Jiang Wan carefully set his calligraphy brush onto its carved wooden rest, watching as ink dried on the final stack of administrative orders.
For a moment, he allowed himself a rare, deeply satisfying exhale, then shoved the remaining mountain of logistical paperwork aside.
A man could only process so many requisition forms before his brain simply staged a mutiny.
He needed a break.
Standing, he crossed to his office's narrow window and gazed out over the sprawling urban landscape. The contrast between Jiangling City and neighboring Gongan County, separated only by a stretch of river and a few stone walls, was positively mind-boggling.
Gongan had started as a brand new administrative zone established by Imperial Uncle Liu Bei. In those early days, it was essentially a glorified, highly organized mud pit. Defensive walls were laughably short. Infrastructure was non-existent. For all intents and purposes, it was a just military encampment playing dress-up as a civilian settlement.
Sun Qian had once painstakingly drafted urban development blueprints for Gongan, neat little grids for markets, residential zones, and barracks all laid out with precision.
Then reality decided to throw everyone's plans into a wood chipper.
A mysterious, glowing light screen had descended from the heavens, functioning as an impossibly detailed historical cheat sheet that revealed dynasties' rise and fall over the next thousand years. It offered explosive tech blueprints, revolutionary farming techniques, and a brutally honest mirror for leaders to fix their fatal flaws.
Thanks to that, the whole map of the realm had been turned upside down.
Now Jingzhou sat at the center of it all, connected to Hanzhong up north, with supply lines stretching west to Bashu's fertile basin. The amount of goods flowing through Jiangling was unlike anything anyone had ever seen.
A few months ago, Jiang Wan had stood on the walls and proudly declared Jiangling the most fortified city in the known world.
Today, looking at the chaotic, overflowing streets, he had a different thought.
This city is way too small.
They had already expanded the southern gate docks twice this year, but ever since October rolled around, things had spiraled completely out of control.
Merchant vessels clogged the river like dumplings in too little soup.
As southern Jingzhou's top administrator, Jiang Wan knew exactly what was fueling this economic explosion.
Months earlier, a dispatch from Yizhou had landed on his desk. Zhuge Liang, after reading about future sugar refining methods, had skipped all the red tape. He rounded up a huge workforce with generous state contracts and turned vast Nanguang fields into sugarcane plantations.
The September harvest was remarkable. Sugar production in the Chengdu basin multiplied tenfold almost overnight.
State markets in Chengdu flooded Jiangling with bulk shipments. From there, sharp merchants sent it downstream to Jiangdong's luxury-hungry markets.
The reaction was instant.
Thousands of merchants caught wind of the profits and swarmed in. Jiangdong trade ships fought the currents, desperate to lock down bulk contracts for this incredibly lucrative sweet stuff.
And hiding among them? A small army of spies. Agents and undercover types swarmed the docks, all trying to steal the refining methods.
The sheer ridiculousness made Jiang Wan want to laugh out loud.
Marquis Sun Quan of Jiangdong is truly something else, he thought, shaking his head.
When Liu Bei's forces won their victory in Jingzhou, Sun Quan didn't even send a polite note. Not a single word of congratulations. But the moment he caught wind of sugar? He flooded the city with spies faster than you could blink.
Jiang Wan half-wanted to write him a letter. Dear Marquis Sun, have you ever thought about giving up the whole warlord thing and just opening a shop? You clearly have a talent for trade.
Thankfully, this sugar-crazed mob of merchants never got past Jiangling. Not because of the river currents, but because the moment they stepped off their ships, they were greeted by massive notices with Jiang Wan's official seal plastered all over every gate.
Mi Zhu and Liu Ba had seen this coming. They set up a tightly controlled state market for bulk sugar sales. That monopoly was exactly why Jiangling was booming right now. Foreign money poured in, funding public works, and the river docks were already on their third expansion.
Deciding he needed some air, Jiang Wan grabbed his cloak and headed out.
As he crossed the administrative courtyard, he spotted Zhou Qun. Seeing a friendly face, he invited the man for a stroll through the city.
Zhou Qun, courtesy name Zhongzhi, was quite the character. Originally from Langzhong, he had a deep grasp of astronomy and celestial phenomena. On paper, he was the former tutor to Liu Zhang, the deposed warlord of Yizhou. He carried himself with the calm, dignified air of a scholar who had seen it all and could not be bothered anymore.
These days, Zhou Qun managed the household affairs of Liu Zhang's estate. Liu Zhang had been given the title General Zhenwei after surrendering Yizhou to Liu Bei. Whenever Zhou Qun had free time, which was often, he would wander over to help Jiang Wan with minor paperwork.
