Zhao Guangyin froze.
Fuck. Why did I ask that stupid question? What was I thinking? I should have just kept my mouth shut. I should have just stared at the flowers. Flowers are safe. Flowers do not get you killed.
Paralysis crawled up his spine, locking his neck in place. His gaze drifted, against his will, to the heavy jade axe resting at his older brother's waist.
The stone stool he sat on was too short for the table. To see the light screen hovering above, he had to crane his neck forward, exposing his throat.
The angle was perfect.
He did not want to think about how easily that axe could swing down.
A rational part of his mind knew his brother would not execute him here in the imperial gardens. Their shared mother mattered less than his brother's ego. Emperor Zhao Kuangyin desperately wanted to be remembered as a benevolent ruler. He worked hard to fit the mold of a wise sovereign. The capital had seen it. Weak censors who could not lift a sword would stand in the grand hall and criticize the Emperor. Zhao Kuangyin would sit speechless, taking the abuse to prove his magnanimity.
Knowing this was one thing. But try sitting inches from a man holding a deadly weapon while a glowing screen casually talks about brothers murdering each other for the throne. That was a whole different level of nightmare. Sweat broke out on Zhao Guangyin's back.
He pulled his neck back from the table's edge. He sat up straight, squared his shoulders, and met his brother's gaze.
"Brother, do you harbor suspicions toward your younger sibling?"
Zhao Kuangyin's hand brushed the jade axe handle. He looked at his brother, eyebrows raised.
"San Lang, why are you shrinking your neck into your shoulders like a turtle?"
Fuck. Turtle? He called me a turtle? Your whole family is turtles. Wait. I am in that family too. But can we please not involve that stupid jade axe while we are having this discussion? It is very distracting. Very, very distracting.
They had been five brothers. The eldest, Zhao Kuangji, had died young. That left Zhao Kuangyin as the second brother and the current Emperor. Zhao Guangyin was third.
Hearing the childhood nickname, Zhao Guangyin coughed. He realized how ridiculous his posture must have looked. His brother looked confused, not homicidal. He had imagined his brother shared his ambitions. He adjusted his robes and forced himself to sit relaxed.
Zhao Kuangyin laughed, head thrown back.
"San Lang, we are flesh and blood brothers! We are proud men of Han who understand honor, shame, and loyalty. How could we commit the atrocities those future generations talk about?"
Zhao Guangyin's heart settled. He breathed.
"However."
Zhao Kuangyin stopped laughing. His face hardened.
Oh no. Here it comes. The "however." Nothing good ever follows a "however." It is the most dangerous word in the Chinese language.
Zhao Guangyin hated that look. He could not read his brother's mood when he locked his features like this. He did not dare stare. His brother's voice gave no clues. It was flat.
"However, San Lang. Tell me something. How deep is your understanding of Buddhist doctrine?"
Buddhist doctrine? Why is he asking about Buddhist doctrine? Is he testing me? Is he suggesting I become a monk? Is that his way of eliminating me as a political threat, like that Japanese prince on the screen?
His heart leaped. His mouth dried. He could already picture himself shaving his head and spending the rest of his life in a cold temple, eating bland food and listening to monks chant.
Before Zhao Guangyin could answer, Zhao Kuangyin laughed again and clapped his shoulder hard.
"If you have been reading the sutras, San Lang, take some time to visit the temple. Burn a stick of incense for our Mother to express our longing for her."
"Hoi, hoi, just say straight what you want, bro. You almost gave me a heart attack. Seriously."
A wave of relief washed over him. His brother was not threatening him. He was being sentimental.
Then the doubt crept back in.
Wait. Is this a trap? Is he testing me? Or is he just genuinely thinking about Mom?
In the Song court, the Emperor called his mother "Niangniang." Zhao Kuangyin meant their mother, Empress Dowager Zhaoxian, who had died ten years ago.
Zhao Guangyin nodded, agreeing to the temple visit. What else could he do? It was better than getting his head smashed by that stupid jade axe. He smiled, but his stomach churned. What was his brother's true attitude? It was exhausting.
Beside him, Zhao Kuangyin was already ignoring his brother's panic. The Emperor was already thinking about strategy. If he was going to change the empire, he could not act rashly. He needed help.
It was time to recall Zhao Pu from Heyang.
