Li Shimin had actually been hoping for some reaction from Sun Simiao.
Surprise, doubt, belief, disbelief—any of it would have been fine. He had already rehearsed his responses in his mind.
If Sun Simiao believed him, then they would agree to meet again at the beginning of the first lunar month and witness the future together.
If Sun Simiao didn't believe him, Li Shimin would simply smile faintly and wait for the day when the glowing curtain itself stunned the so-called Medicine King into silence.
He had even thought through how he would turn away, how casually he would leave behind a few words.
But Sun Simiao gave him none of those reactions.
The great physician later honored by posterity as the "Medicine King" calmly took out a small notebook and a stick of charcoal. While writing swiftly, he asked in a perfectly serious tone:
"How long has this image been in Your Majesty's possession?"
"I obtained it a little over two months ago…"
Li Shimin paused when he saw the charcoal racing across the page, then emphasized firmly:
"I am not ill."
Sun Simiao nodded, recorded that fact, and continued asking:
"Has Your Majesty obtained any other objects from several hundred years in the future?"
—
That day, the onlookers in the Imperial Medical Bureau noticed something unusual: when the Emperor left, his sleeves were flung with extra force.
There was no need to guess—this had to be Sun Simiao's doing.
A few curious souls quietly peeked toward the eastern wing of the Medical Bureau and saw Sun Simiao standing beneath the eaves, his eyes full of worry.
Though Li Shimin was clearly vexed, he also understood that Sun Simiao truly carried a heart devoted to saving the world. After leaving the Medical Bureau, he issued no further instructions.
The exchange hadn't been pleasant, but at least Sun Simiao agreed to stay until mid–first lunar month.
That was enough.
With his goal achieved, Li Shimin decided to take a leisurely walk through the palace.
—
At this time, Chang'an's layout was broadly divided into three sections.
The Palace City—Taiji Palace, Ganlu Hall, the Inner Gardens—served as the emperor's private residence and administrative space.
South of the Palace City, across the main avenue, lay the Imperial City, home to central institutions such as the Court of State Ceremonial, Court of Imperial Sacrifices, the Imperial Ancestral Temple, Directorate of Works, and the Great Altar.
Beyond those lay the Outer City, the wards and markets where the common people lived—and where Chang'an was at its most vibrant.
The Imperial Medical Bureau Li Shimin had just visited belonged to the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, located in the eastern section of the Imperial City.
After walking for a while and turning a corner, he arrived at Jingfeng Gate, the eastern gate of the Imperial City.
The gate's commanding officer had already stepped aside and performed the proper salute. Li Shimin waved him off and stood near the gate, listening.
He knew that beyond Jingfeng Gate lay Yongxing Ward and Chongren Ward. Heading south along the avenue between them would lead straight to the bustling Eastern Market.
It was already the twelfth lunar month. For the people of Chang'an, this year had been a simple one to judge.
The submission of Jieli Khan—how could that not mean a good year?
In his heart, Li Shimin knew this celebration marked the first such triumph of the Tang dynasty—but certainly not the last.
The lively noise outside the Imperial City hooked at his heart like a fishline, making it itch unbearably.
He hesitated only briefly before ordering his palanquin to move.
—
The gate officer finally relaxed—only to see the Emperor return less than half an hour later, now dressed in plain clothes.
After Yuchi Jingde gave the officer some very "efficient persuasion," the disguised Emperor and a dozen Jinwu Guards passed through Jingfeng Gate and merged into Chang'an's Outer City like a single drop of water into the sea.
Li Shimin considered himself no stranger to Chang'an. He had conquered it in his youth and often surveyed it from city gates like Changle, Chengtian, and Shuntian.
Yet walking its streets on foot now, without horses, he finally understood how vast Chang'an had become.
Standing amid the street, hawkers shouting from all sides, the noise flooded his ears so completely that he found himself momentarily lost.
"Jingde," he asked, "which way should we go?"
Yuchi Jingde thought for a moment. "Your Majesty has been fond of fish lately. You should try butterfly sashimi."
"A direction is good enough," Li Shimin said cheerfully. "Lead the way!"
—
They bought two lanterns, watched a stomping folk dance, and passed a main street where men from Pingkang Ward and Xuanyang Ward were playing tug-hook games.
Two teams strained together, hooks locked, trying to drag a banner tied to a hemp rope over to their side. Li Shimin stopped on the spot, cheering loudly.
He casually bought two ferocious Nuo masks as well. Watching Yuchi Jingde pay with clear resignation, Li Shimin suddenly asked:
"Jingde—have Zhaoxuhao and Drunken Siming already been observed?"
Before Yuchi Jingde could reply, the vendor jumped in eagerly:
"Good sir, those rituals are done on New Year's Eve. It's still early."
"But if you'd like Siming wine to get the Kitchen God drunk, there's a wine shop just down the street."
So that was a sales pitch—but Li Shimin still smiled and thanked him.
—
"On New Year's Eve night, illuminate Zhaoxuhao.
At midnight, intoxicate Siming.
To carry a good year through, paste the Stove Horse on the twenty-third."
Li Shimin hummed softly. He vaguely remembered his mother teaching this rhyme to him and his brothers when they were children.
