Inside Kunning Palace of Yingtian Prefecture,
Empress Ma shifted under her blankets and frowned slightly.
She still was not used to what the heavenly screen was saying.
Storytellers loved gossip. They exaggerated palace scandals, twisted history, invented rumors just to draw crowds. She had heard plenty of that in her life.
But to openly point at the Song emperor and the Jin emperor and call them traitors to the realm…
To mock them as "brothers not even of the same parents"…
That was new.
Compared with that, misinterpreting a few sayings of the sages felt like a minor offense.
Still, this screen told stories in a way no street storyteller ever could.
When it spoke of the Song and Jin situation, a map appeared, borders clear, cities and prefectures marked precisely.
When it spoke of a youth studying, one saw a handsome boy reading, practicing sword forms, spirit blazing.
When it spoke of the Green Ox killing a traitor, a pale young rider chased his enemy on horseback, striking with terrifying precision.
The images came one after another so vividly that Empress Ma barely had time to question them.
Instead, a different thought rose in her mind.
Who exactly was speaking through this screen?
Who dared mock foolish rulers and praise heroes like this?
And once that thought surfaced, another followed close behind.
Earlier, among the drifting words, she had clearly seen two characters.
Southern Ming.
At the time the text flashed by too quickly for her to remember everything, but those two characters had stood out sharply.
Because before this… no dynasty had ever used Ming as its state name.
Once she remembered that Song itself had split into Northern and Southern periods, a faint unease crept into her chest.
Was this object spreading dangerous lies?
Or did it truly see into the future?
Through the lattice window she could hear faint music drifting from the south. Silk strings, bamboo flutes.
Her husband must already be celebrating the Heavenly Birthday Festival with his ministers in Jinshen Hall.
Looking again at the miraculous screen before her, Empress Ma could not help feeling a trace of worry.
Elsewhere, laughter exploded.
Zhang Fei slapped his thigh.
"So that's what 'Hear the truth in the morning, die content in the evening' really means?"
He did not know what the word "handle" in the earlier explanation literally meant, but judging from the monk losing his head, the meaning was obvious enough.
He turned to the strategist with a grin.
"Then what about 'A man without long-term concerns will face immediate troubles'? How should that be explained?"
Zhuge Liang exchanged a glance with
Liu Bei.
Both smiled helplessly.
It was obvious Zhang Fei already had an answer and simply wanted to show off.
"Oh?" Zhuge Liang said, waving his feather fan.
"And what does General Yi-de think it means?"
Zhang Fei stood up solemnly and paced twice, hands behind his back, as if delivering a lecture.
"Since the strategist asks, Old Zhang won't hide it."
"I think the Master meant this."
"If there are no enemies far away, then you should check whether there are fools nearby asking for trouble."
He was getting more excited the more he spoke.
"And there's also 'The gentleman is slow to speak but quick to act.'"
"I understand that one now too!"
"It means instead of cursing someone ten times, better to give him one solid slap!"
"I shall take this to heart!"
Liu Bei and
Lu Su could not help laughing.
But Zhuge Liang only waved his fan and laughed openly.
"If that is so, once the realm is at peace and the swords are sheathed, you should write a book based on these interpretations."
"Who knows. A thousand years later, it might still make people laugh."
In Zhuge Liang's view, cultural prosperity required more than scholars writing classics for students.
It also needed amusing stories for common folk.
Take those later romance novels that future generations revered as masterpieces.
The Ming examinations surely would not test their content, yet they endured for centuries.
That alone proved their charm.
Zhang Fei scratched his head and laughed awkwardly.
"There'll be plenty of talented folks in later ages. If Old Zhang can make the strategist and my elder brother laugh, that's enough."
Liu Bei felt a sudden warmth in his chest.
Then his sworn brother added thoughtfully,
"Though when I saw those cannons in Chang'an earlier, I thought that poem from later generations about artillery really speaks straight from the gut."
"Which one?" Liu Bei genuinely could not recall.
