Ma Chao's dream of personally leading the modao formation ultimately failed to come true.
Watching the visibly reluctant yet oddly familiar Ma Mengqi get talked away by Jian Yong, Zhang Fei experienced—perhaps for the first time—the warmth and enthusiasm of the Yong–Liang region.
Had Ma Teng's son really set his whole mind on Han Sui?
And Ma Chao actually listened to Xianhe?
The thought startled Zhang Fei himself.
Ma Chao did not even obey Ma Teng this readily.
Shaking his head to toss aside the strange idea, Zhang Fei carefully and regretfully put away the modao. In a sense, Pang Tong had been right: at present, these blades were more valuable than soldiers.
As for Han Sui—though the sight of both the modao and Ma Chao had stirred thoughts of retreat—when it came time to negotiate terms, he did not yield an inch.
Once he accepted the reality that he would be driven out of Yongzhou, Han Sui instead became remarkably open-minded.
If you wanted him to fulfill his duties as General Who Conquers the West, then shouldn't you, like the former court, provide corresponding support?
Before Ma Chao could even draw his blade, Pang Tong cut Han Sui off.
"General Han, please take a look at this Hexi map."
A sheet of pristine white paper was spread flat on the table. Han Sui narrowed his old eyes, studying the paper first—rubbing it between his fingers, even lifting it to his nose.
"Fine paper," he said. "Give me a thousand rolls."
Living on the frontier, Han Sui understood Han–Hu trade better than anyone: it was all about exchanging what one lacked. Anything the Hu people could not make themselves was coveted by their elites.
Weapons like the modao were risky—sell them, and one day they might be used to cut you down. But paper this refined? No such worries.
Pang Tong tapped the table impatiently with a small leather shield.
"So the famed Han Boyue of Liangzhou is the sort to buy the box and throw away the pearl?"
Han Sui chuckled, unperturbed, and finally shifted his gaze to the contents of the paper. After a long look, he frowned.
"This… is a map of the lands near Xihai?"
Having dominated Yong and Liang for thirty years, Han Sui was no novice. He knew Jin City lay west of Xiping, and west of Xiping was Xihai. That much was familiar.
But beyond that, he knew nothing—yet the map showed more. Especially southwest of Xihai, where a mountain range was clearly marked.
And beyond that, a small lake: Qingyan Heavenly Pool.
Pang Tong, unexpectedly patient now, explained the terrain in detail and promised that if Han Sui could extract green salt from the area, it would be purchased at a high price.
Then, using Xihai as the center, Pang Tong traced a route northward with his finger.
"To the north lies Liangzhou, General Han knows it best. Now Hexi Xianbei are causing trouble there—an opportunity to earn merit and noble rank."
Seeing Han Sui's noncommittal expression, Pang Tong drew another line, this one northwest.
"This road is difficult, but it leads directly to Dunhuang. Open it, and it counts as territorial expansion—your name would endure through the ages."
As Han Sui began to truly consider, Pang Tong added one more inducement.
"To the south, cross a mountain pass and continue west—there lies fertile land stretching a thousand li, enough to found a state. If all returns to Han territory, your merit would rival Wei Qing and Huo Qubing. Shrines would be built in your honor."
The negotiation did not last long. Han Sui departed with the scroll of paper, deep in thought.
Zhang Fei, meanwhile, clung to Pang Tong with unabashed curiosity.
"Military Adviser Pang, will Han Wenyue really believe that map?"
"Xihai isn't far," Pang Tong replied. "Once he reaches it and discovers what later generations call Chaka Salt Lake, he'll believe."
"Then which path will Han Wenyue choose?"
"Any path is fine, as long as he supplies warhorses. Liangzhou is wealthy but plagued by Qiang, Hu, and Xianbei. Dunhuang has Kucha, Yanqi, and Cheshi. Only the land where Tubo originates has pasture and water without powerful enemies. Han Wenyue has always had ambition—he'll seize a chance to establish himself."
Zhang Fei scratched his head.
"Military Adviser Pang… aren't you worried he'll end up becoming the ancestor of Tubo?"
Pang Tong laughed lightly.
"Yide, do you think the high-altitude sickness people speak of later is that easy to endure? Besides, the map is vague. I just need someone to explore the way for us."
He paused, watching Han Sui's group recede into the distance.
"Han Sui doesn't care about his son in Ye City. But Yan Xing cares very much about his parents there."
"Within two years, his faction will collapse on its own."
Zhang Fei shook his head.
"Military Adviser Pang, you're really ruthless."
"Ruthless," Pang Tong said, smiling, "but effective."
Chang'an, Taiji Hall.
Li Chengqian watched as the Emperor of Tang stood once more before a map, deep in thought.
In the past, he would have lowered his head and waited silently—sometimes for an hour or two—until his father chose to speak.
But recently, his father's attitude had softened. He was no longer so strict about studies and even took the brothers riding every few days.
So, for the first time, Li Chengqian summoned the courage to ask,
"Father… what are you looking at?"
Li Shimin let out a quiet breath.
"At the Great Tang."
Then he added,
"There's no one else here. You don't need to be so tense."
The eleven-year-old Li Chengqian relaxed a little. Sneaking another glance at his father, he remembered his mother's earlier advice and ventured further.
