Chapter Sixty-Seven: Presenting a Memorial (Extra Chapter for Two Hundred Additional Favorites)

Li Kong?

Hearing that name, Li Shimin suddenly recalled how three years ago Li Kong used to frequent the palace, seemingly always finding some excuse to visit. Three years had passed in the blink of an eye, and now, at last, he heard his name again.

With a gentle sigh, Li Shimin spoke calmly, “Let him in.”

Moments later, Li Kong strode into the hall, cupped his hands in greeting, and said, “Your humble subject Li Kong greets Your Majesty. May Your Majesty enjoy perpetual peace.”

“You’ve grown distant,” Li Shimin sighed deeply. Rising from his seat, he walked to Li Kong, helped him up, and gazed into his eyes. “Are you harboring any resentment toward me?”

“None at all, Your Majesty. You’re overthinking it,” Li Kong replied with a light smile, looking at Li Shimin—the same familiar face, but noticeably healthier than when they’d last met at Duke Lai’s residence.

Li Shimin smiled, too. He personally pulled over a stool and pressed Li Kong to sit, then took a seat opposite him. “Good. There’s no one else here; you needn’t be so formal, just as you were three years ago.”

“In that case, I’ll accept your kindness,” Li Kong relaxed. Seriousness never suited him; not even the strict regulations of his past military life could restrain him, and here, the formality felt even more awkward.

“That’s better. So, tell me—what have you come to discuss this time?”

Li Kong pondered for a moment before speaking. “It’s about the envoys from Tang. I’m not sure how this was handled in previous dynasties, but I believe we must never export anything that improves the livelihood of our people, such as our curved ploughs or waterwheels, let alone military inventions. Recently, I learned that the Ministry of Works has produced a new type of broadsword capable of intimidating armies. Such powerful weapons must never be allowed to leave the country, or we’d be aiding our enemies…”

Li Kong spoke unhurriedly, and Li Shimin listened in silence, his eyes somewhat unfocused, though anyone who thought he’d let down his guard would be gravely mistaken.

On the subject of the Tang envoys, Li Kong spoke for a full hour. When he finished, Li Shimin finally asked, “If we do as you say—foreign states come to court, offer tribute, and we return only a token amount, while withholding all technology—won’t that provoke their dissatisfaction?”

“Why should they be dissatisfied?” Li Kong countered.

“Because their effort and reward are unequal—of course they’ll be displeased!”

Li Kong chuckled. “I’ve always believed that between nations, there is no such thing as friendship—only naked interests. Only under the edge of the sword will foreigners obey. To think that a bit of money or technology could make them bow in submission is pure fantasy!”

“You…” Li Shimin was a little exasperated.

But Li Kong gave him no chance to speak, continuing, “Your Majesty, have you considered the Han dynasty’s marriage alliances? To maintain relations with the Xiongnu, they sent a princess to the Western Regions nearly every generation, yet what did they gain? Repeated betrayals by the Xiongnu, never-ending turmoil, until Champion Marquis Ma Shang finally ended it at Yinshan during Emperor Wu’s reign.

Take the previous dynasty’s dealings with the Turks and Goguryeo—did Emperors Wen and Yang of Sui truly treat them badly? Yet what was the result? The countless bones along the Great Wall, the imposing mounds before the new city. Your Majesty, a nation may be vast, but those who love war will perish. Still, there’s another saying: ‘Those who forget war are in danger.’”

Li Shimin fell silent. While he wasn’t sure about the Han dynasty, the events of the previous Sui were witnessed firsthand, so he knew Li Kong spoke the truth. The sage said, “Those not of our kind must have a different heart”—it was no empty phrase.

After a long while, Li Shimin fixed his gaze on Li Kong. “You’re suggesting ending tribute, which would be a precedent for all dynasties.”

“My words may be bold, Your Majesty. Though Tang is newly established, I must speak what’s in my heart—a conviction drawn from history. If Your Majesty disagrees, simply treat it as if I never spoke.”

Li Kong gritted his teeth. He truly did not wish to see another Princess Wen Cheng sent off; he wanted a Tang dynasty of iron and steel, a mighty empire spanning ages.

Seeing Li Kong so earnest, Li Shimin straightened his imperial robe and sat upright. “Speak.”

“I hope Your Majesty and all Tang’s successors will uphold these principles: no marriage alliances, no tribute, the emperor guards the gates, the ruler dies with his country. In this way, Tang will endure for all time!”

At last—he had brought forth the Zhu family’s creed. Li Kong felt a heavy breath leave him, his heart suddenly at ease.

It came abruptly, but he could wait no longer. In the fifth year of Zhenguan, Songtsen Gampo would unify Tibet, and Ludongzan would come to Tang to seek marriage. Princess Wen Cheng would soon be sent, and just thinking of it left him stifled.

Li Kong felt relieved, but Li Shimin was completely stunned.

No marriage alliances, no tribute—that was manageable. But “the emperor guards the gates, the ruler dies with his country”—that was a tremendous demand. Throughout history, whenever danger threatened, the emperor’s first thought was not to defend the realm to the death, but to move the capital and avoid the storm. Yang Guang, for example, first moved to Luoyang, then relocated the capital to Moling—now Nanjing—only to be eliminated by the Yu Wen clan.

Yet, strictly speaking, Li Kong’s demand wasn’t unreasonable. If a foolish ruler heard it, he might laugh it off, or worse, kill Li Kong for his audacity.

But Li Shimin was different. He was a wise and enlightened emperor, determined to be the greatest in history, and a ruler of the battlefield, seasoned in countless campaigns. Hearing Li Kong’s words, his blood surged. If every emperor could abide by Li Kong’s principles, the empire might truly last forever.

He didn’t know how long had passed—until a palace attendant came to remind Li Shimin it was time to dine, and only then did this emperor of the ages return to himself. Looking at Li Kong with an enigmatic expression, he said, “You’re eighteen this year. Three years ago, for certain reasons, I sent you to Changle County, so you never completed your coming-of-age ceremony. This year, you shall. I’ll personally preside over your capping ceremony. When the time comes, report to court and serve me well!”

Li Kong was momentarily stunned, a little conflicted. Over two years of carefree joy had left him reluctant to leave; he truly wasn’t eager to enter officialdom.

But conviction triumphed over laziness. He took a deep breath, cupped his hands, and bowed. “Your nephew obeys!”

“That’s more like it. Come, let’s dine together. After the meal, submit a memorandum summarizing what you just said—I want to study it carefully before I decide whether to adopt your proposals. But I promise you: as for ending tribute, I’ll follow your advice.”

Li Shimin, in good spirits, laughed and left the Hall of Sweet Dew.

Li Kong looked after him with a wry smile, sighing, “Heaven, thank you for bringing me to this era. If…”

If he had arrived in the late Tang, he truly wasn’t sure what he would have done—rebel, or comply? Perhaps rebellion was more likely.