[Lightscreen]
[Perhaps it was because a young Su Dingfang had personally witnessed Li Jing's legendary snowstorm raid on Dingxiang. That experience left a permanent mark on him.
The result was that the older, seasoned Su Dingfang developed a deep and genuine addiction to violent surprise attacks.
So, here is the thing. Su Dingfang had a plan.
A beautiful plan. A violent plan. A plan that involved a lot of blood and glory and heroic charges.
According to Su Dingfang's master plan, the Pamir Mountains were supposed to host a fierce and bloody engagement. He had trained elite troops for this. He had executed a brutal forced march across difficult terrain. He had mapped out a devastating tactical strike with precise timing. He had been ready for spectacular violence.
Instead, he arrived to find the rebel leader Duman standing outside with his hands tied behind his back, offering unconditional surrender before a single sword had been drawn.
Su Dingfang stood there and pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was not what he had planned. No trophies. No heroic engagements. No dramatic last stand. No desperate final charge. Nothing. Just a man with his hands tied behind his back, looking like he was waiting for a delivery.
He had spent the entire military budget on an extremely long and exhausting walk through scenic mountain terrain. He had pushed his men to the limit. He had burned through supplies. He had worn out horses, boots, and everything else. His troops looked confused. Some of them looked almost disappointed. A few looked like they were trying to figure out whether they were supposed to cheer or just go home.
It was arguably the most anticlimactic victory in the history of anticlimactic victories.
To make matters worse, Su Dingfang had been moving so fast during that accidental encounter with the Tibetan army that he forgot to formally file the combat merits afterward. A significant personal accounting loss.
Duman, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered by the general's disappointment. He had made a practical decision and was quite proud of it.
Su Dingfang dragged him all the way back to Chang'an. Duman got a nice house in the capital. Su Dingfang got his merits. Li Zhi got another parade. Everyone won, except Su Dingfang's ego.
Following this deeply anticlimactic campaign, the entire Pamir region was fully pacified. The following year, Tang administrative officials worked through the night to redraw the western frontier map entirely.
The newly acquired territory was enormous, and the paperwork reflected that. The stretch of land west of Khotan and east of Persia was divided with meticulous precision into multiple area commands, eighty prefectures, one hundred and ten counties, and one hundred and twenty-six military garrisons.
This was the moment a specific stone monument transformed from an ambitious boast into a measured geographical fact. Years earlier, Li Shimin had erected a milestone outside the Kaiyuan Gate of Chang'an, the northwest gate used by everyone heading to the Western Regions, the Hexi Corridor, or the Anxi Protectorate.
The inscription was carved by the master calligrapher Yu Shinan, the same man whose handwriting later generations would study for centuries. It read: "Going west to Anxi is 9,900 li."
Now, here is the beauty of this. The actual distance was closer to 12,000 li. The stele deliberately undersold it.
Why?
Because ancient wisdom held that soldiers should not be asked to march beyond ten thousand li. Beyond that distance, men would not return home. By claiming the western border was only 9,900 li away, the stele was telling every soldier, merchant, and traveler: "Do not worry. You are still within the empire. You will come home."
That was not just geography. That was reassurance.
That was a Tang emperor telling his people: "We own everything between here and there. Go boldly. Come back safely."
And here is the kicker. Under Li Zhi's reign, the Tang did not stop there. The straight-line distance from Chang'an to the shores of the Caspian Sea reached four thousand and seven hundred kilometers. Converted into Tang measurements, that was ten thousand and four hundred li.]
Li Shimin exhaled slowly.
But it was not a calm exhale. It was the kind of breath a man lets out when he realizes he has been thinking too small for too long.
Nine thousand nine hundred li. That is what the stele said. But the actual distance was ten thousand four hundred. And my son pushed the frontier all the way to the Caspian Sea.
He looked at his hands. The same hands that had held a sword at Xuanwu Gate. The same hands that had signed the orders that destroyed the Eastern Turks. The same hands that had built this empire.
And my son made it bigger.
A slow grin spread across his face. He made no effort to hide it.
He turned to Su Dingfang.
"To force a rebellion into unconditional surrender without a single sword drawn." His voice carried genuine warmth. "Dingfang, your presence on the battlefield is genuinely frightening. You make the enemy surrender before you even arrive."
Su Dingfang rubbed his cheek, still processing the light screen's broadcast of his inner disappointment.
