In the dim side hall of the Gong'an County Office, a crowd of officers stood in a loose circle, sizing each other up with that mix of polite curiosity and professional side-eye everyone knows too well.
It was quite the motley crew.
Some were grizzled veterans who had followed Liu Bei through mud, blood, and every northern hardship for well over a decade. Others were fresh faces who had only joined up in the last few months. Some had straight-up walked off the farm with nothing but a spear and a grudge. Some were generals who had switched sides after seeing which way the wind was blowing.
And right in the thick of them stood one young man whose last name alone commanded respect across the whole realm.
Guan Ping stood straight as a spear shaft, steady as a mountain. He could feel every eye on him, especially the newer recruits, who mostly looked at him and thought Guan Yu's son rather than his own man. But his face did not shift an inch. Calm. Disciplined. Giving nothing away.
"Everyone here? Good. Step inside."
The voice cut through the low murmur like a knife through butter. Zhao Zilong stepped into the middle of the hall, looking every bit the composed commander. In one hand he held a thick stack of parchment crammed with notes. In the other, a bucket of hot tea, carried so casually you would think it was a folded cloak.
He signaled the guards to post outside and bolt the doors, then moved around flinging open windows on all four sides. Morning light flooded in, and suddenly the main attraction was impossible to miss.
A massive sand table sprawled across the floor, showing the whole Central Plains in ridiculous detail.
Xiahou Lan, Gao Xiang, Chen Shi, and Fu Tong all went pale.
Oh, they knew this drill.
It brought back flashbacks of the last tactical exercise, when they had been stuck trying to figure out how to win at Xiangyang-Fancheng while losing nearly everyone and still taking prisoners. Those bad choices still tasted like ash.
"Wait," Chen Shi muttered, glancing around. "Ma Su is off helping the Strategist with paperwork. But where is Fu Shiren?"
Zhao Yun smiled. It was the kind of smile that did not quite reach his eyes, the kind that usually meant you are about to learn something the hard way.
"By direct order of the Lord, this room owns you for the next two months." His voice stayed level. "You do not leave until you have run five full tactical simulations."
He started handing out the parchments. Fu Tong let out a breath he had been holding. At first glance, these scenarios looked way more reasonable than the last one, which had basically asked them to pull a miracle out of thin air.
Zhao Yun picked up a long wooden pointer and started tapping across the sand table, click, click, click, sharp and steady.
"Scenario One: The Battle of Jingzhou. Scenario Two: Defense of Hanzhong. Scenario Three: Breaking Wu at the Xiang River. Scenario Four: The Siege of Hefei. Scenario Five: The Standoff at Yiling."
He paused, letting those names hang heavy in the air.
"For these runs, you are teammates. Talk it out. Argue. Rewrite the plan. Keep at it until you think you have found a winning path."
He rested the pointer lightly. "But one win is not enough."
A glint of mischief lit up his eyes. "For every scenario, you start on our side. Win, and you immediately switch and command the enemy. To pass, you have to win from both sides. We are not just teaching you how to fight. We are teaching you how the enemy thinks."
The room stayed still. Zhao Yun had half-expected some hotheaded youngster to jump up and challenge him. Instead, everyone stayed remarkably disciplined. New recruits kept their heads down, waiting to see what the veterans did. Veterans like Guan Ping and Fu Tong had seen enough to know better than to bite before they knew what they were biting into.
Seeing his gentle prod had not worked, Zhao Yun shrugged and sharpened his tone.
"This room is classified. Military secrecy is not a suggestion. What you see on this table stays here. No sketching maps for your friends. No reading these manuals aloud to your wives over dinner. If anyone gets caught leaking the Lord's plans, you will stand before him in chains. And by then, saying you are sorry will not do you much good."
The generals straightened up as one and answered in a solid shout.
Satisfied, Zhao Yun decided to step out for a bit. If he hung around, they would just keep looking at him for answers. They needed to hash it out themselves. Bicker. Make mistakes. Get frustrated. That is where the actual learning starts.
---
Zhao Yun stepped out into the streets of Gong'an to clear his head.
The city was changing fast, loud, messy, and full of promise. Technically still just a county seat, but it felt like something far bigger. When Lei Xu had arrived with 50,000 refugees, everyone had feared the whole place would burst at the seams. But once Jiangling was secured and Dangyang, Linju, and Jingyang were garrisoned, the pressure eased.
Guan Yu and Sun Qian were rebuilding Jiangling into a hub for trade and supply, drawing in people looking for a fresh start.
And here in Gong'an, people were living in ways their parents could barely have imagined.
When Liu Bei first arrived, he had taken Zhuge Liang's advice to reclaim overgrown land and hand it out to the people. That alone had earned him loyalty that bordered on devotion.
But it was the Lightscreen that really kicked everything up a notch.
Armed with knowledge from the future, Zhuge Liang had personally overseen a farming revolution. He taught farmers how to select and breed better seeds. Showed them the curved plow that turned soil in half the time with half the sweat. Worked out how to turn waste into fermented fertilizer that made the fields bloom.
Between the Strategist and Jiang Gongyan, grain harvest in Gong'an jumped 35 percent in a single season. Even in the four southern commanderies, where changes took longer to roll out, yields were already up 15 percent.
