[Three Kingdoms 365 · Day 163] The Price of Borrowed Arrows — Zhuge Liang promises 100,000 arrows in three days

At dawn of the next day, Zhou Yu (周瑜) brought a line to Kongming (孔明).

"Sir. Our navy needs one hundred thousand arrows within ten days. You shall oversee the making."

Kongming lifted his fan. The tip touched the dawn's air.

"Commander. Ten days is long. Three days will suffice. Three days from now, at this seat, I shall lay one hundred thousand arrows before you."

Zhou Yu's eyes narrowed slightly. To make one hundred thousand arrows even in ten days was no easy work; in three days it was a number beyond any ordinary craftsman's hand. This line of Zhou Yu was the continuation of a line already hidden inside the sound of bronze from the two cups at the pavilion last evening.

Zhou Yu confirmed Kongming's answer again.

"Three days, you said. Would you put the promise in writing?"

"Gladly."

Kongming lifted a brush and wrote, upon a single sheet of paper, a single line.

"Within three days, I shall lay one hundred thousand arrows before the Commander. Should I fail to do so within the term, I offer this scholar's own head. Zhuge Kongming (諸葛孔明)."

The sheet was set before Zhou Yu. A brief smile passed at the corner of his mouth. Inside that smile, the intent of this morning's test was exposed. Craftsmen, iron, bamboo, feathers — none of these could be gathered within three days. Upon the single signature of this morning, Zhou Yu was already seeing Kongming's head in advance.

Yet upon Kongming's face there was no trace of trembling. He set down the brush and raised his fan toward Lu Su (魯肅), who had been sitting beside them and watching the conversation.

"Lu Sir. This scholar shall ask you only one thing. Within today, gather twenty small boats at the riverside. Upon each side of each boat, tie a thick layer of straw; upon each boat, set a few drums and a few banners. Iron, bamboo, feathers, and craftsmen are all unnecessary."

Upon Lu Su's face sat a sign of puzzlement.

"Wolong Sir. Without iron, without bamboo, without feathers, how will you make one hundred thousand in three days?"

Kongming closed his fan.

"Lu Sir. It is not a matter of making. It is a matter of borrowing."

Zhou Yu's eyes narrowed again. Upon Lu Su's eyes, beside the puzzlement, a trace of astonishment was added. Kongming pointed with the tip of his fan to one point of the dawn's air. That point was the north — the direction of Cao Cao's (曹操) naval encampment.

"The price of borrowing is not paid by the borrower. It is paid by the giver. On the dawn three days from now, the giver will pay the price of one hundred thousand, all at once."

Inside this line of Kongming, the thickness of this morning's signature changed. The brief smile at the corner of Zhou Yu's mouth passed again. Yet this smile, unlike the smile of last evening, was not the exposure of the intent of a test, but the acknowledgement of the depth of a single move.

Zhou Yu rose from his seat. And to Lu Su he let a line fall.

"Lu Sir. The twenty boats, the straw, the drums, and the banners that Wolong Sir has asked for — gather them at the riverside within today. I shall add only one condition. Not a single word of this work is to leak out into Cao Cao's camp."

Lu Su bowed his head.

"Understood. I shall gather them within today."

Kongming also bowed his head.

"On the dawn three days from now, this scholar shall lay the price of one hundred thousand, all at once, before the Commander."

Zhou Yu turned his back and stepped out of the room. Inside remained the two men, Kongming and Lu Su. Lu Su, beside Kongming, looked once more at the direction of the fan. Its tip was still pointing to the north.

"Wolong Sir. The meaning of your saying that the giver pays the price — this man has not yet fully read. On the dawn of three days, would you show its meaning to me in person?"

Kongming lowered his fan, quietly.

"So shall it be. On the dawn of three days, Lu Sir shall board a boat together with me. Inside a single breath of that dawn, the meaning of the price of borrowing shall be loosed, all at once."

Morning's sunlight crossed through the east window of the room. The sunlight touched upon the signed sheet on the table. At the tip of each stroke of the signature, a reflection of light returned.

The seventh morning of Book 6 opened quietly upon one signed sheet. A scholar's fan was pointing to the north. In that direction of the north, the single breath of a dawn three days hence was already waiting.

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