Xue Rengui didn't sleep very well.
In his dream, one moment he was still at the gates of Pingkang Ward, tangled up in an argument with Su Dingfang. The next moment, the world abruptly flipped—and he found himself standing on an unfamiliar battlefield.
A mass of barbarians surged forward like black floodwater, instantly surrounding him. The one at the front raised a curved blade and shouted at him in a strange tongue:
"Sir—would you care for a glass goblet?"
That was when Xue Rengui jolted awake.
He sat up on the bed, dazed for a moment, then couldn't help but laugh.
"I've never even set foot on a battlefield," he muttered, "and I've never seen a Turk barbarian in my life…"
His second bout of sleep was much steadier.
At dawn, as the final watch of the mao hour echoed through the dim streets, Xue Rengui rose in the half-lit room.
Two treasured bows—one new, one old.
The ceremonial saber left behind by his father.
A silver ring carefully tucked close to his chest.
Two changes of clothes.
And a bundle of Fulu arrows he'd crafted in his spare time.
That was everything he owned.
After quietly closing the door and greeting the inn staff, Xue Rengui stepped out, oriented himself toward the northwest, and set off at a brisk pace. His plan was simple: meet up with General Su first.
Kaiyuan Gate was one of Chang'an's three western gates, positioned slightly to the north.
Xue Rengui remembered Su Dingfang once joking that after passing through Kaiyuan Gate, everything on the left side of the street was "his territory to sweep."
Xue Rengui hadn't believed it. But considering that Su had taken wine back with him the previous night, he couldn't help worrying that the man might oversleep from a hangover and miss the hour.
As it turned out, he'd worried for nothing.
By the time Xue Rengui arrived at Kaiyuan Gate—after asking several passersby for directions—he spotted two figures, one tall and one short, both hopping in place and shouting his name.
If it wasn't Pei Xingjian and Su Dingfang, who else could it be?
Su Dingfang jogged over and, without a word, shoved a small bundle into Xue Rengui's arms.
"You came all the way from the courier lodge. Even if you snacked on the road, you must still be hungry. Eat while it's hot."
Warmth welled up in Xue Rengui's chest. He opened the bundle and saw several flat oil cakes and over a dozen steamed buns. For a moment, he was genuinely troubled.
"How am I supposed to finish all this?"
"If you can't, save it," Pei Xingjian said with a grin. "Once we reach Liangzhou, you'll want to eat this—but won't be able to."
Li Jing hadn't arrived yet. As Xue Rengui ate his buns, he took the chance to look around Kaiyuan Gate, a place he'd never visited before.
That was when he noticed laborers by the roadside, busy with construction. Judging by their movements, they were setting up a stone stele that had been lying flat underground.
The stele's face was turned upward. Xue Rengui was tall; standing on tiptoe, he could barely make out the inscription:
"The Westernmost Road… Nine Thousand Nine Hundred Li?"
Sensing his confusion, Su Dingfang took the initiative to explain.
"His Majesty wrote this personally. It means that Great Tang intends to surpass the Former Han—reopen the Western Regions and bind ten thousand li of territory into one realm."
Just that short sentence was enough to send Xue Rengui's blood surging.
Reopen the Western Regions.
Conquer ten thousand li.
To give one's life for the Emperor—and help complete such a grand design—what greater calling was there?
Pei Xingjian, whose entire body was still shorter than a modao blade, didn't dwell on that kind of ambition. Instead, he focused on something else.
"His Majesty's own calligraphy? This style… it's not like the Two Wangs, and it's not Flying White either. This is…"
Su Dingfang naturally knew the answer.
Yan-style script.
Even someone as utterly clueless about calligraphy as Su Dingfang had felt it instantly when he first saw The Draft of a Requiem for a Nephew—that raw grief and fury embedded in every stroke.
His Majesty had always been skilled in calligraphy and likely practiced in private often. That was probably why he hadn't used Flying White, but this steadier, heavier hand instead.
Thinking this way, Su Dingfang couldn't help but feel a trace of melancholy.
Yan Zhenqing had used his own body as the brush, a century of flourishing peace as ink, and the An Lushan Rebellion as the inkstone—only then did Yan-style script come into being.
And yet now, that same style had appeared at the tail end of the fourth year of Zhenguan.
Would Great Tang… really avoid walking that old road?
The thought didn't linger long.
Li Jing arrived in full armor, mounted on a powerful horse. Behind him followed two columns of soldiers and ten wagons, each tightly covered.
"Move out."
As commander-in-chief, Li Jing's face had shed all warmth. What remained was iron-forged authority.
Xue Rengui was assigned a horse to ride. He was so excited he nearly bounced in the saddle.
Just as he turned to boast to Su Dingfang and Pei Xingjian, he noticed the two of them repeatedly looking back, as though seeing someone off.
Xue Rengui had excellent eyesight. Squinting into the distance, he spotted an elderly woman waving goodbye, dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief. Nearby, several guards were also waving in Su Dingfang's direction.
Thinking of his own solitary state, Xue Rengui suddenly felt hollow inside. Even the bun in his hand lost its flavor.
When he looked back again, the laborers by the roadside had already hoisted the stone stele upright using a tall wooden frame.
"Nine thousand nine hundred li…"
Xue Rengui patted the treasured bow at his side. Heroic fervor surged up, washing away that fleeting melancholy.
He squeezed his legs and urged his horse forward. After one last glance at Chang'an, he rode west after Li Jing without hesitation.
Remembering Su Dingfang's words about surpassing the Former Han, Xue Rengui recalled Liu Bang's old saying—and then thought of the current Emperor's expectations.
He laughed loudly.
"Gaining merit on horseback and seizing glory by the blade—this is what a real man should be!"
