Li Shimin faked his death? Then I will be powerful enough to conquer the world!

In the late spring of the second year of Kaiyao, the willow catkins in Chang'an had not yet dispersed, but the imperial prison in Taiji Palace was already filled with cold.

Li Yifu huddled on a straw mat, watching the poisoned wine being pushed toward him. The emerald liquid in the copper cup reflected on his trembling fingertips, and he vaguely recalled the moment he first met Li Zhi twenty years ago. Back then, His Royal Highness the Prince of Jin had said with a smile, "I've long heard of Yifu's talent and reputation."

&34;My lord, your majesty has a purpose. &34;

Li Yifu stared at the bright yellow silk that emerged from the other person's sleeve, and suddenly remembered the scene he saw in the West Market last December.

When the poisoned wine entered his throat, he twitched violently, and his nails made a harsh sound as they scratched the blue bricks. The last thing he saw was the tender grass growing out of the cracks in the rocks - it turned out that spring had really come, but the spring that belonged to him had died the moment he clung to the imperial power.

When the news of Li Yifu's execution reached the Eastern Palace, Li Hong was copying the "Qianwu Notes".

The wolf-hair brush paused on the characters "Small matters start with a big meeting, big matters start with a small meeting", and the ink spread out into a dark shadow, which looked very much like the ministers who had quarreled at the court meeting the day before.

The eight-year-old prince rubbed his sore wrist and looked up to see his mother Wu Meiniang leaning against a vermilion lacquer screen. Her golden hairpin cast tiny spots of light in the warm spring sun, but it was not as dazzling as the brilliance in her eyes.

"Did you figure out anything during the meeting at Liangyi Hall today?"

Wu Meiniang's fingertips brushed across the pile of memorials on the desk, and her brocade cuffs brushed the cover of Qianwu Notes. "When your uncle wrote this note, the Tang Dynasty was still unstable, and the aristocratic families rose up in rebellion."

Li Hong recalled that his father once said that his uncle started his army in Xianyang and conquered the world in one fell swoop, relying on the hearts of the people.

He was about to speak when his mother suddenly raised her hand and brushed away the strands of hair from his forehead. The jade armor on her fingertips was so cool that it felt refreshing. "Hong'er, remember, the court is like a chess game. Before you make a move, you must first see clearly which are the pawns and which are the rooks."

At three quarters past noon, just as the bronze crane clock in the Liangyi Hall had rung nine times, the censor Wang Xuance rushed in holding a stack of memorials.

"Your Highness, the Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of Works are arguing again over the grain and funds for the Luoyang flood relief!"

The front of his official uniform was still stained with morning dew, and the newly appointed Minister of Revenue, Liu Dewei, who was following behind him, was already furious: "It was clearly the Ministry of Works' delay that caused the dam to collapse. How can you blame it on insufficient funds and grain?"

The two of them started talking back and forth, and the whole hall suddenly became noisy. Even the copper bells under the eaves were startled and jingled.

Li Hong clenched the jade paperweight on the imperial desk, and suddenly remembered the words in "Qianwu Notes": "When birds fight for the valley, the best way is to scatter rice on the ground; when dragons fight for the water, the best way is to divert the canal into the wild."

He looked up and saw Pei Yan smiling and twirling his beard. Only the old subordinates of Li Yifu, whom his mother had instructed to be "trusted" yesterday, were hiding in the corner with their necks hunched - so this was what it looked like to "hold the tail between your legs".

"My dear ministers!" the prince suddenly spoke, his voice full of a calmness not typical of a child. "With the flood at hand, we must first devise a relief plan."

"Minister Liu, please quickly calculate the required grain. Doctor Wang, please check for breaches in the dikes. Report back to the emperor in three days."

The hall suddenly became quiet!

At the hour of Xu, the lanterns in the Ye Ting Palace lit up one after another. Li Zhi leaned against the dragon couch, watching his son jumping in with the "Qianwu Notes" in his arms.

The candlelight illuminated Li Hong's flushed face. As he recounted the day's courtroom arguments, his eyelashes seemed to sparkle with joy. "Father, how did your uncle know that having too many people would only lead to harm?"

