Liu Bei sat in silence for a moment, feeling a rare pang of regret.
More specifically, he regretted leaving his sword outside before entering.
"Yide, Zilong is your brother too. You are being very stingy. I think you need a lesson. A few good hits so you never forget. Right?"
He glanced toward the door. "Someone, please bring my sword inside..."
Then he paused. "Wait. No need."
His gaze drifted across the government office before settling on the far wall. Hanging there was an exquisitely crafted ceremonial sword. It was decorative, sure, but it looked sharp enough to satisfy him. And more importantly, sharp enough to beat some sense into Zhang Fei. Most importantly, it was well within reach.
Just as Liu Bei began to walk toward it, Zhang Fei suddenly sprang to his feet.
"Wait, big brother! Zilong and I are truly brothers of the heart!" Zhang Fei declared, slamming a hand onto Zhao Yun's shoulder hard enough to make the usually composed Zhao Yun flinch. "No worry, Zilong. As for building the greatest cavalry under heaven, you have my full support!"
He turned to Zhao Yun with a wide grin. "Right, Zilong?"
Zhao Yun, still rubbing his shoulder, gave a polite nod. "Thank you, Yide."
Liu Bei slowly let out a breath and abandoned all thoughts of the sword. Convenient. Very convenient. The moment I reach for a weapon, suddenly he remembers brotherhood.
He settled back onto his woven mat and watched as his third brother dragged the usually composed Zhao Yun into an intense discussion. Within moments, the two were whispering excitedly about horse breeding, saddle designs, and various ways to make cavalry armor heavier without making the horses file complaints.
Liu Bei wisely chose not to involve himself.
Instead, he turned his attention back to the Light Screen floating above the courtyard. One particular detail from the broadcast had captured his interest.
Gaochang.
According to the Light Screen, that remote desert kingdom had broken away, established its own royal line, and survived for more than a century across nine generations of rulers.
The more Liu Bei thought about it, the more intriguing it became. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. A tiny state tucked away in the middle of the desert had managed to stand on its own for over a hundred years. If Gaochang could accomplish that, then the political environment of the Western Regions must be remarkably accommodating.
At the very least, it sounded far friendlier than trying to negotiate with Cao Cao.
Liu Bei's thoughts drifted westward. He imagined endless golden dunes stretching beneath a vast sky. Caravans crossed the horizon, kingdoms rose and fell beyond the passes, and opportunities waited for those bold enough to seize them.
For reasons he could not quite explain, the distant lands of the Western Regions suddenly seemed very appealing. A strange longing stirred in his chest.
Somewhere deep inside, a voice quietly whispered:
If a desert kingdom could last a hundred years, surely a descendant of the Han could manage at least that much.
---
Inside the vast Ganlu Hall of the Great Tang, the atmosphere was unusually serious.
Yan Lide and his younger brother, Yan Liben, were working at full speed. Their brushes moved nonstop across sheets of fine parchment as they copied every detail of the horseshoe diagrams displayed on the Light Screen.
After finishing another sketch, Yan Lide set down his brush and examined the result.
"Forging the horseshoes themselves is not difficult," he said after a moment. "The real problem is the nails."
Several officials nearby nodded in agreement.
As Minister of Public Works, Yan Lide was already somewhat familiar with the concept. Among merchants, caravan operators, and certain frontier communities, primitive iron horse shoes had existed for some time. The issue was never whether they worked. The issue was whether anyone could use them on a large scale.
The Light Screen had accurately identified the biggest obstacles.
First came the weather. During winter, horses fitted with flat iron plates could easily lose their footing on snow and ice. A fallen horse often meant a broken leg. A broken warhorse usually meant a furious cavalryman filing complaints at high volume.
Second came the cost. The specialized nails were far more troublesome than the horseshoes themselves. If blacksmiths charged too much, ordinary people could not afford them. If they charged too little, the work was barely worth the effort. After all, spending an entire day hammering thousands of tiny nails was hardly anyone's idea of a prosperous career.
Seeing Li Shimin deep in thought, Yan Lide stepped forward.
"Your Majesty, if the court intends to equip the imperial cavalry with horseshoes, we cannot depend on local markets," he said. "The court must establish dedicated workshops specifically for producing these nails."
Li Shimin remained silent. He was doing the mental math. A moment later, the Emperor of the Great Tang felt a slight ache forming behind his eyes.
