[Lightscreen]
[The desperate man sending those letters to Emperor Li Shimin was Yazdegerd III, the final ruler of the Sassanid Empire.
As we all know, history is basically a factory that mass-produces unlucky people, and Yazdegerd III definitely belongs in the premium category. If there was a hall of fame for rulers with terrible timing, he would be at the very top.
His story follows a trope we have seen countless times. A young monarch ascends the throne only to discover that the court is full of scheming ministers, rebellions are breaking out everywhere, foreign enemies are closing in, and the central government barely functions. It is the same script, just a different cast.
Unfortunately for Yazdegerd, he inherited an even bigger problem.
When the Sassanids replaced the old Parthian Empire, they did not merely inherit its lands. They also inherited a four-hundred-year blood feud with Rome. Think of it as the world's longest and most expensive grudge match.
And right before Yazdegerd came to power, that feud finally reached its catastrophic finale.
Beginning in 613 AD, the Sassanid and Byzantine Empires threw absolutely everything they had into one last struggle. The Byzantines emptied their treasury. The Persians emptied theirs. Emperor Heraclius personally led his campaigns, hiring the Khazars and Western Turks as allies. The Sassanids responded by squeezing taxes to the absolute limit and building their own coalition with the Avars and Slavs.
Both empires were determined to settle the score once and for all.
Instead, they nearly destroyed themselves.
The war ended in disaster for the Sassanids. Their finances collapsed. Their political system imploded. The imperial court descended into complete chaos.
In the five years following the war, the Persian throne changed hands five times. Five emperors in five years. That is not a dynasty. That is a revolving door.
By the time the dust settled, Yazdegerd III became emperor. He was number six.
And the worst part? The real enemy had not even arrived yet.
When Yazdegerd III finally secured the throne in 632 AD, it was not because of brilliant political maneuvering or some masterful comeback. It was simply because a terrifying new player had entered the chat: the Arabs.
United under a new faith, the Arabs exploded out of the desert and launched simultaneous invasions against both exhausted superpowers of the age, the Byzantine Empire and the Sassanid Empire.
The results were devastating. Within just four years, the Arabs had breached Ctesiphon, the Sassanid capital. Emperor Yazdegerd took one look at the situation, packed his bags, and began a long retreat eastward.
And who happened to be in the east? The Western Turkic Khaganate and the Great Tang Dynasty.
Considering that the Western Turks had spent the previous decade helping the Byzantines beat the Sassanids into a pulp, Yazdegerd logically pinned all his hopes on Emperor Li Shimin.
Beginning in 638 AD, Emperor Li Shimin received four tragic, tear-stained letters over the course of ten years, each one begging for military intervention.
He politely declined every single one.
And honestly, it is hard to blame him. The straight-line distance from Chang'an to the Red Sea was roughly six thousand kilometers. A marching army would have needed to travel nearly thirty thousand miles for a round trip. In the ancient world, projecting military power across such a distance was not merely difficult. It was practically impossible.
Yazdegerd died in exile in 651 AD. According to legend, he was murdered by a miller at the instigation of the governor of Merv, in modern-day Turkmenistan.
His son, Peroz, inherited what was essentially a phantom throne and promptly continued the family tradition of sending desperate letters to Chang'an.
The first time Peroz requested assistance, Emperor Li Zhi gave him an honest answer: Persia was simply too far away, and the Western Turks still blocked the route.
The second time Peroz asked, however, the situation had changed considerably. The Tang had already exterminated the Western Turks.
In 661 AD, Peroz tried again. This time, Emperor Li Zhi dispatched the special envoy Wang Mingyuan to the Western Regions. The Tang court established the Persian Area Command at Jilingcheng, near modern-day Zaranj and Zabol on the border between Afghanistan and Iran, and appointed Peroz as its commander-in-chief.
On February 14, 662 AD, Emperor Li Zhi officially granted Peroz the title of "King of Persia."
For a brief moment, it seemed as though the Sassanid dynasty might stage an improbable comeback.
Unfortunately, history had other plans.
By 663 AD, the remaining Persian forces in Afghanistan had been destroyed by the Arab armies. The Persian Area Command survived only a few years before it, too, was swallowed by the expanding Caliphate.
