Inside the Imperial Academy's Examination Hall, it was quiet enough to hear dust settle. Over a thousand examination desks stood in orderly rows, with only the faint, continuous scratching of brushes against paper, like spring silkworms eating leaves. Daylight streamed through the high windows, carving square patches of brightness onto the flagstone floor. The scent of ink and restrained breathing hung in the air. Beneath the plaque in the main hall hung the policy essay topic, rendered in bold, vigorous characters: "On sea power and national fortunes."
Zhou Yu sat upright in his examination cubicle, his blue robe neat and his expression serene. His gaze swept over the topic, and the faintest curve crossed his lips, as though stars were turning in his eyes. He unrolled his paper and ground his ink, his movements unhurried. The instant his brush touched the paper, his gentle scholarly air abruptly sharpened. He raised his brush like a sword leaving its sheath, its edge fully bared.
"He who controls the sea controls the world."
Those words burst forth, their force penetrating the paper, anchoring the entire essay like a divine pillar that steadied the seas. His brush then raced like dragons and serpents, dissecting the New World's intricate, lucrative trade routes, setting out each point clearly and identifying the advantages of holding strategic choke points. He expounded on the essentials of naval deployment, progressing from ship configurations and harbor construction to supplies for ocean voyages, as though arraying troops upon the page. He delved further into the secrets of the Red Line, shrouded in the mists of history, each word like a pearl striking a tray, knocking against taboos sealed away for a thousand years. What flowed from his brush was not merely a strategy for governing the world, but the faint outline of