[Lightscreen]
[The biggest problem the Tang Dynasty faced in the Eastern Sea theater was simple economics. To put it bluntly, their entire Korean Peninsula campaign was a money pit. A bottomless, fire-breathing money pit that kept eating gold and spitting out nothing but dead soldiers and burned ships.
Starting from the year 660, the Tang military machine was locked in a cycle of warfare. First, they fought Baekje. Then they fought Goguryeo. Then they had to turn around and crush the Baekje restoration army. Then they had to annihilate the intervening Japanese forces. And after all that, they had to march back north and fight Goguryeo all over again.
It was a geopolitical nightmare of whack-a-mole. Every time they hit one enemy, two more popped up.
To make things worse, the cost of this endless war was astronomical. Back in 645, Li Shimin's own invasion of Goguryeo had already drained the treasury dry. According to historical records, the Tang army lost between 63,000 and 96,000 horses during that single campaign. That was nearly a quarter of the entire Tang horse population.
And the ships? In 647 alone, the Tang built 1,350 warships for their hit-and-run attacks on Goguryeo. Building those ships required the labor of 735,217 men. That accounted for nearly a quarter of all adult males in the empire at the time. And since the law said these men had to be exempt from taxes during their service, the government lost a staggering 27.5% of its total tax revenue for that year.
The numbers alone would make any accountant weep.
So when Li Zhi finally wiped out Goguryeo in 668, what did he do? Did he consolidate his gains? Did he audit the imperial treasury?
No.
He wanted to flex his political muscles and brag to his ancestors. So, he packed up his entourage, grabbed his favorite concubine, and went on an expensive vanity tour to Mount Tai to perform the sacred Fengshan sacrifices.
The end result was predictable. The Tang economy crashed and burned. This financial hemorrhage was the direct reason why Li Zhi had to literally abolish copper currency and restructure the economy shortly after his Mount Tai trip.
The empire was flat out broke. Empty vaults. Crickets chirping in the treasury. Not a pretty sight.
You have to understand the core mechanics of the feudal era. In ancient times, land without people was worthless. Population was the ultimate imperial asset. You could conquer all the territory you wanted, but if no one lived there, you just owned a really big empty field.
Look at Cao Cao during the Three Kingdoms period. When Cao Cao realized he could not hold Hanzhong against Liu Bei, he did not just surrender the territory. He forcefully deported every peasant, farmer, and blacksmith out of the region. He packed them up and marched them into his own territory.
When Liu Bei finally marched in, he won the battle but inherited a barren wasteland. He gained zero economic or strategic benefit.
Victory, but at what cost?
The Tang campaign in Baekje followed a similar, depressing trajectory. After Liu Rengui pacified the Baekje kingdom, the bad blood was simply too deep. The two sides had fought with murderous hatred. Consequently, a massive chunk of the surviving Baekje population refused to bow to Chang'an. They packed whatever they could carry and fled across the sea to Japan or migrated north into Goguryeo territory.
Later, when Goguryeo finally fell, a similar demographic shift occurred. The Tang court forcibly relocated the majority of the Goguryeo population deep into the Chinese mainland, forcibly integrating them into the Central Plains culture.
If you cannot win their hearts, just move their bodies.
The Goguryeo survivors who managed to stay behind in the Liaodong region eventually allied with the nomadic Mohe tribes. Together, they established the kingdom of Balhae in 698 under the leadership of Dae Joyeong, a former Goguryeo general. They declared themselves an independent state, offering only lip service and nominal submission to the Tang Emperor.
They were basically saying, "We will bow, but only if you do not look too closely."
So, after decades of bloodshed and empty treasuries, who was the ultimate winner of the Korean Peninsula thunderdome?
It was Silla.
Weighed down by a collapsing economy and constant military pressure from the Tibetan Empire in the west, Tang simply ran out of steam. After destroying Goguryeo, they had no money left to maintain permanent garrisons in Baekje. They had no elite generals to spare.
On paper, the newly conquered territories were directly governed provinces. In reality, it was a loose, ineffective vassal system held together by spit and hope.
The King of Silla was a masterclass opportunist. He was incredibly sly. For instance, right after Tang destroyed Goguryeo, the Tang commanders organized a grand trilateral peace summit to divide the spoils. The King of Silla conveniently stayed home. He sent a low-ranking minister in his place.
This gave him total plausible deniability to break any treaty signed at that table whenever he felt like it. "Oh, that treaty? My minister signed it. I had no idea."
