Ma Chao's dream of charging headlong into the modao formation never came to pass.
Jian Yong saw what was about to happen and felt his soul leave his body for a brief moment.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no. What fresh idiocy is this?
He had watched Ma Chao's eyes light up like a child seeing a new toy. He had seen Zhang Fei's grin spread across his face like a man who had just found a kindred spirit. And he had realized, with dawning horror, that these two battle-crazed lunatics were actually about to do it.
Let me test your new weapons by charging at them with real horses. Yes, that is a brilliant idea. Truly genius. Why waste time with simulations or practice dummies when you can just kill each other directly?
And who is going to explain this to Liu Bei?
"My lord, I am sorry to inform you that your Administrator of Hanzhong and your Marquis of Yongzhou have both died in a training exercise. They charged at each other. With real weapons. On purpose."
He shuddered.
Cao Cao is sitting in Chang'an doing absolutely nothing right now. Why do they not go test their new weapons on him? He has armies. He has soldiers. He is the actual enemy. But no. No, that would be too sensible. Instead, they want to see if the blades are sharp by slicing through each other's cavalry.
Jian Yong moved quickly.
He stepped between them, raised his hands, and started talking before either of them could act. His voice was calm, measured, and carrying exactly the right amount of reason to cut through their collective insanity.
To his immense relief, Ma Chao actually listened.
Zhang Fei watched the entire exchange with an expression he rarely wore. It was the look of a man witnessing something he had not thought possible.
Ma Chao was actually listening to someone.
Not only listening, but allowing himself to be talked out of an objectively terrible idea by a civilian advisor he had known for less than a year.
Did Han Sui hit Ma Teng's son too hard in the head? Is his brain no longer functioning normally?
The thought surprised Zhang Fei enough that he almost laughed aloud. The more he considered it, the stranger it seemed. Ma Chao probably had not listened to Ma Teng this obediently. The father could barely get the son to sit still for a meal, let alone talk him out of a fight.
He decided not to dwell on it.
Instead, he carefully put the modao away. Pang Tong had been right. At the moment, each blade was worth more than most of the soldiers carrying it. If Ma Chao had actually charged and gotten himself killed, the diplomatic fallout would have been catastrophic.
Jian Yong let out a slow breath, his heart still pounding.
That was close. Too close.
Next time, I am locking both of them in separate rooms before they get any ideas.
Han Sui, meanwhile, had lost interest the moment Ma Chao and Zhang Fei canceled their impromptu duel. But he had still received the message loud and clear.
The modao was one signal.
Ma Chao standing openly on Zhang Fei's side was another.
Together, they had done what threats and arguments could not. Han Sui no longer had much appetite for continued resistance.
Accepting that he was being pushed out of Yongzhou was one thing, however. Accepting the terms of that departure was something else entirely.
On that point, he refused to yield an inch.
Oddly enough, once Han Sui accepted the basic reality of his situation, he became much easier to negotiate with. He knew how to bargain from a position of weakness. Decades of surviving frontier politics had taught him exactly when to bend and exactly when to stand firm.
"If you expect me to fulfill the duties of General Who Conquers the West," Han Sui said, leaning forward across the table, "then I assume you intend to support me properly, right? The court always provided grain, supplies, and reinforcements when I acted on its behalf. I am not doing charity work or volunteering here."
Ma Chao's hand had already started drifting toward his sword when Pang Tong calmly intervened.
"General Han Wenyue, perhaps you should take a look at this map of the Hexi region."
A sheet of paper, white as fresh snow, was unrolled across the table.
Han Sui frowned slightly. Then he picked it up. He rubbed it between his fingers. Held it closer. Even gave it a cautious sniff.
Paper of this quality was not something one encountered often on the frontier. Most official documents arrived on rough stock that threatened to tear if handled too enthusiastically.
"Excellent paper," Han Sui remarked with genuine appreciation. "I will take a thousand sheets."
Living on the frontier for three decades had given him a practical understanding of Han-Hu trade.
The principle was simple: everyone wanted what they could not produce themselves.
The modao was another matter. Giving one of those away meant spending the rest of your life wondering whether the recipient intended to use it on you.
