Zhang Fei's cynical joke about the late Tang Dynasty plagiarizing the disasters of the Han era earned a few strained chuckles from the hall.
Then the laughter faded.
What remained behind was a heavy silence filled with exhaustion.
Because everyone present understood one painful truth.
They were men born into chaos.
The officials and generals gathered within Shu Han had spent most of their lives watching the world burn around them. Counties collapsed. Armies starved. Families scattered. Corpses filled the roads between provinces.
For men living through an age like this, a peaceful golden era was not reality.
It was a dream.
Something distant.
Something almost mythical.
Before the mysterious light screen descended from the heavens, the scholars and strategists of Shu Han had argued endlessly over a single question:
How exactly had the once-glorious Great Han Dynasty rotted into the disaster now surrounding them?
Every faction had its own explanation.
Some blamed the eunuchs.
Some blamed the imperial clansmen and regents.
Some blamed incompetent emperors.
Others blamed corrupt officials, land annexation, factional conflict, or the endless concentration of wealth inside powerful aristocratic clans.
And naturally, every man conveniently emphasized whichever explanation made his own political enemies look the worst.
Some argued fiercely that the collapse of the empire began with Cao Cao's unchecked ambition.
Others insisted the true disaster started with Dong Zhuo's brutality and tyranny.
Many blamed the Ten Eunuchs for corrupting the court beyond repair, while others pointed toward the Yellow Turban Rebellion and the chaos it unleashed across the realm.
A few particularly bold scholars skipped past all the surrounding symptoms entirely and placed the blame directly upon Emperor Huan and Emperor Ling themselves.
According to them, the decay of the Han court had started from the throne downward.
For years, these debates had continued without end.
Every faction had its own preferred explanation.
Every official had his own political conclusion.
But now, thanks to the light screen, something enormous and terrifying had finally been dragged out from the deepest shadows of history and exposed before everyone in full detail.
The aristocratic clans.
This enormous parasite had not appeared overnight.
It had been quietly growing inside the body of the Great Han for generations.
It fed upon the empire little by little, sinking its roots into land, education, marriage alliances, official appointments, and political influence until the entire state could no longer breathe without it.
And by the end, the parasite had grown so massive that it began consuming the very host that nurtured it.
Above this invisible monster, the imperial court and wealthy elites continued holding banquets, composing poetry, drinking wine, and celebrating prosperity as though the empire beneath their feet would last forever.
Meanwhile, the common people carried the weight of the entire structure on their backs.
And slowly, they were crushed beneath it.
Liu Bei stared silently at the glowing text suspended in the air.
The warmth that normally filled his eyes had faded, replaced by a rare heaviness.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
His voice was low.
"If..."
Liu Bei paused briefly.
"If the Shu Han shown within that future timeline had not fallen..." he murmured quietly, "could we truly have prevented this poison from spreading through the empire for another hundred years?"
Zhuge Liang wanted very badly to reassure his lord.
He wanted to nod confidently and tell Liu Bei that Shu Han would surely avoid such a fate.
But Zhuge Liang was not the sort of man who comforted others with lies.
After a brief silence, he slowly shook his head.
Because he knew very clearly that Emperor Guangwu, the founder who restored the Han Dynasty generations earlier, had already recognized the danger posed by the great aristocratic clans.
In fact, Guangwu himself had personally suffered from their political pressure and manipulation.
That was precisely why the Emperor had gone to extraordinary lengths to weaken their influence. He dismissed his own Empress. He demoted his own Crown Prince. All to cut apart the political ties connecting the imperial family to the powerful clans.
For a ruler of his era, Emperor Guangwu had already done nearly everything possible.
And yet the problem still survived.
It endured.
It adapted.
The parasite simply changed its shape and continued growing beneath the surface of the empire.
Surprisingly, Liu Bei did not look discouraged after hearing this.
Instead, the hesitation in his eyes gradually disappeared, replaced by a familiar burning determination.
He lifted his gaze back toward the light screen overhead.
"I may not possess Kongming's ability to calculate the fate of future centuries," Liu Bei said quietly, "but there is one thing I firmly believe."
