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Zhuge Liang sweeps into the South like a summer storm, disturbing the natural order and inviting gossip and comment wherever he goes. He affects the dress and manner and modesty of a common farmer, a lie so outrageous that Zhou Yu finds it difficult, at first, to see beyond it to the person underneath.
Even his lack of artifice and manipulation in dealing with Zhou Yu feels like a manipulation in itself. The only truth is to be seen in his wide bright eyes and mischievous brows.
No doubt he's the kind of man who delights in tying others into exactly these kinds of knots. Zhou Yu knows a little of the game himself. He's a more seasoned player, even, although it's been some time since he met such an intriguing opponent.
"Thank you for the courtesy of honesty, at our first meeting," he says.
The food's long since been cleared away, and the wine jug over the fire is half empty. A dangerous portion of the jug is coursing through Zhou Yu, warming his blood and loosening his tongue.
"I wasn't aware of any courtesy," Zhuge Liang says carefully. "We barely spoke."
"You didn't try to persuade me."
Zhuge Liang's mouth twitches, as if he's reluctantly impressed. "So if I speak persuasively I risk falling into the trap of dishonesty?"
"For one like you, yes."
Hadn't he proven it, with his little show in front of Lord Wu, where a few words designed to anger had almost pushed Zhou Yu's young liege into a decision he wasn't ready to make?
"That seems unfair."
"Take it as a compliment," Zhou Yu says.
A permissive, very slightly mocking smile steals its way back onto Zhuge Liang's face as he sketches out a small bow.
He's a dangerous man, and never more so than when he plays at being subservient. Too clever and too observant by far, a delightful ally but a potentially deadly problem. And for all his kindness, they're alike enough for Zhou Yu to see the shining blade at his core, familiar to him from the days when he had ridden across the South with Sun Ce at his side.
Zhou Yu's old enough now to fear that impetuousness instead of feeling drawn to it. Or he should be. He should certainly be too old to have his blood so easily stirred by a young man who plays the qin like a dream, whose melodies drip with killing intent as much as playful curiosity - and above all, with a deadly sense of restraint.
A predator holding itself still, waiting for the hunt to begin.
And right on cue, here comes the honourable Lu Su with his attempt at pre-empting the problem.
The expression on Zhuge Liang's face shifts to a fond one at the announcement of Lu Su's title, and he stands in welcome with a genuine smile.
That's the most remarkable thing about Lu Zijing, out of many remarkable things - Zhou Yu has seldom met anyone who isn't at least a little charmed after they make his acquaintance.
"Zijing."
"Viceroy." Lu Su bows to Zhou Yu first, and then to Zhuge Liang. He waves away Zhou Yu's offer of a seat. "This one is merely here to deliver a message to Master Kongming."
"Oh? What manner of person gets to use Zijing for a messenger?" Zhuge Liang asks teasingly.
Zhou Yu is suddenly, dreadfully certain that Zhuge Liang somehow knows exactly what Lu Su is about to say.
Lu Su, for his part, continues to be his cheerfully oblivious self. "Your brother wishes to see you."
"And I wish to see him," Zhuge Liang replies. "But I'm here on behalf of my lord first. Xiongzhang[1] understands that sometimes one's duties conflict."
He accompanies it with one of his polite little smiles, as if that alone will make up for his rudeness.
Lu Su only shakes his head fondly. "What must Zhuge-daren[2] have made of you as a child?"
A bright, mischievous grin steals onto Zhuge Liang's face. It makes him seem very young. "I was very troublesome and gave him many a headache, for which I am sorry."
It's a useful reminder - he is still young, callow and relatively untried, however knowledgeable he seems. Which only makes the rumours of the shockingly brutal losses this seemingly pleasant youth had inflicted on Cao Cao's advance guard all the more chilling.
"That, I can believe," Lu Su says, with an indulgent smile of his own. "Is Master Kongming determined to make this one's mission a failure?"
"I dare not. Please tell Xiongzhang that I will call upon him tomorrow and convey my apologies for not having done so already."
Lu Su glances at Zhou Yu, clearly pleased; he's such a gentleman that even his gloating is measured and respectful. Zhou Yu allows himself a small smile in return.
After all, the terms of their bet required Zhuge Liang to do more than simply agree to the meeting.
