Li Shimin did not comment on the epithet later generations would give to An Lushan—The Man Who Buried the High Tang.
At this moment, the Emperor's thoughts were colder and sharper than steel.
A foster son of the Tang throne.
The architect of catastrophe.
A disease born within the empire's own flesh.
He lowered his gaze to the map projected from the future. For a fleeting instant, the parchment seemed to stretch endlessly outward. The land beneath his rule was vast, resplendent—an empire forged by his own hands. And yet, deep within its veins, something hideous throbbed stubbornly, like a malignant growth refusing to die.
Had this poison survived the Sui?
Endured through his father's reign?
And now… still lingered in his own time?
Around him, the ministers of the Zhenguan era were less focused on metaphors of rot and decay. What seized their attention was far more concrete.
An Lushan's surname.
Fang Xuanling spoke first, his tone calm, as though reciting a familiar lesson.
"During the Han Dynasty, the eminent monk An Shigao," he said, "was recorded as a prince of the Parthian Empire before entering China."
He continued smoothly, "One of his descendants, An Nanda, settled in Liangzhou. From there, the An clan took root in Wuwei and rose to prominence."
Zhangsun Wuji's eyes narrowed.
"The Nine Surnames of the Hu… Liangzhou…"
Understanding dawned almost at once.
The An clan of Wuwei.
Years ago, Li Gui had declared himself emperor—only to be slain by the An family. Later, Crown Prince Li Jiancheng had personally traveled to Yuanzhou to accept their surrender. The memories surfaced one by one, and the expressions around the hall grew increasingly complex.
Was Buddhism involved again?
The thought flickered through Du Ruhui's mind, only to be dismissed. He shook his head.
"The An clan has guarded Wuwei for generations. They are a keystone of the Hexi Corridor."
That statement struck like a hammer.
After the rebellion, the Hexi Corridor had been the first territory lost.
Even if it eventually fell to the Tibetans, it should have obstructed the so-called Return-to-Righteousness Army. Yet history mentioned nothing of such resistance.
Why?
Li Shimin showed no emotion. He set the matter aside as if it were of no urgency at all.
"We will remember this," he said lightly. "That is enough for now."
[Lightscreen]
[ When discussing why the Cao family lost the empire, diabetes played its part—but Cao Pi himself bore far greater blame.
Cao Pi was indulgent by nature, and not merely in food.
When his old friend Wang Can died, Cao Pi remarked at the funeral that Wang had loved the sound of donkeys braying. He then led the mourners in braying loudly, sending the deceased off amid raucous laughter.
Yet during Wei Feng's rebellion, this same Cao Pi annihilated Wang Can's entire clan without hesitation.
His treatment of women was no less erratic. Historians would later describe him as shallow and frivolous. He hosted lavish banquets, parading his consorts before guests as though they were ornaments. Both Lady Zhen and Empress Guo were displayed in this manner.
True to Cao family tradition, the Emperor's favorite was always the next one.
Lady Zhen. Empress Guo. The three Noble Ladies Li, Yin, and Chai. Lady Ren. Lady Xu. The two Ladies of Virtuous Beauty, Pan and Zhu. Mo Qiongshu. Xue Yelai. Tian Shangyi. Duan Qiaoxiao… the list goes on.
Yet Cao Pi was also ruthlessly pragmatic.
He elevated Lady Guo to Empress because she offered counsel and strategic insight during his rise to power.
Once Lady Zhen was taken, Lady Ren was discarded. Once Lady Guo was enthroned, Lady Zhen fell from favor. When Lady Zhen voiced her resentment, Empress Guo slandered her—and Cao Pi coldly ordered her to take her own life.
Lady Zhen's death shattered her son, Cao Rui.
At fifteen, Cao Rui was demoted from Duke of Qi to Marquis of Pingyuan. Cao Pi feared his son's hatred and named him heir only upon his deathbed.
It is therefore unsurprising that Cao Rui refused to see his father in his final moments.
The wounds left by indulgent fatherhood and forced maternal suicide ran deep.
Records state: "Emperor Ming of Wei favored women's ornaments." Given his exceptional natural beauty, later generations speculated that he suffered from a pathological longing for his mother. Mourning Lady Zhen while gazing at himself in a mirror, adorned in her jewelry… tragically plausible.
After outliving Zhuge Liang, Cao Rui began exhibiting the symptoms of wasting thirst—the same illness he had seen claim his father.
By the third year of Qinglong, he became devoted to a spirit medium, even sharing her 'divine water' with Bian Lan, who suffered the same disease. When Liu Fang spoke to him, Cao Rui often fell asleep mid-conversation.
From that point on, he obsessed over palaces and expanded his harem.
Like his father, he waited until death to name a successor.
Cao Rui completed the inevitable journey of the Cao heirs: hating Cao Pi, understanding Cao Pi… and becoming Cao Pi.
To counterbalance his ministers, Cao Rui recalled Wu Zhi—his father's favorite.
Wu Zhi praised Sima Yi while attacking Chen Qun. Chen Qun fell; Sima Yi rose.
Wu Zhi made countless enemies.
When he died, the court proposed the posthumous title: "The Ugly."
Remembering that Wu Zhi had leered at both his biological and adoptive mothers during his father's infamous banquets, Cao Rui approved the title without hesitation.
Centuries later, Li Fuguo—the eunuch prime minister raised by Emperor Xuanzong and his son—would receive the same posthumous name.
