The Moment of Enlightenment
Yong Liang was reading a firsthand account of a high-level summit between The Kingdoms of Wu and Wei.
In attendance:
Zhou Yu, commander of Wu’s naval forces Lu Su, diplomat and chief advisor to Sun Quan Cheng Pu, senior general in the Wu military Cao Hong, cousin to Cao Cao Xun You, lead strategist for the state of Wei Man Chong, a Wei military planner with influence across multiple campaigns
They came together to smooth over tensions that were quietly boiling across the region.
The gathering was formally recorded as The Council of Gongon.
Its purpose was clear: to negotiate river control, secure passage rights, and define the shared responsibility of maintaining the Yangtze Corridor.
The discussions were detailed and direct. Disagreements arose over trade routes, taxation authority, water regulation, and the economic autonomy of each kingdom. Wei demanded structured checkpoints. Wu resisted. Voices clashed. Territory was defended.
Nobody left satisfied. No agreement was signed. Each delegation walked away with nothing gained.
But in Yong Liang’s family’s book, a startling note followed.
Just two weeks after The Council of Gongon, The Battle of Red Cliff began.
This detail changed everything.
Because this meeting—this council—did not appear in any school textbook. It was absent from every official Chinese historical record Yong Liang had ever studied.
Yet here it was, written plainly, preserved in ink and paper, within his family’s home. It was history—missing from the state’s account.
And Yong Liang had just uncovered it.
But what caught Yong Liang off guard—was the date.
The council meeting had been recorded as taking place in 5,800 BC. More than 7,700 years from today. And 6,626 years before the Battle of Red Cliff.
The Moment It All Changed
Yong Liang could not believe what he was reading.
The Battle of Red Cliff—one of the most famous military events in Chinese history—had been placed not in 208 AD, but in a time far more ancient than anything he had ever been taught.
Over 7,000 years ago. A full two millennia older than the official 5,000-year history taught in Chinese schools.
And yet, there it was. The proof. Written plainly. Held in his hands. Inside a book from his own family’s home.
Yong Liang became curious. Then restless. Then determined.
He spent the next several days poring over the rest of the books in the room—every page, every chapter, every inked note.
And what he found, he was not prepared for.
The books did not cover one lifetime. They spanned 44 generations of forgotten Chinese history.
They held records of daily life, family lines, administrative and clerical duties, recipes for lost Chinese medicines, tax records, land deeds, and trade agreements.
There were accounts of ancient Chinese technologies, maps of regions that no longer exist, and documented correspondence between ancient China and other civilizations long thought disconnected:
- Rome. - Greece. - Ancient Egypt. - Persia. - Babylon. - Judea. - Ancient Israel. - The Kush Empire. - The Ethiopian Empire. - Even the Mayan, Incan, and Aztec peoples.