Li Shimin felt little emotional pull when it came to the affairs of the Northern Song. His thoughts were not especially complicated either. He simply found the wars of the Northern Song genuinely dull.
Facing the enemy head-on, smashing through opposing ranks with valor, singing victory songs upon triumphant return, that was the kind of warfare he loved.
At the same time, he also admired Li Jing's style of command: plans without wasted motion, strikes that landed cleanly, elite troops moving on surprise routes to seize decisive victories.
Yet both of these approaches were impossible under a Song court where emperors and chief ministers distrusted and humiliated their generals, shackling them further with supervising eunuchs.
Take Yang Ye as an example. So what if he was seasoned on the frontier? So what if he understood the enemy inside out? Loyalty and valor, entrusted to the wrong hands, staking the lives of sons and soldiers alike, all that remained in the end was a single word: regrettable.
As for Emperor Zhenzong's era, whether it was the grand farce of manufacturing heavenly texts and performing the Fengshan rites, or the policy of buying peace with annual payments instead of fighting, all of it left Li Shimin openly contemptuous.
After a brief sigh, he did not set down his brush. With his left thumb and forefinger, he lightly stroked his thick beard, looking quite pleased with himself.
"My literary talent is excellent, as it should be."
Zhangsun Wuji smiled and nodded along.
"Even in later generations, the poems recited in Chang'an during the New Year celebrations are those written by Your Majesty. That alone proves your words have endured for a thousand years."
"Your Majesty might compose a piece to gift to the descendants. It would surely bring them great comfort."
That suggestion immediately piqued Li Shimin's interest.
Earlier, when later generations lamented the loss of the Lanting Preface, that national treasure, Du Ruhui had half-jokingly urged him to send the precious calligraphy to the future. At the time it had been banter, but afterward Li Shimin did give it serious thought. The piece was priceless, yes, but it served mainly for appreciation and copying. For future generations, its significance would be immeasurable.
And while the calligraphy was precious, compared to what he had gained from the descendants, its practical value did not even amount to a fraction.
Still… this was Wang Xizhi's original work. Once given away, it could never be recovered. Would that not mean one fewer chance to admire it every time it was copied and viewed?
That tug-of-war left Li Shimin deeply conflicted. Yet Changsun Wuji's words suddenly sparked a realization.
To later generations, his own original writing might well be considered a treasure too. If that was the case, why not copy the Lanting Preface himself and send that instead?
The more he thought about it, the more workable it seemed, and his mood visibly brightened.
The original Lanting Preface would eventually be gifted to the descendants as repayment, but there was no harm in keeping it at hand a little longer for now.
[Lightscreen]
[By all logic, the Northern Song so strongly promoted civil officials and suppressed military power. With scholars spread across the land like forests, surely there should have been one or two worth boasting about.
Unfortunately, the martial achievements of Northern Song scholar-officials cannot be described as nonexistent. It would be more accurate to say they were worth absolutely nothing.
Modern scholars who study Song history are often sharp-tongued, bluntly stating that the Northern Song civil bureaucracy suffered from severe self-deception. In simple terms, they were very good at lying to themselves.
This mentality is now generally believed to have taken shape during Emperor Zhenzong's reign.
We have already discussed the embarrassing spectacle of Zhenzong fabricating heavenly texts and climbing Mount Tai for Fengshan rites. Feudal histories, out of deference to rulers, tend to classify this as "treacherous ministers causing chaos while the ruler was blinded."
Modern readers need not bother with such face-saving. Whether heavenly texts or Fengshan rites, both required massive mobilization. Without full cooperation from the entire central apparatus, Emperor Zhenzong and a handful of flatterers could never have pulled it off. In reality, it was a joint effort between Zhenzong and the scholar-official class to manufacture a divine image.
The self-deception at the heart of the heavenly texts and Fengshan rites was made explicit by Wang Qinruo, who proposed the scheme in the first place.