Fine paper carried no such risks.
Fine paper was pure profit.
Pang Tong tapped the table lightly with his small leather shield.
"Han Wenyue of Liangzhou, famous for his perfect strategy and caution when doing anything, and yet you admire the box while ignoring the treasure inside."
Han Sui chuckled and finally turned his attention to the map itself.
He studied it for several moments before his brow furrowed.
"This is the region around Qinghai Lake?"
Thirty years spent riding across Yongzhou and Liangzhou had given him a reliable mental map of the frontier.
He knew Jincheng. He knew that Xiping lay west of it. He knew that beyond Xiping stood Qinghai Lake.
None of that surprised him.
What did surprise him was everything beyond it.
The territory west of Qinghai Lake appeared in greater detail than any map he had ever seen. Mountain ranges were marked with remarkable precision. Rivers, valleys, and passes were all clearly recorded.
In the southwestern corner of the map stood a mountain range.
Beyond it sat a small lake.
Chaka Salt Lake.
Without any visible transition, Pang Tong became the most patient man in the room.
He walked Han Sui through the terrain piece by piece, explaining distances, routes, water sources, and supply considerations. Every question received an answer. Every uncertainty received a calculation.
Then he made an offer.
If salt could be extracted from the lake and transported back to Hanzhong, it would command an excellent price. Not merely profitable. Profitable enough to sustain an army.
Han Sui's eyes narrowed.
Pang Tong continued.
Using Qinghai Lake as a reference point, he traced a line northward with one finger.
"North takes you back into Liangzhou, territory you know better than anyone. The Xianbei tribes in Hexi continue to cause trouble. Suppressing them would be the sort of achievement that earns a marquisate."
His finger tapped the map.
"A real marquisate. Land. Revenue. Prestige."
Han Sui's expression remained carefully neutral, but his attention was now fully engaged.
Pang Tong drew a second line, angling northwest.
"This route is more difficult, but it leads directly toward Dunhuang."
His finger followed the path.
"If you reopen it, you will be restoring Han authority over territory long neglected. That is the sort of accomplishment that survives its author. Histories remember men who expand the frontier."
A faint smile appeared at the corner of Pang Tong's mouth.
"They may even place your name alongside the great pioneers of the Western Regions."
Now Han Sui was genuinely considering it.
His finger moved slowly across the map, tracing roads and river valleys, measuring distances in his head, testing possibilities.
Pang Tong added one more, his voice dropping slightly.
"South of Qinghai Lake, through a mountain pass and then west, there is a thousand li of fertile land with the potential to sustain its own domain. If it comes under Han control, the achievement stands alongside Wei Qing and Huo Qubing. Your own temple. Your own shrine. Generations of descendants will burn incense in your honor."
The negotiation did not last much longer after that. Han Sui left with the map in his hands and a great deal on his mind. His guards fell in behind him, and his banners disappeared into the distance.
Zhang Fei waited until Han Sui was out of earshot and then immediately descended on Pang Tong.
"Shiyuan, do you think Han Wenyue will actually believe that map?"
Pang Tong smiled. "Qinghai Lake is not that far. Once he gets there and finds the Chaka Salt Lake that later generations wrote about, he will believe the rest. People believe what they see with their own eyes."
"And which route do you think he will actually take?"
Pang Tong considered the question, turning it over in his mind like a puzzle piece.
"Any of them works for us," he said finally, "as long as he supplies horses. Liangzhou is wealthy but full of Qiang and Xianbei problems. He will spend years just securing that region. Dunhuang means dealing with Kucha, Yanqi, and Cheshi, all of which will resist him. The only territory on that map with rich water and grass and no serious enemies is the one where the Tibetan people originated."
He paused, letting the words land.
"Han Wenyue has always been ambitious. He will find his moment and try to carve out something for himself. A legacy. A new kingdom. Whatever name he chooses to give it."
Zhang Fei stared at him. The silence stretched.
"Shiyuan," Zhang Fei said slowly, "are you not worried that Han Wenyue is going to end up as the founding ancestor of Tibet?"
Pang Tong's smile widened, just a fraction.
