Does the Luan Prepare to Take Flight?

Unlike the tumultuous fourteenth year of Jian'an, the fifteenth slipped by in quiet, without any great disturbance.

After the mighty clash at Red Cliffs, where the fate of the realm itself had been staked, the fighting had not ended. Battle after battle had followed across Jing Province, and then the First Battle of Hefei, where Sun Quan and Zhang Liao met in arms for the first time.

It was not only the common people who were worn thin by war without end. The lords of each power—Liu Bei, Cao Cao, and Sun Quan—needed a season of rest and recovery just as sorely.

And so the fifteenth year of Jian'an became, by unspoken accord, a year in which each faction set its own house in order and no one reached for a quarrel.

The brief peace lasted only that long.

Cao Cao, drawing on his vast territory and population, succeeded in swiftly repairing the damage Red Cliffs had dealt him, and the moment he marched to subdue Zhang Lu, that fleeting quiet came to an end.

His campaign against Zhang Lu set off a chain of consequences. Ma Chao and Han Sui of Xiliang, mistaking the object of Cao Cao's advance for themselves, raised their banners in revolt, while Liu Zhang of Yi Province, dreading Cao Cao's army, heeded Zhang Song and called Liu Bei in.

There was an irony in it. Liu Bei, who had blocked Sun Quan's drive into Western Shu, now led his own host into the lands of Yi.

His present entry into Shu was, strictly speaking, at the request of Liu Zhang, Yi Province's rightful master. Even so, could there truly be no hunger in Liu Bei's heart to take Yi for himself?

Liu Bei cleaved to benevolence and righteousness, and unlike the other warlords he did, in practice, show real care for the people. Yet he too was a contending hero making his way through an age of chaos.

Above all there was the grand design Zhuge Liang had laid before him at Longzhong.

Its core was this: once Jing and Yi were in hand, strike from both at once, seize Chang'an and Luoyang—the old capitals of Han—in a single blow, and bring Cao Cao's power down.

A threefold division of the realm, and after it a twin advance out of Jing and Yi. That was Zhuge Liang's Longzhong Plan.

They had won an unbelievable victory at Red Cliffs, caught the turning tide, and gained southern Jing, and still the gap between them and Cao Cao was enough to invite despair. Not a single failure could be borne. Liu Bei was still walking a tightrope over fate.

That was precisely why he had fought tooth and nail to stop Sun Quan the moment the conquest of Yi was proposed. Without all of Jing in his grasp, if he failed to take Yi for himself alone, the great design would die before it was ever attempted.

And on the eve of an entry into Shu upon which destiny hung, what was I doing?

"The spearpoint wavered! You must not let your focus slip!"

I was training with Zhang Fei.

"Haa..."

"Sister! Here, water."

The moment I finished, my little sister—who had been waiting at my side for nothing but the end—came trotting over and held out a cup. However long she had been clutching it, the cup I took was warm with her body heat.

"Thanks. I'll drink it."

"Mm! But, Sister, are you going again?"

"Huh?"

"Sister Chokbaek said. She said you're going off to war again. You're not going, right?"

Those moist eyes looked one breath away from spilling great round tears, and they held me in them. I wiped the tear gathered at the corner of my worried sister's eye and gave her cheek a light pinch.

"I'm not going. I'll stay right here with Father. Were you scared I might leave?"

"Uh-huh. Don't pinch."

When I let go, Yeoni cupped her plump cheeks in both hands, as if to defend them from my wicked clutches.

What I had just told her was no lie spun to soothe a child. I really was remaining in Jing Province.

To guard against whatever interference Sun Quan might attempt, Liu Bei had left his most essential people behind in Jing. When Sun Quan had earlier declared his intent to conquer Shu, Liu Bei had redeployed his forces and opposed him to the death, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and that stance had held ever since.

Our family was therefore staying in Zigui County, west of Jiangling. Zigui was a place from which one could keep watch on Shu. I suspected Liu Bei was already laying his plans, from this very moment, to summon Zhang Fei once he moved in earnest to take Yi Province.

None of that was what mattered. What mattered was that I had not been allowed to join this entry into Shu.

I had not simply sat still. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had let Father know, little by little, that I wanted to campaign with the army again, and I had made it perfectly plain that I meant to go into Shu with them.

But I was not the emperor. Wanting to go was hardly going to win me a yes. I was refused, of course.

I was only eleven. After the affair with Lady Sun I had exchanged words with men of reputation, but for all that I was still nothing more than a child. With even Father remaining in Jing, there was not the slightest crack I could wedge myself into.

I had smiled for my sister and said I wasn't going. Inside, I was on edge.

I had to follow them into Shu, somehow. That thought filled me.

That this entry was the first step of the grand design was not Zhuge Liang's conviction alone. It was mine as well.

If his scheme for unifying the realm, the Longzhong Plan, was to obtain the two provinces of Jing and Yi, then the scheme I had devised lay in saving two men.

Pang Tong, and Guan Yu.

Keep those two alive, and the future of Ji Han would be transformed beyond recognition. Save Pang Tong, and some of the crushing burden of work would lift from Zhuge Liang, lengthening his life. Save Guan Yu, and I could stop the tragedy that would run from him through Zhang Fei to Liu Bei—the end of the Peach Garden oath—and the Battle of Yiling, in which the great pillar of Ji Han was brought down.

