Chapter Ninety-Eight: Establishing One's Words

After the family discipline was reformed, the servants of the Zhuge household no longer dared to slack off; each one worked diligently and obediently.

Soon, the funeral arrangements for Zhuge Xuan were completed properly.

Once the preliminary rites were concluded, the servants hurried to various parts of Jingzhou to inform Zhuge Xuan’s friends of his passing and invite them to pay their respects.

Those who came the day before were mostly those living nearby. Zhuge Xuan had served as an official in Jingzhou for many years and had extensive connections. Officials and prominent families from Nanyang, Nan Commandery, Jiangxia, and even the four counties of Jingnan were among his acquaintances, so the list of those to notify was vast.

During this time, with the help of the Zhuge sisters, Kuai Qi, Pang Shanmin, Shen Chen, and others, Zhuge Liang arranged the mourning hall and purchased a large quantity of incense to prepare for the vigil.

They also rented houses from nearby villagers to set up banquet tables, arranged numerous tables and chairs in the front courtyard, and hired a funeral band to play traditional music in the yard.

By the third day, close relatives and friends began arriving to pay their respects. Those who had visited earlier, like Deng Hong, Liu Xian, Kuai Liang, Huang Chengyan, Cai Zan, and Cai Yan, brought their gifts again, a practice known as rushing to the funeral.

Over several days, the Zhuge household became lively. Visitors came continuously, some even traveling long distances. Even Liu Biao, Governor of Jingzhou, though not coming in person, sent his trusted aide Cheng Qi to express condolences.

Zhuge Liang and his siblings wore mourning clothes daily, kneeling before the deceased to receive guests and keep vigil.

At that time, the deceased was not placed in a coffin but laid upon a bed strewn with incense.

The filial children guarded their departed relative, observing their daily condition, performing preservation and odor prevention treatments, and receiving guests. This was an exhausting task.

Under such strain, the Zhuge sisters fell ill one after another—not from serious ailments, but from sheer fatigue and weakness. Then young Zhuge Jun also collapsed, leaving only Zhuge Liang to persevere alone.

Shen Chen, not a direct family member nor a disciple of Zhuge Xuan, naturally could not wear mourning clothes and instead assisted at the door with greeting guests.

Kuai Qi and Pang Shanmin took turns wearing mourning clothes in place of their wives to accompany Zhuge Liang in thanking guests and managing the preservation and odor prevention of Zhuge Xuan’s body.

The so-called preservation involved daily washing the body with wine, sprinkling it with incense, wrapping it in silk cloth, and placing ice nearby to cool the corpse.

This routine was performed every day. The wine used was low in alcohol content but barely sufficient. Fortunately, Shen Chen sent distilled liquor.

Distilled spirits could reach as high as 96 degrees in industrial production, but during the Yuan dynasty and later, distilled liquors typically ranged from 40 to 60 degrees, and through repeated distillation could reach 70 to 80 degrees, enough for sterilization and disinfection.

Shen Chen had initially prepared this liquor to disinfect wounded soldiers on the battlefield, but it now proved useful here.

Yet, the number of visitors was overwhelming.

Though the Zhuge family was not among the most prestigious clans, their ties with the Kuai and Pang families elevated their status among Jingzhou’s great houses.

Moreover, Zhuge Xuan himself had served as an official in Jingzhou for many years, knowing many people, resulting in countless mourners.

At that time, attending a funeral was not a matter of a quick phone call or a simple gathering.

Due to the difficulties of communication and transportation in ancient times, relatives and friends from remote areas had to travel long distances.

A journey of two or three hundred kilometers could take over ten days round trip. The more distant and rugged the road, the longer the travel time—sometimes even months or half a year.

Thus, it was common for prominent families to hold vigils lasting ten days, half a month, or even longer.

Now that the Zhuge sisters and Zhuge Jun had fallen ill and Kuai Qi and Pang Shanmin took turns resting, only Zhuge Liang continued to endure.

He handled reception duties, kept vigil, wiped the body with alcohol, and constantly replaced the ice.

Though many helped, fatigue was inevitable.

Zhuge Liang rose every day around four or five in the morning and labored until midnight or one o’clock, averaging only two to three hours of sleep. Both Shen Chen and other friends sympathized deeply.

