Chapter 110: Sima Hui Heads South

While Liu Bei remained mired in the quagmire of northern warfare, Shen Chen had already begun his grand enterprise in Jingzhou.

In truth, he had been pondering a question for quite some time.

Setting aside the hypothetical possibility of unifying the Great Han, even if it were achievable, what would be the ultimate goal?

Continue with feudalism?

Then, after his death, in two or three centuries, the dynasty would collapse and cycle anew, replaying the final days of the Later Han, with warlords vying for supremacy?

What meaning would his struggle then hold?

Was it merely to prolong the Han for a few more centuries, only to repeat history until a new era dawned two thousand years later?

Clearly, that was unacceptable.

If that were the case, it would be better to follow Lu Xun’s example—endure the slaughter of a hundred family members, grit one’s teeth, join Cao Wei, and overthrow Sima Yi. At least then, it might change the tragic chaos of the Five Barbarians invading China. Why toil for nothing?

So he resolved to act, to reform the current Han dynasty in the realms of culture, political systems, and social development.

But what direction should such reform take?

Raise the banner of democracy?

A dead end.

In an era when intellectuals held the authority over cultural interpretation and all were expected to uphold monarchial rule, pursuing democracy was as difficult as climbing to the heavens.

It would be more feasible for him to start an industrial revolution from scratch than to attempt democracy under the Han.

What about emulating the great men?

That was also impossible.

Emulating great men required overthrowing feudalism, which was still impractical in this age.

Mozi had already tried during the Spring and Autumn period but was rejected by almost all warlords.

And in the late Ming, there were progressive thinkers like Huang Zongxi, Gu Yanwu, and Wang Fuzhi, who identified feudal autocracy as the "greatest evil under heaven," yet they did not shake the Qing dynasty’s foundation.

In the Han era, Shen Chen likely had no like-minded allies.

Thus, for now, feudalism could not be overthrown; one must even operate within its framework to effect ideological change.

Given the impossibility of toppling feudal autocracy at present, how could one construct a sound political system that advocated people-centered governance, valued the lower classes, and forged a state that did not treat its citizens as mere cattle?

Shen Chen had no clear answer yet.

But he firmly believed he could develop a system suited to the Han’s national conditions.

To build such a nation, he first needed companions.

For example, Liu Bei and Zhuge Liang.

They both espoused people-centered and monarch-light, people-valued philosophies, focusing more on the common folk than the elite.

Though one could argue they still upheld feudal rule, compared to other warlords of the late Han—who slaughtered freely and treated the populace as grass—Liu Bei and Zhuge Liang’s ideals were a bright beacon amid the darkness.

Therefore, Shen Chen wished to unite them in constructing such a state.

Liu Bei was currently in Henan, beyond Shen Chen’s help, so Shen Chen was now working alongside Zhuge Liang, studying people-centered thought.

To promote the concept of serving the people, it was impossible to state it outright; answers had to be sought from the ancient sages’ texts.

Thus, Shen Chen had been studying the Seven Classics, annotating and discussing all their people-centered ideas.

In the early third year of Jian’an, the academy Shen Chen had established was on holiday.

His students were mostly impoverished local children; during the off-season, their families could barely afford to send them to study, and during busy farming times, they had to return home.

When not teaching, Shen Chen would study with Zhuge Liang at home.

Not only people-centered thought but everything—philosophy, education, military affairs, economy, culture, social order, and current politics.

Three cobblers with their wits combined equal Zhuge Liang.

Now, with Shen Chen added, Zhuge Liang gained much from Shen Chen’s ideas; Shen Chen’s future knowledge greatly benefited Zhuge Liang.

The two were both mentors and friends, progressing together.

One day, Shen Chen rode in a carriage departing Suiting toward Longzhong.

He sat cross-legged in the carriage, which was open like a pickup truck.

Thus, he was visible to the farmers working in the fields around.

Upon seeing him, they paused their work and cast him respectful glances.

Only after he passed did they resume their labor.

Since the famous debate that day, Shen Chen’s renown had soared in the surrounding villages.

Because of his noble virtue of gifting pigs in exchange for coin, the rural folk recognized his character and sought him out to arbitrate injustices.

Shen Chen always delivered the fairest judgments, earning universal respect and satisfaction, making him highly esteemed in the countryside.

Everyone knew that in the Longzhong region, a youth of just over ten years old, well-read and virtuous, was the village’s go-to arbitrator—his reasonings convincing all, garnering profound respect.