The worth hanging on their lives was so immense that merely saving the two of them might achieve the unification of the realm with no further intervention from me at all.

But if I can't even get into Shu, how am I supposed to save Pang Tong?

I had no tie to him. When I tried to seek him out, I had not even known where he was posted. I managed to learn it later, but the place was so far that I simply could not go.

I had thought of exchanging letters at least, and that was not so easy as it sounded. There was not a single link between us to begin with, and not long after I finally pinned down where he was, Liu Bei recognized his ability and made him Deputy Military Advisor. I missed my chance.

After that Pang Tong was buried in his duties and in working out the entry into Shu and the grand strategy to follow, and there was no getting near him. I put it off day after day, and then the hour to enter Shu arrived.

Stay as I was, and I might truly lose him with my eyes wide open. Even if I told Liu Bei or Pang Tong about the Fallen Phoenix Slope, would they listen?

This was an age when superstition ran wild and divination was taken for fact, and still the odds that they would follow my counsel were absurdly small.

I have to go myself. The Fallen Phoenix Slope I know is from the Romance. In truth I have no idea when he dies, or how. If I am not beside him, Pang Tong dies.

I was sorry toward Yeoni, but no matter how I turned it over, entering Shu was essential.

How to join the march even now, even late—that question kept running through me while I played with Yeoni, and it was still running when I lay down to sleep. Whenever I found a moment I raised the matter with Father, and the harvest was nothing.

Time passed that way, and just as my thoughts were tilting toward simply running off and following in secret, a single letter was delivered to me.

It was from Pan Jun.

I opened it at once. The contents were not much different from what we had been sending back and forth. As always, it began with a brief inquiry after my health, then answered what I had written and offered advice drawn from his own experience.

But my eyes would not leave one passage.

Something itched at the back of my mind. A memory scraped at me, almost surfacing, not quite.

Is there something I've forgotten?

I read Pan Jun's letter through once more from the first word to the last, turning over every line. And when I came again to that phrase, it struck me all at once, as if lightning had driven down into my skull. The great event of this very season.

Winning Pan Jun over was truly the best thing I did last year!

The affair of Lady Sun's return to her homeland. In other words, the abduction of Liu Shan.

Pan Jun was at the administrative office again today, working through official business without fail. More than a year of labor, setting right a system thrown into disorder as it passed from Liu Biao to Cao Cao and then to Liu Bei, had at last bought him a little ease even in the midst of his duties.

He quietly set down his brush, cleared his throat for no particular reason, and glanced about. Liu Bei had taken Jian Yong and the other attendants with him into Shu, and what staff remained all looked busy at their own tasks.

Pan Jun coughed once more, needlessly, and drew out what he had brought from home that morning. Bamboo slips. He undid the cord that bound them and opened the inner face, and when he read the words on the first strip a smile caught at the corner ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of his mouth.

He was wearing that pleased smile, about to read on, when a voice came from beside him.

"I say, Chengming. What has you reading so happily?"

"A-Attendant Sun."

Sun Qian. Courtesy name Gongyou. Later ages would lump him in with the so-called Jian, Sun, and Mi and make him a butt of mockery, but in truth he was a meritorious official of the founding, the man who had taken charge of diplomacy for Liu Bei's faction and rendered distinguished service.

He held the same office of attendant, yes, but he stood far above Pan Jun. Caught idling by a superior, Pan Jun flustered and covered the slips.

"Hm? Will you look at this. Even our Pan Chengming, startled so? That isn't official business, then."

True to a diplomat, Sun Qian was long practiced at reading another man's mind. Before him—the master of diplomacy who had persuaded Yuan Shao himself, that monster of politics, the ambitious overlord who had once come closer than anyone to unifying the realm—the contents of Pan Jun's heart were taken apart in an instant.

"It's that young lady, isn't it. General Zhang's daughter."

"That is..."

"It isn't?"

"...Yes. It is."

"Why hide it so? It isn't as though you're carrying on a love affair. Or don't tell me you actually—"

"Th-that is truly not it!"

Sun Qian relaxed the eyes he had narrowed to slits, leaned back, and said, "If it isn't, then it isn't. Why shout? You only make yourself more suspicious. Come, let's have a look together. You opened it in the office where we conduct official business, so don't tell me it's a private matter."

Pan Jun meant to object, and his mouth only worked without producing words. He was a man of deep learning and real administrative skill, but so was Sun Qian. If Pan Jun was a disciple of the great scholar Song Zhong, Sun Qian had his own past: he had entered office on the recommendation of the great scholar Zheng Xuan.

In plain clerical work, or in a discussion of pure scholarship, he might have held his own. In an argument he had no confidence of beating a diplomat. He was badly outmatched in rank and in justification besides.

With no choice left, he agreed to read Zhang Lan's letter together with Sun Qian. Tucking away a private resolve to apologize for this later without fail, he opened the letter again.

At first they read the letter of the daughter Zhang Fei cherished so dearly in a teasing mood. The further they went, the graver their faces became. And when they had read it to the end, Sun Qian felt a diplomat's instinct stir.

"Good heavens..."

This letter, beyond any doubt—

—was the truth.