From the moment Pang Tong first laid eyes upon the immense sand table, Kongming had grown more and more unfathomable to him. It wasn't only Kongming himself—Jiang Wan, too, now looked at the strategist with a curious smile, as though privy to some secret beyond Pang Tong's reach.
Summer ripened into autumn, and Jingxiang knew a peace rare in those times. From the many reports that crossed his desk, Pang Tong could see the wider pattern: Yue Jin remained still to the north, paralyzed by the loss of six thousand men—either cowed into inaction or preoccupied with pleading forgiveness from Xudu. No new offensive would come before spring.
With half of Nan Commandery as the only exception, the four commanderies of Jingzhou were prospering. The officials previously promoted by the Lord and Kongming had mastered the new agricultural methods pioneered in Gong'an—composting, irrigation, and high-yield rice cultivation—and now carried these teachings throughout the region. Their success was so striking that even Pang Tong, usually skeptical, could not deny the results.
Zhang Song lingered in Gong'an for several days, reluctant to leave. When at last he departed, he looked back at every turn, his gaze filled with a yearning admiration.
As October waned, Pang Tong sensed something shifting beneath the surface calm. The capital still bustled, but its air seemed charged with expectation. Within the inner circle, the busiest men had grown strangely distracted. Jian Yong, usually graceful and unhurried, now strode about with restless energy.
More telling were the orders that passed through Pang Tong's hands: Guan Yu and Ma Liang recalled from Jiangling; Zhang Fei from Linju; Zhao Yun from Changsha—all to arrive on the twenty-fourth.
Was this the great "change" Kongming had hinted at months ago?
Pang Tong kept his suspicions to himself. Outwardly, he followed his routine with studied indifference—working, eating, sleeping as always. Yet on the night of the twenty-third, he retired early, his mind alight.
Whatever awaited him, he was Pang Tong—the Fledgling Phoenix, peer to the Sleeping Dragon. If Kongming shone brightest, Pang Tong would not let his light be dimmed.
At dawn, he rose, washed with hot water (as required by Gong'an's new sanitation ordinances), and made his way to the government offices. The familiar halls now bristled with guards. Soldiers stood every few paces, their armor freshly polished. Pang Tong's expression remained composed, though his sharp eyes missed nothing.
In the courtyard, he passed a large wooden crate nailed shut and bound with thick rope. From within came a faint, rhythmic snoring. Pang Tong frowned. "What beast have they caught now?" he muttered.
At the entrance to the side hall stood Chen Dao himself. The ever-stern general inclined his head, allowing the faintest of smiles.
"Military Advisor Pang," he said. "The Lord and his counselors await."
Pang Tong pushed the doors open.
The grand hall, which often felt too spacious during routine councils, now seemed full to bursting. To the left sat the generals—Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, Zhao Yun, and Wei Yan—in disciplined silence. To the right, the civil officials: Kongming and Lady Huang Yueying seated together, followed by Jian Yong, Mi Zhu, Ma Liang, and Jiang Wan.
At the head sat Liu Bei himself, calm and at ease. When he saw Pang Tong, his face lit up.
"Shiyuan is here. Sit!"
He pointed to a seat beside Kongming. Pang Tong glanced around—every major figure was present save Huang Zhong, who remained on watch. His heart quickened.
He leaned toward Kongming and whispered, "Is it time? Are we marching on Yi Province?"
Kongming smiled faintly and shook his head.
"Then… a strike northward? Yue Jin's army is crippled. A sudden assault could wipe him out."
Another shake of the head.
"The Marquis of Sun, then? Surely not—we'd be fools to break the alliance—"
Kongming's fan moved again in silent denial.
"Shiyuan," Liu Bei said, amusement twinkling in his eyes, "be patient. You'll know soon enough."
Across the room, Wei Yan—attending such a council for the first time—sat ramrod straight, eyes closed, posture solemn as a mountain. His effort to project the aura of a great commander did not go unnoticed; both Liu Bei and Kongming observed him with faint approval.
Tea was poured and refilled. Pang Tong downed two cups and nibbled dried persimmons until he was half full—and wholly restless. He began counting the wood grain lines on the table just to stay awake.
Then, at last, Liu Bei gave a soft cry of delight: "It is here!"
Pang Tong's head jerked up.
In the middle of the hall, a strange light bloomed, shimmering like mist. Slowly, it spread, forming a radiant screen that hovered in the air.
Pang Tong blinked hard. Had he eaten one persimmon too many? He rubbed his face, but the image remained—moving pictures upon a glowing veil, accompanied by a disembodied voice.
[Voiceover]
"Hi everyone! I'm your uncultured history uploader, Wen Mang!
We all know about the Battle of Yiling—it marked both the founding and the doom of Shu-Han.
Lu Xun's fire, seven hundred li long, burned away any hope of a third restoration of the Han. Less than one in ten survived. Liu Bei himself would perish later in Baidi City.
Meanwhile, Lu Xun's triumph made him the unchallenged power in Wu, shifting the balance of ruler and minister—and from there, the decline of Wu was set in motion!"
Pang Tong sat frozen. Below the generals, Wei Yan's solemn meditation shattered with a sharp "Ow!" as he accidentally tore a tuft from his own beard.
"This… this is…" Pang Tong looked wildly from his Lord to Kongming.
Neither answered. Both watched the floating screen, utterly absorbed.
[Live Comments]
NoobSlayer99: [lei le lei le! Every time he says "Sun 100,000," I lose it. Peak comedy.]
PentaKill_Enjoyer: [Pain. Yiling erased ten years of elite troops. Shu-Han never recovered. GG.]
GachaLife_4Ever: [They even fought on credit, lmao. "Compete with the people for profit," indeed.]
AFK_Farmer: ["To hell with the world! Third Brother, avenge our Second Brother!" Chills.]
X_DarkShadow_X: [Not the feels again… Guan Yu's death wrecks me every time.]
LootBoxLover: [Who cares if he failed? History has victors—but few true men.]
JunglerDiff: ["A son should be like Sun Zhongmou—sending 100,000 to their deaths at Hefei." Who among the world's heroes can stand against him? Two fires—Red Cliffs and Yiling.]
SleepyVibe: [I always stop after Yiling. Too much heartbreak.]
ToxicMain: [Still watching. Need to see the Prime Minister's six expeditions. Skip Wuzhang Plains though—too many knives.]
The hall had fallen into reverent silence. Ma Liang and Jiang Wan were already recording every glowing word upon Zhuge-paper, their brushes flying. Pang Tong glanced between their notes and the screen. He recognized the script—but the meaning felt unreal.
"Shiyuan," Liu Bei said gently, his eyes alight, "this is a vision—a screen of light showing the world eighteen hundred years hence."
He paused, voice low with wonder. "And in that distant age… they still call themselves the People of Han."
Pang Tong's mind whirled. He turned to Kongming, his voice barely steady. "The circular wagons, the forges, the new papermaking, the improved plows—all of it… came from this?"
Kongming smiled and nodded. "Inferred from fragments, from glimpses like these."
A surge of fierce resolve welled up within Pang Tong. "Crouching Dragon, Kongming!" he declared. "If we are to gaze upon the same heavens, I will not let you soar alone!"
Chang'an — Palace of Sweet Dew
Far away in time and space, Emperor Li Shimin gazed at the same light-screen, his ministers struck dumb beside him.
"I told you," the Tang Emperor said with a hint of triumph. "I would not summon ghosts and portents merely to justify my choice of concubines. Tell me, Keming—what say you now?"