Inside the Ganlu Hall, even after the light screen had completely faded, Li Shimin still hadn't fully recovered.
A spur-of-the-moment idea of his own—
and yet he'd still ended up a step behind Zhuge Wuhou?
Sun Simiao, however, didn't dwell on such things.
Compared to grand strategy, what the later generations said about Guizhi Decoction wasn't especially extensive—but for a fellow physician like him, it was already more than enough to spark insight.
For example, that Kidney Qi Pill seemed to have room for improvement.
After all, just from the name Six-Ingredient Rehmannia Pill, one could tell the core formula contained six primary herbs.
Yet if Sun Simiao remembered correctly, the original Kidney Qi Pill had eight main ingredients.
So which two were removed?
How were the proportions adjusted?
These were not complicated matters. Handing them over to the Imperial Medical Bureau would be perfect—give those fellows something productive to do.
Reducing two herbs might sound simple, but once you factored in pharmacological interactions and complementary effects, it was more than enough to thoroughly train the Bureau's medical competence.
Still, what mattered most to Sun Simiao wasn't the formula itself—but the angle from which later generations analyzed medicine.
And especially the concept they called "practical medicine."
Pharmacological analysis was presented simply and vividly—easy to grasp at a glance.
The character shi (實, "practical") implied substance, truth, sincerity, and breadth.
Jian (踐, "to practice") emphasized execution.
From this, Sun Simiao arrived at an epiphany.
Medicine had always been rooted in the patient—
to understand pathology through pharmacology,
all for the sake of restoring the patient to health.
And if one wished to rectify medical doctrine, the very first step was an intimate understanding of the human body.
For instance, the later generations' theories of blood circulation and vascular permeability—these were utterly unheard-of.
As for anatomical illustrations…
Sun Simiao frowned slightly.
He felt that those visceral diagrams copied from the Song dynasty were, frankly speaking, unbearable to look at.
So after a moment's thought, his gaze drifted—
and landed squarely on Yan Liben.
Yan Liben was currently frowning, glancing around cautiously, as if searching for something.
When his eyes met Sun Simiao's, he smiled politely and nodded.
Sun Simiao immediately returned an enthusiastic smile.
Such realistic brushwork—
not using it to draw anatomical diagrams would be an unforgivable loss to medicine!
But then again…
Sun Simiao stroked his beard.
Should he ask His Majesty to issue a direct order?
Or would it be better to persuade him gently, with reason and emotion?
Yan Liben, still scanning the hall, suddenly shivered.
His confusion only deepened.
Strange… very strange. This Ganlu Hall isn't that big. Where could the painting have possibly blown off to?
Li Shimin, for his part, felt only a twinge of regret—and nothing more.
As the light screen fully dissipated, he waved his hand, signaling for everyone to disperse.
This was practically routine in the Ganlu Hall by now.
At times like this, the emperor would usually keep one or two ministers behind for private strategic discussions. Everyone else would extract whatever interested them or matched their expertise, write a memorial, and await summons or imperial commentary.
And this time was no exception.
"Yaoshi, stay a moment. Maogong as well."
The two generals remained motionless as the others departed in twos and threes.
Most eye-catching of all were Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui.
Normally refined and dignified, Fang Xuanling dropped the transcript of the light screen, gave Li Shimin a perfunctory bow, then—borderline violently—dragged Du Ruhui away.
Du Ruhui didn't even realize what was happening until half his foot was already outside the hall. He hurriedly turned back, clasped his hands, and loudly excused himself.
Yan Lide did much the same—organizing his sketches before rushing off to the Directorate of Works to register them and begin construction.
He was even planning to rope his younger brother into helping him there…
Wait—
Why couldn't he pull him?
Yan Lide had intended to drag Yan Liben along to show him the Directorate's bright future.
But Yan Liben stood as if rooted to the floor.
Ignoring his elder brother's puzzled look, Yan Liben raised his head and clasped his hands.
"I am skilled in fine brushwork. If Your Majesty intends to discuss military strategy with the two dukes, may I observe and record Your Majesty's evaluations of various regions in detailed illustration?"
Yan Lide was startled.
He clearly remembered how resistant his brother once was to painting for the imperial family. Though that attitude had softened over time, it was nothing like this eagerness.
