The Age of Sea Power, huh?"
Pang Tong leaned back against a wooden pillar, chewing on the phrase like it was a piece of gristle. His eyes darted toward the ceiling.
"So if their modern world runs on sea power," he said, looking across the room, "does that mean we are stuck in the Age of Dirt Power? I mean, think about it. We are out here murdering each other for a couple of fields. These future people are arguing about whole oceans. We are basically cavemen with swords."
Zhuge Liang sat opposite him, massaging a cramp out of his calf. Sitting cross-legged on a straw mat for hours listening to a magical future broadcast was murder on the joints. He shifted position and shook his head.
"I do not think an era belongs to a calendar year," Zhuge Liang said. "It varies. Person to person, nation to nation. Though I suspect..."
He paused, his feather fan stopping mid-swing. His gaze drifted to the glowing projection in the center of the war room.
"The moment any country develops the technology to navigate deep oceans, the contest for sea power begins. Everything else is just timing."
Zhuge Liang exhaled, long and heavy. "To sail iron warships right up to another country's gates. To smash those gates open. To subjugate a foreign populace and dictate their survival..."
He stopped. The future he was imagining was genuinely horrifying. Based on what the screen had shown, that reality felt close. Too close.
His face grew somber. "The rule of this era is simple. If a state lacks a fleet to defend its coasts, then it becomes meat on the chopping block. Waiting to be carved by whoever owns the ocean."
Given the traumatic history the narrator had hinted at, their descendants had clearly suffered during this transition.
But who could have predicted a nation's existential threat would come from the empty ocean? For centuries, the central plains looked north to the steppes for danger. The sea was a natural wall.
Then again, Zhuge Liang reconsidered. He thought back to the multi-tiered warships that helped Guan Yu conquer Jingzhou and Xiangyang. If those river galleons could dictate a campaign's fate, a true oceanic fleet with modern firepower would be world-breaking.
A term from an earlier broadcast floated back. The narrator had not mentioned it in a while, but it was impossible to forget.
The aircraft carrier.
A vessel that sailed the ocean but served as a mother ship for flying war machines. Zhuge Liang had initially struggled with the engineering. Now, piecing together the geographical and tactical puzzle, a cold realization hit him. He finally understood the horror. It was a mobile, unsinkable fortress capable of projecting lethal force anywhere on the planet.
While the strategic minds wrestled with historical anxiety, Zhang Fei operated on a completely different wavelength. His brain worked in straight lines. Simple, aggressive, and occasionally brilliant lines.
The fiery general did not care about the philosophical shift from land to sea power. He cared about one specific historical tidbit the narrator had just dropped.
"Hey, Big Brother!" Zhang Fei bellowed, shattering the tense silence. He leaned forward, eyes wide with a borderline unhinged idea. "If that Xu Fu guy really sailed over there during the Qin Dynasty, does that not mean we have a legitimate claim? Can we not just announce to the world that this giant Japanese island is officially ancient Qin territory?"
Liu Bei was mid-sip of his tea. Hearing his youngest sworn brother suggest a casual, retroactive annexation of an entire foreign nation based on a centuries-old myth made him choke.
"What?!" Liu Bei gasped, coughing into his sleeve as he stared at Zhang Fei. "How could we possibly justify something so outrageous?"
But as the words left his mouth, Liu Bei's brain caught up. The Han Dynasty had claimed far-off territories on flimsier pretexts. He blinked, a strange look crossing his face.
"...Although, from a purely diplomatic standpoint, it actually sounds feasible."
Across the table, Zhang Fei was still ranting, face flushed with righteous indignation.
"I mean, think about it! These Japanese spent centuries absorbing our Han and Tang culture. They copied our writing, learned our administration, ate the fruits of our civilization, and what happened? They turned out to be a pack of ungrateful white-eyed wolves who came back to invade their own teachers! If they want our culture so badly, we should just take their land right now and save everyone the trouble!"
Liu Bei sighed, rubbing his temples. He appreciated his brother's aggressive enthusiasm, but they needed to stay grounded. Zhang Fei's solution to every problem was "conquer it." Which, to be fair, had worked surprisingly well so far.
"That is a matter for a very distant future," Liu Bei said firmly. "Our immediate priority is restoring the ancient capitals. We must conquer Guanzhong and crush Cao Cao. Once we have reclaimed the central plains, then we can look for a deep water port in Guangling or Beihai to establish a naval shipyard."
Thinking of the upcoming campaigns pumped adrenaline through Liu Bei's veins. His mood visibly lifted. The man practically glowed with anticipation.
This year was destined to be the ultimate turning point. If they captured Guanzhong, they would secure the lucrative trade routes to the Western Regions and tap into the agricultural wealth of the northern plains. With those logistical pillars in place, Cao Cao's collapse was practically guaranteed.
