Volume Two: The Lord and His Grandson Chapter 32: Chang'an

Wei Fufeng let out a soft sigh and turned his thoughts to another matter—he had specifically ordered his subordinates to investigate Yang Sima.

As promised, a post as either Chief Administrator of Luzhou or Military Office Adjudicator had been left open for Yang Sima, yet the man had never arrived in Luzhou.

According to the information gathered, Yang Sima had instead taken up the position of Prefect of Xingyuan, which was equivalent in status to a regional governor—a significant promotion, wielding powers similar to those of the Chief Administrator of Luzhou.

Yang Sima’s appointment in Xingyuan made Wei Fufeng deeply uneasy. When he was first in Xingyuan, with no one to rely on, he had sought out Yang Sima’s party from Suizhou, promising posts in exchange for the loyalty of Yang Sima’s five followers.

Now, those five followers had all been granted important positions in Luzhou. Li Chenggang was Commander of the Jingnan Military Office; Wang Dahu was Commander of the Leopard-Tao Regiment under the Governor’s Office.

Yang Wencheng, Dong He, and Liu Yi had originally been military officers, but their battlefield achievements were unremarkable, so Wei Fufeng reassigned them as Agricultural Commanders in the Military Office, granting them hereditary privileges as Commanders.

As the saying goes, a fine bird chooses a good tree to nest in. Compared to the Military Governor of Southern Sichuan, the Governor of Western Shannan clearly offered better prospects.

If that Prefect Yang were to persuade his five former followers to defect, it could spell disaster within Southern Sichuan.

“Should I transfer the commanders of the Leopard-Tao Regiment and the Jingnan Military Office?” Wei Fufeng agonized, unable to reach a decision.

Wang Dahu and Li Chenggang held vital military authority—one controlled the troops for the Governor’s Office, the other commanded deployments in Jingnan. Either could help the enemy destroy Southern Sichuan’s rule.

After long deliberation, Wei Fufeng shook his head with a bitter smile. He could not change them. The maxim goes: trust those you employ; do not employ those you distrust. Having placed them in such positions, it would be inappropriate to replace them.

The main reason—Wei Fufeng had no one trustworthy enough to take their place; he was even forced to promote surrendered officers from the Eastern Sichuan Army to maintain a balance of power.

Having chosen not to replace them, Wei Fufeng wrote two letters to be sent back to Luzhou.

One was for Old Feng, instructing him to inform the five former followers of Yang Sima that since Yang Sima had accepted the post of Prefect of Xingyuan, the position of Chief Administrator of Luzhou could not remain vacant, and his promise to Yang Sima was thus fulfilled.

Wei Fufeng made it clear to the five that he was aware of Yang Sima’s new appointment.

The other letter was delivered to the Governor’s Office, appointing Li Jie, Adjudicator of Lifu, as the new Chief Administrator of Luzhou, and transferring Wang Qi, Supervisor, to the post of Adjudicator of Lifu.

Once his subordinate departed with the letters, Wei Fufeng’s spirits sank. He felt ever less confident in safeguarding Southern Sichuan’s foundation, falling into a state of anxious uncertainty.

“Worrying is useless. The post of Military Governor of Southern Sichuan was gained by trickery to begin with. Aside from Old Feng, everyone else is a stranger, pieced together. Why did I leave Southern Sichuan? One reason was that it felt like living among wolves.

In these chaotic times, it’s common to hear of warlords being slain and replaced by their own men. And Southern Sichuan faces enemies on all sides. I only hope Old Feng can escape safely in times of crisis.”

Wei Fufeng tried to comfort himself, then steeled his resolve and continued on his journey. Since landing at Shunzheng County, he had shared all hardships with his men, marching and eating alongside them, never once riding in the small snow carriage.

...

Chang’an, with a circumference of over seventy li, was a vast and imposing capital—the heart of the Great Tang Empire. At its height, the city had a population exceeding a million, regarded as the Celestial Capital by foreign nations.

Wei Fufeng led his troops and the grain convoy along the difficult Ziwu Road.

After passing Ziwu Gate, he left four hundred men with most of the remaining grain at Ziwu Town. With six hundred soldiers escorting two thousand shi of grain, he arrived, travel-worn, at Chang’an.

The imperial troops guarding Mingde Gate, seeing that it was tribute grain sent by a Military Governor, raised no objection. The officer in command had the convoy led to the Ministry of Revenue while reporting the arrival.

Though Wei Fufeng had not resided long in Chang’an, he was somewhat familiar with the city, having studied and visited it on a previous rare trip.

As the convoy traveled down Vermilion Bird Avenue, Wei Fufeng observed the activity within the city.

He noticed that the city’s bustle had declined greatly compared to his visit two years earlier; few people entered or exited the shops, the streets were visibly desolate, and many faces looked grim, casting a pall of oppression over the city.

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Originally intending to follow the guards to the Ministry of Revenue, Wei Fufeng suddenly changed his mind en route, ordering the grain carts to head instead to the East Market, where he rented a warehouse for lodging.

Once settled, he ordered his soldiers to take turns relaxing, leaving only two hundred to guard the grain, with strict instructions not to mention the Wei family.

Wei Fufeng himself, accompanied by ten soldiers, went to the Imperial City to submit a letter to the Ministry of Rites.

Chang’an held three palace complexes: Taiji Palace, Xingqing Palace, and Daming Palace. Wei Fufeng knew the Emperor Zhaozong resided in Daming Palace, situated on the Longshou Plain in the city’s north.

As dusk approached, they arrived outside Daming Palace, and Wei Fufeng handed in his petition at Danfeng Gate.

The document explained that he was attending court on behalf of his uncle, Wei Zheng, and an officer took it to the Ministry of Rites at the Secretariat.

