Zhuge Kongming was, as always, impossibly busy.
Yet while passing a humble wood-shed behind the county office, his steps slowed. A faint but unmistakable fragrance drifted on the air.
Incense.
"Someone is burning incense?"
Curious, Kongming followed the scent. Through a narrow crack in the shed door, he saw a scene that made him pause.
Inside stood three boys, faces taut with solemn determination, performing what was—at least to them—the most important ceremony of their young lives.
"I, Guan Xing."
"I, Zhang Bao."
"I, Liu Adou."
"From this day forward, following the example of our fathers, we swear brotherhood. From now on—"
They bowed deeply before a crude incense altar fashioned from scrap wood and clay.
Kongming watched in silence, lips twitching with restrained amusement. When the ceremony ended, he quietly withdrew, careful not to disturb their gravity.
Perhaps… he thought absently as he walked away, if I'm not too busy, I should find time to have another child with Yueying.
The Workshop of the "Female Phoenix"
Passing through three layers of personal guards, Kongming stopped before the most tightly guarded room in the Gongan county office. He knocked lightly.
No response.
He pushed the door open.
Inside, the room was divided cleanly in two. One side was crowded with models—gears, frames, paddle mechanisms—ranging from palm-sized prototypes to half-assembled structures taller than a man. The other side held a hand-cranked loom, disassembled into a chaotic pile of wood and metal parts on the floor.
At the center of it all, Huang Yueying knelt, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled, eyes blazing with focus.
She didn't even notice him.
Kongming smiled wryly.
History, as shown by the light-screen, had clearly taken a wrong turn. He, Zhuge Kongming, now finished his work on time, took walks after meals for digestion, and even found time to play with his adopted son Zhuge Qiao and daughter Zhuge Guo.
His wife, meanwhile, had become utterly possessed by mechanical arts.
If he didn't personally come to retrieve her, she would work straight through the night without realizing it.
"My Lady," Kongming said gently, "the sun has already set."
Huang Yueying blinked, then looked toward the window. The sky beyond was ablaze with sunset hues.
"…I won't be able to finish today," she said regretfully.
Still, she locked the workshop door and walked home beside him.
"Siyuan won't be coming back next month," Kongming said casually, recalling the message from Liu Bei. "He says Jiangzhou's position is too critical. The Lord had no choice but to leave him there with Huo Jun."
Yueying chuckled softly. "That's because your Wuhou Shrine unsettled him. And General Yide keeps calling him the Fledgling Phoenix in front of everyone. Even the Lord privately calls me the Female Fledgling Phoenix. Siyuan doesn't understand mechanical arts—of course he feels uneasy."
They passed through a moon gate and entered the busiest street in Gongan. The craftsmen had just finished their shifts. Peddlers, sensing money in their pockets, shouted with extra enthusiasm.
Huang Yueying watched the lively scene, satisfaction warming her chest.
I truly married a husband peerless under heaven.
She turned to him affectionately—only to find Kongming gazing at the sky, deep in thought.
"My Lady," he said suddenly, "yesterday I watched General Guan drill the navy. The ships move by wind. I was thinking—if paddle wheels can harness water, could we build something to harness wind as well?"
Yueying stopped walking.
A long moment passed.
Finally, she let out a quiet sigh of admiration. "Husband… there truly is no one like you in this world."
Mi Zhu's Paper War
While the Zhuge couple shared their quiet evening, Mi Zhu sat at home, staring at a stack of Zuobo Paper delivered by a servant.
With Mi Fang sent off to General Zhang's camp in Linju for "re-education," Mi Zhu slept far more soundly these days.
This paper, however, troubled him.
It was produced in Jiangdong.
Mi Zhu still remembered Kongming's stratagem clearly. To lower Sun Quan's guard—and exploit Zhou Yu's failing health—Kongming had forged a secret letter in Mi Fang's handwriting and sent it to Jiangdong. To make it convincing, he had deliberately leaked part of the Zuobo Paper formula.
The bait worked. Jiangling fell.
Now Jiangdong had produced its own imitation.
Mi Zhu tapped the paper lightly. "What is the cost?"
"Jiangdong lacks mulberry trees," his confidant replied. "To produce this 'Marquis Sun Paper,' they must purchase mulberry bark from elsewhere. Our paper masters estimate the cost at no less than eight hundred coins per roll."
Mi Zhu's eyes narrowed.
So Jiangdong lacks mulberry…
Was this also part of the Military Advisor's calculation?
A chill of awe crept up his spine.
"Do not expand Jingzhou's paper workshops yet," Mi Zhu ordered calmly. "Keep the price of Zhuge Paper equal to Jiangdong's. Wait until their industry reaches its peak."
He smiled faintly.
Zuobo Paper was far from the only card Jingzhou held.
Tang Dynasty · The Grand Display of the 627th Year
In Chang'an, since the appearance of the light-screen, Li Shimin spent nearly all his time in the Ganlu Hall.
Du Ruhui and Fang Xuanling often found the Son of Heaven standing barefoot on the cold floor, staring at a freshly redrawn map of the Qin and Han realms.
At Zhangsun Wuji's quiet suggestion, the words Great Han had been replaced with Great Tang.
Foreign merchants soon noticed something strange: the people of Tang had become obsessed with western geography. Orders were sent to every province—find shipwrights, build ocean-going vessels.
Yet the Emperor had developed another obsession.
At the Circular Mound, during the Heaven-worship ceremony, Li Shimin asked solemnly:
"Can sacrifices be offered to the light-screen?"
The officials were stunned. The ritual proceeded with utmost seriousness. But nothing happened.
No flicker.
No response.
No 'thank you for the donation'.
By the time offerings were complete, impatience showed on the Emperor's face. He concluded the ceremony hastily and returned to the palace, leaving the ministers baffled.
As Yuanzheng approached, both court and throne grew busier. Officials counted their ten-day holiday; the Emperor spent rare leisure with Empress Zhangsun.
At the Great Assembly, treasures were presented. At the end of the Grand Display—where sacred ritual vessels were exhibited—the final item unveiled was…
A book.
From afar, it appeared to be thread-bound.
A military manual? Classics? Agricultural text?
Only Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui felt their eyelids twitch. This was… dangerous.
That evening, at a small banquet, Li Shimin asked calmly:
"Does this not qualify as a Great Treasure of the Nation?"
The two ministers exchanged glances.
"The secrets of immortals encompass all things," Fang Xuanling replied carefully. "Even a single word may enlighten."
"Precisely," Li Shimin said with satisfaction. "Today's foreign omens do not equal one-ten-thousandth of the light-screen."
He waved his hand.
"Invite Li Jing tomorrow. He reveres Marquis Zhuge. He will be delighted to see how future generations judge the campaigns of Mount Qi."
The Western Breaking Point
Late April.
Back in Gongan, Liu Bei returned from his river journey and pushed open the door to find his advisors already assembled.
He drained a large cup of tea and spoke gravely:
"Ma Chao has finally risen in rebellion against Cao Cao. The day of Ma Teng's death draws near."
Zhang Fei scowled.
"Big Brother, why are you carrying another man's coffin into our house? A man like Ma Chao—did you truly think a single letter could restrain him?"