"So… this Goguryeo," Jian Yong said slowly, squinting at the glowing light screen, "is it what later generations call Joseon?"
Their knowledge was limited, but Jian Yong vaguely remembered that somewhere east of Liaodong, there had once been such a place.
Zhuge Liang knew the matter clearly—too clearly—but explaining it properly would take time. He simply answered concisely.
"During the reign of Emperor Xiaowu of Han, Joseon was destroyed. Goguryeo County was then established under Xuantu Commandery."
"And later," he added, "under Emperor Guangwu, Goguryeo broke away, styled itself a kingdom, and sent envoys to pay tribute."
Everyone immediately understood.
Another repeat offender.
"Then why does the light screen keep calling them bangzi?" Zhang Fei frowned. "There are so many proper names—why pick that one?"
"The tone later generations use toward them appears… contemptuous," Jian Yong said after some thought. "It is likely a derogatory term."
Zhang Fei nodded, enlightened. Then he turned and slapped Ma Su on the shoulder.
"You hear that, Youchang? Don't end up like those bangzi."
Ma Su: "…Third General, you could've just called me that directly."
Zhuge Liang had already stopped paying attention to Goguryeo. His eyes were fixed on other things appearing on the screen.
He quietly began taking notes.
Names of illnesses—those were worth discussing with Zhang Zhongjing. Later generations had clearly advanced far in medical theory.
And—
Sima Yi possessed an imperial title?
Then the Sima clan's usurpation of Wei… truly began with him?
The light screen continued.
[Light-screen]
[One of the most curious aspects of the Book of Jin was its attitude toward taboo names.
The Jin dynasty was founded by the Sima clan, yet the Book of Jin showed absolutely no hesitation in criticizing the Simas themselves.
In fact, Emperor Taizong of Tang—Li Erfeng—was practically Jin's greatest professional hater.
In his evaluation of Sima Yi, he first offered generous praise: the ability to employ talent, to command armies, to manage state affairs.
Then—without warning—he stamped a verdict:
Traitor.
Immediately afterward, he mocked Sima Yi for being frightened into retreat by a Zhuge Liang who was already dead.
And finally, he delivered the killing blow:
Sima Yi spent his entire life preserving a reputation for loyalty, yet never became emperor. All he gained was a posthumous title from his descendants—remaining, in essence, a Wei minister to the very end.
With the emperor setting the tone, Tang historians felt no need to restrain themselves.
Thus, everything went in.
Sima Yi frightening Cao Cao.
Zhang Chunhua stabbing palace maids.
Sima Shi killing his own wife.
Reasonable or not, it was all recorded.
Of course, Li Erfeng had his own calculations.
When evaluating Sima Yan, he concluded that appointing a foolish and weak eldest son as heir was the primary reason for the fall of the Jin dynasty.
That eldest son was the infamous emperor who asked, "If there is no grain, why don't they eat minced meat?"
To be fair, foolishness did not necessarily equal tyranny. Responsibility, yes—but to pin the collapse of a dynasty entirely on him was excessive.
After all, Sima Yan himself once banned marriages across the entire empire just to conduct a massive imperial harem selection.
Compared to that, his son almost looked restrained.
Li Erfeng's judgment here had little to do with Jin—and far more to do with easing his own long-standing ache over Xuanwu Gate.
But honestly?
Who among the common people cared?
Shimin, Shimin—saving the world and settling the people.
The Tang populace truly lived through a golden age. They praised him openly and remembered him fondly.
Later dynasties such as Song and Ming even twisted themselves into arguments claiming that Li Yuan only gained the empire because of Li Shimin.
In modern Chang'an, the Great Tang Everbright City stood illuminated. Li Shimin and his civil and military officials were immortalized at its highest point, remembered by countless visitors.
As for the Xuanwu Gate Incident?
Modern people were too lazy to debate it.
After all, there was a line that summed it up perfectly:
Win the realm.
Sit the throne.]
"Your Majesty…" Changsun Wuji said softly. "Are you… crying?"
Li Shimin had been standing perfectly still for a long while.
Earlier, when later generations mocked Goguryeo through theatrical farce, his fury had burned openly.
But now—watching the judgments recorded in the Book of Jin—Changsun Wuji saw something else on that familiar face.
Disdain.
Fatigue.
Unease.
As both kin and minister, Changsun Wuji knew this emperor well.
Towering martial merit.
Humiliation repaid tenfold.
Absolute confidence in his fitness to rule.
An unwillingness to wait passively for death.
Even if it had begun as self-preservation, the act had still crossed the boundary of ritual and kinship.
Yet now, before Changsun Wuji's eyes, the final shadow lingering over the blazing sun of Tang slowly melted away—like frost beneath morning light.
"So this," Li Shimin said softly, wiping the corner of his eye and laughing, "is how later generations see it?"
"But this light screen is far too stingy."
"With so little space, how could one possibly see clearly?"
No one replied.
Because the screen had already shifted.
A vast city appeared.
Lights blazed like constellations fallen to earth. Crowds flowed endlessly. Broad streets brimmed with relaxed, smiling faces.
Even women of later generations walked freely through the streets, dressed in Tang-inspired garments, laughing as they passed.
Li Jing squinted hard, then delivered his verdict with the solemnity of a grandfather judging his descendants.
"Not plump enough," he said. "They must not eat well on ordinary days."
Li Shimin's gaze, however, was fixed on the center of the image.
A towering equestrian statue stood there.
The face was indistinct—but at its base were four unmistakable characters:
Zhenguan Supreme General.