The moment Silla received intelligence that the Tibetan forces were launching major offensives against the western Tang borders, the King of Silla made his move. He calculated that Chang'an was completely distracted. He knew the Tang had zero bandwidth to police the eastern seaboard.
Without hesitation, Silla mobilized its armies and invaded the former Baekje lands.
Then came the disaster at the Battle of Dafeichuan in 670. Xue Rengui, the legendary hero of the three-arrow victory, was sent to stop the Tibetans. He commanded a massive army and left his baggage train under Guo Daifeng with strict orders to stay put.
But Guo Daifeng had a massive ego. He disobeyed, marched his troops forward, and got his entire force wiped out by the Tibetans. The Tibetans captured all the supplies. Xue Rengui was surrounded and crushed.
The legendary general, the guy who had shot three arrows and won a mountain, was forced to negotiate a truce just to get his men out alive.
Once news of this crushing defeat broke, Silla dropped all pretenses. The Silla King became unrestrained. He kept sending smooth-talking diplomats to Chang'an to stall for time while his armies continued to swallow up territory at a frantic pace.
"Yes, yes, we are still loyal. Just ignore the troops marching through Baekje. They are on vacation."
This shameless land grab continued for years. Finally, in the year 675, Liu Rengui had enough. He came out of retirement, took command, and smashed the Silla armies in several major engagements. The most notable was the Battle of Chiljungseong, where Liu Rengui recruited local Mohe tribesmen to support his attack. Silla fought back fiercely, and the conflict dragged on through the year. But Liu Rengui's offensive was relentless.
Only after getting beaten did the King of Silla suddenly remember his manners. He immediately dispatched envoys to Chang'an, groveling and swearing eternal loyalty to the Tang Emperor.
Funny how that works.
But by that point, Li Zhi was severely ill. His chronic dizziness and vision problems were worsening. Furthermore, a massive anti-Tang coalition led by the Tibetan Empire was causing chaos in the Western Regions.
Faced with a two-front war and a failing body, Li Zhi had to make a painful choice. He swallowed his pride and officially accepted Silla's submission. He formally recognized that the Tang lacked the resources to directly manage the Korean Peninsula. In 676, the Tang moved the Protectorate of Andong headquarters from Pyongyang back to Liaodong.
By doing so, he silently rubber-stamped Silla's annexation of the Baekje territories.
Just like that, the brief window of direct Tang rule over the Korean Peninsula slammed shut. The region reverted to a tributary state dynamic, with Silla sitting alone at the top of the local food chain.]
Inside the Ganlu Hall, the heavy scent of sandalwood incense could not mask the sudden spike in tension.
General Hou Junji saw his moment. He had been trying to prove his strategic vision and loyalty to the Emperor. He immediately stepped out from the ranks of ministers, his face flushed with anger. He struck a pose, fully prepared to deliver a blistering monologue.
"Your Majesty, this Baekje faction was merely acting as a pawn!" Hou Junji roared, his voice echoing off the carved wooden beams. "They were incited and manipulated by Goguryeo. But this Silla... Silla is a nation raised by wolves! They harbor venomous ambition in their hearts!"
His declaration drew slow nods of agreement from the other veterans in the room.
The Tang generals operated on a specific moral code. They did not actually hate enemies like Baekje. Standing up on a battlefield, drawing your sword, and fighting the Tang army face to face was honorable. It was annoying, but it earned a certain level of martial respect.
Furthermore, the generals knew the harsh truth. The endless rebellions in Baekje only ignited because Su Dingfang had allowed his victorious troops to engage in rampant looting and pillaging. If they really wanted to trace the blame for that specific disciplinary breakdown, they would have to look directly at the Emperor himself.
It was a messy, uncomfortable topic. Besides, plundering a conquered city was widely considered a standard perk of warfare in their era.
But Silla was a different story.
To the proud warriors of Chang'an, Silla was nothing but a tribe of opportunistic scavengers. Their diplomatic behavior was repulsive. They were perfectly aligned with the cowardly Japanese in terms of character.
When Goguryeo and Baekje had Silla backed into a corner and surrounded, the Silla kings cried and begged. They called the Tang Dynasty their glorious father and savior. But the second they smelled weakness in Chang'an, they tried to flip the script. They tried to act like the masters of the East.
Silla was a dog that bit the hand feeding it. They needed to be beaten until they learned their place in the hierarchy.
The frustrating part was Silla's impeccable timing. They stole the land when the Tang was distracted, took a quick beating from Liu Rengui, and surrendered before they were forced to cough up their stolen territory.
