"So the people of later ages actually want me to become Liu Bei's son?"
Li Shimin frowned hard, genuinely feeling that the people of the future had collectively lost their minds.
"Your Majesty need not take idle talk from later generations to heart," Changsun Wuji quickly soothed him.
"Besides, they didn't pick just anyone. They didn't even mention Han Xin or Bai Qi. That alone shows how deeply convinced later generations are of Your Majesty's martial brilliance!"
Only then did Li Shimin's expression soften slightly.
He shook his head and sighed.
"Zhuge Liang's Northern Campaigns… weren't they essentially Sun Wu's old strategy of destroying Chu?"
"Using ten thousand to harass a hundred thousand. Trading a thousand men's supplies to burn ten thousand of the enemy's. Even with ten times the territory, Cao Wei could never sustain such a war."
"A brilliant insight," Changsun Wuji seized the moment.
"But this whole time-travel notion the later generations talk about…" Li Shimin's interest was clearly piqued.
"If I could become the Wei commander, lead a proper army, and clash head-on with the Martial Marquis under his righteous banners—now that would be a life well lived!"
Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui's eyelids twitched.
Your Majesty, that is not what you were saying a moment ago.
Li Shimin immediately shook his head again.
"No, no. Being Sima Yi would be utterly disgusting."
The two ministers finally relaxed.
Then the Tang Emperor added casually,
"Those strange terms just now—instant noodles, hair dryers, and such—copy them down and pass them to the Imperial Academy students. See if they spark any inspiration."
"Say they came from… ancient texts discovered by chance."
What truly fascinated Li Shimin were things like rocket soldiers and divine aircraft carriers.
They sounded terrifyingly powerful.
As for nuclear bombs… what, were fruit pits now weapons?
[Light-screen]
[ At that moment, the music on the light screen softened further.
A plump-cheeked emperor, stiff as a puppet, walked within a grand funeral procession. Li Shimin understood at once—this was how later generations imagined Zhuge Liang's funeral.
He listened closely.
The funeral music was not solemn chanting, but a lone male voice, low and gentle:
Hair bound, reading classics, cultivating virtue and self,
Looking up, looking down—stratagems stored within the chest.
Plowing fields yet never forgetting the nation's pain,
Who knew such burning blood hid in mountain rain?
Phoenix, oh phoenix, yearning to soar high,
In troubled times, long silent, watching the sky.]
In Gong'an County, Pang Tong fell silent.
He remembered Nanyang—those years of study and seclusion.
Back then, he, Kongming, and the Four Friends of Nanyang were idle men.
Kongming worried over the fate of the realm; Pang Tong judged heroes across the land.
In just a few short years, they had gone from outsiders to players within the board.
Thatched hut met thrice withʹs invitation,
Knees touching, plans spanning the nation.
Half a life, one true confidant found,
A hidden dragon stirred, profoundly bound.
Tomorrow, sword in hand, I follow my lord,
Feather fan, silk cap—into war I'm poured.
Dragon, oh dragon, when storms align,
One long howl frees this heart of mine.
Liu Bei listened intently, engraving every word into his heart.
Later generations believed he was Kongming's true confidant—
Yet it was his rage at Yiling that severed Kongming's retreat.
Without Yiling, would Kongming ever have exhausted himself so completely?
Liu Bei's heart tightened.
Return, return—this was my lifelong wish,
In remaining years, a simple farmer I'll be.
Clear winds, bright moon fill my embrace,
Apes and cranes hear me pluck the strings once more.
Huang Yueying leaned silently against her husband's shoulder.
Kongming understood. He patted her hand gently and whispered,
"I will not die early. I will return to Nanyang."
The commentary appeared:
[Light-screen]
[This song, "Song of Endeavor", also known as "Ode of the Crouching Dragon," is the uploader's favorite track from the old Romance of the Three Kingdoms TV series.
The opening depicts the Prime Minister's secluded life in Nanjun—pure, unambitious, yet burdened with concern for the world.
This contradiction is the true meaning of "Crouching Dragon."
Everyone knows the Three Visits to the Thatched Cottage—this was when Zhuge Liang stepped onto the stage of history.
The teacher-farmer of Nanyang finally met the storm.
The latter half builds emotion layer by layer.
The female harmony feels like Huang Yueying encouraging her husband to bring peace to the people.
It also feels like us, across a thousand years, speaking to him:
What if fate is unknowable? What if success is uncertain?
To give everything—that alone is enough.
And in the end, our shared regret:
How we wish the Prime Minister had fulfilled his dream, returned to Nanyang, and enjoyed the peaceful world he himself created.]
Kongming felt his wife's grip tighten.
He stroked her back reassuringly and praised,
"A fine song. A fine melody. When I am free, I should play it on the zither—an elegant pastime."
Zhang Fei didn't understand music, but he found a new mission.
