"So this… is the Nanhai No. 1."
The voice on the light screen carried a faint sense of reverence.
At that moment, both the Ganlu Hall and the Chengdu Prefectural Office fell completely silent, their gazes fixed on the projection.
The image showed an ancient shipwreck resting on the seafloor.
The hull was enormous, tilted slightly to one side, half-buried in darkness. Time had chewed it raw—its body scarred and broken, white stone-like deposits clinging stubbornly to the wood. Long strands of unknown sea plants wrapped around it, swaying gently with the current.
Sunlight filtered down through the water's surface, tinted blue-green by the sea, scattering into soft rays that painted the wreck in quiet, solemn beauty.
It was a scene no one present—not Li Shimin, not Zhuge Liang, not even Liu Bei—could have imagined in their lifetime.
Zhang Fei muttered under his breath, unable to hold it in.
"So the people of later ages don't just fly into the sky… they can dive into the sea too? The world's really so big they can go anywhere?"
For the first time, Zhang Fei felt a flicker of envy toward that other "Xuande" who had been sent to the future.
He wanted to see it too—soar through the heavens, plunge beneath the waves.
And maybe… maybe even light a stick of incense for his elder brother.
Liu Bei, unaware of the chaotic thoughts swirling in Zhang Fei's head, studied the image for a while before frowning slightly.
"What are those two tiny dots beside the ship?"
Pang Tong and Zhuge Liang examined the screen closely, then answered in unison, their tone firm.
"People."
As the view slowly zoomed in, Liu Bei finally saw them clearly.
They were indeed people—wearing strange, unfamiliar gear, moving freely underwater. They didn't speak, instead communicating with precise hand signals.
"They're… Great Ancestor above—!"
Liu Bei cried out involuntarily.
A massive black structure appeared, like a beast straight out of the Classic of Mountains and Seas. It opened its gaping mouth and swallowed the entire shipwreck whole.
In the Ganlu Hall, Li Shimin finally understood.
"They're lifting the ship out of the sea?"
No one answered him.
All eyes were locked on the screen as several divers worked rapidly beneath the giant container, exchanging gestures. Once they confirmed something, the monstrous "mouth" slowly closed.
The perspective rose with it.
From above, they saw an enormous steel arm—thicker than a city tower, stretching like the arm of a titan—tighten its grip.
With slow, irresistible force, it lifted the container holding the Nanhai No. 1 out of the ocean.
Du Ruhui, who had been silent for a long time, finally spoke—quietly, almost reverently.
"Human strength has limits… but the power of science is like splitting heaven and earth apart."
Everyone understood now.
The people of later ages hadn't salvaged this ship on a whim.
But no one had expected such breathtaking extravagance.
[Lightscreen]
[The scene shifted.
The shipwreck now rested peacefully in an enormous pool, bathed in controlled light. The image zoomed in, allowing every detail to be examined clearly.
Then the narration resumed.
The Song Dynasty—especially the Southern Song—relied heavily on the Maritime Silk Road.
At that time, domestic demand and foreign trade gaps were both enormous. Population had recovered, yet arable land had not kept pace. As a result, commerce and handicrafts became viable livelihoods for common people, which in turn further stimulated economic growth.
Song-era navigation began with the compass—and culminated in the sealed compartment.
Texts like Essentials of Military Classics and Shen Kuo's Dream Pool Essays recorded methods for making compasses. With this alone, coastal navigation was possible.
With the compass as a foundation, techniques were gradually unlocked: understanding monsoon patterns, early sea charts, maritime weather forecasting, astronomical observation, coastal hydrology, and even methods of communication at sea.
After losing even more territory, the Southern Song became increasingly dependent on maritime trade—eventually giving rise to the sealed compartment system, a technology centuries ahead of the West.]
The explanation unfolded alongside diagrams and animations, clear enough that even Empress Zhangsun followed along with interest.
She leaned closer, eyes bright.
"That compass… its construction is surprisingly simple. One small enough could rest on a fingernail."
As for the sealed compartments—she hesitated.
"They look almost… too simple. How could something like this take hundreds of years to discover?"
She spoke softly, only to Li Shimin.
Li Shimin gestured for his officials to carefully copy and study this section, then replied in a low voice:
"Wasn't block printing the same? Stone inscriptions existed before Qin—but without paper…"
Empress Zhangsun nodded.
Woodblock printing and stone carving shared the same logic. But without Cai Lun's paper, who knew how many centuries it would've taken to cross that threshold?
They stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing at the screen.
If Song technology felt merely convenient to her, then the achievements of later ages were nothing short of divine craftsmanship.
[Lightscreen]
[The narration continued.
