.
He nodded slowly.
"I swear it."
"I have heard," Zhuge Liang continued, "that the Doctor Zhang is compiling his own masterwork, the Treatise on Cold Damage and Miscellaneous Diseases."
"When it is complete, I will fund the printing of 10,000 copies."
"Once the School of Medicine is established, your work, together with the Yellow Emperor's Inner Canon and the Classic of Eighty-One Difficulties, shall become the foundation upon which all future doctors are trained."
Zhang Zhongjing swayed slightly.
The sheer weight of that promise, the thought that his life's work might become one of the pillars of the realm, was almost too much to bear.
A light blazed in his eyes unlike anything Zhuge Liang had seen before.
At once, Zhang Zhongjing thrust the manual into Zhuge Liang's hands.
"Kongming... please."
His voice shook.
"You must help Liu Huangsu preserve the Han legacy."
"A world such as this... must endure."
Zhuge Liang felt a heavy weight settle across his shoulders.
It was not merely the manual.
It was the hope of an entire profession.
Returning to the County Office, Zhuge Liang handed the booklet to Pang Tong.
"Have this printed in several dozen copies and distributed to the generals. I have already briefed them on the necessity of medical discipline within the ranks."
Pang Tong flipped through the pages, his brow gradually furrowing as he read the dense technical language.
He shook his head.
"The wording is too brief and too obscure."
"Most of our soldiers can barely recognize their own names, let alone understand medical theory."
"How are they supposed to learn from this?"
He slipped the booklet into his sleeve.
"Leave this with me. I will rewrite it in common speech, with rhythmic verses and simple instructions that can be memorized and passed by word of mouth."
"Once it has been adapted for the common soldier, I will return it for printing."
Pang Tong had been an exceedingly busy man.
By day, he oversaw the complicated bureaucracy of Gong'an.
By night, he studied the records left by the Lightscreen.
While reading, he often felt a trace of regret.
Liu Bei had clearly understood his intentions long ago.
It made Pang Tong realize that while reading records was informative, it lacked the overwhelming impact of witnessing the images firsthand.
Zhuge Liang nodded in approval.
"As you see fit."
He then asked, "How goes the recruitment in the four southern commanderies?"
It was now December.
The harvest was over, and winter gave them the perfect chance to strengthen their forces.
Pang Tong slid a summary sheet across the table.
"The refugees from the Jianghuai region yielded 6,000 able-bodied youths."
"From the four southern commanderies, we have recruited another 16,000."
Zhuge Liang read the single sheet twice.
Then he rose abruptly.
"I must find the Lord."
"You intend to begin training immediately?" Pang Tong asked.
"Who would not admire the valor of the future armies shown on the Screen?"
Zhuge Liang's eyes shone.
"Under our lord's banner, the soldiers must be drilled, and the generals must be educated."
Years ago, during their idle gatherings in Nanyang, Zhuge Liang had already spoken of his unconventional views on military discipline.
Pang Tong knew exactly what he was planning.
"The military code of the future demands a balance between benevolence and absolute authority," Pang Tong said.
"You should draft the strategy, Kongming, but you need a general of iron will to enforce the training."
"Who do you recommend?"
Pang Tong did not even lift his head from the paperwork.
"Chen Dao or Zhao Zilong."
"If Yunchang can be spared from Jiangling, he would be even better."
Zhuge Liang nodded and immediately set off to find Liu Bei.
His idea was simple.
If the future's Unstoppable Flying Army of Shu Han was destined to become legendary, why wait?
He would forge an elite corps now.
He would teach them the 11 rules of that future disciplined army, a force that remained steadfast even in poverty.
As for the education of the generals, Zhuge Liang's vision was far more ambitious.
Only minutes after he left, Jiang Wan arrived at the office.
"Is the Strategist Kongming not here?"
"If it is official business, you may leave it with me," Pang Tong replied, his brush never pausing.
Jiang Wan nodded and placed a dark, crumbly object onto the table.
"We have discovered a treasure. I wanted the Advisor to see it."
Pang Tong picked it up and crumbled a small piece between his fingers.
"Is this coal?"
"Mixed with yellow clay," Jiang Wan said excitedly, utterly unconcerned by the soot staining his hands.
"The craftsmen call it Ink Cake."
"The method was brought to us by a man whose ancestors served as iron officials during the reign of Emperor Ming."
"By grinding coal into a fine powder and mixing it with clay around a thin wooden core, then drying it, we have created a fuel for iron smelting far superior to charcoal."
"It burns hotter and lasts longer."
"Is it truly that effective?" Pang Tong asked, clearly less familiar with the intricacies of metallurgy.
Jiang Wan's excitement visibly dimmed.
"I think I should go find Kongming after all."
"Wait."
Pang Tong pulled out a decree from a shelf behind him.
"Kongming recently asked the Lord to issue an order."
"Anyone who creates or improves a craft or method is to be rewarded anywhere from 1,000 to 10,000 coins."
He looked up.
"Gongyan, what do you believe this Ink Cake is worth?"
Jiang Wan brightened instantly.
"This method will strengthen our armor, sharpen our blades, and greatly reduce heating costs for the common people."
"It is worth the full 10,000."
Pang Tong did not hesitate.
He immediately drafted the reward order and thrust it into Jiang Wan's hand.
"Then go and fetch the money for the man."
By the beginning of January, Liu Bei summoned the core of his rising commanders to the Gong'an County Office.
Fu Tong, Feng Xi, Zhang Nan, Xiahou Lan, Gao Xiang, Chen Shi, Huo Jun, Xi Zhen, Wei Yan, and Guan Ping all arrived.
The air in the room crackled with tension and anticipation.
In another life, these men might have become nothing more than the shattered remnants of a defeated army at Yiling.
But now, they stood before their lord and his strategist, ready to be forged into something the world had never seen.