Inside the grand halls of the Tang Palace, Li Shimin desperately wanted to say something. He wanted to casually ask what on earth a "Forbidden Marriage Clans" was.
He was even secretly planning to visit his beloved Empress Zhangsun later tonight, where he would casually pretend to be completely ignorant and ask her why she was suddenly trying to recruit random beautiful girls from the civilian population into his harem.
But regarding the light screen's absurd claim that the aristocratic clans actively refused to marry royal princesses? Li Shimin wanted to scoff with absolute, unadulterated contempt.
They did not want to marry his daughters? Did these greedy, parasitic aristocrats who sucked the blood of the nation to fatten their own estates actually think they were worthy in the first place?
The absolute, terrifying majesty of his older sister, Princess Pingyang, was still burned perfectly into Li Shimin's memory.
When the Li clan first raised the banner of rebellion in Jinyang, Princess Pingyang had single-handedly rallied the ruthless warlords and local heroes of the Guanzhong region. She had personally raised the legendary Army of Lady Warriors from nothing.
She met up with her brothers at the Wei River, helped smash open the gates of Chang'an, and pacified the entire realm. Her life was an epic saga of military glory, and her death was mourned with absolute royal honors.
Because of this, when Li Shimin heard the future narrator mention that the ancient Weize Pass was permanently renamed to "The Lady's Pass" in her honor, a deep, overwhelming sense of pride swelled within his heart.
However, his pride quickly evaporated as his mind drifted to the other names mentioned.
His younger sister, Princess Yongjia. Caught in a wildly illegal, incestuous affair.
Princess Taiping, who was apparently one of his future daughters or granddaughters. She actively orchestrated a massive military coup to seize the throne!
As the screen rattled off a dizzying, endless list of chaotic, lawless princesses, Li Shimin felt something he had not felt in a very long time. Pure, suffocating terror. It completely crushed his historical curiosity.
He absolutely did not want to know any more!
But before he could look away, the light screen delivered a devastating blow. It felt as if a massive, invisible sledgehammer weighing a thousand pounds had swung down from the heavens and smashed directly into the center of his skull.
[Empress Zhangsun. The tenth year of Zhenguan. Passed away from illness.]
In a fraction of a second, the entire world spun violently out of control. Li Shimin's vision blurred into a chaotic smear of colors. A deafening, roaring noise erupted in his ears, sounding like a thousand people screaming and laughing all at once.
In his state of sudden delirium, he could almost hear the cruel, mocking laughter of his dead brothers echoing from the grave, celebrating his ultimate tragedy.
Driven by pure instinct, Li Shimin stood up and stumbled two steps forward.
But logic quickly, violently yanked him back to reality. The light screen was simply announcing a future historical event. His Guanyinbi, his beloved Empress, was not actually inside the screen.
The moment his panicked mind slightly relaxed its grip, an unprecedented, terrifying wave of absolute physical weakness hijacked his entire body.
Down in the audience hall, the gathered ministers watched in absolute horror as their invincible Emperor, the brilliant, thirty-year-old blazing sun of the Great Tang, suddenly lost all of his light.
His youthful, powerful body swayed violently. He stumbled backward, his legs giving out completely, until he crashed heavily into his throne, gripping the wooden armrests for dear life.
Zhangsun Wuji's eyes immediately flushed red with panic. He sprinted up the steps to catch his sovereign.
"Your Majesty!"
"My lord!"
The throne room erupted into absolute chaos. But the chaotic, panicked shouts of his loyal ministers somehow grounded Li Shimin. It gave him an anchor, slowly returning a tiny fraction of strength to his trembling limbs.
"I need to see the Empress," Li Shimin rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
He was practically vibrating with the desperate urge to sprint to her chambers.
But he quickly remembered that the light screen was still actively broadcasting in the middle of the hall. He buried his face in his hands, massaging his throbbing temples, and altered his command.
"Issue an immediate decree. Summon Empress Zhangsun to the Ganlu Hall at once."