Surely he will have to consider serving Lord Wu if Zhuge Jin-daren asks it of him. It would be unfilial to disobey his older brother, and Kongming is known for his adherence to virtue - Lu Su had said, frowning.
A wise follower of Confucius knows the difference between the great virtues and the lesser ones. I imagine that's what Kongming will say to Zhuge-daren. Shall we bet on it?
As a proper gentleman, Lu Su expects and imagines the primacy of virtue in others. Zhou Yu sees too much that is familiar in Zhuge Liang to expect the same, whatever his reputation.
Zhuge Liang's fond smile only grows wider after Lu Su makes his exit. "A very wise man, Lu Zijing. Wiser than you or I, perhaps."
Their cups have long been emptied, eased along by the thrill of a good conversation, the cut and thrust of it just as exhilarating as fifty rounds against a well-matched opponent on the field of battle. Zhou Yu refills his own, and then Zhuge Liang's, despite his token protests.
"Almost certainly. Zijing would never run the risk of getting lost in self-congratulation at his own cleverness."
"I think I detect insult," Zhuge Liang says, covering his mouth with the tip of his feather fan, too late to hide the beginnings of a smile.
Zhou Yu's own lips twitch. He hides it by taking a swallow of his drink. "Not at all. If there was any insult, it was directed at myself."
"Viceroy Zhou is far too sensible for such things," Zhuge Liang replies, with not even a token attempt at sincerity.
Their eyes meet; they both burst into laughter.
Very soon they'll have to make preparations to face the coming enemy - in itself a victory for Zhuge Liang, who had come South with the sole purpose of making Wu an ally against the forces of Cao Cao. A victory for him, but not a defeat for Zhou Yu, who had made promises to Sun Bofu on his deathbed, and could never agree to the South being handed to anyone without a fight.
Their goals dovetail neatly for the moment, so perhaps there is nothing wrong with letting himself enjoy this harmless sparring while it lasts.
Zhuge Liang clears his throat. "If the purpose of engineering this meeting with my brother is to persuade me to serve Lord Wu instead of my own master, I'm afraid Zijing is doomed to disappointment."
"I told him as much myself," Zhou Yu admits. "But you can understand why he had to try."
Zhuge Liang nods. "Yes. And I understand why you allowed the attempt."
His directness is more disarming than it should be. It demands honesty in turn.
"More in hope than in expectation," Zhou Yu says, softening it with a smile.
Zhuge Liang returns it two-fold, raising his cup. "The Viceroy knows this one well."
There's harmony between them, far more than Zhou Yu would ever have predicted. They're two expert qin players creating music together. The tune will build until it reaches a crescendo; or until, he thinks darkly, one of them has a string snap.
In Zhuge Liang's music he had detected an urgent need. At first he'd interpreted it as a need for allies, for a solution to his lord Liu Bei's woes. But perhaps that was too simple, for a man like Zhuge Liang.
He wonders what Zhuge Liang heard in his.
"Why tomorrow, then?"
"The Viceroy has not given this one permission to depart."
There's something coy in Zhuge Liang's tone, the way his lips curve and his eyes flick up at Zhou Yu behind his fan, there and gone in an instant. A look Zhou Yu hasn't seen in a long time and yet recognises instantly.
Surely he'd imagined it. The hermit scholar so detached from worldly desires that he seems like a Daoist priest would never lower himself to such things. Surely.
"As if you require permission," Zhou Yu says despite himself.
Zhuge Liang's mouth curves. Judging by his expression, he's not chastised in the least. Only the entrance of Lady Qiao curbs the amused mischief in his eyes, moderating it to something more appropriate and deferential.
"Lady Qiao, to what do we owe the honour?"
"The hour grows late," she says, with her typical gift of gentle understatement.
Occasionally she uses it as a weapon against particularly foolish men. But with Zhuge Liang it seems like something else, close to the way she is with Zhou Yu - as if she trusts him to understand her meaning without more words.
Fortunately, Zhuge Liang does not disappoint. He picks himself up and dusts himself off ostentatiously, offering her a deep bow.
"How rude of me to keep your husband so long. I will remedy the slight this instant."
Lady Qiao smiles. "Please don't leave on my account."
She means it, which is rare, and moves Zhou Yu to speech. "Would Furen[3] prefer to join us for a drink? Master Kongming could play for us."
Zhuge Liang hesitates, glancing between Zhou Yu and Lady Qiao. "If Lady Qiao doesn't disdain my meager skills," he says at last.
