Zhao Guangyi lay on the floor, groaning weakly.
Not far from him, Zhao Kuangyin and Zhao Pu were calmly discussing the order of future northern campaigns, using the projected climate shifts of the next two centuries as reference.
Liu Han's thoughts were still in turmoil.
The palace attendants, meanwhile, were quietly exchanging looks.
"Are we truly to record the words of that… Marquis of Huan exactly as spoken?"
"The Emperor and Chancellor Zhao both instructed that everything be recorded word for word."
"But the content is entirely rebellious in tone. And the language is coarse. Not even creative."
"It must still be recorded. Remember, we hold the brush on behalf of His Majesty and the Chancellor."
"Exactly. His Majesty has always been broad-minded and generous to us. Surely he would not take offense over this."
At that, every attendant slowly turned to look at the one who had just praised the Emperor's generosity. Then, almost in unison, they turned to look at the Prince of Jin still sprawled on the floor, barely conscious.
How were those two ideas supposed to reconcile?
Another attendant coughed softly and said, "Besides, the vulgarities are useful. They make it clear that the Marquis of Huan prefers to speak his mind directly."
It was a biased defense, but no one objected. They had been copying every word carefully. They understood the chain of events clearly enough. Strictly speaking, was not the Northern Song's fall tied to the debacle at Gaoliang River, where the man currently collapsed on the floor had provided the world with a spectacle? In the end, the people of Song had become servants to the Jin, whom even these future commentators dismissed.
Just as the Emperor himself had once said, becoming slaves alongside slaves.
Over there, Zhao Kuangyin and Zhao Pu finished outlining the general sequence of northern objectives. Zhao Pu then looked up at the phrase written boldly across the screen and murmured,
"This theory of blending Han and Hu… it truly opens a new path."
Though only ten characters long, with the future explanations added, it seemed enough to form a distinct school of thought. It even carried a certain classical elegance.
Everyone knew of the Six Arts of the gentleman. Yet in these times, how many could truly claim mastery even of the five techniques of archery such as White Arrow, Linked Shots, Sharp Injection, Balanced Measure, and Well-Pattern?
…
At the General's Residence in Chang'an of the Han, laughter filled the hall.
"If Duke Xuande wishes to rest, then he should rest. Who would dare stop him?"
"Who would object? Who could object? Though feasting and watching dancers is delightful…"
"No, no. Even if Lady Gan says nothing, Lady Sun certainly would."
"And why not? Duke Xuande has fought his entire life. What harm in appreciating a few dancers?"
"Exactly! Think of that villain Cao. In the fifteenth year of Jian'an he built the Bronze Bird, Golden Phoenix, and Jade Dragon towers, towering structures whose grandeur was said to be heard ten li away. Compared to that, a little music and dance is nothing."
Liu Bei could not help but laugh. He raised a hand and gently motioned for quiet.
"Enough."
"We aspire to great achievements. How can we compare ourselves to Cao Cao?"
He paused, then added with a half-smile,
"Music and dance may intoxicate for a moment, but the vision of that treasured black soil of the Songliao Plain would intoxicate far more."
The hall instantly sobered, hands clasped in agreement.
In truth, the teasing had only been in jest. The Xuande they had just seen on the screen was nothing like the man before them. From Public Security to Chengdu, from Hanzhong to Chang'an, Liu Bei's foremost concern had always been agriculture and the people.
The image of indulgence suited Liu Zhang far more than Liu Xuande.
And Liu Zhang, to claim he had "fought his whole life," would have required remarkable shamelessness.
Liu Bei himself felt a flicker of grievance. In these future dramatizations, his second brother appeared either cutting down generals amid ten thousand troops or declaring lofty principles. That line about jade shattering rather than losing its whiteness, about one's name inscribed on bamboo and silk, Zhang Fei could already recite by heart.
And he, Liu Bei?
So far, he had been shown only three fragments. White Emperor City's final entrustment. The fires of Yiling. And now, this joke about fighting his entire life.
He shook his head, amused and faintly helpless.
"That black soil praised as supreme treasure by later generations… I fear we shall never truly grasp its wonder."
In a short time he had sorted through the implications. The Songliao Plain, as described, lay in bitter cold. For the Tang or the Liao, development was feasible because the earlier climate chart showed a warming period of nearly two centuries after early Tang, and another long warm span after the initial chill at the Northern to Southern Song transition.
But their own era was almost the reverse. Nearly three centuries of cold, with perhaps less than fifty years of relative warmth.
The more lavishly the future praised the black soil, the more it stung.
To ease that sting, they shifted focus. Liu Bei and his strategist began discussing what it truly meant to blend Hu customs with Han refinement.
Elsewhere, Ma Chao turned eagerly to Zhang Fei.
"General Yide, do you know how the Mongol cavalry fought?"
Zhang Fei scratched his beard and thought hard before admitting, "I only know they were called the Scourge of God. And that their western campaigns rode past Central Asia and reached lands far beyond."
Ma Chao's eyes lit with admiration. To ride thousands of li across continents, regardless of the battles along the way, was in itself magnificent.
Still, that lay far in the future. He changed the subject.
"I once heard that you sent Cao Cao a letter of scolding, and that he swore to kill you for it. Compared to what was written on the screen just now, how did it measure?"
Zhang Fei's face immediately displayed open disdain.
…
Over in the Tang court, Emperor Taizong of Tang, Li Shimin, laughed with those beside him.
"This Zhang Fei has a sharp tongue and a mouth full of filth. Look at him, proposing to change the Zhao ancestors' surname to Wanyan in advance."
"He truly spares no imagination."
Zhangsun Wuji, however, stepped forward in approval.
"Your Majesty, the ancients said, cultivate virtue thoroughly and remove illness completely. If one eradicates evil without finishing the task, does it not brew future disaster?"
"From the scant Song history we have glimpsed, Zhao Er ascended the throne largely because Zhao Da softened at the thought of fraternal blood ties."
Li Shimin neither agreed nor disagreed. Instead, he chose to quibble over wording.
"Why call it blending Hu customs and Han refinement? Why not say Hu customs and Tang refinement?"
That remark earned him a light pinch from Empress Zhangsun.
"Han and Tang are of one lineage. Why must Your Majesty be so particular?"
Only then did Li Shimin nod, albeit reluctantly.
"Very well. Then let us discuss the Songliao Plain."
Wei Zheng was the first to object.
"Liaodong may hold fertile land, but even the future commentators say it lies at the crossroads of many tribes. As far as I know, Goguryeo is but one among them. Khitan and Mohe tribes watch from nearby. To develop the region would require relocating tens of thousands of people. It is unwise."
Zhangsun Wuji immediately countered.
"The many tribes of Liaodong may be diverse, but if thoroughly pacified, long-term stability could be achieved. This is not for our own generation alone. It is for centuries of Tang foundation, for the flourishing of our people over a thousand years. If Tang has forged a strong base, how can we shrink from responsibility?"
Inside Ganlu Hall, arguments flew back and forth with intensity.
After listening for some time, Li Shimin turned.
"Yao Shi, what do you think?"
Li Jing stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"I do not know all that these future generations claim, but I understand the distinction between Hu and Han. And in our recent campaign against Tuyuhun, I have gained new insight."
Li Shimin leaned forward.
"Speak."
Li Jing's voice was calm.
"The various Hu tribes were once our own people. Having drifted from the Central Plains for long, their accents have grown foreign."
"Now that our realm is strong and our authority reaches the four directions, we should assist those dwelling in Tang's treasured lands to cast off the Hu."
He paused, eyes steady.
"And return to Han."