Su Lie shifted his weight lazily against his left hip, one hand resting on the pommel of his standard-issue longsword while he rose slightly onto his toes to scan the crowded avenue ahead.
Chang'an was exploding with New Year energy.
Street vendors screamed themselves hoarse advertising hot steamed cakes and sweet rice wine. Children sprinted through the crowds clutching paper lanterns. Somewhere farther down the avenue, a group of drunken scholars were already attempting to compose poetry loud enough for the entire district to suffer through.
The Ministry of Personnel had officially declared a ten-day holiday for the New Year celebrations.
Unfortunately, the notice clearly did not apply to the law enforcement divisions.
Someone still had to keep the citizens of Chang'an from accidentally setting half the capital on fire while celebrating prosperity and good fortune.
For Su Lie, courtesy name Dingfang, the concept of a holiday was largely theoretical anyway.
The soldiers of the capital guard remained on patrol.
The night watch remained active.
And the moment rich nobles started drinking, gambling, and throwing fireworks into crowded streets, the workload mysteriously tripled.
Su Lie let out a quiet sigh.
Honestly, suppressing Turkic cavalry charges had occasionally felt less exhausting than managing drunk aristocrats during festival season.
His career trajectory over the past year had been so chaotic that even Su Dingfang occasionally struggled to keep track of his own title.
Last year, he had still been serving as a mid-ranking officer in the Kuandao regional forces.
A few months later, the court suddenly promoted him into the Left Martial Guard.
Then barely eight weeks after that, another transfer order arrived, reassigning him into the Left Defensive Guard as though the Ministry of War had been selecting positions by throwing darts at a map.
The entire process carried the unmistakable smell of imperial restructuring.
Not that Su Dingfang minded much.
During his brief period of active deployment, he had experienced something infinitely more enjoyable than paperwork.
War.
At Yinshan, running purely on battlefield instinct and enough adrenaline to kill a horse, Su Dingfang had personally led two hundred armored cavalry directly through the enemy formation like a steel wedge.
The charge had shattered the opposing line completely.
Even now, he still remembered the sound.
Breaking shields.
Screaming horses.
The wet crunch of armor collapsing beneath cavalry momentum.
On the long ride back toward Chang'an, Su Dingfang had been in such an unusually good mood that he abandoned his normal silence and started roaring old marching songs into the freezing wind alongside the troops.
The Emperor had crushed Illig Qaghan.
The Eastern Turks had folded.
And with Li Shimin sitting on the throne, Su Dingfang genuinely believed this was only the beginning.
But the moment Su Dingfang rode back through the gates of Chang'an, reality came crashing down like a bureaucratic hammer.
The promotions sounded impressive.
The paperwork looked glorious.
The actual job changed absolutely nothing.
After all the transfers and title adjustments, he still ended up stationed in the exact same district, guarding the outer perimeter of the Hansi imperial gardens, an isolated corner of the capital most citizens forgot even existed.
On ordinary days, the assignment was already dull enough to drain a man's soul.
During the New Year festivities, it became unbearable.
Nobody wanted to spend the holiday wandering around an old imperial garden when the rest of Chang'an was exploding with lanterns, music, gambling dens, storytellers, opera stages, and enough food stalls to bankrupt a minor noble.
The roads around his post were nearly empty.
So empty, in fact, that Su Dingfang eventually climbed halfway up a retaining wall simply to watch a wrestling match happening several streets away.
Down below, a temporary arena had been drawn directly onto the stone roadway using thick white chalk.
Two enormous wrestlers crashed into each other inside the ring with enough force to make nearby shop signs shake. They wore only rough canvas shorts, their upper bodies gleaming with sweat beneath the winter sunlight as they grappled for leverage like fighting bulls.
The surrounding crowd was ecstatic.
Every throw triggered waves of shouting loud enough to echo down the avenue.
A drunk merchant nearly lost his voice screaming betting odds.
Completely bored with his actual assignment, Su Dingfang pulled himself onto the top of the old brick wall. He carefully unhooked his sword belt, rested the sheathed blade across his knees, and let his legs hang over the edge while watching the wrestlers rotate through challenger after challenger.
Honestly, this was still more entertaining than standing guard beside an empty garden gate for twelve straight hours.
"Su Lie!"
The sharp voice sliced cleanly through the distant roar of the crowd.
Perched atop the wall, Su Dingfang stopped swinging his legs and leaned down to look into the alley below. Then he raised an eyebrow.
