"A story told to a stray dog…"
Liu Bei murmured the words again and again, his voice fading into a heavy, hollow silence.
For a ruler to betray the trust of his subjects—was there any fall more complete than that?
Sensing the dark storm gathering on his elder brother's face, Zhang Fei hesitated. His hands twitched toward his belt before he blurted out, "Brother, give the order and I'll go bind that scoundrel Li Miao this very moment!"
"Sit down!" Liu Bei snapped.
Yet even as he scolded, a dry, bitter laugh escaped him. "He's a petty man. Why waste breath on him?"
Seeing the tension ease just a little, Zhang Fei hurried over and began kneading Liu Bei's shoulders, grumbling as he worked.
"Didn't the screen already say it? Wei Yan only fell because of a personal grudge with Yang Yi. That 'extermination of three generations' was probably just Yang Yi's private revenge. If you think about it that way, isn't Adou actually pretty benevolent? Almost like Emperor Wen of Han."
That comparison tugged Liu Bei's thoughts back to Emperor Wen of Wei—Cao Pi.
Remembering Cao Pi's conduct, Liu Bei could only shake his head.
"I only regret that Adou is still so young…" he murmured.
Zhuge Liang caught the opening at once. "My lord, if you miss him, why not summon the young master and the two Ladies here?"
For a moment, Liu Bei was tempted. Then reason won out, and he slowly shook his head.
"The Duke of Anle…" he said quietly. "'Anle' means peace and pleasure. One is born in hardship and dies in ease. Yizhou is protected by the Shu roads to the north and the Yi passes to the east—natural fortifications, fertile land, self-sufficient. The Founding Emperor held Hanzhong, yet he did not retreat into Shu to indulge himself. Liu Adou must learn the same lesson."
His gaze hardened.
"I will write to Yunchang and Shangxiang. Adou must be disciplined—severely."
With the decision made, Zhang Fei did not argue further. Still, he could not help muttering one last defense for his nephew.
"That final surrender might not have been entirely Adou's fault. Maybe the people of Yizhou just had spines made of water."
Zhang Song, Fa Zheng, and Liu Ba all turned to stare at him.
Zhang Fei flailed his hands. "I meant Qiao Zhou! Just him!"
The two strategists, meanwhile, were focused on another name entirely.
Jiang Boyue.
Pang Tong, his playful nature resurfacing, nudged Zhuge Liang with his elbow. "Well? Should we send someone to Tianshui and bring this Jiang Wei back right now?"
In the past, Zhuge Liang might have brushed it off. This time, he hesitated.
Regardless of the boy's current abilities, that spirit—unyielding, blazing—spoke straight to his heart. A true man should never serve a usurper.
"The road from Tianshui is long," Zhuge Liang said thoughtfully, imagining how young Jiang Wei must still be. He shook his head. "If we are to meet Jiang Wei, Shiyuan, then I would first like to see you display your talents. I will sit back and watch how you plan to take Hanzhong."
Pang Tong froze—then broke into a grin so wide it seemed his face might split.
It was as if he had just been handed the world.
[Lightscreen]
[Jiang Boyue—Jiang Wei—was undoubtedly loyal.
But he was also utterly alone.
The victorious Wei and Jin dynasties needed a scapegoat, someone to condemn in order to placate the former officials of Shu Han. At the same time, those same officials needed someone to blame for their own surrender.
They reached an agreement without hesitation.
Jiang Wei.
To Wei and Jin, he was a double traitor—one who surrendered, rebelled again, and deserved death a thousand times over. To the remnants of Shu Han, he was a warmonger who exhausted the nation for his own ambition.
Thus, history shackled his name to a single phrase: reckless militarism.
Why did no one speak for him?
Because they were all dead.
The descendants of Zhao Yun, Zhang Fei, Zhuge Liang, Huang Quan, Fu Rong, and Liu Bei either fell in battle or took their own lives. Jiang Wei himself died in a final, desperate gamble.
The root of his tragedy was simple: he truly carried out the late Chancellor's will.
And yet—ironically—Jiang Wei's name appeared nowhere in Zhuge Liang's final instructions, nor in the Memorandum on the Case for War. The two successors personally chosen by the Chancellor were both pessimistic about the Northern Expeditions.
In such an environment, Jiang Wei had only one road left.
To fight until the end.
After Fei Yi's death, Jiang Wei was entrusted with military command. Soon after, the eunuch Huang Hao rose to power and became his greatest obstacle. Even when Liu Shan ordered surrender, Jiang Wei attempted one final strike—to "bring back the light of the sun and moon."
He gave his last drop of blood for the Han.