Li Shimin gave Yan Liben a knowing look and nodded.
"Approved."
Yan Lide could only leave alone, full of questions.
Li Shimin paid Yan Liben no further mind. He pulled over a map, paused briefly, then went straight to the point.
"Two days ago, an urgent report from Liangzhou arrived. Tuyuhun raiders have invaded Shanzhou and are loitering along the Huangshui."
Li Jing stroked his beard.
As Minister of War, he had already handled this report and knew its contents well.
Shanzhou was effectively the gateway to Tuyuhun territory. It had both Shancheng and Huangshui Fort, each garrisoned specifically to guard against such incursions.
If Shanzhou fell, the enemy could sweep north into Liangzhou or east into Longyou—a serious threat indeed.
And the Liangzhou Governor-General, Li Daliang, was the emperor's nail hammered into Longyou: reliable, capable in battle, steady in command. He lacked dazzling achievements but never made mistakes and excelled at regional administration.
This crisis in Shanzhou had already been resolved by Li Daliang leading troops from Liangzhou.
Thinking further, Li Jing recalled that even before Illig Qaghan was captured, Li Daliang had been appointed Pacification Commissioner of the Northwestern Circuit.
Back then, even without insights from later generations, the emperor's gaze had already fallen naturally upon Tuyuhun.
As these thoughts ran through his mind, Li Jing unconsciously tuned out the emperor's passionate speech—until the final sentence rang clearly in his ears:
"Therefore, my decision is made. Yaoshi shall serve as Grand Commander of the Qinghai Expedition, overseeing the campaign to annihilate Tuyuhun."
Li Jing clasped his hands.
"I shall not fail Your Majesty."
This wasn't a formal court session—just prior notice—so full ceremonial bows weren't needed. And Li Shimin never required such formalities anyway.
Just like the Eastern Turkic campaign—
no amount of praise could match Illig Qaghan being dragged before the throne in chains.
As for deputies and other commanders, Li Jing would likely discuss those details with the emperor another couple of times before finalizing them for announcement at court.
Once announced at court, it meant the official launch of the campaign—just as it had been when Eastern Turks were destroyed.
Li Jing was thoroughly familiar with the process.
The only oddity was the title. By convention, this post should've been called Western Sea Circuit, but perhaps due to hearing it too often from later generations, it had become Qinghai Circuit instead.
After that, Li Jing, now speaking as the Qinghai Expedition's commander, discussed logistics and initial strategy in detail with Li Shimin.
When the discussion turned to an alternative axis of advance, the emperor said quietly:
"The Qiang of Lintao cannot be trusted."
There were two routes into Tuyuhun from Longyou.
If Shanzhou was the front gate, then Lintao was the side gate.
From Chengji—modern Tianshui—heading west brought one to Lintao, an area densely populated by Qiang tribes. Two hundred li further lay Wuhai—later Su Dingfang's place of fame and Xue Rengui's site of sorrow.
From Wuhai, traveling seventy or eighty li north brought one straight into the Tuyuhun heartland around Qinghai Lake.
But passing through here meant dealing with the Qiang.
Li Shiji believed it feasible to enlist them—both as allies and guides.
Li Jing neither endorsed nor rejected the idea.
Li Shimin, however, flatly dismissed it.
"The Lintao Qiang have no deep ties with Tuyuhun. Even if they submit to Tang, they would hesitate to offend Tuyuhun on our behalf. At best, they'd hedge their bets."
Shaking his head, the emperor set that route aside and instead turned his attention to Li Shiji.
"Maogong—would you be willing to accompany Yaoshi on the Tuyuhun campaign?"
Three months ago, Li Shiji wouldn't have hesitated.
But recalling the vast maritime visions he'd just seen less than half an hour ago, he now hesitated.
Neither Li Shimin nor Li Jing pressed him.
The two instead began pointing at Yan Liben's freshly drawn maps, discussing multi-pronged deployments.
Soon, the hesitation on Li Shiji's face crystallized into resolve.
He clasped his hands solemnly.
"I request assignment to oversee Laizhou."
Once the words were spoken, a sense of relief washed over him.
He could have asked to campaign against Tuyuhun first, then transfer to naval command afterward.
But from mobilizing supplies to finishing the war, Li Shiji estimated it would take at least until April next year.
It was only early October now—meaning over half a year would pass.
