I have already established my power and prestige, so how did Li Shimin come back to life?

At 6:30 in the evening, the exhaust fan of the old teahouse on Chang'an Road was still humming, mixing the burnt aroma of fried tea and the smell of chili oil from the noodle shop next door, which spread to the back of Li Jiangning's freshly washed white shirt.

"Two bowls of Bingfeng, a plate of fennel beans, and a plate of cured beef."

Li Jiangning pushed the menu to Mr. Qi opposite him.

Mr. Qi was wearing a navy blue Zhongshan suit.

He didn't look at the menu, his eyes glued to the TV on the wall. The news was broadcasting the evening rush hour traffic situation. The host smiled and said, "Traffic in the main urban area is smooth today, with no long periods of congestion." The screen cut to an intersection, where electric bikes streamed like migrating ants. Students in school uniforms rode shared bikes, their baskets filled with freshly bought pancakes.

Mr. Qi's Adam's apple moved, and he reached out to pull the glass on the table towards him.

Carrying the Bingfeng and cured beef over, the glass bottle hit the corner of the table with a "clang" sound.

Li Jiangning unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long gulp. The icy soda slid down his throat, making him shudder. "Lao Qi, do you still remember the Lantern Festival?"

He suddenly spoke, his gaze drifting out the window. The sunset dyed the sky orange, and the streetlights gradually lit up, casting a warm yellow light on the sidewalk. "That year during the Lantern Festival, Chang'an Avenue was decorated with lanterns and colorful lights. We took the brothers out for drinks on Suzaku Street. You got drunk and hugged a pillar, shouting, 'I will protect the Tang Dynasty for Your Majesty for a hundred years.'"

Mr. Qi's eyes were red. He picked up the chopsticks and picked up a piece of cured beef, but did not put it into his mouth. He just held it in his hand.

"I remember," he said hoarsely, "that year you were only twenty years old, wearing a dragon robe, standing on the city wall, and saying you wanted to ensure that the people of the Tang Dynasty had enough food to eat and warm clothes to wear, and that the Tang Dynasty flag would be raised everywhere."

"Later, we built factories, manufactured muskets, and trained new troops, but... but all of that stuff suddenly disappeared."

He put down his chopsticks, resting his hands on the table, leaning forward slightly. "The blueprints for the musket in my head—first I forgot the number of iron layers on the barrel, then even the gunpowder ratio. The pages of those 'later generations' books you left behind slowly turned yellow and brittle, eventually becoming a pile of shredded paper. Even the reign title 'Qianwu'—later the palace historian asked me if I had misremembered it, as the Tang Dynasty had never had that title before."

Li Jiangning looked at him, his fingertips drawing circles on the wall of the glass. Water droplets flowed down the wall of the glass, leaving a small wet mark on the tablecloth.

“It’s history correcting itself.”

He said softly, his tone as calm as if he was discussing today's weather, "My time traveling back to the Tang Dynasty from the modern era was an accident in itself. Those things that don't belong to that era will eventually be brought back on track."

"It's like when you wanted to teach the craftsman the art of making a firearm, but the quality of the iron ore and the forging process at the time weren't up to par. Even if you made one, it would explode after just a few shots."

He paused, picked up a piece of cured beef, and chewed it slowly. "It's different now. Look at the car downstairs. Its engine has tens of thousands of parts, and none of them can be missing. Look at the chip in your phone. It's smaller than a fingernail, but it has billions of transistors inside."

"These things weren't created by one person or one idea. They were built by the entire national industrial system, by tens of thousands of engineers and workers. What we wanted to do back then, China has already accomplished, and done better."

Mr. Qi was silent. He watched the city night scene on TV. The neon lights on the tall buildings were flickering, like stars in the sky falling into the earth.

"But our people are still here."

After a long time, Mr. Qi finally spoke, his voice carrying a hint of stubbornness, "Some became entrepreneurs, some became doctors, some became university professors, and some became cadres at the grassroots level."

"We still have eight hundred people."

His eyes lit up, like a burning flame: "We just need to wait for an opportunity, wait until the people can no longer survive, then we can stand up, raise our arms and call, and the brothers will come over. Then..."