The morning after the Lunar New Year celebrations, the festive atmosphere in Gong'an did not simply fade. It was flattened under an avalanche of logistics reports.
Across the desk in the County Office, Pang Tong looked like a man seriously considering arson.
The Fengchu was buried under a stack of bamboo scrolls so tall it nearly hid the door from view. He slammed one down hard enough to make the teacups dance.
"Kongming." His voice carried the particular despair of a genius forced into menial labor. "I am a master strategist. A man meant to set the world on fire with brilliant schemes and tip the scales of empires with a single sentence. Why am I currently comparing hemp prices in Wuling versus Changsha? This was never in the job description."
Zhuge Liang did not lift his eyes from his brush. It moved with the steady rhythm of a well-oiled machine.
"Because, Shiyuan, an army marches on its stomach but pays its bills in hemp and grain. If the math is off by one copper coin, the Phoenix will find himself plucked, roasted, and served for dinner by hungry infantry. Virtue does not feed ten thousand men. Ledgers do."
Pang Tong let out a sigh long enough to power a windmill.
"I miss the Lightscreen. At least when the future was telling us how we would all go down in flames at Yiling, it was entertaining. This is cruel and unusual punishment. My mind is turning into a dusty abacus."
"Drink your tea and finish the report on the hydraulic mills," Zhuge Liang said calmly, finally looking up with a faintly wicked smile. "Or I will ask Lady Huang to design a machine that can do your job. It would certainly complain less."
---
While the strategists drowned in ink, Liu Bei dealt with a different kind of headache. One that shouted too loud and smelled of river spray.
He stood at the Yangtze docks, rubbing his temples as a voice cracked with adolescent rage echoed across the water.
Gan Gui, son of the legendary Gan Ning, was turning out to be exactly like his old man. Loud, terrifyingly competent, and possessed of a personality that made people want to either promote him or throw him in the river.
"No, no, no! You blundering land-lubbing barnacles!" The sixteen-year-old's voice cracked just enough to betray his age but not his volume. "You are gripping that oar like it is a shy maiden's hand! It is a tool of war, not a delicate flower! Row like that in a cross-current and the river will take your boat, your dignity, and your lives! Son of a turtle, my grandmother could row better than this, and she has been dead for ten years!"
A burly soldier twice the boy's size, covered in scars that looked like maps of a dozen battlefields, grumbled under his breath.
"Kid, I fought at Red Cliffs. I have seen ships burn and the river run red. I know a thing or two about rowing."
Gan Gui spun around, hands planted on his hips, face flushed the color of a ripe persimmon.
"And you probably survived by hiding in the bilge and praying, did you not? You useless lump of driftwood! If you want to reach Yizhou in one piece, you do not wrestle the river like a drunk bear. You dance with it. A boat is an extension of your soul, and right now yours looks like a constipated water buffalo. Did your mother drop you on your head as a baby?"
Liu Bei leaned against a post, massaging his forehead. The boy was a whirlwind of energy, but his mouth was a diplomatic disaster waiting to happen.
Beside him, Zhao Yun stood like a marble statue. Calm. Poised. Watching the boy with clinical curiosity.
"Zilong." Liu Bei sighed. "Remind me again why we let Yide bring this human hurricane here?"
"Because, my lord," Zhao Yun replied, a faint twitch of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth, "the boy claims he can bring us eight hundred of his father's elite men. Soldiers who can swim a mile in full armor. Also, he is the only one brave enough, or foolish enough, to tell our veterans they row like elderly ducks."
"He has his father's fire, certainly." Liu Bei watched Gan Gui kick a bucket to get a lagging sailor's attention. "I just hope he did not inherit his father's habit of challenging people to duels over a missed meal."
---
As the training session wound down, a shadow fell over the docks. A massive shadow, smelling faintly of strong wine and old leather.
Zhang Fei swaggered over, spear slung over one shoulder like it weighed nothing at all.
"Oi, you little brat!" he roared, loud enough to make the nearby boats rock. "Heard you told my elite infantry their footwork is like a dying crab! You want to say that to my face, or are you only brave when the soldiers are not allowed to knock you into the river? Come on, you little dog-spawn! Let us hear it!"
