If I traveled back to the Tang Dynasty, all I really wanted to be was a carefree prince.

Everything changed after the day Li Shimin met Li Yuan.

The changes were first evident in the Da'an Palace. Li Yuan no longer secluded himself inside, and Li Shimin would visit every three to five days, sometimes with Empress Zhangsun, sometimes with Li Chengqian, and sometimes alone. The father and son no longer mentioned the Xuanwu Gate Incident, but only talked about everyday matters—Li Shimin's embarrassing childhood stories, Li Chengqian's studies, what new words Li Zhi had learned, and what new medicine Li Ke had concocted.

Li Yuan didn't say much, but every word he uttered warmed Li Shimin's heart.

Once, Li Shimin took Li Ke to Da'an Palace. When Li Yuan saw Li Ke, his eyes lit up, and he asked Eunuch Zhang to bring out some small trinkets he had recently made for Li Ke to see—there was a wood carving he had made himself, a medicated ointment he had tried to make based on the recipe for the calming ointment that Li Ke had given him, and a set of mahjong tiles that he had painted himself, with patterns that were even more exquisite than the set that Li Ke had made.

"Grandfather, this painting is truly excellent," Li Ke praised sincerely.

Li Yuan snorted: "The one you made was too ugly. I couldn't stand it, so I made one myself."

Li Shimin stood by, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He had never seen his father like this before—like a child, showing off his work and waiting for others to praise him.

But Li Yuan's next words froze Li Shimin's smile.

"Ke'er is better than you," Li Yuan said calmly, as if stating something obvious. "Of all your sons, he's the one most like you were in your youth. No, he's even better than you were in your youth."

Li Shimin was taken aback for a moment: "Father..."

"You were smart when you were young, but not as steady as him." Li Yuan glanced at him. "This child knew how to accompany a disgraced old man at eleven, how to learn medicine to save lives, and how to avoid competition and strife. And you? What were you doing at eleven? Thinking about how to make a name for yourself, weren't you?"

Li Shimin opened his mouth, but could not utter a word.

"And another thing," Li Yuan's voice suddenly turned stern, "you actually let him study medicine?"

Li Shimin's expression changed.

"Father, I like it myself—"

"He likes it?" Li Yuan interrupted him. "Just because he likes it doesn't mean you'll let him go. Are you his father, or is he your father?"

The atmosphere in the hall suddenly became tense.

Li Ke, standing to the side, quickly tried to smooth things over: "Grandfather, it was my own idea to learn it; it has nothing to do with Father—"

"Don't speak." Li Yuan glanced at him, his gaze stern, but there was something strange in his tone—not anger, but heartache. "I'm talking about your father."

Li Ke shut his mouth, not daring to say anything more.

Li Yuan turned to look at Li Shimin, his voice low and serious: "Shimin, I ask you, what is Ke'er's status?"

Li Shimin lowered his head: "He is my son, the prince of the Tang Dynasty."

"Yes. He is your son, a prince of the Tang Dynasty," Li Yuan said. "Do you know why I raised you and your elder brother so strictly back then? Because you are descendants of the Li family, people who must bear responsibility. You can let him learn to ride horses, you can let him learn archery, you can let him learn to fight, but first you must let him learn how to be a prince. Learning medicine? That's the job of the imperial physicians, not the job of a prince."

Li Shimin lowered his head even further.

"I know," Li Yuan's voice softened, "This child is kind-hearted and wants to save people. That's a good thing. But you can't let him neglect his duties and spend all his time in the Imperial Hospital just because he's kind. He's a prince, and he'll be protecting this empire for me—for you—in the future. If you let him learn all that medicine, how will he govern the country in the future?"

Li Shimin remained silent for a long time.

"Father is right." He raised his head and looked at Li Yuan. "It was your son's oversight."

"You're not being negligent," Li Yuan shook his head, "you're just soft-hearted. This child has suffered a lot, and you feel indebted to him, so you want to indulge him. But have you considered what will happen to him in the future if you indulge him now?"

Li Shimin remained silent.

Li Yuan looked at him and sighed.

"Shimin, I'm telling you this not to make things difficult for Ke'er," Li Yuan's voice softened. "What I'm saying is—this child has great potential, don't waste it. Let him study medicine, but not just medicine. He must also master the classics, history, philosophy, governance, horsemanship, archery, and martial arts—none of these can be neglected. He is a descendant of the Li family; the more capable he is, the better he will live in the future. You understand this better than I do."

Li Shimin bowed deeply.

"My son understands."

After returning from Da'an Palace, Li Shimin sat alone in the Imperial Study for a long time.

He kept thinking about Li Yuan's words—"He is a descendant of the Li family. The more capable he is, the better he will live in the future."

These words were like a needle pricking his heart.

