Starting with a Wei Wu soldier

Chapter 283 Imperial Aura

The grand ceremony of all nations paying tribute to the emperor continued for an entire twelfth lunar month, passed down by word of mouth among the people of Chang'an.

Those glasswares from Fulin, rose water from Arabia, Buddhist scriptures from India, Akhal-Teke horses from Ferghana, jade from Khotan, dragon horses from Yanqi, wine from the Uyghurs, musk from Tibet, Pu'er tea from Nanzhao, rice seeds from Champa, spices from Srivijaya, sable fur from Goguryeo, gyrfalcons from Bohai… were like a never-ending fantastic exhibition, repeatedly viewed, discussed, and marveled at in the East and West Markets, in the Four Directions Hall of the Honglu Temple, and at the banquets of high-ranking officials.

But what truly made the people of Chang'an feel the "imperial atmosphere" was not these rare items themselves, but the people who brought them there.

December 25th, West Market Hushang District.

The threshold of Sa's warehouse was almost worn down by people walking on it.

Sakya Pandita sat behind the counter, his hands almost never stopping as he fiddled with the abacus. His shop now contained not only dragon horses from Yanqi, jade from Khotan, and ironware from Kucha, but also frankincense from Arab merchants, prayer beads from Indian monks, and pepper from Srivijaya merchants.

"Boss Sa!" A merchant from the Central Plains, dressed in a silk robe, squeezed in. "Do you still have that batch of pepper you mentioned last time?"

Saban didn't even look up: "That's it. Manager Wang from Taiyuan bought it all on the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month. The next batch of goods won't arrive until March next year—the Persian ship should be here by then."

The merchants from the Central Plains stamped their feet and squeezed their way out.

A young man approached from the side. He was Sakya's newly accepted apprentice, surnamed Zhou. He was a local from Chang'an, had studied for a few years, and could calculate with an abacus even faster than Sakya.

"Master, will the goods really arrive next March?"

Saban then raised his head, looked at the bustling crowd outside the shop, and squinted his eyes, which were somewhat cloudy from the wind and sand.

"Yes," he said. "Your Majesty's roads are repaired, and the ships have been launched. Next March, the Persian ships will arrive in Guangzhou, and from Guangzhou to Chang'an, it will take at least twenty days, and at most a month. Pepper can wait that long."

The apprentice surnamed Zhou nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.

Saban looked at him and suddenly remembered when he was eleven years old, when he followed his father across the desert for the first time and set foot on the land of Hexi for the first time. At that time, his father said that such days would return when the new emperor of the Central Plains ascended the throne.

His father did not live to see him.

But he got what he was waiting for.

On the 26th day of the twelfth lunar month, at the Great Ci'en Temple.

Ennin has been living here for two months.

For the past two months, he and his dozen or so monks have been copying scriptures from dawn till dusk almost every day. The abbot of Da Ci'en Temple specially allocated a side hall for them, which was filled with Buddhist scriptures borrowed from various places: the Lotus Sutra Commentary, the Great Treatise on Cessation and Contemplation, the Commentary on the Avatamsaka Sutra, the Commentary on the Treatise on the Establishment of Consciousness-Only... Some were commentaries from the Tang Dynasty, some were copies from previous dynasties, and some were even fragments that had been transported from Dunhuang to Chang'an.

"Master," a young monk said, rubbing his aching wrist, "are we really going to finish copying all of this? How long will this take?"

Yuanren did not look up, but continued to write, each stroke meticulous.

"I can't copy it all," he said, "but I'll copy as much as I can."

The young monk was stunned.

Ennin finally raised his head and looked out the window at the gradually darkening sky.

"We came to Chang'an not to copy all the Buddhist scriptures back. We came to... to smell the essence of Chang'an." His Chinese was halting, but at this moment it was exceptionally clear. "The essence of Chang'an is the essence of Buddhism. Once we've smelled it, we'll remember it in our hearts and pass it on to future generations. And future generations will pass it on to future generations. One day, the Buddhism of our Japan will also have the grandeur of Chang'an."

The young monk seemed to understand, but nodded nonetheless.

Outside the window, the bell of Da Ci'en Temple rang.

On the 27th day of the twelfth lunar month, at the Imperial Academy.

Gao Yuan sat by the window, staring blankly at the gray sky outside.

On the table in front of him lay a scroll of the Book of Han, turned to the chapter on the Western Regions. Beside him was a stack of papers, on which were his own reading notes—the Chinese characters were crooked and messy, but it was clear that he had been very serious.

"Your Highness," his attendant Da Wu leaned closer, "what are you looking at?"

Gao Yuan didn't turn around, but simply pointed out the window.

Outside the window, several people dressed as foreign merchants were passing by the gate of the Imperial Academy, gesturing as they walked. Behind them followed several porters carrying goods, their steps hurried.

"Da Wu," Gao Yuan suddenly asked, "what do you think my father is doing right now?"

Da Wu hesitated for a moment, then said cautiously, "Your Majesty...should be handling state affairs, right?"

Gao Yuan shook his head.

“My father should be in the palace right now, staring blankly at that wall. He’s been looking at that wall for forty years.” He paused. “But I don’t want to stare blankly at the wall. I want… I want to see what’s outside the wall.”

Da Wu dared not reply.

Gao Yuan was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled. He closed the scroll of the Book of Han and stood up.

"Let's go for a stroll in the West Market."

"Your Highness, it's getting dark..."

"What are you afraid of?" Gao Yuan had already reached the door, turned back and waved to him, "There is no curfew in Chang'an. There is no curfew in His Majesty's Chang'an."