Zhou Qun was deeply pragmatic, putting him at direct odds with another resident of Liu Zhang's estate: Zhang Yu.
Zhang Yu lived in a permanent state of anxiety and constant motion. He spent every waking hour running around, holding secret meetings with displaced aristocrats. Wealthy landowners who felt cheated by Liu Bei's land reforms. He was desperately trying to unite them into a resistance movement, convinced that when Cao Cao marched south, they would rise up and reclaim their estates.
He genuinely loved this dangerous game, styling himself as Liu Zhang's ultimate loyalist. So consumed by his grand conspiracy, he completely ignored Zhou Qun, viewing the quiet astronomer as a harmless, invisible clerk with no political ambition. He had never once asked what Zhou Qun actually did with his free time.
Ironically, Zhang Yu was also a gifted astrologer and face reader, nearly as skilled as Zhou Qun himself. But where Zhou Qun kept his observations to himself, Zhang Yu couldn't resist running his mouth. He had a habit of predicting doom and gloom at the worst possible moments, a trait that would eventually get him into serious trouble.
Not that he had any idea, of course. At this very moment, he was probably busy convincing some gullible noble that the stars foretold Liu Bei's imminent downfall.
"Administrator Jiang," Zhou Qun said mildly as they stepped through the gate. "Midday walks are rare for you. What brings this on?"
"I am feeling a bit overwhelmed by how big this city has become," Jiang Wan laughed, adjusting his robes. "Figured I would invite you to come see the chaos with me."
They fell into an easy pace, weaving through crowded, noisy streets.
"Speaking of commerce," Jiang Wan asked casually, "does General Zhenwei have enough Gold Notes these days?"
The "Gold Note" was Liu Ba's brainchild. With Yizhou stable, the government no longer needed emergency measures like those old "Value Hundred" coins. But after studying future currency ideas, Liu Ba had a brainstorm and completely changed how the sugar trade worked.
Now, if a Jiangdong merchant wanted to buy bulk sugar, they couldn't just pay with heavy coins or silk. The state market refused hard currency. Merchants had to trade their goods and metals to the treasury for paper Gold Notes. Only then could they buy sugar from official vendors.
Making people trust paper money took serious security.
Liu Ba had Zhuge Liang build a secret, heavily guarded paper mill deep in Chengdu's mountains. Master craftsmen used advanced techniques from future paper-making methods, blending tree bark with hibiscus petals and other secret ingredients.
The result was a unique material: vibrant in color, smooth to the touch, yet as tough as fine leather.
After months of stockpiling, Zhuge Liang ordered the mill destroyed. The formula and blueprints were locked in a vault only Liu Bei could access. No one could counterfeit the stuff for at least a decade.
Blank sheets were cut to size. Denominations were written in ink mixed with real gold dust. Each note was stamped with Liu Bei's personal seal.
This was the Great Han Gold Note, the only currency accepted for state goods like refined sugar, Shu brocade, and Cong cloth.
All the resources and cash collected this way were shipped north to fund the war.
As a courtesy, Liu Bei had given Liu Zhang's estate a generous batch of Gold Notes. A quiet thank-you for handing over his list of traitors. It let the deposed warlord keep living large and buy all the sugar he wanted.
Zhou Qun offered a polite, knowing smile.
"No matter how hard he tries to waste money on imported sweets, he is still just one man," Zhou Qun replied. "The Imperial Uncle's grant covers his habits more than enough."
Jiang Wan nodded in agreement. After all, their lord had deliberately let Liu Zhang keep his massive personal wealth. With all the gold and jewels sitting in his private vault, the man could live like a king for the rest of his life without ever checking a ledger.
The two men continued down the bustling main avenue, discussing topics far removed from the daily grind of governance. Naturally, they gravitated toward mathematics.
Getting standardized advanced math out across the empire was proving to be a real headache. Zhuge Liang and Liu Bei had debated the issue fiercely before concluding that forcing the general populace to learn complex arithmetic was impossible in the short term. For now, mandatory lessons were restricted to officials and clerks.
But Jiang Wan had seen the Light Screen. He understood the power of advanced math. It was the foundation of engineering, logistics, and artillery. Zhou Qun, with his background in calculating celestial orbits, already had a solid grasp of complex numbers. Their conversation flowed easily and enthusiastically.
Their academic discussion was suddenly interrupted by a highly practical demonstration.
Approaching the state market's massive gates, they found a group of wealthy, silk-clad merchants squatting in the dirt. They were intensely focused, using sticks to scratch complex formulas into the mud. They were frantically calculating Gold Note exchange rates and profit margins.