"Master Kongming is too modest," Lady Qiao says reproachfully, which is as good as an order, and fortunately for Zhuge Liang he understands that as well as Zhou Yu does.
He has to swallow back a sigh at the sight of the instrument she's chosen to offer to Zhuge Liang. Truly his wife is more terrifying than the fiercest of Cao Cao's generals.
The qin in question is a beautiful example of southern craftsmanship, but far from the finest in his collection. It may in fact be the oldest Zhou Yu still has. The sight of the slightly worn wood and newly restrung strings immediately takes him back to his youth, sitting up late into the night, singing and reciting poetry and speaking of the great things he'd one day accomplish.
She's right, of course. He can see it too - in Zhuge Liang's fearlessness and ambition, his wild hope and sharp intelligence. All the more so when Zhuge Liang starts to play, and the melody is immediately, achingly familiar.
His own Long River's Lament is a curious choice for a late evening gathering, but the yearning for achievement woven into the music suits Zhuge Liang, unassuming in his rough robes, a tiger playing at being a housecat.
He looks across at his wife, helpless and wondering, and her beautiful, placid face breaks into a smile. All the while Zhou Yu's favourite composition lingers in the air around them, brought to life by hands almost as skilled as his own.
"How - "
"I've long been an admirer of Viceroy Zhou's compositions," Zhuge Liang says, very seriously. His eyes are still closed, which is fortunate as Zhou Yu struggles to regain control of his expression.
A fair number of his compositions circulate, particularly among the scholars and teahouses of the South, but not this one. He'd be surprised if there were more than five copies of the notations in existence. Zhuge Liang must have sought it out.
"Master Kongming plays well," Lady Qiao says.
"I'm humbled that Lady Qiao thinks so," Zhuge Liang replies. For once, he might even mean it.
"You show true understanding of the composition. And the composer," she adds, with a quick, playful glance at Zhou Yu.
Zhuge Liang bows his head. "The lady is as wise as she is beautiful."
Lady Qiao brushes the compliment aside with a graceful shrug of her shoulders. "My husband is fortunate. A zhiyin[4] is hard to find."
From her, that's as good as explicit approval, not easily or lightly granted. In fact, she's only ever given it to one other.
Zhiyin, though. Is that what they are? Surely there's supposed to be less gamesmanship involved than this.
Zhuge Liang looks as surprised as he feels.
"If Lady Qiao says so, it must be true," he says slowly, glancing sidelong at Zhou Yu. "The Viceroy and I are both certain of what we want. I know that much."
Theirs is an age driven by petty lusts rather than virtues - for power, for conquest, titles and women and glory. But Zhuge Liang is right in this too, damn him. There's a vast difference between those desires and what lies in both their hearts, an ideal that can only be achieved through toil and blood.
"A rarity in this day and age," Zhou Yu says, and he doesn't miss the amused glint in his wife's eyes, the one that says gamesmanship is precisely what he deserves for all his years of flaunting his own cleverness in the face of all and sundry.
*
She doesn't bring it up again until later, when they're entwined in bed.
"Did you not see the way he looked at you? I think he would. He might even be eager."
There's no way to hide his reaction to that, although even he can't say whether it's a shiver of alarm or anticipation.
"Even so, I have no intention of lying with a viper."
Lady Qiao laughs. "Master Kongming does not seem much like a viper to me. He doesn't wish you ill, I'm certain of that much."
His wife is seldom wrong about people. He can only hope that her insight holds true.
*
Zhuge Liang refuses his brother's offer, of course, and he does it in the most annoying way possible, by turning the question back on him, and asking Zhuge Jin to join him in serving Liu Bei instead.
As a response to Lu Su's proposition, it's faultless in virtue, and barely leaves any room for anyone to take offence. As an answer, it could not be more definitive.
Zhou Yu's hardly ever been so irritated to win a bet.
*
The fortunes of their combined forces improve; and then they worsen horrifically beyond his or Zhuge Liang's imagining.
In their lowest hour, Liu Bei gathers up his meager remaining forces and flees the front. Or - the Imperial Uncle doesn't ever do anything as undignified as fleeing, even when forced to retreat. He leaves, with a proper goodbye, taking all of Lord Wu's anger with his usual equanimity.
He does so against the advice of Zhuge Liang, who stays.
