The name An Lushan briefly surfaced in Li Shimin's thoughts before he firmly pushed it aside.
There was no point exhausting himself over a rebellion that would not happen for another century. The political conditions of that distant future would create their own problems, just as every generation created its own troubles. Even if he somehow reached across time and erased An Lushan from history, there was no guarantee the outcome would change. Sooner or later, someone else would emerge to exploit the same weaknesses. If it was not An Lushan, then perhaps it would be an An Luhai, an An Lulou, or some other ambitious troublemaker with a different name and the same destructive potential.
For now, there were more immediate concerns.
Among the assembled ministers, Zhangsun Wuji finally broke his silence.
He stepped forward wearing an expression of profound horror, as though he had personally witnessed the assassination attempt moments ago rather than hearing about it from the Light Screen.
"Your Majesty's wisdom truly reaches beyond ten thousand miles," Zhangsun Wuji declared. His voice trembled with emotion. "These treacherous villains concealed murderous intentions in their hearts and waited for a moment of weakness to strike at the prosperity of the Great Tang."
He paused, visibly overcome.
"This minister feels a hatred so deep that it pains me to even think of it. I can only regret that I was not there to place myself between Your Majesty and those assassins. As long as Your Majesty remains safe, the empire remains safe."
As he finished speaking, he wiped moisture from the corner of his eye.
To his credit, the emotion did not appear entirely fabricated.
Li Shimin looked at his brother-in-law and felt a faint sense of embarrassment.
The assassination attempt had failed. More importantly, it had not even happened yet. Yet judging by Zhangsun Wuji's reaction, one might have assumed the Emperor had already survived a dozen life-threatening encounters before breakfast.
Still, the Light Screen had forced Li Shimin to acknowledge an uncomfortable truth.
He had always been confident in his personal abilities. Just before the previous New Year, he had left the palace with only a small escort and wandered around the capital without the slightest concern for his safety. As a veteran commander who had spent much of his youth charging through battlefields, he rarely felt threatened.
However, confidence and invulnerability were not the same thing. If he had truly encountered forty desperate Turkic veterans in a surprise attack, even his considerable martial skills would not have changed the outcome. A single man could defeat many opponents. A single man could not defeat an entire ambush.
The realization left him slightly unsettled.
Before Qin Qiong could seize the opportunity to offer professional security recommendations, Yuchi Jingde suddenly stepped forward.
The towering general dropped to one knee with a forceful thud that echoed throughout the hall.
He said nothing.
He did not need to. The expression on his face made his thoughts perfectly clear.
Give the order. I will personally beat every assassin into the ground.
Li Shimin could not help smiling.
"Jingde, rise."
The Emperor stepped down from the dais and personally helped the veteran general to his feet. The gesture immediately attracted attention. Even among the heroes who had helped found the dynasty, very few received such treatment from the Emperor.
Li Shimin looked at Yuchi Jingde and chuckled.
"Very well. From this day forward, whenever I leave the palace, I shall have you accompany me."
His smile widened slightly.
"You may serve as my personal Door God."
The moment those words were spoken, Yuchi Jingde's eyes lit up. A grin spread across his face so quickly that several nearby officials instinctively looked away. The expression was so fierce that it could probably frighten actual ghosts.
Yuchi Jingde was completely satisfied. If any assassin dared approach the Emperor in the future, he would personally ensure that the fellow regretted every decision that had led him to that moment.
---
Hundreds of miles away and centuries earlier, the atmosphere inside the Chengdu government office was noticeably less dramatic.
Neither Liu Bei nor his advisers found Li Shimin's future assassination scare particularly interesting.
To men who had grown up amid the chaos of the late Han, assassination attempts were hardly shocking. During the Spring and Autumn Period and the Warring States era, such incidents had been common enough to become part of the political landscape. Loyal retainers avenged fallen lords. Dispossessed nobles sought revenge. Defeated states left behind survivors nursing grudges for generations.
From Liu Bei's perspective, the logic was simple.
If you destroyed someone's kingdom, occupied their homeland, and absorbed their people, it was only natural that a few of them might eventually try to stab you. That was just basic cause and effect. If you did not anticipate that, or worse, if you actually expected them to thank you, then bro, have you been living life on easy mode this whole time?
You took their land, their wealth, and their pride. In return, they took a swing at your life. Fair trade, really.
Compared to that, Ashina Jiesheshuai's actions were not particularly remarkable. Forty guys with knives? That was barely a Tuesday in the late Han.
