In a very real sense, Liu Bei was jealous of the Song Dynasty.
Who, in their right mind, wouldn't be?
He had spent twenty years running like a stray dog, because Cao Cao beat him everywhere. He had struggled to build a foundation for restoring the Han Dynasty while everyone around him seemed more interested in burning the empire down.
He had literally begged for talent, gone from warlord to warlord, watched his armies get crushed, his wives captured, his brothers separated.
And now he was watching the Tang Dynasty's unstoppable warriors and the Song Dynasty's advanced technology.
Who wouldn't be jealous of a foundation like that?
Not because of their territory. Not because of their wealth. And definitely not because of the Song's military reputation.
Anyone who had watched the light screen knew that particular topic was... sensitive.
No, he was jealous of their study materials.
Because here's the thing about building a dynasty from scratch.
When Emperor Guangwu rebuilt the Han, what did he have to work with? A pile of records from the Western Han and the cautionary tale known as the Qin Dynasty. One successful example and one spectacular disaster.
Most of the important lessons still had to be learned through trial and error, usually at great expense.
The ancestors possessed the sacred scrolls and ancient tallies — that was the old saying from the Classic of Documents. But scrolls and tallies only told you what happened. They didn't tell you how to survive it.
Li Shimin had it much easier. By the time the Tang Dynasty arrived, there were already centuries of history available for review.
He could study the strengths of the Han, observe how powerful aristocratic clans spent generations turning politics into a blood sport, then look at the remains of the Sui Dynasty whenever he needed a reminder not to get too ambitious.
Four centuries of achievements and failures. Two hundred years of aristocratic clans tearing the country apart. And the spectacular crash of the Sui Dynasty to learn from.
The Song Dynasty, meanwhile, practically inherited the answer key.
By their era, there was nearly a thousand years of imperial history sitting on the shelf waiting to be consulted.
Every successful reform, every catastrophic mistake, every administrative innovation, every military disaster had already been documented by someone else.
If history was an examination, the Song scholars walked into the room carrying a stack of notes so thick it could probably stop an arrow. They could systematically remove the structural flaws of previous eras while building on the wisdom of ancient sages.
And somehow, despite all that preparation, they still managed to lose whatever part of the Han and Tang brain was responsible for solving problems with cavalry.
That was the part Liu Bei could never quite understand.
The light screen had already shown enough examples. The Song weren't incompetent. Quite the opposite. Their economy was impressive. Their administration was sophisticated. Their scientific and technological progress was extraordinary. Every breakthrough rested on foundations laid by previous generations. Someone discovered a principle. Someone else refined it. A third person found a practical application. Century after century, knowledge piled on top of knowledge.
But whenever a foreign army appeared on the horizon, the dynasty often reacted like a wealthy scholar discovering a tiger in his garden.
It was honestly remarkable.
Still, Liu Bei couldn't deny that the achievements praised by the light screen were built upon an enormous mountain of accumulated wisdom. And that mountain was exactly what his own administration lacked.
He looked across the room at Zhuge Liang.
Lately, Kongming had been working so hard it was making everyone around him uncomfortable.
Ancient texts were stacked all over his desk. The Mozi, the Lunheng, obscure treatises that most scholars only pretended to have read at banquets.
Zhuge Liang was actually reading them. Comparing passages. Taking notes. Hunting for useful ideas buried under centuries of archaic language.
Even the old math books weren't safe. The Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art and the Zhoubi Suanjing were constantly being copied, annotated, simplified, and reorganized.
Whenever Zhuge Liang found a useful formula, he immediately rewrote it in plain language. No more dense ancient text. Just simple words that normal people could understand.
Poor Liu Ba had somehow become his accomplice.
Every few days, Kongming would hand him another stack of simplified materials. "Test these on the students," he'd say. If the kids understood, the explanation stayed. If they didn't, Kongming rewrote everything and tried again.
Watching the whole process, Liu Bei sometimes wondered if his chief strategist had quietly changed jobs to become a hard carry. Was he secretly trying to invent a thousand years of educational reform all by himself?
He sighed.
If Zhuge Liang had access to the Song Dynasty's libraries, a thousand years of historical precedents to use as reference, would he still be burying himself under mountains of bamboo slips every night?
Probably not.
The man would probably spend half his time laughing at how much easier everything had become. And the other half complaining about all the work he could have skipped.
Now this magic future screen was giving their generation a golden chance to look at the answers written by those who came after them.
