Li Shimin's eyes widened like a child discovering a new toy.
The crossbow designs scrolling across the Light Screen looked like something from a mad inventor's workshop. Each mechanism was more bizarre and intricate than the last.
So many crossbows.
Big ones. Small ones. Folding ones. Things that looked less like weapons and more like someone had strapped a siege engine onto a stick.
"I genuinely had no idea," he said, "that people could spend this much effort reinventing the crossbow."
Li Shimin suspected his son's military examination standards had been shaped by his own preferences. After all, the selection criteria for the Hundred Riders Guard mirrored his personal philosophy perfectly.
A candidate could be completely inept with swords and spears, but they absolutely had to be able to draw a heavy bow, ride expertly, and shoot accurately from horseback.
Of course, Li Shimin himself had established those exact standards. What could he say? The man knew what worked.
As for the criticized military examination standards, Li Shimin considered them nothing more than a basic screening tool. He never intended to select generals based on such simplistic physical tests anyway.
Both he and Li Jing understood perfectly well what truly mattered in warfare. Raw strength alone was useless without strategy and judgment.
At most, they had minor disagreements on emphasis.
Li Shimin prioritized battlefield intuition and the ability to seize fleeting opportunities in the chaos of combat.
Li Jing leaned more toward grand strategic planning and meticulous campaign design. But both agreed on the fundamentals.
They both wanted those crossbows.
"Minister Yan," the Emperor called out. "Can you build these things?"
No response.
"Yan Lide?" Li Shimin called again. "Could you possibly create new bows based on these designs?"
Unfortunately for the emperor, Yan Lide was currently too engrossed in his work to offer even a token response.
The master craftsman's hands moved frantically across parchment, his brush dancing like a possessed spirit.
Yan Lide shot him an apologetic glance. The message was clear: Not now, Your Majesty. I am very busy stealing secrets from the future.
Li Shimin blinked.
He finally noticed that both Yan brothers were feverishly sketching, their brushes barely keeping pace with the Light Screen's revelations.
Every intricate detail of each crossbow mechanism was being meticulously recorded, as if their very lives depended on capturing every gear and lever.
Li Jing stepped forward.
"Your Majesty, I am afraid that compared to these advanced designs, our Tang crossbows are merely primitive. Please let them continue."
Li Jing's face creased with a rare smile. "But these diagrams are a godsend. A timely rescue for our military technology."
Du Ruhui, never one to miss an opportunity for intellectual discourse, leaned closer to the emperor. "Your Majesty, regarding these various crossbow manufacturing methods, there is a saying from the Huainanzi: 'Begging for fire is not as good as obtaining a flint.' It would be far more valuable to emulate the scientific methods of later generations."
"The Light Screen mentioned that crossbow evolution was all about avoiding weaknesses. This observation cuts straight to the heart of the matter. By the same logic, breeding horses is all about cultivating strengths."
"Such simple insights, yet they strike directly at the core. This might very well be the essence of the scientific approach to problem-solving."
Li Shimin had always valued Du Ruhui's counsel.
He nodded, his thoughts already chasing the implications down a dozen different paths.
"According to your wisdom, Keming," Li Shimin asked, his voice earnest, "how exactly do we emulate this science?"
Du Ruhui smiled. "The people of the future said something else, Your Majesty."
"What is it?"
"Apparently, mathematics becomes so important that it ends up supporting almost every science."
Li Shimin frowned.
Du Ruhui's smile widened.
"If Your Majesty truly wishes to reform the imperial examinations, I recommend placing a heavy emphasis on arithmetic."
"How heavy?"
"Heavier than anyone has ever dared."
Li Shimin's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. He thought about the great clans. Those smug aristocratic families who treated the civil service exams like their personal property.
They memorized poetry. They practiced calligraphy. They recited classical texts until they could do it in their sleep.
But mathematics?
Arithmetic?
The kind of cold, unforgiving logic that did not care about your family name or your elegant handwriting?
That would be their nightmare.
Let those pampered great clans find out that life is never easy.
---
In the Chengdu office, Liu Bei squinted at the words "Windlass Crossbow" displayed on the Light Screen. After staring for a moment, his face brightened.
"Kongming, is that not your wife's crossbow design?"
Zhuge Liang smiled. "There are some differences, but the underlying idea is remarkably similar."
He knew the mechanism well. The Eight-Ox Crossbow he had developed from future knowledge also relied on a windlass to draw the string.
