The two routes of Li Jing's campaign to destroy Tuyuhun were marked with absolute clarity on the Light Screen.
Everyone in the Chengdu prefectural office could follow them at a glance. Even when viewed against the entirety of Tang territory, those marching lines stood out with striking boldness.
"From Hexi straight through pursuit into the Western Regions," Kongming said, his tone carrying a hint of admiration—and a trace of regret. "When Champion Marquis Huo once charged deep with lightning speed, six great thrusts in succession, I imagine it must have looked much the same."
What he regretted was not Tang's brilliance. Li Jing, Duke of Wei, truly deployed troops like a god. But the Han had not been inferior either. He could not help wondering when they might one day, from the vantage point of later generations, see Champion Marquis Huo Qubing's campaigns laid out in the same way.
Pointing at maps, Kongming could recount Huo Qubing's achievements well enough—but moving diagrams like those on the Light Screen were far more immediate, far more convincing.
Zhang Fei, for his part, felt a genuine sense of crisis for the first time.
He had been reading more historical records lately, many of them detailing the feats of Wei Qing and Huo Qubing. But reading history and seeing it unfold like this were entirely different experiences.
After all, Cao the traitor had once claimed eight hundred thousand men at Red Cliffs—but if he had truly had that many, never mind whether Zhou Gongjin could have won, Cao Cao's own logistics would have collapsed long before the battle was joined.
Li Jing's record, however—and the routes traced on the map—were right there in front of them. The impact was immediate and undeniable.
Zhang Fei silently measured himself. If he were to face Li Jing in command, what could he rely on?
Probably nothing but raw courage.
And even that, the Tang army clearly possessed in abundance.
Those two Xue generals who could counterattack on the spot while surrounded. That Qibi—whatever-his-name-was—who dared charge several thousand riders with barely a hundred of his own. If Zhang Fei himself were there, he might not have done any better.
"Zilong," Zhang Fei asked abruptly, leaning toward Zhao Yun, "you free these days?"
Then, without waiting, he added, "That mixed-color elite cavalry of theirs—got time to let me take a look?"
Zhao Yun stared at him, expression blank. Elite cavalry was elite cavalry—what was with insisting on calling them "mixed-color"?
[Light Screen]
[Some say Li Jing may have been the most boring God of War in history.
Because he could take a sweeping, epic, history-shaping war—and fight it in a way that made it feel like chewing wax.
Before the battle, he predicted the enemy without fail.
During the battle, every strike landed exactly where it should.
The campaign unfolded without drama, without sudden reversals.
This was Li Jing's signature in wars of annihilation.
Civil wars, foreign wars—he fought them all.
Naval forces, cavalry—he mastered both.
From great rivers to vast deserts, from mountains to plateaus, from sieges to pursuits—every campaign ended in victory.
In the West, during the same era as Wei Qing and Huo Qubing, there was another military prodigy: Caesar, the founder of the Roman Empire.
After defeating his enemy at Zela, that uncrowned king sent the Senate a famous dispatch:
"I came. I saw. I conquered."
Those few words could just as easily summarize Li Jing's military career.
Advance.
Destroy the enemy.
End the state.
Three simple steps—but ones countless commanders throughout history failed to master, stumbling endlessly between them.
His entire career was defined by swift victories. No drawn-out contests of logistics. No prolonged standoffs waiting for the enemy to make a mistake. No desperate, all-or-nothing gambles.
And it was precisely because of this efficient, sustainable style of warfare—one that avoided wasting national strength—that early Tang could destroy states while simultaneously restoring civilian life.
Some say the role of a supreme general is to accelerate the course of history.
Li Jing fulfilled that role exceptionally well.
Even his later years passed smoothly.
In the eleventh year of Zhenguan, he was ennobled as Duke of Wei, enjoying the height of imperial favor.
In the fourteenth year, Li Jing's wife passed away. The old general was devastated. Emperor Li Shimin, wishing both to console him and honor his service, followed the precedent set for Wei Qing and Huo Qubing: Li Jing's tomb was constructed in the shape of the Turkic Iron Mountains and Tuyuhun's Jishi Mountains, to commemorate his victories.
