Chapter 2: Declaration of Aspirations

Prime Minister, we take our leave now. We will prepare another decoction for His Majesty; once he drinks it, he will be free from grave danger,” the imperial physicians bowed deeply.

Zhuge Liang nodded and turned to Liu Ma, saying, “Your Majesty, please rest well. I shall now go and select another attendant for you.” With that, he departed alongside the physicians.

Moments later, two women dressed as palace maids entered, carrying what resembled a chamber pot. Following them came two more maids: one held a censer, the other a basin with cloths. They placed the wooden chamber pot near Liu Ma’s bed, then approached him, bowing. One said, “Your Majesty, please use the lavatory.”

Liu Ma nodded and sat up. The two maids immediately helped him down from the bed. He caught the faint scent of soap from their bodies. All four maids were similarly dressed, clad in blue-green gowns, their hair neatly coiled atop their heads. Liu Ma had already observed them closely; they were of above-average beauty, and in his previous life, would have been considered quite attractive.

The maids helped him to the chamber pot. One bent to undo his belt. All four showed no particular emotion; it seemed this was routine for them.

But Liu Ma felt entirely differently. The moment the maid’s hand touched his belt, his face flushed red, and he hastily pushed her away.

“Your Majesty!” The four maids were startled and dropped to their knees in panic.

Liu Ma was bewildered by this. What he didn’t know was that these four maids had always served Liu Chan in this manner; refusing their service could lead to accusations of neglecting their duties. Even if not executed, their fate would be miserable. To serve the emperor was a privilege, ranking above other maids.

Understanding the situation, Liu Ma felt helpless. He sympathized with them, but he simply couldn’t relieve himself in front of four women; he doubted he could even manage it. He waved his hand and said, “I—I do not mean to blame you. Wait outside the hall, and I will summon you when needed.”

The four maids exchanged glances, then looked at the emperor’s resolute expression. Reluctantly, they bowed and withdrew. The maid with the censer lit it and placed it on the table before leaving.

Liu Ma sighed in relief. At last, he could use the lavatory in peace. He’d nearly burst from holding it in. Wisps of smoke rose from the censer, filling the room with sandalwood fragrance. The chamber pot was made of wood, and Liu Ma immediately recognized it as golden nanmu, a rare timber he’d only seen on television in his previous life.

How extravagant, he thought, sitting upon a chamber pot crafted from golden nanmu.

After what felt like an eternity, two maids came to carry away the chamber pot, and two others attended to his washing. They dressed him in a brocade robe embroidered with a dragon. One maid said, “Your Majesty, please proceed; it is time for breakfast.”

The dining room was adjacent to the hall. When Liu Ma arrived, the table was already laden with dishes. He glanced around: fish, meat, vegetables, soup—while not quite the standard of a banquet in his previous life, it was not far off, especially for breakfast.

He couldn’t help but smile. No wonder so many aspired to be emperor; even breakfast was so lavish, let alone other meals. Staring at the feast, his stomach growled. He tore off a chicken leg and began to eat.

Noticing the two maids standing nearby exchanging glances, Liu Ma paused and said, “I slept for so long; I’m famished!”

The maids looked at each other again. Normally, it was the attendant who served the emperor’s meals. Since the previous attendant had just been executed, and the emperor was so eager for food, they felt nervous—neither dared to move.

Liu Ma ignored them and focused on filling his belly. After about ten minutes, a voice came from outside.

“Your Majesty, I am Wang Li, sent by the Prime Minister to attend you!”

The voice was sharp—another eunuch, as expected. Liu Ma was unconcerned; every emperor needed a eunuch attendant. He replied, “Enter.”

Wang Li entered, bowing, and picked up the chopsticks from the table. “Your Majesty, which dish would you like? Allow me to serve you.”

Liu Ma looked up. Wang Li’s face was fair, clean-shaven, square-jawed, with an honest and gentle demeanor. He gazed at Liu Ma, smiling quietly.

Liu Ma had meant to refuse, but remembering that he was now Liu Chan, the later emperor of Shu Han, he decided to adapt to his new role. He nodded, pointing to the meat soup furthest from him. “I ate too quickly—bring me a bowl of soup.”

Wang Li nodded and carefully ladled a bowl of soup, placing it before Liu Ma without spilling a drop.

Liu Ma ate heartily, enjoying the convenience of being served. He didn’t even have to rise; Wang Li placed whatever he wanted into his bowl. Yet, he mused inwardly, “The food is plentiful, but the cooking methods are monotonous—everything is steamed or boiled! Satisfying, yes, but not particularly delicious.”

After his feast, Liu Ma finally looked up at Wang Li and asked, “What year is it now?”

Wang Li was taken aback. What a strange question—did the emperor not know the current year? Still, he answered, “Your Majesty, this is the fourth year of Jianxing.”

“And what year is that in the Common Era?” Liu Ma continued.

“Ah?” Wang Li looked utterly confused.

“Never mind, that was foolish of me,” Liu Ma muttered. The Common Era calendar came much later; of course Wang Li wouldn’t know.

He thought for a moment. He remembered that Liu Bei entrusted his son at Baidi City in 223, which was the first year of Jianxing. So now, in the fourth year, it must be 227.

“227 AD, then?” Liu Ma whispered to himself. He rose and waved his hand. “Clear the table.”

“Quick, clear the table! Bring tea for His Majesty!”

Taking the tea Wang Li handed him, Liu Ma sipped quietly, lowered his head, and began to pace, lost in thought.

As someone with a doctorate and a deep knowledge of China’s five thousand years of history, Liu Ma was no stranger to the past. 227 AD was the year Zhuge Liang wrote to launch the Northern Expedition. There were thirty-six years until the fall of Shu Han in 263.

In other words, Liu Ma could sit on the throne for thirty-six years, even if he did nothing and simply let history run its course. When Wei conquered Shu, all he would need to say was, “Life here is pleasant; I do not miss Shu!” and he could live another eight years, until age sixty-four.

Suddenly, he laughed. If this was how things turned out, this crossing was not so bad. He could live to sixty-four as emperor, enjoying the greatest riches and honors in the world—far better than the hardships of study, exams, and work in his previous life.

But...

Unconsciously, Liu Ma had wandered outside the hall. Suddenly, he lifted his head to the sky.

Since he had died and been reborn here, he must achieve something great in this life!

In the next moment, his eyes narrowed. He raised his hand in a solemn vow: “If Shu Han falls, I will have lived two lives in vain!”