Even Wei Zheng, the ultimate, inflexible stickler for protocol, kept his mouth firmly shut.
He did not dare step forward to complain that summoning the Empress to the main administrative hall violated ancient court etiquette.
He knew perfectly well it would be absolutely useless.
Every dragon has a reverse scale, a singular weakness that brings instant death to anyone who touches it. And Empress Zhangsun was undoubtedly Emperor Li Shimin's ultimate reverse scale.
A few moments later, Li Shimin was lying weakly on a luxurious couch in the back room, his eyes squeezed shut as Zhangsun Wuji gently massaged his forehead.
The silence in the room was incredibly heavy and awkward. Finally, Li Shimin took the initiative to break it.
"The twentieth year of the Zhenguan era," Li Shimin muttered, a bitter, self-deprecating smile forming on his lips. "My own sons slaughtering each other for power. The imperial harem violently hijacking the entire government. It seems my entire legacy is nothing but an absolute, worthless failure."
Du Ruhui offered a gentle, comforting smile.
"Why must Your Majesty torture yourself with such dark thoughts?" Du Ruhui advised softly. "The screen has explicitly spoken of the glorious Zenith of the Tang. The endless reverence of the future generations, the supreme titles they bestowed upon you, how could any of that possibly be faked?"
The logical comfort actually helped a little. The throbbing pain in Li Shimin's head slightly subsided.
He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ornate ceiling of the Ganlu Hall.
"That woman, Cairen Wu," Li Shimin stated coldly. "She eventually enters my own imperial harem. The screen confirmed this. That fact cannot be denied."
"This..." Fang Xuanling paused, carefully choosing his words so as not to trigger another imperial meltdown. "Since she possesses the qualifications to be selected for the palace, it is obvious that her reputation, her beauty, and her intellect must be absolutely top-tier among her peers."
Fang Xuanling took a deep breath. "And considering she possesses a level of ruthless political genius that apparently surpasses even the legendary Empress Lü of the Han dynasty, I fear that even if Your Majesty actively ignores her, she will inevitably find another sinister method to infiltrate the palace."
Li Shimin opened his mouth to angrily argue the point, but the immediate memory of his own chaotic, lawless Tang Princesses flashed through his mind.
He instantly swallowed his words.
Fang Xuanling was absolutely right. Even if this Wu woman did not enter as an official concubine, she could easily befriend one of his wildly undisciplined daughters, use their mansion as a staging ground, and strike when the time was right.
Standing nearby, Zhangsun Wuji's face was twisted into a mask of pure, murderous intent.
"Please give the order, Your Majesty!" Zhangsun Wuji pleaded. "I will personally dig three feet into the earth across the entire empire to find this demonic woman! We must execute her immediately and completely eradicate this future disaster!"
"Absolutely not!" Wei Zheng practically leaped across the room to object. "Are you seriously suggesting we slaughter an innocent civilian based purely on unproven, future crimes? That is absolutely not the behavior of a benevolent ruler!"
The sudden, deafening argument between his top officials instantly brought Li Shimin's headache roaring back.
He groaned loudly and squeezed his eyes shut again.
Thankfully, the room quickly fell silent. A pair of soft, slightly cool, delicate hands gently replaced Zhangsun Wuji's rough fingers on the Emperor's forehead. The hands moved with perfect, practiced familiarity, massaging the tension away. The blinding pain immediately began to dissolve.
"Guanyinbi..."
Li Shimin reached up, grabbing those soft hands and pressing them firmly against his closed eyelids. Slowly, large, heavy tears began to trace a path down his cheeks.
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in the temporary government office of Chengdu, the men of Shu Han were staring at the exact same broadcast in absolute, paralyzed disbelief.
The stories of the chaotic Tang princesses had left them completely dumbfounded.
Pang Tong swallowed hard, the sound incredibly loud in the silent room.
"This supposed Golden Age of the Great Tang, exactly as it is unfolding right now...right?"
