Li Shimin didn't even need to ask for medicine.
The moment the broadcast finished, Sun Simiao calmly uncorked a small porcelain bottle, poured out a bitter pill, and handed it over with a cup of warm water.
The Emperor took it without complaint.
That alone told everyone in the hall how serious the situation was.
As the bitterness lingered in his mouth, Li Shimin leaned back in his seat and stared at the ceiling.
What is wrong with that man? he thought. Seriously. What is wrong with him?
He shook his head.
Did a donkey kick him in the head? Is that what happened?
Forget whatever future honors waited for Hou Junji.
Even before all these future revelations, Hou Junji had already been treated extremely well. After Xuanwu Gate, he was counted among the most trusted veterans of the Prince of Qin's old circle.
He was made Duke of Lu.
Fang Xuanling had recently begun preparing documents to elevate him even further.
He would help destroy the Tuyuhun. He would be entrusted with the Gaochang campaign. Those weren't assignments handed out lightly. They were signs of extraordinary trust.
Yet somehow this man still managed to steer himself toward disaster.
Robbed a conquered treasury. Executed prisoners without permission. Harbored resentment over a justified demotion. Plotted a rebellion.
That's not a career path. That's a checklist for getting yourself killed.
Li Shimin rubbed his forehead.
What exactly had Hou Junji been planning?
Had the man imagined himself marching into the palace and repeating Xuanwu Gate with the names changed? Had he planned to force the Son of Heaven into retirement? Or had his imagination wandered even further?
The Emperor decided he didn't actually want to know.
Oddly enough, his son's future involvement bothered him less.
The broadcast had already hinted that Li Chengqian was a mess. When he thought about Emperor Wu of Han and his doomed son Liu Ju, the story started to make a weird kind of sense. He'd also watched the screen show how Cao Pi and Cao Rui ruined each other, and how Zhuge Liang piled so much pressure on Liu Shan that the poor kid never stood a chance.
Looking at it that way, he could see where he'd gone wrong himself.
He'd built a curriculum designed to create a successor who could beat the Heavenly Khagan himself. A prince who would be better than his father.
Looking at how that turned out? Yeah. That goal was never realistic.
Too much pressure. Too high a bar. Too little room to just be a kid.
Maybe forcing the royal kids to celebrate New Year together had been a step in the right direction.
A small attempt to inject some normal human affection into the Eastern Palace's cold halls.
Li Shimin's gaze drifted across the hall until it landed on Yuchi Jingde.
The veteran general immediately understood the look.
He shot to his feet.
"Your Majesty," Yuchi declared, cracking his knuckles, "give me three days. I'll bring Hou Junji back here personally."
He paused.
"Alive. If convenient."
Several officials suddenly found the floor very interesting.
Li Shimin stared at him for a moment before shaking his head.
"Jingde, let's not solve every problem by dragging people around by the neck."
Yuchi Jingde looked disappointed.
It had only been four years since Xuanwu Gate. Executing one of his oldest companions for a crime that wouldn't happen for another decade was impossible. The army would never accept it.
But if he wanted to save Hou Junji from losing his head ten years from now, a serious reality check was long overdue.
The man clearly needed a reminder that surviving Xuanwu Gate didn't come with a lifetime pass.
Hou Junji seemed to have convinced himself that helping seize the throne was the greatest achievement in Tang history.
It wasn't.
Taking the throne was one thing. Keeping it was another.
Li Shimin had spent years defeating warlords, crushing rival kingdoms, and rebuilding an empire. Compared to all that, a palace coup was just the opening chapter.
The prologue. The warm-up. Not the main event.
Yuchi Jingde slowly sat back down.
Beside him, Qin Qiong offered a knowing smile and patted his comrade's wrist.
"Relax," Qin said with a grin. "His Majesty still remembers old friendships."
It was an open secret among the top brass. The original brotherhood from the Prince of Qin's mansion had all been placed in comfortable, powerful positions.
That loyalty was exactly why no minister had stepped forward to plead for Hou Junji's life.
First, they all knew Li Shimin couldn't execute an old friend for a crime that hadn't happened yet. He'd find a way to issue a warning without spilling blood.
Second, they were all disgusted by Hou Junji's future behavior. The Tang Empire was their masterpiece. Plotting rebellion was like kicking over the pot that fed everyone.
Fang Xuanling decided the room had suffered enough and steered the conversation elsewhere.
"This Quan Wanji," he said, stroking his beard, "if memory serves, he's Quan Huaien's grand-uncle. Very upright man. Almost aggressively upright."
Du Ruhui nodded.
"I remember Quan Huaien. Fought under us against Wang Shichong."
The two chancellors exchanged a glance.
Neither of them had the slightest intention of discussing the Crown Prince's future romantic life. Some topics were best left buried.
