The side hall of Gong'an County was small, quiet, and oppressively still.
No one spoke.
Even Guan Yu—steady as a mountain in both victory and defeat—felt a rare twinge of envy.
He was not envious of gods.
He was envious of men.
Guan Yu had read the Spring and Autumn Annals until its meaning had seeped into his bones. He understood the difference well enough: to revere a man was not the same as to worship a god.
Later generations would raise Guan Yu onto an altar, burn incense before his image, and address him as a divine lord. Zhuge Liang, however, would remain human—even in death.
A god felt no joy or sorrow. A man did.
People prayed to gods for promotion, wealth, success in examinations, even sons. But when they bowed before sages, they spoke only of the rise and fall of a thousand years.
Guan Yu thought about it carefully and reached a strange conclusion.
If he truly became a god one day, his fate would likely be the exact opposite of Kongming's.
Divine Lord Guan would spend every day listening to endless pleas—protect my career, bless my fortune, let my essays shine like brocade. Perhaps now and then, someone would even come with silver and desperation, begging for a child.
As for the Chancellor?
He would probably just sit there, listening to later generations sigh in gratitude—while sampling the wide assortment of free offerings they brought along.
The thought made Guan Yu genuinely envious.
Jiang Wan, by contrast, showed no expression at all.
After all, he already knew how he would die.
What was there left to say?
Since he was destined to become Kongming's right-hand man anyway, it seemed only reasonable that when the Chancellor focused on longevity and self-care, he would take Jiang Wan along for the ride.
Jiang Wan had already given up struggling. If there was free access to the Chancellor's health-preserving methods, why not lie flat and enjoy it?
Ma Liang was also silent—but his envy was different.
He could not help wondering: if he had not died at Yiling, would his name have appeared in that list as well?
And if it were him at Jieting… surely he could have held it.
Ma Liang had never dreamed of stealing the spotlight. That was precisely why the thought gnawed at him.
At that moment, the Light-screen shifted.
[Light-screen]
[At Wuzhang Plains, after the Chancellor passed away, the news inevitably spread.
Sima Yi, fifty-six years old, was overjoyed.
Had he not waited for months precisely for this moment?
Yet when he pursued, he encountered Jiang Wei at the mouth of the valley—drums beating, banners reversed. Sima Yi was shocked. Believing himself trapped by Zhuge Liang's final stratagem, he retreated at once.
Thus Yang Yi calmly withdrew the army to Hanzhong. The saying "The dead Zhuge drives away the living Zhongda" spread far and wide.
Later, when Sima Yi inspected the abandoned camps, he sighed deeply, declaring Zhuge Liang a talent without equal under Heaven.
The Chancellor was dead—but the hidden fuse he had pressed down was only just igniting.
That fuse was the event still shrouded in fog to this day:
The death of Wei Yan.
The Romance claims Wei Yan rebelled, led troops toward Nan Commandery, and was provoked by Yang Yi into shouting three times within the ranks:
"Who dares kill me?"
He was then beheaded by the young general Ma Dai and died on the spot.]
Zhang Fei clicked his tongue, clearly dissatisfied.
"So that counts as a feint?" he muttered. "Then why wasn't mine good enough?"
He snorted. "And Sima Yi dares call himself a famous general? All he knows is how to turtle up behind walls. If it were me, I could defend just as well!"
"Is there really any general who can't even manage defense?" Zhang Fei asked, genuinely puzzled.
Liu Bei slowly turned his gaze toward him.
Zhang Fei immediately shut up.
But Liu Bei's attention soon shifted elsewhere—to Wei Yan.
For some reason, Ma Su's face flashed through his mind. He hesitated, wanting to speak, yet holding back.
Wei Yan did not hesitate at all.
He dropped to his knees with a thud.
"The sun and moon may bear witness!" Wei Yan declared. "I, Wei Yan, have never harbored a rebellious heart!"
"If I had ever intended to betray Han—then I would accept death on the spot, without a word of complaint!"
The words came out heavy.
Too heavy.
Wei Yan himself felt wronged. Once that feeling surfaced, his tone inevitably sharpened.
Liu Bei stepped forward at once and pulled him up.
"Enough," he said gently. "Such words must never be spoken again."
Guan Yu nodded in agreement.
"Wenchang understands loyalty and righteousness," he said. "He would never do such a thing."
The Light-screen moved again, its tone noticeably calmer.
[Light-screen]
[From a historical perspective, Wei Yan and Yang Yi were a classic case of two men doomed to clash.
The Chancellor once sighed:
'I regret Yang Yi's talent; I admire Wei Yan's valor. Yet the two cannot tolerate each other, and I cannot bear to discard either.'
Wei Yan's ability needs no repetition—his victory at Yangxi alone earned him four consecutive promotions.
Yang Yi, too, was no mediocrity. Both Liu Bei and Zhuge Liang held him in high regard.
Wei Yan was proud by nature.
Yang Yi was narrow and severe.
Put plainly: both wanted to be the master, not the subordinate.
Even their careers shared strange parallels.
Both once served under Guan Yu.
Yang Yi originally served Cao Cao as a registrar, but before the Xiangfan campaign, he defected to Guan Yu, spoke at length with him, and was personally recommended to Liu Bei.
Their conduct also bore Guan Yu's imprint.
Before Yiling, Yang Yi clashed with Liu Ba—a senior minister—committing insubordination.
Before the Northern Expeditions, Wei Yan clashed with Liu Yan, also a senior clan member—again insubordination.