For future generations, this was probably just entertainment. A weird window into a world they'd never see.
For the founders of Shu Han? It was pure gold.
Liu Bei had no intention of letting a single drop of this knowledge slip through his fingers.
No matter how boring a historical detail seemed.
No matter how dry, military reforms, administrative systems, farming techniques, medical knowledge, engineering principles, even random historical anecdotes could contain something useful.
Unlike the Song Dynasty, Liu Bei didn't have a thousand years of accumulated experience sitting neatly on a bookshelf waiting to be consulted.
He was one of the people creating that experience.
So if heaven was willing to show him even a small corner of the answer sheet, he intended to copy every word before someone took it away.
[Lightscreen]
[After Li Jing wiped the Eastern Turkic Khaganate off the map, the surrounding kingdoms panicked.
Everyone suddenly became very interested in staying on Emperor Li Shimin's good side.
In a burst of diplomatic enthusiasm, they handed him one of the most prestigious titles imaginable: Tian Kehan, the Heavenly Khagan.
But Murong Fuyun, the Khan of the Tuyuhun Kingdom, completely missed the memo.
He basically looked across the border and said, 'Who does Li Shimin think he is? I raid when I want to raid. What is he going to do about it?'
For context, "Murong" wasn't just a random name. It was the clan name of a branch of the Xianbei, a nomadic people from the eastern steppes who had once dominated northern China and founded several dynasties of their own, like the Former Yan and Later Yan.
The Tuyuhun Kingdom itself was born from a family feud.
Back in the late 3rd century, a Xianbei prince named Murong Tuyuhun had a falling out with his younger brother over a dispute about horse pastures, according to legend.
He took his followers and migrated west, all the way from the Liaodong Peninsula to the rich pastures around Qinghai Lake.
There, he subjugated over a hundred local Qiang tribes and founded a kingdom that bore his name. For over three centuries, his descendants ruled a vast empire that controlled half of the Hexi Corridor, stretched from Gansu to Xinjiang, and dominated the vital Silk Road trade routes.
Their lifestyle was the stuff of nightmares for settled farmers like the Tang. They were nomadic pastoralists through and through, moving with their herds of horses, sheep, and yaks across the high plateau.
Their children learned to ride before they could walk and to shoot arrows before they could read. Every adult male was a cavalryman. They didn't need supply lines. They didn't need wagons. They just needed grass for their horses.
The Tuyuhun had been a persistent headache since the Sui Dynasty. At their peak, they controlled half of the Hexi Corridor and huge chunks of the Western Regions, regularly launching brutal cavalry raids across the border.
The problem wasn't military strength.
It was geography.
The Tuyuhun homeland sat on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, more than three thousand meters above sea level. If a large army marched up, they just packed their tents, drove away their livestock, and vanished into the mountains. The invaders would spend months climbing through barren highlands, burning through supplies while accomplishing nothing.
Then, the moment those armies ran low on food and started heading home, the Tuyuhun would reappear and ambush them from all sides.
Emperor Yang of Sui learned this lesson the hard way. He once launched a massive campaign against the Tuyuhun and technically won several battles.
On paper, it looked like a victory.
In reality, he gained nothing. No major cities. No lasting territorial gains. As soon as his supply lines collapsed, the Tuyuhun counterattacked and drove the exhausted imperial forces all the way back to the Hetao region.
Emperor Yang had no answer. He just cried.
Because of this history, Murong Fuyun viewed Chinese emperors as paper tigers. During the early years of Zhenguan, Li Shimin had been obsessively saving money and manpower for his showdown with the Eastern Turks.
He tolerated a lot of border friction.
This strategic patience made Murong Fuyun arrogant. He genuinely believed Li Shimin was a pushover.
After the Eastern Turks got deleted, Murong Fuyun played a classic double game. His diplomats arrived in Chang'an bearing gifts, smiling politely, and offering all the appropriate compliments.
At the same time, still doing his hobby, his cavalry kept sacking Tang border settlements without missing a beat.
On the diplomatic front, the Tuyuhun treated the Tang Emperor's reputation like a doormat.
When Li Shimin sent a senior envoy, Zhao Dekai, to demand an explanation for the raids, Murong Fuyun didn't bother negotiating. He threw the diplomat into a cage and shipped him off to the Western Regions to grow watermelons.
Tang sent over a dozen more diplomatic missions. Murong Fuyun's strategy never changed. He would make vague promises, swear that everything would be resolved soon, smile politely, and then go back to his hobby. His cavalry would loot another border prefecture. Shanzhou got hit. Lanzhou got hit. Guozhou got hit.
