Chapter 1: Has the Tang Dynasty Fallen?

Year 9 of the Wude era, Tang Dynasty.
The capital city, Chang’an.
The newly established empire, still in its infancy, masked the turbulent undercurrents within the court with an outward appearance of peace.
Even the common folk in the marketplaces bore expressions tinged with unease.
Reports had arrived from the frontlines: the Turkic tribes to the north were once again threatening an invasion of the Central Plains.
Yet, at this critical moment, the emperor had stripped Prince Qin of his military command, entrusting it instead to Prince Qi.
In the Battle of Jinyang years ago, Prince Qi had fled in disarray; replacing the undefeated General Tiance with him raised widespread doubts—could he truly lead them to victory?
But Prince Qi was endorsed by the Crown Prince.
Those with insight understood that this was a strategic move by the Crown Prince to curb Prince Qin’s growing influence.
Once bustling with visitors, Prince Qin’s mansion was now desolate.
Aside from a handful of retainers inseparable from the estate, no one dared approach the halls of power within.
Yet today, a youth clad in a simple coarse cloth tunic, resembling a farmer’s attire, was personally escorted into the mansion by Chancellor Zhangsun Wuji.
Within the front study of Prince Qin’s estate, a hundred steps around were guarded heavily by the Xuanjia Guard. Even Zhangsun Wugou, the steward of Prince Qin’s household, discreetly withdrew after serving tea.
The spacious study held only the youth, Zhangsun Wuji in his splendid robe and noble beard, and a young man seated on a folding chair—his expression solemn, his brows majestic and commanding.
He stroked his mustache, eyes burning as he appraised the youth before him.
The youth’s name was Wen He—the very one Zhangsun Wuji had personally received into the mansion.
“Was it you who predicted the appearance of the Morning Star today?” Emperor Li Shimin’s right hand rested lightly on the desk, fingers tapping softly as he scrutinized the youth’s features, pondering silently.
“Your Highness, I did not predict it; there are historical records.” Wen He bowed respectfully, a smile playing on his lips.
Before Zhangsun Wuji’s frown deepened and Li Shimin’s surprise could mount, Wen He continued swiftly,
“The records state that on the first day of the sixth lunar month in the ninth year of Wude, on the day of Ding Si, the Morning Star appeared at midday due south in the sky.”
Historical records?
“Nonsense!” Zhangsun Wuji roared, eyes blazing as he pointed at Wen He. “This is absurd! Such an event has just occurred—how could there possibly be historical records?”
“Please calm yourself, Chancellor,” Li Shimin said calmly, waving his hand to dismiss Zhangsun Wuji. Then smiling softly, he turned to the youth. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re about to say that I will one day ascend the throne?”
Wen He hesitated, rubbing his nose awkwardly, understanding Li Shimin’s implication—that he must have been sent by someone to test them.
He could only smile wryly at this misunderstanding.

“This might seem incomprehensible to you, but what I say is true. You will indeed become the next emperor of the Tang. The annals record that on the ninth day of the eighth lunar month in Wude’s ninth year, Emperor Gaozu Li Yuan abdicated, and Emperor Taizong Li Shimin ascended, inaugurating the Zhenguan era.”
“Preposterous!”
Zhangsun Wuji, enraged, grabbed the youth’s arm. “Who sent you? How dare you spout such nonsense within Prince Qin’s mansion!”
“Calm down, aren’t you a scholar? Where do you get such strength?” Wen He was hoisted up like a chick by one hand.
“Hmph! When I rode into battle with Prince Qin, you were still a babe at the breast!”
Wen He had forgotten one thing: this was not the feeble Song Dynasty of his origin.
In the Tang, literati rode into battle and ruled the state when dismounted. Zhangsun Wuji himself had fought alongside Li Shimin.
Still, Wen He was unaccustomed to this life.
He had arrived in Tang just a month ago, struggling for survival, with no time to contemplate such matters.
He had originally planned to build a fortune in the Tang, but after offending Li Yuangi of Prince Qi’s mansion, he was forcibly bound by a slave contract by the estate’s steward.
If he were alone, he might have escaped Chang’an; after all, Li Yuangi’s days were numbered.
But fate had given him a charming younger sister in this era.
If not for the steward’s insistence that he surrender his soap recipe, threatening to send his sister to the brothel otherwise, Wen He would never have tangled with Zhangsun Wuji.
Yesterday, after some theatrics at the mansion predicting the Morning Star’s arrival, he was imprisoned and starved by Zhangsun Wuji overnight until dawn, when the chancellor hurriedly summoned him to Prince Qin’s estate.
At this moment, Wen He was profoundly grateful to the diligent chroniclers of the era; without their records, he might have starved to death before meeting Li Yuangi.