Kongming slowly picked up the sentence, his feather fan completely still.
"...looks exactly like the absolute nightmare our own Great Han just barely survived."
Liu Bei let out a long, heavy sigh of pure astonishment. "How is it possible that their history is such a perfect, exact mirror of ours?"
Both brilliant strategists slowly shook their heads in unison, their faces masks of pure shock.
"It truly is a perfect, flawless reflection!"
For a long moment, the entire room struggled to process the sheer absurdity of the situation.
What happened to learning from the past?
What happened to the ancient proverb that the overturned cart ahead serves as a warning to the carts behind?
Eunuchs hijacking the central government.
Corrupt relatives of the Empress seizing absolute military power.
The imperial harem launching violent political coups.
Royal princesses raising armies to rebel against the throne.
Did the Tang dynasty actively decide to perfectly replicate every single horrific disaster that brought down the Han dynasty?
Were they just copy-pasting the exact same tragedy patch notes?
It was fine to copy the Han's military success, but why on earth did they copy the catastrophic bugs as well?
Zhang Fei leaned against a pillar and muttered quietly under his breath.
"To be fair, our Great Han was nowhere near as messed up as this Great Tang."
"Empress Dowager Gao never actually declared herself the literal Emperor," Zhang Fei reasoned smugly.
"And our Eldest Princess Eyi only participated in a rebellion. She did not actively monopolize the entire royal court and try to steal the throne like this Taiping girl."
Liu Bei's head snapped around, instantly locking Zhang Fei in a terrifying, absolute death glare.
"Third Brother," Liu Bei said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I hear the Dujiangyan irrigation project is currently severely understaffed and requires heavy manual labor..."
"I will shut my mouth right now," Zhang Fei squeaked, immediately snapping to attention and zipping his lips.
Kongming, however, was focused on a much more immediate, terrifying logistical problem. His brows furrowed in deep worry.
"The screen previously mentioned that Li Shimin suffers from the exact same chronic, debilitating migraines as the treacherous Cao Cao."
Kongming tapped his fan against his chin. "Suddenly being hit with the horrific news of his wife's impending death, combined with the collapse of his family... I fear the physical shock might..."
Can severe migraines actually be fatal? Kongming was a genius, but he was not entirely certain about that specific medical fact.
Zhang Fei, having already forgotten his near-banishment to a labor camp, grinned wickedly.
"Hey, who knows?" Zhang Fei chuckled. "Maybe the Tang Emperor is currently busy having a romantic, passionate moment with that future Empress Wu behind closed doors!"
Kongming shook his head firmly. "Impossible. Based on the Emperor's earlier dialogue regarding the unconquered Western Regions, the current timeline of the Tang court is still far too early for that."
Pang Tong's eyes suddenly lit up with chaotic, dramatic excitement.
He violently slapped his own thigh in frustration.
"Damn it all!" Pang Tong cursed loudly. "I would give ten years of my life to personally witness the exact look on the Tang Emperor's face when he saw that news drop!"
Back inside the grand Ganlu Hall.
Empress Zhangsun sat gracefully on the edge of the couch, gently massaging the head of the Emperor who was resting comfortably in her lap. As she worked, she listened intently to Du Ruhui's rapid, highly summarized briefing of the situation.
Du Ruhui's words were precise and sharply focused. In just a few sentences, he painted a perfect picture of the apocalyptic historical spoilers they had just witnessed.
The briefing immediately solved a massive, lingering mystery in Empress Zhangsun's mind. It perfectly explained why Li Shimin and his inner circle had been acting so bizarrely hyperactive and secretive over the past few weeks.
Honestly, if she did not possess absolute, unshakable faith in her husband's moral character, she would have genuinely suspected that Li Shimin and his cabinet had secretly developed an addiction to hallucinogenic Five-Stone Powder.
Now fully understanding the sheer scale of the Emperor's anxiety, Empress Zhangsun looked down at her husband and smiled warmly.
