"Prepare—
Fire!"
At a small archery range outside Gong'an County, several veteran soldiers tightened their grips on fine bows. At the shouted command, they drew, aimed, and released in one smooth motion.
A junior officer hurried forward to inspect the results, then called out loudly:
"Seventy paces—arrow pierced leather!
Eighty paces—arrow punched through wooden boards!
Ninety paces—arrow struck the wooden dummy!"
"A fine bow," Huang Zhong praised from the sidelines.
Recently, the old general had been more energetic than ever—especially after news arrived from Nanjun. A distant clansman wished to formally adopt his son into Huang Zhong's line.
Even Liu Bei felt it: Huang Zhong looked visibly younger, the old heaviness gone from his bearing.
"It truly is a fine bow," Zhuge Liang agreed.
Today only the three of them—Liu Bei, Huang Zhong, and Zhuge Liang—stood by the range. The demonstration focused on bows and crossbows, and among all the generals present, Huang Zhong was the undisputed authority on such weapons. Naturally, he had been invited to evaluate them.
"Jiangdong soldiers are famed for archery," Huang Zhong said, taking up a long-handled bow. With a casual pull, he drew it nearly eighty percent to full—then released without much aiming at all.
The arrow streaked out like a meteor, punching deep into the target a hundred paces away.
"Unfortunately," Huang Zhong sighed, "such fine bows sell for only six hundred coins. Even skilled bowyers struggle to stay fed."
Among standard military weapons, longbows were the cheapest. The south had no shortage of good bows or craftsmen—but their livelihoods were poor.
The reason was simple: Han-era warfare relied on dense formations crashing together. In such battles, the crossbow had largely displaced the bow's role.
"General Huang's archery is divine," Zhuge Liang praised sincerely, then gestured behind him.
"But what if our army possessed Eight-Ox Ballistae? How would you respond?"
Under the curious gazes of Liu Bei and Huang Zhong, Liu Bei's personal guards pushed forward a massive wooden contraption—nearly the size of a bed—still covered in oilcloth.
Zhuge Liang carefully uncovered it.
What greeted Huang Zhong's eyes were three enormous bows mounted together.
They were truly enormous. Each bow limb was nearly twice the length of the three-dan bow Huang Zhong held. The three were fixed together by mechanical braces and pulleys.
He didn't fully understand the structure—but weapons had a beauty of their own. Huang Zhong practically lunged forward, inspecting it closely.
"Military Advisor," he asked, "how is this operated?"
"Not by human strength," Zhuge Liang replied, pointing to two wooden wheels mounted behind the ballista.
"Bring the oxen."
Four guards led over plow oxen, carefully looping ropes around the wheel mechanisms on both sides of the bed-mounted crossbow, holding the reins tight to prevent panic.
Zhuge Liang and a junior officer solemnly lifted a massive bolt and locked it into place.
"Pull!"
The oxen strained forward. The wooden wheels turned slowly. Inside the mechanism, the braces rotated, and the three giant bows bent inch by inch.
The creaking sound made Huang Zhong's scalp prickle.
In his youth, proud of his strength, he had once snapped a five-jun bow clean in half. The moment before it broke, it had made this very sound.
When the wheels could no longer turn, a guard carrying an axe crept behind the mechanism. He raised it, aimed at a rope—
—and hacked down.
TWANG!
A violent gust slammed into Huang Zhong's face.
Only after he steadied himself did a distant boom reach his ears.
Looking far ahead, he saw that a large tree two hundred paces away had been severed clean through at the waist. The bolt itself was nowhere to be found.
Huang Zhong clicked his tongue.
"Such power—worthy of the name Eight-Ox."
"Even so," Zhuge Liang said regretfully, "it still falls short."
He shook his head slightly.
"Either the methods passed down differ from the originals, or we have yet to fully grasp the key mechanisms."
"If we truly applied the force of eight oxen," he continued, "the ballista would tear itself apart before the bolt ever flew."
At this moment, the junior officer sent to search for the bolt returned empty-handed.
"At four hundred eighty paces, the bolt entered the earth and cannot be found."
"Nearly five hundred paces…" Huang Zhong felt his heart shake.
That range was terrifying.
"But," Zhuge Liang added, "this Eight-Ox Ballista is extremely difficult to aim."
Huang Zhong looked even more alarmed.