But as the head of the family, after Zhuge Xuan’s death, he became the pillar of support. Despite everyone urging him to rest, he forced himself to carry on.

As a result, the funeral lasted half a month. On March 22nd, the body was finally placed in the coffin, and on the 23rd, the burial was completed, concluding the funeral rites.

After Zhuge Xuan’s burial, Zhuge Liang returned home. Before he could even rest in his room, his entire body collapsed, and he fainted.

Everyone hurriedly helped him to his room and summoned a doctor.

Fortunately, the doctor said it was not a serious illness—like the Zhuge sisters and Zhuge Jun, he was simply overexerted. His body had reached its limit and must not be pushed further. He needed proper rest or he would face grave consequences.

Shen Chen took charge, ordering the servants to care for Zhuge Liang’s daily needs. He and Zhuge Jun handled the funeral’s aftermath—dismantling the mourning hall, recording gifts left by visitors, calculating expenses, and settling accounts with the band, fabric shops, incense suppliers, and so forth.

It was not until the early morning of the third day that Zhuge Liang slowly awakened. Having collapsed the afternoon before yesterday, he had slept for an entire day and night, a full two days and nights of rest.

Upon waking, he saw Anu guarding him. A simple mat had been laid by his bedside. In wealthy households of the time, servants were rarely treated as equals; when guarding their masters, they often took shifts around the clock without rest to be ready at any moment.

These servants, however, had been raised since childhood in the family and shared a deep bond, almost like half-family. Seeing them doze off leaning against the wooden bed, Zhuge Jun had them lay mats on the floor to sleep.

Zhuge Liang did not rouse Anu, a twelve-year-old girl with two small braids. There were many children like her in the household, and after more than half a month of hard work, they too needed rest.

He stepped outside to gauge the time. The sky was just beginning to brighten, still hazy—the dawn just breaking, around five or six in the morning. The study door next to his room was open, with a faint glow from a recently extinguished fire, which struck Zhuge Liang as odd.

He entered the study and saw Shen Chen sitting at the desk, clicking away on an abacus.

Many believe that the abacus appeared only during the Eastern Han or Northern and Southern dynasties, but those were merely rudimentary counting boards capable of addition and subtraction.

The true abacus, as we know it, appeared during the Yuan dynasty and became widely used in the late Yuan and early Ming periods. However, it was not a particularly complex invention. Shen Chen had even learned to use one in elementary school and had one made early on.

This time, he had sent someone to Deng Hong’s house to fetch an abacus. Zhuge Liang, unfamiliar with the object, asked curiously, "Brother, what are you doing here?"

"Oh," Shen Chen turned and smiled, "Brother, you’re awake."

Zhuge Liang walked over and noticed the abacus before Shen Chen and bamboo slips with brush-written characters on the side.

“I feel much better after sleeping. Brother, you’re doing the accounts?” he asked.

Shen Chen wrote another entry on the bamboo slip while replying, “You didn’t just sleep one night, but two days. You’ve been exhausted; it’s good to rest. The expenses over this half month were indeed considerable, but I’ve finished calculating them now.”

“Two days?” Zhuge Liang murmured, then looked at Shen Chen in amazement. “You managed to calculate the expenses of half a month in just two days?”

Shen Chen smiled faintly. “I have some special methods. I’ll teach you next time.”

Though Han dynasty mathematics was advanced, with works like the Arithmetic of the Nine Chapters, Shu Shang’s arithmetic, Du Zhong’s arithmetic, and Zhou Bi’s classic, calculations were complicated.

Counting rods could only handle simple addition and subtraction; multiplication and division required intense mental effort, with the process mostly simplified and recorded only in problem statements and answers on bamboo slips.

Because writing on bamboo slips made detailed calculations nearly impossible, mathematics at the time was obscure and difficult to understand. Even the simplest Nine Chapters were confusing to many.

Zhuge Liang nodded. “Brother, you’ve worked hard these two days without sleep.”

Shen Chen shook his head. “No, I just woke early. Yesterday, I told everyone to handle the final matters and went to bed at sunset. I got up at the third quarter of dawn and decided to finish the accounts first.”

“You only started counting at the third quarter of dawn?” Zhuge Liang was surprised again—this meant Shen Chen had completed over half a month’s accounts in less than an hour. Too fast.

Understanding his surprise, Shen Chen waved it off. “I’ll teach you next time. Enough about that for now. How do you feel?”

