The Lantern Festival brought another official day of rest to Gong'an County.
Jiang Wan, however, felt no joy at all.
Ever since he'd attended Governor Liu's New Year banquet, something had shifted. People seemed to glance at him more often. Whisper. Point.
Yet whenever he looked back, everything appeared perfectly normal.
More troubling still—his already light workload had practically vanished.
"Either they're about to dump something truly awful on me," Jiang Wan muttered,
"or they're preparing to send me back to Lingling."
Neither option appealed to him.
Being a lowly clerk was wonderful: copy a few documents, watch birds in the courtyard, admire flowers, sit by the gate listening to hawkers cry their wares. Life was calm. Civilized.
Lingling, on the other hand, meant constant bowing and scraping before the Grand Administrator. Jiang Wan had fled that for a reason.
As for promotion…
The mere thought of Zhuge Liang made pain creep across his handsome face.
Three clerks working an entire day reportedly produced less paperwork than that man finished in a single morning. If Jiang Wan were assigned under him—
He sighed.
Still, a holiday was a holiday.
In Xu or Luoyang or Chang'an, there would've been lanterns everywhere. Gong'an, newly settled, had no such luxury. A few vendors had hung crude paper lanterns instead—pale white, with crooked drawings of the gate gods Shentu and Yulei, fierce enough to frighten children.
Jiang Wan walked past without slowing.
He was here for the Nuo exorcism ritual.
A platform had been erected before the county office, surrounded by a sea of people packed so tightly not even a needle could fall. Jiang Wan, tall and broad-shouldered, managed to squeeze into a decent viewing spot.
And promptly burst out laughing.
There on the stage stood Ma Su, wearing a crooked, ill-fitting Nuo mask, face full of misery, whispering urgently to a man who somehow looked even better than Jiang Wan himself.
Zhuge Liang.
So that's what fate looks like when it's amused.
As dusk deepened, more people arrived—on rooftops, walls, anywhere they could perch. Jiang Wan congratulated himself for coming early.
When the sun finally slipped behind the hills, torches and bonfires flared to life. The square glowed bright as noon. The crowd fell silent.
Ma Su sucked in a breath and shouted, voice stretched thin with effort:
"Masked attendants—prepare! Drive out the pestilence!"
Dozens of men and women mounted the stage, barefoot, faces hidden behind elaborate masks. They moved in strange, deliberate steps—the ancient Nuo dance.
A towering figure in a bronze demon mask roared, and the rest answered in chant:
"Jia Zuo devours foul rot!
Yue Fu devours man-eating tigers!
Xiong Bo devours specters!
Teng Jian devours ill omens!
Bo Qi devours nightmares—!"
The crowd murmured along, voices low but steady. Jiang Wan found himself tapping the rhythm unconsciously.
This was the chant every Han household knew.
The Twelve Divine Beasts—called upon to devour twelve forms of calamity.
They chanted twice. Then the twelve masked figures gave chase, driving the plague-demons across the stage and down into the crowd below.
Cheers erupted.
Next, more masked performers climbed up. The bronze-faced leader raised his voice again—this time with new words:
"Liu of Jing rose in righteous fury!
Red Cliffs burned, flames touching the heavens!
Thus the realm found peace once more—
The Han line endured!"
The words were half-understood by many, but the meaning was clear enough.
Victory. Safety. Survival.
People hummed along, some singing outright.
Below the platform, Guan Yu stood beside Zhuge Liang, watching.
"I never imagined Third Brother had this kind of talent," Guan Yu murmured, stroking his beard.
"His voice carries," Zhuge Liang replied calmly.
"No better choice."
Indeed, Zhang Fei—hidden beneath the bronze mask—looked to be enjoying himself immensely.
After a pause, Guan Yu spoke again, hesitation clear.
"Leaving only Zilong to guard Elder Brother… will that truly suffice?"
"Sun Quan seeks alliance in earnest," Zhuge Liang said.
"General Zhao's 'Mixed Cavalry' is swift and fierce—no less capable than the famed White Horse Riders. The lord will be safe."
Then, after a beat—
"And besides… Zhou Gongjin plans Jing and Yi while bound by illness. Heaven is jealous of brilliance. How can such a scheme succeed?"
What Zhuge Liang didn't say was this:
The moment he'd read Lu Su's secret letter, Zhou Yu's plan had already failed.
Sun Quan lacked Sun Ce's ruthlessness. He hesitated. He balanced factions. Trusted everyone—and no one.
Sun Shangxiang was no sister, no bride.
She was a chess piece.
On the stage, the chant shifted again:
"Old ghosts cast out beyond our borders!
Cattle thrive, grain rises like Mount Tianzhu!
Brothers in harmony, families united—
Men and women honor one another!"
This time, Jiang Wan sang loudly with the crowd.
Some wept softly.
Perhaps—just perhaps—their fathers and sons might rest in peace.
Watching faces lit by firelight, Zhuge Liang felt an odd thought surface:
"Does Sun Quan," he wondered aloud,
"even know how grave the Grand Commander's wounds truly are?"
The drums beat on.
The gods listened.
And the fate of the realm continued to turn.