The letter sent to Sun Quan brought no reply—for now.
Instead, news came first from Jian Yong, who was still traveling outside the territory.
The moment the message arrived, Liu Bei summoned his strongest external brain without hesitation.
"Invite Kongming—immediately."
Zhuge Liang arrived wearing a straw hat, trousers rolled to the knee, barefoot, his calves and feet still smeared with fresh mud.
And yet Liu Bei could only sigh inwardly.
As expected—handsome people remain handsome no matter what they're doing. Even farming.
"Kongming," Liu Bei said, reaching out with concern, using his own sleeve to gently wipe a speck of mud from Zhuge Liang's cheek, "why didn't you rinse off first?"
"Your lordship said it was urgent," Zhuge Liang replied with a bright laugh. "So I came straight away."
Then, as if remembering something important, he added enthusiastically,
"The fields are using the methods from Tiangong Kaiwu. The seedlings are far stronger than in previous years. This harvest will be excellent."
"Oh?" Liu Bei was surprised. He had been shuttling constantly between Changling and Gong'an, and on top of that sparring indirectly with Zhou Gongjin. Matters of farming and craftsmanship had been fully entrusted to Zhuge Liang—he truly hadn't looked into the details.
Zhuge Liang nodded firmly.
"From seed soaking to fertilization, Tiangong Kaiwu explains everything. When I taught the farmers, even they said they'd never seen agriculture described so clearly and systematically before."
Liu Bei sighed with emotion.
"Throughout history, too little attention has been paid to farming."
Then he smiled.
"Later, I'll go transplant seedlings with you."
"Oh—right." Liu Bei suddenly remembered, patting his forehead as he picked up the letter. "Xianhe has written back."
Zhuge Liang wiped his hands on the hem of his robe, took the letter, and skimmed it at lightning speed. Then he laughed.
"Congratulations, my lord. The hearts of Yi Province have already turned."
This was precisely the value of an external brain.
Liu Bei had read Jian Yong's letter earlier and felt as though he were reading a travelogue—today's banquet, tomorrow's delicacies. Nothing in it seemed especially meaningful.
Zhuge Liang spread the letter out and began explaining it line by line.
"Jian Yong likely feared the letter might be lost or intercepted, so he wrote in deliberately vague terms. But if you look at the names he mentions, his intent is obvious."
He pointed lightly with his finger.
"He says Yi Province is in grave danger. Liu Zhang indulges in pleasure and neglects governance. Externally, Zhang Lu watches like a tiger but cannot be suppressed; internally, Pang Xi and Li Yi stir restlessly."
"Liu Zhang lacks authority," Zhuge Liang continued. "Zhang Song and Fa Zheng are both willing to act as persuaders—to invite my lord into Yi Province."
"And now," he concluded, "Jian Yong has already left Yi Province. After meeting Ma Mengqi, he will return."
"Xianhe has suffered greatly," Liu Bei said with deep feeling. Everyone knew how treacherous the roads of Yi Province were—yet Jian Yong volunteered without hesitation.
Then Liu Bei's attention snapped to one line:
Invite my lord into Yi Province.
His heart grew restless.
His hands trembled.
His feet carried him pacing circles around the room—again and again.
Zhuge Liang protested mildly.
"My lord, is there anything else? If not, I need to return to transplanting seedlings."
Liu Bei paced twice more, then made a decision.
"I'll go with you."
Born weaving mats and selling sandals, Liu Bei had never abandoned manual work. On the contrary, he often found that working with his hands helped him sort out his thoughts.
He returned to his room, grabbed a straw hat, changed into short, rough clothing, and went barefoot—looking no different from an old farmer.
Zhuge Liang followed Tiangong Kaiwu to the letter.
The rice grains had been soaked for several days, sprouted, then planted in seedbeds. After thirty days of careful tending, the seedlings were ready to be transplanted.
The temporary shelter Jiang Wan used as an office stood right beside the seedling fields.
Today was transplanting day.
Liu Bei followed Zhuge Liang's example: a cloth pouch hung at his waist. He carefully gathered neat bundles of seedlings from the seedbed, then walked to the new field and planted them one by one.
After half a mu, Liu Bei couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Kongming," he said, "they're willing to invite me into Yi Province."
"My lord treats people sincerely and loves the common folk like his own children," Zhuge Liang replied flatly.
"It's only natural. Now move a little to the left—your seedlings are crooked."
