General Wu Yi wrote the victory report with his own hands. The ink was barely dry before he folded the parchment and tucked it securely against the chest of his most trusted messenger.
There was a second item: a small pouch made of fine brocade. Wu Yi packed it with the utmost care, tying it onto the messenger's back and securing the straps with a complicated knot that would take minutes to unravel in an emergency.
Wu Yi placed a hand on the messenger's shoulder.
"Ride north. Do not stop unless you absolutely must. Deliver the victory report directly to Governor Zhang Song in Chengdu."
The messenger bowed deeply.
"Yes, General."
Wu Yi gave the pouch one final glance.
"And this. Do not open it. Do not lose it. You place it in his hands and you wait until he opens it. If anyone tries to take it from you on the road, you cut them down. Do you understand?"
"Understood."
"Good." Wu Yi clapped him once on the shoulder. "Then go."
The messenger mounted a sturdy Shu horse, a breed native to the region. Short-statured, stubby-legged, and built for endurance rather than speed, it would never win a sprint across a flat plain. But those sturdy limbs were perfect for navigating the treacherous mountain paths of the southern jungle.
A dozen elite cavalrymen fell in around him, forming a tight escort. These were Wu Yi's personal guards. They had followed their general deep into the southern territories under the banner of Lord Liu Bei. They had witnessed the entire campaign from start to finish, from the chaotic nightmare of hostile tribes and warring warlords to the quiet aftermath that followed. Now, the entire southern region finally answered to Chengdu.
They spurred their ponies forward, hooves pounding a steady rhythm across the dirt trails of Nanzhong.
The return journey felt completely different from the initial invasion.
The riders let their horses run free. They did not need to constantly scan the tree lines for ambushes or worry about poisoned arrows flying from the thick foliage. The local tribes and powerful indigenous families had been thoroughly pacified. This single fact made the ride incredibly relaxing.
General Wu Yi had fulfilled the heavy responsibility entrusted to him by Lord Liu Bei. He had conquered the south. Yet the general checked the knot on that brocade pouch three times before letting the messenger ride, and he watched from the gate until the jungle swallowed them.
The guards were naturally curious. Any sane man would wonder what was inside that bag.
However, they were veteran soldiers. They understood their place in the world. The contents of the pouch were far above their pay grade. Their only job was to follow the general's final order: deliver the sealed bag directly into the hands of Governor Zhang Song in Chengdu. Nothing else mattered.
The Shu horses lacked height, but they possessed terrifying stamina.
The cavalrymen rode hard for over 10 days. They barely stopped to sleep. They crossed the lands of Zhuti. They pushed through Nanguang. Finally, the dense canopy of the jungle began to thin. The air grew less humid.
They crossed the border out of Nanzhong and arrived in Bodao County. Here, they could finally stop and rest their aching bones.
Bodao served a dual purpose. It was the final outpost before entering the wild south and the first taste of civilization for anyone leaving the mountains.
The men stood on the edge of the county borders, looking north. They could not see the sprawling metropolis of Chengdu from this distance, but they could see the rolling waters of the great river.
And they saw the fields.
The fertile land on the eastern banks of the river had been completely transformed. It looked like a green ocean stretching to the horizon. Enormous stalks of sugarcane grew in dense clusters, taller than a man, swaying gently in the breeze.
One of the cavalrymen stared at the green stalks. He remembered the intense, addictive sweetness of raw sugar. He subconsciously licked his dry lips.
"Hey, brother, tell me I am not seeing things. Did those sugarcane fields double in size since we left?" the guard muttered.
A local soldier from the Bodao garrison stood nearby, acting as their temporary guide. He heard the comment and laughed.
"Hahaha, your eyes are fine, brother. Maybe even sharper than most, after staring at nothing but jungle trees for a year. The Governor of Jiangyang issued a strict mandate last year. He ordered the citizens to reclaim all the abandoned wastelands along the river and plant sugarcane. It was a huge push to create a new economic foundation for the region."
"Ahh, you jerk."
The cavalrymen fell silent, processing this information with deep curiosity.
The guard who had spoken earlier nudged his horse closer to the local soldier.