The compatibility with rotary waterwheels was perfect. That happy coincidence had eventually led to the massive ship-mounted crossbows on their war junks, whose interconnected windlasses were powered by crews pedaling rotary mechanisms.
Before the Jingzhou campaign, Zhuge Liang had exchanged letters with his wife about miniaturizing the Eight-Ox Crossbow. The idea had seemed promising in theory.
In practice, the composite triple-bow arms kept snapping under the enormous tension. When scaled down, the materials simply could not withstand the stress.
The windlass mechanism itself adapted beautifully to handheld crossbows. These weapons packed considerably greater power than ordinary models. The trade-off was that winding the string took much longer.
Huang Yueying had pointed out an advantage in one of her letters.
Because operating the windlass required little skill, a three-man team could effectively manage three crossbows at once. Two men handled the winding while the third focused solely on aiming and firing. The division of labor was surprisingly efficient.
The real problem was the cost.
The powerful bowstrings were expensive.
The windlass mechanisms were expensive. Maintaining the weapons was even more expensive.
By the time Zhuge Liang finished the calculations, equipping a small unit cost almost as much as maintaining cavalry. Including maintenance, it actually cost three times more.
Even Zhuge Liang had stared at those numbers for a long time.
In the end, he settled on a compromise.
He removed the dedicated windlasses and redesigned the heavy crossbows to include detachable windlass slots instead. Support soldiers carried the windlasses separately, attaching one only long enough to draw the string before passing it to the next crossbow in line.
An elegant solution. But timing had not been kind to them.
The exchange of letters, the research, the experimentation. All of it consumed precious months.
By the time they finally produced a workable design, the Jingzhou campaign had already ended.
Now the improved crossbows were being manufactured in secret, waiting for the day they would present an unpleasant surprise to someone's army.
"A hundred-refinements steel crossbow..." Zhuge Liang leaned forward, his scholarly excitement barely contained as he studied every detail. "Sometimes one studies a problem for so long that the answer ends up hiding in plain sight."
From the Han Dynasty to the present, no one had attempted to build an entirely metal crossbow. The bow arms were usually made of wood. The trigger mechanisms and other components were fashioned from bronze or iron.
The reason was simple.
The metals available in earlier times lacked the necessary flexibility. They shattered under stress.
But the steel being produced now was far stronger and more resilient than anything available in the past.
Perhaps an all-metal crossbow was finally possible.
The cost would be astronomical. Mass production would remain a fantasy. But the thought of building just one, of holding such a marvel in his hands and testing its capabilities, made his fingers itch.
Because everyone shared his curiosity, the atmosphere in the office remained relaxed as they discussed the various designs.
Even Liu Ba, usually quiet and reserved, ventured a thought.
"If we apply the principles of leverage, the most practical design for battlefield use would probably be the goat's foot lever crossbow, would it not?"
Zhuge Liang's eyes lit up. "Zichu, please elaborate."
Liu Ba took a breath. "Kongming once lectured at the Little Academy. I happened to attend that lecture. You used a seesaw to explain leverage, demonstrating that the longer the lever arm, the less force required."
He pointed toward the diagram.
"This mechanism works on the same principle. As the lever is pulled backward, it drives the bowstring to the rear. The leverage changes during the movement, but the portion held by the operator is always longer than the section connected to the string. Therefore, it requires less effort. Compared with a windlass, it is also cheaper and faster to operate."
Liu Bei listened.
He turned to look at Zhuge Liang with the expression of a man who had just discovered that military engineering apparently involved mathematics.
Zhang Fei looked even more lost. His massive head was nodding dangerously, like he was about to fall asleep on his feet.
Fa Zheng, however, was staring at the diagram with growing interest, his eyes tracing every line of the mechanism.
Zhuge Liang burst into laughter, clapping his hands together with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.
"Excellent, Zichu. You truly have talent. Come, you should join me in researching these mechanical arts."
Liu Ba's face flushed with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. "Kongming flatters me. I merely recalled your teachings."
Zhuge Liang raised an eyebrow. "And?"
Liu Ba opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at the diagram, then at Zhuge Liang, then at the diagram again. Finally, he nodded. "If Kongming believes I can be of use... I would be honored."
Zhang Fei, having finally snapped out of his daze, scratched his head in confusion. "So what you are saying is... this crossbow thingy is better because it is easier to use? Why did you not just say that in the first place?"
The entire room erupted in laughter. Even Liu Bei could not suppress a smile at his youngest brother's blunt simplicity.