"If this young woman possesses the necessary brilliance to inherit and sustain Your Majesty's glorious Zhenguan era, then this Cairen Wu must truly be a heroine among women," the Empress said softly.
"It just so happens that I am currently lacking a sharp, clever girl to serve as my personal attendant."
Her political maneuver was instantly clear. She wanted Li Shimin to preemptively summon the future Empress Wu into the palace immediately, placing the dangerous girl directly under her own watchful eye.
Li Shimin hesitated, his face full of doubt.
Empress Zhangsun let out a charming, musical laugh.
"If you summon her now, her ultimate fate rests entirely within the palm of Your Majesty's hand," the Empress reasoned flawlessly.
"You are Li Shimin, the undisputed, ultimate Emperor of the Ages of the Great Tang! What on earth do you have to fear from a single young girl?"
Li Shimin shot straight up into a sitting position. He usually loved hearing his future historical title, but for some inexplicable reason, hearing his own wife say it out loud filled him with a bizarre, overwhelming sense of embarrassment.
"Fine, fine!" Li Shimin surrendered quickly, waving his hands. "We will do exactly as my Guanyinbi suggests."
Right on cue, the giant glowing screen in the hall began to slowly scroll new text. Li Shimin immediately used it as an excuse to escape the awkward conversation.
"Look! Let us focus on the screen."
[Lightscreen]
[The concept of the Five Surnames and Seven Mansions is technically a label from the early Tang era.
Thanks to the absolute, booming prosperity of the Zhenguan reign, massive political players like Wei Zheng, Fang Xuanling, and the great general Li Ji completely ignored Li Shimin's direct warnings and aggressively scrambled raced to intermarry with the Shandong aristocratic clans.
Because of this massive influx of fresh political power, these elite families regenerated their strength with terrifying speed.
By the time Emperor Gaozong took the throne, the Five Surnames and Seven Mansions had expanded and mutated into the Seven Surnames and Ten Houses.
During Gaozong's reign, a powerful Prime Minister named Li Yifu, who came from a humble background, arrogantly tried to arrange a marriage with the Shandong elites. He was brutally rejected.
Furious and humiliated, Li Yifu immediately ran to Emperor Gaozong to complain.
In response, Emperor Gaozong issued a sweeping imperial decree completely forbidding the Seven Surnames and Ten Houses from intermarrying with one another.
This legendary decree is the true origin of the famous historical term, "The Forbidden Marriage Clans."
But in a hilarious twist of political irony, this absolute ban completely backfired.
The piece of paper meant to crush them actually skyrocketed the social value of the Shandong aristocrats into the stratosphere.
The Seven Surnames and Ten Houses wore the title of "Forbidden Marriage Clans" as a badge of ultimate honor. Furthermore, the ban was completely useless in practice, the families just laughed and married each other in secret anyway.
Generations later, during the reign of Emperor Wenzong, the Emperor personally approached his Prime Minister, Zheng Tan. The Emperor formally requested that his own son, the Crown Prince, be allowed to marry Zheng Tan's granddaughter.
Zheng Tan bluntly rejected the supreme Emperor of China and instead married his granddaughter to a lowly, ninth-rank clerk named Cui Gao.
Emperor Wenzong was left staring at the wall, uttering his famous, incredibly depressing historical lament, "Is a glorious imperial family with two hundred years of absolute rule truly not equal to the Cui and Lu clans?"
This quote became the ultimate, platinum-plated advertising slogan for the Forbidden Marriage Clans. The reputation of the Shandong elites reached god-like proportions.
Now, the underlying reason why Li Shimin was so utterly desperate to compile the Clan Record reveals an incredibly depressing, highly uncomfortable truth about the Tang dynasty.
Yes, the Tang Imperial Civil Service Examination, the famous Keju, was a massive step forward compared to the systems of the Northern and Southern Dynasties and the Sui dynasty.
But practically speaking? For the Tang dynasty itself, the exams were almost entirely useless.
