The Sun of Great Tang
In Chang'an, Du Ruhui lifted his sleeve and wiped the cold sweat from his brow.
The sun was merciless.
It was only the beginning of the fifth month, yet the heat pressed down like the height of midsummer. Since the second month, the Guanzhong region had known nothing but drought. The earth had cracked. The wind carried dust instead of moisture. And the sky showed no intention of mercy.
Moving along the palace walls, Du Ruhui deliberately chose the shade. Even so, the heat followed him like a curse.
He stopped a passing eunuch.
"Where is His Majesty?"
"Minister Du," the eunuch replied hurriedly, bowing low, "the Emperor is still in the Ganyulou Palace—reading."
Du Ruhui frowned.
The weather was strange this year. But the Emperor was stranger.
Last year, Li Shimin had been like an unsetting sun—holding court daily in the Hall of Two Principles, issuing decree after decree. Drought in Shandong? Relief dispatched. Frost damage in Henan? Granaries opened. He had burned with ambition, energy, and certainty.
But lately, he had withdrawn.
Ganyulou Palace. Books. Silence.
Was he still hesitating over the Xiazhou campaign?
Du Ruhui quickened his pace.
Inside the hall, Li Shimin was pacing barefoot across the floor, his brow tightly knotted. Several books lay scattered at his feet, as though they had been thrown aside in frustration.
Du Ruhui bent down to pick them up.
Among them, one lay conspicuously open on the desk.
In Search of the Supernatural (Sou shen ji).
"Keming!"
Li Shimin barked his courtesy name without preamble, spinning around.
"If one's descendants are useless—what is to be done?!"
Du Ruhui froze for half a breath.
After more than ten years at the Emperor's side, he knew the "Sun of the Great Tang" better than anyone alive.
"Your Majesty," he said cautiously, "has something disturbed your thoughts?"
"This book!" Li Shimin stabbed a finger at Sou shen ji. "An immortal reveals the secrets of Heaven. Chang'an falls. The Son of Heaven flees. The dynasty barely survives in Shu!"
His voice rose.
"I am deeply ashamed to have such descendants!"
Du Ruhui glanced at the page—his eyes catching the tale of Xian Chao and the Divine Maiden. His mind immediately drifted toward… other kinds of divine encounters.
"…Your Majesty," he ventured, "if you are troubled by matters of succession, perhaps you wish to begin a new imperial selection of concubines? In that case, the Empress must—"
"Keming!"
Li Shimin snapped.
He strode back to the desk, gesturing wildly.
"There is a small screen of light inside these pages! It showed the future!"
The Emperor of Great Tang felt utterly exhausted trying to explain.
The Minister of Great Tang felt equally exhausted trying to understand.
Li Shimin stopped, waved his hand sharply, and gave up.
"Forget it. When the three-month period comes again, I will summon you. You will see it yourself."
Deep down, he nursed a private, malicious pleasure.
He very much wanted to see Du Ruhui's expression when the "live stream" appeared again.
Then another name surfaced in his thoughts—spoken in the voice of the future.
"Keming," he said slowly, "what do you think of the name… Du Fu?"
Du Ruhui stared at him.
"…Shall I summon the Imperial Physician, Your Majesty?"
The Shu-Han
Back in Gong'an County, as the light screen finally faded, the silence shattered.
The comment barrage exploded.
Text poured down like a floodgate breaking.
Ma Liang and Jiang Wan, still shaken by the images of future wars beyond comprehension, immediately sat down and began transcribing everything. Stroke by stroke. Line by line.
Yet even as they worked, the same thought lingered in their minds:
Where did that Li Shimin go?
That irritating fellow who always appeared to give unsolicited advice—this time, conspicuously absent.
[Live Comment Barrage]
Shadow_Walker: Honestly, Liu Bei died too early. As a Chengdu local, I'm still grateful to the Prime Minister.
History_Buff_28: It's a shame the "28 Officials" list missed Wei Yan and Fa Zheng. Wei Yan was to the Prime Minister what the Prime Minister was to Liu Bei—left and right hands.