Deep inside, however, Du Ruhui was beginning to sweat.
The broadcast had mentioned that several prominent families would eventually get tangled up in the conspiracy.
As a father, he suddenly found himself praying for something very simple.
Please don't let my sons be idiots.
[Lightscreen]
[While the grand conspiracy never officially launched, plotting treason is still plotting treason.
The Tang legal code had a very straightforward opinion on this. If you're planning it, you're already in trouble. And the price is specific: your head.
Prince Li You, the genius who somehow managed to start a rebellion before acquiring either troops or a viable plan, was ordered to commit suicide.
The two central figures behind the conspiracy were Hou Junji and Li Hanchang. Li Hanchang, the seventh son of the retired Emperor Li Yuan, received the traditional imperial request to take his own life.
Hou Junji's fate was harsher. His titles were revoked. His family was stripped of its privileges and sent into exile in the far south. And the general himself was escorted to the execution grounds.
Crown Prince Li Chengqian presented a unique legal problem.
He wasn't just the heir to the throne. He was also the son of Empress Zhangsun.
Li Shimin couldn't bring himself to sign a death warrant for his own flesh and blood. But pretending nothing had happened? Also impossible.
So he pushed the problem to the court and demanded a solution.
After weeks of debate, the officials finally found a way out. Li Chengqian was stripped of his title, removed from the line of succession, and exiled to the south. Alive. But barely.
The investigation also swept up the descendants of the dynasty's greatest founding fathers. No one was safe. Not even the sons of legends.
Du He, son of the late Prime Minister Du Ruhui, was identified as one of the conspirators and publicly executed.
His elder brother Du Gou wasn't accused of treason himself, but that hardly mattered. The scandal destroyed his career. His title was revoked, his office stripped away, and the entire family was sent into exile.
One bad brother. One ruined family. That's how fast things could fall apart.
Li Dejian, the eldest son of Li Jing, had spent far too much time around the Crown Prince's circle. Whether through poor judgment, bad friends, or spectacularly unfortunate timing, he ended up caught in the fallout.
The court found him guilty by association and sentenced him to exile as well.
Fortunately for Li Dejian, there was one detail working in his favor.
His father was Li Jing.
When your father has personally erased multiple kingdoms from the map and spent decades carrying the Tang Dynasty on his back, people tend to be somewhat flexible when discussing punishment.
So while exile remained unavoidable, the court quietly selected a considerably nicer destination. Instead of being shipped to some distant wilderness, Li Dejian was sent to the prosperous region of Wu.
As far as exile sentences go, it was practically a paid vacation.]
Thousands of miles away in Chengdu, Zhang Fei listened to the list of exiles and immediately snorted.
"Oh, that's wonderful." He folded his arms.
"They wreck their own empire, get caught plotting treason, and then get sent south so they can become somebody else's problem."
The more he learned about the Tang court, the more ridiculous it sounded.
"The Supreme Commander rebels. The Crown Prince rebels. One of the Emperor's brothers rebels." Zhang Fei shook his head. "Is that an imperial court or a traveling theater troupe?"
A few officials couldn't help laughing.
Zhang Song, however, felt obligated to defend his homeland.
"Yide," he said patiently, "Yizhou is not some remote wilderness. The plains here are fertile, prosperous, and quite pleasant."
Zhang Fei waved a hand.
"South is south."
"No," Zhang Song replied immediately, "that is not how geography works."
Northern officers had a remarkable talent for treating everything below the Yangtze as one giant swamp inhabited by mosquitoes and mysterious diseases. Zhang Song had spent years arguing against this misconception and had no intention of surrendering now.
Pang Tong leaned back in his chair, looking thoroughly entertained.
"It seems even the mighty Tang couldn't escape an old tradition," he remarked. "A powerful emperor. A troubled heir. Ministers caught in the middle. History certainly enjoys recycling its favorite stories."
Unlike ordinary historical records, the screen didn't just list events. It explained motivations, grudges, insecurities, and all the messy emotions that pushed people toward disaster.
Watching it felt less like reading history and more like watching a stage play where everyone kept making terrible decisions.
Nearby, Zhuge Liang rested his feather fan across his lap and let out a quiet sigh.
More than anything, he found the whole affair exhausting.
Not the politics.
The ambition.
He thought about the version of himself described in later generations. The man who carried an entire state's future on his shoulders, worked day and night, and eventually burned himself out.
Then he looked at his current life.
Military matters in Jingzhou belonged to Guan Yu. Administrative work was increasingly handled by younger officials. Most of Zhuge Liang's days were now spent studying the screen, discussing future philosophies, experimenting with engineering ideas, and teaching mathematics.
Honestly, it was rather pleasant.
