If there was one thing the Three Kingdoms era had in abundance besides betrayal and magnificent facial hair, it was paperwork.
In the wake of the Lunar New Year, the festive atmosphere in Gong'an didn't just fade; it was unceremoniously smothered by a mountain of logistics reports.
Across the desk in the County Office, Pang Tong looked like he was contemplating a career change to professional arson.
The "Fengchu" was currently buried under a stack of bamboo scrolls so high it threatened to obscure his vision of the outside world.
"Kongming," Pang Tong growled, slamming a scroll down with enough force to rattle the tea cups. "I am a master strategist. A man meant to burn the world with brilliant schemes and tilt the fate of empires with a single word. Why am I currently a glorified tax accountant comparing the price of hemp in Wuling versus Changsha?"
Zhuge Liang didn't even look up from his brush, which moved with the mechanical, terrifying precision of a printing press.
"Because, Shiyuan, an army marches on its stomach, but it pays its bills with hemp and grain. If the math is wrong by even a single coin, the Phoenix will find himself plucked and roasted by a hungry infantry. Virtue doesn't feed ten thousand men; logistics do."
Pang Tong let out a long, dramatic sigh that could have powered a small windmill.
"I miss the Light Screen. At least when the future was telling us how we'd all die at Yiling, it was entertaining. This? This is just cruel and unusual bookkeeping. I feel like my brain is turning into a dry abacus."
"Drink your tea and finish the report on the hydraulic mills," Kongming said calmly, finally looking up with a faint, sadistic smile. "Or I'll have to ask Lady Huang to design a machine that can do your job. It would certainly complain less."
While the advisors were drowning in ink, Liu Bei was dealing with a different kind of headache.
He was currently standing at the Yangtze docks, his ears ringing with the sound of a voice that was far too loud for a boy of sixteen.
Gan Gui, the son of the legendary Gan Xingba, had proven to be exactly like his father: loud, incredibly competent, and possessed of a personality that made people want to either promote him or throw him into the river.
"No, no, no! You blundering land-lubbers!" Gan Gui screamed, his voice cracking slightly with adolescent rage. "You're gripping the oar like it's a mistress's hand! It's a tool of war, not a delicate flower! If you row like that in a Yangtze cross-current, the river won't just take your boat, it'll take your dignity and your life!"
A burly soldier, twice the boy's size and covered in scars that told stories of a dozen battles, grumbled under his breath.
"Kid, I fought at Chi Bi. I've seen ships burn and the river turn red."
"And you probably survived by accident or by hiding in the bilge!" Gan Gui shot back, hands on his hips, his tanned face flushing a deep copper. "If you want to reach Yizhou alive, you need to learn to dance with the water, not wrestle it like a drunken bear! A boat is an extension of your soul, and right now, your soul looks like a constipated water buffalo!"
Liu Bei leaned against a wooden post, rubbing his temples.
The boy was a whirlwind of energy, but his lack of filter was a diplomatic nightmare in the making.
Beside him, Zhao Yun stood like a statue of marble and lethal professionalism, his eyes tracing the boy's movements with clinical interest.
"Zilong," Liu Bei whispered, his voice weary. "Remind me again why we let Yide bring this child here?"
"Because, My Lord," Zhao Yun replied, a faint, dangerous twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips, "the boy claimed he could bring us eight hundred of his father's elite retainers, men who can swim a mile in full armor. Also, he's the only one brave, or perhaps just stupid, enough to tell our veterans that they row like elderly ducks."
"He has his father's spirit," Liu Bei sighed, watching Gan Gui kick a bucket to get a soldier's attention. "I just hope he doesn't have his father's habit of murdering people over a missed dinner invitation. We have enough enemies without Gan Ning's son starting a brawl in the mess hall."
As the training session ended, a shadow fell over the docks.
It was a massive shadow, smelling faintly of strong wine and old leather.
Zhang Fei swaggered over, the spear slung over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all.
"Hey, little brat!!!" Zhang Fei roared, a sound that usually sent horses into a panic. "I heard you told my elite infantry that their footwork is like a dying crab. Do you want to try saying that to my face, or are you only brave when the soldiers are forbidden from hitting you back?"
Gan Gui looked up at the mountain of a man.