Granaries were filling up. And taxes? They had been slashed. Where local lords used to take 60 or even 70 percent of everything a farmer grew, Liu Bei had set it at a flat 40 percent.
For the first time in living memory, people had a real surplus. Enough to eat. Enough to sell. Enough to actually plan for the future.
The city hummed with new work. Water-powered mills rumbled along the riverbanks, grinding grain without needing an army of laborers. People who had once had nothing to do between planting and harvest now had jobs in paper mills, ironworks, or helping build new city walls.
Zhao Yun walked down the main street. Shops lined both sides, cloth, paper, iron tools sharp enough to shave with. He even spotted stalls selling malt candy, once a luxury only seen during festivals, now being handed to kids who actually had coins to spend.
"Get your Ink Cakes here!" a peddler shouted, waving a dark block of compressed fuel. "Half the price of charcoal, burns twice as long!"
Zhao Yun recognized it instantly. Every new trick in Gong'an got tested first by his personal guard of 200 elite scouts. They had already used these Ink Cakes on patrol, light, easy to carry, and almost impossible to blow out even in high winds.
The locals, though, were eyeing the black blocks like they might be a scam.
Zhao Yun pushed through the crowd and dropped a handful of coins into the peddler's hand.
"There is a house on the back street near the County Office with a Zhao banner out front," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Deliver 30 catties there."
"General Zhao!" "That is Zilong himself!"
The crowd's whole attitude shifted instantly. Most people knew him, not just for the white horse and the handsome features, but because when Zhuge Liang was out in the fields showing people how to plant, Zhao Yun was usually right there beside him, sleeves rolled up, boots sunk in mud.
A hero, sure, but the kind who got his hands dirty.
He gave a casual wave and kept walking. Behind him, the peddler got swarmed. If it was good enough for General Zhao, it was good enough for the home hearth.
---
By the time Zhao Yun got back to the hall, the vibe had completely changed.
Formal reserve was gone, replaced by heated debate. The generals were packed tight around the sand table, arguing over supply routes, ambush spots, and fallback lines like they were already in the thick of it.
Zhao Yun did not go easy on them. Taking command of the enemy side, he used a small force to lure the Jiangling defenders out from behind their walls. While they were chasing the bait, his cavalry and reinforcements moved in from cover, cutting off their retreat and, on paper, capturing the city.
Afterward he stretched, and his back cracked loud enough to echo.
"You have still got a long way to go," he said plainly. "If you can make time, cross over to Jiangling and watch the naval drills. You might pick up a thing or two about maneuverability, something you are clearly lacking on land."
Leaving them to pick apart their own mistakes, Zhao Yun wandered over to the window. Outside, the sky had turned deep purple as the sun went down.
His thoughts drifted north, unbidden. Back in Zhending, in Changshan, the snow must already be piling up. He had not felt homesick in years. But after seeing the Lightscreen, seeing the shrines and memorials future generations had built back in his hometown, something had shifted inside him.
And seeing young Gan Gui so determined to get back to his ancestral lands in Ba Commandery? That only made the ache sharper.
When will I ever get to go back?
Soon, he hoped. Neither Liu Bei nor Zhuge Liang had said anything outright. But stockpiling grain like this, recruiting so aggressively, pouring so much into building ships? It all pointed one way.
Zhao Yun could almost smell it in the air. A storm was coming.
---
When the Lunar New Year rolled around, it brought a calm sense of relief.
Compared to the year before, when every meal had felt like it might be the last, Liu Bei could finally breathe. No more trekking over to Sun Quan's court begging for land or playing the poor relation.
At the New Year banquet, Liu Bei sat with Lady Gan and Lady Sun. He watched Liu Feng return from duty under Zhang Fei and respectfully bow to Lady Gan, her health had improved so much under Zhang Zhongjing's care. Little A-Dou sat perfectly behaved in Lady Sun's lap, calm as you please.
For once, Liu Bei felt a deep, calm satisfaction. His ministers were working together. His home was peaceful. His sons were learning how to conduct themselves.
For the first time, restoring the Han did not feel like a desperate wish, it felt like a plan.
But the holiday did not last long. Piles of paperwork had a way of piling up, especially for the two Strategists. Zhuge Liang was buried under reports, finalizing seed and fertilizer distribution for spring planting across all four southern commanderies. Pang Tong was cross-referencing tax revenues, drafting a system that would treat people fairly while still filling the war chest.
Even Ma Liang, who had been sent deep into Wuling to oversee irrigation and farming reforms, did not get back until the end of the month, still covered in road dust.
As the date the Lightscreen had mentioned drew near, the whole administration seemed to hold its breath. Daily work slowed, replaced by a taut, waiting stillness.
Liu Bei sat at his desk, staring at a list of names, weighing his next appointments.
Out in the courtyard, Pang Tong stood looking up at the clear night sky, eyes bright with anticipation.
Kongming... they say you have got the talent to set the world right.
A small, competitive smile touched his lips.
Let me see it.
Show me this magic the future thinks so much about.
The air shimmered. The night's stillness broke with that familiar low hum.
The next chapter was about to begin.