He had been ready for a fight. He had trained for a fight. He had marched for a fight.
And Duman had simply tied himself up.
All that marching. All that training. All that planning. And the man just surrendered.
He put on his most humble expression, though his eyes still carried a trace of regret.
"This was not my own presence, Your Majesty. This was the weight of the Tang's prestige. I merely borrowed your shadow to frighten the rebels into compliance."
Li Shimin laughed.
"You borrowed my shadow? Dingfang, you are the shadow. The rebels saw you coming and decided they would rather live."
He looked around the hall, his mood visibly improved.
Hou Junji had already lowered his gaze and was studying the wood grain with great concentration.
Okay, whatever, guys. At least I am still in the room. This is already good for me.
Nearby, Li Ji wore the expression of a man who had bitten into a piece of bread and discovered it was actually a rock.
Why is the historical narrative so incredibly biased? I risked my life commanding the vanguard to exterminate the Xueyantuo Khaganate. The light screen summarized my entire bloody campaign in a single, passing sentence.
Yet Su Dingfang took ten thousand men on a sightseeing tour across the desert, and the future narrator dissected his journey with three whole chapters of detail.
He stared at the light screen with barely concealed frustration.
In Li Jing's chapters, I was a supporting character reduced to playing the role of a demonic Daoist sidekick named Xu Maogong. In Su Dingfang's chapters, now I have somehow become background scenery. The three of us are supposed to be the great military pillars of the early Tang.
Why does history keep editing me out? Where is the justice? To whom can I complain?
He tilted his head back and let out a long, weary sigh.
Maybe the Tang historians are just incompetent. I need to talk to them.
He looked at the screen again. Then at Su Dingfang, who was still grinning. Then back at the screen.
I am going to have a very long conversation with the official historians when this is over.
Meanwhile, Du Ruhui was studying the projected map with the concentration of a man examining the foundations of a building.
"It is simply too far."
Fang Xuanling nodded.
"The Four Garrisons of Anxi already represent a logistical miracle. But projecting authority beyond the Pamirs? Even at courier speed, a round trip from Chang'an takes more than half a year. If a crisis erupts in Central Asia, whatever is burning will have burned down long before the report reaches the capital."
Du Ruhui tapped the table slowly.
"Which means the court will eventually have no choice but to delegate enormous authority to regional commanders. Military governorships with both civil and military power."
The room grew heavier. Everyone understood the implications. Autonomous frontier commanders could eventually become powers unto themselves. The dynasty's greatest shield might one day become its gravest danger.
The Tang had not yet reached those distant frontiers, but both chancellors were already calculating a crisis a century away. They exchanged a look.
We may be building the foundation of our own future troubles. But what other choice is there?
Li Shimin shifted the conversation before the mood grew too heavy.
"The Tibetan plateau presents a different problem. Their land is becoming more fertile, but they suffer from a severe shortage of people."
His intelligence network had gathered the same reports again and again. Among the mountain tribes, the most valuable commodity was not silk or tea. It was human beings.
The light screen had just described Tibet absorbing the Tuyuhun and the Bailan Qiang. The motivation was not territory alone. They needed people.
Li Jing immediately followed the logic.
"If that is the case, then our repeated campaigns against the Tuyuhun may actually be feeding Tibet's growth."
He leaned over the map.
"If we campaign there again, we should simultaneously secure Qinghai and relocate the population into the Hexi Corridor. Alternatively, we could preemptively garrison Mount Jishi."
His finger settled on a valley.
"The Dafei River."
Li Shimin nodded, then slowly shook his head. His expression cooled.
"Defense is not enough."
He tapped the map.
"We feign weakness. Use captives as bait. Draw their main force in. Then destroy it completely and take their young men."
Li Jing preferred patient containment. Li Shimin preferred pulling out the tiger's fangs before they had fully grown.
Li Shimin looked at the map once more. Then at his generals. Then at his ministers.
"Ten thousand four hundred li," he said quietly.
"My son did that."
A smile slowly returned to his face.
"Not bad for a boy who still loses arguments against his own nose."
The tension broke. Several ministers laughed.
[Lightscreen]
[Two years forward. Somehow, despite the graveyard of conquered states piling up across the western landscape, someone new had decided this was an excellent moment to test the Tang's patience.
The newest entry on the experience point ledger was courtesy of the Uyghur tribes.
