"The steppe enemies… how is it they never run out?"
Even though he already had a rough idea what would come next, Zhang Fei still could not help grumbling.
There was even a trace of obvious disappointment in his voice.
He was Zhang Yide of Han.
His elder brother was an imperial kinsman.
His strategist would one day become Chancellor of the Han.
The Han had replaced Qin and founded its state. But on what foundation had it truly stood?
On defeating the invaders and crushing the Xiongnu, nothing else.
Later generations would say that governing the steppe and opening vast frontiers required blending nomadic spirit with Han culture.
But…
A son of Han could ride a heavenly steed, carry a powerful crossbow, sweep his spear across the battlefield, and whip his horse beyond the frontier, letting Han culture absorb the wind of the steppe.
Why should they wait for mixed tribes to invade southward into Han lands, plunder Han civilization with their nomadic ways, and only then spend decades rebuilding the realm?
The mere phrase "chaos in China" already carried the weight of hundreds of thousands of displaced lives. Too heavy.
It was already late July.
Although the light screen always broadcast in the morning, the Luoyang before them was still nothing but broken walls and lush grass growing among the ruins.
No one spoke.
Outside the annex, Liu Bei's guards stood in silence. The only sound echoing within was the faint, uneven chirping of insects.
A slender hand waved a feather fan, stirring a slight breeze in the sleeves, yet it could not loosen the deep furrow in the owner's brow.
Turning his head, one could see Liu Bei seated above them, his expression complicated. Regret, sorrow, grief, and a trace of confusion all mixed together on the face of the man the common people called Imperial Uncle.
And so, the man holding the fan made up his mind.
"Qin built the Great Wall to end the threat from beyond the frontier."
"Now that we face an opportunity unseen in five thousand years, we must use knowledge as rammed earth, law as the bones of structure, and make both the northern and southern deserts lands of the Chinese realm."
The words were simple, yet carried a force that inspired belief. Especially the final sentence, spoken with decisive certainty:
"To fulfill the will of the Han, I, Liang, will see it done."
Liu Bei suddenly felt a little dazed.
Vaguely, he remembered the thatched cottage at Longzhong. Zhuge Liang had looked just like this then as well.
Eloquent, radiant, waving his fan while laying out strategies from his heart, revealing vast ambitions between each word.
The wild joy of that day, the emotion of finding a kindred spirit, the tears shed at knowing he would not walk the path alone… those memories had grown slightly blurred now.
But he clearly remembered that after they had shared their aspirations, this elegant young man had bowed without hesitation and pledged himself as strategist, saying:
"To fulfill the general's ambition, Liang is willing to serve with all he has."
Just like now.
All the unease in Liu Bei's heart vanished. A warm feeling suddenly rose within him.
"To have met Kongming… is the fortune of the Han."
Zhuge Liang shook his head solemnly.
"I am no thousand-li steed. It is my lord who is the true judge of horses."
"As later generations say, for this inferior horse not to have died in humiliation at a stable trough is already fortune enough. How could I dare hope for more?"
Lu Su immediately burst out, half laughing, half exasperated:
"If Kongming is an inferior horse, then I might as well call myself a dull donkey."
As he spoke, Lu Su could not help sighing inwardly.
What ruler and minister could match this harmony? Who would not envy it?
But before he could sink into melancholy, he suddenly felt both his hands seized by a pair of warm palms, rough with calluses.
"Zijing, your hands are still a bit cold. Did you forget to take the medicine Physician Zhang prescribed again?"
"After the light screen ends, I'll go brew it with you."
Lu Su froze in surprise, a flicker of warmth rising in his heart.
He had never told anyone about that prescription.
Though later speculation and Physician Zhang's diagnosis suggested he might die suddenly from epidemic illness, matters of life and death could not be taken lightly. So he had secretly visited the doctor again to check lingering ailments and was given a few tonics.
No one should have known. Yet his lord…
His slightly cool right hand was placed atop Zhuge Liang's darker one as Liu Bei gathered the three of them together and spoke:
"I am an ordinary man. Weak in strategy, poor at commanding troops, and not even suited for facing enemies in battle. I only understand a bit about farming."
"But now, with Kongming and Zijing here, it is not that I possess any divine brilliance. It is simply that we Han subjects share the same will and the same path."
"And since that is so, we must not allow traitors to seize the realm. We must not fail the hopes of later generations."
Lu Su nodded heavily.
Zhang Fei scratched his head. Somehow his heart settled as well.
Seeing his elder brother and the two strategists united in purpose, he suddenly decided to follow the example of the ancients and answer with song.
"Have you not seen Huo the Swift Cavalry,
who drove deep in six campaigns and shattered the enemy court?
Have you not seen Sima Wei,
whose war chariots marched seven times to encircle the Hu hawks…"
The voice was not loud, but Liu Bei and the others listened intently.
The rough singing echoed above the annex. Liu Bei listened in silence, a faint smile appearing on his face.
…
"Heroes shape their times. Yet the times also shape heroes."
"The lament of later generations truly hits the mark."
Liu Han turned his head and saw it was Zhao Pu speaking.
The words sounded calm, but the expression on his face clearly showed lingering regret.
That was understandable. Even Liu Han himself found it regrettable.
Looking only at Jin, they were frustrated by the steppe in the north while Yue Wumu made his name in the south.
And internally they were unstable as well. Liu Han remembered the light screen had mentioned before that Wanyan Liang later seized power by murdering Jin Xizong.
If so, had Yue Wumu truly been allowed to campaign north freely, coordinating with the Mongols, it might not have been impossible to destroy Jin and avenge past humiliation.
Whether Yue Wumu could then have subdued the steppe tribes… who knew.
But surely it would have been better than this situation.
Zhao Kuangyin suddenly turned toward his younger brother, whose face still clearly showed he did not want to be sent to Khitan lands.
"This Zhao Gou would rather abandon the capital and imperial tombs, leaving your bones exposed in the wild, yet still insists on seeking peace at any cost."
"Truly, his devotion to Jin far exceeds what he showed toward you."
Zhao Guangyi blinked in surprise. He had never really thought about that.
But it was obvious. Whether it was his brother, himself, or later emperors like Zhenzong and Renzong, none of them would travel thousands of li to Jiangdong to build their tombs. Once the world fell into chaos, imperial mausoleums would hardly remain intact.
Zhao Kuangyin had only spoken casually, then turned back to watch the light screen seriously.
If Hebei was secure, the realm was secure.
But only if the steppe was pacified could Hebei truly be safe.
[Lightscreen]
[Historically, the year 1135 can be seen as a dividing line.
Before this, Jin organized western expeditions intending to eliminate Liao entirely, while Western Liao, after recovering, launched eastern campaigns seeking revenge. In the end, both failed mainly due to distance and logistical strain.
Afterward, the two entered a twenty-year standoff at long range. Eventually Western Liao shifted its focus to Central Asia, and the Naiman tribes on the steppe broke away from them.
Perhaps because fishing-hunting peoples and nomadic peoples were simply too different, the Liao dynasty only needed several campaigns to defeat the strongest steppe power of the time, the Ugul-Dilie tribes, to force submission. After a century of military pressure, those tribes became thoroughly obedient.
Jin, however, spent decades campaigning against the nearby Tatars in the late twelfth century, fighting until the tribe was nearly exterminated and even lost their pastures before they finally bowed their heads.
For this reason, Jin's late twelfth-century policy toward the steppe centered on stirring internal conflicts, with population reduction measures as a secondary approach.]