Once such personalities collided, conflict was inevitable.
Wei Yan relied on military merit and acted domineeringly. Others avoided him to escape trouble.
Only Yang Yi refused to yield.
During the expeditions, Fei Yi mediated between them, with the Chancellor suppressing matters from above. Only then could they coexist.
After the Chancellor's death, restraint vanished.
They became fire and water.]
"So this is your fault too, Second Brother," Zhang Fei said cheerfully.
Guan Yu shot him a sideways glance.
Zhang Fei fell silent again.
After some thought, Guan Yu finally spoke.
"Wenchang," he said slowly, "remember this: respect your superiors, cherish your soldiers. Only then can one endure."
"Otherwise…" He paused. "My defeat at Xiangfan is proof enough."
Wei Yan took the words to heart.
He had no great achievements yet, no room for arrogance. He treated everyone in the hall with careful humility.
Guan Yu was still uneasy. Turning to Ma Liang, he said, "Ji Chang, trouble yourself to give Wenchang the records of Xiaoyao Ford and Xiangfan to read."
Ma Liang agreed readily.
Wei Yan bowed deeply. "I will remember General Guan's teachings."
Zhang Fei, unable to resist, grinned.
"Wenchang, want to try shouting three times?"
Wei Yan shook his head.
For some reason, his neck felt faintly cold.
The Light-screen continued—its tone now unmistakably analytical.
[Wei Yan's death, when broken down, was a political upheaval triggered by the Chancellor's passing—much like the instability in Jiangdong after Zhou Yu's death.
Every detail in Records of the Three Kingdoms hints at trouble.
First: the deathbed conference.
Wei Yan was assigned rear-guard duty, yet only Yang Yi, Fei Yi, and Jiang Wei attended.
To assign orders to the General of the West without allowing him to attend was neither reasonable nor appropriate.
Second: the retreat narrative.
Wei Yan's biography claims Yang Yi secretly withdrew, abandoning Wei Yan, who then burned the plank roads in rage. Yang Yi pursued, repairing the roads as he advanced.
This account collapses upon inspection.
If Wei Yan was the rear guard, how did he overtake the main force?
Did they assume Sima Yi across the river no longer existed?
Zhao Yun once burned these same roads and forced Cao Zhen to retreat entirely—yet Yang Yi repaired them with ease while fleeing?
Most implausible of all: after crossing the roads, Yang Yi somehow sent a memorial to Chengdu—delivered through territory controlled by Wei Yan's own army.
The contradictions are too severe.
Wei Lue provides another account.
It states that Wei Yan obeyed orders, withdrew secretly, and only announced the Chancellor's death upon reaching Baokou.
Yang Yi, fearing retribution, falsely accused Wei Yan of intending to surrender to Wei.
Wei Yan retreated without battle and was killed in pursuit.
This aligns with the line:
'Wei Yan never intended to surrender north; he merely sought to eliminate Yang Yi.'
Thus, Yang Yi likely slandered him.
The rest remains uncertain.
What is clear is this: after Zhuge Liang's death, authority fractured. The powerful general Wei Yan and the influential administrator Yang Yi could no longer coexist.
Wei Yan died, his clan exterminated.
Yang Yi was expelled from power and later committed suicide in despair.
Chen Shou's final verdict stands:
'Examining his actions, tracing his conduct—his disasters were self-inflicted.']
Zhang Fei slapped Guan Yu's shoulder.
"Look at that," he said with a grin. "Second Brother sure trained some talents."
Guan Yu's face darkened.
Zhang Fei, however, was in high spirits. He turned to Wei Yan.
"Well? Thoughts?"
Wei Yan was silent for a long time.
Finally, he said quietly, "As long as it is known that I never intended to surrender… that is enough."
Zhang Fei burst out laughing.
"Wenchang, should I ask Big Brother to write you a calligraphy?"
"Something like Restrain Pride—or maybe Curb Arrogance?"
Wei Yan could not answer.
Compared to Zhang Fei, he was still far too young.
"Yide!" Liu Bei waved him off, exasperated.
Then he turned to Kongming.
"The Light-screen says Wenchang is brave, Yang Yi is talented—but their natures could not tolerate each other. A pity."
Zhuge Liang nodded, a trace of relief in his sigh.
At least Wei Yan was not another Ma Su—brilliant in words, hollow in action.
"When you have time," Zhuge Liang said to Wei Yan, "read the story of Lian Po and Lin Xiangru."
That was all.
Wei Yan bowed deeply, knelt straight-backed in his seat, and reflected in silence.
Liu Bei suddenly seemed inspired. He took a sheet of paper, wrote Chen Shou's verdict in bold strokes, and tossed down the brush.
"Not just Wenchang," he said sharply. "Yide."
Zhang Fei jolted upright. "I'm here!"
Liu Bei stuffed the paper into his arms.
"Were your past disasters not also self-inflicted?"
"Reflect—always."
Zhang Fei pouted, dragging out his reply.
"Your little brother understands."
The Light-screen faded once more.
[Light-screen]
[After the Zhuge Wuhuo returned to Heaven, the land of Longyou continued to sing his legends.
And centuries later, in the late Tang, another warrior would rise upon this same soil.
Like the Zhuge Wuhuo, he never saw the empire at its height.
Yet for its revival, he too bared his heart and liver, leaving behind a thousand years of regret.
His loyalty rivaled that of the Great Han's Zhuge Wuhuo.]