Beyond the Four Great Inventions, the Song Dynasty began systematically studying the natural world.
Early Song texts argued that beyond examinations lay principles; beyond principles lay physical laws; beyond physical laws lay the study of life itself.
From then on, Song scholars explored everything.
One scholar attempted to calculate the distance between Earth and the Moon after observing stars at sea—imprecise, but a step into astrophysics.
Another deduced latitude differences by analyzing the growth cycles of chives in different regions.
Shen Kuo documented countless investigations in Dream Pool Essays:
chemical studies of salt lakes,
acoustic resonance using identical instruments,
optical principles through translucent bronze mirrors,
corrections to anatomical diagrams.
His astronomical work was even more astonishing—improving observation instruments, measuring the true length of solar days, mapping planetary motion, calculating the true position of Polaris with unprecedented accuracy.
His research extended to geography, cartography, hydraulics, medicine, military science, and art.
After him came Qin Jiushao, the pinnacle of traditional mathematics—solving high-degree equations, modular arithmetic, refining calculation methods, and compiling Mathematical Treatise in Nine Sections.]
Zhuge Liang followed along with effort.
The astronomy and optics—he could vaguely grasp.
But when the mathematics appeared, even he felt as if he were listening to divine scripture.
Pang Tong noticed his furrowed brow.
"Something troubling you?"
Zhuge Liang stared at the formulas attributed to Qin Jiushao, eyes filled with honest confusion.
"This mathematics… I do not understand it."
A collective sigh of relief swept through the room.
Zhang Song, Liu Ba, even Liu Bei relaxed visibly.
Pang Tong laughed dryly.
"Well, the learning of later ages is far too profound. Separated by centuries—how could we hope to match it?"
Everyone nodded in agreement.
Yet Zhuge Liang slowly shook his head.
From the descriptions of astronomy—and the earlier demonstrations of map scaling—an unsettling thought had taken root.
Could the land beneath their feet… be a massive sphere?
But how could that be?
For the first time, Zhuge Liang felt genuine uncertainty.
Li Shimin, meanwhile, had long since stopped pretending.
Truthfully, once "physics" appeared, he'd already lost the thread.
After that, he understood only two names.
Shen Kuo.
Qin Jiushao.
Nothing else.
Those ghostly symbols accompanying Qin Jiushao's introduction—Li Shimin stared in shock.
Are those really Chinese characters?
He turned to observe his ministers instead.
Yuchi Jingde stared blankly, eyes wide with pure ignorance.
Li Shimin nodded to himself.
Good. I'm not alone.
Li Jing and Li Shiji whispered intensely nearby.
Listening closer, Li Shimin burst out laughing.
The two generals had completely given up on comprehension and were now debating whether cannons or "Eastern Wind Express" missiles were more practical.
Li Shiji argued missiles must be absurdly expensive—while cannons looked easy enough to cast.
They even agreed to "visit" a few Daoist temples later to extract a gunpowder formula.
Li Shimin sighed.
That was very much his generals.
Nearby, Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, and Wei Zheng looked utterly deflated.
They complained in unison.
"Your Majesty, is this truly our language? Why does it make no sense once combined?"
"The Mother of Science indeed… is beyond us."
"I understand governance and waterworks—but this mathematics… I beg Your Majesty to summon true talents for it."
Li Shimin laughed heartily, filled with the camaraderie of shared illiteracy.
[Lightscreen]
[The narration spoke again.
The work of pioneers is always like this.
Success need not belong to oneself.
Science is the same.
Some toil in silence.
Some force their way forward.
Some sacrifice themselves in pursuit of truth.
Like Tao Chengdao of the Ming, who died testing flight.
In modern times, building upon these foundations—using mathematics to unite physics, astronomy, materials science, mechanical engineering, fluid dynamics, electromagnetism, and orbital mechanics—
Humanity finally stepped beyond Earth's cradle.
Both halls stared at the screen.
Before they could comment on Tao Chengdao, the image shifted.
A colossal object appeared—shaped like the Eastern Wind Express, its tip aimed at the heavens.
Flames erupted from its base, roaring like divine wrath.
The blade rose.
One question surfaced in every mind:
Who is this aimed at?
The answer came swiftly.
It climbed higher—piercing the sky, breaking through the winds, rising without end.
The image blurred, then cleared.
Before them lay infinite space, dotted with distant stars.]
Zhang Fei asked stupidly,
"So… are there houses in the sky? Immortals?"
A strange white structure drifted into view.
The narration answered.
"Welcome to the Chinese Space Station: Tiangong."
The view turned downward.
A vast blue planet filled the screen.
"Say hello to our Mother Earth."
Silence reigned.