[Lightscreen]
[Regarding the so-called "Wei–Jin elegance" of famous scholars, The Zizhi Tongjian summarized it with brutal accuracy:
Those seeking office prized opportunistic gain and scorned upright conduct;
those already in office admired emptiness and mocked diligence.
In short—
the lazy looked down on the hardworking,
and the idle sneered at those who actually did things.
During this period, the Jin court even coined a new insult: "vulgar officials."
It was a term invented by the "refined" elite to ridicule anyone who failed to blend into their circles.
Men like Liu Song, who governed conscientiously.
Men like Fu Xian, strict in office, upright in conduct, intolerant of corruption.
All were dismissed with a sneer as vulgar officials.
The Screen paused, then asked quietly:
A thousand years later, when we look back—
what was true Wei–Jin backbone supposed to look like?
Not naked philosophers posturing as rebels.
Not empty metaphysics mistaking idleness for depth.
But iron—
iron backs that bore responsibility,
iron wills that held fast when the world collapsed.
It was Zu Ti, who rose at the crowing of the rooster, bound his heart to the people, vowed northern restoration, struck the oar mid-river, and fought to reclaim lost lands.
It was Liu Kun, who defended Jinyang alone for nine years during the Yongjia Disaster, and when all was lost, calmly recited:
"Why does a hundred-forged blade
become soft enough to coil around a finger?"
before walking unflinchingly toward death.
It was Huan Wen, who understood the people's suffering, restrained factionalism, reformed governance—
a warlord whose bearing surpassed even Cao Cao.
It was Shi Le, Liu Yuan, Li Te—
men who rose from the mud, shattered aristocratic shackles, and soared when the times demanded it.
These men, despised by the clans for "not fitting in,"
possessed more true backbone
than all the fragile skin and soft bones of so-called Wei–Jin elegance combined.]
Inside the Chengdu prefectural hall, silence reigned.
Everyone lived in chaos—
but even so, Wei–Jin still managed to broaden their horizons in deeply uncomfortable ways.
At first, they could console themselves.
Powerful clans are decadent.
Extravagant.
Lustful.
Nothing new under the sun.
But—
seven naked men?
And all of them celebrated as sages?
The hall exchanged looks.
Two generals stared at each other, eyes wide.
They said nothing.
But said everything.
Zhang Song's expression tightened.
To a man who lived by talent rather than reputation, being lumped in with naked "sages" was unforgivable.
Zhang Song—short, sharp-tongued, perpetually indignant—leapt to his feet.
"General Yide," he snapped,
"you're not thinking we're like those absurd creatures, are you?!"
Liu Bei immediately reached out and grabbed Zhang Song's sleeve, pressing him back down.
"Ziqiao is famed in Shu for talent, not notoriety," he said calmly.
"Why worry yourself?"
Zhang Song's expression flipped instantly.
"The one who understands me best is my lord!"
he declared, eyes shining.
Kongming felt a strange sensation rise.
Why does it feel like my lord has many little padded jackets…
He shook the thought away and recalled another name.
"Mi Zhengping beating drums and cursing Cao," he said quietly.
"More than ten years have passed."
A collective sigh rose from the table.
In this age, when naked famous scholars were mentioned, that madman was the first name anyone thought of.
Zhang Song had heard rumors, but never the details.
"I heard Mi Zhengping and Cao Cao had no prior feud," he asked.
"Was it really just because Cao Cao didn't offer him a seat that he stripped naked and cursed him?"
Pang Tong sneered.
"Mi Zhengping was from Pingyuan.
Cao Cao butchered Xu Province.
Mi fled his home and sought refuge in Jingzhou.
And you call that 'no feud'?"
He continued coldly.
"Later, Mi went to Xuchang seeking office.
Cao Cao, then Chancellor, deliberately blocked talented men.
Mi was one of them.
That's when the grudge was sealed."
Zhang Song froze.
Putting it together—along with Cao Cao's background—it suddenly made grim sense.
"So Wei–Jin 'famous scholars' were really this… worthless?"
Zhang Fei, watching Wang Yan's fate unfold, spoke bluntly.
"Big Brother,
looking at it this way—
the Xiongnu Liu destroying Jin doesn't seem so bad."
"Hard to rot worse than Jin already was."
Liu Bei stared at the Screen, speechless.
Now he truly understood what "competing in who's worse" meant.
