Chapter 138: Who Am I? Who Is Su Ming?

In front of the couch, a figure bowed its head and stood.

It was Zhuge Liang, slightly younger, yet his eyes were equally weary and full of sorrow.

"Your talent is ten times that of Cao Pi…"

On the couch, Liu Bei's voice was as light as a drifting thread.

"If the heir can be assisted, assist him…"

"If he is unworthy, you may take yourself."

White Emperor City, entrusting the orphan!

Su Ming instinctively cast his gaze beyond the tent.

Night Color Bar was as black as ink, its cold rain threads mingling with sorrow.

Patrolling Shu soldiers wore tattered armor still stained with blood that could not be washed off the Yiling Road.

In their eyes, fatigue and panic could not be concealed.

Not far away, beside a low stack of provisions.

A few soldiers were quietly arguing around a half‑bag of moldy brown rice.

Even the rising cooking fire exuded a cramped, desperate air.

Su Ming's heart sank a little more.

He understood everything!

After the Battle of Yiling, Shu Han's elite were all lost, leaving just over fifty thousand troops.

Food supplies were insufficient for three months.

The Southern Barbarian Tribes were stirring, massing troops at the border, waiting for a chance.

In the north, Cao Wei was recuperating, its army strong and its horses robust, ready to march south at any moment.

To the east, Sun Wu watched hungrily, its alliance as fragile as paper, a betrayal looming within a day.

Within the court, the later ruler Liu Chan was only seventeen, his foundation unstable, myriad factions sprouting, hidden currents swirling.

Internal troubles, external threats!

The treasury empty!

The troops weary, commanders few!

What Liu Bei left to Zhuge Liang was not a simple entrustment.

It was a drafty house on all sides, about to collapse!

A deadlock where even the capital for gambling was nearly drained!

"Servant…"

Inside the tent, Zhuge Liang's voice carried an uncontrollable choke.

Yet each word was as heavy as a mountain, striking the ground with resonance.

"Dare to exhaust my strength, uphold loyalty and chastity, and follow it with death!"

Su Ming saw clearly.

This future all‑calculating sage, who would later frighten away a hundred‑and‑fifty‑thousand army by playing the qin atop a city tower.

At this moment, a tear silently slipped from the corner of his eye.

In that tear was not a hint of cowardice.

Only a responsibility as heavy as Mount Yue.

It was a promise to the Late Emperor's dying entrustment!

It was the final protection for the fifty thousand stranded soldiers outside the tent!

And moreover, the ultimate responsibility for Shu Han's rain‑tossed, egg‑shell‑thin reign!

…

Buzz—!

Su Ming's consciousness was yanked by a great force, returning once more to the chessboard at Wuzhangyuan.

It was still the charred earth.

It was still the pair of dead, silent eyes.

His gaze met Zhuge Liang's once again.

But this time, he understood.

He lowered his head, looking at the shadowy board.

Did we win?

The black piece representing him was indeed like a spear, lodged beneath Chang'an Cheng.

But then, what?

A city as solid as a golden broth.

Alone, just he, what could he do?

It seemed…

It was himself, having thought poorly.

The Ziwu Gu surprise attack, troops moving recklessly.

Su Ming's mind conjured the numb eyes of those fifty thousand stranded soldiers, and the half‑bag of moldy brown rice.

If defeated, these five thousand elite of the surprise attack would be annihilated!

They were not cold numbers.

After the Battle of Yiling, the lone souls crawling out of Corpse Mountain Blood Sea!

It is Shu Han's last remaining assets!

If this final mobile force disappears, the Southern Tribes will rebel, and Cao Wei will seize the opportunity to invade…

In just a few years, the nation will fall and families be destroyed.

Zhuge Liang back then was not without the courage to decide the heavens and earth in a single battle.

He just… cannot gamble!

He cannot afford to lose!

Standing behind him are the Late Emperor's entrustment, the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers, and the safety of countless Shu civilians!

That weight pressed him to choose only the most secure, yet the most arduous, path.

Step by step, he walks.

Bit by bit, he endures.

With his own blood and sweat, he strives to prolong a few more years for this building on the brink of collapse.

Su Ming's madness and ferocity in his eyes begin to waver and dissipate.

Confusion wells up.

A sense of fatigue rises from the deepest part of his soul.

He seems…

Not playing chess on behalf of the Chancellor.

He is seeking a way out for himself.

He must win.

He must win!

For…

For what?

Is it the Late Emperor's entrustment?

Is it those hollow‑eyed Pao Ze outside the tent?

For…

Uphold the Han court!

Su Ming's eyes turn bloodshot.

The moment this thought surfaces.

His aura, his spirit, even the curve at the corner of his eyes, all begin to warp and reshape!

Manifestation!

Who is he…

Su… Su Ming?

But…

Who is Su Ming?!

He is…

Zhuge Kongming!

"Chancellor! This humble general wishes to muster five thousand elite troops, depart from Ziwu Gu, and within ten days, be able to approach Chang'an Cheng!"

"If this plan succeeds, then west of Xianyang can be settled in one stroke!"

【Zhuge Kongming】 turns his back to the speaker, remaining silent for a long while.

He slowly turns, looking at the great general on the ground—Wei Yan.

In those eyes burns the flame of achieving great deeds, just like his younger self.

But he only shakes his head.

In his voice is fatigue that has worn away all edges.

"Troops taking a deceitful path is not a flawless strategy."

"Ziwu Gu is treacherous, the narrow pass is hard to traverse; any mistake would mean total annihilation of the army."

"I… cannot gamble."

Wei Yan suddenly lifts his head, his eyes full of resentment.

"Chancellor! Wealth and honor are sought in danger! Such a golden opportunity…"

"Wen Chang."

He interrupts the other, his voice still calm.

"This Shu Han realm can no longer afford to lose."

"Step down."

The tent curtain falls, cutting off Wei Yan's resentful gaze from outside the tent.

He alone walks back to the desk, gazing at the massive Yongliang Feng Shui map.

In his eyes, the last spark of sharpness is drowned by endless fatigue.

From this moment on.

He is no longer the Sleeping Dragon.

Just a person bearing the Late Emperor's entrustment, bearing a nation's future…

A Mounting Craftsman!

……

In the fifth year of Jianxing, he presented the "Memorial on Dispatching Troops", led the army north to Hanzhong, stationed troops, cultivated fields, trained soldiers, and lived in harmony with the people.

The following year, he sent envoys to Eastern Wu, renewed the alliance, and secured the rear.

All preparations were complete.

He led his troops on a campaign, the first time his army entered Qishan.

However, after the loss of Jieting, he tearfully executed Ma Su, whom he had personally promoted.

That day, he sat gaunt in his tent, and by night his hair had turned white.

That winter, he again went to Qishan, besieged Chencang, but encountered continuous heavy rain, ran out of supplies, and withdrew.

A year later, he made three expeditions to Qishan, finally capturing the two commanderies of Wudu and Yinping, slightly repelling the Wei army.

In the following years, war drums sounded again, and the Han banner reappeared.

The fourth time…

The fifth time…

Each campaign drained his spirit and exhausted him with paperwork.

Each fruitless return made his reflection in the mirror grow even more aged.

His life seemed to consist of only two things.

Going to war.

And preparing for the next campaign.

He looked at his increasingly gaunt face in the bronze mirror.

He gazed at the bottomless pool of stagnant water in his eyes.

Occasionally, he felt a moment of bewilderment.

Who am I?

It seemed he could not recall.

It does not matter.

What matters is

To serve the Late Emperor, to serve this great Han, and to take the final breath!

…