Zhuge Liang paid even less attention to the assassination attempt. What truly interested him was the story of Ashina She'er.
A foreign general who surrendered to a powerful empire, rose through military service, and ultimately secured both fame and honor was a far more fascinating subject.
Slowly waving his feather fan, Zhuge Liang said, "If we look back to the reign of Emperor Wu of Han, the Marquis of Xiapin, Zhao Xin, might have achieved a similarly illustrious legacy had he been more steadfast in his loyalties."
Zhang Fei frowned, digging through his memory like a man searching for loose change under a couch. A moment later, recognition dawned on him.
"Oh, that guy!"
When Emperor Wu started his campaigns against the Xiongnu, Zhao Xin and Le were among the first guys to get the fancy Marquis titles. They even got theirs before the legendary Wei Qing. Talk about fast tracking.
The reasoning was obvious. Both men were originally Xiongnu defectors. Giving them big titles was classic propaganda. It said, "Look, even barbarians can make it big in the Han!" It was basically an ancient version of buying horse bones with gold to show everyone you valued talent.
Plus, Zhao Xin was actually good at his job. During the Battle of Yinshan, he racked up serious military honors.
Then things went south. After losing a campaign in the southern desert, Zhao Xin immediately surrendered back to the Xiongnu. And the Xiongnu welcomed him like a long-lost brother. He spent the next few years causing headaches for the Han Empire.
In other words, the Han court spent a fortune on a star recruit who immediately quit and joined the rival team.
Zhang Fei considered this for a moment before waving the problem away like a fly.
"Kongming, why are you worrying about ancient history?" he declared, slapping his chest so hard the officials nearby flinched.
"Once my cavalry is ready, everything will be different!"
Zhang Fei's eyes lit up as his imagination took off.
"I will personally ride into the frontier, grab a few Qiang and Hu chieftains, beat them up a bit, and drag them back to Chengdu."
He was getting excited just thinking about it.
"Then I will make them perform a dance for you!"
He grinned like a man who had just solved world peace.
"That way, Kongming can enjoy the same VIP treatment as the Emperor of Tang."
The room fell dead silent.
Even Zhao Yun looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
Zhuge Liang's hand froze mid-fan-wave. For a long moment, he just stared at Zhang Fei. He had been reflecting on the rise and fall of empires, the nature of loyalty, and the deep lessons of history. Zhang Fei, meanwhile, had somehow concluded that the most important takeaway was getting some barbarian chieftains to do a little jig for him.
After a pause that felt like an eternity, Zhuge Liang could only shake his head. A laugh escaped despite his best efforts to stay composed.
Sometimes, trying to have a serious strategic discussion with Zhang Fei was more exhausting than actually fighting a war.
[Lightscreen]
[Li Erfeng looked incredibly impressive when he overruled the opposition and insisted on direct Tang administration in the Western Regions.
However, once Xi Prefecture started attracting endless military and political problems, he could often be found complaining to his closest advisers.
On more than one occasion, Li Shimin openly remarked:
"Wei Zheng advised me to restore the Kingdom of Gaochang. I refused to follow his advice. If problems arise now, I have only myself to blame."
This perfectly illustrates Li Shimin's unique decision-making cycle.
When Turkic assassins nearly reached his bedroom, his conclusion was: "I should have listened to Wei Zheng."
When Gaochang was conquered and incorporated into the empire, his conclusion became: "Good thing I did not listen to Wei Zheng."
When Xi Prefecture came under increasing pressure from the Western Turks, his conclusion once again shifted to: "Perhaps I should have listened to Wei Zheng."
Fortunately for future historians, Li Shimin never lacked material for self-reflection.
His concerns were not entirely unreasonable.
By this point, the Western Turks had reunited under a single leadership. Their renewed strength placed significant pressure on Tang positions throughout the Western Regions, particularly on the newly established Xi Prefecture.
To understand why this happened, we need to examine the internal politics of the Western Turks.
And, as is often the case, the story begins with someone making a spectacularly bad decision.
Remember Dubu Khan?
He was the man who defeated the Western Turks, seized a large portion of their territory, crowned himself ruler, and then unexpectedly abandoned everything to join the Tang.
His departure created mixed feelings among the Western Turkic elite.
On one hand, they were relieved. Dubu Khan had spent years making their lives miserable. His military victories had been so overwhelming that many of his rivals were probably still having nightmares about him.