Well now. One of the palace peacocks.
He recognized the man immediately. Li Junxian. An officer from the inner imperial security divisions, young, sharp-featured, dressed so neatly he looked less like a soldier and more like someone painted onto a ceremonial screen.
Under normal circumstances, Su Dingfang probably should have climbed down immediately, fixed his uniform, and offered a proper salute. Unfortunately, after rotting beside the Hansi gardens for months, his respect for bureaucratic procedure had declined significantly. If the court insisted on wasting cavalry officers guarding flowerbeds, then he intended to enjoy himself while doing it.
Down in the street, one wrestler suddenly executed a brutal hip throw that slammed his opponent flat onto the stone roadway. The surrounding crowd exploded.
Su Dingfang immediately slapped the wall and roared in approval alongside them.
"Well thrown!"
Only after the cheering died down did he lazily glance back toward the alley.
"That's my name," he called down casually. "What do you want?"
Li Junxian's eyes narrowed slightly. One hand rested against his belt as he stared up at the older officer balanced atop the wall like some oversized bird.
"His Majesty requests your presence in the private study." His tone flattened further. "Immediately."
The relaxed boredom vanished from Su Dingfang's body so quickly it was almost violent. He jumped down from the wall in a single motion, boots slamming into the dirt hard enough to kick up dust. Straightening instantly, he smacked the gray powder from his trousers and grabbed his sword belt.
In the space of a heartbeat, the lazy festival spectator vanished. The battlefield officer returned.
Su Dingfang looked directly at Li Junxian.
"Lead the way."
They walked the rest of the route in silence.
Not the comfortable silence shared between comrades.
The other kind.
Years earlier, when Li Shimin personally marched to crush Liu Heita's rebellion, Li Junxian had ridden with the imperial vanguard. At the same time, Su Dingfang had been one of Liu Heita's frontline cavalry commanders, leading shock charges against Tang forces across the northern plains.
They had once tried very hard to kill each other.
That sort of history did not create lively conversation.
The only sounds accompanying them through Chang'an were distant festival drums and the muffled crackle of firecrackers echoing across the avenues.
It was not until they reached the towering timber doors of Ganlu Hall that Su Dingfang finally spoke.
"What exactly does His Majesty want with a glorified garden guard?"
Li Junxian gave him a brief sideways glance. Cold. Unreadable. Then he continued walking as though the question had never been asked.
Su Dingfang clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Before he could throw out another sarcastic remark, the doors suddenly opened from within.
A monk stepped out into the winter sunlight. He wore plain gray robes without ornamentation. His face looked tired, almost frighteningly tired, like a man who had spent years carrying something heavy inside his mind without rest. Yet despite the exhaustion, his posture remained perfectly upright.
Li Junxian immediately lowered his voice slightly. "Master Xuanzang."
The respect in his tone was genuine.
Su Dingfang watched with mild curiosity as the monk offered Li Junxian a deep bow of thanks, specifically expressing gratitude for assistance during his recent release from local detention authorities. Apparently even monks managed to get themselves arrested in Chang'an these days. Wonderful.
The moment Li Junxian gestured that the chamber was ready, Su Dingfang stopped caring about the conversation entirely and strode past the monk into Ganlu Hall.
The sudden shift from bright winter sunlight into the dim palace interior forced his eyes to narrow slightly.
Then he paused.
The room was unexpectedly plain. No towering gold ornaments. No oceans of silk curtains. No mountains of ceremonial nonsense.
A handful of simple wooden seats had been arranged irregularly around the chamber, all facing toward a gigantic mounted canvas stretched across the central display wall.
Standing directly before the massive canvas map was Li Shimin himself.
The Emperor wore only a loose dark silk tunic today, far removed from the intimidating grandeur of full court attire. His hands rested behind his back as he stared at the enormous map in silence, completely turned away from the entrance.
Su Dingfang immediately dropped to one knee.
"This subject greets Your Majesty."
Li Shimin did not turn around.
"A report arrived on my desk this morning, Su Lie."
His tone was calm, but carried enough weight to make the surrounding air feel heavier.
"It claims that ever since I ordered the execution of your adoptive father, you have spent the last several years quietly wasting away inside my administration out of personal resentment."
A short pause followed.
"Would you care to confirm that accusation?"
Su Dingfang's expression remained perfectly still.
"It is not resentment, Your Majesty."
Li Shimin's eyes shifted slightly.
"It is capability."
The general finally lifted his head.