Between 670 and 674 AD, Peroz took the imperial seal granted by Li Zhi and personally relocated to Chang'an. The Tang court provided the exiled king with a comfortable retirement as Right Guard General, while Emperor Gaozong allowed many Sassanian refugees fleeing the Arab conquests to settle within China.
And that Persian prince whom Pei Xingjian requested to borrow? That was Narsieh, the son of Peroz and, legally speaking, the current King of Persia.
Peroz died of illness in Chang'an around 678 or 679 AD. According to some records, Narsieh was effectively a political hostage at the Tang court when Pei Xingjian requested him for his mission.
So when Pei Xingjian finally marched west in 679 AD, he was not merely escorting a Persian prince. He was carrying the last hope of an empire that had once stretched from the Mediterranean Sea to the Indus River.]
Inside Ganlu Hall, the mood among the senior Tang ministers was surprisingly relaxed.
Sooner or later, they would witness both the glories and tragedies of their own empire firsthand. For now, however, this deep dive into the geopolitical drama of a civilization thousands of miles away was infinitely more fascinating.
"So, according to the timeline..." Fang Xuanling muttered, tapping his fingers lightly against the desk as he calculated the dates. "This Yazdegerd has not even ascended the throne yet."
"He is still trapped in the worst stage of internal chaos and external pressure," Fang Xuangling concluded, looking up at his colleagues. "Is there any move we can make here?"
Li Shimin stood before the massive world map hanging inside the hall. His gaze lingered on the name Ardashir, mentioned in the previous broadcast, as he traced the borders of the ancient empires. Eventually, he lowered his hand. The man had been dead for four centuries. There was little point in plotting against a ghost.
As for the Light Screen's casual mockery of his refusal to send troops to Persia, Li Shimin had already become numb to it. It was not as though he could punch a magical projection.
Hearing Fang Xuanling's question, the emperor slowly shook his head.
"The only practical strategy is to secure our own frontiers. The Sassanid Empire is replacing its emperor almost every year, and its court is filled with ambitious warlords. A diplomatic letter from ten thousand miles away will not suddenly unite them against a common enemy."
He paused before delivering his verdict.
"It is a lost cause."
Li Shimin folded his arms, but a hint of envy crept into his voice.
"These Arabs, however, chose their timing perfectly. They arrived just as two exhausted empires had bled each other dry and reaped the benefits."
His underlying message was painfully obvious to everyone in the room. Why did not I get a free, crippled empire handed to me on a silver platter?
Du Ruhui ignored the emperor's geopolitical envy and focused instead on a glaring gap in their intelligence. His brows knitted together.
"Before the fall of Persia, the screen referred to them simply as the Arabs, or Dashi. After they conquered Persia, they became the White Dashi. Yet during the future Battle of Talas under Emperor Xuanzong, they were called the Black Dashi."
He looked around the room.
"What exactly is the distinction? Are these different states, or merely different ruling houses?"
With almost no concrete intelligence regarding the lands west of Persia, the brilliant minds of the Tang court could only exchange puzzled looks. It was not every day that you had to figure out why an empire you barely knew existed kept changing colors.
After a moment, Fang Xuanling offered a tentative theory.
"The broadcast mentioned that they are united by a particular faith. Perhaps these color designations represent different branches of that faith, or different families that seized control of their sacred cities."
It was, at the very least, the most reasonable guess they could make. Nobody had any better ideas.
Li Shimin stepped closer to the map, recalling another detail from the earlier broadcast.
"During the segment on the Battle of Talas, the screen specifically mentioned that the Black Dashi were still fighting the Byzantine Empire."
He frowned slightly.
"Can this Roman state truly survive for another seven or eight centuries?"
For a Chinese emperor accustomed to dynasties rising and falling every few hundred years, the idea of a millennium-spanning empire was almost unbelievable. In China, dynasties came and went like seasons. But Rome? Rome just kept going.
Du Ruhui considered the question before offering a different perspective.
"I suspect the relationship between Byzantium and ancient Rome is much like the relationship between our Great Tang and the ancient states of Huaxia."
He paused briefly.
"To outsiders, Chinese civilization has existed continuously for thousands of years. Only the name on the banners changes."
Li Shimin slowly nodded. The explanation sounded entirely plausible. The Romans, apparently, were just as stubborn as the Chinese. They just changed their clothes and kept marching.
