Reborn Liu Bei: I'll lead this Three Kingdoms to victory!

On the fifth day of the fourth month of the seventh year of Jian'an, in Xuchang.

Zhao Yan hasn't left his house for five days. It's not that he doesn't want to go out, it's that he's afraid to.

People from the school administration started loitering around the south of the city, coming three times a day, asking all sorts of questions. The teahouse owner was summoned for questioning, and the old man selling steamed buns next door was also interrogated. He didn't know if they mentioned him. All he knew was that going out now would be suicide.

He lay on the couch, staring at the roof, counting the grain of the wood on the beams one by one.

Seven. Each has twelve lines. Count them all, then start counting again from the beginning. Footsteps sound outside the door. Very light, but very steady, unlike a neighbor's or a street vendor's.

Zhao Yan reached under the pillow.

There was a short knife hidden there, which he had brought back from Xiapi. A knock on the door. Three short knocks, two long knocks, three short knocks.

Zhao Yan's heart skipped a beat.

He got up, walked to the door, and looked out through the crack in the door.

A young man, in his early twenties, stood outside the door, dressed in ordinary cloth clothes, carrying a cargo box in his hand.

Zhao Yan opened the door.

The young man slipped in and closed the door behind him. "Mr. Zhao."

Zhao Yan looked at him. "Who are you?"

"I'm from the north," the young man said. "I've only been here three days. My name is Zhou Yuan."

Zhao Yan sized up the man. Too young. His youth made him somewhat worried. "What are you doing here?"

Zhou Yuan took a small cloth bag from his pocket and handed it to him. Zhao Yan took it and opened it.

Inside was a stack of paper strips, each one rolled up very thinly, thinner than a little finger.

"What is this?"

"In these five days, here's what's been happening in the city," Zhou Yuan said. "It's what Sun Fu recorded, what Wang Pu relayed, and what the new recruits found out."

Zhao Yan looked at the stack of slips of paper. Five days.

For five days, he didn't leave his house, didn't make any contact, and received no messages. He thought he had lost contact. But he hadn't.

"How did you bring it in?"

Zhou Yuan pointed to the back window. "Climb over the wall."

Zhao Yan remained silent. He then used a VPN.

A servant from the Imperial Academy, in broad daylight, scaled the wall into a courtyard that was being watched by the Academy's administration office.

"Aren't you afraid of getting arrested?"

Zhou Yuan looked at him.

"I'm afraid," he said, "but the north sent me. So I came."

Zhao Yan didn't ask any more questions. He sat down at the table and began to look at the slips of paper one by one.

Wang Pu's report: The school administration is still monitoring the situation, but they've relaxed their efforts. They come every three days, no longer every day.

Sun Fu's: There are a few unfamiliar faces in the east of the city, like they're here to scout things out. I wonder who they're after.

Sima Lang wrote: "All is well at home." His father asked when his second brother would return. He did not answer.

There was also a note, but it was unsigned.

The message contained only one sentence: "Someone is investigating thirty-seven people. Be careful."

Zhao Yan stopped. Someone was investigating thirty-seven people. Who? The School Affairs Office? Or someone else?

He looked up at Zhou Yuan. "Who delivered this note?"

Zhou Yuan shook his head. "I don't know. It was under Sun Fu's counter. He only saw it when he opened the door this morning."

Zhao Yan remained silent. He read the note again. The handwriting was unfamiliar; he didn't recognize it. But the strokes were steady; it was written by a scholar. A scholar. In Xuchang, there were tens of thousands of scholars.

Few scholars knew of the thirty-seven individuals.

"Mr. Zhao?" Zhou Yuan's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Zhao Yan raised his head.

"Go back and tell Sun Fu," he said, "that from today onwards, no one is allowed to make contact without my permission. No one."

Zhou Yuan nodded.

"Also," Zhao Yan paused, "tell Wang Pu that his side is the most dangerous. If there's any disturbance, don't worry about anything, just run."

Zhou Yuan looked at him. "Run? Where do you think you're going?"

Zhao Yan was silent for a moment. "Run north."

At 5 PM, at a general store in the east of the city.

Sun Fu stood behind the counter, holding the scissors in his hand, slowly sharpening them. He had been sharpening them for three days.

The blade was gleaming, almost worn smooth with further sharpening. But he continued sharpening. Because when sharpening a knife, he didn't have to think about anything else. The curtain was lifted, and someone entered.

Zhou Yuan.

Sun Fu looked up, glanced at him, then lowered his head and continued sharpening the knife.

Zhou Yuan walked to the counter, picked up a bag of salt, looked at it, and put it down. Then he picked up a bag of sugar, looked at it, and put it down.

"Shopkeeper, how much is this salt?"

Sun Fu gave the price. Zhou Yuan paid, picked up the salt bag, and left. The entire process was conducted without a single unnecessary word.

But just as Sun Fu took the money, a slip of paper slipped into his palm.

He didn't look at it. He stuffed the note into his sleeve and continued sharpening his knife. Only after dark, after closing the door, did he unfold the note under the oil lamp.

The note contained only a few words: "No one is allowed to make contact. If Wang Pu makes any move, run."

Sun Fu stared at those words, remaining silent for a long time. Run. Run north. He thought of Liaodong.

He thought of the snow there, the barracks, and the brothers he trained with. Suddenly, he longed to go back. But he knew he couldn't. At least not now.

He stuffed the note into his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it. Then he blew out the light, lay down, and stared at the dark ceiling. He couldn't sleep.

In the barracks of the city gate captain.

