It was the first time Liu Bei realized that this chaotic age had truly wasted his third brother's talents.
If Zhang Fei had been born in later generations, he might have tried his hand at prose, perhaps even become one of those "fantasy literature" writers the youngster kept mentioning.
He could imagine it already.
Zhang Jiao appearing in the Southern Song, roaring, "Southern Song, prepare to die," and earning eternal applause.
Or speculating whether Cao Cao and the scholar-officials of the Two Songs would outmaneuver each other in political combat, and who would fall first in that duel of wits.
Unfortunately, here in their time, such brilliance could only be used for idle chatter.
And then they would go back to waiting.
Waiting for this year's campaign against Cao.
The one who interrupted the brothers' nonsense was Zhuge Liang's long, lingering sigh.
Zhang Fei immediately changed targets. With remarkable agility for a man of his build, he slid next to the strategist and began kneading his arm with exaggerated attentiveness.
"Military Advisor, have you figured it out?"
Zhang Fei could not grasp the poem's deeper meaning, but he was intensely curious about this future figure who kept appearing. That earlier "Snow" poem had struck him like cavalry charging in formation, bold and unstoppable. It had conquered him in half a breath.
Now there was another piece of writing by the same person.
Of course he wanted an explanation.
"I understand some of it," Zhuge Liang replied quietly.
Without waiting for Zhang Fei to press him, he exhaled again.
"It is titled Reading History. Then it must speak of history itself."
"Just a few lines, yet it summarizes a thousand years of recorded chronicles."
"History records bronze cast into weapons, iron forged into blades, rulers fighting and bleeding for supremacy. It records the names of kings and generals."
"But it rarely records the common people."
He paused.
"Just as the youngster once criticized the matter of Chen Baoguang's wife."
The hall's occupants had all been watching the heavenly screen from the beginning. They understood immediately.
When it came to wars between kings, the records were exhaustive.
But for agriculture, technology, mathematics, the daily lives of ordinary families?
One could flip through the classics and find only scattered lines.
"However…"
Zhuge Liang's brow furrowed deeply.
"The final six characters aside, what does the opening line mean?"
"'Apes and men bowing farewell.'"
"At the beginning of humanity, what connection do we have with monkeys and apes?"
The question hung in the air.
No one answered.
…
In the Tang court, Emperor Taizong of Tang, Li Shimin, had already kicked off his shoes and was sitting cross-legged on his couch with very little imperial dignity.
He was laughing.
Laughing loudly.
"Equalize wealth. Level noble and lowly. Divide the land and property of officials and landlords. Abolish unequal taxation."
He slapped his knee.
"This Song court prides itself on civil governance, on scholars everywhere, and yet they cannot even comprehend the six simple words: the people are precious, the ruler is light."
In comparison, his own theory of ruler and people as boat and water now seemed almost restrained.
Even he had not expected that the poem titled Reading History would go so far.
It did not merely recount history.
It set it.
It openly recognized men like Chen Sheng and Wu Guang as true heroes who defined legitimacy.
No wonder the later generations spoke highly of Wang Xiaobo and Zhong Xiang.
After all, ""Since when were kings and generals born superior?" still rang like thunder even now.
Li Shimin fell silent.
He had often said that water could carry the boat and also overturn it. Yet in anger he had called commoners mere rustic peasants.
For the first time, he felt clearly the gulf of eras.
They were all children of the Xia people, yet that later age and this age of kings and generals were fundamentally different.
He softly recited part of the poem, then abruptly stopped.
Turning slightly toward Empress Zhangsun, he lowered his voice and smiled.
"Our descendants are truly formidable."
Around him, the ministers were visibly stirred.
Wei Zheng sighed.
"To use history as a mirror reveals rise and fall. To use people as a mirror reveals gain and loss. To use the Southern Song as a mirror reveals how splendidly a foolish ruler can imperil a state."
They had once thought that Emperor Yang of Sui was unmatched in incompetence.
Now that confidence seemed… optimistic.
Fang Xuanling, cradling the poem as if it were a rare treasure, spoke thoughtfully.