It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense, not for Liu Bei, and certainly not for Zhuge Liang, unless there's more to it. Zhou Yu plays along, and he sends his scouts out, and he plans.
*
Their impasse comes to a head the night the chain scheme succeeds.
Zhuge Liang is in Zhou Yu's command tent, slowly sipping at the same cup of wine Lu Su had poured him earlier, upright and proper as ever, his body turned toward Zhou Yu like a compass pointing north. The others had long since departed in a drunken stumble, still excitedly discussing the finer points of a scheme that had eliminated two enemy generals and greatly replenished their weapon stores in one fell swoop, amazed and disbelieving that Zhou Yu and Zhuge Liang's separate plans had dovetailed so neatly like some kind of magic.
The Viceroy and I did not need to speak to predict the other's moves, Zhuge Liang had said, when Lu Su had expressed the sentiment.
Just like they've yet to speak about the real meaning behind Liu Bei's dramatic departure, even as the decisive moment draws nearer.
Zhou Yu's had more than a few cups himself on this night of celebration, and he no longer feels like indulging this particular guessing game.
The genuine surprise that flashes across Zhuge Liang's face when Zhou Yu pins him back against the bamboo screen is as intoxicating as an entire jug of wine. It's shockingly easy, with Zhou Yu's strength. Zhuge Liang may have the heart of a tiger but his body is that of a scholar, used to good honest farm labour, not battle.
He's not fazed in the least, of course, once he's over the initial surprise. "Viceroy?"
"Why did your Liu-huangshu[5] leave?" Zhou Yu asks, enunciating each word like a swipe of his sword.
His question hangs in the air between them, and then Zhuge Liang smiles. "You know why. You heard our conversation."
"Too simple," Zhou Yu says. "Imperial Uncle is a virtuous man, not a guileless one."
"If only he were a little less virtuous," Zhuge Liang mutters.
It seems he's not the only one who's had too much to drink.
"You don't mean that," Zhou Yu retorts.
Zhuge Liang laughs ruefully. "I don't."
"What are you up to, Kongming?"
That earns him a long, searching look. Then - the brush of dry lips, soft and tentative, against his. The barest hint of contact, and yet it strikes him like a lightning bolt, anchoring him in place for a long, frozen moment.
A bold stratagem but too obvious, and executed with none of his usual flair. Zhou Yu pushes him away.
"You could just tell me to stop asking," he says wryly.
Zhuge Liang smiles, settling back on his heels. "A poor and unworthy scheme - I apologise for my presumption."
He doesn't seem embarrassed, or particularly sorry, which is unaccountably irritating.
"No need. Just answer the question," Zhou Yu says shortly.
The collars of Zhuge Liang's white robes had come askew, exposing the elegant lines of his throat and collarbones, dishevelment making him look more like a harmless reclusive scholar-farmer than ever; an illusion that dissipates piece by methodical piece as he straightens his crooked belt, smooths down the embroidered collar of his robe and resettles the thin straw-coloured over-robe around his slight frame. When he's done, there's no hint of that young farmer left on his face.
"The alliance between us deserves an answer. But you already know, don't you? You guessed most of it when my lord made that scene. I saw it from the way you looked at me."
He had, hadn't he? He'd looked at Zhuge Liang, strangely unruffled with all his calculations and schemes for his lord come to naught, and known.
"Risky. What if I hadn't played along? Our alliance might've collapsed for real."
Zhuge Liang laughs. "There was never any risk of that. I knew you'd see it, and know what to do with it. You see me."
That's perhaps more true than either of them want it to be.
Zhou Yu wasn't - isn't - entirely unreceptive to Zhuge Liang. That's true too, and he'd hesitated long enough for it to be obvious. Even so -
"Don't try that again. Not as a scheme," he says quietly.
It doesn't come out sounding anything like a command, or a rebuke, but Zhuge Liang looks admonished for the first time - maybe the first time since they met.
"It wasn't entirely a scheme. I'm an admirer. As I said."
Zhou Yu only snorts inelegantly in response, and real indignation flashes across Zhuge Liang's handsome features.
"Is that so hard to believe? Surely you have heard your fill of praise. They say Zhou Gongjin is the South's foremost gentleman soldier, as skilled with a brush as he is with a sword, with a face like jade and a mind to match."
