Guan Yu shot Zhang Fei a sharp, warning glare.
Then he turned to his son.
Guan Ping stood there stiffly, his tiger-like eyes rimmed with tears, his lips trembling despite his effort to hold them still.
Guan Yu's voice came down hard and cold:
"Victory and defeat are the common lot of soldiers.
To fall into enemy hands on the battlefield means only one thing—death. What is there to cry about?"
He did not soften.
"If the common people of later ages allow you and me, father and son, to enjoy a thousand years of incense and remembrance, then all the more must we fulfill our duties without fail."
"From this day forward," Guan Yu said firmly,
"you are to regard the restoration of the Han as your sole responsibility."
Guan Ping wiped his face, steadied his breath, and bowed deeply.
"Your son understands."
…Second Brother, this is absolutely not how you teach a child.
Zhang Fei sighed inwardly. He could only step forward and clap his big nephew on the shoulder.
"Now that we've been warned in advance," he said loudly, "there's no way I'll let Second Brother or you fall at Maicheng!"
He paused.
…Huh?
Why does Second Brother's killing intent feel like it just increased?
[Light Screen]
North of Little Guan Temple Street lies Dianjiangtai Street—General's Platform Street.
This area was once the Shu-Han training ground. It is said the Prime Minister inspected troops here before every Northern Expedition.
Further southwest lies Marquis Huan Alley. After Zhang Fei's death in 221, he was posthumously titled Marquis Huan, and a shrine was built here. Though later demolished, the alley retained its name.
"…I'm dead?"
"…Second Brother ascended to the heavens only two years earlier, and I still didn't escape?"
Zhang Fei froze on the spot.
The light screen had never mentioned his fate before. He had assumed—quite confidently—that he would live long and die late.
Never in his wildest imagination had he expected to learn of his own death so abruptly… and so casually.
"Yide…" Liu Bei looked at his third brother's dazed expression, worry creeping into his voice.
"Heh!" Zhang Fei shook his head, suddenly grinning with reckless openness.
"Judging by the timing, Old Zhang must've died at Yiling while avenging Second Brother."
"Shame I didn't get to take Sun Quan's head with me," he added with a click of his tongue.
"But at least Second Brother won't be lonely down there with the Lord of Mount Tai, right?"
Guan Yu said nothing.
He simply reached out and gripped Zhang Fei's hand tightly.
"Only pity," Zhang Fei continued, smacking his lips,
"by the time I died, I didn't get to see that seven-hundred-li wildfire at Yiling the screen talked about. I really wonder what kind of sight that was?"
Guan Yu immediately withdrew his hands.
Who is this Third Brother? I do not recognize this man.
Liu Bei felt the urge to smack Zhang Fei upside the head—yet knowing this brother would leave him first, his heart ached instead.
In the end, he could only sigh:
"Third Brother… you should really speak less."
[Light Screen]
South of Marquis Huan Alley lies Wanli Bridge—the Bridge of Ten Thousand Li.
After the defeat at Yiling, the Prime Minister sought to resume the Northern Expedition and dispatched Fei Yi to Wu to restore the alliance.
Fei Yi knew Sun Quan would humiliate him at every turn. Before departing, he sighed:
'A journey of ten thousand li begins at this bridge.'
Thus, the bridge gained its name.
Further south lies Face-Washing Bridge.
After Guan Yu and Guan Ping fell in battle, Liu Bei, stricken with grief, built a cenotaph here for Guan Yu.
Each time he came to offer sacrifices, Liu Bei would burn incense and wash his face to cleanse himself of worldly dust—hence the name.
Looking at his own statue on the screen, Liu Bei smiled faintly.
He felt deep gratitude that later generations remembered the bond between brothers so clearly.
A cenotaph was only right.
How could he not offer sacrifices to his own brother?
Zhuge Liang, however, lingered on one name.
Fei Yi.
He shook his head quietly.
Shu and Wei were locked in a struggle of "Han and traitors cannot coexist."
Wu, however, held no such conviction.
Between the defeats at Jingzhou and Yiling, Fei Yi's mission must have been unbearable—far more than mere difficulty.
Humiliation after humiliation.
In this life, Zhuge Liang resolved silently,
I will not allow such a worthy minister to suffer that indignity.
[Light Screen]
West of Face-Washing Bridge lies the most important site of all—the Wuhou Temple.
Though commonly called the "Wuhou Temple," it is in fact a complex composed of the Temple of Emperor Zhaolie, the Wuhou Shrine, the Temple of the Three Heroes, and the Huiling Mausoleum.
It is both a historic site and the only shrine in the nation where a sovereign and his ministers are worshipped together within a single tomb complex.
Liu Bei did not know what expression to make.
The light screen had mentioned "Wuhou Temple" long ago. He had assumed it was simply a shrine to loyal Shu-Han ministers.