Only after thoroughly pillaging the region did he finally let Zhao Dekai go home.
By 634, Li Shimin's patience had officially expired. He established the Xihai Circuit, appointed General Duan Zhixuan to command a punitive expedition, and ordered the local Qiang and Dangxiang tribes to support the campaign.
The result was a perfect copy of the old Sui disaster.
The moment the Tang army advanced, Murong Fuyun packed his bags and vanished into the mountains.
General Duan Zhixuan led his army into the Qinghai region, where they spent an entire month eating through their supplies and enjoying the breathtaking mountain views. But they couldn't find a single enemy combatant. With their food running dangerously low, they were forced to turn back.
Duan Zhixuan hadn't even made it back to the capital before another report hit Li Shimin's desk: the Tuyuhun had already come down from the mountains and were currently butchering the garrison at Wuwei.
Having his imperial face thoroughly slapped, Li Shimin snapped.
I tried to be cool. I tried to be reasonable. But you guys just kept pushing your luck. You're annoying.
Fine.
I'm activating my ultimate cheat code. I have a country-crushing general named Li Jing.
Wash your necks and wait for the executioner.]
A country-crushing general?"
Inside Ganlu Hall, Li Jing chewed on the phrase, a thoroughly entertained smile on his face. It lacked the elegant poetry of "Grand General of Heavenly Strategy," but the pure swagger was undeniable.
"Future descendants truly lack elegance and poetic flair," Li Jing murmured, still smiling. "If you want to praise someone, just praise them. Why be so crude? 'Country-crushing general'..."
Li Shimin glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
Okay, Yaoshi. You're smiling so wide. You look so satisfied. Is that how a man complains?
If you don't want the title, fine. I'll take it myself.
'Country-crushing emperor.' Has a nice ring to it.
He kept his thoughts to himself.
Across the room, General Li Ji was already vibrating with competitive anxiety. He leaped to his feet, practically yelling as he bowed to the throne.
"These fools are asking for death," Li Ji boomed. "With the Turks freshly broken, we shouldn't waste our big armies on minor pests. Give me five thousand elite cavalry, Your Majesty. I'll drag Murong Fuyun to the steps of this pavilion myself."
From across the room, Li Jing stroked his beard. "Oh, Maoyue... lately, why do I feel uneasy when I see you?"
Li Ji waved a hand dismissively. "Take it easy, Yaoshi. Come on. You already beat Illig Qaghan. Let me do this job. Let me beat this Murong Fuyun."
"Hmm." Li Jing tilted his head. "Maoyue... did you wake up too early this morning?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you're annoying."
Li Ji's eye twitched. "I'm not annoying. I'm eager."
"There's a fine line."
"And I'm on the right side of it."
"If you say so."
Li Shimin watched the exchange with a knowing, amused smirk. He understood exactly what was happening. Not everyone had Li Jing's patience to wait until fifty to become a legend.
At thirty-six, Li Ji was in his physical prime. He had served as Li Jing's second-in-command against Fu Gongshi and the Turks. He had played the loyal wingman perfectly. But now that the screen had officially called him one of the top three generals of the early Tang, his ambition was roaring to life. He wanted his own spotlight.
The Emperor turned toward Su Lie, who was sitting quietly in deep thought, and decided to stir the pot even more.
"Dingfang," Li Shimin called out smoothly. "If I made you supreme commander, how many troops would you need?"
Su Lie, suddenly caught in the crosshairs, glanced at Li Ji before bowing.
"Since the future screen has already given me the spoilers," he replied with a straight face, "I would only need three thousand elite riders."
Li Ji nearly choked. "Three thousand? I just said five thousand!"
"Yes," Su Lie said calmly. "And I said three thousand."
"That's lower than mine!"
"That's the point."
Li Ji stared at him. Su Lie stared back. Completely serious.
In reality, three thousand was absurdly low. Even Li Ji's five thousand was unrealistic. The Tuyuhun were a major regional power. But in the high-stakes game of court banter, claiming you could do the job with fewer men was the ultimate power move.
Plus, Su Lie had a private score to settle. His adoptive father, Gao Yaxian, had been executed by Li Ji during the civil wars.
That chapter was officially forgiven, but Su Lie was never going to pass up a chance to poke his old rival in the ribs.