His voice grew steadier with every word.
"As long as we defeat Cao Cao and prevent the world from falling into the hands of the Wei and Jin factions..." Liu Bei slowly clenched his fist, "...then the future we leave behind must surely be better than that chaotic nightmare of the Wei and Jin dynasties."
Zhuge Liang smiled faintly.
For once, the expression on his face was not the calm, unreadable smile.
It was warm.
He slowly rose from his seat, adjusted his robes, and respectfully cupped his hands toward Liu Bei.
"I, Zhuge Liang, am willing to follow my lord until the very end," he said solemnly. "Together, we shall pacify the realm, suppress the warlords, restore order beneath Heaven, and bring peace back to the common people."
His eyes briefly lifted toward the glowing light screen overhead.
"As for this poison of hereditary aristocratic power..." Zhuge Liang's voice became colder. "I will not permit it to continue festering unchecked for another hundred years."
Pang Tong immediately felt his blood heating up.
Seeing Zhuge Liang suddenly become this serious triggered his competitive instincts almost instantly.
How could he possibly lose in atmosphere at a moment like this?
Pang Shiyuan practically jumped to his feet and copied Zhuge Liang's posture on the spot.
"I, Pang Tong, am also willing to follow my lord to the death!" he declared passionately. "I will exhaust every scheme, every strategy, and every ounce of intellect I possess to destroy the traitorous thieves who dare usurp the Han!"
Then Pang Tong narrowed his eyes viciously.
"And while we are at it, we might as well clean out that nest of smiling rats in Jiangdong too."
The Shu officials instantly coughed into their sleeves.
Only Pang Tong could turn a heroic oath into regional slander halfway through.
Meanwhile, Zhang Fei stood off to the side scratching his head furiously.
He looked at Zhuge Liang.
Then at Pang Tong.
One delivered a solemn oath worthy of historical records.
The other sounded like a heroic strategist marching off to exterminate entire dynasties.
Zhang Fei immediately felt tremendous pressure.
His brain began spinning desperately.
What was I am supposed to say now?
If his oath sounded too plain, would future historians write that Zhang Fei lost the aura competition inside the Shu Han court?
His mind went completely blank.
Zhang Fei desperately searched for something grand, elegant, and historically memorable to say. Unfortunately, his vocabulary abandoned him at the critical moment.
After struggling for several seconds, Zhang Fei finally gave up.
He aggressively cupped his fists, puffed out his chest, and shouted at the top of his lungs:
"Brother! Whatever they just said, count me in too!"
Meanwhile, within the grand Ganlu Hall of the Tang Palace, Li Shimin had finally pieced together the entire chain of logic revealed by the light screen.
And the conclusion left him speechless.
"So the root of this disaster..." Li Shimin muttered slowly, "is simply because the examination papers were not graded anonymously?"
The flaw sounded almost laughably simple.
Yet that single loophole had poisoned the entire Imperial Examination system from top to bottom.
Because the names remained visible, scholars stopped competing purely through talent. Instead, they competed through connections, gifts, family influence, and political backing.
And once the competition entered that territory, ordinary commoners never stood a chance.
A poor scholar from a farming village could study until his eyes bled and still lose to a noble young master backed by generations of wealth, famous teachers, political allies, and endless social connections.
The aristocratic clans had taken a system supposedly designed to select talent and dragged it straight back into the same old swamp of bribery and favoritism.
Worse still, they had done so while pretending everything remained fair and civilized.
Li Shimin's expression darkened.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
These clans hollowed out the foundation of the Great Tang from within, monopolized official positions for generations, and helped rot the empire into collapse.
And when the dynasty finally exploded into chaos, even those same powerful clans were buried beneath the ruins they helped create.
But none of that truly enraged Li Shimin as much as the final outcome of this networking culture.
Factionalism.
The moment the light screen described the relationship between "Masters" and "Disciples," Li Shimin immediately understood how dangerous the situation had become.
His eyes turned cold.
"A 'Master' and a 'Disciple,' is it..." he said softly.
The more he thought about them, the colder his expression became.
A dangerous sneer gradually spread across the Emperor's face.