---
Meanwhile, in the Chengdu government office, it was chaos.
Zhang Fei ignored the fruit platters scattered across the table. His eyes were glued to the screen. When the narrator finished describing the Tang envoy's extortion of Japan, Zhang Fei slapped his thigh so hard the crack echoed through the room like a gunshot.
"Now that is what I call the domineering style of a real empire! I absolutely love the way this Tang Dynasty operates!"
He leaned forward, a mix of amusement and disgust on his face. "But seriously, what is wrong with these people? The guy actually married his niece? What an absolute bunch of animals! Truly..."
Before Zhang Fei could finish his booming critique of foreign morality, Liu Bei choked on his tea.
The sound was explosive. Liu Bei hacked and wheezed, desperately trying to clear his lungs while waving his hands in the air like a man drowning in an invisible ocean.
Zhang Fei stopped mid-sentence, completely bewildered. He watched his eldest brother coughing while simultaneously shooting him frantic, wide-eyed warning signals.
It took a few seconds for the gears to turn inside Zhang Fei's head, but realization finally dawned. He gave Liu Bei a firm, knowing nod to show he understood.
Then, without missing a beat, Zhang Fei took a massive step forward, raised his giant, calloused palm, and delivered a devastatingly helpful slap directly onto the center of Liu Bei's back.
The guards standing outside the command center doors immediately gripped their weapons as a pained roar erupted from their lord.
"Yide!"
Chaos briefly consumed the head table as Liu Bei tried to recover from both the choking fit and the physical assault of his sworn brother's "assistance."
Sitting nearby, Zhuge Liang and the rest of the strategic advisors simply looked down at their bamboo slips. They completely ignored the "physical love" their lord was trying to show his brother right in front of them.
Nope. Not looking. Not seeing. Nothing to see here. Just two sworn brothers expressing their affection through violence. Completely normal. Happens all the time.
Nobody wanted to touch the highly radioactive topic Zhang Fei had accidentally stumbled into.
Every educated man in the room knew exactly why Liu Bei had choked.
Emperor Hui of the Han Dynasty, the direct ancestor of their current political legitimacy, had notoriously married his own niece, Empress Zhang Yan. It was a well-documented historical fact. Just not the kind of fact you brought up at dinner.
Zhuge Liang sighed quietly. The internal family history of the Han royal lineage was admittedly a total mess.
He made a mental note to gently suggest a more thorough reading curriculum for Zhang Fei. The fiery general desperately needed to learn which parts of history were safe to mock and which parts would get them all killed.
Maybe I should compile a list, Zhuge Liang thought. Chapter One: Things You Can Laugh About. Chapter Two: Things That Will Get Us All Killed.
Pang Tong tapped his chin, his brilliant mind already analyzing the tactical data.
"Setting aside the moral judgment of this Tang envoy Guo Wucong for a moment," Pang Tong mused, "his specific method of operation is worth our attention. There are effective tactics to be borrowed from his sheer audacity."
Zhuge Liang smoothed his feather fan and offered his own strategic perspective.
"Even when operating in uncivilized territories beyond our borders, the ultimate goal always comes down to managing the hearts of the people."
He raised two fingers. "The principle is simple. Crush the foreign big shots. Be nice to the foreign common folks."
As soon as the words left his mouth, Zhuge Liang fell silent. Saying it was easy. Executing those eight words in the real world was a logistical and political nightmare.
Ruthlessly suppressing a foreign king required crushing the enemy's will to fight. It demanded overwhelming military logistics and flawless tactical execution.
Generously treating the foreign populace was an even more complex puzzle. Looking at the relationship between the Tang Empire and Japan, the balance was precarious. You had to provide them with enough technology and culture to make them admire the central plains. At the same time, you had to guard your core secrets to prevent them from becoming a threat.
The exact execution of this balance had to be adjusted based on the specific cultural and political realities of each nation.
Zhuge Liang's mind began to race. It was still too early to determine if the Tang Dynasty's famous Three Departments and Six Ministries system was perfect for their situation in Yi Province.
However, the Tang concept of a specialized Directorate for Imperial Manufactories appealed to him. It was a perfect blueprint for reforming their own outdated Shaofu system.