According to the diagrams on the heavenly screen, a single horseshoe required an absolute minimum of three nails to remain secure. The heavy-duty variants utilized up to eight interlocking nails.
Equipping a standard vanguard unit of four thousand cavalrymen meant shoeing sixteen thousand hooves. At a conservative estimate, that required roughly fifty thousand specialized nails just for one deployment. That was not a minor procurement order. That was a staggering industrial undertaking.
Li Shimin raised his hand and pointed directly at two of his most trusted men.
"When this broadcast concludes, Lide and Yaoshi will remain here," Li Shimin ordered, using Li Jing's courtesy name. "We are going to sit down and figure out exactly how to manufacture these nails."
Standing off to the side, Hou Junji felt a sudden, sharp sting of rejection.
He was a decorated general. He was a core military strategist. He had just conquered Gaochang. Well, he would conquer it. Eventually. In the future. The Light Screen had already confirmed it.
Could the Emperor not show the main character of the Gaochang conquest a tiny bit of professional respect?
[Lightscreen]
[For the Tang, destroying Gaochang was almost incidental. The real question came after: how to govern it?
The court split into two camps.
Wei Zheng, Chu Suiliang, and several senior officials argued for Xichang Prefecture.
Li Shimin argued for Xi Prefecture.
One character difference. Completely different meaning.
In the Tang administrative system, a two-character prefecture name indicated a Jimi Prefecture, an autonomous zone. The term "jimi" literally means "halter and bridle." The central government acknowledged local rulers, granted titles, and let them handle their own affairs. As long as they paid nominal tribute and stayed loyal on paper, Chang'an left them alone.
In a Jimi Prefecture, local leaders appointed their own officials. They collected their own taxes. They managed their own finances. They maintained substantial political autonomy. The imperial court received reports, but actual control remained local.
A single-character prefecture meant direct imperial administration. Chang'an appointed the officials. Chang'an collected the taxes. Chang'an enforced the laws. Chang'an stationed the troops.
The territory belonged to the empire in more than just name.
The debate dragged on for two months. It was only resolved when Hou Junji was arrested and thrown into prison as part of a major treason case. With one of the most influential voices removed from the political stage, Li Shimin finally pushed through his preferred decision.
Xi Prefecture. Direct rule. No compromises.
Wei Zheng and Chu Suiliang were genuinely puzzled. The Jimi system was not a radical experiment. It was a time-tested frontier policy inherited from the Han Dynasty and proven effective over generations.
More importantly, Li Shimin had never shown strong opposition to the concept before. He often appreciated the convenience of letting local elites handle their own problems.
So why was he suddenly so determined to keep Gaochang under direct control? Why did he fight a two-month political battle over a single character?
The answer lies one year earlier. Before Gaochang fell. Before the debate began.
A treason case erupted within the Tang Empire. And that case left a deep enough impression on Li Shimin to permanently change how he viewed power, loyalty, and control. ]
The hall fell into a brief silence as the Light Screen's words settled.
Then, almost as one, every pair of eyes in Ganlu Hall turned toward Hou Junji.
Even Fang Xuanling, a man famous for his composure, found himself staring at the veteran general with renewed curiosity.
So the Duke of Liguo was not even the first person to commit treason in this story?
The uprisings of Li Xiaochang and Luo Yi in the first year of Zhenguan were generally dismissed as leftovers from the Wude era. They did not count.
Hou Junji, however, did not have time for historical analysis. His survival instincts had already taken over. He could feel the weight of every gaze in the room pressing down on him.
Why are they all looking at me? I have not done anything yet. Well, I have not done anything yet in this timeline. The Light Screen said I get arrested later. Later. Not now. Why are they looking at me now?
His mouth moved before his brain could catch up.
"It must be that this subject failed to follow imperial orders and lacked control over his subordinates!" Hou Junji blurted out, practically leaping forward. "That must be the cause of this outcome!"
He did not wait for the specifics. He was pre-confessing. Whatever the crime turned out to be, those two charges were flexible enough to cover almost anything.
Arrogance. Lack of discipline. Those can mean anything. I am covered.
Li Shimin looked down at his panicked general with an expression that was difficult to read. A faint amusement flickered in his eyes, but he kept his voice perfectly level.
"The later generations record that when you breached Gaochang, you led your troops on a killing spree and looting," Li Shimin said slowly. "And that you handled the Gaochang nobility according to your own judgment without authorization."