Wang Pu sat at his desk, an account book spread out before him. The officials from the Imperial Academy had come again today. Not to keep an eye on him, but to tell him something.

"Someone's been looking at a list lately," the man said. "A list of thirty-seven people."

Wang Pu's hand trembled slightly. But his face remained expressionless. "What list?"

"I don't know." The man looked at him, "but if Captain Wang knows anything, he'd better say so sooner rather than later."

Wang Pu shook his head. "I don't know."

The man stared at him for a long time, then turned and left. Wang Pu sat there, motionless.

His hands were clenched tightly inside his sleeves, his nails digging into his flesh, causing excruciating pain. A list of thirty-seven people. Someone was investigating. Who? He dared not think.

All he knew was that if he were exposed, his wife and children would be doomed.

A soft knock came at the door. Three short knocks, two long knocks, three short knocks. Wang Pu got up and opened the door. A dark figure darted in.

"Captain Wang."

Wang Pu recognized the voice. It was the same person who had delivered the letter last time.

"The north sent me a message," the man said. "If there's any disturbance, ignore everything and run."

Wang Pu looked at him. "Run? Where to run?"

"Run north."

Wang Pu remained silent.

North. Liaodong. A place he had never been before.

"Where are my wife and children?"

The man looked at him. "Let's run together."

Wang Pu closed his eyes. After a long while, he opened them. "I understand."

Xiapi.

The atmosphere in the sluggish, unguarded room was even more somber than usual.

Sima Yi sat at his desk, with the secret report that had just been delivered spread out in front of him.

"Someone is investigating 37 people."

He handed the secret report to Pang Tong. Pang Tong glanced at it and remained silent. "Who's investigating?" he asked.

Sima Yi shook his head. "I don't know. The note wasn't signed, and I don't recognize the handwriting."

Pang Tong took a swig of wine. "Someone from the Imperial Secretariat?"

"It doesn't seem like it," Sima Yi said. "The Imperial Household Department doesn't investigate people secretly. They arrest them directly."

Pang Tong thought for a moment. "Then it must be someone else."

Sima Yi nodded. The two remained silent.

After a long silence, Pang Tong spoke up: "Zhongda, tell me, is this person a friend or foe?"

Sima Yi was silent for a moment. "I don't know," he said, "but regardless of whether he's friend or foe, knowing the number thirty-seven means—"

He didn't finish his sentence. Pang Tong finished it for him: "This means someone on our side has been overlooked."

Sima Yi's hand tightened slightly. He'd missed something.

Thirty-seven people, buried in Xudu, each one a seed.

If even one seed is missed, the entire field could be turned upside down.

"Investigate." Sima Yi's voice was soft. "From today onwards, every message sent back from Xuchang must be investigated. Investigate the source, the handwriting, and the time it was sent."

Pang Tong looked at him. "And then what happens?"

Sima Yi remained silent. What happens after the truth is found?

If they were enemies, those thirty-seven people might have already been exposed.

If they're on the same side, why be secretive? He didn't know. But he knew one thing—

No matter who it is, there must be a result.

Xiapi Academy.

Xun Yun sat by the window, gazing at the night sky. He had been sitting there for two hours.

He held a letter in his hand, which Sima Lang had entrusted to someone to bring out from Xudu.

The letter was very short, only a few lines:

"Young Master Xun: Your father's students and old friends are all here. Someone asked me to tell you, don't worry. What's meant to come will come. —Sima Lang"

Xun Yun stared at the letter for a long time. "Don't worry, what's meant to come will come." He remembered his father's often-repeated words:

"Impatient people don't live long. Those who can wait will have the last laugh."

He's someone who can wait. Can he wait? He doesn't know.

But he knew that there was nothing he could do now but wait.

"Young Master Xun." A voice came from behind.

Xun Yun turned around. Fu Shou stood behind him, holding a bowl of hot soup.

Mr. Hua said, "You didn't eat again today."

Xun Yun took the soup and took a sip. The soup was warm. "Miss Fu, why aren't you asleep yet?"

Fu Shou sat down beside him. "I can't sleep," she said. "I had stitches put in today. My first time."

Xun Yun looked at her. "How is it?"

Fu Shou was silent for a moment. "It's stitched up," she said, "but that person's leg will have a scar from now on."

Xun Yun remained silent.

Fu Shou continued, "He asked me, 'Girl, how old are you?' I said eight. He paused for a moment, then laughed. He said, 'If you can sew up wounds at eight years old, you'll definitely be a good doctor in the future.'"

She paused. "I suddenly wondered, if my father were still alive, would he have said the same thing?"

Xun Yun looked at her.

Under the moonlight, there was something indescribable about the face of this eight-year-old girl.

It's not sadness, it's not strength, it's... something that's slowly growing.

"Miss Fu," he said.

"Um?"

"Your dad knows how."

Fu Shou turned her head and looked at him.

Xun Yun said, "My father can do it too."

The two sat facing each other in silence, gazing at the night sky and the stars.

Xu Ducheng slowly woke up in the morning light.

The city gates opened, vegetable vendors entered the city, people went to the market and left, stalls occupied their spots, and steam rose from the pancake shops.

Business as usual.

Wang Pu stood by the city gate, watching the people coming and going.

His hands were tucked into his sleeves, clutching the note tightly.

The note that told him to "run" left him unsure whether he should run. If he ran, his wife and children would suffer with him. If he didn't run, and was caught, his wife and children would also suffer with him.

No matter which choice he made, it was bitter. No matter which choice he made, it was difficult. The sun rose. He turned and went into the barracks. Time for his shift. Same as before. But he knew that from today onward, nothing would be different.