And what was Liu Shan doing at the same time?
Unfortunately, the sovereign of Shu Han had been utterly dismantled by Cao Wei's sugar-coated bullets.
Between being Emperor of Shu Han…
and being Duke of Anle in the Jin capital…
Which life was more comfortable?
The answer was painfully obvious.
Consider the disparity between the aristocracies of Wei-Jin and Shu Han.
Xiahou Dun enjoyed the taxes of 2,500 households, with another 1,000 for his clan. Seven sons and two grandsons were enfeoffed as marquises. Man Chong controlled 9,600 households. Deng Ai—a staggering 20,000.
Emperor Cao Rui established eight music conservatories, each housing thousands of performers. His harem numbered in the tens of thousands.
By contrast, Shu Han was almost ascetic.
Zhuge Liang reported owning only fifteen qing of thin land. In Jin, a first-rank official was entitled to fifty qing, while even an eighth-rank official had fifteen. The Great Chancellor of Shu Han lived like a bottom-tier bureaucrat.
Fei Yi left nothing behind; his sons wore plain cloth and ate meals without meat. Dong He dressed in coarse hemp; his estate couldn't buy a bushel of grain when he died. Jiang Wei had no concubines, no land, and lived in government housing. Deng Zhi was so poor his wife sometimes went hungry. Zhang Ni, gravely ill, had to borrow money just to afford treatment—so he could return to battle.
Under such conditions, even if Liu Shan wanted to be corrupt, there was hardly anything to corrupt himself with.
His "greatest sin," as the old plays joked, was playing with crickets.
It was only after arriving in Luoyang that Adou discovered an entirely new world.
Sima Zhao granted him the title of Marquis of Ten Thousand Households.
Fine silks. Exquisite beauties. Endless banquets. Music without end.
Wine pools, meat forests, beautiful attendants, even Five-Mineral Powder.
Compared to the bitter mountains of Shu, it was heaven itself.]
On the light screen, the officials witnessed two scenes.
First—
An elderly Jiang Wei, white-haired, surrounded by enemies. Sword in hand, he fought alone until the end. When all was lost, he took his own life.
"My plan has failed," he said calmly. "It is the will of Heaven."
Even the enemy officers bowed as they closed his eyes.
Then—
A plump, middle-aged Adou, draped in shimmering robes, sipping wine while watching dancers. Smiling serenely, he spoke the words that would echo through history.
"I am happy here. I have no thought of Shu."
The hero dies.
The mediocre ruler lives.
Liu Bei stood frozen.
Then rage exploded within him.
With a sharp shing, he drew his sword and hacked the wooden table to pieces. Splinters flew everywhere.
As his ministers rushed forward, Liu Bei waved them back, breathing hard.
"I am not angry at Adou," he said hoarsely. "I am angry at this world!"
He held the blade before his eyes and flicked it. The steel sang—a low, mournful note.
"Since the day the three of us raised our banners, how many men like Jiang Boyue have bled for us?" His voice trembled. "We told ourselves—the Han we restore would be a land where such men are never wronged!"
He sheathed the sword slowly.
"And yet…"
Of all the names in the shrine, the one that lingered with him most was Zhang Ni. Sick, impoverished, leading the Wudang Flying Army into battle to the last man—yet unable to afford a physician.
These men were the backbone of Shu Han.
And they received nothing.
Liu Bei's fury softened into a hollow, aching pity.
Was it truly Adou's fault?
How could a boy raised on cricket fights resist the splendor of Luoyang?
Liu Bei remembered his own youth—dog fights, horse races, fine clothes. Once, that had been his whole world.
Only now did he regret not reading more, not asking his teachers more questions.
"I, Liu Xuande…" He straightened his robes and bowed deeply to the hall. "Truly owe a debt of heart to all who remained loyal to the House of Han."
[Lightscreen]
[ Even so, when Sima Zhao asked Adou again, he gave a different answer.
"My father's tomb lies far away in Shu," he said. "Not a day passes that I do not miss it."
These two answers define Liu Shan.
Kind—but incompetent.
"I have no thought of Shu" was his honest reaction as a man at ease. After being corrected by Xi Zheng, his kindness surfaced, and he clumsily tried to say what he thought a loyal subject wished to hear.
Liu Shan was the kindest ruler of the Three Kingdoms era.
No different, at heart, from the young Liu Bei who loved dogs and fine clothes.
The difference was the world they lived in.
Liu Bei was forged by chaos. Liu Shan was sheltered by walls.
For the bloodline of the Glorious Emperor, the safety of the palace was not a blessing—
It was a cage.]