"First they were powerful local landlords during the Han," Li Shimin said softly. "Then they evolved into the untouchable aristocratic clans of the Wei and Jin era."
His eyes narrowed.
"And now, in my Great Tang, they call themselves the Elite Surnames."
The hall remained deathly silent.
Li Shimin suddenly let out a cold laugh.
"What exactly do these people want?"
His voice grew quieter and quieter, yet the pressure in the hall only became heavier.
"Do they intend to stand beside the Son of Heaven forever and divide the authority of the realm equally between themselves and the imperial throne?"
At this point, the Emperor's tone had already turned frighteningly calm.
"As long as these parasites continue breathing," Li Shimin said slowly, "I will never know peace."
Empress Zhangsun immediately noticed the dangerous look appearing in her husband's eyes.
Without saying a word, she gently placed her hand over his and slowly rubbed the back of it with practiced familiarity.
The meaning was obvious.
Calm down.
Do not get carried away.
Unless His Majesty wished for his chronic headaches to return tonight.
Nearby, Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui exchanged perfectly calm expressions.
Neither man looked remotely surprised.
After spending years serving Li Shimin, they were already extremely accustomed to this kind of situation.
Throughout the entire day, their Emperor had been repeatedly launched between overwhelming triumph and existential historical despair by the light screen.
One moment he was basking in glory.
The next moment he was planning political extermination.
Very normal behavior.
Besides, everyone in the hall understood Li Shimin's temperament perfectly.
The moment he identified something as a threat to imperial authority, he immediately started thinking about how to remove it.
And unfortunately for the aristocratic clans, the light screen had already revealed one crucial piece of information.
At this specific stage of the Tang Dynasty, the great clans were actually at their weakest point.
Which meant this was the best possible time to strike them.
However...
There was just one slightly uncomfortable detail.
Among the famous Five Surnames and Seven Clans that Li Shimin was currently glaring at like a man preparing to clean house...
The Longxi Li clan ranked near the very top.
Which meant the Emperor was, in a sense, preparing to declare war on his own extended relatives.
The atmosphere inside Ganlu Hall instantly became even stranger.
Meanwhile, Wei Zheng was experiencing this particular flavor of imperial killing intent for the very first time that day.
The famously fearless remonstrator suddenly felt as though an invisible snowstorm had swept through the hall and frozen his internal organs solid.
For several moments, even Wei Zheng honestly did not dare speak.
Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui, however, were seasoned veterans of court politics.
The two exchanged a brief glance and immediately understood each other's thoughts without needing words.
The Emperor had already voiced his dissatisfaction publicly.
That meant reforming the Imperial Examination system was no longer a discussion.
It was now inevitable.
The two prime ministers stepped forward almost simultaneously and volunteered to oversee the massive restructuring effort personally.
Anonymous grading.
Standardized examination materials.
Stricter anti-corruption procedures.
Once Li Shimin became serious about something, the bureaucrats beneath him moved with terrifying speed.
Seeing the civil officials take action so decisively, the military officials immediately became competitive as well.
Li Shiji and Yuchi Jingde practically charged forward on the spot, slamming fists against their armor with enough force to make the hall echo.
"If any of those aristocratic clans dare resist the new policies," Yuchi Jingde declared loudly, "then this minister is willing to personally lead troops to help them understand the law!"
Li Shiji nodded beside him with complete seriousness, clearly prepared to solve political disagreements through extremely military methods.
Li Shimin merely waved a hand dismissively.
But a dark smile had already appeared in his eyes.
Honestly speaking...
Part of him almost hoped the aristocratic clans would rebel.
If they openly caused trouble, he could simply crush them directly instead of wasting endless effort fighting them through laws, procedures, and political maneuvering.
That would save an astonishing amount of paperwork.
Now that the policy direction had been decided, Li Shimin finally turned his attention back toward the light screen.
And immediately found a new target for his anger.
"This Emperor Xuanzong..." Li Shimin said with a cold sneer. "If he genuinely believed Li Linfu's claim that no talented commoners remained anywhere beneath Heaven, then he must be a complete fool."