Cold sweat appeared on Hou Junji's forehead with remarkable speed. He could feel it trickling down the sides of his face.
Looting? Executing nobles? That is not... I mean, I have not done that yet. But apparently I will.
Now he understood why his triumphant return to Chang'an had felt so strange. The cold stares. The sudden distance from his old colleagues. The prison cell waiting for him.
"This subject was arrogant and undisciplined!" Hou Junji cried out, preparing to drop to his knees. "The punishment would be fully deserved!"
Before his knees could hit the floor, Li Shimin reached out and caught his arm, pulling him back up with surprising strength.
"Wait until you have actually done it," the emperor said calmly. "Then we can discuss your punishment."
Hou Junji let out a ragged breath and scrambled backward, offering a deep bow.
"This subject will remember this warning every single day," he promised, his voice still trembling slightly.
I will. I will definitely remember. Every day. Multiple times a day. I will carve it into my bones if I have to.
Standing near the archival desks, Du Ruhui noticed the corner of his own mouth twitching. He bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a highly unprofessional laugh and quickly redirected the conversation back to analysis.
"The Light Screen connected these events together and said this is what caused His Majesty to abandon the jimi approach," Du Ruhui said, his tone carefully neutral. "That means the traitor must have been someone under Tang jimi governance."
He paused, letting the logic sink in. "The betrayal poisoned His Majesty's trust in the entire system."
Li Shimin slapped his hand against his thigh with a sharp crack.
"It must be a Turk," the emperor declared with absolute certainty.
There was no hesitation in his voice. No room for doubt. In his current worldview, the Hu peoples were the type that later generations described as people who could not appreciate kindness. Give them an inch, and they tried to take the whole empire. And among them, the Turks were the undisputed champions.
I gave them land. I gave them titles. I gave them homes in Chang'an. And they repaid me with knives aimed at my throat.
Li Shimin's eyes narrowed.
Let us see what this treason case was really about.
[Lightscreen]
[After the legendary Tang general Li Jing captured Illig Qaghan and escorted him back to Chang'an, the Eastern Turkic Khaganate effectively collapsed overnight.
Its great banner fell. Its tribes scattered. Its surviving leaders suddenly found themselves facing a very uncomfortable question: what now?
Among the remaining Turkic Khans, two figures stand out in particular.
The first was Ashina She'er.
At the time, he was responsible for guarding the western frontier of the Eastern Turks. When news arrived that Illig Qaghan had been captured by the Tang, Ashina She'er took one look at the situation and reached a highly professional military assessment.
"We are finished."
Rather than wait for events to develop further, he immediately packed up and headed west. Very far west.
After arriving in the Western Regions, Ashina She'er proved that his survival instincts were matched by genuine talent. He successfully seized a large portion of Western Turk territory and declared himself Dubu Khan.
For the next two years, life was good. He had territory. He had troops. He had a shiny new title. Most importantly, nobody was trying to capture him.
Then he remembered something. The Xueyantuo. The tribe that had helped destroy the Eastern Turkic Khaganate. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
Eventually, Dubu Khan arrived at a simple conclusion.
"I may not be able to defeat the Great Tang. But surely I can defeat those guys."
History would later record this as an extremely optimistic assessment.
Dubu Khan gathered a massive army and marched against the Xueyantuo. The result was immediate. And catastrophic. The Xueyantuo proceeded to beat him so thoroughly that even the history books seemed slightly embarrassed on his behalf.
After limping home with the remnants of his forces, Dubu Khan entered a period of deep reflection. He examined his life choices. He examined his military decisions. He examined the general direction in which fate had been kicking him.
Then, at last, enlightenment arrived.
Looking toward the east, he reached a life-changing realization.
"I refuse to be a barbarian anymore."
As the old saying goes, once the idea of joining the Great Tang enters your mind, the road ahead suddenly becomes much wider.
In the ninth year of Zhenguan, Ashina She'er led his people to submit to the Tang Empire.
From that point onward, his career took a dramatic turn. He participated in the campaign against Gaochang. He helped stabilize the Western Regions. He fought in the grueling wars against Goguryeo. Wherever the Tang banners advanced, Ashina She'er was often found charging somewhere near the front.
Over the years, he accumulated enough military achievements to make most generals extremely jealous.
Most importantly, he eventually served under the famous Li Shiji during the final destruction of the Xueyantuo. After years of waiting, he finally got his revenge. And unlike his previous attempt, this time he was standing on the winning side.