By then, Liu Rengui would already be favored by the emperor. How far would his mathematics and naval experience advance in that time?
Trying to do both would likely mean serving as Li Jing's deputy on land—
and then Liu Rengui's deputy at sea.
Li Shiji sought independent achievement and historical renown—not a lifetime of playing second fiddle.
Since that was the case, better to decide decisively.
Mathematics? He was only in his early thirties.
If Liu Rengui could learn it, why couldn't he?
His gaze grew ever firmer.
Li Shimin laughed heartily and clapped his shoulder.
"Then let us see—between Maogong and Zhengze—who secures merit in pacifying the seas first!"
With the two decisions settled, Li Jing and Li Shiji withdrew.
Li Jing planned to review the last two years of Tuyuhun intelligence in the Ministry of War, write to Li Daliang in Liangzhou for more detailed updates, then refine the strategy.
Li Shiji headed for the Imperial Academy to see how mathematics was taught—while also considering whether to visit Fang Xuanling.
Hou Junji, that unfortunate fellow, had once mentioned Fang Xuanling was utterly obsessed with mathematics these days.
Whether he had any tricks worth learning… remained to be seen.
Yan Liben glanced around the Ganlu Hall one more time, then clasped his hands to take his leave as well.
"Liben."
Li Shimin stopped the Vice Director of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices.
Yan Liben was known by his courtesy name to the world—so much so that even the emperor had forgotten his given name.
Addressing him thus showed familiarity.
Yet Yan Liben's heart skipped.
Reluctantly, he halted and turned back.
"Your Majesty."
Li Shimin went straight to the point.
"Have you heard of the new Imperial Medical Bureau built beside the Court of Judicial Review?"
Yan Liben nodded honestly.
"I have heard rumors. The streets speak wildly—utter nonsense."
"Oh?" Li Shimin smiled with interest, gesturing for him to sit. "What kind of nonsense?"
Carefully perching half his body on the chair, Yan Liben recalled:
"They say the physicians act strangely—dissecting corpses in pursuit of immortality, cutting open chests and bellies, bordering on witchcraft."
"And others swear that this year, executions at the Lone Willow Tree have been far fewer than usual."
The Lone Willow Tree lay at the southwest corner outside the imperial city—a common execution site, named for a particularly conspicuous willow tree.
Li Shimin drained the now-cold tea and shook his head.
"All of it is true."
Yan Liben's eyes widened.
He'd suspected something after copying the anatomical diagrams from the light screen—but hearing it confirmed by the emperor himself still stunned him.
What followed struck even harder.
"Divine Physician Sun dissects condemned criminals to study internal anatomy and clarify pathology."
Then came the inevitable conclusion.
"But such bodies cannot be preserved long. Though Sun Simiao has a prodigious memory, teaching others is inconvenient."
"You excel in fine brushwork. Why not render the human interior through painting—creating medical templates?"
Yan Liben weighed the meaning carefully.
He knew the significance—but the subject matter made him uneasy.
Li Shimin remained calm.
"I hear you are skilled at painting external human forms—especially expressive gestures."
"Is it that you are unwilling to paint what lies within?"
Yan Liben could no longer sit still.
He rose and spoke earnestly.
"Medicine saves countless lives. Since models must be made, this humble servant is willing to contribute his meager skills."
Li Shimin smiled and nodded, dismissing him.
Only now did the emperor fully realize Yan Liben's value—after seeing the Galleon diagrams from later generations.
Li Shimin had seen Sui-era drawings of five-deck warships.
And to build a ship from those drawings would require extraordinary imagination.
The proportions were wrong—soldiers larger than the ships themselves. Shapes bore no resemblance to reality.
One could tell it had five decks—nothing more.
By contrast, later generations' illustrations—crossbows, trebuchets, Galleons—were all rendered with fine brushwork, as if seen with one's own eyes.
They possessed beauty—and more importantly, clarity.
Replication became vastly easier.
If later generations' Galleon drawings were like those Sui ship sketches…
They'd likely be useless.
Li Shimin's thoughts drifted.
Could it be that the "Brothel Emperor" of the Song had foresight after all—introducing painting into the civil examinations?
If one were to promote science…
should one also promote fine brush painting?
For a moment, even Li Shimin couldn't decide.