Looking at the map now, every general in the room mentally moved Silla from the "annoying neighbor" category directly to the "must be utterly exterminated" list.
Chancellor Du Ruhui had already laid out the grand strategy earlier. If the Tang truly wanted permanent peace and control over the Eastern Sea, Silla was the geographic choke point. They had to grip the peninsula firmly by the throat and never let go.
More importantly, Li Shimin possessed a military genius that defied normal logistics. He rarely relied on sluggish armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands. He despised campaigns that drained the national treasury and exhausted the peasantry.
The future broadcast had literally just praised his signature tactic. He preferred launching surgical strikes with elite cavalry to decapitate the enemy leadership. It was an efficient, economically healthy way to conquer a nation.
And then there was the personal insult.
Hou Junji puffed out his chest, his eyes burning with zeal.
"Let us not forget that this Silla is the direct ancestor of those modern Korean peninsula dwellers! The very same people who dared to mock Your Imperial Majesty in their pathetic theater shows!" Hou Junji shouted, his voice dripping with venom. "A nation of cowards who steal history and deceive themselves. Such a treacherous people deserve to have their name erased from the earth! We must burn their historical records and wipe them from existence!"
The atmosphere in the room shifted.
Li Shimin's face twitched. His expression became subtle and difficult to read.
He instantly recalled the bizarre future broadcast from weeks ago. The screen had shown a clip from a modern Korean television drama. In that ridiculous fictional show, the glorious Emperor of the Tang Dynasty had been depicted as a bumbling, one-eyed villain who got shot in the face by a Korean archer.
Li Shimin had tried very hard to repress that humiliating memory. Thanks to Hou Junji's rant, the image of his fictional, one-eyed self was now projected clearly back into his mind.
Great. Just great.
He slowly shook his head, forcefully evicting the irritating thought. He maintained his composure and waved a hand dismissively.
"The fundamental key to managing the Eastern Sea lies in the construction of a supreme navy," Li Shimin declared, his tone cold and devoid of emotion.
He walked over to his sand table, his fingers lightly tracing the coastlines. "If our naval forces are fully realized and dominant, the East will remain pacified. If our naval forces are weak or non-existent, coastal raiders and opportunistic kingdoms will rise like weeds."
He paused, his eyes narrowing as he shifted his gaze toward the western edge of the map. "However, our current priority must remain the Western Regions. We must clear the Silk Road first. Only then will we slowly and methodically turn our attention back to the Eastern Sea."
Li Shimin possessed a clear strategic mind. He refused to let personal insults dictate policy. He knew that once the pesky Tuyuhun kingdom was dealt with, securing control over the western trade routes was paramount.
Gaining a foothold in the west to flank the northern nomads was a nice bonus. But the real issue was financial. The desert kingdom of Gaochang was getting on his last nerve.
Gaochang sat squarely on the Silk Road. They were taxing the merchants. They were siphoning wealth that belonged in the Tang treasury.
Li Shimin could accept the fact that caravans had to pay a few bribes while crossing into Central Asia. That was the cost of doing business in the wild west. But Gaochang was sitting right on his doorstep. They were setting up toll booths directly outside the gates of the Tang Empire, pocketing his gold, and occasionally baring their fangs at Tang border patrols.
It was unacceptable. They were begging for a military invasion.
Hearing the Emperor's strategic outline, Liu Rengui slowly nodded. He stood a little taller, feeling the crushing weight of responsibility settling onto his shoulders. He was tasked with building this navy from scratch.
Meanwhile, Su Dingfang had been standing in silence for several long minutes. His face was a mask of shame.
Ever since the magical screen first activated, Su Dingfang had enjoyed a boost in prestige. The future generations had officially labeled him a God of War. He had felt a sense of pride. His ego had swelled even further when he learned that his protégé, Pei Xingjian, would also become a legendary commander.
Just last year, Su Dingfang had personally led a brutal cavalry charge directly into the main camp of the Illig Qaghan, shattering the Eastern Turkic leadership. He had been riding a high of confidence. He genuinely believed he had achieved the perfect balance of tactical genius and martial bravery.
And now, the screen had casually revealed the truth behind the entire Korean peninsula fiasco.
The root cause of the endless rebellions, the financial ruin of the state, and the decades of bloodshed was simple. Poor military discipline.
