Chapter Ninety-Six: Kong Ming

The afternoon sun in Xiangyang in March was dazzling, though the temperature was not high—just over twenty degrees Celsius. Outside the western city, wild grasses grew thickly. In the distance, undulating mountains stretched out, with villages and farmlands nestled at their bases. Beyond that loomed the towering Qinling Mountains, their peaks piercing the clouds like the spine of a black dragon.

A carriage slowly made its way along the muddy road past Atou Mountain. Not far ahead lay Longzhong, where many carriages were already parked. Longzhong itself lay within the mountains, flanked by two modest hills. At the hollow beneath these hills were vast fields cultivated by farmers, and along the slopes, houses were densely built in neat rows.

Among them stood the residence of the Zhuge family. It was no ordinary farmhouse but a tiled courtyard typical of Han dynasty aristocrats. While it lacked the grandeur of the most elite mansions with pavilions by water, it still bore the mark of respected lineage, enclosed by walls and housing four or five tiled buildings within.

News had spread that Zhuge Xuan was gravely ill, prompting many of his friends in Jingzhou to come pay their respects. When Shen Chen arrived, he saw over ten carriages parked outside the courtyard, with more still arriving.

A young boy at the gate greeted him. Shen Chen, being a frequent visitor, was recognized immediately. The boy called out, “Young Master Shen.”

“Ah Nu, how is Uncle?” Shen Chen asked as he dismounted.

The boy shook his head. “He’s unconscious now. Elders Dalang and Shaolang don’t know what to do.”

“What do the physicians say?”

“They say he might not survive the night.”

Shen Chen sighed. In ancient times, even pneumonia was often a death sentence—beyond the healing arts of even Hua Tuo or Zhang Zhongjing. There was little to do but leave it to fate.

Entering the courtyard, Shen Chen passed through the front hall into the central courtyard, where many people were gathered—some familiar, some strangers. After greeting those he knew, he proceeded to the main hall. There, Zhuge Xuan lay on a wooden bed, covered with a silk quilt, his eyes tightly shut and face pale.

Around him stood Zhuge Liang, Zhuge Jun, the Zhuge sisters, and their husbands Kuai Qi and Pang Shanmin. Zhuge Liang’s expression was grave; Zhuge Jun’s eyes were red-rimmed. The sisters knelt silently on the side, wiping away tears, while Kuai Qi and Pang Shanmin stood beside them looking somber.

Though Zhuge Xuan was only an uncle to Zhuge Liang and his siblings, their father Zhuge Gui had died early. For the first few years, their eldest brother Zhuge Jin raised them. When Cao Cao ravaged Xuzhou, Zhuge Xuan journeyed to Mount Tai to bring the Zhuge family to Jingzhou. From then on, he had been their guardian.

Thus, in their eyes, Zhuge Xuan was as a father. His critical illness was a devastating blow to Zhuge Liang, Zhuge Jun, and their sisters—a sudden collapse of their world with no refuge.

Shen Chen lingered at the doorway, unsure whether to enter. Soon, Deng Hong and Liu Xian arrived. They nodded at Shen Chen before entering. Zhuge Liang and the others greeted them, and after briefly checking on Zhuge Xuan—still unconscious—they quietly left. Everyone remained in the courtyard, waiting.

“Ah Chen.”

“Great-Uncle, Mr. Zongshi.”

“Hmm,” Deng Hong nodded. “I heard you descended the mountain?”

Shen Chen smiled wryly. “Good news doesn’t travel; bad news spreads a thousand miles.”

“Descending the mountain is good,” Deng Hong said. “What are your plans?”

“I’ll continue my studies. Learning has no end.”

“Hmm,” Deng Hong acknowledged.

More guests arrived—colleagues from the provincial governor’s mansion. They exchanged greetings and quietly conversed. Shen Chen remained seated cross-legged under the corridor.

Zhuge Liang noticed him but could not leave his uncle’s side. He nodded slightly, and Shen Chen returned the gesture; neither spoke.

