The words on the light-screen struck the hall like a sudden drumbeat, sending a surge of heat through every chest present.
In that distant age, in the eyes of the world, there had been only two true powers.
The Han.
And Rome.
Zhang Fei's hands flexed unconsciously, veins standing out as if he were already gripping a spear.
"That Parthia—Anxi—was nothing but a pack of curs!" he snarled. "First they lied to our Han envoys, blocking them with ghost stories, then they dared attack a Roman protectorate! Military Advisor Pang was right—they were terrified! Terrified of the Han and Rome joining hands!"
Kongming's gaze lingered on Liu Bei.
He understood his lord's silence all too well.
Rome had Parthia choking its throat from the west. But was the Great Han any better off? The empire's sickness came not only from without, but from within—rot in the court, knives behind smiles, eunuchs and factions gnawing at the pillars of the state.
Kongming spoke gently, choosing his words with care.
"The light-screen says Parthia is fated to be destroyed. Rome survived that calamity. Once my Lord restores the Han, we can simply send our own envoys westward."
Liu Bei smiled—but it was thin, strained.
"Rome has foreign enemies," he said quietly. "My Han has internal chaos. We are… companions in misfortune."
The light-screen shifted.
[Because of the war between Rome and Parthia, the land routes were severed. The Roman embassy had no choice but to take the sea.]
The map rippled to life. A single point appeared near Rome, then began to crawl eastward across the endless blue like a living thing.
[Moreover, the Kushan Empire to the west of the Han was allied with Parthia, completely sealing the Silk Road to Roman traffic.]
[In 165 AD, the Roman embassy departed from the Red Sea, crossed the Arabian Sea, and rested in India.]
[The following summer, they caught the southwest monsoon of the Indian Ocean, passed through the Strait of Malacca, and sailed north to reach Jinan Commandery. This was the same maritime route Qin Lun would later take.]
[Once inside Han territory, the journey was smooth. They were escorted to Luoyang and received by Emperor Huan of Han, Liu Zhi, where they presented their tribute.]
[However, Jinan Commandery at that time was rich in wildlife. Rhino horns, ivory, and tortoiseshell were common commodities. It is no surprise that Han officials doubted the 'Great Empire' status of an embassy bearing such ordinary items.]
[Western records explain why. Marcus Aurelius was not merely an emperor—he was a philosopher. His famous words, 'A happy life needs very little,' reflected an emphasis on the soul over material splendor. The embassy lacked lavish gifts because the Emperor did not approve the expense.]
"Treating wealth like dung!" Zhang Fei grunted, finally understanding.
"A ruler of clarity and sincerity," Kongming said softly.
Then his expression darkened.
"The ninth year of Yanxi…" he murmured. "That was the beginning of the Great Proscription of Partisans."
Liu Bei's jaw tightened.
He remembered the future judgment he had once read—I never fail to lament the reigns of Huan and Ling. Seeing a Roman Emperor value philosophy and inner discipline, even centuries later, made the contrast cut deeper than any blade.
Mi Zhu barely noticed the conversation. His eyes were locked onto the map.
"This 'monsoon'…" he muttered, half to himself. "This must be what sailors call the 'Wind Signal.' We must record this. We must."
The desire to sail that route was no longer a thought—it was a fire.
Ma Liang's brush scratched furiously across bamboo slips.
"This Roman Emperor's thinking is remarkably similar to the Military Advisor's own principle: 'Live simply to manifest one's ambition.' What a pity. If this embassy arrived today, they would surely find a kindred spirit in Kongming."
Pang Tong snorted.
"Fine ideals for self-cultivation. Sending an embassy with 'simple' gifts is just being stingy."
The light-screen did not argue. It merely continued.
[History is fascinating precisely because of its unpredictability.]
[In 166 AD, Rome sacked the Parthian capital, Ctesiphon.]
[But the Roman legions contracted smallpox. The disease spread rapidly through the ranks, crushing morale. Despite their victory, the army was forced to retreat.]