One can only say: the Cao father and son, and Xuanzong of Tang, shared a curious destiny.]
"Truly… a family of a particular breed," Liu Bei sighed, sounding utterly exhausted.
Wasting thirst.
Psychological scars.
Early deaths.
Delaying the naming of heirs.
All of it collapsed into a single conclusion.
"That old rogue Cao," Liu Bei muttered. "It's a miracle his bloodline even lasted three generations."
Zhang Fei leaned toward Pang Tong, counting on his fingers.
"Thirteen favorites. The son's got his father's spirit. Compared to that, Tang emperors were practically saints—at least they stuck to one."
Pang Tong snorted.
"Hidden illness. Desperation. He gathered women hoping one might bear a healthy son. Didn't Cao Cao do the same? His children died young, so he favored widows to increase his odds."
Zhang Fei's eyes widened.
"And you, Military Advisor? Do you have an heir?"
Pang Tong puffed out his chest.
"My son, Pang Hong, lives in Gongan. Before I came to Yizhou, I entrusted him to General Guan in Jiangling. In sixteen years, he will come of age—and surely inherit my brilliance."
As he spoke, his gaze drifted pointedly toward Zhuge Liang.
The implication was unmistakable.
Zhuge Liang merely smiled.
"Since Pang Hong is the scion of the Fledgling Phoenix," he said mildly, "I trust we shall see his name upon the light screen—and witness his talents."
Pang Tong promptly choked into silence.
Zhuge Liang turned back to the records, his expression tinged with rare sympathy.
"To witness one's mother ordered to death… to be despised by one's father," he murmured. "Cao Rui governed diligently in his early years, only to be ensnared by illness and the Sima clan's schemes."
Pang Tong recovered.
"Waiting until death to name an heir—was that what gave the Sima clan their opening?"
Zhuge Liang calculated silently.
"Fourteen years on the throne," he said. "He was no more than thirty-five when he died."
Zhang Fei grunted.
"No wonder. After clawing his way to the throne, who would expect to die in his thirties?"
The men of Yizhou, however, were more unsettled by the Tang Dynasty itself.
"This Tang… did they learn nothing from Zhao Gao?" Zhang Song asked.
Liu Bei sighed.
"If the screen is true, by the end of Tang, emperors sat on the throne by forged eunuch decrees."
Zhang Song fell silent.
Zhang Fei waved a hand.
"Why stare at Tang? Brother, have you forgotten Huang Hao? To us, centuries pass in a blink—but fifty years is more than enough for people to forget their ancestors' graves."
Liu Bei stared at him.
"Yide," he said slowly, "you've grown insightful."
Then he smiled thinly.
"When this ends, remember to personally assist in dredging Chengdu's inner canals."
Zhang Fei's face collapsed.
He still remembered the stench all too well.
In the Tang court, Li Shimin spoke decisively.
"An ancestral decree shall be established," he said. "Eunuchs are forbidden to interfere in state affairs."
Hou Junji hesitated.
"Your Majesty… if they are called 'father and son,' their power must have spanned reigns."
Li Shimin frowned.
Hou Junji turned to Fang Xuanling.
"Did the screen mention what happened after Xuanzong fled to Shu?"
Fang Xuanling shook his head.
"The rebellion was suppressed—but the empire's strength was broken. The Tibetans seized the Hexi Corridor."
Du Ruhui spoke quietly.
"During the An-Shi Rebellion, Li Bai wrote:
'The young Emperor opens the Purple Mystery in Chang'an;
Two suns and moons hang together, illuminating the heavens.'"
Hou Junji froze.
The young Emperor.
Two suns.
The implication chilled the hall.
Could a catastrophe of such magnitude truly be repaired by a Xuanzong who fled to Chengdu?
Li Shimin closed his eyes briefly, his expression shifting through emotions no one dared name.
At last, he spoke.
"Then… we will watch."
[Lightscreen]
[ Among 495 recorded emperors, the average reign was five years.
Cao Pi barely passed.
Xuanzong ranked seventh. Liu Shan—Adou—ranked eighth.
Liu Shan's reign was notably stable.
Early on, he had Zhuge Liang governing for him. After the Chancellor's death, he had the Memorial on the Case for War.
History calls him mediocre.
Yet he was kind-hearted. From Zhuge Liang's era to the fall of Shu, only one nine-generation extermination occurred—after Wei Feng's rebellion.
Otherwise, Shu avoided the brutal purges of Wei and Jin.
There were exceptions.
Li Miao, who slandered the Chancellor, was executed.
Liu Yan, who publicly humiliated his wife over baseless suspicions involving Adou, was also executed. That was personal; we will not judge it.
As for Li Miao—he had mocked Liu Bei from the beginning. Saved by Zhuge Liang, he later bit the hand that spared him.
Adou likely remembered.
If not for my Father-Minister, you would be dead.
Aside from these cases, the harshest criticism of Adou's reign was that the people "looked sallow from hunger."
And yet—
When the Chancellor died, the heavens wept at Wuzhang Plains.
When Adou surrendered, his generals hacked at stone in fury.
Sixty-two-year-old Jiang Wei begged him to endure humiliation for a few days—to restore the Han.
Jiang Wei's loyalty still burns a thousand years later.
Adou said only: "I am happy here. I have no thought of Shu."
Placed beside Jiang Wei… the bitterness is unbearable.
One cannot help but feel that Jiang Boyue's burning heart was offered—
—to a stray dog.]