"Go back to Nanyang and farm? What's so hard about that! Leave it to Second Brother!"
Guan Yu nodded solemnly, as if reclaiming Nanyang were as important as restoring the Han.
Kongming laughed heartily.
He truly wanted to say that now that he knew how vast the world was, he wished to see Daqin, Wa, even the Gem Kingdom of Ceylon.
But since Zhang Fei had said so, he could only nod.
"Then I thank Yun Chang in advance."
The screen continued:
[Light-screen]
[ Before his death, the Prime Minister left clear instructions:
Bury me at Dingjun Mountain, shape the grave along the terrain, large enough only for the coffin.
No burial goods—just the clothes I wore in life.
Liu Shan honored this wish.
After mourning three days, Zhuge Liang was buried at Dingjun Mountain.
The people of Shu begged to build temples for him, but the Han tradition forbade it.
So they burned paper offerings by the roadside each festival.
Before the fall of Shu, Liu Shan finally ordered a shrine built at the grave—this became the first Temple of the Martial Marquis.
That same year, Zhong Hui passed through Dingjun Mountain and ordered that no wood be cut near the shrine—thus becoming the first to protect the tomb.
In his will to Liu Shan, Zhuge Liang wrote plainly:
"This subject lived solely on his salary. My home in Chengdu has eight hundred mulberry trees and fifteen qing of farmland—enough to live on. If excess wealth is found, then the Zhuge family has wronged the state."
Liu Shan's elegy recalled years of guidance and the campaigns beyond Mount Qi, mourning the Prime Minister's early death.
He bestowed the posthumous title Zhongwu—Loyal and Martial.
This became the highest praise a subject could receive.
Those who later bore this title include Yuchi Jingde, Guo Ziyi, Han Shizhong, and Yue Fei.
Afterwards, Zhuge Zhan was raised in the palace and entrusted with responsibility.
He and his son Zhuge Shang died defending the state.
You may think the Prime Minister ordinary—
But nearly everyone you admire believed him extraordinary.
Poets from Li Bai and Du Fu to Su Shi and Xin Qiji sang his name for a thousand years.
Will they keep singing it?
I believe they will.
Du Fu once wrote:
Your bodies and names will vanish together,
But rivers flow on forever, unbroken.]
"Fine poetry!"
Even Zhang Fei was instantly convinced.
"I really like this Du Fu fellow who admires the Strategist!"
Pang Tong nodded.
"Kongming is like the Yellow River—remembered even after a thousand years."
If only I could get such treatment, he added silently.
Jian Yong cut straight to the point:
"Kings and ministers all seek to rise and fall with the state."
"Now it seems—Yun Chang and Kongming have already become one with the Han."
"If the Han lasts a thousand years, their names endure a thousand years.
If the Han lasts ten thousand—then their names endure ten thousand!"
Ten thousand years.
The thought left everyone dazed.
Zhang Fei recalled something another "Second Brother" once said:
"The body may perish, but the name remains in history."
Compared to that, stone inscriptions felt pitifully small.
Huang Zhong and Wei Yan silently steeled their resolve.
Earn merit. Build temples. Pass on the Han's name.
Liu Bei smiled faintly.
The embodiment of wisdom—my Prime Minister.
The demon-subduing emperor—my second brother.
Even just the life shown on the light screen…
I, Liu Bei, have already won far more than Sun Quan or Cao Cao.
The image shifted again—back to the Temple of the Martial Marquis.
Students in school uniforms followed a teacher through the grounds.
They didn't fully understand this place—but they all knew the name Zhuge Liang.
Someone began reciting, perhaps out of boredom, perhaps inspiration.
Soon, voices joined together:
"The Late Emperor's great task was unfinished…"
"Associate with the virtuous, distance the petty…"
"This subject was once a common farmer in Nanyang…"
"Since receiving my charge, I feared failure…"
"Now I depart—reading this memorial, tears fall, words fail…"
The voices grew louder. Tourists joined in.
When it ended, applause followed. Laughter. Dispersal.
Watching this, Kongming finally broke down in tears.
The commentary concluded:
If you could write the Prime Minister a letter, what would you say?
Some would tell him to rest more.
Some would thank him—for his writings, his life, his strength.
So young people from all over came to the temple.
I also have things to say—about those entrusted after him.
Liu Shan may have disappointed him, but the temple kept only a decayed stump.
Zhuge Zhan made mistakes, but defended Shu's dignity.
Jiang Wei fought nine campaigns, burning until the very end.
Prime Minister—
You repaid Liu Bei's trust with your life, and Liu Shan's authority with loyalty.
Failure may run through life,
But you turned your life into a monument that transcends time.
The people of this land take you as their model.
A thousand years from now, the temple will still stand.
A thousand years from now—
Someone like me will still remember you.