On the other hand, they were furious. The man had looked at the position of Supreme Khan and concluded that working for Li Shimin was a better career move.
Although the Western Turks eventually recovered much of the territory they had lost, the political damage remained. Old rivalries intensified. Personal ambitions resurfaced. Power struggles spread throughout the confederation.
Into this environment stepped Dielishi Khan.
Seeking to strengthen his authority, the new ruler implemented a grand political reform that appeared brilliant in theory and disastrous in practice.
He divided the Western Turks into ten major tribal groupings.
Five belonged to the Dulu faction. Five belonged to the Nushibi faction. For simplicity, think of them as the Left Bloc and the Right Bloc.
Dielishi Khan looked at these two factions, observed that they disliked each other immensely, and concluded that this was actually an advantage.
His plan was straightforward. The Left Bloc would balance the Right Bloc. The Right Bloc would balance the Left Bloc. Meanwhile, he would sit comfortably at the center and enjoy the benefits of being indispensable to both sides.
In his mind, he had discovered the secret to stable government. In reality, he had built a powder keg and placed himself on top of it.
Anyone observing the situation from a safe distance could predict what happened next.
The two factions quickly stopped participating in political competition and began participating in actual warfare.
The resulting civil conflict devastated the Western Turks.
Eventually, both sides paused long enough to reach a remarkable conclusion. While they hated each other, they hated Dielishi Khan even more.
This rare moment of unity proved surprisingly productive. The factions joined forces, overthrew the architect of the entire disaster, and forced Dielishi Khan to flee into exile in the Kingdom of Yanqi.
While the Western Turks were occupied with destroying themselves, Li Shimin immediately recognized an opportunity.
He dispatched Hou Junji against Gaochang and simultaneously decided to make the Turkic civil war even more complicated.
The Tang court officially recognized Dielishi Khan's nephew as the legitimate Supreme Khan, thereby creating a rival claimant and further weakening the Western Turkic leadership.
For a time, the strategy worked beautifully.
Unfortunately for the Tang, civil wars do not continue forever.
Exactly one year after Xi Prefecture was established, the conflict finally ended. The Tang-backed claimant was defeated and executed. The Western Turks reunited.
And once they had finished fighting one another, they turned their attention toward the Tang Empire.
This was the moment Li Shimin began speaking fondly about Wei Zheng's advice.
That said, regret and surrender are two very different things.
Li Shimin might complain. He might reflect. He might even admit mistakes. What he would not do was abandon Xi Prefecture.
By this point, the piece was already on the board. And the board itself was about to flip.
In 642, the Supreme Khan of the Western Turks sent a remarkably arrogant message throughout the Western Regions.
He announced his intention to invade the Kingdom of Kang and openly invited every neighboring state to watch.
His challenge was simple. Observe the conquest. Then decide which ruler possessed greater martial glory. The Supreme Khan of the Western Turks. Or the Heavenly Khan of the Great Tang.
This declaration was essentially the diplomatic equivalent of slapping Li Shimin across the face.
The Western Turks loved it. Their morale soared. Their armies surged forward. They invaded Kang. They plundered Mi along the way. They seized enormous amounts of wealth and returned home victorious.
Then their ruler made a mistake so predictable that even the Light Screen sounded tired discussing it.
He kept all the treasure. Or at least enough of it to convince his commanders that he had kept all the treasure.
The wounds left behind by the civil war immediately reopened. Resentment spread. Trust collapsed. Conspiracies multiplied. The entire confederation began falling apart again.
Li Shimin smelled opportunity.
And when Li Shimin smelled opportunity, someone else's day usually became much worse.
The Tang response came in rapid succession.
In late 643, secret envoys entered the Western Regions carrying imperial orders. Li Shimin formally recognized another descendant of Dielishi as a rival Khan and encouraged pro-Tang factions within the Western Turks to challenge the existing leadership.
In early 644, Tang intelligence networks helped coordinate a major uprising within Yanqi. The kingdom had previously aligned itself with the Western Turks. Now it found itself engulfed by internal turmoil.
In April 644, Hou Junji was executed, permanently resolving a major source of political instability within the Tang court.
In July 644, Li Shimin officially ordered preparations for the Goguryeo campaign.
Then, in August 644, he appointed Guo Xiaoke commander of the Xi Prefecture Expeditionary Army.
His instructions were concise. Destroy Yanqi.
Guo Xiaoke obeyed with remarkable efficiency.
Only eleven days later, he led three thousand elite cavalry on a lightning strike across the desert.