Ashina She'er ultimately retired with the rank of Grand General and the title of Duke. His journey had begun as a fleeing Khan desperately escaping the collapse of his homeland. It ended with him becoming one of the most accomplished commanders of the Great Tang.
Not bad for a man whose original plan had been "run first and figure everything else out later."]
Li Jing stroked his beard, genuine admiration appearing on his face.
"This Dubu Khan possesses a remarkably adaptable mind."
He looked toward the Light Screen and continued, "When we eliminated the remnants of the Eastern Turks, intelligence reports said he had fled westward. At the time, I assumed the Western Turks would eventually corner him and put an end to his ambitions. I never imagined his story would unfold like this."
Even Li Jing found the man's life astonishing. Dubu Khan had begun as a defeated commander serving a collapsing state. After fleeing into the Western Regions, he managed to carve out a kingdom for himself and rule as a Khan. Then, at the height of his power, he abandoned that crown, joined the Tang, and eventually earned the title of Duke through his military accomplishments.
Few people could achieve one extraordinary feat in a lifetime. This man had somehow collected several.
"It seems Maogong's famous achievement is finally about to be revealed," Li Jing said with a smile.
Standing nearby, Li Shiji immediately felt his spirits rise. For weeks, he had watched the Light Screen praise one famous figure after another while his own accomplishments remained buried somewhere in the future. Now, at long last, the discussion had reached him.
Unable to resist, he cast a sideways glance at Su Dingfang.
Su Dingfang maintained a perfectly neutral expression, but the effort itself was enough to make Li Shiji even happier. The older general's eyes practically radiated satisfaction as he silently conveyed a message only he could hear.
Junior. Learn to respect your elders.
At the same time, a question lingered in the back of his mind. The Light Screen had previously claimed that he would destroy three kingdoms and capture three kings. The Xueyantuo accounted for only one of them. That still left two more kingdoms and two more kings waiting to be revealed.
Meanwhile, Li Shimin listened with the calm composure expected of an emperor.
The story of Dubu Khan did not surprise him very much. Recruiting talented foreign commanders had always been one of the core principles of his rule. As the Heavenly Khan, he believed it was his responsibility to gather capable people from every corner of the world and place their abilities in service of the empire.
Whether they came from the Central Plains, the grasslands, the deserts, or lands even farther away mattered little to him. Talent was talent, and the Great Tang had never lacked room for capable individuals.
As he listened, an idea gradually formed in his mind.
Perhaps the Imperial Academy should compile stories about these foreign generals.
Not dry biographies filled with dates and official titles, but compelling narratives that ordinary people would actually enjoy reading.
Li Shimin could already picture the structure. A talented shepherd or tribal warrior spends years suffering under shortsighted leaders who fail to recognize his abilities. His ambitions are ignored, his potential wasted, and his future limited. Then one day he journeys east and arrives in Chang'an, where the enlightened rule of the Son of Heaven finally allows his talents to flourish. Through loyal service, he gains honor, rank, wealth, and lasting fame.
The more Li Shimin considered the idea, the more appealing it became. Such stories would not only celebrate loyal officials but also demonstrate the openness of the Tang Empire. Anyone with ability could find opportunity under Tang rule. That was a message worth spreading.
For a moment, he found himself reflecting on the streamer's earlier words.
At first, the phrase had sounded like a joke. Now it seemed surprisingly accurate.
The moment the thought of joining the Tang arises, the universe suddenly expands.
Li Shimin slowly nodded to himself. The territory of the Great Tang was vast, and as the Heavenly Khan, he liked to think his heart was equally broad.
As for whether the neighboring kingdoms shared that opinion, nobody present was interested in raising the question.
[Lightscreen]
[The second notable figure was Tuli Khan.
Unlike many of the surviving Turkic leaders, Tuli Khan surrendered to the Tang almost immediately after Illig Qaghan's downfall. Li Shimin rewarded him generously, granting him the title of Governor of Bingzhou and a luxurious residence in Chang'an. From that point onward, Tuli Khan lived an enviable life filled with fine wine, comfortable banquets, and the complete absence of military disasters.
Most people would have considered this an excellent outcome.
His younger brother, Ashina Jiesheshuai, disagreed completely.
As Jiesheshuai watched his brother settle into a life of comfort, he became increasingly convinced that Tuli Khan had lost the warrior spirit of their people. What began as dissatisfaction gradually developed into outright resentment, and eventually he marched into the imperial court and formally accused his own brother of treason.
