Before the Tang court could fully process what they had seen, the route of Xuanzang faded from the luminous screen.
Boom.
A single, heavy drumbeat rang out, joined by an unfamiliar instrument—low, resonant, striking straight at the heart.
Several ministers instinctively pressed a hand to their chests.
Then the image flashed.
In the distance, a jeweled pagoda shimmered with flowing light. Nearby rooftops glowed softly. Roads stretched outward, lined with radiant trees of lantern-fire, people moving like currents of light.
The Ganlu Hall erupted.
"Are immortals watching us from the clouds?!"
"Are we flying?!"
Li Shimin remained unmoved.
He had already seen an aerial view of Sleepless Chengdu before.
"The methods of later ages are countless," he said coolly. "There is no need for astonishment. Watch."
Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui struggled not to laugh. Wei Zheng and the others looked on in admiration.
As expected of His Majesty.
Behind them, Yan Liben stared wide-eyed—not sketching, not moving—determined to carve every detail into memory and recreate it later.
Boom.
The drumbeat again. Another fleeting silhouette.
The tension only grew.
Then—
It was as if a thousand instruments erupted at once, as though a hundred immortals were singing in unison above the clouds.
The brilliance returned.
The screen descended like a banished immortal walking among mortals, carrying the ministers of the Zhenguan era across more than a thousand years.
And thoughtfully, the screen began labeling what it showed.
A solemn Buddhist pagoda appeared in crystal clarity, every brick heavy with the weight of time.
[Great Wild Goose Pagoda]
An open plaza followed. A monk's statue stood firm, staff in hand, gaze fixed toward the south.
[Statue of Xuanzang]
The view drifted onward—past corridors of lantern light, bustling streets alive with people—until a vast complex of group sculptures came into view.
Their expressions differed wildly.
Some sang with unrestrained passion.
Some bore worry for the suffering people.
Some smiled in quiet contentment.
Some stood in solemn contemplation.
Poetry. Calligraphy. Paintings. Inscriptions.
Each statue bore a small stone marker, names flashing by too quickly to fully read.
"Li Bai!"
"Du Fu… Du Mu!"
"Liu Yuxi!"
Names they had already encountered through scattered hints before.
"Wu Daozi!"
"Wang Wei… Wang Zhihuan!"
"Yan Lide… Yan Liben!"
[Gallery of Greats of the Tang]
The court turned as one.
They had never expected the first familiar face to be—
Yan Liben.
The man himself stood frozen, hands awkward at his sides, swaying slightly as if drunk.
I… will be remembered alongside my elder brother?
Li Shimin had no time to comfort him.
The screen was still moving.
And then—
He saw himself.
A powerful band marched ahead. Banners streamed behind. Mounted generals flanked him closely, guarding their emperor.
Li Shimin sat astride a mighty horse, one hand on the reins, the other gently pressing downward.
Zhangsun Wuji seized the moment.
"This posture calms the realm. True imperial bearing!"
On the pedestal beneath the statue, four bold characters stood firm:
Zhenguan Supreme Commander
Li Shimin laughed easily, clearly pleased.
The generals, however, leaned forward intently.
Even Li Jing straightened, eyes wide.
Six mounted attendants… surely there's room for me?
[The Reign of Zhenguan]
The image moved on.
What followed surprised Li Shimin.
These were neither generals nor ministers.
Women holding infants.
Strong men shielding children.
Elders laughing with grandchildren.
Young men carrying goods toward distant horizons.
Wei Zheng read the inscription aloud.
[Water Bears the Boat—And Overturns It]
Without hesitation, he recited:
"The ruler is the boat. The people are the water.
Water may carry the boat—
and it may overturn it."
Words from Xunzi, known to all.
Yet seeing them carved so solemnly by later generations, the hall fell silent.
Li Shimin thought of a name that the screen had once mentioned with chilling hostility.
Huang Chao.
Later generations called him a rebel.
The Tang was lifted because it let the people live well.
If it became the source of their suffering—
Would they not sink it without hesitation?
The silence was broken by Yuchi Jingde.
"Congratulations to the Dukes of Xing and Cai."
Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui looked up.
On the screen stood two civil ministers—one stroking his beard in thought, the other cutting decisively with a raised hand.
The label left no doubt.
[Fang Plans, Du Decides]
Congratulations rippled through the hall.
