A lie doesn’t hurt—it’s the truth that cuts like a knife.
If Liu Bei had said anything else, the girl wouldn’t have cared.
But when he pointed out that she hadn’t left Luoyang for an entire year, it struck a nerve—because he was right.
Miss Mengde truly hadn’t left Luoyang once over the past year.
Back during the Jianning era, when Emperor Liu Hong had just ascended the throne, Mengde had traveled all across the Han Empire, actively expanding the Cao family’s business.
But over the past two years, things had changed.
On one hand, the Cao family’s ventures had already spread successfully across the regions.
On the other, now that Cao Song held real power in the court, Mengde had to remain behind the scenes in Luoyang, helping her foolish father maneuver through political affairs.
Without her guidance, there was no way that blockhead could outplay the emperor and the eunuchs.
That was why she had stayed in Luoyang.
But now, if Mengde wanted to temporarily leave the capital and head north, she would have to find someone both capable and trustworthy—someone who could advise her idiotic father in her absence.
‘Who would be a good fit…?’
Miss Mengde fell into thought.
Meanwhile, Liu Bei, seeing the girl lower her head and go silent, mistakenly assumed that his words had hurt her feelings.
He hurried to apologize in a low voice.
“Are you alright, Miss? I was only joking just now. I know you have your reasons for staying in Luoyang. Please don’t take it to heart…”
Mengde shot him a glare.
“You knew I had my reasons and still used that to mock me? Forget it. I’m not so fragile that I’d get upset over something so trivial. I was just thinking about something.”
“What is it?”
“I’m thinking about who should advise my father once I’m gone.”
“…I see.”
Liu Bei hesitated after hearing that.
Mengde glanced at him and asked, “Do you have anyone in mind?”
“I’m just a commoner with no official title. How could I possibly know anyone, apart from you, who could advise one of the Three Excellencies?” Liu Bei replied with a bitter smile.
“You’re giving me far too much credit…”
“That’s true.”
Mengde nodded in agreement.
‘In the original timeline, wasn’t Liu Bei constantly getting thrashed because he didn’t have anyone competent at his side?’ she thought.
‘Back when he was in Xuzhou, he had Chen Qun with him, but Chen Qun was more of an administrative talent, not a strategist. Besides, at the time, Chen Qun was just coasting along with Liu Bei—he hadn’t truly pledged his loyalty. So of course he wasn’t going to give Liu Bei serious counsel.’
‘In the end, I’ll have to figure this out myself, won’t I…?’
‘But who could possibly take my place?’
Miss Mengde fell into deep thought.
***
The Han dynasty really was entering its final countdown.
All the great ministers of the past, like Chen Fan, had already passed away.
The talented officials of the future—those who would rise during the era of warring warlords—had yet to come into their own.
As for the so-called “capable ministers” of Emperor Liu Hong’s reign… To be honest, Miss Mengde couldn’t think of a single one off the top of her head.
The Party Faction, once powerful, was now in decline.
The most famous members today were the “Three Gentlemen of the Chen Clan” from Yingchuan, and the “Eight Dragons of the Xun Clan,” also from Yingchuan.
Unfortunately, all eleven of them had reputations that far outshone their actual abilities.
They were more like the Donglin partisans of the late Ming than men like Chen Fan, the leader of the Four Gentlemen, who had rich administrative experience in both the central court and the provinces. Miss Mengde would never feel at ease entrusting her father’s safety to people like them.
Honestly, the fact that the Party Faction now had to rely on someone like Cao Song—a eunuch’s descendant—was tragic in itself.
Talent was scarce.
The Eastern Han really was reaching its end.
The imperial court was filled with nothing but eunuchs and imperial in-laws.
‘How could a nation possibly be governed well when it’s in the hands of such parasites?’
Miss Mengde sighed quietly in her heart.
Liu Bei then asked, “By the way, Miss, why did you suddenly decide to leave Luoyang? Did something happen?”
His voice pulled Mengde out of her thoughts.
She replied, “I just received a letter from the Cao Clan Trading Company. There was a white disaster in the north last winter among the Xiongnu and Xianbei. Large numbers of livestock froze to death. Originally, the Cao Company had planned to purchase fifty thousand horses from the north this year, but it looks like that won’t be possible anymore…”
“White disaster” was the term the steppe peoples used to describe a snow calamity.
During winter, the grasslands would be blanketed in endless white after a snowfall, hence the name.
For nomadic tribes, white disasters were deadly, as they could kill vast numbers of livestock.
On top of that, the spring grass would grow late the following year, leading to devastating losses.
***
During the late Eastern Han period, global temperatures were dropping.
Both Rome and Han China fell into internal chaos under these harsh conditions.
The northern nomads were hit even harder, struggling every day as their herds died off in the cold.
Because of this, nomadic invasions grew more intense during this era, ultimately contributing to the fall of Western Rome and the collapse of the Western Jin.
Liu Bei looked confused. “So if we can’t buy the horses, then just don’t buy them. It’s not like the money matters that much to you, right? Why are you going all the way north for that?”
“Because I want to bring disaster relief,” Mengde replied.
Liu Bei looked even more puzzled.
He asked as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “Disaster relief? Why? Let them die. They’re barbarians—why should we save them?”
To the people of Han China, the northern tribes had never been equals.
If the barbarians died, so be it.
Once one wave died off, another would take its place and continue harassing the borderlands.
It was an endless cycle—tiring and infuriating.
And for someone like Liu Bei, who was born in the frontier region of Zhuo Commandery, his hatred for nomads ran even deeper.
In his eyes, the death of these northern tribes wasn’t just acceptable—it was desirable.
After all, who among the frontier families hadn’t suffered from nomadic raids?
But Miss Mengde strongly disagreed with his view.
If you could wipe out the nomads for good, that’d be one thing—but the problem was, you couldn’t.
The troubles on the northern frontier had persisted from the Qin dynasty all the way to the Qing.
‘Could that be solved by pure slaughter?’ Hardly.
In truth, many nomads were descendants of common people who had fled the Central Plains during times of hardship.
From a bloodline perspective, they were family.
Even if you managed to wipe them all out today, in a few decades, waves of refugees from the Central Plains would flee to the steppe again.
A new nomadic empire would rise, just as fierce as the last.
Mengde responded to Liu Bei without the slightest trace of politeness.
“I don’t like your attitude. The Xiongnu and Xianbei are still people. They’re no different from us. As the Records of the Grand Historian say: ‘The Xiongnu, their ancestor was Chunwei, a descendant of the Xia.’ The Xiongnu are descended from the Xia. They were once part of the Zhou-era confederation.”
“Their current brutality is the product of their environment. On the steppe, only the ruthless can survive. Most human behaviors are shaped by circumstance. If you or I were born on the steppe, I believe we wouldn’t be any different from them.”