"Do you think altitude sickness is easy to survive? Those mountains are higher than anything in the Central Plains. The air is thin. The cold is bitter. He will struggle just to keep his men alive." He paused. "Besides, the map is rough. I am really just sending someone to explore on our behalf. If he succeeds, we benefit. If he fails, we lose nothing."
Pang Tong paused and looked back at the retreating figures of Han Sui's party.
"Han Sui does not care about the son he left in Yecheng. That boy was never more than a hostage to him. But Yan Xing cares very much about the parents he left there. That is the difference between them. Han Sui is a survivor. Yan Xing is a man with a heart."
He turned back to Zhang Fei.
"Within two years, his faction will fall apart on its own. Yan Xing will demand action that Han Sui is not willing to take. The men will choose sides. And the whole thing will collapse without us having to lift a finger."
Zhang Fei shook his head slowly, a grin spreading across his face.
Zhang Fei shook his head slowly, a grin spreading across his face.
"Shiyuan, you are truly black-bellied."
Then after a beat:
"But that is why you are good at your job."
---
Thousands of li away, in another timeline, a very different conversation was unfolding within the Taiji Hall of Chang'an.
Li Chengqian stood quietly beside the Tang emperor, watching as his father once again lingered before a map, lost in thought.
In years past, Li Chengqian would have lowered his head and waited in silence, hands folded neatly before him, even if that silence lasted for an hour or more. Patience had been drilled into him through countless afternoons spent standing motionless while his father studied reports, maps, and memorials.
Lately, however, something had changed.
The pressure that had once weighed constantly on his shoulders had eased. Every few days, Li Shimin would personally take him and his brothers riding, teaching them the horsemanship and martial skills that had helped build the Tang dynasty.
It was a small change, but Li Chengqian felt it.
And so, for perhaps the first time in his life, he gathered enough courage to speak first.
"Father, what are you looking at?"
Li Shimin let out a slow breath without taking his eyes from the map.
"The Tang."
After a moment, he added, his voice gentler than it once would have been:
"There is no one else here. You do not need to stand so stiffly."
Then he glanced at the map and found the courage to continue. His mother had mentioned it before, after all. "Father, you have been looking at the place marked Tibet for quite a while."
Li Shimin blinked. Something in his expression softened further, and he nodded slowly. "It is the Tang's greatest future enemy."
A faint chill ran through Li Chengqian. The last time his father had spoken in those terms, he had been talking about the Turks. And the Turks had been broken, their khagan captured, their power shattered into dust.
Two years earlier, his father had asked him a question. The Turks are the Tang's greatest enemy. What should be done? Li Chengqian had answered as best he could, desperately searching his memory for something intelligent to say. He no longer remembered the words themselves. What he remembered was his father's expression afterward. The brief silence. The disappointment. The quiet sigh. Even now, the memory still stung.
Standing here, he felt the same pressure settling onto his shoulders again.
Before he could begin worrying himself into silence, Li Shimin spoke. "Nothing this afternoon. Go find Qingque and tell him." A faint smile appeared on his face. "I will take the two of you riding."
Qingque was the childhood name of Prince Tai, only a year younger than Li Chengqian. Li Chengqian's eyes widened, and then a grin spread across his face. He let out a small cheer. For a moment he was not the Crown Prince of the Tang. He was simply a boy who had unexpectedly escaped an afternoon of study.
Then he hesitated. Carefully, he added, "Father... can we bring Ernü as well?"
"Who is Ernü?" Li Shimin asked, genuinely puzzled for a moment. Then he remembered. His wife had mentioned the child before. The second daughter of the Wu family. The future Wu Zetian.
Instinctively, Li Shimin almost shook his head. The girl was still a child, a palace attendant. She had no obvious reason to accompany imperial princes on a riding excursion.
But before he could answer, Li Chengqian hurried to explain. Ernü had entered the palace very young. She missed her family. She seemed lonely sometimes. And she liked watching the horses. He only thought she might enjoy coming along.
Li Shimin studied his eldest son for a moment. The boy's reasoning was simple. Kindness often was. A faint warmth touched his expression. "You misunderstand," he said. "I was thinking about something else." Then he nodded. "Wu Mei may come."