"After reading 'Snow' and now this, one feels the sweep of centuries."
"It is not as easy to recite as Li Bai's heroic verses, yet in scope and height of vision, it surpasses countless earlier works."
Still, he frowned.
"This piece is far more obscure."
The court agreed.
They could piece together references to ancient fire-making myths and ironworking from prior explanations, but the latter half of the poem stirred emotions they could not entirely endorse.
Then Li Jing suddenly began humming a tune, attempting to match melody to the poem. It was imperfect, but the boldness within it surged forth.
He slapped the armrest and laughed.
"The song is not yet finished!"
"Our Tang warriors still ride horses. The talk of reaching the western extremities ten thousand li away has not yet been realized."
"The Tang song is not yet finished!"
…
In the Song court, Zhao Pu felt… conflicted.
He naturally compared this era to the early Han and early Tang.
Lately, hearing so many disgraceful stories about the Two Songs had been suffocating.
Now, strangely enough, he no longer felt short of breath.
Because in the eyes of later generations, all dynasties seemed to have deceived countless travelers passing through history.
The only consolation was that Yue Fei and those rebellious commoners had left the Song a sliver of dignity.
But if one were to summarize it bluntly…
"Our Song may not rival the Han and Tang in territory or martial virtue, but when it comes to rebellion, we far surpass them."
It was not exactly a proud slogan.
Zhao Kuangyin was rubbing his temples.
"This Manichaean teaching… it was suppressed in the Tang, yet it rises again in our Song?"
He had prohibited prophetic rumors and heavenly mandates when founding the Song precisely to prevent such movements.
Yet now, rebellions seemed even more plentiful.
Zhao Guangyi's eyes lit up eagerly.
"This is simple. Follow the Tang's example. Declare it heresy. Issue an edict to execute its teachers and forbid it strictly."
Zhao Kuangyin looked down at his younger brother.
The eagerness to please was almost glowing.
Unfortunately, the founding emperor of Song remembered his grievances very clearly.
"If you had not fabricated prophecies and omens after my death, how would such idle talkers have gained ground?"
He stared at him coolly.
"So now, because I dislike it, you would slaughter them all?"
"What does Zhao Pu think?"
Zhao Pu stepped forward and bowed.
"The Prince of Jin is shameless."
"And I disagree entirely."
"There is no need for slaughter. Proper governance and guidance suffice."
"The ancients said, when granaries are full, people know propriety. When food and clothing are sufficient, they know honor."
He raised his head.
"If the people know propriety and honor, they will naturally keep distance from prophecies and spirits."
Zhao Kuangyin neither agreed nor refuted immediately, but in the end, he nodded.
The heavenly screen gradually dimmed.
At once, Zhao Kuangyin's expression sharpened with urgency as he looked toward Liu Han.
"Imperial Physician Liu."
Liu Han's heart skipped. He had already guessed.
Bowing deeply, he did not see the flicker of struggle across the emperor's face.
After a long pause, Zhao Kuangyin's expression hardened, almost reckless.
"This heavenly screen has revealed that I have only two years of life remaining."
"It may be coincidence. It may be foul play. Or perhaps… I carry some hidden illness."
At the mention of this, Zhao Guangyi, still sprawled on the ground, struggled and stretched out a hand.
"It must be hidden illness! Elder Brother, I…"
Zhao Kuangyin stepped back slightly.
His foot happened to land on that outstretched hand.
He ignored the howl of pain completely.
As if nothing had happened.
"In matters of medicine," he continued calmly, "you know a hundred times more than I. I have summoned you to consult with the medical sages of former Han and Tang."
"If there is illness, treat it. If there is calamity, guard against it."
He exhaled.
"In short, give me reassurance."
Liu Han glanced at the miserable Prince of Jin on the floor, then at the emperor who did not spare him a glance.
In the end, curiosity about speaking with the great physicians of earlier dynasties easily triumphed over any interest in palace intrigue.
"I will certainly relieve Your Majesty's concerns."
And thus, as the screen faded, the matter of rebellion gave way to the matter of life itself.