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

In the first year of Tianshou, Luoyang was filled with an indescribable stagnation as soon as autumn came.

The vermilion lacquered gate of the Ziwei Palace opens on time at the hour of Mao every day, but the government orders issued from inside are like stones thrown into a deep pool, which usually only cause a few ripples in the suburbs of Luoyang and disappear into obscurity farther away.

Above the Mingtang, the over a hundred-foot-tall bronze pillar of the Wanxiang Temple, once revered by Wu Zhao as a symbol of unparalleled imperial power, now became the target of her wrath. Yesterday morning, during court, she personally hurled an urgent report from the Longyou Road against the pillar. The moment the scroll unfurled, the words "Ganzhou military rations cut off for three days" pierced her eyes in the morning light, stinging them painfully.

"Di Renjie!" Wu Zetian's voice was as cold and hard as gold foil, and the twelve beads on the phoenix crown rustled with her movements. "You say, is my imperial edict written on quicksand? Why did the governor of Liangzhou dare to keep the military farming order on his desk for three months without issuing it?"

Di Renjie tightened his hands holding the tablet slightly, and his back under the purple robe was bent like a fully drawn bow.

He had just returned from an inspection tour in the south of the Yangtze River the previous night, his boots still stained with canal mud, and his bag was packed with even more alarming news: Yangzhou salt merchants had colluded with the grain transport officials, reselling grain and fodder that should have been sent to the Western Regions to the north. The muskets they received in exchange were now rusting in the dock warehouse.

"Your Majesty, please calm down," his old voice echoed in the empty hall, "the local officials are not disobeying orders, they are simply unable to carry them out."

"More than half the post horses in the Hexi Corridor have been lost, and the railway station hasn't been completed yet. It takes two months for a document to travel from Luoyang to Zhangye. By the time the decree arrives, spring plowing is long over."

Wu Zhao suddenly stood up from the dragon throne, and the jade belt around her waist hit the golden buckle with dragon pattern, making a crisp sound.

She recalled the scene when he had just ascended the throne and went to Mobei to reward the three armies. At that time, Xue Rengui's grandson Xue Song led his troops to guard Yunzhou. The bonfire in front of the tent could illuminate the grassland for thirty miles. The soldiers held up their wine bags and shouted "Long live the emperor". Even the aroma of victory wine wafted in the wind.

But now, according to the military reports sent by the Ministry of War, 30% of the armor of the Yunzhou defenders is patched up, and even the war horses have to take turns to graze on ice-covered grass.

After retiring from court, she ascended to heaven alone.

In this nine-story Tongtian Pagoda, a perpetual lamp is burning on each floor, illuminating the drooping sleeves of the giant Buddha.

Looking out from the balcony, she could see the official granaries on both sides of the Luo River, but she knew that the account books of those granaries had already been annotated by Zhang Jianzhi with shocking remarks: the grain reserves in the Taicang granary in Chang'an were only enough to last for half a year, the silver vault in Luoyang was so empty that a rat could run through it, and the military expenditure of the Western Protectorate was like a bottomless pit, swallowing up three million taels every month - that was equivalent to the annual tea tax in Jiangnan Road.

"Your Majesty, Zhang Jianzhi is waiting downstairs."

Princess Taiping's voice came from the stairs. The account book in her hand was tied with a red rope and was heavy like a stone.

Wu Zhao took the account book and ran her fingertips over the page titled "Annual Expenditure of the Four Anxi Garrisons." The ink was chilly.

The western territories conquered by Li Zhi during the Xianqing period were even more vast than those of the Central Plains, but the annual taxes paid by those oasis city-states were not even enough to cover the food and wages of the garrison troops.

The garrison commander of Isfahan sent a memorial last month saying that local people would rather pour out the grape wine than sell it to the Tang army - because the Tang army could not pay, they could only use rusty ironware to pay the debt.

"Did he calculate five years?" Wu Zhao suddenly asked, her eyes falling on the cinnabar annotation at the end of the account book.

Princess Taiping nodded, the pearls on her temples swaying gently with her movements. "Minister Zhang said that if we continue to fill the hole in the Western Regions, the national treasury will be in deficit in five years, and by then we won't even be able to pay the military salaries of the Jingji Guards."

She paused, lowering her voice. "He also said that when Emperor Wu of Han fought against the Xiongnu, he exhausted the entire country and had to issue an edict of self-criticism in his later years..."

"I am not Emperor Wu of Han." Wu Zetian interrupted her, digging her nails deep into her palm.

She opened another account book, which recorded the expenses of the Persian Protectorate: in order to build a beacon tower in Talas, 200,000 pieces of silk were consumed, enough for the weavers in Chang'an to weave for three years.

The beacon tower was demolished last winter, leaving only the broken walls swaying in the wind and sand.

That night, the lights of heaven were on until dawn. Di Renjie, Zhang Jianzhi, Yao Chong...

Wu Zhou's most trusted ministers walked into the pagoda in the night dew. No one knew what they argued about in front of the Buddha. All they knew was that at three o'clock in the morning there was the sound of porcelain breaking, and at four o'clock there was the crisp sound of abacus beads.

It was not until the sky in the east was turning pale that Zhang Jianzhi came out, holding on to the wall. His white hair on his temples was stained with candle wax, and the map in his hand was densely circled with cinnabar.

The next day, when the imperial edict spread throughout the world, the taverns in Luoyang City were in an uproar.