"I remember Bodao being a pretty quiet place. You barely have any people here. How in the world did you find the manpower to clear and plant all these fields? Farming sugarcane is brutal work. Did no one try to dodge the labor draft?"
The local soldier threw his head back and laughed again.
"You must be joking. You think farming sugarcane is hard? Starving to death is much harder."
The cavalryman felt a sudden flush of heat in his cheeks. He realized his perspective was warped. General Wu Yi belonged to one of the wealthiest aristocratic families in Chengdu. As his personal guards, these men ate prime meat and drank good wine. They had forgotten what real hunger felt like.
The local soldier continued.
"Besides, the work is hard, but we don't do all of it ourselves. Look south. What do you see?"
"A huge population of tribal natives," the cavalryman said. His brow furrowed. "Capturing slaves is strictly forbidden. Lord Liu Bei made that a capital offense."
The garrison soldier waved his hands frantically, killing the rumor immediately.
"Who said anything about slaves? Watch your words, brother. The people of Bodao are making good money selling sugarcane. Meanwhile, those southern tribes just got beaten into submission by Lord Liu Bei. They are officially citizens of the Han Dynasty now. And just like any other citizen, they need money to survive."
He pointed toward the distant fields.
"So they cross the border. They come to our farms. They work the sugarcane fields, and we pay them a fair wage. What is wrong with that?"
The cavalryman nodded slowly. He understood the logic.
He had just spent a year marching through Nanzhong. He had seen the reality of the southern tribes with his own eyes. The land possessed incredible natural wealth: gold mines, silver, gorgeous lacquerware, and exotic jade. But all that luxury belonged exclusively to the chieftains and ruling elites. The common indigenous people lived in squalor, worse off than the beggars sleeping in the alleys of Chengdu.
The southern region lacked fertile farmland. The commoners relied entirely on their chieftains for survival. Their manufacturing skills were primitive; their pottery was fragile, and iron tools were virtually nonexistent. The only thing they produced of decent quality was a rough, durable cloth.
Paying the natives to farm sugarcane was a brilliant move. It gave them hard currency. With coins, they could buy iron tools, proper clothing, and food. It offered the southern people a legitimate path to stability.
The cavalrymen rested in Bodao for a single night.
They woke early, mounted their ponies, and resumed their journey north. The guards kept a close eye on the riverbanks. The garrison soldier had told the truth. The fields were packed with laborers. Tribal natives worked side by side with Han farmers, packing soil around roots, digging irrigation trenches, and stripping dead leaves from the towering stalks.
The horses galloped north at a steady pace. They passed through Wuyang County.
Finally, the enormous, imposing walls of Chengdu appeared on the horizon.
The riders made a deliberate detour, circling toward the eastern gate to cross the famous Wanli Bridge. As their horses stepped onto the stone bridge, a profound sense of peace washed over the men.
They were home.
Chengdu was a sensory explosion. The riverbanks were lined with towering workshops producing the famous Shu brocade. The rhythmic clacking of looms filled the air. Farther south, thick plumes of smoke rose from sugar-refining factories, their furnaces burning day and night without pause.
They rode past a paper-manufacturing district where artisans yelled at each other about dye ratios. Small, flat-bottomed boats clogged the river, transporting piles of black coal to feed the endless fires of industry.
The noise, the smoke, and the chaotic energy felt incredibly comforting. After a year in the still, deadly jungles, this was exactly what they needed.
One of the cavalrymen suddenly pointed toward a passing crowd.
"Hey! Look over there! That is the second son of the Li family!"
The riders exchanged brief greetings with the familiar face. As they pushed toward the central government offices, the guard leaned over his saddle to gossip.
"That Li family boy is lucky. I heard he married a wealthy young widow from Fan County. Set for life. Never has to work another day."
A second guard chimed in. "I know his family. They followed Lord Liu Bei out of Moling a few years ago. Survived the great southern migration. His father actually has a decent relationship with General Wu Yi."
A third guard nodded. "Yeah, the Li family fled Yanzhou during the early wars. Headed south to escape the slaughter. Fellow townsmen with the general."