Let us look at the raw data. In the twentieth year of the Zhenguan era, Li Shimin personally inspected Bingzhou.
He deployed twenty-two elite inquisitors, including the Chief Minister of the Supreme Court, to investigate the surrounding territories.
The inquisitors quickly discovered that the local government corruption in Bingzhou was completely jaw-dropping. Li Shimin flew into a towering rage, in a single sweep, he executed or permanently fired nearly a thousand local officials, and that was just in one single province.
Now, open the official history books.
How many talented scholars actually passed the Imperial Examination in that exact same twentieth year of Zhenguan? Exactly four people.
The following year? Seven people.
Combined, the imperial exams provided exactly eleven candidates, which could not even fill one single percent of the suddenly vacant jobs in Bingzhou alone.
Based on the most reliable historical data available today, the Tang Imperial Examinations began in 622 AD and ended in 904 AD.
Over those 282 years, the government hosted 273 massive exams. The total number of people who passed and became officials was 8,455. That averages out to a pathetic twenty-three graduates per year.
So, does that mean the Great Tang just did not have many government jobs available? Absolutely not. Let us look at another early example.
In the second year of Emperor Gaozong's Xianqing era,1400 people were officially inducted into the government bureaucracy.
In that exact same year, only 22 people passed the actual Imperial Exam.
Meanwhile, there were nearly 500 empty seats waiting to be filled.
The brutal reality was that during the Tang dynasty, the path to a government job was a massive, chaotic buffet of loopholes and backdoors. You had Special Edicts, Shadow Privilege, Recommendation Quotas, Winter Nominations, Office Purchasing, and Military Merits. All of these were valid, perfectly legal ways to become a powerful official.
Special Edicts, Recommendation Quotas, and Winter Nominations technically had different final testing formats, but the starting line was exactly the same.
You absolutely required a powerful local official to formally recommend you before you could even get a ticket to the starting line.
The Shadow Privilege, or En'yin system, is the real monster here, every dynasty tweaked the rules, but it was never truly abolished.
However, the Tang dynasty was the absolute golden age of legalized nepotism, the overwhelming majority of Tang officials got their jobs purely because their fathers or grandfathers were already important people.
Then there was Office Purchasing, known as Zhuoqian, this was essentially legalized, government-sponsored loan sharking.
You paid a massive upfront fee to the government to become a glorified financial clerk.
Your job was to take government funds, lend them out at extortionate interest rates, and guarantee a set profit margin for the state treasury every year. If you hit your quotas for a few years, congratulations, you were officially promoted to a real government rank.
Because there were so many ridiculous side doors and VIP passes, the Tang government absolutely did not care about the small handful of nerds passing the official exams.
In fact, by Emperor Gaozong's reign, the government was literally overflowing with surplus bureaucrats.
Let us go back to the second year of the Xianqing era.
There were less than 500 empty chairs. 1.400 people got hired. But over at the Ministry of Personnel, there was a massive backlog of over 7.000 rich kids with Shadow Privilege and military merit waiting in line to get a job.
At the absolute peak of this bureaucratic nightmare, the Tang Ministry of Personnel had a waiting list of over 70.000 people waiting for a job assignment.
Some unlucky applicants literally sat in the waiting room for ten years.
And right there, in the middle of that massive traffic jam of nepotism and contract-to-hire paperwork, is exactly where Li Shimin's Clan Record actually functioned as a weapon.
The government used the strict surname rankings in the book to place an absolute, unbreakable ceiling on how high the kids from the Five Surnames and Seven Mansions could be promoted via their Shadow Privilege.
But the elite aristocratic clans were incredibly smart.
When they realized the Emperor had hard-capped their nepotism privileges, they simply looked around, found the one system the Emperor respected, and pivoted completely.
They quickly realized that the supposedly merit-based Imperial Examination, this modest little system that the Emperor kept praising, was actually the perfect vehicle for their massive wealth and elite education.]