The accusation immediately attracted attention, so Li Shimin ordered a full investigation.
The investigation discovered a serious problem. Specifically, there was no treason. There was no conspiracy. There was no evidence. There was not even a halfway convincing rumor. The entire accusation had been fabricated from beginning to end.
After learning the truth, Li Shimin summoned Jiesheshuai to court. Together with Tuli Khan, the Emperor subjected him to a thorough verbal dismantling that left no room for dignity. By the end of the audience, Jiesheshuai had been publicly branded an ungrateful troublemaker, and Li Shimin further reduced his salary by half to ensure the lesson remained memorable.
Unfortunately, Jiesheshuai responded to this experience in the worst way possible.
He took it personally.
In the thirteenth year of the Zhenguan era, Jiesheshuai learned that Li Shimin had temporarily relocated to Jiucheng Palace to escape the summer heat. Convinced that fate had delivered him an opportunity, he gathered forty disgruntled Turkic veterans and presented a plan that was ambitious, reckless, and detached from reality in almost equal measure.
According to his intelligence, Prince Li Zhi rode outside the palace every morning.
The plan seemed simple enough. They would wait for the palace gates to open. They would rush inside. They would kill the Emperor. The empire would descend into chaos. A civil war would erupt. Then they would ride triumphantly back to the steppes and restore the Turkic Empire.
Somehow, forty grown men listened to this proposal and decided it sounded reasonable.
The operation collapsed before it even began.
On the night of the assassination attempt, a violent storm swept across the mountains surrounding Jiucheng Palace. Wind howled through the valleys, rain lashed the roads, and the weather became so miserable that Prince Li Zhi decided to remain indoors rather than go riding the following morning.
As a result, the palace gates never opened.
Jiesheshuai and his followers spent hours hiding outside in terrible weather, waiting for an opportunity that never arrived. Eventually, after enduring enough rain to question every decision that had brought them there, they concluded that leaving empty-handed would make the entire expedition look foolish.
Since they were already present, they decided to attack anyway.
In hindsight, this was entirely consistent with the quality of the original plan.
Jiucheng Palace had been designed as a summer retreat rather than a heavily fortified military stronghold. Because of this, the conspirators actually managed to force their way through the outer defenses and enter the palace grounds.
For a brief moment, success seemed possible.
Then they encountered the imperial guards.
A fierce battle broke out in the darkness as soldiers rushed to defend the palace. The conspirators fought desperately, but it quickly became obvious that reaching Li Shimin was impossible. As casualties mounted and resistance intensified, Jiesheshuai abandoned any remaining hope of assassination and attempted to escape.
The surviving rebels stole horses and fled north.
The imperial cavalry pursued them immediately.
The pursuit ended exactly as one would expect. The conspirators were surrounded and wiped out before they could reach safety.
From a military perspective, the incident posed almost no threat to the Tang Empire.
From a political perspective, however, it was a catastrophe.
News of the attack spread rapidly through the Hetao region, where large numbers of surrendered Turkic tribes were living under autonomous arrangements. Panic erupted almost instantly. Rumors spread in every direction, local tensions exploded, and entire communities feared that collective punishment was imminent.
Before long, the region stood on the edge of widespread unrest.
Faced with a rapidly deteriorating situation, Li Shimin was forced to take drastic measures. He installed a new Turkic king and ordered him to lead the autonomous tribes out of Tang territory and back into the northern steppes, hoping to restore stability before the crisis spiraled completely out of control.
The experience left a deep mark on the Emperor.
Years later, when reflecting on the affair, Li Shimin summarized the entire episode with two words.
Utterly humiliating.
More importantly, he openly admitted that he should have listened to Wei Zheng.
Years before the assassination attempt, the Tang court had debated how to handle the surrendered Turkic population. At the center of that debate stood two opposing proposals.
Wei Zheng argued that former enemies should never be concentrated in large autonomous communities. He believed the tribes should be divided into smaller groups, dispersed throughout the empire, and gradually assimilated into Tang society. Alternatively, they could be relocated farther north and allowed to exhaust themselves fighting the Xueyantuo.
Wen Yanbo advocated a very different solution. Drawing upon historical precedent, he argued that the tribes should be granted autonomous territory under Tang supervision. Local leaders would govern their own people while remaining loyal to the empire, creating stability without requiring direct administration.