This was not simple addition. They had to factor in the baseline value of a Gold Note against fluctuating silver prices. Plus travel overhead. Cargo ship rental costs by tonnage. Crew wages and rations. Hazard pay for river navigation. Projected sugar prices across dozens of Jiangdong markets.
It was a masterclass in practical economics, performed in the dirt by men who had never set foot in an academy.
Jiang Wan and Zhou Qun watched with amusement for several minutes, until the stressed merchants noticed them staring and aggressively shooed them away.
"Mathematics truly is the ultimate practical science," Jiang Wan remarked, slapping the cold stone of the city wall as they walked off.
Not wanting to eavesdrop on trade secrets, and seeing crowds forming near the market, Jiang Wan gestured toward a nearby staircase. They climbed to the wall's elevated walkway to escape the noise.
Zhou Qun leaned against the stone parapet, looking out over the landscape. He did not continue their math discussion. Instead, he turned to face the administrator directly.
"Are you carrying hidden worries, Administrator Jiang?" Zhou Qun asked quietly.
They stood on an isolated section of the wall. No guards within earshot. No spies lurking in the shadows.
Jiang Wan dropped his casual demeanor entirely. His face hardened.
"War will ignite again next year," he stated flatly. "You may return to the estate and inform General Zhenwei of this fact."
Zhou Qun leaned forward, resting his hands on the stone. Below lay a prosperous, peaceful city. The river teemed with merchants. Not a single sign of impending violence was visible.
"Where exactly?" he asked.
Jiang Wan did not look at the river. He pointed across the water toward Gongan.
Just as Jiangling had become an impenetrable fortress of commerce, Gongan had quietly transformed into something far more terrifying. An industrialized city of war.
Under Lady Huang's direction, Zhuge Liang's wife, Gongan's entire riverbank had been re-engineered. Massive waterwheels lined the shore, churning endlessly to power automated repeating ballistas that guarded the water approach.
The eastern sector had been hollowed out into a massive raw materials depot. Iron ore, lumber, and coal piled up like small mountains. The western sector was a dense grid of manufacturing workshops, with hundreds of brick smokestacks belching thick black smoke day and night.
It was a stark, brutal landscape of heavy industry. Unlike anything Jiang Wan had ever seen.
Despite Gongan's massive output, Jiang Wan held a critical secret. The master engineers who designed and maintained those water-powered machines did not live in the smoke-filled workshops. They slept comfortably within Jiangling's fortified walls, rarely if ever leaving the city.
He had personally issued that security directive. He knew Jiangdong's operatives were ruthless. He was terrified of targeted assassinations or kidnappings of his high-value technical staff.
If they ever needed Gongan to ramp up to full capacity. If they needed that city of iron and fire to unleash its true potential.
"Where?" Jiang Wan repeated the question softly.
Lowering his hand, he turned his gaze east toward Jiangxia's distant horizon. His eyes were cold.
"Everywhere," he whispered grimly. "The Guanzhong region in the north. The Jingbei theater. Right here on this river. And deep into Jingnan's southern territories. War will erupt on all four fronts at once."
---
A short time later, Zhou Qun returned to the quiet, shaded estate of General Zhenwei.
Following Jiang Wan's instructions, he entered the main hall and delivered the news directly to Liu Zhang, laying out the four-front war in detail.
Zhou Qun fully expected the famously timid former warlord to panic. To start hoarding grain. To draft escape plans. To demand armed escorts to flee the city.
Instead, Liu Zhang shifted on his silk-covered lounging couch and looked deeply annoyed.
"Why did the music stop?" he complained loudly, waving at the terrified musicians huddled in the corner. "Did I say to stop? Keep playing! And dancers, back to the center!"
Musicians scrambled to pick up their instruments. Soft strings filled the room again. Dancers in flowing ribbons resumed their graceful routines. The moment of geopolitical dread was instantly drowned out by pure decadence.
"This information has nothing to do with my daily life," Liu Zhang mumbled, popping candied fruit into his mouth as his eyes drifted closed.
He tapped his fingers to the music's rhythm, his face serene and untroubled. He was genuinely committed to enjoying his retirement.
"However," he added, eyes opening just enough to lock onto the astronomer, "I want you to take this exact report to Nanhe."
Nanhe was Zhang Yu's courtesy name. The frantic schemer running around organizing rebellion.
"Just mention it casually," Liu Zhang instructed, a faint smile touching his lips. "Tell him you overheard some gossip while running errands at the administration. Let him do whatever he wants with it."
Zhou Qun let out a long, heavy sigh. He bowed respectfully and backed out of the room.
Walking down the corridor as the music faded behind him, Zhou Qun realized one undeniable truth.
Zhang Yu was going to be incredibly busy this winter. And he would almost certainly get himself executed before the spring thaw.