When laziness mocks diligence,
and empty talk points fingers at real work—
the rot has reached the roots.
Zhang Fei, however, was intrigued by Shi Le.
"Burying him behind an earthen wall," he grinned.
"Now that's a man of taste."
As for Wang Yan's death—
"A court full of such parasites," Zhang Fei scoffed.
"Who'd waste another glance?"
Pang Tong finally nodded.
"At least Jin still produced men of iron," he said.
"It salvages a shred of dignity."
Kongming stared at Zu Ti's title—national hero—for a long moment.
Then sighed.
"I regret only that I cannot kill Sima Yi."
Zhang Fei slapped his chest.
"No problem, Strategist.
When we catch him, I'll build the wall.
Earth wall, stone wall—pick your favorite."
Kongming laughed helplessly, not bothering to explain that he meant the traitor to Han, not merely a future corpse.
[Lightscreen]
[Seeing Wei–Jin metaphysics obsessed with emptiness, some may think of another school equally famous for "emptiness"—
Buddhism.
Before Wei–Jin metaphysics arose, Indian Buddhism had already entered Han China.
Through geyi—matching concepts—
translation and annotation using Confucian and Daoist terms—
Indian Buddhism was dismantled, reshaped, and rebuilt into a Sinicized form.
Even so, Buddhism's concept of śūnyatā—emptiness—remained difficult to explain.
It relied heavily on Daoist and Confucian language.
Then Wei–Jin metaphysics rose.
Daoist thinkers refined one word:
"Non-being."
Buddhism saw this and rejoiced.
"Close enough".
To ride the popularity of Wei–Jin metaphysics, Buddhism launched a second localization.
Indian religious content was mostly discarded.
Only Madhyamaka and Prajñā remained, fused with Daoist metaphysics.
Thus Geyi Buddhism was born.
Or, more familiarly—
Chan(Zhen).
This era produced the Tiantai and Huayan schools.
Buddhism entered its first golden age.
The reason was simple.
From the Yellow Turban Rebellion to the founding of Tang—
five hundred years of near-constant war.
Life was fragile.
From nobles to peasants, people felt profound disillusionment with the world.
Buddhism offered something irresistible:
the promise of a next life.
A perfect check that could never be cashed.
Foreign rulers of the Sixteen Kingdoms found Buddhism useful for governance and supported it lavishly.
Even emperors, looking back on history—
fathers killing sons,
brothers killing brothers,
ministers killing rulers—
found the same anesthetic in Buddhism and Wei–Jin metaphysics.
And it worked too well.
Hence the line:
"Four hundred eighty temples of the Southern Dynasties—
how many towers fade into mist and rain."
In truth, there were far more.
Emperor Wu of Liang alone built over five hundred temples.
He entered monastic life four times and donated the state into poverty.
Temples became unimaginably grand.
Monks numbered in the hundreds of thousands.
Later Liang, Chen—no different.
Even Tang only briefly paused before flourishing again after Xuanzang's return.
At this point, the Screen displayed Xuanzang's westward route.
Seventeen years.
Fifty thousand li.
One hundred thirty-eight states.
Completed by one man.
That achievement alone was a treasure of Chinese civilization.
More importantly, his work forced Confucianism and Daoism to evolve.
Philosophically, they were beaten soundly.
Thus they adapted, learned, and—begrudgingly—rolled up their sleeves.
By early Northern Song, Neo-Confucianism emerged, merging all three.
Buddhism never again dominated politics.]
Zhang Fei blinked.
"So… Buddha was originally Dao?"
Kongming laughed and patted his shoulder.
"Yide, you are foolish—
and yet astonishingly perceptive."
Zhang Fei grinned, taking it as praise.
Kongming wrote:
Dao → Wei–Jin Metaphysics → Geyi Chan → Neo-Confucianism
Pang Tong nodded.
"No wonder they say society advances."
Zhang Song added thoughtfully:
"Shu's isolation slows its thinkers.
We guard well—but stagnate."
Kongming nodded.
"Philosophy guides how one understands the world."
Nearby, Liu Ba and Mi Zhu whispered over the word check.
Liu Bei sighed softly.
"In chaotic times,
people truly live worse than peaceful dogs."
Everyone fell silent.
Except Zhang Fei, rubbing his hands eagerly.
"Big Brother,
this time I disagree."