Even counting the journey from Rongzhou to Luoyang and Chang'an—already spanning ten thousand li and thus, in a very literal sense, a true "journey of ten thousand miles"—Wang Xuance still felt a flutter of unease when he followed the escort through the Imperial City and straight into the Palace City.
His Majesty wished to see him.
It was not as though Wang Xuance had never imagined such a moment before.
On the road to Rongzhou, he had passed the time reading the Records of the Three Kingdoms, lingering especially on Taishi Ci's words:
"A man born into this world ought to bear a seven-foot sword and ascend the steps of the Son of Heaven."
Wang Xuance found this deeply convincing.
But… during his time in Rongzhou, it was hard to say that he had achieved any notable merit. Nor did he come from any distinguished family in Luoyang. So what, exactly, did His Majesty wish to see him for?
While his thoughts wandered aimlessly, time seemed to pass with unusual speed. Before Wang Xuance could prepare himself in any way, the imperial guards ahead had already placed their hands on their sword hilts and stepped aside, signaling him to enter.
Li Shimin heard the movement and turned his head. Looking at the young man whose face had been darkened somewhat by sun exposure, he smiled and asked,
"You are Wang Xuance?"
Wang Xuance bowed and performed a chashou salute.
"County Deputy of Huangshui, Rongzhou—this subject pays his respects to Your Majesty."
Not bad—quite promising.
Li Shimin offered silent praise in his heart.
The information on this youth was astonishingly simple: young in age, background clean and uncomplicated. And now, seeing his demeanor—neither servile nor arrogant, with a faint sense of personal integrity—Li Shimin felt a stir of interest.
Perhaps… it might be worth cultivating him personally, seeing what he could become?
The Great Tang had never lacked stars of war—but it had never minded having more.
"How is Rongzhou?" Li Shimin asked.
This was clearly an examination. Wang Xuance understood at once. He gathered his thoughts, steadied his mind, and answered with care, striving to be thorough and cautious.
But very quickly, Wang Xuance encountered the side of this emperor that was difficult to pin down.
From Tang policy toward Jiaozhi, to the management of the Western Regions; from the customs of Tianzhu, to rumors about Yizhou; then onward to old grudges with Goguryeo, and even hearsay about Wa.
This emperor seemed to ask whatever crossed his mind, wherever his thoughts happened to land—utterly casual, almost meandering.
Many of these matters were things Wang Xuance simply did not know. For most, he could only offer tentative, partial answers.
Seeing his difficulty, Li Shimin simply pulled over a map and gave Wang Xuance a brief explanation of the geography surrounding the Tang realm—then resumed his questioning.
This back-and-forth continued for half the day, until Wang Xuance felt utterly drained in both body and spirit. Only then did it finally come to an end.
What truly caught Wang Xuance off guard was the question the emperor asked afterward:
"Do you wish to become a general?"
This was something Wang Xuance had never once considered.
To lead troops for the Great Tang, to expand its borders, to win merit and be enfeoffed—such a future had never entered his thoughts. And yet now, it seemed almost within arm's reach.
But…
Wang Xuance performed another chashou salute.
"Your Majesty, allow this subject the boldness to ask one question."
Li Shimin nodded.
So Wang Xuance asked,
"This map—how can it be so accurate?"
It was no wonder he had doubts. The enormous map before him was marked in astonishing detail.
He himself had just completed a journey of ten thousand li and possessed a very clear sense of the sheer vastness of the realm. Precisely because of that, he found it hard to comprehend how a single map could be so exhaustive.
Unexpectedly, the emperor merely smiled.
"If I were to tell you the truth, you would not believe it."
"Rather than that, you may remain in Chang'an for half a month. By then, you will know for yourself."
And so Wang Xuance was sent out in a daze. The emperor did not even press him to answer the earlier question.
Since matters had come to this, Wang Xuance simply relaxed his mind and waited to see what changes might come after half a month.
Yet… thinking of that map, he unconsciously slowed his pace on the way back to the relay station.
If that map were true—such vast lands, with Tang occupying but one corner, and beyond it countless states and myriad customs—
Could a general conquer it all?
A different thought quietly took shape in Wang Xuance's mind. For a time, even the splendor of Chang'an lost its appeal in his eyes.
Sun Simiao, on the other hand, found Chang'an agreeable for the first time.
Though it was not a place of tranquility—every day people came calling, seeking connections—it truly deserved its status as the capital.
Medicinal herbs once considered precious were no longer precious. Rare ingredients were no longer rare.
Unique medical texts could be copied freely. Medical instruments could be fashioned with help from the Directorate of Works.
Aside from researching medicine and overseeing the medical students of the Imperial Medical Office, there were also two patients Li Shimin had asked him to treat:
Empress Zhangsun, and Duke of Yi, Qin Qiong.
Neither illness was minor, but the Duke of Yi's condition was the more urgent.
Qin Qiong had been confined to his sickbed for nearly a year.
Before Sun Simiao arrived in Chang'an, the Imperial Medical Office's assessment had been simple: his life could only be sustained, not restored.
This was hardly surprising. The fierce general had fought in over two hundred battles in his lifetime, charging at the front every time.
The number of times he had been gravely wounded was beyond counting. The blood he had lost over the years was said to amount to several hu.
