"Carry on the past and open the future."
Turning those four concise words over in his mind, Zhu Yuanzhang remembered the line that followed:
"And render great service to this age."
That single sentence filled him with an unexpected sense of reassurance.
At the same time, the hands that had once begged for food, copied sutras, wielded spear and blade, and held the vermilion brush through a lifetime of hardship were suddenly clasped by another pair of hands, callused in their own way.
He looked up.
Before him stood Empress Ma, her expression gentle as still water.
"My husband… truly a hero who stands beneath heaven and supports it. The Hongwu Emperor."
Zhu Yuanzhang immediately stumbled over his words.
"Well that's only natural… I know that myself… I didn't win wars on my own…"
He did not even know what he was saying anymore.
Then he felt the Empress release his hands, her attention returning to the screen.
"I wonder… this Yongle Emperor. Could that be Biao's future reign title?"
Zhu Yuanzhang could not tell whether he felt relieved or faintly disappointed. After gathering himself, he followed her speculation.
"Yongle, Yongle. Eternal joy and lasting peace. Not a bad title. It suits Biao well enough."
He smacked his lips thoughtfully.
"And this Hongzhi Emperor ruling later… Ming assimilation… looks like this so-called Pure Love War God is also one of my descendants. Never expected we'd produce another capable warrior emperor."
Then he frowned slightly.
"But what exactly does Pure Love even mean?"
By now he trusted the glowing screen about sixty or seventy percent. Still, he needed to find Luo Guanzhong and verify things before believing fully.
And of course, Liu Sanwu would also have to be summoned.
Yet beyond all that, what irritated him most was the boy behind the text.
The way the fellow joked and tossed around nicknames felt just like the chatter in a teahouse.
Would it really be so hard to explain properly which generation the emperor belonged to, how many battles he fought, what the Ming world looked like, and so on?
Still, based on what he had seen today, the Ming emperor had pieced together a rough theory.
"The emperor guards the frontiers… so this Hongzhi Emperor earned merit that way? Fighting those… what were they called… the Portu-gala teeth people?"
The reasoning was messy, but on the surface it held together. Satisfied, he nodded.
Then, glancing back at the screen, he let out a sigh.
"Hebei… Hebei. Why is the north always so hard?"
---
Elsewhere, a Zhao-Song emperor spoke with force:
"An emperor who ruled for one hour still chose to die fighting for his state."
"Yet an eighty-year-old Emperor Gaozong still insisted on selling out the country."
Zhao Guangyi, now living as the monk Kongjiong, calmly rolled his prayer beads and lowered his eyes, the picture of an enlightened monk.
He did not even need to turn around to know his elder brother was staring daggers into him.
In that case, better to focus on Buddhism. At least then he could ignore worldly affairs.
"Smack!"
A sharp crack rang through the hall.
Zhao Guangyi, bald head gleaming, turned in shock. He saw his brother withdrawing his hand, looking rather satisfied.
"You caused the disaster of north and south division. You should reflect on it. How can you pretend not to see?"
Seeing the grievance in his younger brother's eyes, Zhao Kuangyin finally felt a little better.
The court physicians had advised him to keep his emotions smooth and unblocked.
But after half a year of watching the screen reveal Song history's disasters, how could his mood possibly remain calm?
So he simply kept his brother nearby. It turned out to be remarkably therapeutic.
Kongjiong did not dare say a word.
Meanwhile Zhao Kuangyin was now calm enough to continue discussing matters with his chancellor.
"Our achievements today lie precisely in avoiding such disasters."
Zhao Pu wholeheartedly agreed.
Strictly speaking, whether it was Wanyan Chenheshang or Zhang Tiangang, their loyalty unto death was admirable. Yet once one remembered they served the Jin, the feeling became complicated.
In the end Zhao Pu could only trace everything back to the loss of the Yan-Yun region.
Which made the later catastrophe at Gaoliang River all the more regrettable.
If they had recovered Youyun and locked Hebei firmly into Song control, perhaps they could not have avoided the three centuries of north-south division, but at least Hebei would not have ended up with fewer people than Shanxi.
At that thought Zhao Pu felt a chill.
His branch of the Zhao clan… was probably already extinct in the future.
Urgency filled him.
If next year the emperor survived the predicted death crisis, then perhaps destroying Northern Han and pacifying the Khitan might both be possible. Maybe in his lifetime he could see Yan-Yun restored to Chinese lands.
If not… then the crown prince would have to be pressed harder, so he would not fall short of the emperor's ambition.
Yet this anxiety could not be shared with other officials.
If word spread that the emperor might die next year, the court would collapse into chaos immediately.
In the midst of his tangled thoughts, Zhao Pu found himself reflecting that the slap just now…
…was indeed very crisp.
---
In Ganlu Hall, Li Shimin pretended not to notice the jade-smooth hand resting at his waist and spoke solemnly:
"My achievements in founding Tang were forged against worthy enemies on the battlefield. That others fall short of my military skill is only natural."
After that brief moment of self-satisfaction, even Li Shimin had to admit:
"This Hongwu Emperor, Zhu Baba faced far greater difficulties in building his state."
One only needed to look at the powerful clans of Han or the aristocratic elites of high Tang to understand how hard it was to mend a north-south divide.
The Emperors Wen, Jing, and Wu of Former Han had used harsh officials to crush the great clans, killing heads by the thousands just to make a little progress.
Yet in Later Han the situation reversed again. Guangwu's land reforms were only partially successful. By the time of Emperors Huan and Ling and the Yellow Turban uprising, the great families had seized their chance and surged into the struggle for the Central Plains.
If that Ming Hongwu Emperor knew these precedents, then his own rule would inevitably be severe, constrained on all sides.
The hand at Li Shimin's waist finally withdrew, and he let out a quiet breath.
Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, and the other chief ministers hurriedly noted down this discussion on regional division so they could debate preventive measures later.
Meanwhile the ever-eager Yuchi Jingde mulled something over and said to Qin Qiong:
"These western kingdoms and tribes were ravaged so badly by the Mongols. Jin and Xia also kept wavering toward them. Somehow it feels like…"
He hesitated, embarrassed to say his conclusion aloud.
Qin Qiong shook his head and answered firmly:
"The Mongols are certainly not weak. They are clearly fierce and formidable."
Their voices carried, and Li Shimin joined in.
"Shubao is right."
"Those western kingdoms are mostly uncivilized, more like steppe tribes. A population of three hundred thousand could dominate a region. When the Mongols swept in, and when those peoples built no strong cities, they collapsed at first contact."
"What the future scholar mentions most are the weaknesses of Xia, Jin, and Song. Yet each of those had millions of people. Even Southern Song in retreat likely had tens of millions."
"For the Mongols to destroy Jin and Song was like ants gnawing a sick ox. Without years of victories, it could not have been done."
Then Li Shimin's expression turned intrigued.
"But this line… the Mongol Empire in the narrow sense collapsing… the descendants of Temujin fighting among themselves and splitting the realm?"
"Truly, its rise was explosive and its fall sudden."