Li Shimin ultimately accepted Wen Yanbo's proposal.
Several years later, that decision placed forty armed conspirators within striking distance of the imperial residence.
Although the assassination attempt failed completely, the political consequences were severe enough to destroy Li Shimin's confidence in the autonomous-zone model.
As a result, when Gaochang fell the following year and the court began debating its future, the Emperor refused to consider transforming it into a Jimi Prefecture.
This time there would be no compromise. This time there would be no experiment in indirect rule. This time there would be no autonomous buffer state.
Gaochang would become a directly governed territory of the Tang Empire, administered by officials appointed from Chang'an and integrated fully into the imperial system.
That decision proved far more significant than anyone at the time could have imagined.
By choosing direct rule, Li Shimin permanently anchored Tang authority in the Western Regions. What followed was not merely the conquest of a single kingdom, but the beginning of an era in which Tang influence expanded across vast distances, reshaped the balance of power in Inner Asia, and transformed the dynasty into one of the most expansive empires of its age. ]
Fang Xuanling stood in the center of Ganlu Hall with an unusually complicated expression.
"Regarding the settlement of the Turkic remnants," he began slowly, "Deputy Director Wen Yanbo did indeed advocate the autonomous-zone policy."
As soon as the words left his mouth, the atmosphere in the hall became somewhat awkward.
After all, nobody present was looking at the issue from the perspective of history anymore. The Light Screen had already shown them the outcome. As far as the ministers gathered in Ganlu Hall were concerned, the autonomous-zone proposal had already been sentenced to death.
Wei Zheng was currently in the northern provinces carrying out the revised policy they had agreed upon weeks earlier. Large tribal groups were being systematically broken apart. Major clans were relocated to different counties and prefectures, ensuring they could no longer coordinate with one another. Smaller tribal communities were divided into individual households and registered directly into the imperial census as ordinary Tang subjects.
The process was neither gentle nor subtle. It was, however, extremely effective.
At the front of the hall, the future victim of the assassination attempt finally lost his composure.
Li Shimin shot to his feet so quickly that several nearby officials instinctively straightened their backs.
"Draft an imperial edict immediately!" he barked.
The Emperor pointed toward the north as though he could somehow see Wei Zheng from Ganlu Hall.
"Send it to Wei Zheng at once. Find this Ashina Jiesheshuai, wherever he happens to be."
His expression darkened.
"Then exile him to the most miserable corner of the empire. I want a place with poisonous insects, foul water, endless rain, and absolutely no possibility of ever returning."
The officials exchanged glances. Everyone could hear the restraint hidden beneath the order. Li Shimin was furious. Absolutely furious. Yet he was still ordering exile instead of execution. Compared to what many rulers would have done after hearing about a future assassination attempt, this could genuinely be described as mercy.
The Emperor began pacing across the hall.
These people had surrendered to the Tang. He had spared them. He had given them land. He had given them food. He had given them positions and titles. And in return, one of them had decided that a salary reduction was sufficient justification for attempting regicide.
The more Li Shimin thought about it, the angrier he became.
"If they love life on the frontier so much," he said coldly, "then I shall ensure he enjoys it for the rest of his days."
At that moment, another realization suddenly struck him.
His footsteps slowed. The anger on his face gradually gave way to something far more unsettling.
Understanding.
A century later, the Tang Dynasty would be nearly destroyed by the An Lushan Rebellion. The Light Screen had already revealed that much. Until now, however, Li Shimin had never fully grasped how such a disaster could happen.
Now he understood.
A man of foreign origin did not simply wake up one morning with enough power to threaten the empire. That power had to be accumulated. It had to be granted. It had to be tolerated. And it had to be overlooked repeatedly by generations of rulers.
The assassination attempt described by the Light Screen suddenly felt less like an isolated incident and more like a warning. A warning he had ignored in one timeline. A warning his descendants would eventually ignore again.
Li Shimin stopped pacing. His expression became unusually grim.
When the Light Screen quoted his future self describing the incident as "utterly humiliating," he had initially assumed the Emperor was speaking about the embarrassment of being targeted by incompetent assassins. Now he realized that was only part of the story. The real humiliation was that he had failed to recognize the danger until it was already standing at his door.
The conspiracy itself had been insignificant. The lesson behind it was not.
For the first time, Li Shimin felt as though he could see a faint shadow stretching across the next hundred years of Tang history.
And he did not like what he saw.