Mythical Version of Three Kingdom

For Liu Bei, this was a matter of vision and leadership, but for Guan Hai, it was a matter of life and death. The stakes were different depending on one’s perspective. What Guan Hai was willing to gamble his life for was something that Liu Bei could decide with just a few words.

”How tragic it is that an era needs heroes to survive,” Chen Xi remarked with a hint of disdain. ”What kind of devastation must a people, a nation, or a group endure to rely on heroes to shoulder all their burdens? It’s truly sorrowful.”

Liu Bei sighed after hearing this. He had admired Guan Hai as a righteous man, but now, upon reflection, he realized that if the Yellow Turbans hadn’t been pushed to such extremes, Guan Hai wouldn’t have had to make such a sacrifice.

”The Yellow Turbans are just struggling to have enough to eat,” Liu Bei said with a sigh. ”Second Brother will handle this situation. Thinking back, every hero from history had their share of despair.”

”Heroes are always forced into their roles. Whether driven by conscience or duty, heroes inevitably carry the heaviest burdens, which is why their stories often end in tragedy,” Chen Xi added, sighing.

Liu Bei remained silent, reflecting on the path he had chosen. It seemed that he, too, was walking the path of a hero. Guan Hai could lay down the burden of the Yellow Turbans after this, but Liu Bei had even more on his shoulders. Could he ever put it down?

”A man only matures when he shoulders enough responsibility,” Liu Bei said suddenly, the statement seemingly unrelated to the conversation.

Chen Xi and Jia Xu both sighed in agreement. It was true that the measure of a man’s maturity could often be seen in the responsibilities he carried.

”Well, enough of that. I have my own responsibilities to bear, too. Providing for my family isn’t easy, and my ideals are still far away. One step at a time, I guess,” Chen Xi joked, intentionally lowering the tone of the conversation, which prompted Liu Bei to shoot him a sidelong glance.

”Zichuan, will we follow the same steps in Qingzhou as we did when we established Taishan?” Liu Bei asked, steering the conversation away from the Yellow Turbans.”We’ll start the same way, but there will be differences later on. Building cities is essential. Before I left, I already ordered a report to be sent to Chang’an, and we should receive approval soon. But I’m also planning to build ports along the eastern coast of Qingzhou,” Chen Xi explained. ”We can move the salt production facilities back from the islands in the East China Sea. There’s no need to be so cautious anymore, and our middle-ranking officers will have more secure positions.”

”Salt production? Oh, and those fishing grounds and dry goods you mentioned before can also be put on the agenda. Then there’s sea transport—we could start training a navy. But we don’t have the technology to build sea-going ships yet,” Liu Bei noted, realizing the challenges ahead.

”It’s not just sea-going ships; we don’t have any shipbuilding technology at all. We don’t even have the craftsmen to build ships, and skilled shipbuilders are extremely rare,” Chen Xi replied with a sigh.

During the Three Kingdoms era, there were only a few notable families involved in shipbuilding: the Lu family of Jiangdong, the Gongsun family of Liaodong, and the Cai family of Jingzhou. These families monopolized everything from technology to blueprints, from material selection to craftsmen. Other families like the Zhang, Gu, and Kuai families had incomplete knowledge and techniques.

Chen Xi had once hoped to find the complete legacy of the Mohists, who were unmatched in manufacturing and technology. However, despite being a prominent school of thought in the Spring and Autumn period, the Mohists had been absorbed by other schools and then marginalized. After acquiring some of the Chen family’s scattered resources, Chen Xi had managed to trace the Mohist legacy, but it was ultimately of little value.

By the end of the Spring and Autumn period, the Mohists had split into three factions, each taking their knowledge and establishing separate schools. However, they were eventually undermined by the powerful clans. According to the records Chen Xi found, one faction of the Mohists was absorbed by the descendants of the Qi nobility. It’s unclear whether this was the Lu family or the Cai family, but both families had roots in the Qi and Lu regions, suggesting some connection.

The northern Mohist faction was wiped out during the chaos at the end of the Qin dynasty, and the southern faction seemed to have been dismantled.

As for the Gongsun family’s shipbuilding techniques in Liaodong, they were confirmed not to be of Mohist origin. Based on the historical connections Chen Xi uncovered, the Gongsun family’s techniques likely came from the Gongshu family, also known as the Ban family or Lu Ban’s descendants, which differed fundamentally from the Lu and Cai families’ methods. Unfortunately, the Mohists and the Gongshu family had a rivalry, leading to a split in the craftsmanship community—a true tragedy.

In short, Chen Xi realized that trying to find shortcuts to obtain the Mohist or Gongshu legacies was impossible. Acquiring their techniques for shipbuilding, cart-making, or other crafts was equally unlikely. Ma Jun, a master of Mohist mechanical arts, seemed to have learned from the Mohist tradition, but he was untraceable. In the end, the precious legacy of the Mohists had been divided among powerful clans and families, leaving only scraps behind, hoarded and passed down secretly.

”Aren’t we already allied with the Lu family?” Liu Bei asked curiously.

”It’s not the same thing. The four major families of Jiangdong are highly regional. They’re willing to build ships for us because our relationship is balanced, and we’re generous patrons. But to make them join us entirely? That’s unlikely unless they’re forced into a corner,” Chen Xi explained, sighing. The four major families of Jiangdong were stubbornly tied to their homeland, content as long as they could live peacefully in Jiangdong, regardless of who ruled.

”My lord, Zichuan is right. The Lu family is indeed as he described—a family that refuses to leave its territory. The technology to build sea and tower ships is a closely guarded secret among these families. If they didn’t see potential in us, they wouldn’t even offer to sell us ships, let alone design them at a low cost,” Jia Xu added, echoing Chen Xi’s sentiments.

In modern times, such behavior from a powerful family might have angered someone like Liu Bei. But in this era, finding a family willing to design and build ships for you, even at a price, without demanding you stop changing your plans, was rare indeed. To Jia Xu, the Lu family’s actions were a mark of good faith, despite the inherent monopoly and guarded knowledge.

”They only have four direct descendants—how is moving so difficult for them? I even promised them numerous benefits, including guaranteeing that one of their heirs, either Lu Xun or Lu Ji, would be as successful as Xu Shu, and ensuring that the next generation would produce someone no less talented than Xu Shu,” Chen Xi lamented. He recalled that Lu Kang and Lu Xun were one of the few father-son pairs enshrined in the Temple of Martial Excellence.