The attack hit Yanqi's capital before the kingdom fully understood what was happening. Its king was captured alive. Its government collapsed. Its independence vanished.
After centuries of existence, the Kingdom of Yanqi disappeared from the map. And the Great Tang continued marching west. ]
Liu Bei watched the Light Screen with quiet amusement.
The increasingly elaborate titles adopted by the Turkic rulers were already giving him a headache. Just keeping track of who was khan of what was exhausting enough. But what truly entertained him was how the Western Turks seemed trapped in an endless cycle of breaking up, fighting each other, patching things up, and then immediately finding a new reason to break up again. It was like watching a married couple argue, divorce, reconcile, and then remember why they got divorced in the first place.
After a moment, Liu Bei turned toward his advisers.
"Does this not remind you of the Two Palaces Controversy in Wu?"
"Only on the surface," Fa Zheng replied without missing a beat. "The underlying logic is completely different."
He shook his head, clearly unimpressed with the dead Khan's political skills.
"Here is the thing. A ruler who wants to balance rival factions must make sure both sides desperately need him to stay alive. He has to be the center of everything. As long as both factions need him more than they hate each other, the balance holds."
Fa Zheng allowed himself a faintly mocking smile.
"This genius did the exact opposite. He took two groups that already despised each other, formally split them into separate camps, drew a nice clean line between them, and then expected them to play nice. That is not political balancing. That is just giving structure and official approval to a future bloodbath."
The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous the plan seemed.
"If you really want to divide power among ten tribes, you mix the rival bloodlines together. You make their command structures overlap. You force them to depend on each other for supplies and reinforcements. But drawing a clear line down the middle? That is just asking for trouble. Neither side will ever feel safe while the other exists."
Zhuge Liang chuckled softly.
"The Emperor of Tang, on the other hand, actually knows what he is doing."
He waved his feather fan slowly.
"The tribes gave him the title Heavenly Khan, and he has learned to use it well. Instead of fighting everyone directly, he raises up weaker claimants, gives them legitimacy, and uses imperial recognition to make them strong enough to challenge bigger rivals. He turns their conflicts into tools for his own benefit."
A trace of admiration appeared in his eyes.
"That is real political balancing. The guy who designed the Western Turkic system really should have taken a few classes in Chang'an."
Liu Bei listened while continuing to watch the screen.
As the story progressed, an unexpected feeling settled over him.
"The Kingdom of Yanqi has fallen."
His voice was lower than before.
Unlike Gaochang, Yanqi actually meant something. It was an ancient state, one that had existed since the earliest Han expeditions into the Western Regions. Through centuries of chaos, it had somehow survived. It outlasted the Former Han, the Later Han, and the whole mess that followed.
And now, in eleven days, it was gone.
The contrast was hard to ignore.
For a moment, nobody spoke. The weight of it hung in the air.
Then Zhang Fei leaned forward, his eyes gleaming.
"Big Brother, about this Yanqi..."
The moment Liu Bei saw that look on his brother's face, alarm bells went off in his head. He knew that expression too well. It was the face Zhang Fei made whenever he had just discovered a new military opportunity, a historical coincidence, or an idea that sounded brilliant to him and exhausting to everyone else.
Liu Bei cut him off before he could get started.
"Yide."
Zhang Fei blinked. His brain short-circuited.
"Do you currently have a complete strategic plan for our future invasion of Guanzhong?"
Zhang Fei opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.
Liu Bei felt a wave of relief wash over him. He knew exactly what would have happened if he had let Zhang Fei keep talking. First, Zhang Fei would mention Yanqi. Then he would calculate how long the kingdom had survived. Then he would compare it to various other states. Then he would propose conquering a few frontier territories. Then he would somehow turn a casual observation into a three-hour discussion.
Cutting him off early was the only sane option.
Zhang Fei looked deeply offended. He had not even made his point yet. All he wanted was to ask whether they should consider conquering a few small kingdoms in the future. Why was his big brother treating him like he had already done something wrong?
As for a strategic plan to invade Guanzhong, was that not the whole reason they hired Military Advisor Pang Shiyuan in the first place?
---
Back in Ganlu Hall, the inner circle of the Great Tang was fully engrossed in the broadcast.