"A treaty signed under city walls has long been regarded as a deep humiliation. Without heavenly omens bestowed from above, how could we awe the Khitan and cover up this shame?"
This makes it clear that the scholar-officials of Zhenzong's era understood perfectly well how humiliating the Chanyuan Treaty was. Their solution was simple: fabricate heavenly texts to scare the Liao and hide the disgrace.
Later, when Empress Liu governed as regent and buried the heavenly texts along with Zhenzong, the farce finally ended. But the habit of self-deception among Northern Song scholars had already spiraled out of control.
It is also undeniable that starting from Emperor Renzong's reign, Northern Song scholar-officials embraced the ideal of "inner sageliness and outer kingship, bearing responsibility for all under Heaven." Most of them harbored strong ambitions for achievement.
When the Song–Xia wars broke out, leading figures such as Han Qi, Fan Zhongyan, Xia Song, Pang Ji, and Wen Yanbo all rushed to the front lines. Their eagerness to build merit was obvious, but sadly, it achieved very little.
Di Qing once remarked privately that military affairs were simply not something civil officials were suited for. Coming from a general of humble origins, it was a painfully accurate diagnosis of the Song's civil-military problem, and no one paid it any heed.
As for the actual results of these scholar-generals, the Rulin Gongyi recorded them plainly:
"In the early Qingli era, when the Xia invaders were at their height, all four routes in Shaanxi were placed under Confucian commanders. After a long time, not a single success was achieved."
It further states that "the rebellions dragged on for years, the government armies suffered repeated defeats," bluntly noting that each battle went worse than the last.
As the frontier defenses were steadily pushed back toward Bianliang, the scholar-officials, unable to produce results, fell back once again on self-deception. Rumors began circulating in the rear that Western Xia had no real will to fight:
"They have no intention of Yan Prefecture. Little Fan's father has tens of thousands of armored troops in his belly. He is not someone Big Fan's father can fool."
Later, the celebration became outright champagne popping:
"With one Han in the army, the western bandits grow cold with fear.
With one Fan in the army, the western bandits lose their nerve.
Li Yuanhao hears of them and trembles, then submits as a vassal."
In reality, such talk was good only for a laugh. Everyone knew how the Song–Xia wars actually went.
Mei Yaochen's Record of the Old Plains, Su Shunqin's Defeat at Qingzhou, and Fan Yong's Chronicle of Western Xia all openly admitted disastrous defeats caused by underestimating the enemy.
Han Qi, who loudly proclaimed that "in warfare, one must first set aside victory and defeat," went on to have his entire army wiped out at Haoshui River. Zhang Yuan, who later defected to Western Xia after repeatedly failing the examinations and rose to become a chief minister there, mocked him mercilessly:
"When did Xia Song ever inspire awe?
Han Qi was never that remarkable.
Dragons and tigers rose across the riverlands,
yet they still prattled on about military strategy."
All that remained was empty ridicule.
When Li Tao compiled the Extended Continuation of the Comprehensive Mirror, he summed up the Song–Xia wars with a single line: the Confucian commanders "loved planning but achieved little."
Ming dynasty historians were even more direct: the Song people boasted loudly, but their praise and blame bore little relation to reality.
Wang Fuzhi, notorious for his sharp tongue, practically chased them down while cursing: the Zhong family produced no generals, the central court had no strategy, Di Qing's reputation was too thin to justify supreme command, Xia Song and Fan Yong were useless, and although Han Qi and Fan Zhongyan cared deeply for the state and the people, they simply were not cut out for the job.
The first Song–Xia war had three major engagements. Only the initial battle at Sanchuankou could be called a rough draw. The later battles at Haoshui River and Dingchuan Stockade were outright disasters.
The first peace talks had little to do with the Northern Song's efforts anyway. They came about mainly because relations between Liao and Xia deteriorated. To avoid fighting on two fronts, Li Yuanhao chose, from a political standpoint, to accept the Northern Song's annual payments and the opening of border markets, thus reaching the first peace agreement.