Gan Gui looked up, and up, at the mountain of a man looming over him. Most would have quaked in their boots. Gan Gui just squinted, glanced down at Zhang Fei's massive boots, and shrugged.
"Your footwork is heavy, Uncle Zhang," he said, completely deadpan.
The entire dock went still.
"Uncle?!" Zhang Fei's beard bristled like an angry cat.
"You are strong, sure," Gan Gui went on, apparently oblivious to the gathering storm. "On land, you are a landslide. No question. But put you on a rocking deck in a gale, and you would go overboard in three seconds flat. Your balance is like a boulder rolling downhill. All momentum, no grace. You need to move like a leaf on the water, not a stone. A boulder sinks. A leaf rides the waves. Do not take it personal. It is just the truth."
Zhang Fei stared at him for three long seconds.
Then he let out a laugh so thunderous it rattled the warehouse windows. He slapped Gan Gui on the back with a hand the size of a dinner plate, nearly launching the boy face-first into the Yangtze.
"A leaf! He calls me a leaf!" Zhang Fei turned to Liu Bei, grinning like a man who had just found a barrel of wine. "Big Brother! I like this one! He is Gan Ning all over again, but with even less sense of self-preservation! 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 the boy still had a head on his shoulders. "We need his sailors, not a drinking buddy for you."
---
Later that night, Gan Gui decided to prove a point. He would show the scouts he could be stealthy too.
He belly-crawled through the tall grass, moving like a shadow, timing every shift of his weight to the rustle of the wind. He was ten feet from the command tent when a hand reached down from a tree branch and grabbed him by the back of his collar, hoisting him straight up.
Chen Dao held him dangling like a sack of rice. The commander of the White Feather Guards did not say a word at first. He just let him kick.
"General Zhang said you were fast," Chen Dao said finally, his voice so low it was barely more than a breath. "He did not mention you were as noisy as a startled goose."
"I was silent!" Gan Gui hissed, legs flailing uselessly. "I did not even snap a twig! You shadowy bastard!"
"You move like you are on a rolling deck." Chen Dao set 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 travels through the soil. The crickets go still when you pass because you feel wrong to the land. If you want to scout for Lord Xuande, you do not just hide in the grass. You become the grass."
He handed the boy a dull, lead-weighted training dagger.
"Touch my belt before the moon reaches its peak, and I will teach you how to vanish. Fail, and you are back to rowing until your hands fall off."
Gan Gui spent the next four hours getting outmaneuvered by a man he could barely see. By the end, he was covered in mud, scratched to pieces, and bruised in half a dozen places. But his eyes were burning.
The world beyond the river was far more dangerous than he had ever realized.
---
He eventually found his way to Jian Yong's porch, thoroughly deflated.
The advisor was lazily peeling a very fine orange, a rare gift from the southern commanderies.
"Oh, look." Jian Yong did not glance up. "It is the human pincushion. Come to finish the job you started when you first arrived?"
Gan Gui flopped onto the steps, wiping mud from his face.
"I apologized for that already, you old fox! I thought you were some Yizhou spy coming to sniff around! My da has got history with those folks. It was an honest mistake!"
"And I accepted your apology, mostly because you are too young to know how to aim properly." Jian Yong tossed him a slice of orange. "Here. Peace offering. And a lesson."
Gan Gui bit into it, and his eyes went wide.
"River gods... this is incredible. It is sweet! Back in Wu, oranges are usually sour unless you are nobility. I could eat a hundred of these."
"That is because it is grown by free men, not forced labor." Jian Yong's eyes twinkled. "Everything tastes better when it does not come at someone else's expense. But listen, kid. If you want to go to Yizhou with us, you have got to stop acting like a river pirate who just dropped anchor. We will need diplomats there, not just raiders. You cannot stab everyone who gives you a funny look."
"I know." Gan Gui muttered, picking at a splinter on the step. "It is just... I want to go home. I want to show the old man I found a better lord than he did. May my oar snap in two if I fail."
Jian Yong patted his shoulder.
"You will get there. Just try not to get yourself executed by Chen Dao before we leave, you little barnacle."