As evening approached, some thirty or forty people had gathered. They all paid respects to the still-unconscious Zhuge Xuan and expressed condolences to Zhuge Liang and the others before sitting down. The physicians warned that Zhuge Xuan might not survive the night, so no one left.

Suddenly, a faint voice called from inside the room: “Uncle.” The crowd’s hearts tightened, and they rushed inside.

By proximity and relation, family members such as Zhuge Liang and Zhuge Jun were closest, followed by Deng Hong, Liu Xian, and then other friends and colleagues. Shen Chen stood at the edge, observing.

They saw Zhuge Xuan stir on the wooden bed, his color less pale. Seeing Zhuge Liang beside him, he forced a smile and struggled to say, “Ah Liang, Ah Jin...”

“Uncle,” Zhuge Liang stepped forward, clasping his hand, holding back tears. “You’re awake?”

“Hmm,” Zhuge Xuan responded, coughing softly. “I fear I won’t last through tonight. Both nieces are married off, so I have no regrets—only concern for my two nephews. Ah Liang, after I’m gone, you must take responsibility for your younger brothers. Do you understand?”

“Uncle, don’t speak of life and death so lightly. You will get better,” Zhuge Liang comforted him gravely.

Zhuge Xuan smiled bitterly. “Life and death are fate. How could I not know my end is near? Without me, you have no elder. Now you are of age—you must take a courtesy name.”

“Please grant me a name, Uncle.”

Zhuge Liang lifted his robe and knelt before Zhuge Xuan.

In ancient times, men came of age at twenty, marked by the taking of a courtesy name, signifying maturity and the assumption of family responsibilities, sometimes even leading a separate household.

There were exceptions, however.

If all elders had passed, the eldest son among the remaining children had to take the courtesy name early and inherit the family estate.

Before Zhuge Xuan brought the family to Jingzhou, their father Zhuge Gui had died. Zhuge Liang’s half-brother Zhuge Jin had cared for the younger siblings, taking a courtesy name at fifteen and becoming head of the family.

Later, after the death of Zhuge Jin’s stepmother—the biological mother of Zhuge Liang and Zhuge Jun—Zhuge Xuan brought them to Jingzhou. Zhuge Jin did not come with them and separated from the family, going east to establish himself independently.

Thus, Zhuge Jin’s departure left Zhuge Xuan as head of the Langya Zhuge clan, so Zhuge Liang did not need to take a courtesy name then.

Now, with Zhuge Xuan’s impending death and Zhuge Jin gone, the responsibility of the family head naturally fell to Zhuge Liang.

By granting the courtesy name before his death, Zhuge Xuan was performing a traditional rite of succession.

His breath weakening, he looked at Zhuge Liang kneeling before him. Softly, he said, “I have long chosen your name: Kongming.”

“Thank you, Uncle, for granting me the name,” Zhuge Liang bowed deeply.

From then on, he was Zhuge Liang, courtesy name Kongming.

“Now I have no regrets,” Zhuge Xuan smiled.

After bestowing the name, many of Zhuge Xuan’s friends came forward to visit. As a cultured gentleman, he had wide connections among the great families of Jingzhou—the Cai, Kuai, Pang, and Huang clans.

Present were Pang Tong’s father, Kuai Liang of the Kuai family, Huang Chengyan of the Huang family, and even Cai Zan and Cai Yan of the Cai family.

This Cai Yan was not the famous Cai Wenji but the cousin of Cai Mao.

When Luo Guanzhong wrote the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, he fictionalized two figures in the Cai family named Cai Zhongcai and Cai He. In reality, Cai Mao’s cousins were named Cai Yan and Cai Zan.

Both had served as officials elsewhere in their youth. Cai Yan was once the Prefect of Ba Commandery, and Cai Zan was Magistrate of Mei County. After Dong Zhuo’s chaos, both resigned and returned home, currently out of office. Cai Zan was also the father of Deng Hong’s wife.

Zhuge Xuan’s many friends came forward one by one to console him. Despite his frailty, he greeted each warmly. He spoke his farewells and, most importantly, entrusted them to care for Zhuge Liang and his siblings after his passing.