Wang Wu, a veteran soldier from the West Market, slammed the scimitar at his waist onto the table, spilling the wine from his bowl. "I followed General Su Dingfang and chopped off the heads of Turks in the Pamir Mountains. Back then, we charged forward on frozen bread, just to propel the Tang flag further!"

"Now, a woman just throws it away?"

The scholar next to him burst into tears, tearing the Han Shu in his hand into pieces: "Ban Chao gave up his pen to join the army, Zhang Qian opened up the Western Regions, have they all become a joke?"

The voices of opposition came like a tide.

The gentry of Jiangzhou jointly wrote a letter saying that their children were buried in the Western Regions, and now even their graves were about to be demolished by foreigners.

The students of Chang'an knelt on Suzaku Street for three days, holding up wooden signs that read "Return our land to us." Even passing merchant caravans could not help but throw stones at the imperial city.

But what frightened Wu Zhao the most was the news in the military newspaper: the captain of the Shuofang Army led his troops in a mutiny, saying that they would "attack Luoyang to ask the empress for an explanation." Fortunately, they were suppressed in time by Wang Xiaojie at the Yellow River ferry.

At this time, Mr. Qi was walking into a small courtyard in Junzhou on the fallen leaves.

Li Ke was lying on a rattan chair. His skinny hands didn't even have the strength to hold a cup, but when he saw the person coming, his cloudy eyes suddenly brightened.

"They... finally took this step."

The old man's voice was like a candle burning in the wind. "Back then, I advised the late emperor not to follow the example of Emperor Yang of Sui and conquer Goguryeo, but he didn't listen..."

Mr. Qi added a piece of charcoal to the charcoal basin, and sparks flew onto the blue bricks.

"Li Jingzong has gone to Jiangnan wearing a mask."

He whispered, his eyes fixed on the bronze statue of a hammer and sickle in the corner, "Those in the dark recognize this mark."

Li Ke suddenly laughed.

"Well... let the young people do it. I can finally watch..."

Before he could finish his words, his head tilted to one side. The chessboard next to the rattan chair still had an unfinished game endgame on it, with the black pieces completely surrounded by the white pieces.

Three years later, during the Lantern Festival, Luoyang's lanterns were three times brighter than in previous years. Silk shops in the West Market displayed newly arrived Shu brocade, tea merchants from the south of the Yangtze River hawked their Mingqian Longjing tea on the streets, and even the post roads along the Hexi Corridor were paved with new bluestone—all these changes were recorded in Zhang Jianzhi's newly presented account books: after abandoning the west, the military savings helped streamline grain transport in the south of the Yangtze River, the silver coffers in Luoyang were once again filled with silver, and even farmers in Guanzhong could use newly cast iron plows.

But in the teahouse on the corner, when the storyteller talked about "Xue Rengui's Three Arrows to Conquer Tianshan", there were always people in the audience wiping away tears.

Those old soldiers who had fought in the Western Regions with their fathers were now sitting in the corner of the teahouse with their crutches, their eyes red as they listened - they knew that the tombs of the Tang army in Suiye City had probably been buried by wind and sand.

On the day of the New Year's Day ceremony, Wu Zhao sat on the viewing platform of the Zetian Gate Tower and watched envoys from various countries kowtow.

When the master of ceremonies read out the words "Japanese envoys", the group of Japanese pirates in Tang-style court robes in the audience knelt down with a "dong", and their foreheads hit the blue bricks with a sound like beating drums.

When the leading Japanese soldier raised his head, there was still a scar on his left cheek caused by the Tang army's scabbard.

"I grant you the name 'Japan'." Her voice echoed through the megaphone across the square, "Go back and tell your people to mine silver diligently. Once you've mined enough, I'll allow you to learn the Tang Dynasty calendar and use Tang Dynasty copper coins."

The Japanese envoy was so frightened that he kowtowed again, with the tip of his nose almost touching the ground, and a whimpering sound of thanks came from his throat, just like a dog that had been rewarded with a bone by its master.

This scene caused the officials watching the ceremony to whisper to each other - everyone remembered that these Japanese pirates used to burn, kill and loot on the Korean Peninsula, but now they are as obedient as domestic dogs.

"Your Majesty, this is a brilliant move." Yao Chong whispered in Di Renjie's ear, his eyes sweeping over the servile figures of the Japanese. "You don't have to keep them around, and you can still mine silver every year. This is much more profitable than guarding those barren lands in the west."

Di Renjie didn't say anything, just looked at the ripples of Luo River in the distance.

He recalled visiting Li Ke's son last night. The young man was staring blankly at a map of the Western Regions. On the map, written in red ink, was the following: "During the Zhenguan period, 37,000 of our soldiers died in battle, and their bones were all buried west of the Pamir Mountains."

Wu Zhao seemed to have noticed something and suddenly turned to look at him, the pearls on her phoenix crown sparkling in the sunlight.

"Huaiying, do you think I did something wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Di Renjie bowed, his gray beard hanging down on his chest: "The common people only know that there is rice in the warehouse and firewood in the stove. As for the territory thousands of miles away, they can neither see nor touch it."

That evening, the clarion call for troops to retreat sounded in Luoyang City.

When the patrolling Jinwu Guards passed through the West Market, they heard a newly composed folk song coming from a tavern: "The Luo River is long, the rice warehouse is full, the empress's grace shines on every household..."

Thousands of miles away in the Pamir Mountains, the setting sun was dyeing the abandoned beacon towers of the Tang army red. Half of a rusty spearhead was buried in the weeds under the broken wall, and the word "Tang" engraved on it had long been blurred by the wind and sand.