[Lightscreen]
["I raised you to be a governor—what grievance did you suffer that you would rebel?"
This was the very first sentence Yan Gaoqing heard after being delivered to Luoyang.
In An Lushan's mind, Yan Gaoqing had no right to rebel—none whatsoever.
Originally, Yan Gaoqing had been nothing more than a minor Household Officer. Every subsequent promotion—Judicial Commissioner, Palace Attendant, Minister of Court Ceremonials—had been personally submitted by An Lushan himself.
In An Lushan's imagined hierarchy, he was Yan Gaoqing's patron.
Yan Gaoqing, therefore, was his disciple.
How could a disciple rebel against his patron?
Yan Gaoqing answered without hesitation:
"You shepherding slave from Yingzhou—what wrong has the Son of Heaven ever done you, that you would rebel?"
Then he cursed him outright:
"My family has served the Tang for generations.
We know loyalty and righteousness.
I regret only that I could not kill you and present your head to the emperor—
and you dare accuse me of rebellion?
Absurd. Laughable!"
An Lushan immediately realized there was nothing left to discuss.
He ordered Yan Gaoqing to be hung from a bridge.
Before Yan Gaoqing's eyes, An Lushan had Yan Jimin, Yan Dan, Yan Xu, and more than thirty members of Yan Gaoqing's family slowly butchered to death.
Yan Gaoqing endured torture without ceasing his curses.
Finally, An Lushan had hooks tear out his tongue.
Yan Gaoqing was killed amid garbled, bloody denunciations.
He was sixty-five years old.]
The voice on the light screen gradually faded.
Then, beneath it, a background chorus began to rise.
At first soft, then louder and louder—a group of young voices reciting together.
"Heaven and Earth possess righteous qi,
Scattered yet embodied in all forms…
In men it is called vast integrity,
Mighty enough to fill the heavens…"
Zhuge Liang had just been moved to tears by the annihilation of Yan Gaoqing's entire household.
Then this sound seized his attention completely.
The opening tone was upright, balanced, unadorned—yet within it lay a hidden, surging power.
It compelled the listeners to lean in, afraid to miss even a single word.
"…When times grow desperate, integrity reveals itself,
Each name inscribed forever in history.
In Qi, it was the historian's bamboo slips;
In Jin, Dong Hu's pen."
A profound sense of reassurance welled up in Liu Bei's chest. These are my Han descendants, these truly are my Han descendants.
They ran through China's historical record, preserving the nation's righteous backbone.
What is a court historian?
When Cui Zhu murdered his ruler—recorded.
When Zhao Dun murdered his ruler—recorded.
Holding the brush, recording our history—
righteous qi surging to fill Heaven and Earth!
Liu Bei lightly tapped the rhythm with his right hand.
In his heart, he silently praised it with a single word: Excellent.
"It is the mace of Zhang Liang in Qin, the staff of Su Wu in Han. It is the head of General Yan...
The disillusioned men of late Eastern Han in Chengdu exchanged glances, then smiled knowingly.
So the descendants still remembered Su Wu—
the man too great for mere paintings to capture.
Unyielding under force.
Uncorrupted by wealth.
Unwilling to surrender even unto death.
Only then could one be called Han.
Zhang Fei, however, searched his memory in vain for any "General Yan" that matched.
Surely it wasn't Yan Yan—the fellow guarding Hanzhong now and constantly out on patrol?
Impossible.
Zhang Fei absolutely refused to accept that possibility.
"It is the blood of Attendant Ji,
the teeth of Zhang of Suiyang,
the tongue of Yan of Changshan.
Li Shimin stood with hands clasped behind his back, listening intently.
Yan Gaoqing—Governor of Changshan.
Yan of Changshan.
All the chaotic emotions from earlier slowly faded away.
What remained was pure remembrance of a loyal subject.
The ugliness of An Lushan.
The panic of Li Longji.
The power struggles of court officials.
All dissolved.