Li Shimin, sensing the testosterone levels in the room reaching a boiling point, smoothly de-escalated.
"Why mobilize a big army for a pack of scoundrels?" he chuckled, waving his hand. "Let's sit back and watch how the master operates."
Privately, Li Shimin had already crossed Murong Fuyun off the list of living rulers. The man lacked basic survival instincts. Illig Qaghan at least had a hundred thousand riders and a real empire. Murong Fuyun was just delusional.
Did he really think a mountain plateau and some thin air made him immortal?
The Tang intelligence bureau had already extracted remedies for altitude sickness from foreign merchants. Elite guards were already disguised as traders, heading into the mountains with high-energy cane sugar, mapping the terrain. And the tactical maps on the future screen were infinitely more accurate than anything hanging in Murong Fuyun's tent.
Li Shimin made a mental note to build a nice estate right next to Illig Qaghan's residence. That way, the two conquered rulers could spend their retirement swapping stories about their terrible life choices.
Maybe they could start a club. The 'We Pissed Off Li Shimin and All We Got Was This Lousy Estate' club.
He smiled at the thought.
[Lightscreen]
[From a purely political survival standpoint, Li Jing should have avoided the Tuyuhun campaign like the plague.
By this point, his resume was getting ridiculous. At fifty, he destroyed Xiao Xian's regime. At fifty-two, he crushed Fu Gongshi's rebellion. At fifty-eight, he wiped the Eastern Turkic Khaganate off the map.
Three entire kingdoms gone in less than ten years.
That kind of record doesn't just frighten enemies. It can make your own allies nervous. Even with a confident ruler like Li Shimin, standing out that much was like painting a target on your own back.
Fortunately, Li Jing understood politics almost as well as he understood warfare.
The moment he returned from the Turkic campaign and entered the ranks of the highest ministers, he immediately began playing defense. During court meetings, he spoke as little as possible. He avoided arguments. Avoided factions. Avoided attention.
If there was a political storm brewing, his strategy was simple: become invisible.
For four straight years, he perfected the art of being too boring to attack.
Then, citing chronic leg pain and advancing age, he requested retirement. Li Shimin approved it. At sixty-three years old, Li Jing had essentially beaten the game ancient politics. His reputation was spotless. His military record was untouchable. His legacy was clean. No blood on his hands from political rivals. No enemies waiting to strike.
He could spend the rest of his life drinking tea and complaining about the weather.
The problem was that the empire wasn't done needing him.
After Duan Zhixuan's expedition wandered around the plateau accomplishing absolutely nothing, Li Shimin faced an unpleasant reality. The next campaign couldn't merely succeed. It had to succeed spectacularly. The treasury couldn't afford another expensive sightseeing tour through Qinghai.
More importantly, imperial prestige was on the line.
The only man who could guarantee victory was Li Jing.
But Li Shimin had just approved the general's retirement. Forcing a frail old man back into active duty would make the Emperor look toxic and ungrateful.
So he chose a different approach. One might even call it psychological warfare.
Within two days, a very specific rumor began spreading through Chang'an.
"Have you heard? The Emperor broke down in tears reading the military updates. He said that if only the brilliant Duke of Wei were still in uniform, the empire would never suffer such humiliation."
The rumor spread with suspicious efficiency. Tea houses discussed it. Markets discussed it. Government offices discussed it.
By pure coincidence, absolutely everyone made sure Li Jing heard it too.
The trap was obvious. Painfully obvious. It practically came with written instructions. But that was exactly what made it effective.
The campaign would take place in winter. The army would have to cross freezing mountains and high-altitude plateaus where even healthy young soldiers struggled to breathe. Li Jing was sixty-three. His knees already hated him. His back probably hated him too.
If he accepted, he risked dying of exposure or ruining his perfect record.
If he ignored it, he would be branded a coward who let his sovereign weep.
Li Jing immediately recognized what was happening. Which is precisely why he moved first.
The moment the rumor reached his ears, he mounted his horse and rode straight to Prime Minister Fang Xuanling's residence. Before anyone could formally summon him, Li Jing volunteered. Passionately. Enthusiastically.
One suspects he wanted to make it absolutely clear that this had been entirely his own idea.
Li Shimin was delighted. The imperial decree appointing Li Jing as Supreme Commander appeared so quickly that some historians suspect it had already been drafted in advance. Coincidentally, of course.
Once back in command, Li Jing delivered exactly what everyone expected. Four months later, the Kingdom of Tuyuhun no longer existed. Li Shimin got his victory. The empire got its revenge.