The internal politics of the Western Turks was incredibly valuable intelligence. Currently, their primary source of information regarding the deep steppes consisted of traveling foreign merchants. Those merchants strictly adhered to the number one rule of survival: do business, avoid politics. When a merchant caravan passed through Western Turkic territory, they paid their extortion fees and fled as fast as their camels could carry them. Therefore, the Tang military's understanding of the enemy's internal hierarchy was blurry at best. The heavenly screen was providing future historical analysis with terrifying accuracy.
Standing near the front, Hou Junji was eagerly acting as the resident expert. He practically vibrated with excitement.
"The current Supreme Khan of the Western Turks is named Nishu," Hou Junji explained rapidly, eager to prove his worth. "Our intelligence indicates he is a violently unyielding man. He reportedly murdered the previous Khan with his own hands to seize the throne. Naturally, vast sections of his military refuse to acknowledge his authority."
He gestured wildly at the screen. "I suspect this Nishu is the direct source of the bitter hatred between the Left and Right blocks mentioned by the future generations."
He turned and offered a deep, sweeping bow to Li Shimin.
"Your Majesty's decision to arbitrarily bestow Khaganate titles upon their rivals is a stroke of divine genius!" Hou Junji praised.
"I previously wondered why my campaign against Gaochang encountered zero resistance from the Western Turk cavalry. Now the truth is revealed! Your Majesty was sitting in Chang'an, perfectly manipulating their internal politics from thousands of miles away!"
Hou Junji puffed out his chest. The adrenaline of his future victories was flooding his veins.
"This arrogant Turkic dog actually dared to publicly disrespect Your Majesty," Hou Junji snarled, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Grant me command of our legions. I swear upon my life, I will march west, drag that Khan back in chains, and parade his broken body outside the Shuntian Gate to display your glory!"
As he spoke, Hou Junji envisioned the legendary prisoner presentation ceremonies of Li Jing and Li Shiji. The entire capital cheering. The Emperor smiling. He desperately wanted that glory. He needed to be the main character of the next grand parade.
His mouth kept running. He was volunteering to conquer the entire Western hemisphere.
"This filthy Turkic mongrel actually hoarded all the plundered wealth for himself. With such a pathetic worldview, he dares to call himself a Supreme Khan? He has absolutely no idea how close he is to death!"
"I guarantee the Western Turks will not survive another... wait. Hou Junji is beheaded?"
The grand speech slammed into a brick wall.
Hou Junji's voice caught in his throat. The sound died completely. A sudden, terrifying cold seized his spine.
He turned his head with agonizing slowness. He looked away from the glowing screen and met the perfectly calm, unreadable eyes of Emperor Li Shimin.
Tears flooded Hou Junji's eyes. They spilled over his cheeks in thick, ugly streams.
"Your Majesty," Hou Junji whispered, his voice cracking. "It appears this loyal minister will not be blessed with the fortune of seeing our Great Tang unify the Western Regions."
He dropped to his knees. The armor plates clattered loudly against the wooden floorboards.
"I beg Your Majesty to execute your punishment now. Punish me for my future crimes of looting and stealing in Gaochang."
Li Shimin looked down at the weeping, trembling general. He let out a long, heavy sigh. He stepped forward and firmly gripped Hou Junji by the arms, hauling the terrified man back to his feet.
"Do you still remember the conversation we had at Xuanwu Gate?" Li Shimin asked. His voice was calm, devoid of anger.
Hou Junji nodded frantically. Then he shook his head. His panic scrambled his memory. He suddenly realized the Emperor was referring to a deeply private conversation they had shared just a few days ago. He finally offered a slow, hesitant nod.
Seeing the sheer terror radiating from his trusted subordinate, Li Shimin felt a pang of genuine sympathy.
"As long as you remember it, that is enough," Li Shimin said softly, locking eyes with the general. "The promise I made to you on that day remains valid."
Hou Junji desperately scoured his memory. He could not recall the exact wording of the Emperor's promise. The fear was too loud in his head.
But the core message finally penetrated his panic. He understood the unspoken rule. As long as he strictly followed the law, as long as he never crossed the line into treason, the execution date on the heavenly screen would never come to pass. He would not die.
But as Hou Junji turned his gaze back to the screen, staring at the tiny, glowing characters that spelled "Gaochang," a storm of conflicting emotions raged in his chest.
He now knew the shape of the heavens and the earth. He knew the secrets of the past and the trajectory of the future. He had seen his own name etched into the annals of history. He had witnessed the terrifying, world-conquering peak of the Great Tang.
Merely surviving and following the rules was no longer enough. The fire of ambition had been permanently ignited.