Sun Simiao was skeptical of that last claim. As far as he knew, filling a single hu would require draining all the blood from four men.
Ignoring the horrified expressions of the imperial physicians, Sun Simiao concluded after examination that if Qin Qiong was to recover fully, surgery was unavoidable.
Qin Qiong's family refused. They believed it was merely an old, chronic ailment—medicine and gradual treatment would suffice. Why resort to knives?
Sun Simiao, however, took a firm stance: no surgery, no prescription.
In the end, only an imperial decree from Li Shimin made the operation possible.
Sun Simiao ultimately cut out a section of necrotic intestine from Qin Qiong's abdomen, sutured it anew, and administered medicine for recovery. Only then did Qin Qiong's complexion visibly improve.
Afterward, Sun Simiao complained to Li Shimin:
"Your Majesty commands famed generals in war, fierce soldiers, and superior arms—yet lacks even one good physician on campaign."
"The ancient Treatise on the Origins and Symptoms of Diseases states: for intestinal rupture from metal wounds, one must promptly suture with needle and thread according to proper method, then administer rice gruel for more than twenty days; only after a hundred days may solid food be taken."
"General Qin's old ailment may have arisen because the physician then erred in technique, or because the General did not follow instructions and ate solid food before a hundred days had passed. Thus this illness was born."
Li Shimin fell into thought. He vaguely recalled that, in the visions from the luminous screen, later generations' armies seemed to include soldiers who bore no weapons—moving through battlefields to treat the wounded.
As a commander, he had long studied military systems from the Spring and Autumn period, the Warring States, the late Han, and Wei–Jin. An idea had already begun to form in his mind. Now, hearing Sun Simiao's words, he spoke it aloud:
"Medicine King, what if the Court of Imperial Sacrifices were to establish a Medical Corps—recruiting physicians to focus solely on treating battle wounds and epidemics?"
"In wartime, they would accompany the army, not take the field, serving only to treat the wounded. Would this be feasible?"
Sun Simiao was momentarily taken aback, still unaccustomed to being consulted by an emperor in such a manner.
After careful consideration, he nodded.
"It is feasible. But such a system would require regulations tailored to it. This subject is not skilled in such matters."
He understood clearly: to persuade physicians to follow armies willingly, their merit must be assessed by medical achievement and rewarded accordingly.
But how merit and punishment should be calculated—this lay entirely beyond him.
Li Shimin laughed.
"This need not trouble the Medicine King. The Court of Judicial Review and the Censorate will work with the Imperial Medical Office to draft the statutes."
Only then did Sun Simiao set his mind at ease.
For Li Shimin, the most urgent matter now was the luminous screen. After all, the descendant had already indicated the direction of the next topic.
Reasonably speaking, the opening figures would almost certainly be this group of early Zhenguan stalwarts.
Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui were indispensable—trusted confidants, and record-keepers besides.
The two Yans could not be absent either. Their artistry was unmatched; even scenes from the luminous screen seen only once could be rendered with lifelike precision.
Especially this month, when Yan Liben had presented Li Shimin with a bound volume:
Du Ruhui's transcriptions of the luminous screen records were compiled, while the illustrations drawn by the two Yans were reduced to page size and bound together.
The result was a richly illustrated volume.
Li Shimin was very pleased and rewarded Yan Liben generously—then sealed the book away on a high shelf.
He could not help it. Just the title alone gave him no desire to open it:
From the Calamity of the Aristocratic Clans to the An Lushan Rebellion.
He was certain that reading even a single page would cause his old headaches to flare up again.
Beyond that, Zhangsun Wuji was hard to avoid. Qin Qiong, now recovering, would certainly be summoned. Li Jing and Li Ji had just destroyed Jieli Khan last year—it would be difficult not to include them.
And earlier, in high spirits, he had even promised Wang Xuance…
Sun the Medicine King could hardly be left out either.
Counting them roughly, there were already ten people. Li Shimin could not help but feel the urge to wipe his brow.
At this moment, he was thankful that right after the New Year he had promptly kicked Hou Junji out of the capital, sending him to gather intelligence and assess the situation in Hexi—otherwise Hou Junji would likely have been unavoidable as well.
And another beloved general, Cheng Zhijie, was currently Governor-General of Luzhou, Rongzhou, and Rongzhou, concurrently serving as Prefect of Luzhou—utterly unable to leave his post.
Thus Li Shimin could not help but sigh:
Our Zhenguan Great Tang truly overflows with talent.
Compared to Li Shimin's reflections, Zhao Kuangyin found himself deeply unsettled.
The closer it came to the appointed time in the third month, the more uneasy he became.
If, when the time arrived, the luminous screen did not appear, he could treat it as some immortal jest—or as a moment of personal delusion.
But if it appeared on schedule, then it meant that what the screen had shown was very likely true.
And that would be a serious problem.
How had his Song ended up in such a sorry state?
Thus, almost counting down the days until the third month arrived, Zhao Kuangyin finally ordered the imperial guards to secure the Imperial Garden. Alone, conflicted and restless, he sat down by a stone table.
Not long after he sat—whether he wished it or not—the luminous screen atop the table lit up on time:
"From the Great Tang's God of War to the Heavenly King with the Pagoda: How Li, Duke of Wei, Was Deified."