The carriage slowly ascended Longzhong Mountain along the mountain path, and afar stood the Zhuge family estate.

Though Zhuge Xuan had passed, he left Zhuge Liang a rich political legacy.

His two elder sisters had married into prominent Xiangyang families, providing protection.

Thus, Zhuge Liang found peace amid turmoil; even when Jingzhou’s scholars opposed Shen Chen most fiercely, none dared disturb him.

Entering the courtyard, they saw Zhuge Liang reading beneath the corridor.

Seeing Shen Chen approach, he lifted his head and smiled warmly like a spring breeze.

“Ah Di.”

“Brother.”

Shen Chen cupped his fists in greeting and sat beside him.

Zhuge Liang set aside a bamboo slip and took out a fresh scroll and brush.

“The other day, when we discussed ‘Heaven gave birth to these people so that the enlightened come before the unenlightened, and the first enlightened awaken the later enlightened,’ I noted your thoughts on enlightening and educating the masses.”

“Oh?”

Shen Chen glanced over it; indeed, it recorded their recent discussion on education but was too brief, lacking annotation or analysis, and might be hard to understand.

He sighed, “Such a pity.”

“Pity what?”

“That it’s not recorded on paper.”

Zhuge Liang chuckled, “Paper from Huangmen Pavilion is expensive; I cannot afford it.”

Shen Chen smiled, “No matter; I will send you some.”

Papermaking was invented by Cai Lun in the Eastern Han.

Even thousands of years later, industrial papermaking techniques followed Cai Lun’s basic steps, only replacing handcrafting with machinery.

The reason paper never became widespread in the Eastern Han was the lack of optimal raw materials.

It was like the light bulb before tungsten filament—though electric lights existed, without tungsten, bulbs couldn’t popularize, as the best carbon filaments burned out quickly.

Papermaking was similar.

Cai Lun’s paper was coarse, fragile at a touch, and rough—unsuitable even for personal hygiene.

Yet, the ingenuity of ancient Chinese laborers was boundless.

From the Eastern Han’s invention to the Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern dynasties’ use of mulberry and rattan bark, papermaking matured, becoming smoother.

This allowed calligraphers like Wang Xizhi and painters like Gu Kaizhi to flourish.

By the late Northern and Southern dynasties and early Sui, materials like sandalwood bark, wheat stalks, and rice straw were used, gradually lowering costs and replacing bamboo slips.

By the early Tang, bamboo was found to be the best papermaking raw material.

From then on, paper truly entered the common people’s lives, laying the foundation for the decline of aristocratic clans and the rise of the imperial examination system.

Shen Chen did not yet know bamboo was the best raw material, but he could experiment.

The technique was not difficult; the challenge was finding the right material.

Just as Edison tried over a thousand substances before inventing tungsten filament, the papermaking craftsmen at Huangmen Pavilion, after Shen Chen’s repeated urgings, spent two years discovering bamboo paper suitable for writing.

Thus, Xiangyang’s paper became invaluable.

Having received Shen Chen’s promise, Zhuge Liang clapped his hands laughing.

“A word is a bond; no backing out.”

“Of course.”

Shen Chen smiled.

“I’ve been wanting to annotate the Zuo Zhuan. If it could be carved and printed, teaching students would be much easier.”

Zhuge Liang pondered.

“So this is the path of enlightenment you’ve been studying?”

“Indeed.”

Shen Chen nodded.

“Education must begin with knowledge dissemination, but mere speech is insufficient.

Bamboo slips hold too little.

Only paper-bound books can achieve what even Confucius could not—the education of all people.”

Since papermaking’s improvement and the advent of woodblock printing, from the Tang onward, literacy soared, breaking the aristocrats’ monopoly.

But in the Han, this was a daunting task, for the noble clans would never permit it.

Zhuge Liang mused, “If so, then noble lineage loses its prestige?”

“Yes, the great clans would no longer be exalted.”

Shen Chen explained, “In the past, to become an official one had to read and write, but only those born into noble families did so.

If education reached the masses, many from humble origins would enter office, displacing them.”

“Then…”

Zhuge Liang frowned.

Currently, Jingzhou’s scholars only mildly opposed Shen Chen’s stance against Cao Cao; it was not yet life or death.

But the spread of paper and printing would undermine the aristocrats’ foundations—would they sit idly by?

“Shh.”