"A cavalry commander cannot serve the empire properly while guarding empty gardens and sweeping dead leaves from stone pathways."
Ganlu Hall fell silent.
Even Li Junxian instinctively lowered his gaze.
Most officials would have wrapped that complaint inside three layers of polite wording before daring to present it to the throne. Su Dingfang simply said it directly.
Li Shimin let out a soft grunt, clearly satisfied with the honesty.
"Good."
He finally turned around, his eyes burning with a sudden, intense focus.
"Then let's alter your schedule. If I order you to march north, break the remaining Tujue resistance, stabilize the grasslands, and reopen the arteries leading toward the Western Regions..."
His finger slowly traced routes across the continental map.
"...how do you answer?"
The moment Su Dingfang heard those words, the exhaustion inside his body vanished.
His blood heated instantly.
This was not garden duty. Not patrol work. Not ceremonial nonsense.
This was conquest.
"That," Su Dingfang answered immediately, "is the deepest wish of this subject."
His hand unconsciously tightened around the hilt at his waist.
"I merely lacked the authority to pursue it."
A slow smile spread across Li Shimin's face.
Predatory.
Satisfied.
He stepped aside from the giant map and gestured toward it openly.
"Then come here, General."
His eyes gleamed with something Su Dingfang could not quite identify.
"Allow me to show you the actual size of the world."
The Emperor casually rested his palm against the canvas.
"Before you ask where this map came from..."
Li Shimin's smile widened, carrying the unmistakable satisfaction of a man who had been waiting to spring this exact moment on someone new.
"...let's just say you will find out soon enough."
---
Deep within the rear gardens of the imperial palace in Bianliang, Zhao Kuangyin was experiencing the most concentrated existential crisis of his life.
The light screen resting on the stone table had only broadcast for a little over an hour, but Zhao Kuangyin felt like he had aged ten years watching it.
The future commentator had shown no respect for imperial dignity.
One moment the screen was praising the Tang Dynasty as the apex civilization of Eurasia. The next moment it was casually describing the Song Dynasty as a group project managed by sleep-deprived accountants with no military instincts.
A donkey cart drift emperor.
Three consecutive fools.
Half the empire erased by northern cavalry.
Even worse, the commentator kept using the Tang Dynasty as a comparison benchmark. Every single time the Southern Song appeared on screen, the phrase "dreaming of Chang'an" followed close behind like a funeral bell.
Zhao Kuangyin sat motionless on the stone stool, staring blankly at the cooling tea beside him.
His military instincts were screaming.
The Song court feared its own generals too much.
The Song military structure was crippled.
The strategic initiative of the empire had been voluntarily surrendered.
As the founder of the dynasty, he immediately understood the root cause.
The problem was him.
Or more accurately, the shadow left behind by the Chenqiao Mutiny.
Ever since he put on the yellow robe, every future Song emperor apparently treated military commanders the same way civilians treated venomous snakes. Useful from a distance. Terrifying up close.
Zhao Kuangyin rubbed his forehead hard enough to leave red marks.
He could already imagine the logic used by his descendants.
"We must prevent another Zhao Kuangyin."
Wonderful.
So in order to avoid producing one ambitious general, they accidentally produced an entire civilization terrified of warfare.
A cold wind drifted through the rear gardens.
The future screen had long since dimmed, but Zhao Kuangyin still felt lingering psychological damage every time he remembered certain lines.
"At least match the survival instincts of Sun Quan."
What kind of evaluation was that?
Sun Quan was not even unified-China material. The man spent half his reign alternating between competence and inexplicable nonsense.
Yet future Song scholars apparently viewed reaching Sun Quan's level as an unrealistic dream.
Zhao Kuangyin slowly leaned back against the stone bench and stared up at the night sky.
The more he thought about it, the more horrifying the implications became.
The Tang Dynasty at least collapsed while fighting like rabid tigers. Their elite armies butchered each other at Xiangji Temple with casualty rates that sounded mathematically impossible. Their poets died in prison cells. Their generals died screaming warnings to the throne. Their calligraphers became martyrs.
And despite all that chaos, future generations still looked at Tang and saw glory.
What did that mean for Song?
Zhao Kuangyin suddenly felt a faint stabbing pain in his chest.
The screen had not described the Song Dynasty as weak because its economy failed.
Quite the opposite.
The commentator practically praised Song commerce, urbanization, and civil administration every ten minutes. Which somehow made the military humiliation even more embarrassing. An empire rich enough to dominate global trade routes, yet psychologically incapable of punching northern nomads in the face.