The Emperor slowly paced across Ganlu Hall with his hands behind his back.
"But if he realized perfectly well that his Prime Minister was manipulating the examinations and still chose to ignore it..." Li Shimin's expression darkened further. "...then he was nothing more than a useless puppet sitting on the throne."
Unfortunately, there was an even worse possibility.
Xuanzong might have understood the truth completely...
...yet lacked the courage to confront Li Linfu directly.
The mere thought made Li Shimin feel a suffocating pressure tightening around his chest.
The history of the late Tang Dynasty no longer felt like distant history to him.
It felt like a warning.
A heavy iron chain slowly wrapping around the neck of the empire.
Li Shimin's gaze gradually settled onto the final name lingering upon the light screen.
Huang Chao.
The destroyer.
The aristocratic clans of the Jin Dynasty had monopolized power, corrupted the state, and eventually dragged the realm into disasters like the War of the Eight Princes and the Yongjia catastrophe.
And now, the aristocratic clans of the Tang were somehow repeating the exact same cycle all over again.
The same greed.
The same monopolies.
The same corruption.
Until eventually, they created a monster named Huang Chao who nearly burned the dynasty to ashes.
Li Shimin genuinely could not understand it anymore.
Did the people of later generations simply stop reading history altogether?
Or had the ability to learn from the past completely vanished from the human race?
[Lightscreen]
[The aristocratic clans of the Tang Dynasty successfully adapted themselves to the Imperial Examination system.
But the truly ironic part is that the same system also triggered the final mutation that would eventually destroy them.
Because The entire 'networking' and 'portfolio' meta they invented relied heavily on one crucial factor.
Geography.
More specifically, proximity to the capital.
If you wanted to build relationships with influential officials, you needed to live near the political center.
If you wanted to attend elite literary gatherings, poetry banquets, or private recommendation circles, you needed to stay close to Chang'an.
If you wanted to submit portfolios, visit influential figures, flatter examiners, or simply participate in the examination process itself, then remaining out in the rural provinces became a massive disadvantage.
The closer you were to power, the greater your chances of success.
Driven by this absolute necessity, the behavior of the Tang elite mutated in three very specific ways.
They became Centralized, Urbanized, and entirely Demilitarized.
Let us compare this to the aristocratic clans of the Han and Jin dynasties.
The great clans of those earlier eras typically operated through what could be called a "Two-Residence Strategy."
First, they maintained enormous fortified estates in their home regions.
These were not simple mansions.
They were practically self-contained kingdoms.
The estates controlled vast amounts of farmland, huge populations of tenant farmers, private armed retainers known as buqu, and generations of loyal dependents tied to the clan through blood, employment, or survival itself.
This rural power base served as the true economic and military foundation of the clan.
Then, using the wealth extracted from those regional strongholds, the clan purchased a second residence inside the imperial capital.
That was where they entered politics.
One residence generated power.
The other converted that power into influence at court.
For the aristocratic elites of the Han and Jin periods, their regional estates were the true backbone of their strength.
As long as those local strongholds remained intact, the clan itself could survive almost any political storm inside the capital.
But the aristocratic clans of the Tang Dynasty faced a different environment.
Their priority was no longer maintaining private armies in the countryside.
Their priority was winning the Imperial Examination.
And to win the examination game, they gradually abandoned their old rural foundations and migrated toward the empire's political center.
Generation after generation, wealth, scholars, and elite families poured into the highly developed corridor between Chang'an and Luoyang.
Because that was where the opportunities existed.
That was where the examiners lived.
That was where the banquets, recommendations, literary gatherings, and political networks operated.
Over time, the old aristocratic clans slowly transformed.
The powerful regional magnates of the Han and Jin eras evolved into urban political elites dependent upon the central bureaucracy itself.
And the process accelerated even further because of another long-standing political rule inherited from the Northern and Southern Dynasties.
Officials were forbidden from governing their own home regions.
If a clan originated from Shandong, then the court would deliberately assign its officials everywhere except Shandong.
The policy was designed to weaken local favoritism and prevent provincial separatism.
And ironically, it worked a little too well.
