There was never a shortage of people at Zhang Zhongjing's residence.
After all, no one went through life without headaches, fevers, stomachaches, mysterious rashes, or that vague feeling of "something is wrong but I don't know what." And this Divine Physician not only cured ailments with frightening efficiency—his attitude was gentle, his explanations patient, and most importantly…
He was absurdly cheap.
A normal medical visit cost at least a hundred coins. Zhang Zhongjing charged ten.
Ten.
When questioned about this outrageous pricing, Zhang Zhongjing calmly explained that the remaining ninety coins were paid by the Governor of Jingzhou.
Thus, the common people thanked Zhang Zhongjing for his compassion
and thanked Liu Bei for his generosity,
and promptly stopped trying to "tough it out."
Previously, a fever meant lying in bed and praying to survive. Now, a sneeze was enough to justify a visit.
Inside the hall, Zhang Zhongjing ignored the noise completely. Sitting upright, calm as a mountain, he performed the four examinations—looking, listening, questioning, and feeling the pulse—on a young boy clutching his stomach.
After a moment, he spoke.
"You ate too much."
The child froze.
"No illness. No medicine. Walk around the city twice. Slowly. Since there is no illness, there is no fee. Go."
The boy left in a daze, escorted by a mother bowing so deeply she nearly struck the floor.
Zhang Zhongjing immediately waved his disciple over to take the next patient, then stepped outside with Kongming.
"The medicinal powders are ready," he said calmly. "Four hundred portions. Come."
They walked south to a small workshop built beside the water. A sign hung at the entrance:
For the Exclusive Use of the Divine Physician
Inside, there were no mills for grain. Instead, two stone troughs and medicinal pestles were connected by wooden arms to a water wheel. As the river flowed, the wheel turned, the arms rose and fell, and herbs were ground without rest, complaint, or wages.
Zhang Zhongjing sighed appreciatively. "Lady Huang is truly extraordinary. The grinding is not perfect, but one wheel replaces a hundred men. Day and night, enough medicine to treat a thousand people."
Kongming smiled but said nothing. Huang Yueying was currently experimenting with medicinal fields outside the city, convinced that herbs—like grapes—thrived when raised in the right environment. She openly doubted the idea of "innate medicinal nature," which had nearly caused three physicians to faint on the spot.
Zhang Zhongjing gestured to the corner, where bundles of powder sat neatly wrapped.
Kongming opened one, pinched a bit, tasted it—
—and immediately regretted it.
Bitter. Impressively bitter.
"These are standard golden-sore powders," Zhang Zhongjing explained serenely. "They can be applied externally or taken internally. Best brewed with boiling water."
Kongming nodded. "This will suffice."
Then he remembered something else. "What of the Medical Manual for the Marching Army?"
"That was easy," Zhang Zhongjing said, pulling out a thin booklet. "Only plague prevention and wound treatment, as requested."
Kongming reached for it.
It did not move.
Zhang Zhongjing still held it, his grip unexpectedly firm for a man of his age.
"Previously," the Divine Physician said slowly, "you spoke of establishing a School of Medicine. Was that spoken lightly?"
Kongming's expression grew solemn. "It was not."
"I am compiling a medical record," Zhang Zhongjing said. "Treatise on Febrile and Miscellaneous Diseases. If completed, will you truly support its dissemination?"
"I will fund the printing of ten thousand copies," Kongming said without hesitation. "It will stand beside the Yellow Emperor's Inner Canon and the Eighty-One Difficulties as foundational texts."
Zhang Zhongjing swayed.
Not from illness—
from excitement.
His eyes shone like a man who had just seen the future kneel before him.
He shoved the marching manual into Kongming's arms. "Military Advisor Zhuge, please help the General of the Left extend the mandate of the Han."
Kongming accepted the weight.
It felt heavier than armor.
After arranging transport for the powders, Kongming returned to the administrative hall and handed the booklet to Pang Tong.
"Print several dozen copies and distribute them."
Pang Tong flipped through it, frowned, then sighed. "Concise. Obscure. Half the army barely recognizes their own names."
He thought for a moment. "Leave it with me. I'll rewrite it into something soldiers can actually remember. Then we print."
Recently, Pang Tong had been drowning in paperwork by day and obsessively studying the light-screen records by night. Each reading filled him with regret.
So the Lord already knew my intentions back then…
No wonder something always felt off.
Watching the future had been shocking. Reading it required imagination—and imagination was exhausting.
Kongming nodded. "How goes recruitment?"
Pang Tong slid a record over. "Six thousand from the Jiang-Huai refugees. Sixteen thousand from the four commanderies."
Kongming read it twice, then stood. "I will speak to the Lord."
Pang Tong stopped him. "You plan to train the troops?"
"Who wouldn't admire the armies of the future?" Kongming replied calmly. "Soldiers must be trained. Generals must learn."
Pang Tong didn't look up. "Then you make the system. Let respected generals drill them."
"Who?"
"Chen Dao. Zhao Yun. If Guan Yu is idle, him too."
Kongming nodded. The plan was clear: build an elite force now. One that could someday match those disciplined armies of the future—armies that obeyed rules even while starving.
As for generals must learn—
Kongming already had plans.
Moments after he left, Jiang Wan arrived holding a black, lumpy object.
"We obtained this today."
Pang Tong examined it. "Coal mixed with clay."
"Yes! The craftsmen call it an Ink Cake. Crushed coal, mixed with yellow clay, reinforced with wood strips. Used for smelting. Better than charcoal."
"And useful?"
Jiang Wan hesitated. "I… should probably speak to Kongming."
"Wait." Pang Tong pulled a decree from the shelf. "Innovations in craftsmanship are rewarded. How much?"
Jiang Wan straightened. "This improves armor, weapons, and heating for commoners. Ten thousand coins."
Pang Tong wrote immediately. "Then go claim it."
In early December, Liu Bei summoned Fu Rong, Feng Xi, Zhang Nan, Xiahou Lan, Gao Xiang, Chen Shi, Huo Jun, Xi Zhen, Wei Yan, Guan Ping, and others to the Gong'an government office.
Jingzhou's winter was coming.
And so was learning.