The plum rains finally retreated.
As the damp heaviness of early summer gave way to August, the borders began to stir. Yue Jin's banners shifted along the river routes, scouts appearing and disappearing like ripples on water. Yet despite the movement, no major offensive followed.
The reason was plain.
Zhou Yu—Zhou Gongjin—still alive but grievously wounded, had made a loud, unmistakable move from his sickbed in Chaisang. He issued a high-profile summons, calling the generals of Sun Wu to assemble at Baqiu. Drums were beaten, flags raised, proclamations spread deliberately wide.
The message was obvious: Yi Province.
Whether true or false mattered little. From Baqiu, sailing upstream to Jiangling took less than half a day. If Zhou Yu truly intended to move west, Yue Jin could not afford to act rashly. Thus, the Cao army watched. And waited.
In this uneasy stalemate, Liu Bei did not rest for a single day.
Using the names revealed by the light screen, he began hosting banquets—small ones, large ones, formal ones, informal ones. Only then did Liu Bei realize something unsettling:
He was already surrounded by far more talent than he had ever dared to count.
Fu Rong.
Wei Yan.
Hao Pu.
Veteran officers who had followed him since his wandering years in Jing Province.
Liu Bei arranged a modest banquet for the three, speaking of old hardships—of borrowed grain, borrowed land, borrowed futures. He spoke gently, with warmth, recalling moments even they had nearly forgotten.
The three men were deeply moved.
Yet each felt something different beneath their Lord's gaze.
Wei Yan sensed it most sharply. Liu Bei looked at him with admiration so deep it was almost heavy—and with caution just as sharp. A blade admired for its edge, yet never held without care.
Hao Pu felt pity.
Not condescension—something closer to regret.
Fu Rong felt nothing at first. He was laughing, drinking, until Liu Bei suddenly asked:
"Where is your son?"
Fu Rong froze.
"My Lord…?" He blinked, stunned. "I only married last year. I do not yet have a son."
Liu Bei paused.
Then he laughed—awkwardly—and pulled Fu Rong down to sit beside him.
"Good. Good," Liu Bei said, lifting his cup. "Then you still have time."
He did not explain.
From the light screen, Liu Bei knew that Fu Rong's son—Fu Tong—would one day die a hero's death for Shu-Han. He simply had not realized the boy had yet to be born.
As for Feng Xi, Zhang Nan, Huo Jun, and Chen Zhen—men who had served under him for less than half a year—Liu Bei shared wine and common talk. Yet behind his smile, he was already placing them carefully on the map of the future.
The Fall of a Giant
Midway through August, the news Liu Bei both feared and expected finally arrived.
Zhou Gongjin's old wounds had flared violently.
He had died at Baqiu.
Even prepared hearts faltered at the weight of it. A sigh passed through Liu Bei's camp—not loud, but long. Heaven had been cruel to a man of such brilliance.
Yet grief did not halt the turning of strategy.
Liu Bei immediately set out for Dantu to offer condolences.
At the same time, Zhang Fei, Guan Yu, and Huang Zhong gathered at Jiangling. Troops were repositioned. Supply lines tightened. An ambush was prepared—not for today, but for the moment Yue Jin inevitably chose to move.
Liu Bei traveled by water.
Mid-journey, word reached him that Zhou Yu's body had already been sent to Dantu. Liu Bei altered course at once, bringing Bu Zhi with him.
His last journey to negotiate for Nanjun had been one of submission.
This one had a single, hidden purpose.
The Fledgling Phoenix.
With Zhou Yu dead, Sun Quan was too busy stabilizing his realm to harm Liu Bei—his brother-in-law. Liu Bei felt no immediate danger. Bu Zhi's presence served as a gesture of sincerity.
Jiao Province, once more, lay on the bargaining table.
Dantu was wrapped in white.
At the city's edge, Liu Bei saw Sun Quan standing atop a high platform. In his hands was a brocade robe. Facing the wind, the Marquis of Wu cried out with raw force:
"Zhou Gongjin—!"
Lu Su and Liu Bei watched from afar.
Sun Quan descended, seized another robe, climbed again, and shouted once more:
"Zhou Gongjin—!"
