The hall fell into a strange, suspended silence.
"Han people?" Zhang Fei repeated slowly.
"You mean… the People of the Han?"
The words landed like a stone dropped into deep water.
Ever since Emperor Wu of Han swept across the four directions—crushing the Xiongnu, breaking old borders, forging a single realm—the people of the Central Plains had taken pride in that name.
Qin, Chu, Zhao, Wei—old states, old grudges.
Once unified, all became Han.
To call oneself Han was not merely lineage.
It was civilization.
"After a thousand years," Liu Bei said quietly,
"after ten dynasties rise and fall…
the descendants praise the Tang, mourn the Song, argue over the Ming—
and still call themselves Han?"
No one answered.
They didn't need to.
For the first time since the light screen appeared, the future did not feel distant.
It felt… close.
Suddenly, the two young men walking across the screen—laughing, arguing, dressed in odd clothes—no longer looked thin or frivolous.
They stood straighter in the eyes of the hall.
"Hmph," Zhang Fei snorted, arms crossed.
"They look a bit scrawny… but the spirit is there.
Not bad for Han sons."
Even Liu Bei's hardened expression softened.
On the screen, men and women—elderly couples, young parents, children—stood before the Zhaolie Temple, smiling as they posed with small black boxes that flashed and clicked.
Liu Bei watched quietly.
Fine, he thought.
Fine.
They are all our juniors.
Let them live well.
[Voiceover on the Light Screen]
"There is an interesting detail on the Chu Shi Biao stele: its signature—General Yue Fei.
According to the postscript, Yue Fei once stayed overnight at the Nanyang Wuhou Temple in the rain, in the year 1138.
There, a general obsessed with reclaiming the north from the Jin Dynasty found a strange resonance with a Prime Minister who had devoted his life to restoring the Han.
Yue Fei poured his heart into the inscription. The calligraphy begins restrained and orderly, then gradually becomes wild and cursive—thick strokes, forceful turns, unyielding momentum.
However, because Song records never mention Yue Fei visiting Nanyang, most scholars regard this as a masterful forgery."
"This General Yue Fei…" Zhang Fei frowned.
"He served that… what was it called—Ninth Sister Wanyan Gou?"
The hall quietly assembled the fragments.
— The Song also tried to reclaim their northern lands.
— The Song also had loyal ministers who fought against the tide.
— The Song didn't have an ally like Sun Quan.
"Fortunate," Guan Yu said solemnly.
Jiang Wan chuckled.
"General Zhang, based on how those two boys spoke earlier… that 'Horseback Emperor' is despised beyond measure.
I suspect your evaluation of his character is quite accurate."
Zhang Fei did not reply.
He was staring, unmoving, at the calligraphy on the screen.
[Voiceover]
"Leaving the Zhaolie Temple, we descend several steps to reach the Wuhou Shrine.
This reflects the ancient hierarchy of sovereign and subject.
In the vestibule hangs a plaque: 'A Single Feather in the Eternal Sky.'
This line comes from Du Fu—the Tang Dynasty poet who admired Chancellor Zhuge above all others—likening him to a divine bird soaring beyond the mortal realm."
Zhuge Liang felt heat creep up his neck.
A thousand years.
A thousand years of eyes watching.
A thousand years of expectation pressing down.
The others, of course, would not let him suffer alone.
"Brother," Liu Bei laughed,
"the whole world knows you made me come to your cottage three times."
"The Longzhong Plan shook the realm!" Zhang Fei added loudly.
"You deserve every word of praise!"
Zhuge Liang could only smile helplessly.
[Voiceover]
"Inside the shrine hangs the famous 'Heart-Attack Couplet' (攻心聯).
It reviews the Prime Minister's achievements, but its true purpose was political critique.
Its author, Zhao Fan, used it to admonish the Qing Governor of Sichuan.
When his advice was ignored and he was demoted, Zhao Fan concluded that the Qing Dynasty was beyond saving.
He later joined the Xinhai Revolution, sounding the death knell of the dynasty."
"A… revolution (革命)?" Liu Bei repeated slowly.
"So the future truly became a world without kings."
"To change the Mandate and follow the people," Zhuge Liang murmured, recalling the phrase 'Glory belongs to the People.'
"No emperors. No hereditary lords. No great clans ruling over all.
The common people governing themselves…
It is difficult to imagine."
Yet his eyes lingered on the couplet.
"The philosophy here is profound," Zhuge Liang said.
"To 'attack the heart' is to extinguish rebellion at its root.
It mirrors the Grand Ancestor's principle—make many friends, few enemies."
He continued, voice calm but firm.
"The lower couplet balances mercy and severity.
The Legalist belief that harsh law deters crime must be tempered by the Confucian understanding that law must adapt with the times.
This is the correct path of governance."
Jiang Wan and Ma Liang bowed deeply.
"The Military Counselor's insight is far-reaching."
[Voiceover]
"Behind the statue of Chancellor Zhuge lies Jingyuan Hall.
Above it hangs a blackwood plaque bearing eight characters:
'Indifference to fame clarifies the mind; tranquility leads to far-reaching goals.'
These words come from the Prime Minister's Letter to My Son—his lifelong creed."
"The Zhaolie Temple is magnificent," Liu Bei said with genuine awe,
"but the Wuhou Shrine… this was built with heart."
From the couplets to the beams, from the inscriptions to the layout—
the future's devotion to Kongming was carved into every detail.
Zhang Fei burst into laughter and slapped Liu Bei's arm.
"Brother! I told you!
I'm just an accompaniment in your hall—
but look now! Even you are an accompaniment to the Military Counselor!"
Guan Ping whispered carefully,
"Many people still worship Uncle… and Third Uncle, look at your statue—"
Zhang Fei froze.
"And Uncle's entrustment at Baidi City is legendary," Guan Ping added.
"He even has a virtuous title."
Zhang Fei opened his mouth… then closed it.
Remembering his own death, he found no words.
I like Guan Xing better than this nephew, he thought darkly.
[Voiceover]
"Like Zhang Fei's hall, the Wuhou Shrine honors three generations:
Chancellor Zhuge Liang, his son Zhuge Zhan, and his grandson Zhuge Shang.
Zhuge Zhan (courtesy name Siyuan) was a complex figure.
During his tenure, he failed to curb Liu Shan's reliance on eunuchs and made grave tactical errors.
Yet fairness demands context. The Prime Minister was constantly on campaign.
When he died, he had only time to leave his eight-year-old son a single letter.
Zhan's education was incomplete.
In Shu Han's final years, talent was exhausted.
Liu Shan, desperate, placed his hopes on the son of the 'Minister-Father.'
In the end, Mianzhu fell.
Zhuge Zhan died in battle at thirty-seven.
His son Zhuge Shang fell beside him, at nineteen."
The hall was silent.
This time, no one spoke.
Zhuge Liang stood very still.
Behind strategy, behind loyalty, behind a thousand years of praise—
lay a simple, unalterable truth:
History did not spare even the children of the greatest.