The Uyghurs had originally been a subordinate faction inside the Xueyantuo Khaganate.
During Zhenguan year twenty, their leader Tumidu answered Li Shimin's call and launched a rebellion from within, helping the Tang dismantle the Xueyantuo from the inside. After the dust settled, Tumidu submitted to Chang'an and was rewarded with the title of Grand General of Huaihua and appointed Governor of the Hanha Area Command.
In 648 CE, internal politics turned bloody. Tumidu was assassinated by his own nephew. The Tang intervened immediately, crushed the usurper, and installed Tumidu's son Porun as the new leader.
Porun was an excellent ally. He personally participated in two of the three campaigns that hunted Little Lu across the continent. A reliable, enthusiastic partner.
Porun died of illness in 661 CE. The same script played out again. His nephew Bisudu seized the throne violently and, to demonstrate that he was a serious person, made a bold decision.
He declared war on the Tang.
Bisudu looked at the geopolitical board and concluded the Tang was stretched to its limits. Chang'an had just opened two major fronts in the east. Su Dingfang was deep in the Goguryeo campaign. Liu Rengui was actively engaged in Baekje. Bisudu calculated that the Tang simply could not open a third front simultaneously.
His actual goal was modest. He did not want to destroy the Tang. He wanted Chang'an to officially recognize him as Governor of Hanha. His plan was to create enough disruption that the Tang would hand him the paperwork just to buy peace, after which he would immediately return to being the Tang's most loyal subordinate.
Bisudu had significantly underestimated the depth of Tang military reserves.
Li Zhi did not negotiate with people who had just declared war on him. Despite the active campaigns in Goguryeo and Baekje, he opened a third front without visible concern.
Two strike forces were deployed simultaneously.
The main assault force advancing along the Tiele route was commanded by Zheng Rentai with Xue Rengui as his deputy.
The flanking force advancing along the Xian'e route was commanded by Xiao Siye and Sun Renshi, with the objective of swinging wide to permanently cut off Bisudu's retreat.
This campaign is remembered by history for two things. It was the battle that made Xue Rengui into a living legend. It was also one of the most embarrassing military disasters in Tang history. ]
"Okay, got it. Another legendary general has just appeared."
Zhang Fei slid down against the pillar he was leaning on by about three inches.
"Are these Tang commanders being grown in some kind of military greenhouse? You remove one and three more sprout from the soil. The harvest is genuinely endless."
Zhuge Liang laughed and snapped his fan open.
"When an empire controls territory of that scale, it commands hundreds of thousands of veteran soldiers. If they consistently failed to produce military talent, that would be the actual anomaly."
The smile faded and he tilted his head. "What I cannot work out is why the narrator called this a shameful battle."
He genuinely could not construct the scenario.
Looking at the raw military balance, Zhuge Liang had no particular respect for the Uyghur forces. Not that their cavalry lacked basic competence. The issue was psychological conditioning. The western tribes had spent decades watching the Tang convert rival khaganates into smoking craters. Every Uyghur rider knew personally what a Tang blade felt like. Bisudu might be able to drag his cavalry to the battlefield through political pressure, but forcing those men to die fighting Tang standards was a different matter entirely. They would break at the first serious resistance.
So how exactly did an engagement against a frightened, unmotivated enemy produce a shameful disaster?
Unless the two Tang commanders had turned their weapons on each other over a dispute about who deserved credit.
Zhuge Liang shook his head. That was too absurd to entertain seriously.
[Lightscreen]
[Alright, let us talk about Xue Rengui.
Because this man was the Tang system's ultimate success story.
When we discussed the An Lushan Rebellion earlier, we heavily emphasized a core truth about the Great Tang. Military merit was the ultimate currency. The Tang dynasty ran on one simple rule: if you could fight, you could rise. It did not matter whether you were born rich or poor, noble or common. If you had a blade and the will to use it, the empire had a place for you.
And Xue Rengui? He was built for this
Xue Li, courtesy name Rengui. His ancestors had wealth and status. Generals. High officials. The whole package. Then his father died young, and the family's finances collapsed like a house of cards in a storm.
So there he was, a descendant of generals, staring at the back of a plow ox every morning and farming just to avoid starvation.
He became convinced that his destiny was fundamentally broken. Cosmically broken.
So he did what any reasonable person in his situation would do.
He gave up on military training and threw himself into Feng Shui.
Yes. Feng Shui.