Currently, the mechanical and engineering schools across the Jingzhou and Yizhou regions were developing at a rapid pace. The problem was the Shaofu. The traditional government department was responsible for too many unrelated tasks. It was bloated and inefficient.
The strict management of industrial technology was directly tied to the survival of the state. It dictated their military logistics, their agricultural output, and their future diplomatic leverage. Considering the necessity of dealing with foreign powers, Zhuge Liang decided it was time to act. He would officially petition Liu Bei to implement a new administrative system specifically designed to oversee all state manufacturing and engineering projects.
Across the table, Pang Tong had also fallen into deep thought. He rhythmically tapped his knuckles against the wooden surface. Vicious political plots flashed through his mind at lightning speed. He categorized some as viable and discarded others.
As he shifted his focus outward toward foreign nations, Pang Tong realized something amusing.
He felt comfortable operating in this arena.
The foreign tribes and border nations were fundamentally different from the central plains. These were tiny, fragile states filled with easily manipulated factions.
With a single, well-placed rumor, he could spark a civil war. With one clever economic policy, he could bankrupt their entire treasury. He could build them up with one hand and obliterate them with the other.
Just thinking about the endless possibilities brought a wicked smile to Pang Tong's face.
How did the locals here in Yizhou phrase it?
Ah, right. This was going to be good fun.
---
Inside Ganlu Hall, Chancellor Du Ruhui stared at the light screen. Listening to the future narrator casually roast historical figures like a street performer mocking a heckler, he felt a profound sense of gratitude.
Wei Zheng really owed these future generations a drink.
Historically, Wei Zheng was famous for delivering harsh, ear-piercing critiques that made the Emperor want to personally escort him to the execution grounds. But compared to the absolute savagery of the future narrator exposing Li Zhi's failures and the bizarre internal politics of the Japanese state, Wei Zheng's traditional Confucian scolding felt as gentle as a lullaby.
Du Ruhui mentally noted that Wei Zheng should probably retire before the screen showed him what real criticism looked like.
The man's pride would never recover.
Pushing the messy internal drama of the Japanese nation aside, Du Ruhui focused his administrative mind on a specific detail. He cared deeply about official state documents. His brow furrowed.
"The King of Japan?" Du Ruhui muttered to himself.
The pieces clicked together instantly. This arrogant island nation had previously sent a letter to Emperor Yang of the Sui Dynasty. In that letter, their ruler had possessed the audacity to refer to himself as an "Emperor." This breach of protocol had offended the Sui court so deeply that Emperor Yang nearly threw the envoy out a window.
Emperor Yang might have eventually brushed off the insult due to his own domestic crises, but Li Zhi clearly held a grudge. The future narrator had already mocked Li Zhi for adopting the grandiose title of "Heavenly Emperor" later in his reign.
Connecting the dots, Du Ruhui realized that Li Zhi's aggressive letter was a calculated move. He was actively trying to strip the Japanese ruler of the "Emperor" title and force them back into their proper place in the geopolitical hierarchy.
"This nation," Du Ruhui stated flatly, his voice cold enough to freeze tea, "has no right to possess an Emperor."
Sitting on his throne, Li Shimin had noticed the exact same detail. He nodded in firm approval. Putting the islanders in their place was the correct diplomatic posture. You do not let the neighbor's kid call himself the principal.
The only frustrating part was the linguistic habit of the future narrator. The narrator continually referred to the Japanese rulers as "Emperors." This linguistic clue proved that, despite Li Zhi's aggressive posturing, the Japanese had ultimately succeeded in keeping their arrogant title throughout history.
Li Shimin's eye twitched slightly.
He possessed the sharp instincts of a founding monarch. He understood the hidden mechanics of political power better than anyone in the room.
When the nomadic tribes of the northwest submitted to him and crowned him the Heavenly Qaghan, it was not just a fancy, ego-boosting title he wore to parties.
That title fundamentally rewired the geopolitical reality of the region. It formally established a master and vassal relationship over the Hexi corridor tribes. It gave Li Shimin the moral and legal authority to launch devastating military campaigns against the Turkic Khaganate.
Titles were not decorations. They were weapons. Sharp ones.
Looking at the Japanese title of "Heavenly Emperor," Li Shimin easily decoded the hidden political message behind the words.
The message was clear. They refused to acknowledge the central plains civilization as their supreme political father. They wanted to stand as equals.