Even Zhangsun Wuji, his gaze complex, finally offered his own.
Fang Xuanling chuckled happily. Du Ruhui clasped his hands.
"Without Your Majesty's vision," he said, "how could Zhenguan endure? How could the Tang flourish?"
Li Shimin laughed heartily, raising a hand in modest restraint.
If ministers are remembered for brilliance,
then perhaps the emperor who gave them room deserves some credit too.
Then—
The next sculpture erased his smile.
Fan bearers stood before it. Canopies rose behind. Full imperial regalia.
But at the center—
Was a woman.
[Procession of Empress Wu]
Wei Zheng frowned.
"Even with merit," he said sharply, "how may an empress exceed ritual?"
The generals wisely fell silent.
Du Ruhui shook his head.
"She did not exceed it."
Wei Zheng opened his mouth—
"Because she later ruled as emperor," Du Ruhui said clearly.
"Later generations call her the Female Emperor—Wu Zetian."
Wei Zheng was struck speechless.
Li Shimin stared, unfocused.
The generals lowered their heads, struggling to hide their expressions.
Li Shimin exhaled slowly.
He had known this question would come.
If he had once wondered how Tang produced a female emperor—
Now that he knew his son Zhi would ascend the throne—
How could he avoid the thought?
Seizure of power.
Had Zhi followed his own path?
Had Wu Zetian taken the throne the same way?
Weariness washed over him.
He could govern the realm.
He could subdue the frontiers.
He could build the foundation of a golden age.
But the Li family itself—
How was that to be governed?
Zhi had achievements. Ambitious, yes—but he destroyed Goguryeo, crushed the Western Turks, extended the Tang's glory.
All of it written into history.
Yet fatigue still pressed down on Li Shimin's chest.
For a moment, he saw brothers turning blades on brothers.
Palace halls flooded with blood.
Plots whispering through gilded corridors.
The resplendent Tang seemed stained faintly red.
He leaned back, exhausted, and looked up at the final sculpture.
[The Kaiyuan Golden Age]
Three tiers rose skyward.
Xuanzong stood atop a dragon-carved platform, surveying the world.
Below him, ministers and generals worked in harmony.
At the base, music and celebration.
Li Shimin wanted to throw something at it.
He didn't.
Changsun Wuji spoke carefully.
"After Xuanzong… the Tang was still the Tang of the Li."
Li Shimin understood.
The Wu clan seized the throne—
and lost it again.
Staring at the darkened screen, he finally smiled.
"Later ages wield such divine methods," he said lightly.
"They must also possess cures unknown to us."
"There are still twenty years of Zhenguan ahead.
Zhi is but one year old.
There is time—to shape his heart, to teach him well."
The resolve in his voice brooked no refusal.
"…It's just one street," Liu Bei concluded.
"Not as impressive as Chengdu."
So what if there were statues? So what if names endured?
Did they have temples? Were they still worshipped?
That so-called sleepless city didn't look like a place of sacrifice at all.
"And this female emperor—first empress, then ruler."
Liu Bei recalled an offhand remark from earlier.
'During Empress Lü's regency…'
Was Wu Zetian following Lü Zhi's path—
and surpassing her?
He couldn't be sure.
But the pattern felt uncomfortably familiar.
Eunuchs. Consort clans.
Did every great dynasty have to repeat the cycle?
He almost wondered—
Surely Song and Ming wouldn't make the same mistakes again… right?
Zhuge Liang spoke gently.
"'Water bears the boat and overturns it'—
my lord should remember this."
Liu Bei laughed.
"If the people fear their government, the Son of Heaven cannot sit securely. How could I not know?"
Zhuge Liang nodded, satisfied.
"The Tang had many talents.
But Han is no less."
He glanced regretfully at Liu Bei.
Only his lord's personal command in battle… that was hard to match.
Liu Bei looked back, baffled, offering a questioning glance.
Nearby, Zhang Song and Liu Ba stared longingly at the screen.
Earlier, Liu Bei and Zhuge Liang had already described the later Sleepless Chengdu to them—said to be even more splendid.
Zhang Song, a native son of Chengdu, practically ached to step through the screen.
But the sleepless city faded.
When the light returned—
At its center was once again a conspicuous bald head.
[Compared to his journey for scriptures, Xuanzang's greatest legacy was in fact The Great Tang Records on the Western Regions…]