Li Shimin recalled a line of poetry he had once admired and spoke it softly:
"Your bodies and names shall perish in time, but the rivers will flow on forever, unhindered."
A small doubt flickered in his mind: Looking at the chronological order.
Yet a question lingered in his mind.
This Zhang Suiyang—judging by the sequence—was he also a man of the Tang?
At the Chengdu prefectural office, Zhuge Liang listened and copied at the same time.
He had just been moved by the earlier reference to the recluse Guan Ning, who lived in poverty while teaching.
Then suddenly—
Before his mind could catch up, his hand had already written:
"Or it may be the Memorial on Dispatching the Troops,
So stirring that ghosts and gods weep."
Zhang Fei, fearing the world might be too peaceful, shouted it aloud again.
Feeling all eyes turn toward him, Zhuge Liang remained expressionless.
Fine.
I'll just write another Memorial on Dispatching the Troops later—and put all of you in it.
Except General Yide.
As he continued copying, Zhuge Liang began to wonder—
Is this writing history through prose?
But the brilliance of later generations quickly answered him.
"This spirit permeates all things, cold and stern, surviving for ten thousand ages.
When it pierces the sun and moon, what does life or death matter?
The pillars of Heaven and the foundations of Earth rely on it for their honor...
"Excellent!" Wei Zheng softly exclaimed in the silent Ganlu Hall.
This prose felt like someone calmly explaining what righteous integrity truly was.
With each example, the listeners gained a clearer sense of it.
By the time these key lines were recited, that integrity seemed almost tangible.
It was not distant or unreachable.
It was simply the foundation of being human.
"How many talents pass down their words through the ages," Du Ruhui murmured.
Yet as darker phrases followed—"cauldrons sweet as syrup," "dark cells filled with ghostly fire"—regret surfaced on Li Shimin's face.
"Indeed—only in desperate times does integrity appear."
"Later ages, too, produced its own, Lord Wen."
"But which dynasty bore such a man?"
No one knew.
Hou Junji and others stretched their necks behind Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui, peeking—
But no one dared crowd forward.
The emperor had been standing there the whole time.
When Fang Xuanling finished with:
"Under the windy eaves, I open my book and read; the ancient path shines upon my face
Li Shimin immediately grabbed a copy.
He decided on the spot:
"This text must be sent to the Imperial Academy—
and circulated throughout the realm!"
In Chengdu, Zhang Song added:
"This must also be sent to the academies—
let Han children read it."
But Liu Bei in Chengdu and Wei Zheng in Ganlu Hall raised the same concern:
"Some allusions are obscure—how will common readers understand?"
The solution was identical in both places:
Consult the histories.
Adapt as needed.
Later generations may possess astonishing talent—
But the minds gathered in one hall and one court together were hardly inferior.
As for the title of this piece—
The light screen provided the answer.
[ Server Chat Log]
ScrollLoading: "Wen Tianxiang, the Duke of Wenshan, wrote the "Song of Righteousness." Every time I read it, I am moved to tears.
At the end of the Southern Song Dynasty, he recalled the integrity and blood of these twelve sages to strengthen his own resolve before his calm execution.
The references to the 'Tongue of Yan Changshan' and the 'Teeth of Zhang Suiyang' both come from the Anshi Rebellion, separated by barely a year
ServerOfRivers: "Duke Wenshan was a sage. The 'Song of Righteousness' is simple; twelve stories that define our national backbone.
But it also reveals why the Song fell. Of the twelve stories, not a single one belongs to the Song Dynasty itself.
The Great Han had integrity; the High Tang had blood. But of the scholar-officials of the Song, those who possessed both could be counted on two hands.
Zhao Kuangyin: Song is Song—why divide it into two?Zhao Kuangyin: Song is Song—why divide it into two?
To whom did Jingkang surrender?To whom did Jingkang surrender?
And why did the Southern Song perish?"And why did the Southern Song perish?"
Li Shimin murmured softly:
"So this is called the Song of Righteous Qi…"
Then he noticed the string of questions—apparently from another emperor.