In the seventeenth year, mourning the gradual passing of the brothers with whom he had founded the realm, Li Shimin ordered Yan Liben to paint the twenty-four meritorious officials in Lingyan Pavilion. Li Jing was ranked eighth, just after Yuchi Jingde.
In the eighteenth year, Li Shimin personally campaigned against Goguryeo. Before departing, he asked Li Jing whether he would go. Li Jing replied, "Your Majesty, wait for me—my illness is nearly healed. Take me along."
Li Shimin considered the matter. The old general was already over seventy. Better that he rest.
However, the Sui-Tang Jia Hua records it differently. There, Li Jing supposedly declined to go. Li Shimin smiled and said:
"Encourage yourself. Did Sima Zhongda not grow old and ill? Yet he still strengthened himself and rendered great service to the state of Wei."
The seventy-three-year-old Li Jing was so startled that he walked briskly at once, begging to accompany the expedition.
That said, Sui-Tang Jia Hua was compiled around the time of the An Lushan Rebellion, and it is classified as anecdotal literature. It is best read lightly, not taken too seriously.
In the twenty-third year of Zhenguan, Li Jing fell gravely ill. Li Shimin, himself ill, went to see him one last time.
That same year, in the fifth month, Li Jing passed away. He was posthumously titled Jingwu, and buried beside Zhaoling. Two months later, Li Shimin also passed away, and the Zhenguan era came to a definitive end.
Compared to Bai Qi, Han Xin, and Yue Fei—who met tragic ends—or even Wei Qing and Huo Qubing, each with their regrets—
Li Jing's life, like his way of war, was a straight, unobstructed road.
What he likely never imagined was that his most remarkable legacy would only begin after his death.]
[Server Chat Log]
Zhuge Liang: That Song dynasty—facing external enemies, yet killing its own capable ministers and generals. Truly unwise.
Ganlu Hall
"The most boring God of War…" Li Shimin could not help but smile.
Du Ruhui set down his brush and sighed. "He did not flaunt cleverness, nor boast of valor. He went to war, won, and never erred. Duke Wei truly embodies what Sunzi meant by 'those who excel at warfare.'"
"Countless men have read The Art of War," Li Ji nodded, "but those who can act exactly as it prescribes are few indeed."
"Just as Minister Du says," Li Ji continued, "General Yaoshi's command is unmatched."
"A general of such value is a treasure of the state. He should not be risked in battle."
"Better he remain in Chang'an teaching military strategy—leave the charging and dying to me, Li Ji!"
His words rang out forcefully, but the meaning was far too blatant. Even Du Ruhui hurriedly covered his face, afraid he might laugh aloud.
Li Jing's eyes widened at once.
So I let you share credit in the campaign against the Turks because you looked honest—and now you're eyeing the meat in my pot?
"After capturing Qieli, the northern frontier is empty," Li Jing countered smoothly. "I observe that the Xueyantuo show signs of disobedience. A veteran commander must be stationed there to deter them."
"Li Ji has long overseen Bingzhou—he is perfectly suited to intimidate Xueyantuo."
Just like that, Li Jing assigned Li Ji a fine new posting.
The Xueyantuo khagan, Zhenzhu Pijia—true name Yinan—had only been formally invested by Li Shimin the previous year.
Li Ji did not deny that Xueyantuo would eventually need to be dealt with. But not now.
Watching the two veteran generals spar with words, Li Shimin found himself more intrigued by that dispatch attributed to Caesar.
"Seven short characters," he mused. "Plain words, yet the sense of looking down on all others emerges at once."
Yuchi Jingde, ever taciturn, said nothing. Qin Qiong turned and laughed.
"Does everyone regret not having faced him as an enemy?"
The regret was plainly written on Li Shimin's face.
"I wish I could have led Jingde and Shubao as my spearhead—and charged his ranks."
Then, with a trace of melancholy, he added, "It has been eight years since the Battle of Ming River."
