"The people of later ages," Guan Yu said slowly, "don't seem to think much of tower ships."
He found that hard to accept.
At Red Cliffs, whether it was Cao Cao's fleet or Eastern Wu's, the tower ships had left an overwhelming impression on him. Fortresses that floated on water—entire buildings sailing downstream. Each ship could store months' worth of provisions for a full complement of soldiers, and when moving with the current, even the finest horse on land couldn't keep up.
Privately, Liu Bei's generals had discussed more than once how such ships might be dealt with in battle. No matter how they considered it, there seemed to be no reliable way to defeat tower ships head-on.
Tower ships already left traditional battlefield commanders like Guan Yu and Zhang Fei feeling helpless—yet to these later generations, such colossal weapons earned only two dismissive words:
"Useless."
They weren't even worth discussing further.
"This may not be a bad thing," Zhuge Liang said, considering it from another angle.
"Tower ships are weapons made specifically for river warfare. If later generations look down on them so completely, it means one of two things."
Zhao Yun immediately understood and continued:
"Either they have something far superior to tower ships… or it means that their China has long since been reunified—its rivers and lakes all within one realm."
"In that case," he added softly, "vessels specialized for river combat would be meaningless to them."
The three fell silent.
Their expressions slowly turned wistful.
Rivers and lakes all under Han rule—that was the age of the mighty Han itself.
And from the sound of it… something even better.
From Wen Mang's relaxed tone when discussing history on the light screen, from the casual way he displayed his meals, and from the responses of others like him, it was clear enough:
Life in later ages was… genuinely good.
Zhuge Liang spoke quietly, as if afraid to disturb the thought.
"Five hundred years ago was the Spring and Autumn period.
Sixteen hundred years after that came the Ming.
And six hundred years after that is the era of this junior from the light screen."
He paused.
"In other words, the one speaking to us is from seventeen hundred years in the future."
"From the time the First Emperor of Han slew the White Serpent until now," Zhao Yun murmured, "has only been four hundred years."
Silence fell again.
After a long moment, Zhao Yun spoke hoarsely:
"Seventeen hundred years later… they say they possess 'aircraft carriers.' I truly can't imagine what such a thing could be."
Anyone who had seen tower ships at Red Cliffs knew how massive they were—palace-sized structures moving across the water.
Yet the later generations described their carriers as 'moving territory' and 'the pinnacle of human military power.'
No matter how far the three men pushed their imaginations, they couldn't picture it.
"An aircraft carrier," Zhuge Liang mused, attempting a literal interpretation, "would mean… the 'mother of ships'?"
"That would imply ships could dock upon it," he continued slowly.
"Wouldn't that make it something like the legendary Kunpeng?"
They tried to imagine it.
Some incomprehensible method used by later generations to force an entire piece of land to move across the sea. On that land, people farming crops, raising cattle. And around that land, dozens of sea-going ships—each far larger than a tower ship—moored alongside.
They failed.
Completely.
"But notice this," Guan Yu said, frowning. "The junior said they have also mastered this power."
"Also," Zhao Yun echoed. "Meaning they weren't the first."
"Who, then?" he asked.
"Perhaps Japan," Zhuge Liang replied, waving his feather fan. "Perhaps the lands across the great ocean. Or perhaps—"
He gestured vaguely.
"—west of Kunlun, south beyond Lingnan, east across the Eastern Sea, north beyond the grasslands. Places we have never reached, never known. Powerful states with whom later generations may already have exchanged words… or crossed blades."
He pushed open the window. Moonlight spilled into the room.
"But all of this," Zhuge Liang said quietly, "lies far beyond our present reach."
"Our task now is simpler—and harder."
"To restore the Han. To avoid walking the road that leads from Three Kingdoms to Jin, and from Jin to chaos and barbarian invasion."
"That," he said firmly, "is the most realistic thing we can do for our descendants."
The gathering ended quietly.
What they had heard shook Guan Yu and Zhao Yun deeply—but it was also distant, far removed from their immediate reality.
They understood well enough: just as the Strategist said, restoring the Han was the greatest service they could render to future generations.