Only after the Han court was truly restored could they entertain these grand, futuristic schemes about oceanic dominance. One thing at a time. Conquer the land first, then worry about the water.
---
In the Ganlu Hall of the Tang imperial palace, the atmosphere was thick with tension. You could cut it with a knife. Or maybe a really sharp sword. But nobody was reaching for weapons. Yet.
"Control the sea routes. Monopolize cross-ocean trade."
Li Shimin muttered the narrator's words, rolling them around his tongue like they were a piece of bad meat he was trying to decide whether to swallow or spit out.
The cause and effect the screen had outlined was not complex. It was terrifyingly simple.
The Tang Dynasty, following the administrative blueprint of the Qin and Han, operated on a single economic philosophy: Elevate agriculture, suppress commerce. In other words, keep the farmers happy and the merchants poor. Classic move.
Looking at his early Tang empire, the results seemed flawless.
To the west, Tang armies had smashed the nomadic threats and blown the Silk Road open, securing profitable overland trade. To the east, the Tang military held diplomatic authority, ensuring peaceful coastal borders. To the south, foreign envoys constantly arrived bearing tribute, confirming the empire's status as the center of the world.
In this golden age of stability, simply being a Tang citizen was a global passport. All surrounding tribes submitted as vassals. With no major wars disrupting the continent, merchants flocked to the capital, and commerce exploded.
Everything looked great. On the surface.
But there was a fatal flaw hidden within this prosperity. A ticking time bomb disguised as a successful policy.
The Tang household registration system, the strict Huji laws, physically chained the native peasant population to their designated land. Unless a man was drafted for military service or secured an incredibly rare travel permit, he was legally mandated to spend his entire life in a tiny circle. Born, farm, grow old, die in the same county. It was like being born in a village and being told, "This is your world. Deal with it."
This strict tether did not apply to foreigners.
These "New Tang citizens," merchants from Persia, Sogdia, Arabia, and the steppe, operated entirely outside the rigid agricultural quotas. They basked in the security provided by the Tang military. They utilized the empire's infrastructure. They traveled freely, monopolized international markets, and siphoned staggering wealth out of the Chinese economy. They were basically playing the game on easy mode while the locals were stuck in hardcore survival mode.
Li Shimin realized a bitter truth. If the future screen had not explicitly pointed out the catastrophic long-term consequences, almost everyone in his government would be perfectly happy maintaining this status quo.
From the Emperor to the lowest county clerk, the traditional mindset viewed this arrangement as ideal. Native citizens stayed put, farming, paying grain taxes, providing conscripts. Foreign barbarians handled the messy business of long-distance trade, bringing exotic luxury goods for the elites. Everyone stayed in their lane. Order maintained. What was the problem?
But the broadcast had shattered that illusion. The narrator made it clear. The actual financial profit from overseas trade was secondary.
The true cost was the deliberate suffocation of native maritime technology. By banning their own people from building massive ships and exploring the deep ocean, the Tang government was actively blinding its civilization to the future of global warfare. They were so busy patting themselves on the back for a stable economy that they did not notice they were slowly walking off a cliff.
Li Shimin sat perfectly still on his throne. His face was a blank mask. No anger, no joy. Just cold, hard calculation.
Any court official familiar with the Emperor knew what this dead silence meant. A violent war was raging inside Li Shimin's mind. The kind of war that left no bodies but could change the course of history.
The screen had not minced words. In a few sentences, it had launched a devastating critique against a foundational state policy governing the central plains for hundreds of years. It was like someone had walked into the throne room and told the Emperor that his favorite child was actually a spy.
This was a direct challenge to the Tang empire's bedrock. Attempting to reform the agriculture-over-commerce doctrine, even slightly, would trigger massive political shockwaves. It would enrage traditionalist scholars, disrupt tax collection, and potentially destabilize the rural economy. It was the kind of reform that could get a minister executed if he was not careful.
Li Shimin had to be incredibly cautious. One wrong move could plunge the empire into chaos. And he had already used up his "one wrong move" card on the Korean peninsula.
Down in the ranks of ministers, Chancellor Du Ruhui was lost in thought. He turned his head, seeking input from his trusted colleague.
What he saw made him blink.
Fang Xuanling was not calmly taking notes like the rest of the court. The usually composed minister was furiously scribbling on a large sheet of parchment. His brush moved with frantic speed, like a man trying to write down a dying confession before it was too late.
Du Ruhui leaned over, peering at the paper. The entire page was covered in strange Arabic numerals and complex mathematical equations the screen had introduced in previous sessions. It looked like the work of a madman.
