"Isn't this Wanyan Liang just bullying people?"
Zhang Fei slammed his palm on the table, voice booming like thunder in a wine shop.
"The Southern Song already ran all the way to Jiangdong to hide behind their in-laws. When have they ever seen the snows of Yanshan?"
Only after roaring did he remember who was sitting across from him.
He immediately leaned forward, waving both hands.
"Strategist Lu, don't misunderstand. I ain't talking about you."
Across the table,
Lu Su nodded with an expression that hovered somewhere between polite and confused.
Truth be told, he had not thought much of it.
But now that Zhang Fei brought it up so loudly, Lu Su suddenly felt a genuine curiosity rise in his chest.
He really did want to go north someday and see whether the snow of Yanshan looked any different from the drifting snow of Guanzhong.
Liu Bei had long grown used to such exchanges.
He thought quietly for a moment, then shook his head.
"Neither Jin nor Song inspires much fondness."
"In the north they treat people like livestock. In the south they treat people like tools."
"In the end, they are much the same."
That conclusion made him understand more clearly what later generations meant by the "upper and lower limits of emperors."
For Liu Bei and
Zhuge Liang, when discussing bad rulers of their own Han era, the examples were fairly mild.
The Ling Emperor sold offices. Regrettable, but hardly monstrous.
The Huan Emperor caused factional persecutions. Shameful, yet still within the realm of ordinary failure.
Go further back and it became even harder to label them true tyrants.
But later dynasties…
The Sui ruler exhausting the realm for grand vanity.
Tang emperors fleeing repeatedly from their own capital.
Song rulers trading territory for comfort.
Jin rulers murdering their own sovereign and enslaving their people.
Such extremes felt almost unreal to Liu Bei.
And one trait bound them together.
Arrogance.
Take this Zhao Liang.
He murdered his ruler.
Destroyed ancestral institutions.
Overworked his people.
Ignored public sentiment.
Failed to recruit worthy men.
Yet still acted as if sitting on the throne alone entitled him to command the world.
Why not learn from
Li Shimin and ask where imperial authority truly comes from?
Zhuge Liang nodded in agreement.
But Zhang Fei suddenly sighed heavily.
"Big brother… I miss A-Dou."
Because of schooling, the household of Zhuge Liang had recently moved to Chang'an.
At the time, Zhang Fei had considered sending his own family as well but eventually chose not to.
His reasoning was simple.
His son Zhang Bao was stationed closer to the anti-Cao front near Jiangling, gaining real battlefield experience. That mattered more.
And ever since learning from the heavenly screen that Zhang Bao's fate involved an early death, Zhang Fei had even written personally to the physicians
Wu Pu and
Fan E, asking them to keep an eye on the boy.
So movement became inconvenient.
Because of this, after A-Dou left Chengdu for Chang'an, Zhang Fei often took the child outside the city.
He taught him riding.
Showed him farming.
Dragged him through muddy fields so the boy would understand how grain truly grew.
In less than half a year, uncle and nephew had become inseparable.
Hearing Zhang Fei's sudden homesickness, Liu Bei smiled gently.
"In another half month, once Luoyang begins to take shape, I will bring A-Dou here."
"If he is to understand the people's hardships, this is the right place."
"And helping rebuild the old capital with common folk will teach him more than any book."
Meanwhile, far away in the Song court.
Zhao Kuangyin felt a genuine headache looking at both Jin and Song histories.
"You, bald barbarian," he muttered, glaring upward at the scene being shown, "if you had even a third of my skill in warfare, later generations wouldn't blame you for starting such a rotten trend."
Beside him, the monk Kongjiong felt deeply wronged.
His eye still hurt. His pride hurt more. Yet he dared not argue loudly.
He only muttered under his breath,
"Those rat-brained fellows wouldn't even call me ancestor. How did they end up making such stubborn decisions…"
Unfortunately, even a whisper carried clearly in the quiet hall.
From the side,
Zhao Pu saw the emperor's face tighten with grinding teeth.
"So that's the flavor coming from an old flatterer's mouth?"
"The donkey-cart escape at Gaoliang River was your 'hard decision'?"
"When I joined the army I wasn't even twenty. I fought for more than two decades."
"I never once heard of soldiers being sent to die again and again without reward."
