Early July, Chang'an.
Wei Zheng eyed the high-ranking ministers walking alongside him, and a slow unease settled into his bones
Since April, the Emperor had held court in the Taiji Hall without exception. Yet today he had summoned this particular group to the Ganlu Hall.
An invitation to the inner palace was, on its face, a mark of imperial favor. Yet the names on that list did not add up.
Wei Zheng turned the names over in his mind, searching for the link. Himself, Director of the Palace Library.
Hou Junji, a Chancellor.
Yuchi Jingde, the Duke of Wu.
No common ground bound them together. And then, to add to the confusion, Yan Liben had joined them as well. A mid-level official from the Ministry of Works who looked every bit as lost as Wei Zheng felt.
Is His Majesty planning to have our painted images? Wei Zheng chewed on the thought. It was the only theory that held water.
They entered the Ganlu Hall. Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, and Zhangsun Wuji were already there, waiting with the easy stillness of men who knew something the others did not.
The more he thought about it, the more the painted images theory made sense.
But Wei Zheng still could not fathom why he, a man famed for his acid tongue, was being included in what increasingly looked like a show of vanity.
Li Shimin seemed remarkably at ease. These were his old war comrades. They knew one another's tempers as well as they knew their own horses.
Hou Junji, ever the social chameleon, glided through the room, singing praises of the Emperor's recent personal review of criminal cases. "A true benevolent monarch!" he declared, his voice thick with admiration.
Li Shimin waved the flattery aside with a tired hand and motioned for them to sit. Chairs had been set out in the hall, every last one of them facing a single large and perfectly blank wall.
Yuchi Jingde, a man of few words by nature, kept his silence. Wei Zheng could not.
"Your Majesty," he began, "are we here to face the wall and pray for rain together?"
The jab struck exactly where it was aimed.
Since early June, a brutal drought had seized the provinces. Minister after minister had petitioned the Emperor to perform the traditional rain-seeking rites at the sacred mountains, but Li Shimin had forbidden it for reasons he refused to share.
The drought ground on, and the muttering grew louder by the day.
"The matter of the rain is no longer open for debate," Li Shimin said, his voice flat.
Wei Zheng refused to be brushed aside. "How can it not be debated? Does Your Majesty mean to ignore the suffering of the people under this drought?"
Li Shimin's patience, never deep where Wei Zheng was concerned, began to splinter. "I have ordered every province to dig canals and wells. In the hardest-hit regions, I have suspended taxes. How, exactly, is that ignoring the drought?"
Wei Zheng softened his tone, but only by a hair. "Even so. A sovereign must show reverence to the Heavens."
"Today," Li Shimin cut across him, his voice swelling to drown out the objection, "I have invited you all to witness a true miracle of the immortals. A divine omen."
Hou Junji's eyes went wide. He glanced at Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, and Zhangsun Wuji. Their faces were calm.
Knowing. His gaze drifted to the empty wall, and only then did he notice the open book resting on a stand beneath it, its text too distant to make out.
Turning from the still-fuming Wei Zheng, Li Shimin spoke gently to Yan Liben. "Minister Yan, pay close attention. I want you to pour every bit of your skill into painting the most important images you see here today."
The order was vague. Mysterious. Yan Liben was no fool. He bowed low and accepted the commission without a single question.
The ministers settled into their chairs and stared at the bare wall. Minutes crawled past.
Hou Junji began to nod off.
Wei Zheng found himself suspecting that this was merely a petty prank, the Emperor squandering their time to drive home some obscure point.
Even Yuchi Jingde shifted in his seat, growing restless.
"What is so special about this wall?" the Duke of Wu muttered. "I see nothing. Waitttt.!!!!"Eh? Eehhhh?!"
Hou Junji snapped awake. He turned. Wei Zheng's mouth was hanging open, his face a flawless mask of disbelief.
On the wall, a sheet of light rippled like molten silver, splitting the air.
And there, inside it, stood their Emperor. His face was flushed. A brush in his hand. He was scribbling notes directly onto the surface of the light.
Hou Junji spun around. Fang Xuanling, Du Ruhui, and Zhangsun Wuji were stroking their beards, their smiles thoroughly and insufferably smug.
The truth struck him like a fist. "This. This divine miracle. You three have known about it the whole time?"
Du Ruhui let out a booming laugh. "Duke of Lu, just watch. If you have questions, you can ask His Majesty once the vision ends."