Li Chengqian's face lit up immediately.
Not long afterward, one emperor, two princes, and a small, unofficial guest made their way through the rear gardens toward a riding enclosure that had recently been prepared beyond the palace grounds. At Li Shimin's instruction, several young horses had been brought in for the princes and princesses to train with.
As they walked through the gardens, they passed a group of palace workers carefully uprooting a row of trees. New saplings were being planted in their place. Li Chengqian glanced at them curiously. "Father, why are they replacing those trees?"
Li Shimin looked over. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the freshly turned earth. Then he answered simply, "They grow better."
The response seemed straightforward enough. Yet as Li Shimin continued walking, his thoughts drifted back to the map in Taiji Hall, back to Tibet, back to the future. Some trees had to be planted before anyone else understood why.
Before Li Shimin could ask, Li Tai jumped in, his young voice brimming with excitement. "I know! Mother said Doctor Sun told her to plant them. They are called hawthorn trees. They are for Father's health!"
Ah.
Li Shimin felt a quiet sense of resignation settle over him. The candied hawthorns from the light screen had certainly looked tempting enough, but it was only the fifth month. The fruit would not ripen for many months yet.
He was going to have to wait. Patiently. Painfully patiently. The sort of patience that involved staring at trees and willing them to grow faster through sheer imperial willpower.
After that light screen session, he had ordered the imperial kitchens to experiment with candied versions of whatever fruits were currently in season. He had also instructed the palace confectioners to recreate the decorative sugar figures they had seen displayed in that strange future world.
The results had been a tremendous success. The younger princes and princesses had delighted in them for days, and Li Shimin had even sent boxes to several trusted officials whose children were still young.
Li Shimin himself, however, had not eaten a single piece.
Sun Simiao had made his position abundantly clear. For Li Shimin, refined cane sugar was something to be approached with the same caution one might reserve for arsenic. A little mixed into food as seasoning was acceptable. Anything beyond that was strictly forbidden.
The physician had even produced charts and diagrams to explain precisely why. It had been a deeply undignified experience for an emperor to sit through.
Worse, the list of prohibited foods seemed to grow longer every month. First sugar. Then excess meat. Then rich sauces. Then late-night snacks. Li Shimin was beginning to suspect that Sun Simiao was simply inventing new restrictions to keep him miserable.
These days, Li Shimin occasionally found himself thinking that perhaps fifty years was not such a terrible lifespan after all. At least the version of himself from the original timeline had apparently eaten as much lamb as he pleased. The current version was permitted lamb once a month. Once. A month.
It was difficult not to view this as a personal injustice.
The grievance lingered all afternoon. It survived the riding lesson. It survived the evening memorials. It even survived the walk back to his quarters.
By the time dinner arrived, Li Shimin was still mildly offended by the entire situation.
The children ate together elsewhere in the palace. Li Shimin and his empress dined separately, as they usually did.
The moment they sat down, Empress Zhangsun gave Li Shimin a mildly reproachful look.
"I heard Wu Mei was riding horses this afternoon as well."
Li Shimin spread his hands in a faintly helpless gesture. "I was busy watching Qingque to make sure he did not fall off his foal. I did not notice the little Wu girl slip into the stables. By the time I looked up, she had already made it halfway around the track."
Empress Zhangsun pressed her fingers to her temple. "Do not bring her next time. If she falls and something happens, that will not be easy to explain. Her family is not without influence."
Li Shimin looked entirely untroubled as he reached for his cup. "Wu Mei rides well." He considered it for a moment. "She might make a fine second female general of the Tang."
The first, of course, being his elder sister, Princess Pingyang, who had led armies during the dynasty's founding.
It was the sort of thing said over dinner and not meant entirely seriously. The Tang was no longer in its founding years. Competition among the empire's generals was already fierce enough. Even if a woman possessed the ability, there was little room for her to rise through a military establishment crowded with ambitious men who had earned their ranks in war and had no intention of surrendering them.
Beneath the joke, however, Li Shimin was thinking of something else.