"Xuanling, what on earth are you doing?" Du Ruhui whispered, baffled.
Fang Xuanling did not stop calculating. His eyes stayed glued to the shifting numbers. His forehead was slick with cold sweat, his voice trembling as he offered a breathless explanation.
"Tomorrow morning, Keming, you are coming with me to conduct a field inspection in Wannian County."
He scribbled another line of dense equations, his face growing paler by the second.
"The concepts these future generations casually mention... they are profound academic disciplines of terrifying power. That specific concept they brought up earlier. The Malthusian Trap."
Fang Xuanling finally paused his brush. He stared at the finished calculation, breathing shallow.
"The more I understood that theory's internal logic, the more horrified I became. I just spent the last hour using their advanced mathematics to run a rough demographic and agricultural projection for the Great Tang over the next fifty years."
Seeing the haunted expression on his oldest friend's face, Du Ruhui felt a spike of genuine anxiety. He had seen Fang Xuanling worried before. He had seen him stressed. But he had never seen him look like he had just stared into the abyss and the abyss stared back.
"And?" Du Ruhui pressed, voice tight. "What do the numbers show?"
Fang Xuanling did not bother explaining the math. He simply shook his head, the kind of slow, defeated shake that made Du Ruhui's stomach drop.
"Accompany me to Wannian County tomorrow to verify the actual census data against local grain yields," Fang Xuanling said grimly. "If my projections hold true, in exactly half a month, I will use these mathematical proofs to submit a formal petition to His Majesty."
He looked Du Ruhui dead in the eye. "I will demand that the Emperor completely abolish the maritime bans and force the oceans open to our people."
Du Ruhui's eyes widened. He knew Fang Xuanling's personality better than anyone. His colleague was famously mild-mannered, deeply diplomatic, always preferred to avoid direct confrontation with conservative factions. His entire political survival strategy was based on not picking unnecessary fights. The man would rather compromise than argue. He would rather smile than shout.
For Fang Xuanling to suddenly declare his intent to launch a political crusade that would undoubtedly tear the court apart meant only one thing. The mathematical reality he had just discovered was so catastrophic they had no other choice. It was like watching a pacifist pick up a sword and charge into battle. You knew something had gone terribly wrong.
Du Ruhui swallowed hard, burying his shock, and gave a firm nod.
"Understood. I will be there."
Lightscreen]
[There is another massive, unavoidable reason why ancient Chinese civilization failed to prioritize deep ocean exploration. We can chalk this one entirely up to the realities of physical geography.
The maritime territory directly south of the Chinese mainland happens to contain the absolute largest, most densely packed archipelago system on planet Earth.
This sprawling network of islands stretches all the way from the Andaman Sea in the west to the Philippines in the east. It runs from the island of Taiwan in the north straight down to the massive coast of Australia in the south.
The entire zone is packed with large landmasses, thousands of tiny islets, beautiful tropical climates, and an absolutely staggering abundance of natural resources.
Historically, this region was a goldmine. It produced vast quantities of cloves, nutmeg, sandalwood, high-grade camphor, precious benzoin resin, and pure gold ore.
These were the exact luxury goods that were in ridiculously high demand among the elites of the ancient Chinese feudal dynasties.
The ancient maritime trade routes through Southeast Asia were already well-established by the Han Dynasty. Chinese ships sailing south would follow the coast of Indochina, passing through the Gulf of Thailand before reaching the Malay Peninsula.
However, early Chinese ships were not capable of crossing the South China Sea directly. They had to island-hop, stopping at ports along the way. This made the port of Oc Eo in the Mekong Delta, belonging to the Funan kingdom, a crucial stopover for Chinese merchants from the 1st to the 7th century .
Now, put yourself in the shoes of a wealthy maritime merchant in ancient China.
You have this massive, insanely profitable trade zone sitting right in your backyard. Navigating between the mainland and this island chain is incredibly safe. The seasonal monsoon winds blow predictably from the northeast during January and February, then reverse from the southeast during June and August . You can easily ride these winds back and forth, jumping from island to island. Your financial returns are practically guaranteed.
When you have an economic setup that comfortable, why on earth would you ever bust your back trying to build experimental deep water ships? Why would you risk sailing halfway across the globe to the extreme West, braving deadly ocean storms, just to chase a hypothetical fortune that you will probably drown before you can even spend?
For ancient Chinese merchants, this southern island chain was the ultimate comfort zone. Modern historians jokingly refer to this geographical phenomenon as the Beginner Village Archipelago.]
As the narrator delivered the lecture, the visual display shifted dramatically. The map zoomed out from the immediate southern coastline, revealing a crystal-clear, high-definition satellite view of the entire Southeast Asian region and beyond.
