Although instinct warned him that the last option would likely prove best once again, Emperor Xuanwu remained stubborn. Unwilling to concede defeat to a mere feeling, he chose to begin with the first choice.
[You have selected Option A. Due to years of sitting and working long hours at your desk, you ultimately lived only into your sixties. Under your strict orders, Yun Shu was also forced to adopt your same unhealthy routines. She lived into her seventies.
In later generations, many would lament: if only the Emperor Tian Sheng had lived to one hundred, perhaps the empire's history might have reached even greater heights.]
What did it mean that he only lived into his sixties?
Emperor Xuanwu frowned deeply.
By the standards of former sovereigns, living past sixty was already considered a long and fortunate life. How dare this Simulation Life Selection System add the word only?
Did it suggest he could have lived even longer?
And what of Xiao Wu...
He narrowed his eyes.
Gu xi, gu xi—after all, that expression came from how rare it was to live to seventy in ancient times. Xiao Wu had already surpassed that threshold. It certainly did not seem as though prolonged sitting had harmed her health in the end.
Still uneasy, Emperor Xuanwu tapped the second option.
[You have selected Option B. Due to years of sedentary work, you ultimately lived into your sixties.
Fortunately, you abdicated earlier than most. Though Yun Shu mimicked your lifestyle for several years, once she ascended the throne, she began delegating lesser affairs to her ministers. She adopted a healthier routine and eventually lived into her nineties. Her reign marked one of Tian Sheng's fastest periods of growth and prosperity.
Later generations would often sigh with regret. If only the Emperor Tian Sheng had lived beyond one hundred years, the empire's history might have shone even brighter.]
Emperor Xuanwu blinked.
What?
The implications packed into this passage were not few.
He abdicated early? That meant he would eventually pass the throne to Xiao Wu while still alive, becoming a retired emperor.
And Xiao Wu… after implementing her own health regimen, she lived into her nineties?
Yet even at that age, future generations still felt her life had ended too soon?
Just what kind of brilliance had she achieved, to leave such a legacy that future historians grieved the limits of her lifespan?
With a grave expression, Emperor Xuanwu paused for a breath, then selected the final choice.
[You have selected Option C. By realizing the importance of a balanced and healthy lifestyle in time, you eventually lived into your eighties.
Though you became the retired emperor early on, Yun Shu would occasionally present unusual ideas and entrust some of her own state duties to you.
She ultimately lived to over one hundred years old. Her reign marked the most rapid development in Tian Sheng's history.
Future generations would often sigh with longing. If only the Emperor Tian Sheng had been granted the Elixir of Immortality, perhaps Tian Sheng would already have stepped into the interstellar age.]
Emperor Xuanwu: "??!!"
He had lived into his eighties?
And Xiao Wu, she truly surpassed a full century?
That was a hundred years!
And because he extended his own life by a few decades, Xiao Wu had the chance to accomplish even more. So much so, in fact, that future generations grew greedy and began fantasizing about her obtaining the Elixir of Immortality.
However...
He furrowed his brows again.
What in Heaven's name was an interstellar age?
"Father Emperor, do you not believe Your Daughter's words?"
At his side, Yun Shu finally spoke again, unable to stay quiet in the face of his long silence.
"If nothing else, why not summon several of the imperial physicians and consult them directly? I am certain they must have advised, at least once, that Your Majesty take walks in the Imperial Garden when time permits."
"..."
She had indeed struck true.
Those imperial physicians had offered such counsel before.
Now that he thought of it, perhaps all the ailments she had described, from prolonged sitting to fatigue and sluggish circulation, were truly grounded in medicine. And likely, the physicians had known, but never dared to speak plainly in front of him.
Instead, they had merely urged him to walk more and take time to relax.
Advice which, in the busyness of state, he had never taken seriously.
After all, when had he ever had the luxury of leisure as emperor?
"Hmph, is it not simply that you wish to shirk your duties?"
Just as Yun Shu opened her mouth again, Emperor Xuanwu raised a hand and nodded slightly at last.
"Very well. Draft a list of the affairs you believe can be delegated. Let Us see whether they are indeed fit for the ministers' hands."
"Your Daughter has already compiled them!"
To Yun Shu's surprise, Emperor Xuanwu—who had sat with a face of deep disapproval for so long—finally spoke words of agreement.
Her eyes lit up. She immediately reached for the three towering stacks of memorials on her desk and moved them in front of Emperor Xuanwu.
"These are all the matters Your Daughter deems suitable for delegation to the court ministers."
Emperor Xuanwu: "?"
He stared at the three thick piles now sitting before him, then glanced at Yun Shu's desk, where only a thin stack remained.
He nearly laughed in disbelief.
"Why not bring them all over while you're at it?"
"It is precisely because I did not bring all of them that it proves Your Daughter made a careful distinction."
Yun Shu's tone was firm, utterly confident.
"And the truth is clear. Each day, there are very few matters of true importance that require Father Emperor's personal judgment. If there is doubt, let us make a trial. Allow the ministers to handle these matters and see whether they can resolve them properly before presenting the results."
"And what of you?" Emperor Xuanwu narrowed his eyes. "You mean to finish those few remaining memorials and then skip off to play?"
"Play?" Yun Shu corrected with righteous seriousness. "This is health cultivation. A necessary effort to ensure that in the future, Your Daughter may be in peak condition to share the burdens of the realm."
She raised a finger.
"Moreover, Your Daughter must strive to create better working conditions for the ministers of court. Just yesterday, I discussed resolving issues like darkness during late hours."
"..."
Whether he was speechless from sheer irritation or had actually been swayed by her tangled logic, Yun Shu could not say.
All she knew was that Emperor Xuanwu hesitated for a moment, then said nothing further.
Which suited her just fine.
Cheerfully, she returned to the few memorials still remaining on her desk. With her tasks swiftly concluded, and the sky still bright outside, Yun Shu stretched lazily and stood, preparing to return to the Eastern Palace for some well-earned rest.
But just as she lifted her arms, Li Dehai entered with a radiant smile.
"Your Majesty, the Third Prince requests an audience. He brings news of great joy."
"Great joy?" Yun Shu's hands froze mid-stretch. Her eyes lit with anticipation.
"Could it be that Elder Cousin is with child?"
"Was he to become a grandfather at last?"
Emperor Xuanwu, too, looked up with a trace of delight in his gaze.
"Quickly, summon him in."
"At once!"
Seeing the anticipation written plainly across both their faces, Li Dehai beamed wider still and trotted briskly out to welcome the Third Prince inside.
===
"Gu xi, gu xi" (古稀, 古稀), the term literally means "rare at seventy" or "rare old age." It comes from the classical Chinese saying:
"人生七十古來稀" (Rénshēng qīshí gǔlái xī)
"It is rare for a person to live to seventy."
This line appears in a famous poem by Du Fu, a Tang dynasty poet. In ancient times, reaching the age of seventy was considered unusual due to shorter life expectancies. So "古稀" (gu xi) became a poetic way to refer to someone who has lived a long life, especially seventy years or more.