Shen Chen made a quieting gesture.

“If brother doesn’t speak and I don’t speak, who would know?

Silent nurturing—private printing to educate students now, then promote widely once we hold power.

They won’t realize it.”

“Hmm.”

Zhuge Liang nodded, moved.

Chen’s trust in him was profound—he confided all this without fear of betrayal.

He must not disappoint.

Shen Chen smiled slightly.

If it were anyone else, he would not reveal so much; it was like handing over one’s life.

But whom did he trust?

The peerlessly loyal Zhuge Liang!

If even he could not be trusted, who else?

Indeed, many from a god’s-eye view would see promoting paper and printing in the Eastern Han as suicidal.

Yet paper only truly spread during the Eastern Jin, when noble clans were strongest.

Had they realized the threat, why not ban it sooner?

Just as early on, people saw computers as mere calculators, unaware they would become indispensable.

With fixed mindsets, no one could foresee how a new invention would change everything—not even Zhuge Liang, who was guided by Shen Chen to see it.

Still, to prevent any geniuses from prematurely grasping paper’s threat to nobles, Shen Chen dared not promote broadly.

Private education sufficed until they gained power to popularize it.

As they spoke, the sound of horse hooves came from outside.

After a moment, a knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?”

The young servant asked.

“Xu Shu.”

The voice called.

The servant opened the door; Xu Shu, Pang Tong, and Cui Jun entered.

“Ah, brothers.”

Zhuge Liang and Shen Chen stood to greet them.

While Shen Chen taught, Zhuge Liang often visited Lord Pang.

Through these frequent visits, he became close with Xu Shu and the others.

Historically, after Zhuge Xuan’s death, Zhuge Liang soon befriended them.

Their homes were nearby, and they often came to see him.

Suiting was not far from Longzhong; their visits brought Shen Chen and them into closer acquaintance.

However, Shen Chen had never shared his thoughts with them.

Apart from Xu Shu, who was reluctant, Shi Tao and Meng Jian had willingly accepted Cao Cao’s summons to serve Wei.

This showed their views aligned with Jingzhou’s scholars, and this was after the Belt Edict incident.

Thus, discussing people-centered thought and anti-Cao Cao ideas might cause conflict with them, so Shen Chen avoided it.

Xu Shu entered warmly.

“Ah Chen is here; perfect—we’ll go together.”

“What’s the matter?”

Zhuge Liang asked.

“Mr. De Cao wrote to Shiyuan, saying he’s reached Huyang and will arrive in Xiangyang today.

We agreed to go welcome him.”

Pang Tong had recently taken the courtesy name Shiyuan early this year, the third year of Jian’an—198 AD.

Born in the second year of Guanghe, 179 AD, he was nineteen, but considering East Asian age reckoning, he was twenty and thus his uncle, Lord Pang, personally gave him the courtesy name.

Hearing Sima Hui would come, Shen Chen was curious about this famed man who named Zhuge Liang "Wolong" and Pang Tong "Fengchu."

“I’ve long wished to meet Mr. De Cao.

Let’s go together.”

“Let’s depart.”

Xu Shu waved and led them forth.

“Brother Shen!”

“Hmm!”

Shen Changqing walked along the road, nodding or greeting acquaintances.

But no matter who, no one showed much expression, seeming indifferent.

He had grown accustomed to this.

This was the Demon Suppression Agency, an institution maintaining Qin stability, primarily charged with slaying demons and monsters, but with some other duties.

Every member bore blood on their hands.

When one grows used to life and death, indifference to many things follows.

Initially, Shen Changqing found it unsettling, but over time, he adapted.

The agency was vast.

Those who stayed were either formidable masters or potential ones.

Shen Changqing was the latter.

The agency had two roles: Guardians and Demon Exterminators.

All entrants started as low-ranking Demon Exterminators and could rise to Guardians.

Shen Changqing’s former self was a trainee Demon Exterminator, the lowest rank.

With memories from his past life, he was very familiar with the agency.

Soon, Shen Changqing stopped before a pavilion.

Unlike the agency’s usual grim places, this pavilion stood out like a crane among chickens, a serene haven amid bloodshed.

The door was open, with occasional comings and goings.

He hesitated briefly, then stepped inside.

Inside, the atmosphere transformed.

A scent of ink mixed faintly with blood struck his nostrils, making his brow furrow instinctively, then quickly relax.

The blood scent on everyone in the agency was almost impossible to wash away.