Holding Pei Xingjian as they shared a mount, Su Dingfang laughed just as hard and spurred his horse onward.
…
Jian'an, seventeenth year. Early second month. Chengdu.
Liu Bei reined in his horse by the Han River, gazing at the long columns of soldiers marching along the Golden Ox Road in the distance. His mind drifted back to the people who had begged him to stay when he left Chengdu—and to Lady Wu's tearful eyes.
He sighed softly.
"A real man should be like this."
Riding beside him, Kongming smiled when he heard that.
"My lord—is this stirring memories of Emperor Gao of Han?"
Liu Bei nodded, emotion heavy in his voice.
"Emperor Gao took Ba and Hanzhong, restored the Three Qins, and finally trapped his foes at Gaixia, establishing an unparalleled legacy."
"Hanzhong is the birthplace of Han," he continued. "Like returning home. Now that we're close, I find myself hesitant instead."
Kongming understood this feeling well. He nodded, then deliberately steered the conversation elsewhere.
"This Golden Ox Road was widened and reinforced by Yide himself. And now that the soldiers all wear leg bindings, the march is indeed much faster."
That brought a smile to Liu Bei's face.
He remembered it clearly. After taking control of Chengdu's treasury, Kongming had reallocated most supplies, ensuring everything was used to its fullest.
There had been a stockpile of iron. Kongming proposed forging it into tools, having Zhang Fei's troops carry them. While crossing the Golden Ox Road, some soldiers would remain behind to repair the road.
After all, whether Hanzhong fell or not, traffic between Chengdu and Hanzhong would be frequent.
And considering later generations' accounts—that merely marching from Yi Province to Hanzhong once took half a year—Liu Bei had approved the plan without hesitation.
Now, they were reaping the benefits.
"Still," Kongming added, "once we reach Hanzhong, Cao Cao will surely make his move."
Liu Bei fell silent for a moment, then said slowly:
"Cao fears I will seize Hanzhong and revive Han's flame a third time."
"But without the people's hearts, Hanzhong is nothing but a grave. With the people's hearts, even without Hanzhong, what is there to fear?"
Kongming's smile deepened. He waved his feather fan lightly.
"In that case, we should reclaim the Three Qins to bring stability—and heal the rot of Guanzhong."
Liu Bei sighed again, unwilling to dwell on how ruined Guanzhong had become.
From the high ground, he took one last look at the relaxed, chatting soldiers, then tugged his reins.
"Let's go. Hanzhong is still three to five days away."
When it came to appointing a governor to remain in Chengdu, Liu Bei hadn't hesitated long. He chose Zhang Song.
Liu Ba took over Kongming's duties in the workshops and the Lesser Academy, becoming busier than ever.
Zhang Song's brilliance was undeniable. But for governing a region, reliability mattered most.
Unwilling as he was to admit it, Liu Bei knew full well that Zhang Song was essentially an isolated official in Yi Province.
The reason was painfully simple: his appearance.
Under the recommendation system, appearance mattered enormously. Knowledge could be gained through study. Eloquence could be trained. But being short, awkwardly built, and sharp-faced? There was no fixing that.
That was why Zhang Song was so deeply grateful for Liu Bei's trust.
The other problem lay with Zhang Song's elder brother, Zhang Su.
Though born of the same mother, Zhang Su looked entirely different—tall, dignified, with an imposing presence.
During Liu Yan and Liu Zhang's rule over Yi Province, Zhang Su's career had flourished. Zhang Song had benefited from his brother's shadow.
After Liu Bei took over Yi Province, the situation reversed.
Zhang Su might have been handsome and imposing, but his abilities were mediocre—nowhere near Zhang Song's.
The previous year, Liu Bei's southern campaign had been meant both to pacify the region and to intimidate others. Unexpectedly, it shook something loose in Chengdu instead.
According to intelligence obtained after Wu Yi captured the Cuan tribes, major clans from Nanzhong and Ba Commandery had been sending information to Chengdu. From there, officials relayed it to Zhang Yu at the Zhenwei General's residence in Jiangling.
One of the Chengdu officials responsible for that liaison—was Zhang Su, whom Liu Bei had never fully trusted.
What followed was inevitable.
Zhang Su was stripped of office and reduced to a commoner.
When Liu Bei finally left Chengdu, Zhang Song had knelt on Wanli Bridge, tears streaming down his face, swearing to guard Yi Province for Lord Xuande with his life.
Remembering this, Liu Bei sighed deeply.
These Zhang brothers—one had talent but no looks, the other looks but no talent. One betrayed his old lord to welcome a new one. The other betrayed the new lord to return to the old.
Shaking his head, Liu Bei forced these memories aside and made himself focus on Hanzhong.
Otherwise, his thoughts would inevitably drift back to Chengdu—to his family, and to Lady Wu, with whom he had never managed to part properly…
He knocked his head lightly, clearing his mind, then turned to the strategist.
"When does Kongming think Xiahou Yuan in Guanzhong will make his move?"
Kongming answered without hesitation.
"At the latest, mid-second month. At the earliest—any day now."
"If Cao moves, he will first launch a grand, noisy offensive in Guanzhong to draw all eyes."
"Once attention is fixed there, he will strike Jing Province."
Liu Bei nodded, fully agreeing, and smoothly drew the conclusion.
"As long as Yunchang and Yuanzhi hold firm, that alone is victory."
"And here in Guanzhong, we need only defeat Xiahou, take Chang'an. Whether we seize Tong Pass or not, victory will already be assured!"
As Liu Bei and Kongming led the army along the Golden Ox Road, a lookout tower at Wuzhang Plains rang with alarms. A soldier cried out at the top of his lungs:
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"