"You idle official raised by recommendation think those men were your household slaves?"
"Even slaves get two strings of coins so they don't slack off!"
"You rode that donkey cart comfortably. Meanwhile my Dezhao struggled to rally troops and…"
He stopped himself abruptly.
Then snapped,
"Master, tomorrow you will fast."
Nearby,
Zhao Guangyi opened his mouth as if to remind his brother that fasting was a Daoist practice, not a Buddhist one.
But seeing Zhao Kuangyin's murderous expression soften only slightly, he wisely said nothing.
Instead he tilted his head up toward the heavenly screen.
Let's see what this Xin Qiji can really do.
[Lightscreen]
[The Year Shaoxing 31
This year was destined to be turbulent.
This was the year
Zhao Gou was slapped repeatedly by reality.
At last he unwillingly accepted that Jin intended to tear up the treaty and drag him north like a captured performer.
If not for strong persuasion from his chancellor, Zhao Gou would have tried to flee to sea again.
A familiar plan.
"Dismiss the officials, sail away, avoid the enemy."
Meanwhile this was the year
Wanyan Liang burned with confidence.
He personally led thirty-two army commands.
He wrote poems declaring ambition.
Composed essays praising his own campaign.
"Six hundred thousand troops. Called a million.
Felt tents stretch beyond sight.
Drums and gongs thunder without cease.
Near and far tremble."
This was also the year
Wanyan Yong could wait no longer.
As soon as Wanyan Liang marched south, Wanyan Yong ran to Dongjing in Liaoyang with the backing of Jurchen nobles and proclaimed himself emperor.
He even issued an edict stripping Wanyan Liang of the throne.
And this…
Was the year a young man named
Xin Qiji realized that Jin troops were all heading either north or south.
Nobody had time to care about Shandong.
So he stopped hesitating.
He raised the banner of resistance.
Thanks to his early reputation and remaining family wealth, Xin Qiji quickly gathered two thousand men.
But he soon discovered someone even fiercer.
A local hero named
Geng Jing had already risen earlier.
He declared resistance first.
Won several local victories.
Within a short time nearly one hundred thousand followers gathered under him.
Geng Jing became the de facto leader of Shandong's rebel forces.
For Xin Qiji, witnessing this moment felt almost unreal.
Raise a banner.
Shout once.
Anti-Jin fighters gather like clouds.
The dream his grandfather once hoped for suddenly seemed within reach.
So Xin Qiji made a simple decision.
He brought his two thousand men to join Geng Jing.
Geng Jing had heard about Xin Qiji traveling to Yanjing for the examinations.
A rare literate man in a rebel army was priceless.
So he naturally appointed Xin Qiji as chief secretary, responsible for seals, documents, and communications.
But rebel armies were always mixed crowds.
And opportunists never vanished.
Back when Xin Qiji first gathered his two thousand troops, he had befriended a monk named Yiduan, impressed by his bravery.
Unfortunately, Yiduan was exactly the sort of opportunist history never lacks.
One night, he stole the military seal Xin Qiji guarded and fled, hoping to surrender it to the Jin army for reward.
Losing the seal was a capital offense.
Facing Geng Jing's order to execute him, Xin Qiji showed no fear.
"Give me three days," he said calmly.
"I will deliver a satisfactory answer."
He rode without rest.
Light horse, nonstop pursuit.
Xin Qiji soon caught up with the monk.
And the first thing the monk did upon seeing him…
Was beg for mercy.
"I know your true form," the monk cried.
"You are a Green Ox spirit. Strong enough to kill men with ease. Spare me."
That alone proved something.
Xin Qiji was never a fragile scholar.
He was the kind who tracked you down by morning and finished the matter by night.
A swordsman his grandfather hoped could rival the Champion Marquis.
Xin Qiji said nothing.
One strike.
The monk's head fell.
He retrieved the seal and returned.
From that moment, Geng Jing valued him deeply.
"If you're this capable," Geng Jing said, "then travel south. Cross a thousand li through the war zone. Contact the Southern Song court."
Xin Qiji accepted immediately.
Packed his things.
Rode south.
And that journey…
Would let him witness firsthand the "great gift" Zhao Liang delivered to his so-called brother Zhao Gou.
A victory so overwhelming…
It left no room for doubt.]