And Li Jing somehow added "destroyed another country after retirement" to an already absurd resume.]
Back in Ganlu Hall, the assembled ministers simultaneously turned their heads to side-eye their Emperor.
Li Shimin's face turned red.
They know, he thought. They definitely know.
"Your Majesty," one official whispered, "the rumor about you weeping in public..."
"A strategic necessity," Li Shimin said quickly.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
"And it worked, didn't it?"
"Absolutely, Your Majesty."
"Then stop looking at me like that."
The minister immediately looked down. So did everyone else.
Pivoting instantly to damage control, Li Shimin turned to Li Jing and raised his voice loud enough for the entire hall to hear.
"Yaoshi puts the country above his own body! Such devotion is the pinnacle of patriotism! Achieving total conquest in four months puts him far beyond Han Xin, Bai Qi, Wei Qing, or Huo Qubing!"
Li Jing stroked his beard. "That's very kind, Your Majesty."
"It's not kindness. It's fact."
"If you say so."
"I do say so."
Li Jing bowed slightly. "Then I am honored."
Li Shimin squinted at him. Why does he sound like he's humoring me?
Taking the cue, the ministers smoothly ignored the part about the Emperor's calculated public weeping and joined the chorus of praise.
"Truly remarkable, General!"
"A legend in our time!"
"Four months! Incredible!"
Li Jing remained the picture of serene modesty, bowing politely.
"You're too kind," he said. "Really, the credit belongs to General Duan Zhixuan."
Someone coughed. "The same General Duan who got lost in the mountains?"
"The same," Li Jing said smoothly. "He was a competent commander who simply had the misfortune of facing cowardly guerrilla tactics. Anyone could have been victimized by such methods."
The ministers exchanged glances.
Anyone? they thought. Really?
Li Jing smiled. "Anyone except me, of course."
Silence.
Then Li Shimin burst out laughing.
"Yaoshi," the Emperor said, shaking his head, "you're impossible."
"I prefer 'legendary,' Your Majesty."
"You already have that title."
"One can never have too many titles."
Li Shimin laughed again. "Fair enough."
To his side, Li Ji looked miserable, practically projecting a cloud of disappointment because he had lost his chance at command.
Su Lie, however, was staring at Li Jing with pure, artistic worship.
What the hell? he thought. This old man deletes kingdoms like it's nothing. I need to learn from him.
What gift should I bring? A nice cane? Something classy?
Then he remembered his salary.
...I can't afford a nice cane.
He glanced at Li Shimin.
Can I ask the Emperor for a raise?
He shook his head.
Forget it. I'll just bring myself and a really respectful bow.
Hopefully that's enough.
Wang Xuance sat on his small stool, feeling like he was listening to bedtime stories. Except the stories were about gods deleting kingdoms. And the god was sitting right there.
He knew about the Tuyuhun. Everyone did. They'd been raiding the trade routes for years. Merchants cursed them every time prices went up.
And this old man is going to wipe them out in one season, he thought.
He glanced at Li Jing. The old general looked calm. Bored, even.
One season. I take three months to file paperwork.
He looked around the room. Everyone was nodding like this was normal.
What kind of empire did I sign up for?
---
Back in Chengdu, Zhang Fei let out a low grunt and scratched his thick beard.
"This old general is a complete freak of nature," Zhang Fei complained. "Destroying an entire nation at sixty-three in four months? It makes big brother and me look like we don't even know how to fight."
He shook his head.
"Even Second Brother's campaign at Xiangyang, which terrified everyone, took two whole months just to flood seven armies. And that was just one battle. This guy deletes kingdoms."
Liu Bei glared at him. He wanted to defend their achievements. He opened his mouth.
Then a painful memory hit him.
Yiling. Age sixty-two. A six-month stalemate with a young punk named Lu Xun. Then watching his entire army burn to ash.
Across the room, Zhuge Liang slowly closed his feather fan. His eyes were locked onto Zhao Yun with intense focus.
"If we want to conquer the north and crush Cao Wei," he said softly, "we can't just rely on infantry anymore. We need cavalry. Real cavalry. The kind that strikes fast and hits hard. From far away. Before the enemy even knows we're coming."
Zhao Yun didn't say a word. But the fire in his eyes spoke volumes.
He had been waiting for this.
They all had.
The lesson from the future was absolute. The destiny of empires was written by the hooves of charging horses.