The light-screen continued its restless breathing, lines of text rising and vanishing like thoughts that refused to settle.
[Full_Armor]: What hurts most is Zilong. Even without the oath, they were brothers in life and death. The Chancellor once said, "Yun is old; he can no longer follow me to reclaim the Central Plains."
[Frame_PvP]: White robes, silver armor—peerless loyalty, peerless skill. Zilong, unmatched, a general carved straight out of legend.
[Salted_Fish]: I was tearing up until that second comment. Emotional damage.
[History_Buff_66]: Since ancient times, heroes are like beauties—they are never allowed to grow old before the world.
Jiang Wan shifted his weight, quietly massaging his calves. He had been kneeling for hours, copying every line by hand as it appeared. His legs screamed, his brush hand cramped—but his eyes burned with focus.
Even this counts, he told himself.
Even this foolishness will be what survives.
Nearby, Ma Su sat rigid beneath Zhang Fei's shadow. When a glowing symbol pulsed on the screen, his fingers twitched. After a moment's hesitation, he raised his thumb—awkward, uncertain—imitating the gesture the future had taught them.
Zhang Fei noticed.
"Hmph," he snorted. "Even condemned men know how to beg for approval."
Praise, inevitably, was followed by ritual.
Zhuge Liang rose. From beneath his desk, he withdrew a square wooden box—plain, heavy, unadorned. He did not open it. Instead, he took a sheet of white paper and wrote a few restrained characters. No flourish. No seal.
He pressed the paper onto the lid and placed the box beneath the hovering light-screen.
Light rippled.
The offering vanished.
No thunder. No divine voice. Just absence—clean and final.
As the broadcast paused, the hall released its breath. Officials stretched. Joints cracked. Someone cursed the lack of chairs in the future; someone else swore never to kneel again if history allowed it.
All eyes drifted—inevitably—toward Zhuge Liang.
And Ma Su.
Even Huang Yueying leaned closer than usual. Her voice was gentle, but there was no softness in the question.
"Husband… how do you truly judge the loss at Jieting?"
Zhuge Liang closed his eyes.
When he spoke, there was no hesitation.
"The failure at Mount Qi rests first upon me. I should have abandoned the siege and moved immediately to seize Shanggui."
He paused, then continued—each word weighed and sharpened.
"The second fault is also mine. Jieting was a vital choke point. I should have sent a seasoned general prepared to die holding it—not an advisor entrusted with command."
No anger. No indulgence.
This was not judgment of Ma Su.
It was judgment of himself.
Inwardly, Zhuge Liang felt a bitter clarity settle. The Zhuge Liang of that first expedition had been brilliant—but not yet ruthless enough. A few wasted days beneath the walls of Mount Qi had cost him the initiative forever.
The future loves me too much, he thought dryly.
It refuses to lie for me.
Ma Su sat unmoving, like a man already burned down to cinders. The ambitions of his youth—debate, strategy, recognition—collapsed without sound.
Above him stood Zhang Fei.
Silent.
That silence weighed more than shouting.
In the Zhenguan era, the Tang court finally allowed itself to breathe.
Li Shimin nudged the charcoal brazier with his boot. "Wuji. More coal."
Zhangsun Wuji obeyed at once. As the embers flared white, Li Shimin glanced toward Li Jing, who sat with eyes half-closed, as if sleep had taken him hostage.
"Zhang Gongjin reports from Daizhou," the emperor said lightly. "Tuli has sent a secret letter. He wishes to defect. The Bayegu, Uyghurs, Tongluo—restless."
Li Jing's eyes snapped open, sharp as drawn steel.
"Your Majesty sees clearly," he said. "This year, we bind Jiali Khan and present him at the Ancestral Temple."
Li Shimin laughed and gestured toward the light-screen. "Do not worry, Duke of Wei. The screen will preserve its tales. You can watch what you missed—after you win."
As fresh coal was added, Li Shimin paced behind Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui, peering at their notes like an impatient examiner.
He scoffed. "Why does the future praise Zhao Yun so much? He's not even better than me."
Zhangsun Wuji considered. "Perhaps because the video is titled Marquis Wu."
Li Shimin frowned. "Then how long before it speaks of our Great Tang?"
He folded his arms, already offended by posterity. "And what is there to say about the Sima clan? Chaos piled on ambition. They should speak more of us. Of Eternal Chang'an."
At that moment, the light-screen flared anew.
A pristine white feather fan filled the air—perfectly balanced, austere, elegant to the point of restraint.
Beside it appeared a single line:
A gift from the rustic villager of Nanyang, Zhuge.
[Light-Screen]
"Huge thanks to the VIP for the donation! I always feel kind of guilty accepting these, but wow—this fan is gorgeous. Where did he even buy it? Looks like it's worth at least a hundred bucks!
Tried it out, though… not gonna lie, it's no match for air conditioning. Aesthetics: 10/10. Practicality: questionable. Still love it."
The comments detonated instantly.
[Pain_45]: "Not as good as AC" — absolute heresy. That fan is for presence.
[Protector_Pro]: Wildlife conservation major here. Those are Siberian White Crane feathers, a Grade-1 protected species. Trading this is a felony.
[Watch_Bot]: Confirmed. Selling that fan = prison speedrun.
[Gacha_God]: Man said "a hundred bucks" and got fact-checked by federal law. Brutal.
[Restorer_88]: VIP power is absurd, but it tracks. White Cranes were common in the Chancellor's era.
[Farmer_Joe]: Just use goose feathers now. We've industrialized geese.
[Tech_Nerd]: Artificial incubation existed since Qin, but no temperature control or oxygen theory. Missed opportunity.
[Save_Me]: If poultry scaled earlier, Li Shimin wouldn't have had to eat raw locusts.
[I_Only_Watch_For_The_Drama]: Waiting for "Uneducated Creator" → "Prison-Bound Creator." Mugshot arc soon?
Li Shimin stiffened.
He remembered the locust—bitter, raw, swallowed whole before the court to calm the people.
He suppressed a shudder.
"Can chickens and ducks truly suppress a locust plague?" he asked.
Fang Xuanling nodded. "The people say so. One duck eats three dou a day. But ducks are few. Locusts are endless. A teacup against a wildfire."
"Then we need more teacups," Du Ruhui said sharply. "Fire pits in the north, charcoal buckets in the south—but the failure rate is too high. Out of ten eggs, one or two hatch. The rest rot. The people know the method exists, but they cannot afford failure."
He pointed to the screen. "If this machine is hinting at improvement, it is not entertainment—it is mercy."
Li Shimin's eyes lit like a general spotting an open flank.
"The people's blessing," he declared, "is the Tang's blessing."
The Incubation Policy was born before the brazier cooled.
Back in Shu, Zhang Fei burst out laughing.
"Isn't that the White Crane fan the Military Counselor hoarded like treasure? Too stingy to use it, yet it nearly landed that kid in prison!"
Zhuge Liang replied calmly, "Someone warned him. He will be fine. And since My Lord gifted him jade and gold, he will not lack wealth."
Privately, a trace of regret surfaced.
He had paid dearly for that fan during his mission to Wu.
Who could have known that in the future, a crane would be more protected than a minister?
Still—no regret remained.
"The fan has no mystical power," Zhuge Liang said softly.
"If it can be traded for an Incubation Strategy…"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"…then it is a bargain."