Ironically, this blatant disrespect only fueled Li Shimin's ambition. His interest in this island nation skyrocketed.
It was the exact same psychology as a master cavalryman evaluating a new herd. Li Shimin always ignored the docile animals. Any fool could ride a tame horse. He actively sought out the most aggressive, violent, untamed stallions in the stable. The ones that kicked, bit, and tried to kill you during training.
The brutal, exhausting process of breaking a wild horse made his blood boil with excitement. And history had proven time and time again that the wildest, most stubborn horses inevitably became the best war chargers once they were violently brought to heel.
Conquering a nation required the exact same mindset. The easy ones were boring. The hard ones were legendary.
When Li Shimin factored in the narrator's revelation that the Japanese nation was currently being ruled by a female Emperor, his predatory interest reached a peak.
A female Emperor. On an island. Who thought she was his equal.
If he could successfully organize the logistics, build the fleet, and launch a naval campaign across the eastern sea, he could secure an unprecedented legacy.
He, Li Shimin, would be remembered in the eternal annals of history as the very first Son of Heaven to violently conquer an island empire and drag a foreign Empress back to his capital in chains.
The sheer historical glory of the concept was intoxicating.
Li Shimin leaned back in his throne, a dangerous smile playing across his lips.
He looked at the map on the wall, his eyes tracing the distance between Chang'an and the Japanese islands.
Just you wait, he thought. I am coming for you. And I am bringing a very large navy.
[Lightscreen]
[The chaotic political storms of the early Tang Dynasty over the eastern seas finally came to a close with the tragic, permanent loss of the Korean peninsula.
However, before we move on to the next major historical era, we need to take a deep dive into the fascinating world of ancient shipbuilding.
This topic is absolutely crucial because the modern era we live in today is fundamentally defined by one concept: The Age of Sea Power.
What exactly does "Sea Power" mean?
Let us look at the basic geography of our planet. Nearly three quarters of the Earth's surface is covered by deep water. In our modern globalized economy, a staggering ninety percent of all commercial freight is transported across the oceans.
Furthermore, the vast majority of the global human population lives within a few hundred kilometers of a coastline.
The geopolitical reality is brutally simple. If you possess a powerful navy, you possess sea power.
Only when a nation secures sea power can it truly claim to have total sovereignty over its political, military, and economic destiny.
When you examine the bitter, humiliating history of modern China, you will find that almost all of our national suffering arrived via the ocean.
The Eight Nation Alliance, the British Empire, the Japanese invasions. Every single one of these catastrophic threats kicked down our front doors from the sea. The root cause of a century of humiliation was the catastrophic loss of our sea power.
Securing sea power requires a massive, technologically advanced navy. Building a massive navy requires a nation to possess cutting edge shipbuilding technology.
This raises a fascinating historical question. The ancient Chinese civilization was fundamentally an agricultural society rooted in the deep earth of the central plains. We were not naturally a maritime culture. Does this mean our ancient shipbuilding technology was inherently flawed or backwards?
The objective historical answer is a resounding no.
Modern historians generally divide the evolution of ancient Chinese naval architecture into three distinct, highly advanced peaks: The Qin and Han Dynasties, the Tang and Song Dynasties, and finally, the Yuan and Ming Dynasties.
The sheer ambition of Qin Shi Huang, the First Emperor, needs no introduction. Beyond his massive military conquests, he initiated colossal engineering projects.
He ordered the construction of the Lingqu Canal to connect major river systems, revolutionizing water transport. When his armies marched south to conquer the Lingnan region or north to fight the Xiongnu, massive fleets of the Great Qin water navy provided the crucial logistical backbone.
We also have the famous historical records of Xu Fu commanding a massive fleet into the eastern oceans searching for the elixir of life. You simply cannot launch an expedition of that scale without a highly sophisticated domestic shipbuilding industry.
Speaking of Xu Fu, the popular legend that he is the biological ancestor of the Japanese people is not a modern internet invention.
During the chaotic Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period, a Buddhist monk named Yichu living in the Kaiyuan Temple of Jizhou wrote a comprehensive text called the Six Chapters of Yichu. In this text, he explicitly documented the story of Xu Fu sailing to the Japanese islands.
When later scholars asked Yichu where he got this highly specific information, the monk simply replied that a high ranking Japanese monk named Kenshu had told him the story during a visit.