The Stove Horse—a wooden board painted with the Kitchen God—was pasted on the twenty-third day of the twelfth month.
On New Year's Eve, lamps were lit on the stove to ward off spirits—this was Zhaoxuhao.
Wine was then splashed on the Stove Horse to please and intoxicate the Kitchen God—this was Drunken Siming.
Those memories, long buried, surfaced again.
His elder sister was gone. His brothers too…
And yet, from those recollections, a new thought arose.
Li Shimin immediately ordered the Jinwu Guards to begin shopping along the street.
—
It was already the nineteenth day of the twelfth month, so everything needed for the New Year was available.
Stove Horses. Stove lamps. Siming wine. Nuo masks.
Everything.
The Jinwu Guards silently wondered why these couldn't be procured inside the palace—but seeing the Emperor's expression, they wisely kept quiet.
—
After entering Anyi Ward, Li Shimin finally saw the butterfly sashimi Yuchi Jingde had mentioned.
Inside the ward stood an eatery. Despite the winter cold, a man worked shirtless, his muscles not bulging but perfectly balanced.
Knife in his right hand. Fish pinned beneath his left.
The blade was thin as cicada wings. The fish still struggled.
Then—
The knife rose and fell.
The sound of blade striking board rang like the plucked notes of a lute, drawing cheers from the crowd.
In moments, the fish that had fought for life became a plate of slices.
Li Shimin focused intently. Each piece seemed translucent, cut so finely that the light passed through—precision down to a hair's breadth.
Yuchi Jingde explained:
"Last year, during a storm, a sudden gust lifted the slices into the air. They fluttered everywhere like butterflies."
"Hence the name: Butterfly Sashimi."
After tasting it, Li Shimin sighed sincerely.
"My Great Tang truly abounds with extraordinary people."
—
With thoughts weighing on him, Li Shimin returned to the palace.
His sudden outing had already prompted Empress Zhangsun to prepare a lecture.
Yet the Tang Emperor returned carrying New Year goods from the city, his face practically begging for praise.
"Guanyinbi," he said brightly, "this year's New Year's Eve—I will celebrate with our children!"
He received two parts praise and eight parts scolding.
Li Shimin accepted it solemnly, swearing earnestly:
"Next time, I'll bring you with me!"
Only then did the amused and exasperated Empress let him off.
—
Once Li Shimin made up his mind, his execution was swift.
From the twentieth day onward, all imperial princes and princesses were excused from lessons.
The princesses decorated palace halls, learned to make malt candy, prepared Five-Pungent Plates, and practiced the biting-of-spring ritual with the Empress.
The princes learned Nuo dances, staged ritual plays, set off firecrackers, and pasted peach talismans.
The Palace City grew noisy—so noisy that even Wei Zheng submitted a remonstrance.
Li Shimin left it unread.
You may speak all you like; I'll practice what future generations call "read but not reply."
Wei Zheng, overwhelmed with year-end duties, let the matter drop.
—
Despite all criticism, the imperial children spent a New Year that was improper by strict standards—but unforgettable.
Watching Crown Prince Chengqian's flushed excitement after playing Nuo games, Li Shimin felt a quiet sense of comfort.
No matter what the future held, at least this Spring Festival, he had tried to be a passable father.
—
Then his gaze shifted.
Beside Chengqian was a small figure, barely reaching his waist, wearing a ghost mask and waving claws in playful menace.
The Wu girl…
By all accounts—at least according to Guanyinbi—this girl was remarkable: literate, intelligent, fiercely competitive, no less capable than any man.
Yet imagining this child—who barely reached Chengqian's waist—possibly becoming his second Empress, ruling as Empress Dowager after Li Zhi, sent a strange feeling through him.
On one hand, her talent fit perfectly among the great figures of his Zhenguan era—Sun Simiao, Yan Liben. Such an Empress didn't seem impossible.
On the other hand, history spoke little of Emperor Gaozong's governance, and even less of Empress Wu during that time.
So how had power returned to her hands?
What bloody, shadowed struggles lay in between?
The only explanation he could think of—
Was his family's bloodline flawed, like the Cao clan described by the glowing curtain?
Chengqian dying young. Li Zhi dying young.
If so…
Li Shimin's gaze drifted south, toward the Imperial Medical Bureau.
Sun the Medicine King—do not disappoint me.
—
Compared to the festive inner palace, the New Year's Day court session passed without waves.
The only true matter of note was the joint envoys from Gaochang and the Western Turks proposing the honorific title "Heavenly Khagan" for the Tang Emperor.
It was approved.
The Gaochang envoy sighed in relief—yet unease lingered.
Why did the Heavenly Khagan's gaze feel so… meaningful?
—
After New Year's Day came ten days of rest.
Chang'an sank into a languid calm.
Within this atmosphere, Sun Simiao received an imperial summons to attend court at Ganlu Hall.
While waiting for the palace gates to open, he glanced around—and felt the group assembled was profoundly mismatched.
Besides himself stood Yan Liben and Yan Lide.
Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui.
Hou Junji and Li Jing.
Zhangsun Wuji and Wei Zheng.
Physician. Painter. Remonstrator. Imperial relative. Chancellor. General.
What on earth, Sun Simiao wondered, is the Emperor planning?