This had been humanity's dream since time immemorial.
In ancient times, Jiang Ziya was said to possess the aspect of the Flying Bear—one interpretation being a white tiger sprouting wings, hence the name "Flying Bear."
During the Han dynasty, there was also a title reserved for the very greatest generals:
The Flying General.
Li Guang had borne it. So had Lü Bu.
Granted, neither of them ended particularly well… but that wasn't important!
The point was that the light screen's casual line—"Might as well just fly"—had successfully ignited the curiosity of everyone present in Shu Han. Even Huang Zhong, already well past sixty, narrowed his eyes and tried to burn every detail of the screen into his memory.
For Huang Zhong, these past few days felt like a dream.
From an unappreciated, frustrated middle-ranking officer to General Huang, witness to heavenly omens and privy to events beyond his own lifetime—it all felt unreal.
The lord had said that the descendant was a young man of a later age. Then the others speaking on the screen must be his peers as well, right?
Huang Zhong's vision blurred.
In his daze, he seemed to see a group of young scholars laughing and playing together. One of them turned back—and that face bore a faint resemblance to his son, Huang Xu.
Fate had forced him to bury his child.
And even if he later slew Xiahou Yuan, even if the Han were restored—so what?
Who would he tell of these achievements?
Of what use were titles or posthumous honors to a man with no wife to reward and no son to inherit?
"General Huang—hey, General Huang, why are you crying?"
Zhang Fei squeezed over and threw an arm around Huang Zhong's shoulders.
"Ah! Once we figure out how those descendants grow wings, just come find Old Zhang! Eagles, falcons—hell, I'll even go to Liaodong and catch you a Sea Eastern Hawk myself!"
Zhuge Liang leaned over and whispered a few words to Liu Bei. Liu Bei nodded, then gently pried Zhang Fei away and took Huang Zhong by the arm.
"General Huang must be tired. I'll walk you back to rest."
As Liu Bei supported Huang Zhong and left, Zhang Fei scratched his head and called out:
"Second Brother! So what kind of wings do you want, anyway?"
Guan Yu answered by grabbing Zhang Fei and dragging him away.
"Come. We agreed—today we test each other at the training grounds."
Zhuge Liang remained where he was, feather fan swaying lightly. He smiled and turned to Zhao Yun, who still stood there, his expression uncertain.
"Zilong, aren't you going to see the blacksmith about that new farming tool?"
Zhao Yun hesitated, then said, "Military Advisor… I have something to ask."
Wen Mang hummed cheerfully as he packed his spare clothes, then dragged his suitcase straight into a taxi bound for the high-speed rail station.
Luocheng in summer was unbearable—even dogs didn't want to stay here.
In the car, he checked his Site 13 backend on his phone. The view counts weren't spectacular, but the engagement was excellent. And every video came with mailed gifts from fans.
This treatment—tch, tch.
If the fans were willing to spend money, then Wen Mang was more than happy to spend money in return. The third video? He'd go all out and make it a premium production.
Beep beep beep—
An unfamiliar number called in. Wen Mang answered. A pleasant female voice came through.
"Is this Mr. Wen Mang? I'm Professor Chang from Sichuan University's Department of History. I'd like to meet and have a discussion—would you have time?"
"…You scammers are really upping your game these days, huh?" Wen Mang replied lazily.
"With this kind of effort, you could go teach in the mountains or plant trees in the northwest. Wouldn't that be more promising than scamming a broke guy like me? My bank balance has three digits. Don't waste your energy. Bye."
He shook his head and tossed the phone aside.
Scams these days—seriously impossible to guard against.
"You're saying you may have found something that can greatly increase cavalry combat effectiveness?"
Zhuge Liang poured Zhao Yun a cup of tea.
"Zilong, take your time. Speak slowly."
Liu Bei was far from the founding emperor he would later become. The biggest difference was manpower—too few generals, too few officials, too few soldiers. His only true cavalry force was Zhao Yun's White Horse Retinue.