Li Shimin stepped up to the parchment map and used his thumb and forefinger to measure the distance between Chang'an and the Persian Plateau. After a long moment, he let out a heavy sigh.
"The overland route is a nightmare. Between here and Persia lie countless small kingdoms, deserts, mountains, and narrow passes. Moving an army that far would be extraordinarily difficult."
His finger then returned to Chang'an, moved along the Hexi Corridor, crossed the Pamirs, and finally came to rest near the Khyber Pass.
"This region, however, appears exceptionally fertile," Li Shimin murmured, his eyes gleaming with interest. "If the Great Tang can one day secure its frontiers, establishing a major protectorate here would allow us to control the gateway between East and West and keep any western threats at arm's length."
The Light Screen's earlier claim that a minor Indian kingdom had effortlessly supplied provisions for two hundred thousand Tang soldiers still lingered in his mind. The agricultural wealth of that region was clearly far greater than he had ever imagined.
Watching the emperor slip into his usual habit of planning future conquests, Li Ji quietly moved closer to Su Dingfang and nudged him with an elbow, a grin spreading across his face.
"So, Dingfang," he whispered, "how does it feel to watch His Majesty personally poach your future disciple?"
Su Dingfang's expression darkened. He shot Li Ji a flat look.
"If the boy has caught His Majesty's attention, then he will serve the Great Tang at the highest level. I see nothing wrong with that."
"Nothing wrong?" Li Ji's grin widened. "You spent ten years teaching him everything you know. And now the Emperor is going to swoop in and take all the credit."
"Better the Emperor than you."
Li Ji clutched his chest in mock offense. "Ouch. That hurt."
"Good."
Su Dingfang's eyes swept over Li Ji's immaculate armor before a faint smile appeared on his face.
"Actually, I find your situation far more interesting, Maogong. I spent nearly thirty years sitting idle in Chang'an, practically collecting dust, yet future generations still rank my military achievements alongside yours."
Li Ji's grin faltered slightly.
Su Dingfang leaned closer.
"Just imagine what my reputation would look like if I had been given thirty more years on campaign."
The implication hung in the air like a sword waiting to drop.
Li Ji opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.
Meanwhile, Li Jing paid no attention to their banter. His gaze remained fixed on the map as a quiet sigh escaped him.
"To think that the Western Turks were involved in wars on such a scale...The world is far larger than we once believed."
---
Liu Bei stood on the steps of his headquarters in Chengdu, humbled by the sheer scale of the world displayed on the Light Screen's map.
He recalled a line from an earlier broadcast. Weak nations have no diplomacy. Small nations have no sovereignty.
"The ultimate tragedy of a fallen state is perfectly embodied by those Persian princes," Liu Bei murmured, his eyes carrying a trace of sympathy. "I wonder... if I could ever meet this Ardashir in my lifetime."
While the Tang court was witnessing the tragic end of the Persian story, Liu Bei's era was watching its violent and ambitious beginning. The distance between them was simply too great. Neither war nor diplomacy was realistically possible. At most, there might one day be an exchange of envoys or merchants. Yet the sheer audacity of a man who forged an empire from nothing resonated deeply with the ruler of Shu.
Zhang Fei, however, saw a far more amusing possibility.
"Big Brother!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "What if we write a letter to the current Parthian Emperor and tell him that this Ardashir fellow is plotting a rebellion? What do you think would happen?"
Zhuge Liang gently waved his feather fan and appeared to seriously consider the proposal. After a moment, he smiled.
"The cost of sending such a message across thousands of miles would be astronomical. There are travel expenses, escorts, gifts, and more than a few bribes along the way."
He turned toward Zhang Fei.
"If Yide is willing to pay for the entire expedition from his own pocket, we can certainly find out what happens."
Zhang Fei immediately retreated several steps.
"Forget it!" he cried, waving his hands frantically. "Spend my own money just to watch someone else's empire explode? I am not that curious!"
A burst of laughter erupted around them. Even Zhuge Liang could not help but chuckle.
Only Liu Ba remained focused on the military implications. Looking at the Light Screen, he frowned slightly.