[Smallpox sparked panic throughout Rome. That same year, Germanic tribes began raiding from the north.]
[Fourteen years later, Marcus Aurelius died of the plague. The era of the Five Good Emperors ended. Rome entered the 'Crisis of the Third Century,' with over thirty pretenders claiming the throne.]
[Four years after Aurelius' death, a man in the far East shouted, 'The Azure Heaven is dead; the Yellow Heaven shall rise!']
[Thus began the collapse of the Eastern Han. The chaos of the Three Kingdoms unfolded.]
[Two great empires fell into internal and external turmoil at nearly the same moment in history.]
"Thirty pretenders?!" Zhang Fei gaped. "Thirty men seizing the throne? How did the country not vanish on the spot?!"
"Perhaps because of the… Senate," Kongming said thoughtfully, recalling the body that once banned silk. Rome's structure was clearly unlike the Han's.
Guan Yu's brow furrowed, his focus sharp.
"Smallpox… what kind of plague is this? An army that just destroyed a capital—crippled by disease? What sort of illness can do that?"
Zhao Yun considered carefully.
"If it killed instantly, you would burn the bodies and move camp. This… must linger. Slow. Insidious."
Pang Tong's voice was grim.
"If Han silk can reach Rome… then Roman smallpox can reach the Han."
A chill swept through the hall.
Kongming made his decision at once.
"When this matter concludes, I will consult Physician Zhang Zhongjing. Such things cannot be ignored."
The light-screen shimmered again.
[Let us return to the Chancellor's Nanzhong strategy.]
[To govern the south, he used trade routes to unite the powerful clans. But he never abandoned the oppressed local tribes.]
[Now, let us move the clock forward sixteen hundred years.]
[The year is 1934. China is beset by internal turmoil and foreign aggression.]
[In the south, the British have colonized Burma and set their sights on two silver mines in the territory of the Wa people. They attempted to bribe the local rulers. When bribery failed, they chose force.]
[Two thousand British colonial troops invaded. They believed profit alone could buy the submission of 'ignorant savages.']
[The Kings of Banhong and Banlao replied: 'We are Chinese!']
[The King of Banhong declared: 'We are descendants of Kongming, subjects of the Heavenly Dynasty. Our motherland is China. We will not live as slaves like the Burmese!']
"Brave men!" Zhang Fei roared, slapping Zhao Yun's thigh so hard it echoed through the hall. "Truly brave men! Military Advisor—your 'descendants' are all iron-blooded heroes!"
Kongming froze.
"…?"
Liu Bei's chest tightened painfully as he grasped the meaning of that future era.
"China, in those years…" he said softly. "It must have endured unspeakable hardship."
The light-screen answered him.
[Facing British occupation, the King of Banhong gathered seventeen Wa chiefs. Together, they swore an oath and issued the famous 'Open Letter from the Seventeen Kings of Kawa to Our Compatriots.']
[They wrote: 'We cannot speak much Han Chinese. But for fifty generations, we have served the Han. The Han treated the Wa kindly; therefore, the Wa cannot betray the Han.']
['The land and the mines belong to the Han. We cannot fail our ancestor.']
[Armed with primitive weapons, the Wa people attacked the British forces. After fierce fighting lasting until June 6, they forced the invaders to retreat back into Burma.]
[The ancestor they spoke of was Zhuge Liang.]
[They believed in a pact: Zhuge Liang helped them survive, and in return, they would guard the Southern Gate of the Han.]
[For seventeen hundred years, as dynasties rose and fell, in that small corner of the world—the Han never died.]
[The Han people still endured.]
The hall was silent.
Zhang Fei's eyes were red. He lunged forward, grabbed Kongming by the shoulders, lifted him clean off the ground, and spun him twice in a wild circle.
"Military Advisor!" he shouted, voice cracking. "I've always respected you—but today I know the truth. I still underestimated you!"
Dizzy, suspended in the air, Kongming suddenly remembered words he had once written half in jest, half in truth—
Glory belongs to the people.