Zhao Yun knelt, holding the teacup, and spoke calmly.
"When I watched the light screen earlier, I saw their cavalry. The cavalry of later generations is completely different from ours."
"Their combat strength seemed lacking, but compared to ours, their saddles are much lower—and on both sides, they have stirrups."
Zhuge Liang knew what stirrups were: iron loops hanging from the saddle, meant to help a rider mount.
"Later generations would not do this without reason," Zhao Yun continued.
"I thought it through carefully. If a rider has stirrups on both sides and a lowered saddle, then he can control the horse with his legs alone—without relying on the reins. His hands are freed."
Zhao Yun didn't need to elaborate further.
Why were Lü Bu, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei said to be invincible on horseback? Because they were powerful enough to clamp the horse's flanks with their legs and control it at will—leaving both hands free for long weapons or even archery.
Why couldn't ordinary cavalry do the same?
Not because they didn't want to—but because they couldn't.
Most soldiers struggled just to eat their fill. Where would such physical strength come from? Many so-called "cavalry" among the warlords were merely mounted infantry—riding to the battlefield, then dismounting to fight, because remaining on horseback actually reduced their effectiveness.
A soldier who could control the reins with one hand and wield a long spear with the other already counted as elite cavalry.
"So this truly would improve cavalry combat power," Zhuge Liang said slowly.
"Then why do you seem so conflicted, Zilong?"
Zhao Yun looked up, bitterness in his eyes.
"Does the Military Advisor not see it? Even someone as dull as me could grasp this after only a brief glance and some thought. If the entire White Horse Retinue were equipped with dual stirrups, then once they appear on the battlefield, Cao Cao's generals would understand it at a glance."
"And within one month, Cao Cao could outfit all his cavalry the same way."
No further explanation was needed.
Zhuge Liang imagined the scene—and felt a chill rush down from his scalp.
Cao Cao already controlled prime horse-breeding lands. With this innovation, he would truly be a tiger given wings.
If they adopted dual stirrups, Zhao Yun might win one battle—but would almost certainly lose the war in the long run.
Zhuge Liang looked deeply at Zhao Yun.
"Select one or two trusted men within the cavalry to test dual stirrups. If they are truly effective, let your personal guards train with them first—somewhere remote, far from prying eyes."
No more words were necessary.
They reached a silent understanding:
This innovation must be tested and refined—but not deployed.
Cavalry using dual stirrups could only be used once.
That single use would need to be decisive—enough to determine the outcome of a battle in one blow.
"For the next two years, our priority remains land reclamation," Zhuge Liang instructed.
"After Red Cliffs, Cao Cao is too weakened to attack. Our objectives are to secure Jing Province, seize Yi Province, and restrain Jiaozhou."
"All of this depends on sufficient military provisions. Therefore, Zilong—your work with the lord on improving farm tools is of utmost importance."
Zhuge Liang's eyes shone once more.
"If dual stirrups can be this effective, then improved tools must be the same. While training the troops, please devote extra attention to this as well."
Zhao Yun bowed deeply and withdrew, his heart heavy.
Zhuge Liang stood by the window, feather fan swaying as always. Though the weather was cold, Jing Province remained green—trees and roads stretching lushly into the distance.
The scenery was unchanged.
But Zhuge Liang's state of mind had transformed completely.
Stretching lazily, he turned back to his desk.
Back to work.
A servant entered to tidy up and said with a grin,
"Sir Kongming, you really should finish earlier today—or Madam Huang will come looking for you again, just like yesterday."
Before the words had even faded, a crisp voice rang out:
"I've told him countless times not to overwork himself—but when has he ever listened?"
Huang Zhong truly had suffered a cruel fate.
A lifetime wasted, achievement only coming when death loomed near.
And even then—no one to share the joy with.
Granted a noble title in the end, yet no wife to honor, no son to inherit.