At twenty-three, Li Shimin had defeated Liu Heita at Ming River. It was the last battle in which he had truly gone all out.
After that, the realm was pacified. The Prince of Tiance laid down his sword and took up the brush.
He was only thirty now. He could still ride hard for hundreds of li a day, still draw a strong bow and hit the target at a hundred paces.
But there was no opponent left who could force him to fight with everything he had.
His expression turned lonely—until the comparison of Li Jing to Sima Yi broke his composure.
"Utter slander!" Li Shimin snapped.
"Sima Yi—that false and duplicitous traitor! How could he be compared to General Yaoshi?"
The ministers in Ganlu Hall all murmured agreement. The comparison made no sense.
Was Duke Wei bored out of his mind, or what?
Sima Yi did not usurp Wei on a whim—he spent years laying the groundwork.
And while Duke Wei was indeed peerless in command, did His Majesty not surpass him still?
Fang Xuanling reasoned aloud, "Most likely later scholars heard bits of gossip, embellished them for amusement, and recorded them in private notes."
And so the matter was set aside.
Seeing the later portion, Li Jing calculated his own lifespan—and then smiled with easy acceptance.
"That I should rest together with His Majesty—what an honor."
Li Shimin, by contrast, looked helpless.
"Yaoshi is twenty-eight years my senior. Who would have thought our deaths would be only two months apart?"
Then, suddenly cheerful again, he slapped the shoulder of Sun Simiao beside him.
"But now I have the Medicine King at my side. It seems I won't be following the old general just yet!"
This was a private gathering, and Li Shimin was at ease, speaking whatever came to mind.
Li Jing laughed heartily—and then noticed the text on the Light Screen, smiling again.
"It seems the Marquis of Wu is speaking out for General Yue."
Li Shimin had previously told them, in broad strokes, about later generations—the Temple of the Marquis of Wu, and Yue Fei, who personally wrote the Memorial on the Northern Expedition and vowed to reclaim the north.
Now the Light Screen seemed to suggest that even the Song emperor was watching. That Zhuge Liang would speak up for Yue Fei was only natural.
Hadn't His Majesty himself complained endlessly about the Song, claiming to inherit Tang yet full of grievances?
…
In the garden palace of Bianjing, Zhao Kuangyin felt deeply wronged.
"How was I supposed to know who Yue Fei was?"
When the Light Screen had earlier made casual remarks about the Alliance of the Wei River and somehow dragged his Song dynasty into it, Zhao Kuangyin had already felt unjustly targeted.
But he had been criticized face-to-face by his ministers often enough. One more time hardly mattered.
After careful thought… he endured it.
Then another accusation came—this time bearing the name of Zhuge Liang himself.
Doubts filled Zhao Kuangyin's heart.
Was that Song truly my Song?
If so—how did it come to this?
[Light Screen]
[In fact, when later generations pieced together the myth of Li Jing, it is quite possible that Li Jing himself once saw the prototype of his own divine image.
It is well known that both the Sui and Tang revered Buddhism. Yuan dynasty texts such as The Comprehensive Record of the Origins of the Three Teachings tell the following story:
When Li Shimin followed his father in rising to pacify the realm, a divine general appeared in the army.
He had the head of a pig, the trunk of an elephant, and claimed to be Vaisravana, Heavenly King of the North.
With this divine general present, Li Shimin was invincible. After ascending the throne, Li Shimin issued an edict requiring all government offices to worship Vaisravana in gratitude.
This story is, of course, nonsense.
Explaining to ordinary people how Li Shimin won every battle was troublesome. Saying instead that he had a divine general protecting him was far simpler.
Moreover, worship of Vaisravana originated in Indian Buddhism. He was both a guardian deity and a god of wealth. After the spread of Buddhism through the Northern and Southern Dynasties and the Sui, Tang society already venerated such figures widely. Worshipping Vaisravana was nothing unusual.
What Li Jing himself likely never imagined was that, after his death, his image as a god of war gradually merged with Vaisravana—and, in effect, took him over.]