The first guard frowned. "Wait. Since when does a family with those connections get famous just for marrying a rich widow?"
The second guard smirked. "That is not why they are famous, you idiot. You have been in the jungle too long, I swear. You need a vacation, brother. A real one. With wine and women and absolutely zero trees. The Li family has a young daughter. She is supposed to be a total genius. I heard Strategist Zhuge Liang personally praised her talents."
The third guard's eyes went wide. A predatory grin spread across his face. "What the... stop with the jungle, brother. Do you think I actually enjoy staring at trees every single day? My eyes are going to start growing bark. But hold on. Are you serious? A genius? Praised by the Strategist himself? Tell me, brother, is she engaged yet?"
"Shut your mouth!"
The captain snapped his head around and glared at the third guard like he was personally offended by the stupidity of the question.
"You are riding into Chengdu with a sealed military report on your chest and your first thought is whether some scholar's daughter is available? Do you want to deliver the general's pouch to Governor Zhang Song, or do you want to deliver yourself straight to a disciplinary hearing?"
The third guard shrank in his saddle. The second guard bit his lip to keep from laughing. The first guard suddenly found the horizon extremely interesting.
The captain pointed a leather-gloved finger toward a huge wooden gate ahead of them.
They had reached the central administrative compound.
The moment the captain's hand touched the gate, every trace of the tavern banter vanished. The men straightened in their saddles, tightened the straps on their armor, and wiped the grins off their faces. Professional soldiers again, down to the last man.
The gate guards looked them over once, and the captain produced his wooden tally. One of the gate guards took it, studied the grain, and waved them through.
Inside, the compound was a maze of corridors and offices. Clerks hurried past with armloads of scrolls. A messenger sprinted by carrying a clay tube sealed with red wax. Nobody paid the cavalrymen any attention. Everyone in Chengdu had somewhere to be.
Their escort led them to a wide office near the inner courtyard. The doors were open. Governor Zhang Song sat behind a desk buried under stacks of bamboo slips and paper. He did not look up when they entered.
The captain stepped forward. He planted his feet, bowed at the waist, and spoke in a voice stripped of all familiarity.
"Governor Zhang. Urgent dispatch from General Wu Yi, direct from Nanzhong. The victory report and one sealed pouch."
Zhang Song finally raised his head.
"Show me."
The captain reached into his own collar and produced the folded parchment. He placed it on the desk with both hands, then carefully unwound the straps of the brocade pouch from his chest. He set the pouch down beside the report, stepped back, and bowed again.
Zhang Song unfolded the parchment first. His eyes moved quickly across the characters. A short exhale escaped his nose, the closest thing to a smile the cavalrymen had ever seen from the man.
He set the report aside.
Then he picked up the pouch.
For a long moment, he simply held it. He turned it over in his hands, weighed it, and ran his thumb along the brocade stitching. The clerks in the room kept their heads down. Even the cavalrymen found themselves holding their breath.
Zhang Song untied the knot with two quick movements. He reached inside.
He pulled out a small clump of the white, fluffy substance and rolled it between his fingers. His brows rose. A quiet sound escaped him, half surprise and half satisfaction.
"So this is what the general bled the south for."
He looked up at the captain.
"Did General Wu Yi say anything else?"
The captain shook his head.
"He only said the pouch was to be placed in your hands directly. He said to wait until you opened it, and to guard it with our lives on the road."
Zhang Song studied him for a beat.
"Good."
He nodded once.
"You have done your duty. Go and get some rest."
That was the dismissal. The captain bowed deeply, and the other cavalrymen followed.
They backed out of the office in formation, walked the length of the corridor without a word, cleared the inner gate, and only when they were far enough from the compound that no officer could possibly hear them did anyone dare to speak.
"We made it," one of them muttered.
"We made it," the captain agreed.
"Tavern," said the third guard. "Right now. I am not discussing anything else until I have a cup in my hand."
The first guard laughed. "Captain, we are drinking until dawn. I have not slept properly in ten days, so tonight I am making it eleven."
The captain looked at them all, and the corner of his mouth pulled into something close to a grin.