Because the aristocratic clans spent generation after generation living in the capital while serving in distant provinces, they gradually lost direct control over their ancestral rural power bases.
The countryside stopped being the true center of their lives.
The wealthy urban corridor between Chang'an and Luoyang became their real home instead.
And once the aristocratic clans lost their deep roots in the countryside, the balance of power began shifting even faster.
During the late Tang period, the government's Equal-Field system gradually collapsed altogether.
The old military structure, which had relied heavily on conscripted farming households, also began falling apart. In its place rose a far more expensive system built around paid professional soldiers and regional military forces.
At the same time, ordinary peasants slowly gained a little more freedom of movement than before.
And the moment people realized they actually had alternatives, the old aristocratic estates immediately started bleeding manpower.
Tenant farmers fled.
Indentured servants disappeared.
Dependent households quietly packed their belongings and left in search of better opportunities elsewhere.
The giant rural estates that once supported the aristocratic clans slowly began hollowing out from within.
And without land-bound populations tied permanently to them, the private clan forces that had once dominated the Han and Jin periods gradually vanished as well.
The aristocratic elites of the Tang still possessed wealth, prestige, education, and political influence.
But the old foundation of personal military power in the countryside was already disappearing beneath their feet.
And this was the final, fatal weakness created by the Tang aristocrats' complete urbanization.
Over generations, the great clans had gradually abandoned their dispersed regional strongholds and concentrated themselves almost entirely within the political heart of the empire.
They gathered around Chang'an and Luoyang.
They built luxurious residences near the centers of power.
They devoted themselves to examinations, literary prestige, official careers, and court politics.
And in doing so, they unknowingly transformed themselves into the perfect target.
Because when Huang Chao's rebel army eventually broke through the gates of Chang'an, he did not need to spend years hunting powerful clans across countless provinces.
The aristocratic elites had already gathered themselves neatly inside one giant cage.
Huang Chao simply closed the door.
Worse still, the Tang aristocrats no longer resembled the heavily militarized great clans of the Han and Jin eras.
Centuries earlier, their ancestors maintained private armies, fortified estates, and armed retainers.
But after generations spent immersed in urban luxury and civil bureaucracy, those old martial foundations had largely disappeared.
The swords of their ancestors had long since been exchanged for poetry scrolls, examination essays, and calligraphy brushes.
So when the rebellion finally arrived at their doorstep, they possessed wealth, culture, and prestige...
...but almost no ability to defend themselves.
What followed was not a war.
It was a massacre.
From the broader perspective of history, the tragedy almost feels absurd.
Again and again, these powerful aristocratic elites marched enthusiastically toward the very disasters that would eventually destroy them.
Centuries passed.
Dynasties rose and fell.
Yet the pattern never truly changed.
As the saying goes, a dog can never stop eating filth.
From barbarian warlords like Liu Yuan and Shi Le, to usurpers such as Liu Yu and Hou Jing, all the way to catastrophic figures like Huang Chao and Zhu Wen...
Every one of these so-called "gravediggers of dynasties" was, in one way or another, forged by the suffocating greed and political monopolies of the aristocratic elites themselves.
The more the great clans tightened their grip on land, opportunity, education, and power, the more they pushed desperate, ambitious, and furious men toward rebellion.
In an extremely twisted and darkly hilarious way, the aristocratic clans honestly should have sent Huang Chao a thank-you letter from the afterlife.
After all, for centuries these people treated the empire like a private family business. They monopolized offices, monopolized education, monopolized marriage alliances, monopolized political influence, and practically monopolized the air itself.
And then Huang Chao arrived with a sword and solved the problem permanently.
No more elite surnames.
No more prestigious ancestral pedigrees.
No more "our clan has produced thirteen prime ministers across seven generations."
Everybody became equally flammable.
As one wonderfully unhinged piece of street poetry from the late Tang perfectly put it:
'Why should common folk fear Huang Chao? Once the rebel army enters the city, nobles and peasants alike all get tossed into the same boiling pot!'
Honestly, from the perspective of starving peasants, that probably sounded less like a threat and more like the fairest policy proposal the Tang government had produced in years.]