In Su Dingfang's mind, the chain of events was clear. He had allowed his victorious soldiers to loot Baekje. That single failure in leadership had alienated the local population, sparked an insurgency, and ultimately prevented the Tang Empire from securing control over the peninsula. His momentary lapse in discipline had cost the empire dearly.
Sensing the gloom radiating from the veteran general, Li Ji walked over and gave Su Dingfang a firm pat on the shoulder. It was meant to be comforting.
Li Ji understood the burden of command. He also felt a twinge of professional jealousy.
Over the past few broadcasts, the name Su Dingfang had been mentioned constantly. The man was getting all the future glory.
Li Ji grumbled internally. What about me? I am also recognized as a God of War. Why do I only get brief mentions in the footnotes of these future history lessons? Who do I complain to about this lack of screen time?
However, brushing his ego aside, Li Ji realized he needed to actively fight for command of this new naval project.
Compared to slogging through the arid deserts of the Western Regions, the navy looked like a golden ticket. Western campaigns were grueling. Every deployment required marching for months on end across hostile terrain.
The naval forces, however, possessed strategic mobility. A powerful fleet could sail north to strike the Liaodong region or sail south to project power in Jiaozhi. The possibilities were endless.
Li Ji loved a specific phrase the future narrator had used earlier. Naval Hegemony. It sounded glorious.
Thinking about naval warfare suddenly sparked an idea in Li Ji's tactical mind. He remembered the secret project he was currently supervising alongside General Li Jing at the Five Thunder Daoist Temple.
Since they were making progress in reverse engineering the primitive gunpowder formulas, should he not pressure the Directorate for Imperial Manufactories to accelerate their weapons research?
Based on the future broadcasts, primitive gunpowder weapons were devastating for siege warfare. But practically speaking, building large traction trebuchets was still cheaper, faster, and more reliable on a land battlefield.
But on the ocean? That changed the math.
Li Ji envisioned mounting heavy cannons on the decks of those Five Deck Tower Ships. If they could figure out how to cast iron barrels, naval artillery would be superior to throwing rocks with wooden catapults. A ship equipped with cannons could shatter an enemy fleet before they even got into ramming range.
He needed to have a long conversation with the Daoist alchemists.
[Lightscreen]
[Following the decisive Battle of Baekgang, the geopolitical landscape of the Korean Peninsula descended into chaos. Alliances shifted faster than a merchant's loyalty, and borders were redrawn in blood.
However, throughout this entire turbulent period, the Japanese across the sea remained suspiciously quiet.
The reason was simple. They had been beaten so badly they were genuinely traumatized. It was like getting punched in the face so hard you forget how to speak.
After the Tang military finally extinguished Goguryeo, diplomatic channels slowly reopened between Chang'an and the Japanese islands. And this time, the Japanese leadership had undergone a psychological shift. They had learned a painful lesson through sheer violence.
Their internal logic went something like this: The reason we were slaughtered so effortlessly at the Baekgang River must be because we have not copied the Tang Dynasty enough!
From that moment on, the Japanese launched a society-wide campaign to mimic the Tang Empire in every conceivable aspect. It was a fanatic movement of cultural absorption.
They restructured their political hierarchy to match the Tang bureaucracy. They copied Tang architectural styles for their palaces. They laid out their capital cities using the exact grid system of Chang'an. They adopted Tang calligraphy, memorized Tang poetry, and even modeled their newly created written characters heavily on the Chinese script.
They desperately wanted to become a miniature mirror image of the Central Plains.
The Japanese were trying to find a shortcut to absolute power. They thought they could just copy the homework of a superpower and magically achieve the same results.
But the reality of civilization building is much harsher.
The dynasties of the Central Plains had not achieved their greatness through simple imitation. They had forged their systems in blood. For generations, they had violently wrestled with the Malthusian trap.
The Malthusian trap is a brutal economic reality. It dictates that population growth will always eventually outpace agricultural production. When there are too many mouths to feed and not enough grain, society collapses into famine, war, and plague. The population resets, and the cycle begins anew.
The Chinese empires had survived countless cycles of this trap. They had developed complex agricultural innovations, massive irrigation projects, and sophisticated bureaucratic systems specifically designed to manage millions of starving peasants and survive these catastrophic resets.
You cannot simply copy the surface-level aesthetics of a survivor and expect to gain their underlying resilience.
It's like copying someone's workout routine without understanding the years of training that built their body. You'll just end up injured and confused.
A political system forged in the fires of a Malthusian crisis cannot be effectively copy-pasted through sheer willpower.]