Hearing their uncle’s concern, Zhuge Liang and Zhuge Jun stood solemnly, tears silently streaming. They were already weeping, overcome with grief.

In a sense, Zhuge Xuan’s struggle to convey his last wishes to friends was a final exertion of influence, asking his loyal companions to aid Zhuge Liang and Zhuge Jun in the future.

Later, Zhuge Liang maintained ties with Jingzhou’s great families, skillfully maneuvering between them to support Liu Bei’s foothold in Jingzhou and persuade Sun Quan to ally against Cao Cao. This political legacy owed much to the foundation Zhuge Xuan laid.

Thus, Zhuge Xuan’s kindness to Zhuge Liang and his siblings was as vast as mountains and seas, moving the four siblings to tears. Fearing to disturb their uncle and guests, they covered their mouths with sleeves and sobbed quietly.

After a while, Zhuge Xuan and his friends greeted one another with difficulty. He lay back on the wooden bed, continuing light conversation—marking an end to his life with farewells.

As night deepened, his voice weakened further. The slight color returning to his face began to fade again. It seemed he was exhaling but no longer inhaling. His mouth parted as if he had countless words, yet none emerged.

“Uncle, Uncle?”

Zhuge Liang, Zhuge Jun, and the sisters rushed forward.

Zhuge Xuan managed a faint smile before his head slowly slipped from the pillow.

“Uncle!” The eldest sister trembled, pressing her fingers to his pulse before bursting into wails.

“Uncle,” Zhuge Liang, Zhuge Jun, and the others could no longer hold back their tears.

The surrounding crowd realized Zhuge Xuan had passed. Faces were heavy with sorrow, and many wept alongside his friends.

Liu Xian wiped tears with his wide sleeve and stepped forward. “Kongming, Ajun, the most urgent now is to arrange your uncle’s funeral.”

The three Zhuge siblings continued crying.

Only Zhuge Liang, eyes red, wiped his tears and bowed his head in sorrow. “Uncle was right. Now that he is gone, as his nephews, we must first handle his funeral.”

As head of the family, this responsibility fell upon him.

Zhuge Liang rose and instructed servants to begin setting up the preparations.

Everyone had anticipated this moment; otherwise, the Zhuge family would not have summoned all the guests and friends. They had long prepared.

This was also Zhuge Xuan’s final wish. Sensing his end near, he had Zhuge Liang purchase plain cloth and send invitations to friends.

One purpose was to bid him farewell; the other, so that after his death, these friends might support Zhuge Liang and his brothers.

Now that Zhuge Xuan had died, the funeral rites would commence.

---

“Brother Shen!”

“Yes!”

Shen Changqing walked along the street, nodding greetings to acquaintances. But no matter who they were, none displayed more than a neutral expression, as if indifferent to everything.

Shen Changqing was accustomed to this.

This was the Demon Suppression Division, an institution maintaining order in the Great Qin. Its primary duty was slaying demons and strange beasts, though it had other side tasks.

One could say that everyone in the Division bore blood on their hands.

When a person grows accustomed to life and death, many things lose their emotional weight.

At first, Shen Changqing found it hard to adapt to this world, but over time, he became used to it.

The Demon Suppression Division was vast.

Those who remained there were either formidable fighters or had the potential to become such.

Shen Changqing belonged to the latter.

The Division had two main roles: Guardian Officers and Demon Exterminators.

Anyone entering the Division started as the lowest rank of Demon Exterminator, then was promoted step by step, ultimately hoping to become a Guardian Officer.

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

With memories of his past life, he was well acquainted with the Division’s environment.

Soon, Shen Changqing stopped before a pavilion.

Unlike other grim and bloodstained places in the Division, this pavilion stood out like a crane among chickens, offering a unique tranquility within the bloodied halls.

The pavilion’s door stood open, with occasional people coming and going.

After a brief hesitation, Shen Changqing stepped inside.

Within, the atmosphere changed instantly.

A faint scent of ink mingled with a subtle metallic tang of blood greeted him, causing his brow to furrow instinctively—though it soon relaxed.

The bloodstain scent clinging to everyone in the Division was almost impossible to wash away.