Even the internal historical records of Japan, such as the Summary of Japanese History, explicitly mention the arrival of Xu Fu.
However, modern historians mostly classify these accounts as mythological folklore.
To put it in perspective, there are over twenty different official "landing sites" claimed by various Japanese towns, and more than fifty different shrines, temples, and stone monuments dedicated to Xu Fu scattered across the islands. Separating historical fact from desperate tourist traps is completely impossible.
Personally, looking at the historical context, I strongly suspect this entire legend was a brilliant marketing campaign invented by Japanese Buddhist monks.
Think about it.
We know for a fact that Tibetan monks completely fabricated the rumor that the Tang general Su Dingfang burned down the Potala Palace just to serve their own religious narratives.
When Buddhism first entered the Japanese islands, it immediately clashed violently with the deeply entrenched native Shinto religion.
It was a brutal ideological war.
In that specific political climate, Japanese monks actively rewriting history to claim a famous Chinese figure as the ancestor of the Japanese people was a brilliant psychological tactic to legitimize imported mainland culture.
Regardless of the ancient politics, most modern Chinese citizens are probably not very eager to claim that specific genealogical connection anyway.
Moving forward, the Tang and Song Dynasties represent the second glorious peak of ancient Chinese shipbuilding.
This era produced absolute marvels of engineering.
The Tang Dynasty invented the watertight bulkhead technology, revolutionizing ship safety and survivability.
By the Song Dynasty, Chinese navigational astronomy and calendar systems were arguably the most advanced in the world. Later in the era, Chinese shipwrights successfully integrated the highly efficient triangular lateen sail technology learned from Arab merchants.
On paper, this specific combination of cutting edge technology, massive economic output, and advanced navigation should have launched the Chinese civilization into a golden age of global oceanic exploration.
So why didn't it happen? Why did this incredible maritime potential die in the womb?
The failure came down to two devastating factors.
First and foremost was the absolute rigidity of state policy. Beginning in the early Tang Dynasty and continuing through subsequent feudal eras, the imperial government maintained a fiercely oppressive stance toward the merchant class.
The state actively punished its own peasant population for attempting to engage in large scale commerce or overseas colonization. The central government wanted farmers tied to the land, producing taxable grain, not independent merchants building wealth on the high seas.
However, this strict maritime ban only applied to native Chinese citizens. It did not apply to foreign immigrants.
The resulting economic vacuum was instantly filled by aggressive foreign merchants. Throughout this era, Sogdian merchants from Central Asia, along with Persians, Arabs, and other Western traders, achieved monumental commercial success within the borders of China.
Operating through the overland Silk Road or the massive maritime trade routes, these diverse groups successfully established absolute monopolies over international commerce. Later, during the Yuan Dynasty, these various foreign merchants were often grouped together under the classification of "Semu people," meaning "people of various categories."
Take Chai Rong, the brilliant Emperor Shizong of Later Zhou, whose empire Zhao Kuangyin ultimately hijacked. Before he became an emperor, a young Chai Rong made a living traveling to Jiangling to sell tea while working alongside the Jiedie family.
The Jiedie family were textbook foreign merchants operating deep within the Chinese economy.
During the height of the Tang and Song Dynasties, these foreign merchants established massive, thriving expatriate communities in the southern port cities of Guangzhou and Quanzhou.
The immigrant population in these cities swelled into the hundreds of thousands. They completely controlled the sea routes. They dictated the flow of maritime trade.
Centuries later, when Western historians compiled lists of the eight greatest port cities of the Middle Ages, both Guangzhou and Quanzhou were heavily featured. During the Yuan Dynasty, the legendary Moroccan traveler Ibn Battuta arrived in Quanzhou.
He extensively documented his incredible journey and wrote glowing praises about the sheer, unimaginable wealth and bustling activity of the port.
But if you read Ibn Battuta's detailed accounts carefully, a tragic reality emerges. He describes a Maritime Silk Road completely dominated by Moors, Arabs, Persians, and Tocharians.
The one group of people entirely absent from the high seas were the native Chinese.
If a nation's own people are legally forbidden from sailing into the deep ocean, how can they possibly be expected to refine their navigational techniques or invest in building the massive galleons required for true global sea power?]