Zhao Kuangyin covered his eyes with one hand.
For the first time in years, the founding emperor of Song genuinely wanted alcohol strong enough to erase memory.
The technical details were driving him insane. Unable to process the stress for a second longer, Zhao Kuangyin reached into his silk belt, pulled out a beautifully polished wooden slingshot, and began scanning the garden canopy for something to shoot.
At this exact moment, the founding Emperor of Song desperately needed to hit a bird.
Or a squirrel.
Or preferably one of his future descendants.
Before he could pull back the leather strap, however, he suddenly remembered a completely different irritation from earlier that morning. His face darkened immediately.
"Guards!"
Several palace attendants nearly jumped out of their skin.
"Get down to the residence of Censor Zhang Ai immediately," Zhao Kuangyin barked. "Charge him with deceiving the sovereign for ringing the emergency bell over a routine memorial. Fine him heavily. Let this serve as a warning to the rest of those loudmouths."
The attendants hurried off at full speed.
Watching them disappear into the corridor, Zhao Kuangyin finally exhaled in satisfaction.
Good.
At least someone in this dynasty could still be punished correctly.
He was not one of those future emperors who spent their reigns getting psychologically bullied by frontier cavalry. He was Zhao Kuangyin. The man who ended the Five Dynasties chaos. The man who reunified the Central Plains. The man whose generals actually knew which direction a cavalry charge was supposed to go.
If he wanted to hunt birds in his own imperial garden, then by heaven, he did not require a civilian censor barging into the palace and treating a slingshot like a constitutional crisis.
Zhao Kuangyin raised the polished wooden weapon again and narrowed his eyes at a tree branch overhead.
Then he paused.
A dangerous thought suddenly surfaced.
Future Song officials probably would ban slingshots too.
His eyelid twitched.
No.
Impossible.
Even his descendants could not be that hopeless.
...Right?
---
Inside the provincial office of Chengdu, the leadership of Shu Han had completely abandoned any pretense of serious administration.
A dozen important state documents sat ignored at the edge of the table while every major official in the room crowded around the golden card Li Shimin had sent through the temporal rift.
The thing was absurdly fancy.
Even under the dim candlelight, the silver-thread inlays shimmered with a level of craftsmanship that made Shu Han's treasury officials feel physical pain.
Liu Ba held the card with both hands like a starving man examining a roasted duck.
In terms of raw weight, the object did not contain enough gold to seriously affect state finances. But the manufacturing quality was outrageous. The edges were perfectly aligned. The engraved dragons looked alive. Even the tiny decorative patterns were so precise they resembled machine work.
Liu Ba stared at it for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his tone was dangerously serious.
"Do you think the Tang Emperor would consider long-term, low-interest state loans?"
The room went silent.
Then Zhang Fei exploded into laughter so violently that the tea cups rattled.
"Loans?" he barked. "Brother, your vision is too small."
He slapped the table hard enough to make Liu Ba nearly drop the card.
"If we are borrowing from the future, ask for cavalry."
Zhang Fei pointed dramatically at the golden card.
"Three divisions of those Tang iron cavalrymen. That's what we need."
His eyes practically glowed.
"Did you see those monsters at Xiangji Temple? If I had five hundred of those armored riders, I could storm Xuchang, drag Cao Cao out of bed by his beard, and still make it back before dinner."
Liu Bei finally lost control and laughed aloud.
"If heaven actually handed us troops like that, Yide, future historians would probably claim the Tang Dynasty started four hundred years early."
Kongming looked thoughtful.
The military footage from the light screen had clearly affected him more deeply than the others. Heavy cavalry operating in coordinated formations. Independent regional supply structures. Advanced metallurgy. Cross-provincial logistics. The Tang military machine was basically a Three Kingdoms strategist's fever dream. Unfortunately, it also came bundled with catastrophic political self-destruction.
Kongming slowly stretched his shoulders and glanced toward the corner of the room.
Xu Shu was calmly packing a leather travel case beside the window. Maps. Documents. Travel seals. Several sets of winter clothing.
The moment Kongming noticed the luggage, the playful atmosphere inside the office weakened considerably.
"What is the final schedule, Yuanzhi?" Kongming asked quietly. "When do your horses depart?"
The laughter died immediately.
Liu Bei's expression stiffened.
Zhang Fei lowered his wine cup.
Xu Shu paused mid-motion before giving a helpless smile.