Li Ke's identity is unique. His birth mother was a princess of the previous dynasty, a fact that naturally placed him in danger. While his father, the emperor, is alive, no one dares to harm him. But what about the future? What will happen to Li Ke after his death?

Without a powerful maternal clan, without the support of important officials in the court, and only the identity of a "remnant of the previous dynasty," if he is ignorant and incompetent, he will be at the mercy of others in the future. If he only knows medicine, he will only be a leisurely prince, his life and death not in his own hands.

But if he is powerful enough—possessing both literary and martial talents, virtuous and capable, having rendered meritorious service to the country, and having the support of the people—then no one can touch him.

Li Shimin picked up his pen and began to write a timetable.

The next morning, Li Ke went to Hongwen Hall as usual, preparing to continue reading his medical books.

But Kong Yingda told him that the coursework had changed from today onwards.

"Your Highness, the Prince of Shu," Kong Yingda took out a piece of paper and handed it to him, "this is the schedule personally prepared by His Majesty. From today onwards, Your Highness's studies will be conducted according to this schedule."

Li Ke took it and looked at it, his eyes widening even more.

Every day at 5:00 AM: get up and practice martial arts (riding and archery, swordsmanship, and fist fighting), taught by Zhao Hong, the commander of the guards.

From Chenshi to Wushi (7:00 to 11:00): Study at Hongwen Hall, taught by Kong Yingda on classics, history, philosophy, and literature—Shangshu, Zhouyi, Lunyu, Mengzi, Zuozhuan, Shiji, and Hanshu.

Noon (11:00 AM): Have lunch and rest for half an hour.

From 1:00 to 3:00 PM: Imperial Medical Academy, studying medicine (limited to one hour).

From 3 PM to 5 PM: Trainee at the Political Affairs Hall, learning how to handle government affairs from Fang Xuanling.

From 5 PM to 7 PM: Review lessons and write articles, supervised by Ang Lee.

7:00 PM (戌时): Have dinner, then rest.

Li Ke stared at the timetable and remained silent for a long time.

"Scholar Kong," he said, "this...is there a mistake? Before, I only studied for two hours in the morning, went to the Imperial Hospital in the afternoon, and rested in the evening. Now this..."

"There's no mistake." Kong Yingda's expression was subtle—a mixture of sympathy and a hint of anticipation. "His Majesty said that His Highness is exceptionally gifted and cannot afford to waste his talents. From today onward, His Highness's studies will be the same as those of the Crown Prince."

Li Ke's lips twitched.

Same as the Crown Prince. In other words, the Emperor placed him on the same level as his elder brother.

He took a deep breath, folded the timetable, and tucked it into his sleeve.

"Then... let's begin."

Li Ke gritted his teeth and persevered through the first day of classes.

He got up at five in the morning to practice martial arts—Commander Zhao was a straightforward man, and he didn't mince words. He immediately made him practice horse stance, which he did for half an hour. His legs trembled like leaves, but he gritted his teeth and didn't utter a sound.

Then came two hours of lectures on classical texts—Kong Yingda lectured on the *Shangshu* (Book of Documents), citing numerous classical allusions and drawing on a wide range of sources, leaving Li Ke completely bewildered. In his previous life, he was a medical doctor, not a history professor. These ancient texts were even more difficult for him to understand than the *Huangdi Neijing* (Yellow Emperor's Inner Classic).

Then came the Imperial Medical Academy—only one hour was allotted. Wang Yongzheng saw him arrive and smiled, saying, "Your Highness, why are you so late today?" Li Ke gave a wry smile and remained silent. He quickly reviewed the medicinal herbs he hadn't finished examining yesterday, and then followed Wang Yongzheng to see two more patients.

Then came the Hall of State Affairs—Fang Xuanling was a gentle old man, but extremely serious about his work. He had Li Ke sit beside him as he reviewed official documents, occasionally offering explanations—"This is a report from Jiangnan Circuit, saying that there has been too much rain this year, and there is a risk of flooding. We must make preparations in advance." "This is a letter from the Turks, the language is respectful, but we must be wary." "This is the Ministry of Personnel's performance evaluation book, which assesses the performance of all officials; it is the most tedious, but also the most important."

As Li Ke listened, his mind felt like it was being filled with a giant millstone, unable to turn at all.

Returning to the side hall in the evening, he still had to review his lessons and write essays. Kong Yingda's topic was "On Benevolent Governance," requiring him to write three hundred words.

Li Ke sat at the table, holding a calligraphy brush, looking at the blank paper in front of him, but couldn't write a single word.

In his previous life, he had written countless medical papers, SCI papers, and National Natural Science Foundation of China grant applications, but when it came to "benevolent governance"—he didn't even know the standard definition of "benevolent governance."

He forced himself to write over a hundred words, and even he wanted to tear them up after reading them.