Three days after the fire at Bowang had died out, Kongming (孔明) arrived for the first time at the magistrate's office at Xinye (新野).

The afternoon sun had just begun to tilt west. Beneath the banner before the north gate of the office, Liu Bei (劉備), Guan Yu (關羽), and Zhang Fei (張飛) stood in three rows. Their attire was not that of generals. Liu Bei wore a gray cotton outer robe; Guan Yu, a deep-blue ordinary tunic; Zhang Fei, a light black leather breastplate. This afternoon, the three greeted Kongming not as a soldier but as a companion.

Kongming came on foot. He had not ridden. The road from the thatched cottage at Nanyang (南陽) to Xinye takes two days, and a layer of dust clung to his feet. In his hand was a small willow twig he had plucked the afternoon before from the roadside. At its tip remained one thin green leaf.

Liu Bei stepped one pace forward from beneath the banner. Before Kongming he clasped his hands and offered a deep bow.

"Master. Your arrival at Xinye today is the firmest fruit of my past twenty years' strides."

Kongming smiled briefly.

"Your Lordship. This man's arrival is the answer to your twenty years of strides. Only — today this man does not come as your Commander-Counselor. Today I come as one of your friends (朋友). The seat of the Counselor I shall take from tomorrow morning."

The corner of Liu Bei's eye trembled lightly. For Liu Bei this afternoon, the single character for friend was a heavier seat than the two characters for Commander-Counselor. Kongming's face was still beardless. The clearness of his face was the face of a man arriving as a friend.

Guan Yu offered his greeting second.

"Master Kongming. Since the day my own eyes confirmed that the reed forest north of Bowang was three chi thick, one line of your slip has already been holding the rhythm of my strides. Today I see your face for the first time, but for many strides I have already walked in your rhythm."

Kongming looked into Guan Yu's eyes. The long beard shone softly in the light of the western sun. Kongming bowed his head, quiet.

"General Yunchang. Because your two eyes measured the three chi in a single reading, yesterday's single line of mine could be carried out. This man's one line was drawn beside your two eyes."

Zhang Fei offered the third greeting. His bow was short. But a line longer than the bow followed.

"Master. My single complaint last autumn was spoken after Your Lordship had walked twice for nothing. That one line is the first piece of my bow beneath the banner this afternoon. Please receive my apology first, and then today's bow."

Kongming laughed, large. It was his first great laugh this afternoon.

"General Zhang. Your one line last autumn was the swiftest wind behind my single stride to Xinye this afternoon. Without that one line, this man might have remained two more weeks within the yard at Nanyang. I shall not receive the apology. Only, I shall receive that one line as a single handshake."

Kongming put out his right hand. Zhang Fei laid his own right hand upon Kongming's. Beneath the banner, the right hands of the two men gripped each other.

The three men left the banner and went into the magistrate's office. Upon the empty cushion beneath the map on the western wall, from this afternoon, a man sat. A single name now turned the empty place beneath the map from empty to seat, from this afternoon onward.

Before sitting upon the cushion, Kongming laid the small willow twig lightly across one corner of the map. The single green leaf hung beside the black dot of Cao Cao (曹操) upon the north of the map. The shadow of the leaf fell, very small, upon the black dot. For a moment, the size of the black dot seemed to shrink beneath the shadow of that leaf.

Liu Bei saw the shadow and smiled, small. Zhang Fei beside him clenched his fist lightly. Guan Yu folded his hands upon his knees and sat quiet. For the first time this afternoon, the four breaths of the four men fell into one rhythm inside the west room.

The greeting beneath the banner had ended this afternoon. From this afternoon, the master of the empty cushion sat upon his own seat. Three greetings of three men had each been completed beneath the banner, and the four breaths of the four men had been brought into a single rhythm inside the west room.

The empty cushion beneath the map in the west room of the magistrate's office at Xinye was — from this afternoon — no longer empty. That single shift was the first morning of the twenty years to come. Empty seats, once filled with the right name, cease to be furniture and become the instruments upon which the music of a country is played.

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