"Have you not seen, Zhong Jun of Han drop his books to beg for a long rope, staying to pacify the Southern Yue, his patriotic blood shining through history?"
"Have you not seen, Ban Chao lead thirty six cavalry to crush the Western Regions, using nomads against nomads, earning a marquisate ten thousand li away?"
"These are the brilliant heroes of our Han!"
Every Han man grew up hearing these names the way children in other lands hear tales of Achilles or Leonidas. They were not just historical footnotes. They were proof that a single man, armed with nothing but conviction, could change the fate of an empire.
Zhong Jun was the young official who volunteered to tame a wild frontier with nothing but a long rope and a silver tongue. He died there before he turned thirty, and he never once regretted the choice.
Ban Chao was the legend who walked into the western deserts with thirty six men and came back with an empire at his feet. He used the nomads against each other, played kings like chess pieces, and earned a marquisate ten thousand li from home.
For a man like Liu Bei, who had spent his entire life chasing a dream that everyone said was impossible, those two names were not just history. They were mirrors.
He felt his heart hammering against his ribs hard enough to hurt. The blood connection to those ancient names made him want to throw his head back and roar at the ceiling. He swallowed the urge down tight. He did not want to drown out the voices from the sky.
He glanced at Zhang Fei. His sworn brother was bright red in the face, holding his breath and furiously slapping his own thigh, trying to physically beat the adrenaline out of his leg before he exploded from excitement.
Ma Chao had strategically retreated to the far corner of the room, trying to look cool and detached. Even from a distance, the general was leaning forward so far he was almost falling out of his chair, his ears twitching, completely captivated.
The drumbeat from the Light Screen was crisp. It kept the rhythm without drowning out the lyrics. As the chorus of young voices swelled, the anthem echoed through the Tang Dynasty Ganlu Hall.
The eunuchs outside kept poking their heads in, confused by the strange but catchy tune that made their feet tap against the floor without permission.
"A true man should embrace danger and action. Why let a scholar's cap ruin this life?"
"Especially when the nation is as fragile as stacked eggs, and urgent military dispatches race without stopping."
Hearing the gentle dig at the scholar's cap, Wei Zheng frowned. He felt personally attacked and had to defend his academic tradition with his usual stubborn pride.
"The ancient sages said when the state is on the right path, speak boldly and act boldly," Wei Zheng argued, his voice firm. "When the state loses its way, act boldly but speak with caution. A gentleman embraces dangerous action. Why claim the scholar's path is a mistake?"
Fang Xuanling smiled like a cunning fox who had just stolen a chicken. "My friend, do you truly believe the Confucian scholars of the Han era and the Confucian scholars of our Tang are the same?"
Wei Zheng froze mid argument.
The philosophical gap between Han and Tang was already huge. He could not even begin to imagine how twisted the philosophy would become a thousand years later during the Song or Ming dynasties. He suddenly felt very old.
The next lines made Li Shimin sigh softly. The lyrics reminded him of Bao Zhao, a poet from the Northern and Southern Dynasties who was murdered by mutinous soldiers. Li Shimin had read his poetry obsessively in his youth, wearing out three separate copies of the collection.
The poet wrote about urgent dispatches rising from border posts. Remembering how Bao Zhao died for his broken nation, Li Shimin recited the final lines under his breath.
"In times of danger, the true character of a minister is revealed. They throw away their lives to repay a lord who trusted them."
Listening to the modern chorus, Li Shimin heard that same iron resolve loud and clear. The structure was simple and perfect. Remember the past. Face the present. Then make a vow.
The music swelled, filling every corner of the room.
"Throw away my old pen, put on my wartime uniform."
"One shout and over a hundred thousand comrades rise, singing battle songs as we march."
"Cleanse the foreign dust, swear to wipe out the Japan slaves without regard for our lives!"
As the music faded, Zhang Fei exhaled a loud sharp breath. His face was turning purple from holding it in for so long.
"Damn it," Zhang Fei bellowed, his voice shaking with fury he could no longer contain. "I thought I was going to choke holding that in."
His next sentence was pure warrior spirit. "It is a tragedy we cannot march forward in time to help our descendants slaughter those Japan slaves!"
Pang Tong tried to defuse the tension before Zhang Fei started punching holes in the wall. "Why so angry, Yide? The screen confirmed our descendants won. They do not need you rushing in to save them."
Zhang Fei shook his head hard.
His expression was dead serious, no trace of his usual playfulness left. "If there was a door to the future, I would be the first one charging through it, even if I died face down in the ground. How can we sit here comfortable while foreign trash bullies our bloodline?"
A heavy respectful air settled over the room. Pang Tong nodded slowly, his usual lazy smile gone. "Yide is correct. Since we cannot travel through time, we must conquer this era and expand our borders. We leave an unbreakable foundation so our grandchildren never face that nightmare alone."
Everyone agreed silently. Their current civil war was only a family dispute between men of the same blood. The future invasion was an attempt at total extermination. That was a line no one could cross.
Liu Bei felt a heavy sigh escape his lips. A clear vision formed in his mind.
After crushing Cao Cao, he would send the Han cavalry into the northern steppes. And as they marched, the entire army would sing this exact song, loud enough to shake the heavens.
In the Ganlu Hall, Li Shimin stared at the black and white photographs on the screen. He did not understand the modern uniforms or the strange weapons, but he felt the struggle in his bones.
