Cao Cao had often imagined what the world would look like after he succeeded in "bringing the realm under one rule."
In those visions, he would summon Sun Quan before him and, in the manner of an elder, calmly list the boy's shortcomings. He would remind him that compared to his father and elder brother, he still fell far short.
He would expose Liu Bei's so-called benevolence face to face, laugh at the hollow rhetoric, and let Liu Bei watch with his own eyes as the Son of Heaven honored Cao Cao above all others.
Yet never, in any of those countless imaginings, had he pictured this moment.
Never had he imagined Liu Bei claiming his victory was merely a matter of luck.
Never had he imagined that the reason for that victory would be… a river.
Cao Cao found it almost insulting.
If Liu Bei's triumph was "fortunate," then what did that imply? That Cao Cao had never truly stood a chance? That the only difference between outcomes had been whether he lost quickly or slowly?
The thought ignited anger even through the haze of pain.
"Even a three-year-old child knows," Cao Cao said sharply, "that the Yi River flows south into the Ying River. What of it?"
Liu Bei did not answer immediately. His voice remained calm, almost conversational.
"And where does the Ying River flow?"
"To the Hong Canal, then to the Fei River, and finally into the Huai," Cao Cao replied impatiently.
"And the Huai flows where?"
"To the sea, of course."
"And what is the sea?"
Cao Cao's brows knit together in irritation.
"Liu Xuande, what nonsense is this? Have you joined some Taoist cult? Do not tell me you have started believing in the Five Pecks of Rice nonsense."
Liu Bei burst into laughter.
It was not mocking laughter, nor sharp. It sounded almost boyish.
When he stopped, he drew his sword and crouched down, dragging its tip across the damp earth.
Lines formed quickly beneath the blade.
"The Huai flows into the sea," Liu Bei said, sketching as he spoke. "If one sails straight east a thousand li, there lies the Wa country, where people know little of ritual or propriety."
He extended another line southward.
"From Yang Province, if one sails two thousand li into the southern seas, there are many lands where the people sleep through the year without fear of cold or hunger."
Another line curved further outward.
"Beyond the southern islands, more than three thousand li away, there is said to be a vast isolated land, eight thousand li across, rich in iron, yet almost uninhabited."
Cao Cao leaned forward with difficulty, trying to make sense of the lines scratched into the muddy bank.
To him, they looked like nothing but chaotic marks.
Liu Bei, however, continued speaking with increasing enthusiasm.
"In the far south of our Han realm lies Rinan Commandery. There grows a precious rice that yields three harvests a year and does not fear pests or drought."
"If one travels two thousand li further south from there, there is a narrow sea passage that could serve as a gateway for our empire. If we do not…"
"Xuande."
Cao Cao interrupted him sternly.
"The Five Pecks of Rice sect spreads delusions to deceive the common people. Perhaps such stories can fool peasants, but you must not believe them yourself."
The words came out harsher than he intended, but he truly meant them.
He had listened long enough.
Iron continents thousands of li wide? Rice that harvested thrice yearly? Gateways across distant seas?
Such fantasies were beyond even the boldest strategists.
Liu Bei fell silent for a moment.
Then he sighed, shook his head, and used his boot to smear away the lines he had drawn.
The muddy bank returned to shapeless ground.
"Very well," Liu Bei said. "Let me speak plainly instead."
He turned to Cao Cao.
"Mengde, if I told you that my victory today was something the Han people of a thousand years in the future have long awaited… would you believe me?"
Cao Cao stared at him.
For a moment, he felt something strange.
Not anger. Not disbelief.
But a faint sense of unease.
Time had indeed changed Liu Bei.
In the past, Liu Bei had possessed a heroic bearing. Rough, perhaps, but grounded in reality.
Now he spoke like a man who saw things beyond the present age.
And yet…
Cao Cao could not dismiss everything outright.
Liu Bei's words, though absurd, did not sound like the vague exaggerations found in ancient texts. He did not say "countless," or "immeasurable," or "unknown." He spoke of distances, routes, places, as if describing something tangible.
Cao Cao pondered for a long moment.
Then, cautiously, he said,
"I believe you?"
The words came out sounding almost like a question.
He quickly added,
"After all, Xuande's reputation for benevolence is known across the realm. If there truly are people of later generations…"
Before he could finish, a clear voice cut in from nearby.
"My lord, matters here are settled. It is time to depart."
Liu Bei turned and nodded.
