A live-streamed Chinese language lesson under the sky—the ancients were taken aback.

Weiyang Palace.

"Bang!" The teacup slammed onto the table, spilling tea.

Liu Che stood up, his face grim, and paced back and forth in the hall.

"Never mind," he said to his attendant, his voice now calm. "I still have battles to fight; I don't have time to get angry over the useless people of the future."

He walked back to his desk, looked down at the Hetao map covered with markings. It was the battle he was about to fight, a battle he would personally plan, simulate, and bear the consequences of.

However, he glanced at the ministers below who seemed hesitant to speak, and immediately knew what they wanted to say.

Tianmu once said that in his later years he was warlike and aggressive, and the people suffered greatly.

He warned, "I will remember this, but I haven't done anything yet."

Xianyang Palace.

Ying Zheng looked up from the mountain of memorials and stared at them expressionlessly for a while.

"Li Si".

"Your subject is here."

"Emperors like Huhai..." Ying Zheng paused, as if searching for a suitable word, "were they common in later generations?"

Li Si was startled and dared not reply.

"Hu Hai and Zhao Gao."

Ying Zheng spoke calmly, as if he were talking about something that had nothing to do with him.

"After I die, will they continue to cause this trouble?"

Li Si immediately knelt on the ground, his back soaked in cold sweat, and dared not answer.

Ying Zheng looked at the absurd scenes on the sky: the prime minister forcing a rebellion, the eunuch supervising the army, the emperor fleeing, father and son distrusting each other, the people suffering and being displaced.

"More or less," he said without showing any emotion.

The Taiji Hall was completely silent.

Fang Xuanling stepped forward, wanting to offer some words of comfort, but Li Shimin waved his hand away.

He slowly walked back to the throne, but did not sit down. Instead, he held onto the back of the chair, his back to the court officials. "I am thinking, what kind of court will I leave to future generations? A court that can make loyal ministers and generals die without a burial place, a court that can make treacherous villains rise to power, a court that can make a eunuch ride on the head of the nine regional military governors... I... cannot understand it."

He turned around, his eyes red-rimmed, but his gaze was clear.

"But I want to thank some people."

He stepped down the imperial steps, facing the sky, and straightened his clothes.

The courtiers looked at each other, wondering what the emperor was going to do.

Li Shimin slowly raised his hand and bowed deeply to the six faces on the sky: Guo Ziyi, Li Guangbi, Zhang Xun, Yan Zhenqing, Yan Gaoqing, and Liu Yan.

The courtiers all rose and followed behind their emperor, bowing respectfully to the six figures in the sky.

Guanzhong during the Zhenguan era of the Tang Dynasty.

A retired soldier sat on the edge of a field, still holding a sickle in his hand.

"I helped His Majesty build the city walls of Chang'an."

His voice was a little hoarse. "In the ninth year of Wude, when the Turks attacked the Wei River, I was standing on the city wall. His Majesty personally went up to the city tower and personally met with the Turks. At that time, I thought to myself, I will defend this city even if it means my death."

He looked at Chang'an, where rebel flags were flying in the sky.

"How could you not defend it?"

The old soldier lowered his head and wiped his face with his rough hands.

"They did their best," the veteran said softly. "It was much harder for them than for me. I had His Majesty with me; who did they have?"

Looking at the faces on the sky, fighting to defend the city, he suddenly stood up and saluted the sky.

That was a military salute from the Zhenguan era: hands on the hilt of a sword, body slightly leaning forward, head bowed.

Outside Caizhou City during the Yuanhe era of the Tang Dynasty.

An old soldier sat by the campfire, holding a dry biscuit in his hand and slowly chewing it.

The sky above said that after the An Lushan Rebellion ended, the separatist rule of regional military governors began, and the three towns in Hebei became semi-independent, beyond the control of the imperial court.

The old soldier swallowed the dry biscuit in his mouth and grinned.

"It's none of our business." He repeated it, finding the phrase quite interesting. "It's none of our business. We've fought for decades, lost countless lives, and in the end, all we get are these three words: it's none of our business."

Several young soldiers were sitting next to him.

"General Li led us to pacify Huaixi," a young soldier said. "Wu Yuanji is about to collapse. After this battle, Huaixi will also fall under the control of the imperial court."

The old soldier glanced at him.

"It's under the jurisdiction of the imperial court." He smiled again. "I followed Grand Commandant Li to fight An Lushan when I was twenty. At that time, I thought that after defeating An Lushan, the world would be at peace. Now I'm fifty."

He tore off a piece of dry biscuit and stuffed it into his mouth.

"After defeating Huaixi, there's Chengde; after defeating Chengde, there's Weibo; after defeating Weibo, there's Zibo; after defeating Zibo..."

"The An Lushan Rebellion," he mumbled, chewing on a dry biscuit. "They say it's over, but eighty years have passed, and it's still not over."

The young soldiers fell silent.

The campfire crackled and popped.

In the distance came the sound of the night watchman's clapper, once, twice, three times.

It's getting late.

The old soldier stuffed the last bite of the dry biscuit into his mouth, wrapped the old felt blanket around himself tightly, leaned against the camp wall, and closed his eyes.

We'll be attacking the city again tomorrow.