Most men would have trembled.
Gan Gui merely squinted, looked at Zhang Fei's massive boots, and then shrugged.
"Your footwork is heavy, Uncle Zhang," Gan Gui deadpanned.
The entire dock went silent.
"Uncle?!" Zhang Fei's beard bristled.
"You're strong, sure," Gan Gui continued, oblivious to the impending explosion. "On land, you're a landslide. But if you were on a rocking deck in a storm, you'd be overboard in three seconds because you balance like a boulder. You need to learn to balance like a leaf on the water. A boulder sinks; a leaf survives."
Zhang Fei stared at the boy for three long seconds.
Then, he let out a laugh so thunderous it rattled the windows of the nearby warehouse.
He slapped Gan Gui on the back with a hand the size of a dinner plate, nearly sending the boy face-first into the Yangtze.
"A leaf! He calls me a leaf!"
Zhang Fei turned to Liu Bei, grinning like a maniac.
"Big Brother! I like this brat! He's like a miniature Gan Xingba, but with even less survival instinct! Can I keep him? I want to see if I can teach a 'leaf' how to drink ten jars of wine."
"He stays at the docks, Yide," Liu Bei said firmly, though he was secretly relieved. "We need his sailors, not a drinking partner for you."
Later that evening, Gan Gui decided to test his "pirate skills" by trying to sneak into the central command tent.
He wanted to prove that the navy could be just as stealthy as the scouts.
He moved like a shadow, belly-crawling through the tall grass, timing his movements with the wind.
He was ten feet from the tent when a hand reached down from the darkness of a tree branch and grabbed him by the back of his collar.
Chen Dao, the silent commander of the White Feather Guards, held the boy up.
Chen Dao was the man who stayed in the shadows so Liu Bei could stay in the light.
His face was a mask of cold stone.
"General Zhang said you were fast," Chen Dao said, his voice a low, chilling whisper. "He didn't mention you were as noisy as a frightened goose."
"I was silent!" Gan Gui hissed, kicking his legs fruitlessly. "I didn't even snap a twig!"
"You move with the rhythm of the waves," Chen Dao replied, setting him down with a thud. "You expect the ground to sway. But here, the earth is solid. Every time you shift your weight, the vibration carries through the soil. The crickets stop chirping when you pass because you 'feel' wrong to the land. If you want to be a scout for Lord Xuande, you must become the grass, not just hide in it."
Chen Dao handed him a dull, lead-weighted training dagger.
"If you can touch my belt before the moon reaches its peak, I'll teach you how to disappear. If not, you're back to rowing boats until your hands fall off."
Gan Gui spent the next four hours being "killed" by a man he could barely see.
By the end of it, the boy was covered in mud and bruises, but his eyes were burning with a new kind of fire.
He realized that the world outside the river was far more dangerous than he had imagined.
Exhausted and humiliated, Gan Gui eventually found his way to the porch of Jian Yong.
The advisor was lazily peeling a very expensive-looking orange, a gift from the southern commanderies.
"Oh, look. It's the human pincushion," Jian Yong remarked, not even looking up. "Come to finish the job you started when I first arrived?"
Gan Gui sat down on the steps, looking thoroughly deflated.
"I apologized for that already. I thought you were a Yizhou official coming to spy on us. My father... he has a history with those people."
"And I accepted the apology, mostly because you're too young to know how to aim properly," Jian Yong said, tossing the boy a slice of the orange. "Taste this. It's a peace offering. And a lesson."
Gan Gui chewed the fruit, his eyes widening.
"This is incredible. It's sweet. In Wu, the oranges are often sour or bitter unless you're a noble."
"That's because it's a 'Virtuous Orange,'" Jian Yong joked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Everything tastes better under Lord Xuande because it's grown with the labor of free men, not the blood of slaves. But listen, kid. If you want to follow the Lord to Yizhou, you have to stop acting like a wild animal. In the West, we'll need diplomats, not just pirates. You can't just stab everyone who looks at you funny."
"I know," Gan Gui muttered. "It's just... I want to go home. I want to show the old man that I found a better Lord than he did."
Jian Yong softened, patting the boy's shoulder.
"You will. Just try not to get executed by Chen Dao before we get there."