A five-hundred-pace ballista that could be aimed precisely?
That would mean killing an enemy commander the moment contact was made. How could anyone fight under such conditions?
Years of defending Jingzhou made a thought surface instantly in Huang Zhong's mind.
"Military Advisor—if that's the case…"
Liu Bei and Zhuge Liang's eyes lit up at once.
"Excellent."
Five days later, at the Gong'an County office.
Liu Bei sat at the head, watching his closest ministers and generals file in one by one.
The first to arrive—surprisingly—was Guan Yu.
The normally stern man from Hedong wore rare delight as he reported:
"Brother, the Eight-Ox Ballista placed aboard my ships works exceptionally well. The Yangtze and the Hu Crossing are now free of river threats."
Liu Bei nodded slowly.
That day, Huang Zhong's final suggestion had been simple: if a bed-mounted ballista could be placed on city walls, why not on ships?
Compared to ordinary repeating ballistae, if an Eight-Ox Ballista landed just a few hits—couldn't it even sink tower ships?
Zhuge Liang had accepted the idea and installed it on Guan Yu's vessels. The results now spoke for themselves.
Next came Zhuge Liang and Huang Yueying together.
Huang Yueying and Mi Zhu submitted a joint proposal to formally expand the paper workshops—something Liu Bei already knew.
The plan to print court gazettes had been postponed by Zhuge Liang. The reason was clear: current paper output still lagged behind Cao Cao's territory. If Cao Cao learned the technique through gazettes, it would only benefit the enemy.
Mi Zhu had already prepared to depart. He planned to open paper shops in Jiangdong first—and would leave as soon as the next luminous screen concluded.
As for Zhuge Liang, his burdens were many: farming, ballistae, taxation, and now—together with Jiang Wan—researching how to classify coal quality and methods of extraction.
As if on cue, Jiang Wan stepped through the door. He looked as unmotivated as ever, saluted Liu Bei perfunctorily, then seated himself beside Zhuge Liang with practiced familiarity.
Zhang Fei, Huang Zhong, and Zhao Yun—fresh from Changsha—entered together, seating themselves beside Guan Yu, subtly forming a group with Guan Yu at its center.
Mi Zhu and Sun Qian followed and took their places.
Then, the two newest attendees appeared.
White eyebrows immediately drew attention.
Zhuge Liang waved cheerfully.
"Jichang! Over here—saved you a seat."
Ma Liang saluted Liu Bei and took his place, instinctively preparing paper and brush just like Jiang Wan. Jiang Wan looked on with approval.
Finally, Liu Bei rose warmly and grasped the hands of the last man.
"Zifang—my brother!"
Mi Fang bowed properly.
"My lord."
After exchanging a few affectionate words, Mi Fang sat beside Mi Zhu—still confused.
"Brother," he whispered, "what is today's meeting about? Why have I been summoned as well?"
Mi Zhu's eyes held quiet satisfaction.
This younger brother, who had followed him through hardship and abandoned office to serve Liu Bei, was finally being trusted.
There was also something deeper in his gaze.
"Zifang," he said softly, "just wait and witness the auspicious sign."
Elsewhere—Chang'an.
Summer heat filled the Ganlu Hall.
An imposing, heroic man—his brows carrying natural imperial authority—rested both feet in a tub of ice. The sudden chill made him sigh in comfort.
Beside him lay an open book. Across its pages shimmered a luminous screen.
Large characters floated there:
"With the strength of one commandery, he battles the world—"With the strength of one commandery, he battles the world—
Might shaking all under Heaven, today!"
Nearby lay something like reading notes. Scribbled lines read:
The Immortals advise taking the Western Regions—The Immortals advise taking the Western Regions—
Then the humiliation at the Wei River must be avenged.
What are Mongols? Unknown—dangerous. Seek and exterminate early.
Establish a Martial Temple to pacify the realm.Establish a Martial Temple to pacify the realm.
Sixty-four generals are too many—Sixty-four generals are too many—
Honor Jiang Ziya, with thirty-six generals as companions.
Who is Tang Suzong?
In the empty margins, someone had drawn a crude sketch of a ballista—so ugly it was painful to look at.
Watching the luminous screen emerge over the pages, the man's eyes flashed with delight—then calmed.
He lifted his brush and wrote upon the glowing surface:
"This battle carried a measure of my own style—
at the banks of the Mingshui River."