“Release me first. Think carefully: if I were sent to slander Prince Qin, would I choose such an easily disproven lie?” Wen He said, exasperated.
He knew he was taking a huge risk.
But he had no choice.
Having read countless time-travel novels, tales of making soap or glass to attract imperial notice and rise to power, marry princesses, and become mighty officials,
He had finally crossed over and was ready to follow in their footsteps, only to be suppressed by the powerful before even beginning.
Forget about making a fortune—he had no home left.
He had but one path: to seek out the future emperor.
Yet, as a slave, he could barely enter Prince Qin’s gate, never mind meet Li Shimin.
So he gambled everything, revealing his identity as a time traveler, hoping to secure a means to survive in the Tang.
According to the historical records, Li Shimin was generally benevolent toward those who served him well.
Except for a few who brought their own ruin, none of his meritorious subjects died by his hand.
But after a night of starvation and no water, his head was dizzy.
His carefully prepared speech had fled his mind.

“Do you mean you came from the future?” Li Shimin interrupted Wen He’s thoughts with a sneer. He looked at him and nodded repeatedly.
“Yes, from the year 2025—over a thousand years hence.”
“Hmph, but I know you were born in the second year of Yining of the late Sui, at Gejiazhuang outside Chang’an County. Five years ago your parents died, you have a young sister who has never left Chang’an. Are you telling me you merely dreamed of the future?”
Before meeting Wen He, Li Shimin had thoroughly investigated his background—down to how many dogs his family kept.
The reason he brought Wen He here with Zhangsun Wuji was to discover who was behind this matter.
Li Shimin’s eyes narrowed, a murderous intent rising.
Wen He shivered, scalp tingling, hastily explaining,
“This is complicated to explain. Perhaps you can understand it this way: I am no longer the person I was. But whatever the case, what I say is true. If I am not from the future, then explain how I knew the Morning Star would appear today—something even the Astronomical Bureau failed to predict.”
“What is the Astronomical Bureau?” Li Shimin and Zhangsun Wuji exchanged puzzled looks.
Neither had heard of such an office.
“Well, it’s the agency that observes climate and celestial phenomena. Don’t you have such a bureau?” Wen He blinked, recalling that in ancient times there was such an office. Maybe the Tang called it something else.
“Do you mean the Grand Historian’s Office?” Zhangsun Wuji deduced from Wen He’s words.
“Oh, yes, yes, that’s what it’s called now—the Grand Historian’s Office. I remember now; it was only renamed the Astronomical Bureau in the Song.” Wen He suddenly enlightened.
Upon hearing this, Li Shimin’s brow furrowed deeply.
Zhangsun Wuji scoffed coldly, “Nonsense! I have thoroughly studied the classics and have never heard of such an office during the Southern Song.”
“Ah?” Wen He turned to him, stunned, before realizing that Zhangsun Wuji’s Southern Song was not the same as the one he meant.
He snorted disdainfully,
“Not the Southern Song of Liu Yu, but the Song after the Tang.”
“Hahaha, nonsense! Our Tang has long unified the realm; there is no such later Song.” Zhangsun Wuji mocked.
Wen He looked at him calmly and replied, “There was one after the Tang fell. No, wait—the Tang fell, then came the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms, followed by the Northern Song.”
He spoke at length, but Zhangsun Wuji and Li Shimin caught only the first part:
“After the Tang fell?”
Crash!
Like a bolt from a clear sky, a thunderous shock rang out.
Li Shimin sat stunned and motionless in the study.