"Yide has a point," Liu Bei said diplomatically. "Sometimes the most complex explanations boil down to simple truths. If a weapon is easier to use and cheaper to make, it serves the army better."
Zhuge Liang nodded. "Precisely. The beauty of science lies in its practicality. It is not about creating the most complicated solution, but the most effective one."
Fa Zheng, who had been absorbing the entire discussion, finally spoke up. "This raises an interesting question. If we can apply mathematical principles to improve weapons, what other aspects of warfare could benefit? Logistics? Fortification design? Naval construction?"
The room fell silent as everyone considered the implications.
Zhuge Liang's eyes gleamed.
"You have touched upon something profound, Xiaozhi. Mathematics is not just about counting money or measuring land. It is the language of the universe itself. If we can learn to speak it fluently, there is no limit to what we can achieve."
Liu Bei watched his advisors with a mixture of pride and wonder.
Here they were, discussing concepts that would shape warfare for centuries to come, all sparked by a simple display on the mysterious Light Screen.
The future was unfolding before their eyes, and his kingdom was positioned to embrace it.
[Lightscreen]
[So why did classical Chinese crossbow design stall?
Two reasons, really.
First, the Ming Dynasty abandoned mathematics. Not deliberately, not with malice. They just let it wither. Engineers built by intuition and trial and error. They had no geometry to guide them, no formulas to calculate stress points or leverage ratios.
The brilliant algebra of the Song and Yuan dynasties? Gone. The coefficient array method for solving equations? Forgotten. Even the Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art, the bedrock of Chinese mathematics, had become obscure. The Ten Classics of mathematics were thought to have been lost entirely.
Xu Guangqi, a leading Ming minister, watched this decline with growing frustration. He blamed the academics for neglecting practical learning and confusing mathematics with numerology. He once lamented that the studies of mathematics had fallen to waste over the last several hundred years.
Second, firearms arrived.
Once muskets proved their worth, crossbows became obsolete overnight. Why fund research into an old weapon when a new one did the same job better?
Xu Guangqi himself persuaded the Ming emperor to adopt advanced European artillery against the Manchu. It worked at first. Then he died. The Manchu learned European iron-smelting technology and acquired Western arms themselves. The strategy collapsed. But the crossbow? It had already been left behind.
With that, our deep dive into the Tang Dynasty's administration of the Western Regions officially concludes.
General Xue Rengui's legendary triumph at the Battle of Yunzhou marked the end of an era. Emperor Gaozong passed away later that year.
But here is the thing. Wu Zetian had already been ruling from behind the scenes for over two decades. Since Gaozong's debilitating stroke in 660, she had been the real power. His death just made it official.
The infamous woman had finally stepped onto the center stage of history.
In our next episode, we leave the desert sands behind. We turn our gaze toward the vast ocean and investigate a defining question of maritime supremacy.
How exactly did the Tang Dynasty shatter the spine of the Yamato islanders in a single devastating naval clash?
We will see you all next time!]
[Server Chat Log]
[TangFan_88: Wait, hold up. Where's my boy Li Shiji? You're telling me Xu Maogong, one of the founding fathers of the Great Tang, doesn't get his own dedicated episode?
HistoryBuff_42: No helping it, man. The guy got the imperial Li surname for his service, only to have it stripped from his bloodline decades later. That's a first in Tang history. Compared to the other two military gods, his political legacy is a mess. We know he could fight, but he definitely holds the record for losing the most posthumous face.
MemeLord_80: Honestly, seeing the martial ferocity of the Zhenguan era really puts things into perspective. Compared to the absolute wolves of the Tang, the Song Dynasty looks like a shivering Chihuahua.
Earth_Defender: You say that, but Song officials actually believed they were superior to Li Shimin. Look up the transcripts of Emperor Zhao Gou and Prime Minister Qin Hui. Pure comedy.
Bilibili_Historian: Oh god, you're right. Zhao Gou sat on his throne claiming Li Shimin was nothing but a vain glory hound. He even claimed Emperor Wen of Han was fake and insincere. Then Qin Hui rushed in to lick his boots, saying: "Since Your Majesty cares nothing for glory and treats everyone with sincerity, you just need to try a little harder, and you will easily surpass Yao and Shun. Forget matching the Tang or Han."
RoastMaster_9000: That level of delusion is exactly why the internet permanently branded him Wanyan Gou. The man lost half his civilization to northern barbarians, paid them tribute, and still thought he was better than the guy who made barbarians dance at his banquets.]