"Fine. Tonight I am paying. But nobody leaves until dawn, and if any of you falls asleep in your cup, I am leaving you there."
The cavalrymen practically ran out of the compound.
Zhang Song sat alone at his desk again.
The victory report was simple. Standard bureaucratic channels. He would have a clerk write an official notice, paste it on the city walls, hire town criers, and send a copy on a fast horse to Chang'an. Lord Liu Bei needed to hear about the conquest of Nanzhong immediately.
But the pouch was a different matter.
He rolled the white substance between his fingers once more, studying the texture. The strategists had talked about this plant for years. A material that could revolutionize military winter gear. A crop that could save thousands of peasants from freezing to death in the northern snows.
So this is the legendary cotton.
Processing the treasure was straightforward. Strategist Zhuge Liang had planned for every variable. Before departing Chengdu for the northern front, he had left highly specific instructions.
Zhuge Liang had spent a fortune opening southwestern trade routes, paying exorbitant sums to foreign merchants for seeds, planting manuals, and agricultural texts. He had also drafted a flawless distribution plan.
Zhang Song recalled the exact wording of the mandate.
The total volume of seeds would be split into 3 equal parts. One portion north to Chang'an. One portion east to the military hub of Jiangling. The final portion would remain in Chengdu for experimental planting.
Zhuge Liang had even selected the man responsible for the Chengdu trials.
Zhang Song looked up at a clerk waiting nervously by the door.
"Go and fetch Lord Liu Ba."
Liu Ba was the man Zhuge Liang had chosen. Zhang Song had zero objections to this selection.
Currently, Zhang Song was drowning in paperwork. He managed the civilian administration of Yizhou, ran the newly established Small Academy, studied advanced mathematics alongside Liu Ba, and maintained constant correspondence with Zhuge Liang.
Liu Ba was no better off. He managed official markets, oversaw industrial workshops, and substituted for Zhuge Liang at the academy.
Both men were stretched to their absolute limits.
Now, it seemed the incredibly overworked Liu Ba was about to receive another province-altering project.
Zhang Song set the cotton down carefully on the desk. He picked up his brush. Then he paused, and a dry, raspy chuckle escaped him.
I am sure he will have absolutely zero complaints about this new assignment.
---
In another timeline, hundreds of miles away, a different era was unfolding in the imperial capital of Chang'an.
Emperor Li Shimin sat in his private study, rubbing his temples. A vicious headache pulsed behind his eyes.
He let out a heavy sigh, realizing a depressing truth. The concept of a 10-day vacation cycle sounded wonderful in theory. In practice, it meant nothing for a sitting emperor.
His schedule for the third day of the first lunar month was booked solid. A nightmare of diplomatic theater and family obligations.
First, he spent the morning watching the magical Light Screen. Educational, yes, but it demanded intense mental focus.
Next, he summoned Ma Zhou for a long, exhausting debate on state policy and administrative reforms.
Then came dinner. He called General Hou Junji to the palace for a private meal. This was not a friendly gathering. It was a calculated psychological operation. Li Shimin played a dangerous game of tug-of-war, praising the general's brilliance while subtly warning him about his growing arrogance. Pull the leash tight, then let it go slack. Exhausting work.
After dealing with the arrogant general, his night was still not over. He visited the Empress, giving Guanyinbi a detailed summary of the day's maneuvers. Finally, he spent hours with his sons and daughters. Whatever else the day demanded of him, he was determined to be a real father to them.
He survived the day. He woke the next morning expecting a slight reprieve.
He was waiting for Yan Lide, the royal architect, to present a working model of a new water pump for the palace gardens. Li Shimin was genuinely looking forward to examining simple mechanics instead of dealing with treacherous politicians.
He did not get the water pump.
Instead, a message arrived at his desk.
It was not delivered by a low-level eunuch. It was brought personally by Chancellor Du Ruhui. The man walked into the study with a grave expression.
The message was short. A handful of words at most. Li Shimin stared at it for a long moment before he spoke again.
"An envoy has arrived from Japan. They wish to pay their respects to the Emperor of Chang'an."
Japan had arrived. Japan was knocking on his door.