Yan Liben finally grasped the nature of his commission. He snatched up his brush and began to sketch with desperate speed, his hand flying across the paper as he tried to capture the raw emotion flooding the room.
Yuchi Jingde's gaping shock.
Hou Junji's wide-eyed terror.
The playful, knowing smirks of the senior chancellors.
And the Emperor himself, standing before the light, radiating absolute and unshakable confidence.
In Chengdu, Kongming was grappling with the impossible.
He had no idea how the Light Screen had followed them here, and honestly, he did not have time to care.
What mattered was the information.
"Quickly!" Kongming's voice rang through the manor.
"Bring paper and brushes for everyone! Listen closely and write down every word!"
Liu Bei rose and added his own command, his voice cutting through the commotion.
"Zilong, Yide! Seal the manor with your personal guards. No one enters. More importantly, no one leaves until this light fades. Anyone who tries to slip away will be executed under military law."
Sealing off the government office was certain to spark panic in the city.
Liu Bei did not care. This was larger than any local riot.
Liu Ba, Fa Zheng, and Zhang Song were shoved into chairs.
Brushes and paper were thrust into their hands.
They stared, bewildered, at the Light Screen.
Pang Tong hovered over them, his eyes feverish. "Do not just gawk! Write down everything you hear! This is the Lord's divine omen. The mandate of the Han, here for all to witness."
The new recruits did not grasp the mechanics of what they were seeing, but they understood the weight of the word omen.
They were men of letters.
Writing was instinct.
Within minutes, the makeshift transcription bureau was scraping ink across paper.
As the chaos settled into something like order, Kongming's thoughts flickered back to the office in Gong'an. Did the screen there vanish, or was it playing this same vision? He could only hope that Gongyan and Jichang had kept their heads.
The last brush had just touched ink when the light pulsed and a voice flooded the room.
Modern.
Casual. Completely irreverent.
[Lightscreen]
[Hi, hi, hi! Hello everyone! This is your illiterate host, Wen Mang.
Given how heavy the last episodes on Zhuge Liang and Zhang Yichao were, we're going to keep things a bit lighter today.
In today's episode, you'll witness a conversation across time between the Great Wei Emperor Cao Cao and the poet-general Xin Qiji!
You'll see the secret techniques of the Cao clan!
You'll see the fundamental reason why the Sima clan successfully usurped the Wei!
You'll even see... actually, I can't make up any more fluff. Let's just dive into the main topic.]
[Server Chat Log]
[PatchNoteEnforcer: Is this the weekly 'Wait for the Host to Update' series? Host, if you updated even a little more frequently, you wouldn't be getting roasted in the comments.
ArrowCount404I: s our 'Sun Shinwan-ge' finally going to stand tall today? Sure, compared to Liu Bei and Cao Cao, he stands there like a lowly henchman, but compared to the likes of Liu Shan and Cao Pi, he can still be called the Great King of Wu!
MidTierComparer: I'm tearing up. You won't even give him the title of 'Great Emperor of Wu.'
DynastyCopium: His uncle borrowed a 'Shinwan' (hundred thousand) arrows. My Lord Sun lost a 'Shinwan' (hundred thousand) men. Who is the true master of the 'Shinwan'?
LegacyDiff: Cao Pi said, An emperor who doesn't want to be a writer isn't a good foodie.
LiteraryFoodie: Cao Rui said: An emperor who doesn't want to be an architect is just a horny version of his father.
BlueprintNoob: Liu Shan said: 'I'm so happy here I don't miss Shu.' Pass.
MidAFK: Sun Quan said: Hefei? I'll never 'pass' that city.
TimelineSkipper: I'm fast-forwarding to see what nonsense the host is spinning today.
NoobMetaAnalyst: Sun Ce conquered Jiangdong at twenty-one. Zhou Yu burned Red Cliff at thirty-three. Sun Quan was humiliated at Hefei by Zhang Liao before he was thirty. As the saying goes: 'Since ancient times, heroes have come from the youth of Jiangdong.'
HotTakeArchivist: Lol, above commenter, leave your address. The Great Emperor wants to send you a 'gift' to express his gratitude.
Li Shimin: Marquis Wu....., are you watching?]
That last comment, signed by Li Shimin, hit Kongming like a thunderclap. His brush dropped from his fingers. Was it a coincidence, or was it the Li Shimin?