If Wu Mei, the little girl who had snuck into the stables that afternoon, truly did one day ascend the throne as Wu Zetian, future historians would almost certainly record today's unauthorized ride as some grand omen of destiny. They would sift through every detail of her childhood, searching for signs that the future had already announced itself.
The conversation drifted elsewhere, and the dishes began to arrive.
Empress Zhangsun looked at the fish placed before them and blinked in surprise.
Across the table, the Tang emperor wore the unmistakable expression of a man who was very pleased with himself.
The restriction on sugar was real. Sun Simiao's orders had been perfectly clear. But Li Shimin was an emperor, and emperors possessed resources that ordinary patients did not.
Several days earlier, the imperial kitchens had received a special commission: develop new dishes using fish and cane sugar. The instructions had been remarkably direct.
The result now sitting before them was sweet-and-sour fish.
Li Shimin immediately picked up his chopsticks and helped himself to a piece. He was fully prepared to admire his own ingenuity.
Empress Zhangsun tasted it as well. The flavor was genuinely excellent. Sweet without being cloying, tart without being sharp, with a clean finish that lingered pleasantly. She chewed thoughtfully.
The amount of sugar involved was clearly somewhat beyond what Sun Simiao had envisioned.
Quietly, she made a mental note to mention this development to the physician at the next opportunity. Protecting her husband's health occasionally required protecting him from his own creativity.
For Li Shimin, however, the dish restored something he had been missing. There was the simple pleasure of sweetness on the tongue, but there was also the satisfaction of having found a loophole in the physician's restrictions. Together, the two were enough to keep him in an unusually good mood well into the following morning.
When Yan Lide arrived for his scheduled audience, he immediately noticed the difference.
That was a relief.
Ever since extracting the armor records shown during the light screen's coverage of the Battle of Talas, Yan Lide had been working steadily, studying every diagram and specification while consulting the finest craftsmen in Chang'an. Only now did he finally feel confident enough to request an imperial inspection of the results.
The Bureau of Works could not properly demonstrate the equipment indoors, so the party made its way through the rear garden to a cleared field where the Qianniu Guards had already established a perimeter. No unauthorized personnel were allowed anywhere near the test area. The guards stood at attention, their expressions solemn and unreadable.
At Yan Lide's signal, the craftsmen brought out the armor and summoned five riders forward.
Fitting everything took some time. Pieces went on one by one, first onto the horses and then onto the men. Straps were tightened. Buckles were checked. Adjustments were made and checked again. The craftsmen worked with the quiet efficiency of people who knew exactly what they were doing, their movements practiced and precise.
As more armor was added, Li Shimin's pleasant expression gradually disappeared. What replaced it was not displeasure. It was focus. The sharp, intent look of a hunter who had just spotted something worth pursuing.
Li Shimin understood heavy cavalry at a level few men ever would. The Xuanjia Army that helped found the Tang had been heavy cavalry in all but name, lacking only true horse armor. He had led those charges himself. He remembered the thunder of hooves beneath him, the violent impact of contact, the way entire enemy formations seemed to collapse under the weight of momentum.
What stood before him now was something else entirely. The armor was better designed. Coverage was more complete. Vulnerable gaps had been reduced. The articulation around the joints was noticeably superior. Most importantly, the horse armor, adapted from the examples shown on the light screen, solved many of the weaknesses the old Xuanjia configuration had simply accepted as unavoidable.
This was an improvement in every meaningful respect.
Li Shimin stepped forward for a closer look. His eyes were bright. He examined the riders carefully, then the horses, then the way armor and mount moved together as a single system.
A thousand riders equipped like this could decide a battle before the enemy fully understood what was happening. The physical impact would be devastating. The psychological impact might be even worse. An army watching these riders advance would not just be facing cavalry. They would be facing something that looked almost unstoppable.
Li Shimin slowly circled the formation, hands clasped behind his back. Someone, somewhere beyond Tang borders, was eventually going to have the distinct honor of experiencing this from the wrong side.
The thought put him in an excellent mood.
He surveyed the armored riders standing before him and found himself genuinely curious. Which of his neighbors, he wondered, would be unlucky enough to earn that distinction first?