"Very well."
Then he smiled back at Cao Cao.
"I'll take it that you believe me," he said lightly. "Though you did make one mistake."
He gestured toward the approaching figure.
"The one future generations admire is Kongming. I am hardly worth mentioning."
Cao Cao's eyes widened.
The man who stepped forward was striking.
His face was refined as polished jade, his bearing dignified yet natural. His presence carried a calm authority that seemed to draw attention without effort.
Even Cao Cao, seasoned judge of talent, felt his heart stir slightly.
"Xuande," he murmured, "you truly possess such a gem among men?"
The man did not spare Cao Cao a second glance.
He merely bowed to Liu Bei, spoke a few quiet words, then turned and left as decisively as he had arrived.
Liu Bei laughed.
Then he sheathed his sword.
"Since Kongming says we should go, Mengde," he said, "you may as well return to Xuchang with me."
A prisoner had no right to refuse.
Still, after everything that had been said, Cao Cao could not help asking:
"You do not intend to kill me?"
Liu Bei looked at him for a long moment.
Then he turned away and began walking.
His answer came drifting back on the wind.
"My victory over you depends on those of later generations. Your life or death should be decided by them as well."
Cao Cao shook his head and muttered to himself,
"If I had known it would come to this, I should have executed Zhang Lu earlier. Keeping him in Ye only wasted grain."
Ahead, the walls of Xuchang came into view.
The gates stood open. The banners had changed.
For Liu Bei, a strange sense of lightness filled his chest.
Twenty-five years had passed.
Once, this city had been a cage and a nightmare.
Now it lay open before him.
At the gate, lanterns were hung in bright rows.
A line of officials stood waiting.
Their hair was already white, yet their crowns glittered with gold and jade. They wore robes woven from Shu brocade, belts adorned with shining ornaments. One by one, they watched Liu Bei approach.
They also saw the battered Cao Cao being carried behind him.
As Liu Bei drew closer, the reflected light from those jeweled crowns seemed almost blinding.
One figure stepped forward.
He swayed slightly, then spoke in a slow, aged voice:
"The General of the Left is no ordinary man. You have performed extraordinary deeds and achieved extraordinary merit."
"When the traitor Cao held power, no one dared speak honestly. He humiliated the scholars and brought suffering to the people, who longed for his downfall."
"Now that you have swept away the tyrant and captured him alive, why not execute him here, before all, and set an example for the realm?"
Cao Cao listened without surprise.
Instead, his thoughts drifted unexpectedly to Dong Zhuo.
When Dong Zhuo died, his old friend Cai Yong mourned him and was executed for it.
Now Cao Cao himself had fallen.
Would no one mourn him at all?
Or perhaps these scholars of Yingchuan had simply never seen the thunder cannon Zhang Fei spoke of.
Liu Bei looked at the glittering officials.
Then, without answering, he tugged lightly on the reins.
His horse moved forward.
He passed straight through the line of jewels and gold into the city.
The sound of hooves echoed sharply against the stone road.
Behind him, Cao Cao suddenly burst into laughter.
He laughed so hard he coughed blood.
Wiping it away roughly, he shouted,
"If I am to die, what is there to fear?"
Liu Bei gave no orders regarding the officials.
The soldiers and officers, uncertain what to do, simply continued their tasks. Some entered the city, some set up camp, others resumed patrol.
Before long, the gate returned to its usual bustle.
The rows of jeweled scholars were left standing there, strangely out of place.
Inside the city, Liu Bei rode slowly, taking in the familiar yet unfamiliar sights.
After a while, he spoke to the man riding beside him.
"Shiyuan, about what I did just now…"
Pang Tong did not even let him finish.
"My lord, why regret it?"
"I am not regretting it," Liu Bei said after a moment's thought. "I only worry that an impulsive decision might add unnecessary work for you and Kongming."
Pang Tong blinked once.
Then he waved his feather fan lazily.
"The present military matters," he said, "are, as Kongming would put it, like losing a single hair from nine oxen."
"As for the academy's new curriculum already taking shape, it is bound to clash with the classical scholars sooner or later. That conflict would not change whether or not Your Lordship acted on impulse today."
Liu Bei exhaled in relief.
"That's good," he said. "At least it did not delay tomorrow's discussion of the light curtain."
The city of Xuchang stretched before them, filled with noise, smoke, and movement.
And for the first time in many years, Liu Bei felt that history itself had quietly shifted course.