"At dawn tomorrow."
Silence settled over the room.
Because everyone present understood exactly what that meant.
Xu Shu had only just returned to Shu Han after years trapped in the north. His mother was long gone, her death a wound that had never fully healed. But now, after witnessing the revelations from the light screen, Xu Shu had made a decision.
Jingzhou needed him.
Yunchang needed him.
The defensive line along the river valleys could not hold without proper strategic coordination.
He was not running away from grief this time. He was running toward something worth protecting.
Zhang Fei frowned deeply.
"I still say you should rest longer. You just got here."
Xu Shu smiled faintly.
"Rest? While Cao Cao's vanguard could begin marching at any moment?" He shook his head. "I have been away from active command for three years, Yide. If I stay here any longer drinking hotpot broth while the northern armies sharpen their blades, I will become nothing but dead weight."
Zhang Fei opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again.
Xu Shu crouched beside the travel case, tightening the leather straps around his boots before finally looking up.
"My Lord."
Liu Bei met his eyes.
"I have spent three years trapped in a useless civilian post in Wei territory, unable to contribute, unable to fight, watching the chaos from a distance while my friends bled on the front lines." Xu Shu's voice was steady. "Now I am back. Now I have knowledge from the heavens themselves. If I do not ride to Jingzhou and put that knowledge to use, then what was the point of any of it?"
Liu Bei stepped forward and rested a hand firmly on his old friend's shoulder.
Years ago, when Xu Shu departed for the north, there had been no choice involved. His mother had been taken hostage. He left because staying would have killed her. And then she died anyway.
That memory still weighed on both of them.
But this time was different.
Yuanzhi was choosing to ride toward danger. Not because he was cornered. Not because he lacked options. But because he genuinely believed Shu Han had a future worth defending.
That somehow made the moment feel heavier.
Xu Shu noticed the expression on Liu Bei's face and immediately smiled. Relaxed. Bright. Familiar.
"Aside from missing the chance to share a drink with Shiyuan before the campaign began, I already have everything a strategist could ask for."
He adjusted the stack of maps tucked beneath his arm.
"I have been away from active command too long. If I don't get down to the river gates soon and start reviewing the defensive sectors with Yunchang, then when the arrows start flying, I will become nothing but baggage consuming grain."
Zhang Fei burst into laughter instantly.
"You? Baggage?" He slapped the table hard enough to shake the cups. "Yuanzhi, if your brain counts as baggage, the rest of us should surrender immediately."
Even Liu Bei laughed at that.
The tension inside the office loosened considerably.
Although the deployment schedule was tight, nobody in Shu Han intended to let Xu Shu depart Chengdu without a proper farewell first.
Less than half an hour later, the leadership circle had relocated to a smaller dining pavilion beside the rear courtyard.
A massive earthenware hotpot sat bubbling at the center of the table, crimson broth rolling violently beneath layers of rendered oil and Sichuan peppercorns. The fragrance alone was enough to revive exhausted officials.
Zhang Fei immediately began dropping trays of sliced lamb into the pot with terrifying enthusiasm. Across from him, Liu Ba watched the process with the expression of a treasury officer personally witnessing state finances dissolve into soup.
Warm candlelight flickered across the pavilion. Outside, winter rain tapped softly against the roof tiles of Chengdu. Inside, cups of hot grain liquor slowly passed from hand to hand.
Xu Shu quietly lifted his cup and looked across the familiar faces gathered around the table.
Men who had once been scattered across the chaos of the realm were now sitting together beneath the same roof discussing how to reshape the future.
A sudden wave of emotion hit Xu Shu so unexpectedly that he nearly lost composure.
Liu Bei noticed the sudden shift in his expression and set his wine cup down. "What is it, Yuanzhi? Why are your eyes turning red?"
Xu Shu hurriedly wiped the corner of his eyes with his sleeve and laughed at himself. "Nothing serious, My Lord. I was only thinking about how absurd these past few months have been."
He looked toward the dark night outside the pavilion.
"In one season, I learned the earth is a sphere hanging in the void. I watched dynasties a thousand years beyond our own rise and collapse. I listened to later generations dissect emperors and campaigns as if they were discussing yesterday's market prices."
Xu Shu shook his head with a helpless smile.
"The knowledge from that heavenly screen outweighs everything I studied in the previous forty years of my life. Sometimes I genuinely cannot tell whether we are living in reality or wandering through some immortal's dream."