"I find it hard to believe that you admire anyone," Zhou Yu says honestly.
"I admire my teacher. My lord, of course."
That, at least, is honest.
"Of course. How about Cao Cao? Do you admire him?"
Something imperceptible shifts in Zhuge Liang's face, turning it into a cold, still mask.
"I...cannot. Not after I saw what happened in Xuzhou."
When Cao Cao had his moment of grief-driven madness all those years ago, he could not have had any idea that he was creating a dangerous enemy, dragging a boy who might've been content to be a sage down to earth.
Zhuge Liang still has the remnants of that priest-like air about him, with his knowledge of medicine and the weather and his animal friends and his rough-hewn clothes. In times of peace he might've been an able scholar, his fancies directed toward creation instead of killing. He and Zhou Yu might have sat up over a good meal and played music to their heart's content.
"Ah. I see."
Zhuge Liang nods. "Yes, you do. That's the source of my admiration. If there has to be such a thing."
In times of peace, they might have been true companions. In times of chaos -
"What good is admiration when it doesn't outweigh your aspirations?"
"I've asked myself the same question," Zhuge Liang says. He pauses, eyeing Zhou Yu with something approaching nervousness from behind his fan. "Sun Bofu was a great man."
As usual, he sees far too much himself.
Sun Ce was impulsive and had a horrific temper. But he was also gallant and a generous friend and a great lord; in Zhou Yu's memories he shone as bright as the sun. For a time, they'd belonged to each other.
When he passed away, too soon, Zhou Yu had sworn to serve his blood until death, as if they were Sun Bofu himself.
The thought of him - of having lost him so young - makes Zhou Yu foolish enough to ask.
"If you weren't so committed to Liu-huangshu, we could shift the balance. You know I'm right. With the two of us - "
Zhuge Liang shakes his head. "You have your charge and aspiration. I have mine. Neither of us can move the other."
In this they're alike, too. Zhuge Liang would never waver once he settled on a path. Zhou Yu might've called him mad for it, but in the end he's just as unshakeable.
"Then one day we will be enemies. Perhaps we'll wish we'd never met."
"No. Our interests may come into conflict. We may face each other on the field of battle. But you will never be an enemy," Zhuge Liang says firmly.
A man's word was not to be trusted when in his cups or in the grips of infatuation. And yet.
"Is there a difference, when you would fight me as fiercely and deviously as you do any other opponent?"
When they play together, Zhou Yu hears killing intent in Zhuge Liang's music. Not directed toward him, not yet. But one day it might be.
Yes, perhaps they are zhiyin. They can predict each other's moves to the point where it makes games of weiqi[6] pointless. That's how he knows the depths of what they're both capable of, for what they each hold sacred.
For once, Zhou Yu had posed a question without any idea of what the answer might be, genuinely curious and anticipatory, hoping to be surprised.
And as ever, Zhuge Liang continues to surprise him.
"Yes. I would show you the respect of my most dangerous opponent. All others are mere trifles in comparison," he says, softly, with genuine warm affection. "I would destroy you with everything in me, and you would do the same."
Perhaps Zhuge Liang is right, and that is the ultimate measure of admiration.
Not intimacy or song or poetry. Just this.
"Would you even shed a tear, if you succeeded?"
Zhuge Liang allows him the rare courtesy of seeing the thought percolate and settle and grow behind his eyes. He smiles.
"Of course I would. Gongjin, I promise to cry rivers at your funeral."
I think back to that time, your dashing mien and brilliance. I weep for your untimely demise, head bowed, heartsore. Loyal and honorable of mind, noble in spirit! Three twelve-year spans of life, a name for a hundred ages. I mourn, distraught, my insides knotted with grief. While a heart beats here, this sorrow cannot end. Heaven darkens over. The whole army blanches with despair. Your lord mourns; your friends pour out their hearts.
I have no talent, yet you sought my counsel. We aided the Southland against Cao Cao, supported the Han, and comforted the Liu. Our mutual defense was perfectly coordinated, and we did not fear for our survival.
Alas, Gongjin, the living and the dead can never meet. You preserved your integrity with simple devotion, and it will survive the mists of death and time.
Perhaps the dead can discern our thoughts, but what man alive truly knows me now?
- Excerpt from Zhuge Liang's eulogy for Zhou Yu, Romance of the Three Kingdoms (translated by Moss Roberts)