Looking down from Xuanwu Gate at Fang Zheng and all the advanced weapons below, Li Shimin shouted, “First we have Mister, then the Tang dynasty. I, the emperor, bow respectfully to Mister!”
Lying back in a money cart, Changsun Wuji narrowed his eyes and crossed one leg over the other, listening to the latest Tang-style pop music and humming a tune, utterly at ease. “Back then, it was only because I got on Mister’s good side that I became the richest man in the empire. You, the younger generation of the Changsun clan, must all show Mister the respect he deserves.”
Cheng Yaojin gazed at rows of tanks and cannons, then at the barbarians across the field, armed with swords and blades. He threw back his head and laughed. “What are you going to fight me with? Second Battalion Commander, open fire!”
Wearing his reading glasses, Fang Xuanling stared at the plans in dismay.
The high-speed rail plan, the rocket plan, the Tang cultural development plan, and the century-long plan for the future of the Tang dynasty left him deep in thought. Even on his deathbed, he still couldn’t understand how the Tang dynasty had developed so quickly.
Zhou Buren, the man at the center of it all, lounged among a bevy of pretty maids, doing nothing all day. He listened to the neighborhood gossip, teased the beautiful maids now and then, and had someone feed him whenever he opened his mouth. He was waited on hand and foot every day, living a life that countless drudges could only envy.
“Ah, living like this for too long gets boring. I really want to blow something up.”
His gaze turned toward the imperial palace, and a daring idea took shape in his mind.