He stared up at the Light Screen, a cold thought sinking its roots into his mind.
If others were watching this across time, and they could send messages onto the light itself, then who else was watching right now?
He shoved the thought aside. Focus. He needed to focus.
Liu Ba, whose mind was a whetted blade, was the first to find his voice. "My Lord! That financial system we have been putting into place. The laws of currency."
"Kongming saw them on this screen and copied them down," Liu Bei explained, his voice simple and direct. In a handful of sentences, he laid out the truth. This light was a window into a future a thousand years and more away.
Fa Zheng's eyes kindled with a feverish glow. "If we can see the future, then tell me.
Did I, Fa Xiaozhi, rise to the rank of the San Gong, Three Ducal Ministers?"
Pang Tong gave him a pitying smile. "No."
"What about a marquisate? Any noble title at all?"
Pang Tong searched his memory. "I do not believe so. But it does not matter."
"Why does it not matter?" Fa Zheng's voice had gone sharp.
"Because, Xiaozhi," Pang Tong said, and his sigh carried genuine regret, "you have only about ten years of life left."
Fa Zheng's lips trembled. "Ten years?" He was in his prime. If he died within a decade, he would not even see forty-five.
Zhang Fei looked at Pang Tong's smug expression and grunted. "Shiyuan, even if he has only ten years, that is still longer than you were supposed to have. Is it not?"
Pang Tong's face flooded scarlet. "I died in battle for our Lord's great cause! There is no honor higher than that!"
The weight of those words pressed down on the room. Zhang Fei shut his mouth, his own face coloring with a mix of shame and respect.
Zhang Song and Liu Ba traded a long look. They did not know the full story, but they could read the room clearly enough.
They had been on the verge of asking about their own fates. Seeing the faces around them, they decided that some things were better left unasked.
Fa Zheng, though, recovered faster than anyone expected.
Zhang Fei's words had tossed him a rope. If Pang Tong had survived his fated death at Loucheng, then fate was not a cage. It was a suggestion. A possibility that could be unwritten and rewritten.
If destiny could be changed, what exactly was there to fear?
He turned his gaze back to the Light Screen, and the hunger in his eyes was a living thing. If this vision was a true omen, then the Mandate of Heaven still rested with the Han.
I, Fa Xiaozhi, would not merely restore the honor of the Fufeng Fa clan. He would bury his ancestors' shadows beneath his own.
He did not want people to meet him and murmur, "Ah, your grandfather was the great Fa Zhen." He wanted them to see him and choke on the words, "So you are the legendary Fa Xiaozhi."
In the Ganlu Hall, the Tang ministers sat in a stunned and ringing silence.
Hou Junji, usually so quick with a word, had nothing.
Yuchi Jingde was fixing every line in his memory, his lips moving without sound as he read.
Yan Liben was the only one who stirred. His brushes swept across the paper with something close to desperation. He felt, with an instinct deeper than thought, that he was sketching the fabric of time itself.
Wei Zheng finally found his voice, though it came out rough and strangely unsteady. "Your Majesty. The language of this omen. It seems rather... irreverent."
Li Shimin allowed himself a thin smile. "My dear minister, this light comes from a world more than a thousand years in the future. They are laughing at the history we are living through right now."
"I may rule the Great Tang today," the Emperor went on, his voice dropping into something somber, "but I have no power over what people say a millennium from now."
The explanation struck Wei Zheng mute.
Hou Junji leaned forward, a new and urgent curiosity burning past his shock. "Then, Your Majesty, how long does our Great Tang endure? In their histories?"
Li Shimin's face became a mask of stone. "The Great Tang enjoys a century of unmatched prosperity. Followed by a century of chaos. It falls after two hundred years."
The room went cold. Hou Junji froze where he sat.
Zhangsun Wuji stepped in swiftly, working to soften the blow for his stunned colleague. "The Duke of Lu does not know the full story. After the Tang, there is a dynasty called Song, then the Ming, and later something called the Qing.
This light screen exists even beyond all of those."
"But." Zhangsun's voice swelled, and pride flamed through it.
"This vision calls our Lord the Emperor of the Ages. It says our Tang is the Great Tang. A realm of ten thousand li that defined an entire century of glory."
Wei Zheng stood frozen, staring at Li Shimin, eyes wide with disbelief.