The pavilion quieted slightly.
Even Zhang Fei, who usually laughed off the more philosophical discussions, fell silent for a moment while chewing a slice of lamb.
Mi Zhu was the first to recover. He lifted his chopsticks and smiled warmly. "Dream or not, at least our grain prices are finally stabilizing. If heaven truly wishes to help us, I would prefer another ten years of peaceful trade routes."
Liu Ba immediately snorted. "Peaceful trade routes require money to protect them."
"And your reforms require merchants willing to stay alive long enough to pay taxes," Mi Zhu shot back.
The table burst into laughter.
Across the pavilion, Zhang Song rolled up a bamboo slip with visible annoyance. "You two discuss coins from sunrise to sunset. Some of us are still drowning in administrative paperwork."
Fa Zheng lazily swirled his wine cup. "That is because your handwriting looks like a spider dipped in ink and died on the bamboo."
"Xiaozhi!" Zhang Song glared at him.
Zhao Yun sat near the entrance as usual, posture straight even during a banquet. He quietly watched the others argue, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
Xu Shu glanced toward him and smiled.
Ever since seeing the future footage of heavy cavalry formations crashing across open plains, Xu Shu had been unable to stop thinking about Liangzhou horses. If they could truly secure a stable supply from the northwest, Zilong's battlefield potential would become terrifying.
Noticing the gaze, Zhao Yun raised his cup politely. "Yuanzhi."
Xu Shu returned the gesture.
Across the table, Liu Bei watched the scene with unconcealed warmth in his eyes.
After years of defeat, separation, and wandering, this tiny gathering finally resembled the foundation of a real state. Talented officials managed supplies and law. Veteran generals guarded the borders. Old friends sat together under the same roof once more.
For a brief moment, even the endless pressure from Cao Cao's northern armies felt distant.
Xu Shu slowly exhaled, clearing the strategic calculations from his mind. Then he raised his wine cup toward Liu Bei.
"A toast, My Lord. Tonight, we leave the maps and troop reports for tomorrow."
His smile widened slightly.
"Tonight is for reunion."
---
While the wine cups were still circling through Chengdu, Pang Tong was living in an entirely different world up in Hanzhong.
To be precise, he was living in heaven.
Jiang Wei was even more outrageous than the light screen had advertised. The boy could study a mountain pass once and immediately point out the weak angle in its defensive layout. Give him a troop chart, and he could calculate supply strain faster than most veteran clerks. His grasp of classical military theory was so solid that Pang Tong occasionally caught himself wondering whether this kid had secretly been reincarnated from some ancient strategist.
But none of that was the best part.
The best part was hearing the boy respectfully lower his head and say, "Master."
Every single time Jiang Wei said it, Pang Tong felt his entire body relax with satisfaction.
Wonderful.
Excellent.
This was the correct order of the universe.
Unfortunately, the child also came bundled with a familiar problem.
Too righteous.
Far too righteous.
After several weeks together, Pang Tong realized Jiang Wei's personality was practically carved from the same block of wood as Kongming's. The same stubborn moral compass. The same refusal to bend once a principle had been decided. The same terrifying persistence.
If Jiang Wei decided the sky should move three inches north, he would probably spend the next forty years trying to push it there personally.
Pang Tong leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead.
Now he finally understood why future generations kept describing Jiang Wei as the final pillar of Shu Han. A person with this kind of personality would absolutely fight until his last breath for a collapsing state.
Nearby, Jiang Wei was still carefully reorganizing bamboo slips according to campaign category, completely unaware that his new teacher was internally celebrating like a bandit who had just robbed the imperial treasury and gotten away with it.
Pang Tong narrowed his eyes slightly.
Honestly, this situation was becoming dangerous.
He had already warned Zhang Fei and Fa Zheng repeatedly not to leak anything to Chengdu. But Hanzhong was not some distant frontier at the edge of civilization. One fast horse could cover the road to Shu in days. A secret this valuable was basically a lit torch inside a dry forest.
Sooner or later, Kongming was going to hear about it.
The thought immediately made Pang Tong sit up straighter.
Then he snorted.
So what if he heard?
The light screen clearly showed that Jiang Wei never even appeared in Kongming's early recommendation lists. That meant the Wolong had completely missed him the first time around.
Pang Tong's grin slowly widened again.
If Kongming was too busy governing the realm to notice a once-in-a-generation military prodigy sitting right beside the border, then naturally the Fengchu had every right to pick the treasure up first.