Li Shimin picked up a brush and strode to the screen, writing boldly:
"The Northern Song had Emperor Zhenzong, who signed a treaty under the city walls. Song and Liao became 'brothers,' and every year the Song sent 'gifts' of silver and silk. The officials praised it, and the Emperor even went to Mount Tai to boast of his 'achievements.'
Perhaps influenced by Wen Tianxiang's prose, Li Shimin felt his writing drifting stylistically.
But imagining Zhao Kuangyin's reaction—
His mood actually improved.
Still, that Zhang of Suiyang's teeth…
Surely another blood-soaked Tang loyalist.
Nearby, Fang Xuanling sighed:
"Han had integrity. Tang had blood."
"Song had technology—if only they could combine them…"
Du Ruhui replied confidently:
"If the Song cannot—then let Tang do it!"
[Lightscreen]
[Yan Gaoqing's life ended beneath An Lushan's butcher's blade.
Yan Zhenqing's struggle for Hebei had only begun.
The histories recorded:
"Seventeen commanderies returned allegiance in a single day, proclaiming Yan Zhenqing alliance leader—two hundred thousand troops, cutting off Yan and Zhao."
Half of Hebei was reclaimed overnight.
The figure of two hundred thousand was inflated—
a combined report from seventeen commanderies.
Still, it was enough.
The court, to its credit, acted generously.
Fearing legitimacy issues, they first promoted Yan Zhenqing to Vice Minister of Revenue, then appointed him Hebei Supreme Commissioner.
Yan the Alliance Leader wasted no time.
He led his troops straight to Wei Commandery.
Outnumbered, he crushed the rebel forces there with elite troops and reclaimed the city.
The reports spread.
Tang morale surged.
Why was Wei Commandery so important?
Mountains to the west.
The Yellow River to the east.
An Lushan crossed southward through this point—it was a strategic linchpin.
That was why he had stationed twenty thousand troops there.
He feared being stabbed in the back.
What he hadn't expected—
Was that his trusted general Yuan Zhitai would be utterly routed.
Yan Zhenqing's adviser at the time was Li E, Governor of Qinghe.
Li E had heard rumors:
The fierce Hedong general Cheng Qianli was marching with one hundred thousand troops—
but trapped in the Taihang Mountains.
If Wei Commandery fell, rebel reinforcements would be cut off.
Then Cheng Qianli could enter Hebei.
At that point—
They could smash the rebel heartland, turn back, and encircle them.
Total collapse.
What Yan Zhenqing didn't expect—
Was that emerging from the Taihang Mountains were not Cheng Qianli's forces—
But two legendary Tang generals:
Guo Ziyi.
Li Guangbi.
Stationed in Wei Commandery, Yan Zhenqing assessed the situation.
The rebels in Luoyang had only three paths:
North—to Hebei.
Blocked by Wei Commandery and Guo–Li. Suicide.
South—to loot.
Hilly terrain, cavalry useless, and Zhang Xun guarding Yongqiu like iron.
West—to Tong Pass.
Natural defenses, Geshu Han commanding elite troops.
Impossible.
Thus, Yan Zhenqing concluded—
The rebels were already turtles trapped in a jar.
Just waiting to be fried, grilled, stewed, or braised.
Meanwhile, An Lushan himself had fallen into despair.
He berated his subordinates:
"You urged me to rebel years ago—said everything was prepared!"
"Now Tong Pass stands for months unbroken.
My road north is cut.
Tang armies close in from all sides."
"Where is your perfect plan now?!"
The rebel generals had no answer.
But far away, seated calmly in Chang'an, Emperor Xuanzong seemed to sense something—
"Lu'er, don't panic.
Watch how your adoptive father helps you."]
Zhangsun Wuji couldn't help glancing back at the emperor.
Li Shimin stood calmly, hands behind his back.
Four words were written on his face:
Exactly as expected.
Yan Gaoqing's story was honestly depressing.
Tragically so.