When the final note faded, Li Shimin laughed loudly, full of pride and fire. "The descendants of our land are magnificent!"
No one was stupid enough to point out those soldiers were not exclusively Tang property. No one wanted to be the one to ruin the emperor's good mood.
Du Ruhui was focused on a single specific word that had stuck in his ear. "Comrade."
Fang Xuanling whispered, leaning in close, "When a nation faces annihilation, the people holding up the sky must share the same goal. They share the same will. Calling each other Comrade is more than appropriate. It is perfect."
Du Ruhui remembered the Book of Later Han mentioning six comrades who refused to serve a usurper. Connecting that ancient story to the modern era, with foreign imperialists and invaders threatening genocide, Du Ruhui felt the heavy weight of brotherhood and sacrifice hidden inside that simple word.
The Light Screen continued, shifting topics smoothly.
[Lightscreen]
[Looking back at modern history, the Internationale says to create human happiness, we must rely on ourselves.
Chinese history is a chronicle of struggle. The most important chapter is our war against the Yellow River.
The legend of Yu the Great taming the flood is our foundational myth. Unlike the West, where they built a boat to run away, our ancestors rolled up their sleeves and fought the water.
The Qin, Han, and Tang dug massive irrigation networks. The peak was the Sui and Tang Grand Canal. Emperor Yang of Sui bet his entire empire on digging it. His motive might have been a luxury cruise to look at pretty girls, but the canal fused the north and south into one body.
After the Sui and Tang, climate shifts and soil erosion made the Yellow River throw violent tantrums every few years. The Song and Ming dynasties spent their entire history trying to stop the river from drowning the canal.
The Yuan Dynasty gave up entirely and used the ocean route instead.
The Ming Dynasty produced Pan Jixun, who invented building dikes to constrict water and scour sand. He cleaned up the Yuan Dynasty mess for a while.
But the Ming also banned maritime trade and forced the logistics back to the canals. A famous quote says the livelihoods of a million canal boatmen depend on this, so switching to the ocean is forbidden. This highlights a major reason the Ming fell.
Speaking of water, some people online claim ancient Rome had aqueducts and running water, while ancient China relied on dirty wells. As your host, I must defend our ancestors.]
In Bianjing, Zhao Pu finished copying the lyrics, his brush hovering over the paper. He loved the warrior spirit burning in every line. But the final phrase confused him deeply.
"Japan slaves?"
He knew the Japan country, of course. They were the island barbarians across the eastern sea, the same ones who had sent tribute envoys to the Han court centuries ago. But he had never seen them treated as an existential threat worthy of such fury. They were just a small island of fishermen and pirates, far across the water.
Then again, the screen had mentioned the Opium Wars and foreign invasions from the sea. If the Japan had grown strong enough to threaten the mainland in the future, then the fury in that song suddenly made terrible sense.
Zhao Pu filed the thought away for later study.
Zhao Kuangyin ignored the music entirely, his mind already on the next strategic problem.
He looked at his Prime Minister. "Zeping, what is your opinion on inland canal shipping versus maritime ocean shipping?"
Zhao Pu froze solid. Yesterday, he would have dismissed ocean shipping out of hand as too risky and barbaric. Today, the screen said it was the correct path. But the real danger was the political context in the room.
Zhao Kuangyin was on his right. Zhao Guangyi was on his left. The emperor asked casually, but the air was full of invisible daggers. Zhao Pu had to navigate this sibling rivalry perfectly, or he would end up politically beheaded no matter which answer he gave.
Zhao Guangyi lost patience first, leaning forward eagerly. "Brother, the immortal said a million..."
Clang.
Zhao Kuangyin deliberately dropped his jade axe on the floor. He bent down to pick it up slowly, his eyes never leaving his brother's face.
"A million what, exactly?" Zhao Kuangyin asked, his voice flat and cold as ice.
Zhao Guangyi snapped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked.
Zhao Pu kept his eyes glued firmly on the screen, pretending he had seen nothing. "I believe Bianjing sits at a critical choke point, so canal shipping cannot be stopped entirely. It is our lifeline."
Zhao Guangyi smiled, thinking he had won.
"However," Zhao Pu continued, his voice steady, "given the verdicts of future generations, we should begin experimental trials with maritime shipping immediately. Test the waters, so to speak."
Zhao Guangyi's smile vanished instantly. He forced it back a second later, praising Zhao Pu's diplomatic wisdom through gritted teeth.
Li Shimin dissected the comments about the Yuan Dynasty with the precision of a surgeon.
"The capital of the Yuan must be on the coastline," Li Shimin said, certain of it.
It was the only explanation that made sense. The Mongols ignored the Yellow River and used the ocean. They were horsemen by nature. They would not develop maritime theory unless their capital relied on it completely.
They needed southern grain to survive. The capital had to be a coastal city or on a river dumping directly into the ocean. It also had to be defensible against northern raiders.
"Beijing," Li Shimin murmured, connecting the dots. "They established it near Youzhou to control the northern passes while using the sea rivers for supply. Clever, if logistically brutal."
He thought about the plunging temperatures and the wealthy south, shaking his head. "Trying to rule from the freezing north while depending entirely on the Jianghuai region for food is a logistical nightmare of the highest order. No wonder it all fell apart eventually."