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

The morning mist in Luoyang City had not yet dissipated, but the sound of iron shackles dragging on the ground could be heard on the bluestone pavement in the northern part of the city.

More than thirty Japanese soldiers were tied together with ropes, bending over to clear the snow that had accumulated last night. Their thin clothes were covered with chilblains, and the backs of their bare hands were frozen purple, but when they heard the sound of horse hooves, they all ducked down, burying their heads lower than the snow.

"It's Mr. Wang from the Ministry of Revenue!" The Japanese man in the front suddenly shouted in stiff Tang language, with a hint of excitement in his voice.

His name was Goro Matsudaira, and there was a crescent-shaped burn on his left forehead - it was caused by the supervisor burning him with a branding iron three years ago because he failed to salute the inspector in time.

At this moment, he hurriedly took out a wrinkled piece of linen from his arms, trying to wipe the road cleaner, but because he moved too hastily, the iron shackles suddenly tightened, causing a group of people behind him to stagger and kneel in the snow.

The carriage of Master Wang rolled past them. The moment the curtain was lifted, Matsudaira Goro saw an exquisite copper charcoal stove in the carriage.

He suddenly straightened his knees and bowed deeply in the direction of the departing carriage. He didn't dare to raise his head until the wheel tracks disappeared at the entrance of the alley. A smile that was almost flattering appeared on his face. "The nobles of the Tang Dynasty are so kind. They come out in such cold weather to sympathize with the people."

The young Japanese man next to him spat out a mouthful of blood and cursed in Japanese: "These bandits..."

Before he could finish his words, Matsudaira Goro covered his mouth.

"Stop talking nonsense!" Goro Matsudaira's voice trembled, not because he was afraid of his companions, but because of fear - last year a fellow villager cursed "Tang dog" at night, and the next day he was found hanging on the city wall, his tongue cut off, and his eyes bulging.

"Being alive is a gift from the Tang Dynasty." Matsudaira Goro pried open his companion's fingers and stuffed half a frozen wheat cake into his hand. "Yesterday, I poured night incense for Mr. Zhang's family, and he rewarded me with this."

There were still some oil spots on the wheat cake. The young Japanese man stared at the oil spots, swallowed his saliva with his throat rolling, and finally bit it.

In this city of Luoyang, how many Japanese would rather eat stale bread than dare to complain about the Tang Dynasty - they have seen the fate of too many rebels, those skinned bodies hung on the city gates, dried up by the wind and sun, and still pelted with stones by passing children.

This kind of strange "loyalty" has long become the norm in Luoyang City.

The Dali Temple's archives contain thick files locked up, recording the "taming techniques" of twenty years ago: the captives were thrown into a dark dungeon and given only a bowl of rice soup mixed with sand every day.

Let them watch their companions being torn to pieces by wolfhounds, but they only dropped half a piece of jerky when they were dying.

There are even more sinister methods - torturing the child in front of the father, forcing the father to kowtow and beg for mercy, and then rewarding him with a piece of candy to feed to the child.

"Barbarians are like dogs; when hungry they bark at their masters, and when full they wag their tails."

When Li Chengqian reviewed these files, he wrote such comments on the margins.

Today, those "loyal dogs" who were released back to Japan are taking Tang Dynasty supervisors to measure the land and designate the most fertile plains as "fields directly under the jurisdiction of the Tang Dynasty." Even seven-year-old children have to recite the nursery rhyme "The Heavenly Khan, who rules all nations."

The Imperial Academy scholars wrote in the Qianwu New Deal: "Use cruelty to establish authority, and kindness to win hearts. After three generations, the Japanese will surely become good dogs of the Tang Dynasty."

Ever since Li Ke's coffin left Luoyang, the wrinkles on Wu Zhao's face have smoothed out a lot. The gold bricks used in the construction of the Yaoguang Hall, which she ordered last month, were all transported thousands of miles from the south of the Yangtze River. It is said that the gold powder on the floor can reflect a person's reflection.