Four days later, Liu Bei returned.
The cost was obvious.
The once chubby, fair-skinned Liu Shan had transformed into something resembling a mud-covered monkey—and had clearly lost weight.
It was said that upon returning, A-Dou clung to Zhang Fei's leg and wailed so pitifully that anyone who heard it was moved to tears.
The night's discussion was carefully relayed to Liu Bei by Zhuge Liang. Liu Bei listened, deeply moved.
A few days later, in that same familiar side hall—now noticeably more crowded—six people sat waiting for the light screen.
Among them was an elderly general in plain attire.
His beard and hair were white. His hands were calloused. His eyes sharp—clearly the gaze of a seasoned warrior.
Yet that sharp-eyed veteran now sat stiffly, visibly uneasy.
There was no helping it.
In the room, Huang Zhong ranked first in age—and dead last in accomplishments.
Appointed a mere Zhonglang General under Liu Biao in his forties, he had wasted eighteen years without notable merit. Here, he scarcely dared raise his voice.
Huang Zhong had arrived in Gong'an County only yesterday. Today he was summoned for "important discussions."
And what did he see upon entering?
Guan Yunchang—who slew Hua Xiong with warm wine still in hand, who beheaded Yan Liang amidst ten thousand troops.
Zhang Yide—who roared at Dangyang Bridge and halted Cao's army.
Zhao Zilong—who charged seven times through Changban.
Zhuge Kongming—who burned Cao's forces at Bowang Slope and debated the scholars into forming the Sun–Liu alliance.
What virtue do I possess, Huang Zhong thought, to sit alongside these men?
Liu Bei smiled gently, easing his tension.
"Han-sheng has arrived? A seat has been reserved for you. Simply wait."
Wait?
Wait for what?
Huang Zhong was full of questions, but obediently knelt at his place.
After about one cup of tea, the side hall suddenly flooded with light.
A glowing screen unfurled in midair.
Huang Zhong was stunned.
I thought we were waiting for Cao Cao's envoy… or Sun Quan's.
You were waiting for THIS?!
His mouth fell open.
Zhang Fei waved dismissively.
"What's the big deal, Old General? It's just an auspicious light screen."
"Oh right—do you know why Sun Quan doesn't have what it takes to unify the realm?"
Huang Zhong fell silent.
Silence filled the Gong'an county office.
Zhang Fei kept rambling anyway.
"Hey, don't tell anyone I said this—but Sun Quan's a two-faced rat. Doesn't even have the guts to kill like his brother did. Can't control his subordinates, so they fight each other all day. Real mess!"
Even Zhao Yun—normally meticulous in bearing—watched Huang Zhong with a smile. He found, to his surprise, a strange enjoyment in this.
Fortunately, Liu Bei couldn't stand it anymore.
"Third Brother, enough. Step back and listen to what the light screen has to say."
Then he turned to Huang Zhong.
"Old General, do you happen to know what an aircraft carrier is?"
Huang Zhong: Are you people ever going to stop?
As always, the light screen began with music—then images, then text.
"Deng deng deng! Greetings, esteemed viewers! Today we continue talking about the Three Kingdoms!
After the last video, some viewers felt I leaned too heavily toward Liu Bei, influenced by the classic 'Respect Liu, Belittle Cao' narrative.
But if you actually read the Romance, its 'respect for Liu' mainly manifests as loyalty to the Han—not necessarily in fairness to Cao. In fact, some things are outright reassigned.
For example, Records of the Three Kingdoms, Volume 14, records that Cheng Yu used human flesh as rations for Cao Cao's army:
When the army lacked provisions, Cheng Yu plundered his home county, supplying three days' grain, mixed with dried human meat.
Cheng Yu was ruthless enough to butcher his own townsfolk to feed Cao Cao's troops—most people wouldn't dare do something so monstrous.
The Romance, however, omits this entirely—and instead fabricates the story of Liu An killing his wife to feed Liu Bei.
So yes, the novel 'respects Liu'—but where exactly does it 'smear Cao'? I don't see it."