In a sense, the scholar-officials did play an irreplaceable role in the Song–Xia war.
If not for the endless variety of ways they managed to get themselves beaten, Li Yuanhao would not have been so relaxed and picky when negotiating peace terms with the Northern Song.]
Inside the Han-era Chang'an office, Zhang Fei muttered to himself, "Now I finally get why later generations talk about the Song with so much anger at its failure to fight."
"Their foreign wars were… just plain embarrassing."
Hearing the descendants constantly use new expressions, Zhang Fei picked one up on the spot and put it to use.
From answering the imperial call to suppress the Yellow Turbans until now, more than twenty years had passed. Zhang Fei felt that calling himself a veteran general was not exactly an exaggeration. He had seen plenty of battles.
He had seen bad campaigns before. For instance, at the start of the An Lushan Rebellion, famous generals were executed in their camps instead of dying on the battlefield. That alone was tragic enough.
But looking at the Northern Song's record now, Zhang Fei could not help shaking his head again and adding, "If these Confucian commanders really want to save the Song, they might as well defect to Liao or Xia. The Northern Song might actually get a breather that way."
"Yide!" Liu Bei raised his voice slightly. "Do not speak so carelessly."
It was more for show than anything else. After all, they were no longer strangers to Zhao Kuangyin, and talking behind his back like that was still inappropriate.
Zhang Fei barely concealed a curl of his lip. He lifted his cup and drained the tea in one go. As if I care to say it anyway.
Pang Tong stared blankly at the light screen, then turned to Zhuge Liang for confirmation.
"If I remember correctly… wasn't the Chanyuan Treaty a Song victory and a Liao defeat?"
Lu Su leaned over as well, curious. He did not watch the light screen often and was not fully clear on the details. Zhuge Liang nodded, tapping the map behind him with a small ruler as he explained.
"According to the descendants, the Liao army marched south and besieged Bianliang. The court was terrified, already discussing relocating the capital and fleeing south."
"Fortunately, a chief minister intervened and urged the emperor to personally lead the campaign. The Chanyuan Treaty was then concluded, with annual payments and the two states addressed as brotherly nations."
"Looking at it now, Liao could not breach the city, and Song could not drive them off. If the siege dragged on, Liao would have been at a disadvantage. Calling it a Song victory is not entirely wrong."
Pang Tong fell silent, then shook his head.
"I had thought the Song did not even know what a treaty under the city walls meant."
"I have never heard of one being defined as a victory."
The others nodded in agreement. Fa Zheng, sharp as ever, noticed the timing and drew a natural conclusion.
"The descendant said earlier that Di Qing was pulled away from the Song–Xia front to guard against Liao. That means Song and Liao never resumed hostilities."
"So after making peace with Xia, the Northern Song had to pay annual tributes to both states?"
No wonder later generations kept emphasizing how wealthy the Song dynasty was.
"The Northern Song drained its own people with heavy taxes, squandered resources raising troops under Confucian commanders, and paid annual tribute to enemy states just to cling to survival."
"And yet it still lasted for more than a hundred and sixty years…"
Liu Bei shook his head, feeling that today had truly broadened his horizons.
"Since ancient times, in warfare one hears of men setting life and death aside to seek victory. One does not hear of setting victory and defeat aside while leading armies."
"In battle, the sole objective is victory. If victory and defeat are cast aside, what is left to fight for?"
Perhaps it was because he had resolved this year to fully confront Cao's forces, or because he knew all too well how hard his second brother fought to block Cao Cao north of Jingzhou, but Liu Bei's words carried rare emotion.
After speaking, he felt a measure of relief. At least the men under his command were all practical sorts.
Off to the side, Zhang Fei whispered to Ma Chao, "Mengqi, did you see that? Big Brother just told me not to spout nonsense, and then he got more worked up than I did."