Which made Hou Junji even harder to understand.
The man already possessed wealth, status, prestige, and the Emperor's trust. He had personally witnessed Li Shimin's rise to power. He knew better than anyone how capable the Emperor was.
Yet somehow he looked at that situation and thought, Yes, I can overthrow this government.
Zhuge Liang genuinely couldn't follow the logic.
"What exactly was the plan?" he wondered aloud.
"Perhaps he didn't have one," Pang Tong replied cheerfully.
"That would explain a lot," Zhang Fei agreed.
Laughter spread through the room. For Shu Han, the entire affair felt strangely distant.
The Tang Dynasty existed centuries in the future. Its victories and disasters carried none of the immediate pressure that discussions about Wei or Wu created.
Yet once they started translating the names into familiar historical parallels, the comedy became harder to enjoy.
Li Shimin resembled Emperor Wu of Han.
Li Chengqian increasingly looked like Crown Prince Liu Ju.
And Li Jing's position in the dynasty was uncomfortably similar to Wei Qing's.
Once those comparisons settled into place, the story became much less amusing.
After all, Liu Ju's tragedy had never really been about rebellion.
It had been about expectations, misunderstandings, and a father and son slowly drifting apart until neither knew how to reach the other.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Even Zhang Fei scratched his beard thoughtfully.
Then he grunted.
"Well."
Everyone looked over.
"If the boy was foolish enough to rebel, that's still his fault."
A pause.
"But..." Zhang Fei added reluctantly, "having Li Shimin as a father can't have been easy either."
That earned several surprised looks.
Zhang Fei noticed them immediately.
"What?"
"You sound sympathetic," Pang Tong said.
"I'm not sympathetic."
"You sound sympathetic."
"I'm saying the kid was doomed."
"That's still sympathy."
Zhang Fei opened his mouth, thought about it, then pointed at Pang Tong.
"You know why nobody likes talking to you?"
---
Back in Ganlu Pavilion, Li Shimin had locked his emotions behind a calm expression.
He glanced left. Du Ruhui was staring blankly into space, probably imagining his sons doing something stupid. He glanced right. Li Jing sat perfectly still, frozen in disbelief, probably wondering why his kid couldn't just stay home and enjoy being the son of a living legend.
The Emperor cleared his throat.
"I swear to you all," he declared firmly, "I will dedicate myself to properly instructing Chengqian. This future disaster will not happen under my watch."
He paused.
"Assuming he actually listens. Which, based on the broadcast, is not guaranteed."
A few officials coughed.
"I can only do so much. I'm the Emperor, not a miracle worker."
Li Jing finally spoke. "Your Majesty, perhaps start with something simple. Like explaining that rebellion is not a career path."
"Good idea," Li Shimin said. "I'll add that to the curriculum right after 'how to not get your friends executed.'"
The room wasn't sure whether to laugh or stay quiet. Some did both.
[Lightscreen]
[Alright, enough about Hou Junji's spectacular life choices.
Let's return to something far more enjoyable: the ever-expanding legend of Li Jing.
After Excellent Stories of the Sui and Tang became popular, later writers decided that simply turning Li Jing into a military genius wasn't enough. They wanted adventure. They wanted romance. They wanted larger-than-life heroes doing impossible things.
The result was a late-Tang novella called Biography of the Curly-Bearded Guest. Historically accurate? Not even remotely. Entertaining? Absolutely.
In this version, Li Jing isn't an old grand strategist. He's a young, broke wanderer drifting through the chaos at the end of the Sui. It's basically a wuxia novel before wuxia was a thing.
At one point, he manages to secure an audience with Yang Su, the powerful Minister of Works. Li Jing impresses him with sharp political analysis and grand visions.
Of course, anyone who reads history knows Yang Su was already dead by this point. Pure fantasy territory.
Li Jing doesn't get the job. But he does catch the attention of one of Yang Su's household attendants: a beautiful and brilliant woman named Zhang Chuchen.
Because she carried a distinctive red fly-whisk everywhere, later generations called her Hongfu Nu, the Lady of the Red Whisk.
Hongfu Nu is depicted as a visionary. She predicts the Sui is a sinking ship, analyzes the political landscape, and tells Li Jing that a young lord in Taiyuan named Li Shimin has the aura of a true emperor.
She insists they travel north to join him.
Along the way they meet a mysterious warrior known only as the Curly-Bearded Guest.
The three quickly become close companions and continue their journey together.
Now here's where things get interesting.
The Curly-Bearded Guest secretly dreams of conquering the world himself. He's ambitious, ruthless, and fully convinced destiny has chosen him.
Then he meets Li Shimin.
One look. That's all it takes.
The Curly-Bearded Guest immediately realizes he has no chance.