"Yesterday, I asked the officials of the Chancellery to discuss the revision of the book. Ten people came up with eight different styles. In the end, it was Old Zhang from the Food Bureau who said that the mortise and tenon structure only needed to be improved according to the original system—"

"Because your uncle has seen too many lessons learned from the loss of lives."

Li Zhi interrupted him, tapping the cover of his notebook with his knuckles. "When your uncle first arrived in Chang'an, the whole city was in chaos. Later, he wrote 'minor matters should be discussed in large meetings.' He didn't mean to make small matters bigger, but to let people speak out so that they wouldn't have to pass the buck later. 'Minor matters should be discussed in small meetings.' He meant that real decisions should be made behind closed doors with knowledgeable people."

Li Hong nodded, seeming to understand, and suddenly remembered what his mother had said in the side hall during the day: "Your father is weak, and the burden of the Tang Dynasty will sooner or later fall on your shoulders."

He opened the notebook and saw a line of small characters in the corner of the inner page. The ink color was lighter than the main text, as if it was added later: "If you encounter any difficulties, ask the old man in the field and the peddler in the alley."

In the candlelight, the shadows of father and son overlapped on the four huge characters "Long Live the People". The night wind outside the window lifted the curtains, bringing in the hustle and bustle of the distant night market - the sound of clappers from the sugar painting vendors, the sound of the fortune teller's erhu, and the laughter of children from an unknown family. Like a soft brocade quilt, it wrapped up this night talk in the deep palace.

At the hour of Mao the next day, Li Hong arrived at the Liangyi Hall early and ordered people to remove the bronze incense burners in the hall.

When the ministers were surprised to see the elegant scent of mugwort replacing the scent of agarwood, they were all surprised.

"Yesterday, when I passed by the West Market, I saw people using mugwort to fumigate insects, saying it could prevent the plague."

The prince shook the Qianwu Notes in his hand. The words "Long Live the People" on the cover gleamed in the morning light. "My uncle said, 'Governing the country is like cooking a small fish. If the fire is too strong, it will burn. If the water is too cold, it will not survive.'"

"My dear ministers, today we are discussing the flood in Luoyang. Let's first discuss this: what are the people in the disaster area most in need of right now? Rice or herbs?"

The hall was filled with silence at first, and then the Minister of Revenue, Liu Dewei, stepped forward, his sleeve still stained with ink from last night's grain count. "Your Highness, I checked the grain reserves in the Changping warehouse last night. Besides allocating them for relief, we can retain 34% to prepare for the summer famine."

"But diarrhea is rampant in the disaster area right now. The Imperial Hospital's epidemic prevention prescription requires patchouli from Lingnan..."

Li Hong looked at the beads of sweat on his forehead and suddenly remembered a yellowed page of paper in "Qianwu Notes".

"Officials should know how much a pound of millet costs and how many feet of linen is needed to make clothes. The people's pain points are the key points of governance."

When the court was dismissed, Wu Meiniang stood under the sycamore tree outside the palace, watching her son jumping towards her with a piece of mugwort leaf stuck in his hair.

She reached out to take it off for him, and suddenly heard Li Hong looking up and saying, "Mother, my father said that the essence of my uncle's notes is actually the four words 'Long Live the People'."

"Yesterday, I had someone copy these four words and post them in the East Palace."

"Honger did the right thing."

Wu Meiniang's voice was as soft as willow catkins falling on her shoulders, but her fingertips couldn't help but squeeze the wormwood leaves tightly, the juice staining her palms green. "Just remember, the people of this world are not just those who shout 'Long live the emperor' in the court, but also the people you must hold in your heart - every old man selling Hu pancakes, every woman mending clothes, every child crying for his parents in the flood."

At 9 o'clock in the morning, Li Hong squatted under the corridor of the East Palace, holding "Qianwu Notes", and watched the children of officials painting lime on the palace walls.

The sound of the bell and drum tower came from afar. Li Hong stood up and saw his mother walking towards him with his father. The hems of their clothes swept across the mugwort under the corridor, and the fragrance mixed with the warm spring breeze drifted towards the streets outside the palace wall.

He suddenly remembered the last sentence in his notes: "The so-called long life does not refer to the emperor's longevity, but to the wishes of the people - may they have enough food to eat, warm clothes to wear, and be cured of their illnesses. May our descendants live in peace."