He turned just in time to notice Zhuge Liang's expression grow subtly complicated.
Zhang Fei burst into laughter.
"The one written by that later fellow with the same surname as me!"
He raised his voice proudly.
"When the cannon fires, blast their mothers!"
Inside the palace hall of Bianliang,
Zhao Kuangyin looked increasingly heavy-hearted.
"Twenty years after the fall of Song, heroes from Yan and Zhao could still rally and gather one hundred thousand rebels with a single call."
"The people's hearts were still usable."
"If Yue Fei had lived and launched another northern campaign, what would there have been to fear…"
He sighed again.
"Song did not fall to outsiders."
"It fell from within."
"It fell from binding its own hands."
"It fell from favoring useless scholars while treating generals harshly."
"It fell from…"
He shot his younger brother a sideways glance.
The meaning was painfully obvious.
Zhao Guangyi still had bruises on his face. He instantly lowered his head meekly, wishing he had earlier dragged over a wooden fish drum and started chanting scriptures so his brother would not find an excuse to vent on him.
Yet inwardly he was also annoyed.
These later descendants were cowardly beyond reason.
Just hearing that Jin armies were mobilizing, they already wanted to "dismiss officials and flee by sea."
For a moment he even felt resentment.
Such useless descendants. Dragging their ancestor's name down with them.
Nearby,
Zhao Pu could not hold back either.
"Fortunately that Zhao Gou never saw this heavenly screen," he sneered.
"Otherwise he might have fled to the Southern Seas or even the islands of Wa, handing all Song territory to the Jin without a fight."
Then he softened slightly when speaking of the Shandong rebels.
"Our lands of Yan and Zhao have always produced men of passion and tragic resolve."
"How could the state bear to abandon them?"
Later historians called Zhao Pu a pro-peace chancellor.
Well then.
If given the chance now, he would gladly be the most stubborn pro-war voice in favor of a northern campaign.
[Lightscreen]
[October, 1161
For
Wanyan Liang, this October was destined to be a roller coaster.
At the start of the month, Jin advances went smoothly.
With four fronts pressing forward, Song forces retreated step by step until they withdrew south of the Yangtze, planning to rely on the river as a natural barrier.
Victory after victory made Wanyan Liang confident.
He led his massive army to occupy Caishiji, intending to repeat the Northern Song's conquest of Southern Tang.
Build ships here. Cross the river. Capture Zhao Gou.
Simple.
There was just one small problem.
The Jin state had resisted sinicization internally for decades.
Even after forty-six years of founding, their naval development could not exactly be called fruitful.
It could barely be called existent.
So Wanyan Liang marched more than a hundred thousand troops into Caishiji…
And spent several miserable days producing only crude little boats that looked barely capable of floating, let alone transporting an army.
Still, he was not worried.
He had already heard that the Song commander across the river, Wang Quan, had deserted.
One side strong and organized.
One side leaderless.
One side with over one hundred thousand troops.
The other with barely twenty thousand routed soldiers.
The advantage was obvious.
At that very moment, a civil official arrived to inspect the troops.
Yu Yunwen had been sent by Zhao Gou to boost morale.
When he saw the Song army's exhausted state, he felt alarmed.
So he stepped forward without hesitation.
What he did was actually very simple.
First, he rallied morale.
Then he centralized command, taking control of scattered authority so orders came from one source.
Finally, he played to Song's strengths and struck at Jin's weaknesses.
By then, Southern Song had been confined south of the river for thirty years.
But that also meant their navy had developed continuously.
Back in the early years,
Han Shizhong had already achieved notable naval victories.
And with waterways everywhere in Jiangnan, the fleet never stopped improving.
Against Jin's tiny river skiffs, Song ships included paddle-wheel vessels, multi-oared warboats, and the famous seagull-class warships.
Fighting Jin on the river…
Was roughly as difficult as beating up people who had never seen proper ships before.
And thus, the great victory at Caishiji was born.]