A heavy silence settled over the hall as the light screen finished recounting yet another family that had paid for history with blood.
Huang Yueying's legs gave way.
She leaned into Zhuge Liang, fingers clutching his sleeve as though the past itself were trying to pull her down.
"I know we can change it," she whispered, voice trembling but stubborn. "I know we can fix it…"
Her breath hitched.
"But when Siyuan fell—what was he thinking?"
Her eyes closed.
"Did I ever even hold little Shang'er in my arms?"
Zhuge Liang tightened his grip on her hands.
"You will," he said softly. His voice did not shake. "This time, they will be born early enough to know peace—not the sound of war drums, not the fires of a collapsing state."
They stood together, husband and wife, two figures silhouetted against a thousand years of judgment.
No one interrupted.
The future's reverence was magnificent—but it could not replace the warmth of a son's embrace, nor the laughter of a grandson running across a courtyard.
The Ancestral Trade and the King's Tomb
[Voiceover on the Light Screen]
"Behind the Wuhou Shrine lies the Sanyi Temple—the Temple of the Three Righteous.
Originally located elsewhere in Chengdu, it was later moved here to commemorate the sworn brotherhood of Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei.
The artistic style changes dramatically. Look at Zhang Fei's statue—leopard-headed, eyes like bronze rings, beard like iron needles. This is far removed from the 'ugly-faced general' seen in earlier halls.
Most interesting is the plaque above: Shen Sheng Tong Zhen—'Divinity and Sainthood Attained Together.' Now look at the side inscription."
Liu Bei squinted at the small characters.
"Erected by…" He paused, then burst out laughing.
"By the disciples of the Footwear and Shoe Industry?"
He laughed openly now, shaking his head in disbelief.
"So my fellow tradesmen of the future have sent me an offering."
[Voiceover]
"It's common knowledge that the 'Imperial Uncle' once wove mats and sold shoes.
Because of this, Liu Bei is regarded as the patron deity of the footwear industry.
This plaque was funded by shoe merchants during the Daoguang era—over one hundred and seventy years ago."
Zhang Fei's eyes widened.
"Hold on—if there's something called Zhang Fei Beef, does that mean butchers worship me as their patron saint?"
"Unlikely," Guan Yu replied calmly.
"If you'd shouted 'I am Zhang Yide of Zhuo Commandery, the Butcher!' at Dangyang Bridge instead of just your name, perhaps you'd have earned one."
Zhang Fei choked.
"…That was not the moment for branding."
[Voiceover]
"Passing through the Sanyi Temple and the red-walled corridor, we reach the final stop: Huiling—the actual tomb of Emperor Zhaolie."
The screen showed a quiet burial mound.
No towering mausoleum.
No excessive ornamentation.
Only a simple stone stele, bearing eight characters:
'Tomb of Emperor Zhaolie of the Han.'
"My tomb…" Liu Bei murmured.
Seeing the end of his road while still standing within his journey was an unsettling thing.
"The scenery's nice," Zhang Fei said after a moment.
"But standing here with you while staring at your grave is… strange."
[Voiceover]
"We're a little late for this visit.
Every June, tens of thousands come from across the country to offer flowers here for Liu Bei's 1,800th death anniversary.
The uploader even returned the next day to leave another bouquet—apologizing in advance for what he was about to say in the next video regarding the Battle of Yiling."
Liu Bei chuckled softly.
"I am not so small-minded," he said. "Speak your truth, young man."
Yet at the mention of Yiling, something tightened in his chest.
Fire.
Ash.
Names that would never return.
The Contrast of Dignity
[Voiceover]
"Huiling is modest—but peaceful.
Among the resting places of the Three Kingdoms' monarchs, it remains the most dignified.
By contrast, Cao Cao's tomb, recently opened to the public, has become a place where visitors 'troll' him by loudly reciting the Proclamation to Scourge the Rebels.
Sun Quan fares no better in Nanjing, where tourists recite poems mocking his 'hundred thousand troops' routed by Zhang Liao's eight hundred."
Zhang Fei threw his head back and laughed.
"Not enough! They should list every atrocity Cao Cao committed after Guandu!"
Liu Bei was momentarily stunned.
"They turned Cao Cao's tomb into a place of amusement?"
He exhaled slowly.
"Then… my Huiling truly is dignified."
A City That Never Failed the Chancellor
[Voiceover]
"The memory of Shu Han is woven into Chengdu itself.
The Jinli district takes its name from the silk industry developed under Zhuge Liang.
Subway stations are adorned with feather fans and murals from his life.
But the city's deepest meaning lies within the Sichuan Museum."
The screen accelerated.
Ancient streets crowded with lanterns.
A modern underground hall dominated by a massive stylized feather fan.
Then—rows of museum exhibits.
[Voiceover]
"Chengdu's story is clear.
Li Bing built Dujiangyan, creating the Land of Abundance.
At the end of the Han, the Chancellor governed here, instilling a spirit of accomplishing the impossible.
In the modern era, during the War of Resistance, three million Sichuan soldiers marched out to save the nation.
Hundreds of thousands never returned.
This is a city that never failed the Chancellor."
The images slowed.
The hall watched a war beyond comprehension.
Iron chariots rolling across shattered earth.
Fire-spitting short spears mowing down lines of men.
Iron birds screaming through the sky.
Hell, rendered in metal.
Yet amid it, they saw figures hurling themselves forward—flesh against steel—paving victory with their own bodies.
"No horses…" Jiang Wan whispered, pale.
"Only iron and fire."
Huang Yueying said nothing.
She was already sketching—eyes sharp, mind racing—copying the silhouettes of the strange weapons displayed in the museum.
[Voiceover]
"That concludes this episode.
Next time: 'The Fires of Yiling, the Extinguished Soul of Shu Han.'
See you then."
Chang'an — Palace of Sweet Dew
Tang Dynasty
Crash!
A bronze foot-washing basin filled with ice water flew out through the palace doors.
Attendants dropped to their knees, trembling.
None dared ask why the Son of Heaven of the Tang had suddenly erupted into such towering fury.
History had just reached Yiling.