The scrolling text on the light screen did not begin calmly.
It rarely did.
Instead, it opened with the kind of rant that sounded like someone in a late-night forum argument who had already decided history was a personal insult.
>IronAFK: "I actually support Qin Hui's policy of "Northerners back to the North, Southerners back to the South." Why? Because we should just gift Zhao Gou to the Jin. We don't want him anymore!
The words drifted across the screen with leisurely cruelty.
>OfflineLegion: "When the collective mindset collapses, a nation is truly beyond saving. The Han had the heqin (peace marriages), and the Tang had the Treaty of Wei River, but those were temporary humiliations endured to eventually sweep across East Asia.
The "Great Song," however, sat there smugly after the Chanyuan Treaty: "We spent a little money to solve a big problem. We win!"
Inside the Kun-ning Palace, Empress Ma exhaled softly.
She did not speak. She simply watched.
The screen's glow washed faintly across the carved panels, turning the lacquered wood pale and ghostlike. The palace was quiet tonight. Too quiet for a celebration night, yet she knew the outer halls were still noisy with music and officials.
She kept reading.
> KnightWithWifi: "Honestly, the term "Guizhengren" (Returned People) sounds decent. During Emperor Huizong's time, they used the slur "Barbarians" for the Han people of the Yan-Yun regions. There's a famous story of Southern soldiers intercepting Yan-Yun troops and cursing them: "You are barbarians, yet you eat fresh rice while we eat stale grain? I'll kill you!"
The empress frowned slightly.
Not in shock.
In recognition.
History did not always repeat itself. But it often rhymed in ways that made rulers look foolish.
> LagSlayer: "And then the Ming Dynasty made the exact same mistake. They wanted the Liaodong people to die for them in battle, yet they called them "thieves." No wonder the people sang: "Born in Liao, better to flee to the barbarians."
The line lingered longer than the rest, as if even the screen itself enjoyed the bitterness.
> MetaKnight: "In the Song era, it wasn't China that was weak.
From Di Qing to Wang Yan to Yue Fei…
From Han Shizhong to Li Xianzhong…
From Wei Sheng to Wang Youzhi…" which of them wasn't a fierce warrior? The cowardice of the Song court doesn't represent China. It's just a pity for Xin Qiji, he had the spirit of Huo Qubing, but his Emperor was no Han Wudi".
Empress Ma slowly shifted her weight beneath the quilt wrapped around her shoulders.
Her foster father, Guo Zixing, had risen with the Red Turbans in Haozhou.
He too had marched with men who were dismissed as rebels, vagabonds, expendable tools.
If one traced it far enough, perhaps those Red Turbans and the Song loyalist militias were not so different.
She thought about it, then shook her head faintly.
No.
If anything, the anti-Yuan rebels had been freer.
At least they had not been shackled by an emperor like Gaozong.
The screen continued, merciless.
> Steelock: "Compared to the Southern Song, "Shinwan-Ge" Sun Quan actually looks like a god of war. At least he stood his ground at Ruxukou and personally backed Lu Xun at Yiling. He never stopped trying to take Hefei. Meanwhile, Zhao Gou's first instinct when an enemy approached was to run away to sea. Even Sun Quan would call that a mental illness."
The empress did not understand every nickname, but the tone was unmistakable.
The screen mocked rulers the way commoners mocked bad weather. Boldly, because neither could hear.
>DarkVoid: "No wonder Xin Qiji later said:
"If I have a son, let him be like Sun Zhongmou."
Compared to Southern Song emperors, that "Ten-Thousand-Men Brother" suddenly looks heroic.
And that King of Wu title from Wei was mostly a con anyway.
He toyed with Cao Pi like a puppet.
The Cane-Sword Saint says he has a complaint… not sure if he should say it.
---
Empress Ma pulled the quilt tighter and stepped down from the bed.
She approached the screen cautiously, as if it might react to her nearness. The characters moved steadily from right to left, vanishing at the far edge like fish swimming into darkness.
She followed them.
When she reached the screen's edge, she even circled behind it, examining the carved frame, the silk panel, the decorative latticework.
Nothing.
No mechanism.
No hidden compartment.
No sorcery she could detect.
When she stepped back around, the glowing words were still there, flowing calmly as if mocking her search.
A faint unease crept into her chest.
Could it be that the Ming would one day fail to eliminate the remnants of the Yuan?
Could those "Hu" mentioned in the text be the very same northern steppe forces that still lingered beyond the borders?
She did not like the thought.
Outside the palace doors, two maids stood watch. The emperor had ordered that the empress be allowed to rest undisturbed while he attended the celebration in the Jinshen Hall.
The faint sounds of music and laughter carried from afar.
Then came two gentle knocks from inside.
"Your Highness?" one maid called softly.
Empress Ma's calm voice answered through the closed doors.
"How goes the Heavenly Longevity celebration?"
One maid hurried to respond.
"Music rises like a forest of strings, banners crowd the halls, and the voices of officials fill the air."
The second maid, more composed, added:
"The emperor will likely be occupied for another hour or two. If Your Highness wishes, this servant can send word."
"No need," the empress replied.
"When the celebration ends, ask His Majesty to come here."
She paused, then added that she wished to rest and was not to be disturbed until then.
Only after the footsteps outside settled again did she turn back toward the screen.
If the emperor was busy governing, then she would investigate this thing for him.
After all, she might not match him in battlefield strategy or conquest planning…
…but in reading, in history, in judgment of past events, she knew very well she surpassed him.
---
Far away in another palace hall, Zhao Kuangyin sat with an expression that had long since passed irritation and settled into numb acceptance.
At this point, hearing that future generations suspected he had been murdered, that his brother's faction fabricated the Golden Casket Alliance, that the dynasty later suffered humiliating treaties and the Jingkang catastrophe…
none of it shocked him anymore.
Compared to all that, mistreatment of "returnees" hardly registered.
He even found himself thinking through the reasons calmly.
Southern elites resisting the transfer of wealth northward was one explanation.
But deeper than that…
He suddenly remembered the earlier discussion from the screen about great clans, regional power families, entrenched aristocratic networks.
He remembered Sun Wu's struggle with the Jiangdong clans during the Three Kingdoms era.
Could it be…
that after the late Tang, the northern aristocratic families collapsed, while the shift of economic power south allowed southern gentry to rebuild similar dominance?
Ideas collided rapidly in his mind.
Then he remembered how later generations referred to Qian Chu as the King of Qiantang.
A voice suddenly spoke beside him, slightly flattering.
"Congratulations, elder brother. Your descendants regained the throne and rule of the realm."
Zhao Kuangyin turned.
His brother's smile looked sincere in shape, but not in spirit.
The emperor smiled back, faintly.
"Then I suppose I should thank you… for not exterminating Dezhao and Defang like Wanyan Liang did to his rivals."
The monk's expression shifted instantly.
Zhao Kuangyin raised his gaze and spoke coolly.
"After all, that later Song king was only a regional ruler.
And it was your fine descendants who begged the Jin for investiture."
He let the words settle before adding:
"At least they had ambition."
The hall fell quiet.
And somewhere beyond time, the light screen kept flowing, unconcerned with which dynasty listened.