Ma Chao recalled how Zhang Fei had earlier gone quiet and kept his distance. He followed suit now, sitting up straight, saying nothing, and shifting a little farther away from Zhang Fei.
…
Inside the palace hall at Bianliang, several young eunuchs worked with their heads bowed, scarcely daring to breathe. Liu Han, the Court Physician in Attendance, stood with his chin lifted, looking faintly troubled.
The emperor had summoned him directly, yet said nothing. Moments ago, His Majesty had been animated, and now he suddenly looked as if his parents had died. This was completely unlike the calm ruler Liu Han knew.
The problem clearly lay with the light screen. Seeing Zhao Pu deep in thought and the eunuchs behind him acting as if this were nothing new, Liu Han could only guess that the screen's contents were indeed serious.
Could it be that what it spoke of was closely tied to the Song itself?
Liu Han was usually absorbed in medical studies, reserved in speech and action, his sharpness not immediately apparent. In truth, after hearing the emperor and Lord Zhao discuss Northern Han and Yang Ye earlier, a suspicion had already begun to form in his mind.
It was just that the thought seemed too absurd, leaving him unsure how to proceed.
"Physician Liu?" Zhao Pu called softly, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Zhao Kuangyin stared blankly for a moment, then suddenly remembered something.
"This Emperor Zhenzong… that would be Zhao Dechang?"
The descendant had previously spoken broadly about Song history. When discussing the Axe Shadows at Candlelight, he mentioned that the younger brother's eldest son went mad, the second died, but skipped over the choice of imperial heir.
Now that it was stated outright that Emperor Zhenzong succeeded after the younger brother's death, Zhao Kuangyin suddenly realized something.
Song Zhenzong should still be living in the Prince of Jin's residence right now, anxious and unable to sleep.
Zhao Pu thought it over carefully.
"Dechong went mad, Deming died. Later generations say no more. In that case, Dechang must have been the one established as crown prince."
Zhao Kuangyin nodded, finally understanding why he had not immediately realized Zhenzong was still in the Prince of Jin's residence.
The younger brother never ascended the throne, so his sons had not yet changed their names. For example, Zhao Dechong should be the same person later referred to as Zhao Yuanzuo, but it was difficult to make that connection at first glance.
Zhao Pu stood by, awaiting orders. Zhao Kuangyin thought for a moment, then sighed.
"The boy is only eight this year. What is there to fear?"
"Once the reforms at the Imperial Academy are complete, let him enter. Let him read, or train in martial arts. Do not let him chase empty reputations and become a laughingstock to later generations."
He had no intention of guarding against an eight-year-old child. As for the younger brother who might actually cause trouble, he was already completely at Zhao Kuangyin's mercy.
After giving his instructions, Zhao Kuangyin looked up and sighed again, murmuring a name that had just crossed his mind.
"Zhang Yuan…"
Which led him to think of another person.
"Huang Chao…"
His gaze then fell on Zhao Pu.
"Zeping."
Zhao Pu was instantly terrified, nearly swearing to Heaven that he harbored no disloyalty, prompting Zhao Kuangyin to quickly reassure him that there was no such implication.
Truth be told, someone like Zhang Yuan, who defected to the enemy and rose to high office after repeated examination failures, was not unfamiliar to Zhao Kuangyin. Such cases were common enough in chaotic times. Zhao Pu himself had walked a somewhat similar path.
In his youth, Zhao Pu loved reading but had no prospects in the examinations. He traveled widely and eventually met Zhao Kuangyin in Chuzhou, serving him from that point onward.
That was why, when the descendant previously spoke about the tension between the Imperial Academy and the civil examinations, Zhao Kuangyin felt deeply affected.
If talent were selected impartially, even men from humble backgrounds could rise to high office and make their names known across the realm.
If not… then Zhang Yuan was the perfect example.