Zhuge_Fan: Agreed. Personality aside, Fa Zheng was Liu Bei's emotional support strategist. If he'd lived to Yiling, he might've stopped the march.
Cripple_Dragon: No way. Fa Zheng was vengeful and loyal to a fault—he'd have supported the war. But at least the loss wouldn't have been so catastrophic.
Medical_Student_01: Three Kingdoms medicine was a joke. Raw water, raw fish? "Illness enters through the mouth." Zero hygiene awareness.
System_Admin: If someone dropped the Barefoot Doctor's Manual into the Three Kingdoms, wouldn't they just dominate?
Panda_Lover: Did the creator skip the pandas? He liked them before.
Global_Explorer: Why only talk about the Central Plains? The UP (creator) should have shown the Seven Continents and Four Oceans (Qi Da Zhou, Si Da Yang).
Tours_By_Mang: Exactly. The UP acts like he's a tour guide but doesn't explain Plate Tectonics (Dike Yundong) or how we went from ancient wilds to the Urban Jungle (Chengshi Senlin).
Poet_King: Why only Du Fu? I'm not convinced. Su Shi wrote: "Zhuge came to the Western land, and for a thousand years, love for him never faded."
Cloud_Scholar: Du Fu just wrote it better. Which literatus didn't love the Prime Minister?
Hard_Truths: Zhuge Liang died of overwork. Why? Because Yiling burned the talent pool to ashes. Conclusion: Imperial Uncle bears responsibility.
Steel_Resolve: Ultimate tragic hero. This episode deserves the poem's ending: "A thousand miles of rivers light as a child; two dynasties of crown and sword, Qiao Zhou's regret."
Noobs_Get_Rekt: The Prime Minister should've brought Liu Shan to the front. The veterans bled for every inch; Liu Shan threw it away.
Sad_Vibes: After watching this, only three words remain: Yì nán píng—the heart cannot be at peace.
Sending a "Like" to the immortal creator had already become second nature.
But a new question now hung over the hall:
What should they send in return?
Liu Bei and Zhuge Liang exchanged a glance.
This video spoke of their lives, their failures, their legacies. Neither felt comfortable sending something perfunctory.
Before a decision could be reached—
"Big Brother!"
Zhang Fei thundered back into the hall, clutching a silk scroll.
"Let's send this! We can't let the descendants think I was some kind of ugly monster!"
He snapped the scroll open.
A full-body portrait unfurled—majestic, fierce, dignified. The figure's eyes burned with spirit; his posture radiated heroic presence.
"My wife is skilled in gongbi painting," Zhang Fei said, pride creeping into his voice. "She painted this for me some time ago. It's just been sitting at home. Let the future see what a real hero looks like!"
Zhuge Liang smiled faintly.
"In that case, Yide," he said, "why not send a complete set?"
Moments later, as the scrolls were placed beneath the fading light screen and a sincere prayer was offered, the items dissolved into light.
Gone.
The hall exhaled as one.
"Now we wait," Liu Bei said quietly, eyes sharpening. "But first—we compile a list."
He looked around the room.
"Every name mentioned. The Twenty-Eight Officials. Every person named in Kongming's Memorial on the Start of the Expedition. We will find them all."
He turned and took Zhuge Liang's hands firmly in his own.
"Kongming… according to the light screen, not only the heroes of later centuries—but even the descendants eighteen hundred years from now—hold you in the highest regard."
Zhuge Liang flushed, embarrassed.
But Liu Bei's expression did not soften.
"I have said this before," he continued, "and I will say it again. Finding you was the greatest fortune of my life."
"My Lord…" Zhuge Liang felt the strength in that grip and returned it. "My Lord's wish is my wish."
"Enough, enough," Zhang Fei cut in, shoving the freshly transcribed papers into their hands. "Big Brother, you can sleep in the same bed as the Military Counselor tonight and talk till dawn if you want."
He jabbed at the text.
"But first—what does this mean? 'Illness enters through the mouth'? And what is this Barefoot Doctor's Manual?"
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his son, Zhang Bao.
If the boy was not fated to die by the blade…
Then perhaps—just perhaps—the key to avoiding an early grave lay hidden within these strange words from the future.