He spent his days studying the flow of terrain, reading faces, analyzing cloud formations, and searching for the perfect burial site for his ancestors. Because obviously, the reason he was poor was that his father had been buried in the wrong place.
That had to be the problem. Not the economy. Not the political situation. The grave.
He was drowning in superstition. Honestly, if he had kept going, he probably would have spent the rest of his life bouncing from one obsession to another.
Today studying physiognomy, tomorrow geomancy, the day after observing omens in the clouds. He would have become a full-time professional fortune teller instead of the legendary general history actually got.
But here is the thing about destiny.
Feng Shui is unlikely to change your life.
Marrying an exceptionally practical and intelligent wife absolutely can.
And Xue Rengui had exactly that.
Lady Liu watched her husband approach thirty. The man was built like a mountain. He could shoot from horseback in his sleep. Yet he spent every day studying dirt.
She had had enough.
She walked up to him and delivered a speech that history remembered.
"You have talent. Your problem is not bad luck. Your problem is that you have no stage. The Emperor is personally leading a campaign into Liaodong. That is your opportunity. Go to war. Make a name for yourself. Return with wealth and honor. Then you can buy as many auspicious grave sites as you want."
Game changer.
Xue Rengui dropped the shovel he had been using to relocate his father's grave, picked up his bow and blade, and ran straight to the nearest recruitment camp.
And when he reached the battlefield, he made a decision.
He wore white.
Not off-white. Not cream. Pure, blinding, impossible-to-miss white.
He charged through enemy formations looking like a wealthy landowner taking a leisurely walk through his own estate.
It was the most dramatic thing anyone on that battlefield had ever seen.
Li Shimin watched from the command position and was genuinely impressed.
His internal assessment was simple.
This man is even more theatrical than I was in my prime. I like him.
Xue Rengui returned to the capital elated. He had made a name for himself. He had caught the emperor's attention. He was going places.
And then he hit exactly the same wall Su Dingfang had hit.
Remember Su Dingfang? The man who spent decades sweeping streets in Chang'an? The man who was almost forgotten entirely?
That wall.
Xue Rengui was promoted to General of the Elite Establishment and assigned to guard the Xuanwu Gate.
In modern terms, he became the world's most catastrophically overqualified security guard.
North entrance.
Just like Su Dingfang before him, he was shoved into a corner and told to wait.
The only difference was that Su Dingfang stayed in one place. Xue Rengui had to travel. Whenever the emperor moved to a summer palace, Xue Rengui packed his things and went to guard a different north gate in a different location.
He was basically a professional door guardian with a frequent traveler card.
He sat in that guardhouse for ten years.
Ten years.
Su Dingfang spent decades there, so by comparison Xue Rengui actually got off easy.
But still.
Ten years of doors.
Then, in 654 CE, something happened.
Li Zhi was spending the summer at Wannian Palace when, in the middle of the night, a flash flood came roaring down the mountain.
The royal guards looked at the wall of black water and ran.
Li Zhi woke to the sound of rushing water and made a perfectly reasonable assessment of his situation.
My life ends here!
He scrambled backward, eyes wide, heart pounding. The water was coming. Fast. There was nowhere to run. This was it. The end of the line for the Emperor of the Tang.
Xue Rengui looked at the same wall of water and reached a very different conclusion.
My chance has arrived!
He shouted warnings throughout the palace at the top of his lungs. Because of him, Li Zhi escaped only moments before the entire complex went underwater.
Li Zhi was deeply grateful. He recognized that Xue Rengui was someone he could trust.
To express his gratitude, he had Xue Rengui guard palace doors for another five years.
Yes.
Five more years of doors.
Xue Rengui was almost certainly losing his mind by this point. Quietly. The man was probably having conversations with the hinges.
But Li Zhi shared one quality with his father.
He remembered the names of capable men.
In 658 and 659, Li Zhi launched campaigns against Goguryeo and remembered that the man guarding his north gate had originally made his reputation killing people in exactly that region.
He sent Xue Rengui back into the field.
Xue Rengui fought like something that had been locked in a cage for fifteen years and finally released.
He had spent years watching doors.
Now he had enemies.
And he was going to make up for lost time.
By 661, when Bisudu launched his Uyghur rebellion, Xue Rengui had climbed to the position of Deputy Commander.
He was probably weeping with relief.
The Tang general job market was brutal.
But at last, the path was clear. It was time.]