There was no earth-shattering explosion.
No panicked screaming.
Only a long, shrill sound, like the unwilling death cry of some colossal beast.
The black-and-white, grainy image showed a city that felt unfamiliar, yet old and busy.
But it seemed to last only an instant.
The scene changed completely.
It was as if a god had unleashed wrath upon the world, or the underworld had surfaced. Only the outline proved it was still the same city. Everything else had changed beyond recognition.
At most, one could say that this place had once been a city.
The image pulled back.
Gradually, the remains of buildings and people came into view.
Or rather, the Ming emperor was no longer certain he could still call them "people."
Bodies were half-charred, staggering down the street in dazed silence. There were no wails of agony. They simply walked… and then suddenly collapsed.
The image continued retreating.
Only then did the towering mushroom-shaped column of smoke that pierced the sky finally enter the frame.
It was a cold and silent picture. From beginning to end there was only that drawn-out, piercing sound. After the churning smoke filled the heavens for a moment, the narrator's voice cut back in.
> "Colonel Paul Tibbets, who carried out the Little Boy mission, later described the action in very simple terms:
'It was the best thing I could do.'"
The voice was flat and severe, completely different from the expressive tone used earlier when discussing the Song dynasties.
Only now did Zhu Yuanzhang seem to recover the ability to speak.
He swallowed unconsciously, sat up from the bed, then seemed unsure where to place his hands. Finally he simply rose and paced before the screen.
At last, his brows knotted together as he voiced the question gnawing at him.
"This thing… was it built by that 'science' our descendants keep talking about?"
His empress did not answer immediately.
Empress Ma set down her brush and silently watched the screen. Listening to the narrator's voice, which had subtly changed since speaking of Japan, she finally let out a slow sigh and lifted her head.
"Chongba."
The way she addressed him lacked its usual warmth, and it calmed the emperor's agitation.
"I'm listening," Zhu Yuanzhang replied.
"I can hear it," she said softly.
"That young man speaking… he carries a mountain of grievance and bitterness in his heart."
"…I know."
Zhu Yuanzhang sighed and sat beside her.
"But first we still must pacify the northern frontier."
The Mongols had already proven what kind of disaster they could unleash if ignored. Though times were different now, the mere thought of the name Nurhaci still made Zhu Yuanzhang feel a shadow gathering in the north.
"But this thing…"
He looked back up. The cloud still churned slowly on the screen.
The perspective had pulled even farther away now, capturing the entire mushroom cloud and making its scale clearer.
The fallen bodies could no longer be seen. Mountains looked like ant hills. Forests resembled clumps of moss. Streets and ruins looked like weeds in a ditch.
Only that column of smoke stood tall, soaring thousands of feet into the sky.
"This really is…"
Zhu Yuanzhang wanted to say something, but any words felt weak and hollow.
Another question soon surfaced.
The name Tibbets sounded strange. A foreigner? A barbarian?
Did this weapon not belong to China?
---
In the Luoyang residence
Silence filled the courtyard.
Liu Bei frowned.
Zhuge Liang sighed softly.
Lu Su pressed his lips together in thought, his finger tapping unconsciously on his knee.
Perhaps unable to bear the oppressive atmosphere, or perhaps too shaken by the explosion of the "Little Boy," Zhang Fei finally slammed his fist onto the table.
"What the hell is there left to fight?!"
Direct. Honest. Perfectly in character.
No one in the courtyard disagreed.
The power of that strangely named object was obvious to the naked eye.
In the face of such force, strategies, formations, personal bravery, all felt like jokes.
With no response, Zhang Fei muttered to himself:
"Too bad it wasn't our Chinese descendants who dropped it. Would've been nice to settle scores ourselves."
"Earlier we saw that 'Dongfeng Express' streak across the sky. Think you could shoot this thing down before it lands?"
"With something like this… I can't even imagine what war looks like anymore…"
But soon he laughed.
"Still, we've got the Heavenly Palace, don't we? If our descendants can build that, then these Fat Boys, Thin Boys, whatever, should be no problem!"
Unlike Liu Bei and Lu Su, who remained solemn, Zhuge Liang smiled and asked,
"Yide, you trust our descendants that much?"
Zhang Fei grinned and shot back immediately,
"Don't you trust the sons of Han?"
For once, Zhuge Liang did not shake his feather fan.
He set it aside, rose to his feet with his hands behind his back, and stared at the screen.
"I do."
Zhang Fei stepped up behind him and nodded.
"So do I."
"That is enough."
Zhuge Liang nodded, then turned to Liu Bei with a smile.
"My lord, why worry? Now that we stand in the old capital, if we defeat Cao Cao ahead of us, we may claim we have not failed the Han."
"These weapons, like the Heavenly Palace, lie beyond our imagination. Rather than worry endlessly, we should lay foundations for learning, govern the people well, and open sea routes."
"If we accomplish these things, that alone will be a merit for future generations."
Liu Bei's brows relaxed.
"That is true."
He rose as well and stepped closer to examine the screen, then slowly shook his head.
"Our people of Han have suffered greatly for two thousand years… I only regret I did not rise sooner to give my strength."
The more he watched, the more his view of chaos, order, and the struggles between nations kept shifting.
"Our descendants above can grasp the moon from the heavens, below can probe the ocean depths, seizing the authority of heaven itself, exhausting the limits between mortal and divine."
He paused, thinking, then spoke honestly.
"I feel that for two thousand years, the struggles among nations on this earth have never stopped."
"Rome stood alongside Han. The Ottomans had eight wise rulers. Parthia, the Seljuks, the Sassanid Persians, all shone for a time. Yet how many remain remembered?"
"Even our own Han lineage might have nearly vanished, if not for the achievements of the Hongwu Emperor."
He sighed again, genuinely this time.
"In such an age of great contention, I can at most give another twenty years of effort. Thinking back on the wasted years of youth spent on trivial pursuits… what a regret."
"Brother, don't worry," Zhang Fei blurted out. "The future's got all kinds of methods. Maybe there's a way to extend lif—"
Liu Bei waved him off with a smile.
"The High Emperor once said: life is in heaven's hands, even Bian Que cannot change it."
"How could I let the High Emperor lose face because of me?"
After they sat down again, Zhuge Liang picked up his brush.
Lu Su leaned closer and saw him draw a horizontal line, marking along it from left to right: Han, Jin, Sui, Tang, and so on.
Below it he wrote several words:
Iron
Paper
Ocean Navigation
Gunpowder
Mathematics
Science
"Do you believe," Lu Su asked, "that these are the key forces behind the great struggles Lord Xuande spoke of?"
Strong iron meant strong armor and weapons for defense, iron tools for farming, stability for both state and people.
The others followed similar logic. The narrator from the future had emphasized them repeatedly.
"In times of peace," Zhuge Liang said, "one inherits the achievements of the previous dynasty and gathers the gains of the chaotic era."
"When combined, they give rise to renewal. That is what it means to carry forward the past and open the future."
After explaining his reasoning, he finally circled the words Mathematics and Science.
There was even a hint of regret in his voice.
"If this is so… then this Ming dynasty…"
"…how crucial it truly is."