After hearing about the mineral wealth of Jue Island, Kongming rose to his feet, straightedge in hand.
He laid the ruler across the map, measured the distance between Chang'an and Luoyang, then marked it carefully with charcoal.
Next, he slid the ruler downward.
Measured again.
Compared.
Measured again.
Finally, he let out a soft sigh.
"From Yangzhou to Jue Island," he said, "even at best… a round trip would exceed thirty thousand li."
The implication was clear.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Liu Bei, however, remained characteristically optimistic.
"At present," he said warmly, "we need only deepen our studies in mathematics, attempt new ocean-going vessels, and proceed step by step. If we do so, the initiative in sea power will naturally fall into our hands."
He paused, eyes bright.
"When that day comes, not only Jue Island—our fleets could patrol the Western Seas and spread the Han name far and wide."
After all, the Qing dynasty's defeat—hundreds of thousands routed by barely two dozen galleons—had already proven, beyond doubt, the terrifying strength of naval power.
If they advanced methodically—
Strengthen mathematics within,
Absorb Western learning from without,
Study the heavens above and the seas below,
Build fleets and forge powerful warships—
Then the revival of the Han would be within arm's reach.
The future was no longer vague.
It was clear.
And it was close enough to touch.
Even Pang Tong felt his blood stir.
He immediately recalled Emperor Wu of Han's famous boast and murmured it aloud:
"Reaching heaven and touching earth—wherever human footprints tread, all submit!"
Back then, Minyue had rebelled.
Nanyue, a Han vassal, reported the unrest to Emperor Wu.
The Prince of Huainan cited the classics to argue against war.
The Emperor did not listen.
When news spread that Han armies were marching, Minyue fell into chaos.
Its king was killed by his own men, his head sent to Emperor Wu to appease imperial wrath.
Afterward, Emperor Wu deliberately relayed the incident to the Prince of Huainan—and declared those words as Han's ambition.
Kongming laughed aloud and followed with a line penned by Ban Biao himself:
"The Han wields authority and trust, commands the myriad nations;
Wherever sun and moon shine, all are subjects!"
To Kongming, the Han's desire had always been simple:
My lands—my rules.
For that single, blunt principle, the Han endured four centuries.
Countless loyal men fell one after another, until the Xiongnu were destroyed and the northern frontier secured.
Now—
Though lacking talent—
Kongming was willing to offer his meager strength to carry on the Han legacy.
Open mathematics.
Advance governance.
Unify craftsmanship.
Raise science in name and practice.
To secure the initiative for generations yet unborn.
The atmosphere in the Chengdu prefectural hall grew ever more relaxed.
Zhang Song joked that once Yi Province affairs settled, he had to see Zhuya for himself.
Liu Ba grinned and egged him on.
"If you're already at Zhuya, why not go out to sea? For example—go see how fine the silverware is in Guli Dimen, where Wang Dayuan once traveled?"
Zhang Fei, meanwhile, was still struggling to accept that the English had slaughtered millions of natives.
Pang Tong coldly pointed out that conflicts between barbarian races often ended that way—eradication and replacement.
Then he waved it off.
"But our Huaxia wouldn't act so crudely. Even a thousand years later, there were barely a million people there. At present? Likely only tens of thousands."
"There are plenty of solutions."
"Recognize them as kin."
"Exchange fertile land."
"Send Buddhist monks."
"And so on."
He had no intention of explaining those methods to Zhang Fei.
After all, that future lay far away.
Still, Pang Tong silently resolved one thing:
I absolutely cannot die young.
In the Ganlu Hall, Li Shimin exhaled deeply.
His doubts about the wealth of the seas had been answered.
But that answer only made his longing impossible to suppress.
"A legacy of a thousand autumns," he murmured, "begins with the sea."
His earlier worry—that the empire's vast size might prove unmanageable—eased considerably.
Make the Western Regions Tang's corridor.
Make the South Seas Tang's inner sea.
If that could be achieved—
Who, in all ages, could rival him?
Overcome with emotion, Li Shimin slammed his fist onto the table.
Liu Rengui, already brimming with anticipation, nearly jumped.
"Your Majesty?"
Li Shimin waved him off, slightly embarrassed, then looked at him with expectation.
"Zhengze—your fame in naval warfare… did some extraordinary master teach you the art of sea battles in your youth?"
Liu Rengui shook his head honestly.
"Your Majesty, I am from Bianzhou. I learned basic swimming when young, but I know neither river warfare nor—let alone—naval combat."