“Not bad, much better,” Zhuge Liang said, sitting cross-legged beside him. Seeing Shen Chen still busy with the abacus, he asked, “I’ve been meaning to ask, since you left the academy, what are your plans?”

“My plans?” Shen Chen paused, wrote down another entry, looked up at the ceiling, then said thoughtfully, “I plan to establish my words.”

“Establish your words?”

“Yes. The world is ignorant because the principles of the world are unclear. I want to establish my words to warn the world.”

“You mean write a book?”

Zhuge Liang was curious. At that time, to establish one’s words meant writing and spreading one’s teachings—like Yang Xiong.

Though he had once aligned himself with Wang Mang, a politically incorrect move, he still had many followers in the Eastern Han. Over a hundred years, his disciples and officials numbered in the thousands, leaving a lasting influence.

Shen Chen nodded. “I have that idea, but first I must make a name for myself in Jingzhou. Otherwise, no one would seek me out to learn.”

“Make a name in Jingzhou?”

Zhuge Liang pondered briefly, then smiled. “I heard you’re at odds with the court. The great families probably won’t help you gain fame.”

At that time, talent was secondary to family background.

Pang Tong had been unknown until Sima Hui declared him the foremost talent of the southern provinces, instantly elevating his reputation.

But Sima Hui did not broadcast live to the entire Jingzhou region. How then did this message spread?

Naturally, the Pang family had helped behind the scenes.

Then there was Xi Zhen.

Historically, Pang Tong was called the “Fledgling Phoenix” and later advised Liu Bei on many strategies for conquering Shu.

Though he died young, his talent was well proven.

Xi Zhen was second only to Pang Tong in fame at that time, even above Ma Liang. Yet, after joining Liu Bei, he showed no particular ability.

Despite over a decade in Shu, he left no notable achievements and eventually vanished from history.

Was Liu Bei lacking discernment in not employing him?

Certainly not.

Liu Bei’s greatest strength was recognizing talent, and he treated Xi Zhen generously, appointing him governor of Guanghan.

Yet Xi Zhen never stood out, nor left any strategic legacy.

Hence, he was merely mediocre.

His reputation owed entirely to his family’s promotion.

Shen Chen came from a poor background and was a newcomer in Jingzhou. Most importantly, his involvement in the Battle of Nanyang had angered many surrender advocates.

Making a name for himself was no easy feat.

Yet Shen Chen looked at Zhuge Liang with bright eyes and said, “It’s fine. I’ve already made up my mind. If they won’t help me, I’ll trample over their heads. Only mediocre fools fear others’ criticism.”

Zhuge Liang met his determined gaze and nodded slightly. “Brother, with such ambition, I feel ashamed. Is there anything I can help with?”

Shen Chen replied, “I’m still contemplating the great way. Please assist me.”

“Very well,” Zhuge Liang said. “I will help you establish your words.”

***

Shen Changqing walked along the street, greeting familiar faces with nods or brief salutations.

Yet no matter who, everyone’s face bore no excess expression, seeming indifferent to all things.

To Shen Changqing, this was normal.

This was the Demon Suppression Division, an institution maintaining the stability of the Great Qin, tasked chiefly with slaying demons and strange creatures, alongside other duties.

In fact, everyone in the Demon Suppression Division had blood on their hands.

Having grown accustomed to life and death, many things became meaningless.

When Shen Changqing first arrived in this world, he was somewhat unsettled, but over time he adapted.

The division was large.

Those retained were either powerful experts or showed potential to become such.

Shen Changqing belonged to the latter.

The division was divided into two roles: Guardian Envoy and Demon Slayer.

Everyone entered as a low-ranking Demon Slayer and worked upward, hoping to become a Guardian Envoy.

Shen Changqing’s former self had been an apprentice Demon Slayer, the lowest rank.

With memories of his past life, he was very familiar with the division’s environment.

He stopped before a pavilion.

Unlike the other grim and bloodstained places in the division, this pavilion stood out like a crane among chickens, exuding a different tranquility amid the pervasive bloodiness.

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

After a brief hesitation, Shen Changqing stepped inside.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

The scent of ink mixed faintly with blood greeted him, causing a brief frown that quickly relaxed.

The bloodstain smell clinging to those in the division was nearly impossible to wash away.