So after all this—
…it was actually his temple?
It was just that Zhuge Liang's reputation was so overwhelming that hardly anyone mentioned the Emperor's name anymore?
Facing Liu Bei's quietly resentful gaze, Zhuge Liang could only cough lightly.
Inside, he felt a small, undeniable satisfaction—
but absolutely could not let his lord notice it.
"Big Brother," Zhang Fei tried to console him,
"look at it this way. Your tomb is right here."
"When people come, they're just paying respects to the Strategist—but for you, they're literally visiting your grave."
"H-Hey! Big Brother! Why are you drawing your sword?! Think about it—what other emperor gets ten thousand people coming to visit his grave every single day?!"
After chasing Zhang Fei around the hall twice, Liu Bei finally sheathed his sword in frustration.
"Well… lying there and seeing so many Han descendants every day isn't such a bad fate," he muttered.
"But isn't it… a bit noisy?"
"At least you were buried whole—Second Brother, why are you staring at me like that?"
Zhang Fei glanced around and wisely decided to stop talking.
[Light Screen]
Upon entering the main gate, the first sight on the right is the Triple-Excellence Stele (San Jue Bei).
Why "Triple Excellence"?
First: Excellence of Prose—written by Pei Du, a late-Tang chancellor who served seven emperors and praised the Prime Minister's loyalty, talent, conduct, and governance.
Second: Excellence of Calligraphy—transcribed by Liu Gongchuo, whose brushwork was solemn, powerful, and archaic.
Third: Excellence of Virtue—later generations praised the Prime Minister's achievements, which, together with the prose and calligraphy, attained immortality.
Another theory holds that the third excellence refers to the master engraver Lu Jian, whose stone-carving skill alone qualifies as an excellence.
"The third excellence must refer to the engraver!" Zhuge Liang said hurriedly.
"To capture the spirit of a master calligrapher in stone requires a grandmaster. That alone deserves to be called an Excellence!"
The hall burst into laughter.
Ma Liang grinned. "Military Counselor, it seems not only common folk—but even future great officials worship and admire you."
Zhuge Liang sighed softly.
"They honor the Prime Minister of Shu-Han, Zhuge Liang.
Today, I am merely a Counselor-General under the General of the Left. I have achieved nothing yet—how could I dare accept such praise?"
"Even that Prime Minister's accomplishments were born of unity between ruler and minister, harmony between civil and martial. It was never the work of one man alone."
Liu Bei laughed and grasped Zhuge Liang's hands.
"The future speaks truth. Kongming's way of conduct is indeed an Excellence. All of us should learn from it."
Zhuge Liang's embarrassment deepened as everyone smiled. Their eyes returned to the screen, regretful that the image was too blurred to read the stele clearly.
[Light Screen]
Opposite the Triple-Excellence Stele stands another tablet, erected later, recording the evolution of the shrine.
Only now did Liu Bei fully realize something.
Even while standing beneath the plaque reading Temple of Emperor Zhaolie, the descendants continued calling it Wuhou Temple without hesitation.
Why does it feel like I, Liu Bei, am the one borrowing my minister's incense?
[Light Screen]
This Ming Dynasty stele records renovations by Zhu Chun, Prince of Shu.
Disturbed that the Prime Minister's shrine overflowed with incense while the Emperor's temple was neglected, he abolished the separate Wuhou Shrine and relocated Zhuge Liang's statue beside Liu Bei's.
Thus, the Wuhou Shrine ceased to exist, leaving only the Temple of Emperor Zhaolie.
The people of Chengdu ignored this. They continued calling it "Wuhou Temple," and crowds worshipping Zhuge Liang never diminished.
Only during the Qing Dynasty did officials follow the people's will, rebuilding the Wuhou Shrine behind Liu Bei's temple—establishing the layout we see today.
Ah—pardon me—the layout of the Temple of Emperor Zhaolie.
Enough!
Liu Bei cried silently in his heart.
You don't mean "Temple of Emperor Zhaolie" at all!
He silently scolded Zhu Chun.
He understood the man's thinking—much like the Ming founder Hongwu, obsessed with ritual hierarchy, unable to tolerate worship of a minister over a sovereign.
Yet the result?
He, Emperor Zhaolie, didn't even get his own name on his own tomb anymore.
"It's fine, Big Brother," Zhang Fei said quickly—then sped up before Guan Yu's glare arrived.
"Hey, at least you still have a temple! Mine's gone entirely! I'll probably have to sneak some of your incense!"
"And think about it—from another angle, without the Strategist, would we even have this much incense in the first place?"
[Light Screen]
Further inside lie the familiar Galleries of Civil and Military Officials.
The Eastern Gallery houses fourteen civil officials led by Pang Tong.
The Western Gallery houses fourteen generals led by Zhao Yun.