"Your Majesty, the pearls sent as tribute from Japan have arrived."

The head eunuch reported in a shrill voice, coming forward with a gilded tray. The pearls on the tray were as big as pigeon eggs, shimmering in the morning light.

Wu Zhao took a glance and suddenly smiled: "Give it to Zhang Yizhi as a reward. His newly made pearl crown is still missing a main pearl."

As soon as the bells and drums of the morning court fell, Wu Zhao stood up and left. The hem of her skirt swept across the tassels of the dragon throne, leaving behind a scent of cosmetics.

The bronze lion at Zetian Gate had just been polished by snow water when it was startled by the sound of hurried horse hooves and raised its head.

The seven-year-old Li Longji was holding the reins, and the gold thread on his dragon robe shone brightly in the snow.

Behind him followed eight armored guards, all of whom were descendants of veterans who had fought in the past. The swords at their waists were still stained with blood - they had just rushed in from the hunting grounds outside the city.

"Stop!" Zhang Wei, commander of the Imperial Guards, rushed out of the duty room, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He recognized the boy; he was the third son of Prince Li Dan, who had been crowned King of Chu the previous month.

But even if he was a prince, there was no rule for him to ride a horse in front of Zetian Gate.

Li Longji did not rein in his horse, but instead kicked the horse's belly with the tip of his boot.

The horse snorted loudly, and the snow foam splashed up when its front hooves were in the air fell on Zhang Wei's face.

"This is my home. I can ride a horse whenever I want." The boy's voice was still childish, but his eyes looked very much like the young Taizong, sharp enough to penetrate people.

Zhang Wei's anger shot up. He had been in the Imperial Guard for thirty years, rising from the Hundred Cavalry Division to the commander. What kind of powerful people had he not seen?

Last year, a prince of the Wu family wanted to bring a knife into the palace, but he was pinned to the ground and beaten with twenty sticks. He still has a limp now.

"Even if you are the prince, you have to dismount!" He reached out to grab the reins, his knuckles turning white from the effort.

"This is my family's imperial palace!"

"Snap!" A horsewhip lashed out at the back of his hand, leaving a red mark. Li Longji glared, his face filled with anger. "My grandfather is Dou Dexuan, and my great-grandfather is Emperor Taizong! Who the hell do you think you are? How dare you touch my horse?"

Zhang Wei was stunned by the beating. The back of his hand was burning with pain, but he was more frightened.

He watched the guards behind the young man draw their swords, and suddenly remembered what his colleagues had said last night: "The veterans in the Prince Xiang's mansion are all death warriors."

He swallowed and watched Li Longji ride his horse into the palace gate, no sound coming out of his throat.

The sound of horse hooves echoed along the palace road, startling the pigeons on the eaves.

The sandalwood incense in the Mingtang had not yet dissipated, and the civil and military officials were discussing the issue of giving Wu Zhao a title of honor.

Some people said that he should be called "Holy Emperor", while others thought that "Long Live the Heavenly Book" was more impressive. The sudden sound of horse hooves stunned everyone.

When Li Longji turned over and dismounted from his horse, the hem of his dragon robe swept across the gold bricks on the ground, leaving a trail of mud marks.

He walked into the hall with his horsewhip in hand and looked up at Wu Zhao sitting on the dragon throne. His small figure looked particularly thin in the empty hall, but he did not show any fear.

"Grandson Li Longji pays homage to his grandmother, Empress Wu Zetian." His voice was clear and resonated among the beams of the palace.

Wu Zhao's hand holding the jade comb paused, and her eyes fell on the soles of his boots covered with snow.

She had met this child several times and remembered that when he was one year old, he jumped over the gold, silver and jewelry and grabbed the jade axe left by Emperor Taizong.

"Why did you break into the palace instead of studying at home?" Her tone did not reveal whether she was happy or angry, but her fingertips left a white mark on the teeth of the comb.