Liu Bei recognized the ritual at once.
Zhaohun.
Summoning the soul.
It would be followed by the bathing of the body. Then the writing of the funeral banners.
"The Marquis of Wu is truly bereft," Liu Bei murmured. Only the closest kin performed the soul-summoning.
"Gongjin… was in the prime of his life," Lu Su said, grief darkening his face. Policy disagreements vanished before death. To Sun Wu, losing Zhou Yu was like losing an arm.
The Phoenix in the Hand
The following morning, Liu Bei formally entered Zhou Yu's residence.
A white cloth hung from a bamboo pole at the gate, inscribed with Zhou Yu's titles:
Grand Administrator of Nanjun.Grand Administrator of Nanjun.
General of the Household.General of the Household.
Zhou Gongjin.
Inside, Zhou Yu lay in state. His wife and children knelt nearby, faces pale and drained.
Liu Bei placed a jade robe before the coffin. He performed the rites with solemn care, bowing deeply. Zhou Yu's eldest son escorted him out.
As Liu Bei walked away, a strange thought arose unbidden:
What will my own funeral at Baidicheng look like?
Will it be Kongming… or Adou… who summons my soul?
"Governor of Jing Province?"
The voice cut cleanly through his thoughts.
Liu Bei turned.
Before him stood a scholar—his face unremarkable, his robes plain. Yet his bearing was unmistakable. There was something sharp beneath the surface, like a blade wrapped in cloth.
"Shiyuan?"
Liu Bei's face broke into a smile.
Before Pang Tong could react, Liu Bei surged forward, seized his hand, and began dragging him away.
"I did not expect to meet you here!" Liu Bei said, already moving. "Come—come—we must speak at my lodgings!"
By the time Pang Tong was seated on a mat, hot tea warming his hands, staring into Liu Bei's burning gaze, he felt dazed.
How did this escalate so quickly?
"I already know why you are here, Shiyuan," Liu Bei said bluntly. "Gongjin is gone. You were never his minister, nor are you the Marquis of Wu's. You are free."
He leaned forward.
"I wish to appoint you as Military Counselor Household General. What you say?"
It was a direct strike.
Every clever response Pang Tong had prepared vanished instantly. It was as though Liu Bei had been waiting for him.
Pang Tong hesitated. "Is… is Kongming also a Military Counselor Household General?"
Liu Bei nodded. "Kongming often says your talent equals his—perhaps even surpasses it. A man capable of assisting the world, with a heart for the people."
Pang Tong smiled thinly.
Kongming has read me through and through, he thought. So this is the power of the Sleeping Dragon.
More painfully, Sun Quan had not even granted him an audience.
The contrast burned.
Pang Tong straightened and asked solemnly, "May I ask… what is the Lord's ambition?"
"To destroy the traitor Cao," Liu Bei said without hesitation,
"to restrain Sun Quan,
to restore the Han House,
and unify the realm—
so that the four seas may know peace!"
Pang Tong's eyes widened.
He lunged forward and clapped a hand over Liu Bei's mouth.
"My Lord!" he hissed. "This is East Wu!"
Liu Bei laughed loudly.
"Having found the Hidden Dragon—and now the Fledgling Phoenix—my path is no longer lonely. The Han shall flourish!"
Pang Tong did not demur.
He rose, bowed deeply, and leaned forward. "If we plot for Yi Province… how much certainty does the Lord possess?"
Liu Bei raised one hand.
"Originally—fifty percent."
Then he raised the other.
"Now—one hundred."
Pang Tong bowed again, deeply moved. "Tong is willing to take Yi Province and present it to the Lord."
"That won't be necessary," Liu Bei said, his expression turning strange.
The light screen's warning echoed in his mind.
"I need you to guard Jing Province. There is a place in Yi called Fallen Phoenix Slope. The Feng Shui there… is unfavorable to you."
Pang Tong stared, utterly bewildered.
Then came Liu Bei's first command.
"Shiyuan," Liu Bei said calmly,
"do you know a subordinate of Pan Zhang named Ma Zhong? I hear he has a virtuous reputation. Can you introduce me?"