"But wouldn't that mean they're betraying their lord?"
"Liu Zhang is weak and ineffective. And he shares Han lineage with my lord." Zhuge Liang continued planting without looking up.
"Turning from Liu Zhang does not betray the Han. And—my lord—your seedlings are crooked again."
"But even so, wouldn't I be breaking faith with Liu Jiyu?"
"…My lord," Zhuge Liang finally sighed, wiping sweat from his face, "give me the seedlings. You should stop planting."
He practically chased Liu Bei out of the field.
Standing at the edge of the paddy, Liu Bei continued muttering.
"But this still doesn't feel right! Sun Quan and Zhou Gongjin can attack Liu Jiyu—yet I can't?"
"My lord is a Han clansman."
"Zhang Lu rebelled against Liu Jiyu too, and no one condemned him!"
"Zhang Lu long ago ceased to care about reputation."
"I—"
"My lord," Zhuge Liang cut in calmly, "why don't you finish planting the rest of these seedlings?"
They switched positions.
Zhuge Liang stood at the edge of the field, immediately feeling refreshed—then a headache followed.
His lord still hasn't come to terms with the fact that he will one day be Emperor Zhaolie.
Compared to being chased across the map by Cao Cao, the sudden transformation—foundations secured, auspicious signs appearing, even enemy subordinates actively defecting—was simply too much for Liu Bei to digest all at once.
More ideological education is needed, Zhuge Liang thought.
He sat cross-legged at the edge of the field, preparing for a long heart-to-heart.
Elsewhere, Mi Zhu had already received the new paper crafted by Huang Yueying.
He drew out a single sheet, examined it carefully—sight, smell, touch—then exclaimed:
"Excellent paper. It rivals Zuo Bo paper."
"Madam Huang," he asked, "does this paper have a name?"
Huang Yueying shook her head.
"The workshop calls it 'Red Mulberry Paper,' simply to distinguish it from the others."
Mi Zhu immediately rejected the idea.
"That name won't do." He laughed. "With a name like that, every papermaker will guess the raw material."
Huang Yueying smiled, recalling something mentioned on the luminous screen—something that had never fully materialized in history.
"Then let it echo Zuo Bo paper," she said.
"Call it Zhuge Paper."
Mi Zhu had no objections. Names meant little to him. What mattered was—
"Madam Huang," he asked seriously, "what is the output?"
"With full production," she answered, "three hundred rolls per month."
"Too little," Mi Zhu shook his head.
"But we can begin selling immediately—establish the brand in Jiangdong first. Madam Huang, you'll need to select a site quickly. Have Sun Qian build a new paper workshop and recruit workers."
"Three hundred rolls is little?" Huang Yueying protested.
"Zuo Bo paper sells for twelve hundred coins per roll. Even if Zhuge Paper sells for a thousand, after costs we'd earn two hundred thousand coins a month!"
"Is that a lot?" Mi Zhu replied calmly.
"Two hundred thousand coins buys fifteen good horses. Sell for a year and you still couldn't equip two hundred cavalry."
"And that's not even counting their upkeep."
"Too little," he repeated.
Huang Yueying fell silent. She had never thought from that perspective.
"As for printed books," Mi Zhu continued, "their value is immeasurable—but they cannot be sold widely."
Books were expensive—but once woodblock printing spread, prices would crash.
"About that…" Huang Yueying said carefully.
"Yesterday, when I showed the paper and books to Kongming, he and a clerk named Jiang Wan discussed an idea."
"Mi sir—what if we use woodblock printing to sell court gazettes?"
"Gazettes?" Mi Zhu froze.
Though once summoned by Tao Qian as Assistant Officer, his time in office had been brief. He still thought like a merchant—and had nearly forgotten such a thing existed.
Enlightenment struck—followed immediately by concern.
"But if printed gazettes spread widely," he said slowly, "woodblock printing will soon be copied by others…"
"Madam Huang," he concluded, "this matter requires careful thought—and consultation with the Military Advisor and the lord."
At the same time, Zhuge Liang—still squatting by the field tutoring Liu Bei—received fresh news.
"My lord," the messenger reported, "Sun Quan has sent Lu Su as envoy to comfort the Grand Commander. He has already entered Jiangling."
Liu Bei exhaled deeply.
"Then the ownership of Jiangling should soon be settled."
"Not only that," Zhuge Liang reminded him.
"Count the days—five days from now, it will be time for the next episode of the luminous screen."