Those few short lines on the light screen were like steel needles driven straight into Zhang Fei's nerves, roasting him alive in a slow, merciless fire.
Cruel.
Unrestrained.
Lacks empathy for his soldiers.
A nobody takes his head for a reward.
Dies without a whole corpse.
Each accusation struck harder than a blade.
"ARRRRGH—!!!"
His muscles swelled grotesquely, veins bulging like twisted cords. Despite being pinned down by several sturdy men, Zhang Fei forced himself upright through sheer brute strength. Yet he did not strike anyone. Nor did he smash the light screen, as Liu Bei had feared.
Instead, he threw back his head and roared.
It was a long, thunderous howl—raw, hoarse, and packed with suffocating resentment. The sound seemed to shake the beams of the hall itself.
Huang Yueying winced and clapped her hands over her ears; at such close range, she feared she might go deaf. Ma Liang and Jiang Wan staggered, faces pale, momentarily stunned by the sheer force of it.
The door burst open.
Chen Dao stood there, hand already on the hilt of his sword, eyes sweeping the room.
"Shuzhi… everything is fine here," Liu Bei said quickly, though even he had no idea how to explain what "fine" meant in this situation.
Chen Dao studied Zhang Fei's trembling back for a moment, then Liu Bei's weary face. As always, he asked nothing. He simply bowed and closed the door again.
The roar finally died.
Zhang Fei's shoulders slumped as if all the strength had been ripped from his bones. The beastlike fury drained from his voice.
"Second Brother…" he muttered hoarsely. "Let me go."
Guan Yu hesitated only a heartbeat before releasing him.
Zhang Fei did not look at anyone. Head lowered, he walked slowly toward the side hall. His steps were heavy, each one echoing like a hammer strike. At the threshold, he paused and spoke without turning back, his voice muffled and dull:
"I'm going to rest. Big Brother, rest easy. If Second Brother won't kill Shi Ren and Mi Fang… then I won't go out and slaughter Fan Jiang and Zhang Da either."
The door closed with a soft click.
Guan Yu straightened at once. "I will go speak with Yide."
He left without waiting for a reply.
Liu Bei let out another long sigh. He had lost count of how many times he had sighed today.
"I have warned him many times," Liu Bei said quietly. "Yide's discipline is too harsh. He shows no mercy to his subordinates. To keep resentful men as personal attendants… it is courting disaster."
The remaining officials exchanged glances.
What else could be said?
The Third General's shame was already heavier than any rebuke they could offer.
Technological Plunder
"I found a few other things…"
Huang Yueying rubbed her ringing ears and lifted several sheets of paper. While the others had been transfixed—or traumatized—by the hellish battlefields of the future, she had been busy copying down details from the corner of the creator's desk on the light screen.
The characters were unfamiliar, but their structure was close enough for Kongming to decipher.
"Leggings?" he read aloud, frowning. "Puttees… and this—'Fried Flour'?"
Liu Bei's eyes lit with recognition. "When I sold straw mats and shoes, I often heard merchants say that binding one's trouser cuffs tightly kept snakes and insects from crawling up the legs. I never imagined wrapping them flat with hemp or kudzu could be so effective."
No complex craftsmanship. No rare materials. Only a simple improvement with enormous benefit for marching infantry.
Liu Bei did not hesitate.
"Copy it."
Kongming turned to the second item, his brow slowly tightening. "'Fried Flour'… according to the description, it was the staple ration of a future army?"
He read aloud from the notes:
"During the War to Resist U.S. Aggression and Aid Korea, the Volunteer Army relied on 'a mouthful of fried flour and a mouthful of snow' to help the Korean people repel imperialist invaders who ate canned meat and drank coffee. Fried flour is made from wheat, soybeans, sorghum, and corn, ground into powder, mixed with salt, and stir-fried until cooked. It served as the Volunteers' primary ration."
"They defeated an enemy with meat and wine… using only this?" Huang Zhong could scarcely believe it.
Having led troops in Jing Province for decades, he knew soldiers well. Deprive them of meat and liquor, and they would grumble. Deprive them for long enough, and they might mutiny.
If he had fed his old units nothing but fried flour, Huang Zhong was convinced they would have bound him hand and foot and delivered him to the enemy camp just for a bite of that so-called "canned meat."
Without a word, Kongming reached into a stack of documents and drew out a familiar sheet.
Huang Zhong and Zhao Yun both shook their heads.
The eleven rules were simple. Too simple.
Do not steal.
Do not harass civilians.
Care for comrades.
Do not abuse prisoners.
Obey orders.
Take no private loot.
If a man could truly uphold all of this—why would he ever become a soldier?
Zhao Yun and Guan Yu, both widely read, had once privately compared the greatest generals of past dynasties. They had concluded that not even the most virtuous achieved half of these standards.
They had once assumed the future army must be driven by staggering material rewards.
But staring at the humble "fried flour," Zhao Yun discarded that theory entirely.
What mercenary army would accept such rations?
Then what, exactly, were those future soldiers fighting for?
No one in the hall could answer that question.
But Kongming felt a faint, unsettling clarity.
There had been countless Shu-Han officials who chose death over surrender—men who refused comfortable lives under the enemy. It was not that they lacked opportunities.
They simply would not accept them.
"We can use this as reference," Kongming finally said, setting aside the weight of the thought. "This fried flour resembles the Hu Cake from the era of Emperor Wu of Han—but the method is even simpler."
Liu Bei nodded without hesitation.
"Copy it."
The Industrial Revolution of Shu
The light screen dimmed, displaying a final notice:
[Next video will play in three months.]
The officials dispersed, each carrying a mind heavy with new possibilities.
Kongming pulled Jiang Wan into a side room behind the county office.
"Gongyan," he said softly, "look."
On a pedestal stood an exquisite model of a waterwheel.
"This is the 'Huduhu River Round Wheel,' designed by my wife," Kongming explained. "It links the wheel to stone mills and grain mortars. All of it is her ingenuity."
He poured a bucket of water over the model.
The miniature mechanisms sprang to life—grinding, pounding, turning in seamless harmony.
Beside it stood another, smaller device.
"This one is my own," Kongming said, lifting a report and handing it to Jiang Wan.
It was Jiang Wan's own writing—his conversation with the old blacksmith about coal, shitan.
One line had been circled:
'Powdered form burns more easily.'
"This device crushes coal into fine dust," Kongming explained, gesturing to the black residue on the table. "For military use, one peck of charcoal burns less than fifteen minutes. But one peck of coal mixed with coal dust burns for forty-five."
Jiang Wan inhaled sharply. He understood immediately.
"Jingling and the surrounding regions have many waterways. With wheels like this, we can save enormous labor."
Kongming nodded. "You will oversee construction near Gong'an, Chanling, and Jiangling. Usage fees will follow the Huduhu standard."
He paused, then corrected himself.
"The power of the wheel… no. We will call it Hydraulic Power—shuili."
"The hydraulic crushers must produce coal dust as quickly as possible. The campaign for Yi Province is approaching."
Jiang Wan bowed deeply, the weight of the task settling on his shoulders.
"Oh, and one more thing," Kongming added calmly. "Organize the notes on 'Illness enters through the mouth' and all hygiene rules into a manual. Bring it to me."
Jiang Wan twitched internally. He bowed.
"Also, calculate the cost of manufacturing enough leggings for the entire army. Submit the budget."
Another bow.
"And transcribe two copies of the list of Shu-Han officials mentioned on the light screen. One for me. One for the Lord."
Jiang Wan turned and left.
The door closed with more force than strictly necessary.