According to the story, he takes one look at Li Shimin and thinks: "Well, that's definitely the Son of Heaven. I'm not competing with that."
Honestly, it's one of the most efficient character arcs ever written. No lengthy training montage. No dramatic betrayal. No agonizing internal conflict. Just a single glance, a quick reality check, and poof. Ambition gone.
Deciding to cut his losses, the Curly-Bearded Guest gives Li Jing and Hongfu Nu his entire fortune, tells them to serve the future Emperor well, buys himself a fleet of ships, and sails off into the eastern ocean.
Because when you can't win the empire, why not go be king somewhere else?
Years later, in the tenth year of Zhenguan, Li Shimin sits securely on the throne as Heavenly Khagan.
A report arrives from overseas.
The Curly-Bearded Guest has conquered the Kingdom of Fuyu and crowned himself king.
It's a fun, fast-paced adventure story. A happy ending for everyone involved.
But what makes the novella truly interesting is what modern literary historians think the Curly-Bearded Guest actually represents.
Many modern scholars believe the Curly-Bearded Guest is actually a psychological mirror of Li Shimin himself.
Here's how they got there.
First, look at the physical description. The historical text Miscellaneous Morsels from Youyang notes: 'Emperor Taizong possessed a fierce, curly beard and enjoyed practicing with his heavy bow.'
Now look at the Guest's personality. He's a violent warrior who cuts out the livers of dead enemies to eat as a snack. When he first meets Hongfu Nu, he makes aggressive advances. He radiates bloodlust, holds deep grudges, and uses underhanded tactics.
If you take those traits and map them onto the young, ruthless Prince of Qin who orchestrated the Xuanwu Gate massacre, it's a perfect match.
So here's where reading between the lines comes in. You can't just take this story at face value. You have to ask: Why did the author write this? What was happening around him? What's he really trying to say without actually saying it?
Because on the surface, it's a fun adventure story. But underneath? It's a masterclass in character division.
The author took the terrifying, blood-soaked warlord aspect of Li Shimin and dumped it into the Curly-Bearded Guest. Then sent that violent avatar away to conquer the Kingdom of Fuyu.
Why Fuyu? Because it sits right next to Goguryeo. And failing to conquer Goguryeo was the singular military regret of Li Shimin's life.
So the author basically said: "What if the scary, ambitious, cut-your-liver-out version of Li Shimin just... left? What if he sailed away and became someone else's problem?"
With all the toxic traits stripped away and shipped overseas, the Li Shimin left sitting in Chang'an is a flawless, benevolent, patient saint who listens perfectly to his advisors. The ideal Emperor.
Now, here's the really clever part.
When you realize this story was written after the An Lushan Rebellion destroyed the golden age of the Tang, everything clicks into place. This wasn't just a story. It was a eulogy. A desperate wish for a time when the empire wasn't falling apart.
The message is basically: When Taizong was alive, we didn't realize how special he was. Now that he's gone, we'll never see his like again.
As for Li Jing... well, somehow the old man won again.
The novel magically makes him twenty years younger. Gives him a brilliant and beautiful wife.
Lets him travel the world with legendary heroes.
Allows him to serve a perfect emperor without worrying about political traps. And somehow turns him into the protagonist of a romance-adventure epic.
Honestly, for a man who spent most of his real life trying not to attract attention, Li Jing received one of the most generous posthumous upgrades in literary history.
His military record was already untouchable. Future generations looked at that record and decided reality wasn't impressive enough.
So they gave him better hair, a legendary wife, and a best friend who became king of a foreign nation. Not a bad deal.]
The light screen slowly faded, replaced by elegant calligraphy of the original novella.
Li Shimin had been thoroughly entertained by the story. But the moment the narrator claimed the terrifying, liver-eating, aggressive pirate king was actually a metaphor for himself, he nearly choked.
"Preposterous!" he snapped, face red. "That is absolute slander!"
A few feet away, Sun Simiao kept a calm expression. Internally, he was rolling his eyes. Leaving the cannibalism aside, the labels of holding grudges and having an active romantic life were arguably not inaccurate.
Li Jing, meanwhile, felt a wave of relief. He finally understood why future generations kept pairing him with a fictional woman called the Lady of the Red Whisk. Hilarious.
Hearing the narrator mention the Emperor's ultimate regret, a spark ignited in the old commander's chest. He turned toward the throne, a broad smile breaking through his usual stoic face.
"Your Majesty," Li Jing declared, his voice ringing with certainty, "if a magical light screen could truly grant me twenty years of youth, I swear upon my life, I would personally deliver the ashes of Goguryeo to your feet!"
In the corner, Su Lie nodded so fast he nearly pulled a muscle, his eyes wide.
I believe you, old man. Just promise you'll take me with you.