He also left a contact address—the warehouse in the East Market.

Relieved, Wei Fufeng was finally able to rest. It had taken a full month to travel from Shunzheng County to Chang’an.

Back at the East Market, Wei Fufeng took a meal and bathed, then collapsed into a deep sleep, utterly exhausted.

The segment of the journey along Ziwu Road, though repaired, still included narrow plank paths and treacherous mountain passes—requiring the men to carry supplies on their backs and endure great hardship.

Ziwu Road crossed the Qinling Mountains, linking Chang’an to Hanzhong; it was a vital trade route and a strategic military passage capable of threatening the capital.

It was said that during the Three Kingdoms era, the Shu general Wei Yan advised Zhuge Liang to take Ziwu Road to launch a surprise attack deep into Wei territory, but Zhuge Liang, ever cautious, declined.

Due to war and plundering, business along Ziwu Road had fallen into decline. Once, goods from within the Pass were transported south of the Qinling, and local products such as silk, medicines, and tung oil were brought north.

Wei Fufeng slept soundly until morning. Upon rising, he stepped out to find Xiaoxue scrubbing his armor, a sight that warmed his heart.

Though Xiaoxue had ridden in the carriage, the journey had been hard for her as well, not least because she could not bathe.

In high spirits, Wei Fufeng approached her with a smile. “Xiaoxue, there’s no hurry for that armor. You ought to rest.”

Xiaoxue turned her head and replied softly, “Master, you are to be received by the Emperor. I think it best that you wear your armor.”

Wei Fufeng was briefly taken aback, then nodded. She was right—whether in his purple official robes or plain clothing, he would not look the part as well as in armor. He positioned himself as a military officer.

“There’s still a few days until the audience. No need to rush,” Wei Fufeng said with a smile.

“I have nothing else to do. It’s best to have it ready for you, Master,” Xiaoxue replied quietly.

Wei Fufeng smiled and asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

“I have, Master. I’ll fetch your meal now,” Xiaoxue answered, wiping her hands on her skirt and heading off.

Wei Fufeng watched her delicate figure depart, his heart filled with warmth.

When she was out of sight, he turned his gaze to the distant sky, murmuring contentedly, “At the very least, I can have a prosperous family, free from want.”

After breakfast, Wei Fufeng hid away to practice martial arts, wielding his dagger with dexterous thrusts, slashes, and parries, occasionally reversing his grip.

His footwork was agile—his thrusts as swift as a viper’s tongue, his slashes as sly as a fox, his movements as fluid and quick as a startled swan.

Xiaoxue stood quietly in the doorway, watching him practice. She was well acquainted with his habits and knew this young master was far more formidable than a mere scholar.

Yet he disliked letting others know he practiced martial arts. Though skilled with the spear, he favored diligent drills with the short sword.

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Training with a short sword was typical of assassins, yet as a Military Governor, how could he be involved in such business?

Of course, Wei Fufeng would never tell Xiaoxue that he dreaded charging into battle, nor did he wish to become a celebrated war hero.

A famous general who once showed fear in battle would become a laughingstock. The battlefield was perilous—Wei Fufeng did not wish to face death, nor end up a cripple like Old Feng. In Southern Sichuan, he concealed his martial prowess for self-preservation—appearing weak to deceive his foes and turn their expectations against them.

After training, he rested for half an hour, then went to inspect the grain and check on the soldiers’ needs.

He asked them about their experiences in Chang’an, seeking useful information and strengthening their loyalty to him.

After midday, Wei Fufeng idled in the courtyard reading, enjoying a rare moment of leisure. The previous night, he had slept soundly, free of worries—a rare and utter comfort.

“Reporting to Master, a senior official from the Ministry of Rites has arrived with an imperial summons. Master is requested to attend an audience at once!” a guard ran in, breathless with urgency.

Wei Fufeng was startled. So soon? He paused, then stood up and ordered calmly, “Xiaoxue, help me change.”

Xiaoxue quickly brought his freshly aired armor and served him as he dressed.

Once ready, Wei Fufeng went out to meet the official.

Sure enough, outside stood an official in a light crimson robe. After a polite exchange, Wei Fufeng led ten soldiers, each group taking a separate carriage as they left the East Market.

Arriving near Daming Palace, they disembarked and proceeded on foot to Danfeng Gate.

The official remained silent throughout, giving Wei Fufeng no chance to inquire. It was clear the man wished to keep his distance.

Within the vast Daming Palace, Wei Fufeng took in the majestic Hanyuan Hall, the red pillars and flying eaves of its many annexes and corridors.

He and his men silently admired the palace’s grandeur, feeling an instinctive awe and reverence.

Passing through a side gate by the Hanyuan Hall, symbol of the Outer Court, they entered the Xuan Zheng Hall area, seat of the Middle Court. There, at the official’s lead, they halted outside a particular hall.

“Please wait here, Master Wei. I will announce your arrival to His Majesty,” the official said courteously.

“Oh? And this place is...?” Wei Fufeng asked.

“This is the Yan Ying Hall. The Emperor often receives senior ministers here,” the official replied. Seeing Wei Fufeng nod, he turned and entered.

...

The official passed through the guards at the palace doors and entered a hall laid out like a grand reception chamber.

Inside stood four eunuchs and four palace maids. A young man in a robe of bright yellow silk sat alone on a dragon-carved chair at the northern end, engrossed in a book.

“Your Majesty, I have summoned the envoy from the Southern Sichuan Command as ordered. He awaits your command outside,” the official reported with a respectful bow.

“Thank you for your efforts, Yan Qing,” the young man in the golden robe said warmly, setting his book aside.

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