Down in the grand hall, Li Shimin immediately leaned forward, eyes locking onto the new projection like a hawk spotting a field mouse.
He was already somewhat familiar with this general geography. A massive world map, painstakingly painted by the master architect Yan Lide based on previous futuristic broadcasts, was currently hanging on the wall of his study. It was his pride and joy. He would show it off to visiting dignitaries like a kid showing off his toy collection.
However, Yan Lide's map was incomplete. It featured large patches of white, cloudy fog over the extreme southern regions where specific geographical data was missing. It was like trying to read a book with half the pages torn out.
Now, the future screen was generously stripping away all the fog, presenting the southern hemisphere in absolute, uncompromised detail. It was like someone had finally cleaned the windows.
Li Shimin's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull as his gaze drifted toward the bottom of the projection. His jaw dropped. His regal composure completely evaporated.
"What in the heavens..." Li Shimin gasped, pointing a shaking finger at the screen. "That Aus... Australia continent... how can it possibly be that massive?!"
On Yan Lide's original map, they had known there was some sort of landmass far to the southeast, but it was just a vague, ghostly outline. Like a shadow you were not quite sure was actually there.
Seeing the entire continent displayed in full scale was a profound shock. By simply comparing the visual footprint on the screen, anyone in the room could instantly realize the terrifying truth.
That single, isolated landmass floating in the southern ocean was significantly larger than the entire current territory of the Great Tang Empire. And they had no idea it even existed until just now.
The ministers exchanged glances. Some looked like they had swallowed their own tongues. Others were muttering prayers to ancestors they had not thought about in years. One particularly pale official started fanning himself with his official hat.
Standing among the military officials, Li Jing, the undisputed God of War of the Tang Dynasty, reached up and gave his long beard a sharp tug. It was a nervous habit. The kind of thing he only did when his brain was processing something so big it threatened to break his concentration. His tactical mind completely ignored the economic trivia about spices and gold. He was analyzing the map purely through the lens of grand strategy.
His expression grew incredibly complex. It was the look of a man who had just realized the chessboard was much bigger than he thought.
"This sprawling network of islands..." Li Jing murmured, his voice carrying clearly through the silent hall. "The narrator is correct. It makes maritime navigation incredibly easy for our native ships. They can simply hop from one safe harbor to the next without ever facing the true fury of the open ocean."
He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "But that is also the problem."
Li Jing took a step forward, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits as he traced the narrow waterways between the islands. He looked like a general studying a battlefield, which he was.
"However. Consider the inverse tactical scenario."
He turned to face his fellow generals, his voice dropping an octave, laced with grim certainty. The room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
"If a hostile foreign power from the future manages to build an invincible fleet of iron warships, and they decide to permanently garrison those ships across this specific island chain..."
He pointed a finger directly at the dense cluster of islands blocking the path to the Pacific. The gesture was sharp, precise, and terrifying.
"Then this so-called Beginner Village Archipelago instantly transforms into a maximum-security maritime prison. It would become an unbreakable barricade right on our doorstep. The very geography that makes trade so easy today will become an iron cage tomorrow, permanently trapping the Chinese civilization in the shallow waters, completely cutting us off from the wider world."
Li Jing's strategic transition was frighteningly fast. As a supreme military commander, the moment he understood the basic strengths and weaknesses of naval warships, he instantly began reverse-engineering the core principles of oceanic warfare. In a matter of seconds, he had independently deduced the terrifying modern geopolitical concept of the First Island Chain blockade.
The man was a genius. But right now, that genius was making everyone deeply uncomfortable.
Listening to Li Jing's brutal, flawless tactical breakdown, the color rapidly drained from the faces of the surrounding Tang generals. Some of them looked like they had just seen a ghost. Others looked like they were about to be sick. One particularly young general actually took a step backward, as if the map itself might reach out and grab him.
Currently, the Great Tang possessed overwhelming military supremacy. They did not have to worry about anyone blockading their coasts today. Their fleets were the best in the known world. Their armies were unbeatable. They were the undisputed kings of the hill.
But if they failed to maintain constant vigilance, if they allowed themselves to fall behind in naval technology, then by the time this terrifying Age of Sea Power arrived, the future generations of their empire would find themselves permanently locked inside a watery cage, slowly suffocating to death.
Li Shimin sat in stunned silence. His mind was racing. He had come here expecting a lecture about spices and trade routes. Instead, he had just watched his top general casually invent a terrifying new theory of naval warfare based entirely on a future broadcast.
He looked at the map again. Then at Li Jing. Then at the map again.
How did we get from cloves and nutmeg to this? he thought. What happened to the nice, simple days when the biggest threat was nomads on horseback?
He sighed. The weight of the future was heavy. And it was getting heavier by the second.