"I do not understand something. The screen said that Pei Xingjian needed to suppress a rebellion in the Western Regions. If that is the case, why did he ask the emperor for a Persian prince who had no soldiers and no kingdom?"
Zhuge Liang's smile widened slightly.
"An excellent question, Zichu."
He tapped his fan against his palm.
"It is a classic stratagem. 'Borrowing a passage to attack Guo.' Watch closely. The man is about to put on a performance."
[Lightscreen]
[Having successfully acquired Narsieh from Emperor Li Zhi, Pei Xingjian and his entourage set out for the Western Regions.
The journey from Chang'an was long and arduous. By the time Pei Xingjian arrived at Xizhou Prefecture, he was fully prepared to put his political network to work.
After all, he had governed this region for years. Tribal chiefs, city leaders, and local warlords all held him in exceptionally high regard.
The moment they heard their former Protector General had returned, they rushed to Xizhou and organized a grand welcoming banquet in his honor.
As the wine flowed, the local leaders naturally asked about his current assignment.
Pei Xingjian readily explained that he was merely escorting the newly appointed Persian Governor, Narsieh, back to his post.
He then deliberately made a show of complaining about the scorching summer heat, insisting that crossing the desert at this time of year was practically suicide.
Therefore, his delegation would remain in Xizhou and wait for the cooler autumn weather before continuing west.
This piece of information was promptly intercepted by spies and delivered to the Western Turk leaders who were secretly preparing their rebellion.
Upon hearing the news, the rebels breathed a sigh of relief. Their suspicions had been confirmed. The Tang court had not sent an army to suppress them. This was merely a diplomatic escort mission.
That was exactly what Pei Xingjian wanted them to believe.
With the rebels completely at ease, he moved to the second phase of his plan.
Pei Xingjian invited the leaders of the Four Anxi Garrisons to join him for a grand hunting expedition.
He noted that the summer grass was lush and game was plentiful, making it the perfect opportunity for the region's young warriors to enjoy themselves.
No one found the proposal suspicious.
When Pei Xingjian had served as Protector General, he had organized similar hunting expeditions on many occasions.
Trusting his reputation completely, the local leaders happily agreed. Within a matter of days, Pei Xingjian had casually assembled more than ten thousand elite cavalrymen. It was a remarkable demonstration of his influence in the Western Regions.
Under the guise of hunting deer and wolves, this ten-thousand-strong "hunting party" began roaming across the steppe.
They rode east.
They rode west.
And then, by pure coincidence, they arrived directly outside the main camp of the rebel leader, Ashina Duzhi.
Pei Xingjian remained perfectly courteous. He ordered his ten thousand cavalrymen to wait outside and sent a single unarmed messenger into the camp to "discuss matters" with the rebel leader.
Faced with a horizon filled entirely by Tang cavalry, Ashina Duzhi proved to be an extremely reasonable man. He surrendered immediately.
Without shedding a single drop of blood, Pei Xingjian seized Ashina Duzhi's command seals and used them to summon the other conspirators to a meeting.
As they arrived, he arrested every one of them.
Finally, he selected a detachment of elite light cavalry and launched a lightning raid on the camp of the secondary rebel leader, Li Zhefu.
The man was reportedly captured before he had even finished getting dressed.
Just like that, a major regional crisis was resolved without a battle.
The local leaders were so impressed that they voluntarily erected a stone monument at Suyab to commemorate Pei Xingjian's bloodless victory, while the rebel leaders were packed into cages and sent back to Chang'an.
The only person who truly suffered during this entire operation was Narsieh.
After extracting every possible ounce of political value from his Persian prince, Pei Xingjian happily returned to Chang'an with his prisoners and the rewards that awaited him there. He completely forgot about the Persian Prince.
Abandoned and utterly useless to the Tang military, Narsieh was forced to drag his own entourage across the mountains into Tokharistan.
The last royal heir of the Sassanid Dynasty lived as a "guest" in Tokharistan for twenty years. His dreams of restoring the Persian Empire slowly rotted away in the dust.
In 707 AD, a broken, exhausted Narsieh finally gave up and returned to Chang'an. Emperor Zhongzong granted him the ceremonial title of Left Guard General.
He died of illness in Chang'an shortly after. With his final breath, the grand story of the Sassanid Empire officially came to a permanent end.]