Li Shimin recognized it instantly.
"That's me."
"Zhenguan Supreme General…" He chuckled. "Very good."
As for Heavenly Strategy Grand General—
That title had already been kicked into some forgotten corner of his mind.
Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, and Changsun Wuji watched in rapture, each nursing a small regret at not seeing statues of themselves.
"No matter," Li Shimin said magnanimously. "The light screen once toured Zhuge Wuhou's Chengdu."
"Sooner or later," he added confidently, "it will tour this Everbright Chang'an in full."
For the first time, the ministers felt an unmistakable itch in their hearts.
And a trace of resentment.
Why hadn't they been summoned earlier?
Who wouldn't want to see later generations' Chengdu?
"This light screen," Li Jing said awkwardly, trying to squeeze forward, "is still too small."
Li Shimin frowned slightly.
He thought so too.
So… what could be done about that?
"Not as good as Chengdu," Liu Bei judged critically.
Chengdu had the Shrine of Zhaolie, after all. In his heart, it had long become his true homeland.
"So this," Zhang Fei said softly, awed, "is the Chang'an our strategist never got to see."
The hall fell silent.
Zhang Fei, still muttering, added, "Just wonder what Hefei looked like—the Hefei my ten thousand brothers-in-law never managed to reach."
Zhuge Liang ignored him, focused on another thought entirely.
"Killing one's brothers… slaughtering kin," he murmured. "And yet remembered as a millennium emperor?"
Ma Liang recalled the text he had copied earlier.
"If the light screen refers to Li Shimin," he said, "then he once claimed he unified the realm in seven years."
That made it easy to infer.
"So the 'Er' in Li Erfeng," Liu Bei said slowly, "really does mean he was the second son."
From Liu Bei's perspective, it was difficult to judge.
A benefactor of the people.
A criminal under ritual law.
And yet—over a thousand years later—still remembered, still revered.
"The people… the people…" Liu Bei repeated quietly.
The great clans bowed to Cao Wei.
The common folk followed him across rivers.
The title of Imperial Uncle meant little.
Benevolence gathered hearts.
For the first time in a long while, Liu Bei felt his shoulders lighten.
"This Li Erfeng," Zhuge Liang said slowly, "truly reached the pinnacle of martial merit."
He conquered the realm himself.
Forged prosperity himself.
Expanded the borders himself.
An unavoidable thought surfaced.
If this man had marched north from Qishan…
Perhaps one campaign would have been enough.
The image of the Everbright Tang City faded all too quickly.
Even Liu Bei felt regret.
[Light-screen]
[If the Book of Jin treated its own dynasty like this—could it truly be impartial?
Of course not.
There was one ruler recorded within its pages as virtuous and benevolent, with no scandals whatsoever.
Li Gao, founding ruler of Western Liang.
Why?
Because he was the officially certified ancestor of the Li-Tang imperial house.]
Li Shimin's smile stiffened.
He knew that look.
The screen was about to grow serious again.
[Light-screen]
[The obsession with tracing ancestry in antiquity was profound—and the Tang was no exception.
The Book of Jin claimed that Li Gao was the sixteenth-generation descendant of Han general Li Guang.
Then, conveniently, Li Gao acquired an unverifiable grandson named Zhong'er.
Zhong'er, in turn, had a descendant named Li Hu—grandfather of Li Yuan, one of the Eight Pillars of Western Wei.
Modern historian Chen Yinke summarized this lineage in four words:
Fabricated transmission.
The logic was straightforward.
During Northern Wei, Liangzhou society carried two identity labels.
Local gentry—native elites of Liangzhou, exempt from corvée and military service.
And "old Fengpei households"—families exiled to the frontier after the Six Garrisons Rebellion, considered socially inferior.
The Book of Wei recorded Li Chong, Li Gao's great-grandson, as a high-ranking official—clearly a Liangzhou elite.
The Old Book of Tang, however, recorded Zhong'er's son as a frontier commander—clearly an "old Fengpei household."
Same era.
One noble.
One debased.
They could not possibly belong to the same lineage.
Thus, the Tang imperial house was most likely not descended from the Longxi Li clan at all—merely a modest family that adopted prestige after the fact.
Ironically, Li Gao emerged the greatest beneficiary.
The imperial house adopted him as ancestor—and scrubbed his entire record clean.
This also explained why later generations identified even Li Bai as a descendant of Li Gao.
But in truth?
None of that mattered.
Li Bai.
Li Erfeng.
Both names echoed through eternity.
Li Gao and the Longxi Li clan?
Buried in dusty pages few ever read.]
Li Shimin clenched his fist.
Earlier, it was Li Erfeng. He endured it.
Now they shortened it to Li Er.
He exhaled slowly and shook his head.
"Merely laughter for later generations."
Changsun Wuji quickly soothed him.
"Your Majesty's name will endure forever."
"The Longxi Li clan thrives because of you—not the other way around."
That line landed perfectly.
Li Shimin's eyes narrowed in satisfaction.
"…But who is this Li Bai?" he asked.
That was his only true curiosity.
The light screen mentioned the Poetry Immortal again and again—almost in equal measure with his own name.
A pity they would never meet.
From the timeline, Li Bai would not be born for another seventy years.
Changsun Wuji smiled.
"Without a flourishing Tang, how could there be a Poetry Immortal?"
"And without Your Majesty, how could there be a flourishing Tang?"
Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui silently cursed in their hearts.
This man's flattery grows more refined by the day.
Li Shimin, however, was delighted.
So what if Li Bai was famous?
He was still riding his coattails.