Li Shimin's disappointment flickered briefly.
Liu Rengui was already a pleasant surprise, but such a grand maritime vision demanded more than one man.
He had asked casually, hoping to uncover hidden talent.
It seemed he had expected too much.
Li Shimin chuckled at himself.
Seeing the vast learning of later generations made one thing clear—there were no shortcuts.
Scholarship required sustained effort.
Scanning the hall, Li Shimin mentally noted Li Shiji, Liu Rengui, Fang Xuanling, Yan Lide, and others.
The requirements were obvious:
Naval soldiers.
Mathematical study.
Shipbuilding reform.
Miss any one, and the plan collapsed.
And if they were to go to sea, ships were paramount.
Leaving shipbuilding solely to the Directorate of Works would not suffice.
A Maritime Command?
No—better to consult further.
As he pondered, Li Shimin noticed Liu Rengui still watching him, clearly puzzled.
He brushed aside his thoughts and asked kindly:
"Then do you understand mathematics?"
Liu Rengui scratched his head.
"Not very well."
Li Shimin nodded.
"Then enter the Imperial Academy and study mathematics first."
Liu Rengui accepted without hesitation.
[Light Screen]
[After Britain defeated the Qing in the Opium War, Li Hongzhang made a judgment:
"This is a change unseen in three thousand years."
The judgment was correct—
But far too late.
In truth, the change began much earlier.
Modern theories of sea power often say:
"Whoever controls the seas controls everything."
Lose the seas—
Lose everything.
East Asia's maritime gateway is well known: the Strait of Malacca.
And the turning point?
The Ming dynasty.
During the Song, Srivijaya controlled Malacca, maintained tribute ties, and possessed a respectable navy.
Later, as the Song faltered, Srivijaya fell to the Malays.
By Zheng He's time, Malacca—Manlajia—stood there.
The Ming protected Malacca diplomatically and militarily.
From Yongle onward, Malacca sent tribute thirty-two times in a century—five led personally by its king or queen.
But such closeness depended on mutual need.
When Ming voyages ceased, influence faded.
In 1511, seven hundred Portuguese soldiers, sixteen warships, and local mercenaries captured Malacca.
Malacca's royalty believed salvation assured:
Great Ming stands behind us.
Their plea reached Emperor Zhengde eight years later.
By then, the Portuguese had already reached Beijing—silver opened doors faster than ships.
Bought eunuchs sang their praises.
Zhengde even played chess with Portuguese envoys.
Malacca's emissaries died in Beijing without help.
Ming's only response came later: expelling the Portuguese envoys—no troops sent.
From that moment, Europe forced open East Asia's maritime gate.
Portugal used galleons.
Three centuries later, Britain used larger galleons to defeat the Qing.
From Malacca's fall onward, China's loss of sea power was inevitable.
The rest was timing.
Fortunately, today—
China has reclaimed that lost sea power with its own hands.
From nothing to fleets.
From coastal defense to distant escort missions.
From Liaoning and Shandong to Fujian.
A three-carrier era approaches.
A millennium of maritime change.
A century of resistance.
The age of a powerful Chinese navy is coming.]
Kongming had always felt later generations viewed history from a fresh angle.
Dead text became vivid insight.
They did not wallow in grievance.
They fought.
They endured.
They worked.
Zhang Fei roared:
"Good men!"
Then shook his head.
That pride—it was familiar.
Like himself and Second Brother in their youth.
He recalled a line at once:
"As Heaven moves unceasingly, so must the noble man strive without rest."
"Good men indeed!"
Kongming smiled quietly.
The screen had not ended.
Black-and-white images shook violently.
A voice intoned:
"World tides surge—those who follow prosper; those who resist perish."
Then stronger:
"To contest Pacific sea power is to contest China's doorway."
Then aged, weary:
"If China's navy does not exceed one hundred ships, then in the face of insult—China is endangered."
A cannon thundered.
A yellowed map showed Japan reaching for China—
A fist smashed it apart.
A brush dipped in ink wrote:
We must build a navy to defend our seas.
Small ships appeared.
A female voice declared sovereignty.
Then—
Color.
An armada filled the sea.
Kongming recognized it instantly.
Aircraft carriers.
Three hundred paces long.
A hundred wide.
Moving territory.
He whispered:
"Later Han descendant… resilient, brilliant… and burdened."
From nothing to everything.
Pang Tong sighed:
"Han descendant… have grown up."
Li Shimin stood silent.
"World tides… surge."
"We Tang must ride the current."
And break it.