"Father, I see you've been staring at this place marked 'Tubo.'"
Li Shimin froze for a moment. His expression softened further, and he nodded.
"This is Great Tang's greatest enemy."
Li Chengqian's body trembled slightly. He remembered the last time his father had used that phrase—it had been for the Turks.
"Chengqian," his father had asked two years ago, "the Turks are Great Tang's greatest enemy. How should we deal with them?"
Li Chengqian could no longer remember his answer, only the disappointment in his father's eyes, and that sigh.
Now—
"Chengqian, you're free this afternoon. Go fetch Qingque. I'll take you riding."
Qingque was Prince Tai's childhood name, just a year younger than Li Chengqian.
Li Chengqian's eyes widened, and he cheered. Then, hesitating, he carefully made a request.
"Father… can we bring Erniang too?"
"Who is Erniang?" Li Shimin asked—then immediately remembered. Guanyinbi had mentioned that the Wu family's young lady ranked second.
Thinking of the future Wu Zetian, Li Shimin almost sighed.
Before he could, Li Chengqian hurriedly explained that Erniang had entered the palace too young and was homesick.
Li Shimin could only comfort his eldest son, saying he had been thinking of something else just now. As for Erniang—she could come.
Thus, one father, two sons, and one extra tag along passed through the rear gardens to a small enclosed riding ground.
By Li Shimin's order, several pony colts had recently been added, meant as mounts for imperial children.
As they passed through the garden, they saw palace servants uprooting a row of trees, transplanting unfamiliar new ones.
Seeing his father's expression, Li Tai jumped up before anyone could ask.
"I know! Mother said these are called hawthorn trees. She planted them after hearing Physician Sun—so they can cure Father!"
So that was it…
Li Shimin felt helpless. Candied hawthorns were interesting enough, but it was only early May in Chang'an—hawthorns would not ripen for another half year.
After watching the Light Screen, he had ordered the imperial kitchen to try making candied seasonal fruits. He even had the chefs experiment with so-called sugar paintings.
The princes and princesses were delighted. Li Shimin even sent some to favored ministers with young children.
And he himself had not eaten a single bite.
Sun Simiao had sternly warned him: cane sugar was no different from arsenic for him. A little with meals was barely acceptable; otherwise, he was not to touch it at all.
Too many restrictions had led Li Shimin to occasionally feel that dying at fifty might not be so unacceptable.
At least the Li Shimin who died at fifty would have eaten his fill of lamb—not like himself now, limited to one serving a month.
That resentment lingered until dinner.
The imperial children dined together; Li Shimin ate with the Empress.
The moment they met, Empress Zhangsun reproached him lightly.
"I heard Erniang rode a horse this afternoon?"
Li Shimin sighed.
"I was busy making sure Qingque didn't fall off his pony. I didn't notice the Wu girl sneaking into the stables and leading out a colt."
"By the time I saw her, she'd already ridden half a lap."
The Empress pressed her temples.
"Don't take her next time. If she fell and got hurt, how would we explain it?"
Li Shimin waved it off.
"That Wu Erniang rides quite well."
"Who knows—she might become Great Tang's second woman general."
The first, of course, was his own elder sister, Princess Pingyang.
It was only a joke. These were no longer founding times; there were already too many accomplished generals. Where would a woman general fit in?
Yet Li Shimin could not help thinking: if Wu Zetian truly ascended the throne one day, historians might record today's unauthorized ride as an ominous sign.
As they chatted, several dishes were brought in. Empress Zhangsun's eyes widened at the sight of the fish.
The Emperor of Tang grinned shamelessly.
Despite Sun Simiao's prohibitions, how could a salivating emperor be stopped by mere obstacles?
Days earlier, the imperial kitchen had received an edict:
Using cane sugar and fish, develop a new dish.
And now, the result was served: sweet-and-sour fish.
Li Shimin seized a bite immediately and nearly applauded his own brilliance.
The Empress tasted some as well—sweet and tangy, delightful, though the sugar content was clearly high.
Perhaps she should inform Physician Sun… she thought.
Sweet-and-sour fish brought Li Shimin rare joy. The next day, Yan Liben noticed that the emperor seemed unusually cheerful.
That eased Yan Liben somewhat.
After copying numerous armor designs from the Light Screen's account of the Battle of Talas, he finally had the confidence to submit a memorial requesting the emperor's inspection.
The Directorate of Works could not demonstrate such things indoors, so beyond the rear gardens, the Thousand Ox Guards had cordoned off an open area, strictly forbidding outsiders.
Li Shimin watched as Yan Liben directed men to bring out armor, summon five cavalrymen, and begin their work.
As plates of armor were fitted piece by piece onto men and horses, the smile on Li Shimin's face faded—replaced by naked excitement.
He knew too well the power of heavy cavalry. At the founding of Tang, the Xuanjia Army had already qualified as such—only lacking horse armor.
Now, with more rationally designed armor and horse barding learned from Arab heavy cavalry, a knight was protected without a single weak point.
This was heavy cavalry surpassing the Xuanjia Army.
Li Shimin's eyes gleamed.
A thousand such riders would be enough to decide a war in a single blow.
The Emperor of Tang licked his lips, already wondering which unfortunate neighbor would be honored with tasting the might of this steel flood first.