On the 28th day of the twelfth lunar month, at the Imperial Medical Academy's Herbal Garden.

Lan Fenghuang squatted in the Gu chamber, staring at the batch of newly cultivated Golden Thread Gu in the bamboo tray, her brows furrowed.

"A-Luo," she suddenly said, "do you think the threads spun by this batch of Gu are a little thinner than the last batch?"

A'Luo leaned closer and looked for a long time before cautiously saying, "This servant...this servant can't tell."

"You can't tell, but I can." Lan Fenghuang sighed, stood up, and rubbed her numb knees. "If the silk is too thin, it won't be as resilient. If it's not resilient, it won't stop the bleeding as well. This batch is unusable; we need to prepare a new one."

A'Luo was stunned: "Your Majesty, this is something you've been preparing for over half a year..."

"What's wrong with the past six months?" Lan Fenghuang interrupted her. "If it's bad, it's bad. You can't fool people with medicine."

As she spoke, she walked out of the Gu chamber and into the courtyard outside.

The courtyard was filled with various medicinal herbs, some brought from the Miao region, some trial-planted in Guanzhong, and some newly sprouted seeds sent by Arab merchants. Under the moonlight, the shadows of the herbs swayed gently, emitting a faint medicinal fragrance.

Blue Phoenix took a deep breath and suddenly felt less tired.

She recalled this time last year when she was still worrying in Fangzhixuan, worried about insufficient medicinal herbs, a lack of manpower, and the ministers' distrust of her. And this year? There were more students in the Imperial Medical Academy, and the reserves of medicinal herbs were plentiful. Those old imperial physicians who were once respectful but secretly resentful of her were now actively seeking her advice on antidotes.

"Aro," she suddenly said, "do you think we could take in more students next year?"

A'Luo was taken aback: "What does Your Highness mean?"

"I want to take in more Miao girls," Lan Fenghuang said earnestly. "Our Miao girls learn to identify, collect, and make medicines from their grandmothers from a young age. They are much better than those doctors who can only recite books. Let them learn for a few years, and they can save more people when they go back."

A Luo's eyes stung a little.

"Your Majesty..."

"Alright, alright," Lan Fenghuang waved her hand, yawned, "I'm sleepy, going back to sleep. I still have to keep an eye on that batch of newly prepared Gu tomorrow."

Under the moonlight, her figure gradually disappeared behind the courtyard gate.

On the 29th day of the twelfth lunar month, the Lizheng Hall was erected.

Murong Mingyue sat by the window, holding a small brocade robe in her hands. It belonged to Chen Qi, and the cuff had a hole in it, which she was mending stitch by stitch.

"Your Highness," the lady-in-waiting said softly, "tomorrow is New Year's Eve. These tasks can be done by the Imperial Clothing Bureau. Why do you have to do them yourself?"

Murong Mingyue didn't look up, but said calmly, "Qi'er has been used to wearing clothes that I sewed since he was little. He doesn't feel comfortable wearing clothes that others sew."

The female official dared not say anything more, and simply stood quietly to the side.

Outside the window, the faint sounds of bustling market activity drifted in. The people of Chang'an were preparing for New Year's Eve, buying New Year's goods, pasting couplets, and hanging lanterns. Though separated by layers of palace walls, the sounds were still faintly audible, carrying a vibrant, lively atmosphere.

After finishing the last stitch, Murong Mingyue gently bit off the thread, folded the brocade robe, and placed it aside.

She looked up at the sky outside the window, which was gradually darkening.

"Another year has passed," she said softly.

The thirtieth day of the twelfth lunar month, Lunar New Year's Eve.

On this day, Chang'an reached its busiest peak of the year.

The East and West markets were crowded from dawn, with vendors selling New Year pictures, Spring Festival couplets, firecrackers, and sugar figurines, their shouts rising and falling. The merchants from the Central Plains also followed local customs, some hanging red lanterns at the entrance of their shops, and others writing Spring Festival couplets in the style of the people from the Central Plains—although the characters were crooked, their earnestness made the passers-by in Chang'an stop and point them out.

After nightfall, Chang'an City was brightly lit, just like daytime.

Lanterns, big and small, red and yellow, were hung in front of every household, forming a continuous expanse that illuminated the entire city as if it were daytime. The sounds of firecrackers rose and fell, crackling and popping, mingling with the laughter of children. The air was filled with the smells of gunpowder, the aroma of food, and an indescribable festive atmosphere.

On the city wall, Chen Xing stood alone, overlooking the brightly lit capital.

He wasn't wearing court robes, only a simple black everyday robe, his hair tied up with a plain jade hairpin. A night breeze blew, stirring his robes and the lanterns below the city tower, their light flickering and shifting.

Jia Wen appeared behind him unnoticed and whispered, "Your Majesty, it's time for the New Year's Eve dinner. The Empress, the Imperial Concubine, the Virtuous Concubine, and the Wise Concubine are all waiting."

Chen Xing didn't turn around, but just stared at the sea of ​​lights.

"Prime Minister Jia, look." He raised his hand and pointed into the distance.

In the distance, the myriad lights of Chang'an stretched to the horizon. The lights, at varying heights and flickering intermittently, resembled a flowing ocean of light.

"Behind each of these lights," he said, "is a family. I don't know how those families live. But I do know that they can peacefully light this lamp, waiting for the New Year, waiting for next year's harvest, waiting for their children to grow up the year after..."

He paused.

"This is what I wanted to see."

Jia Wen bowed deeply and did not straighten up for a long time.

After a long while, Chen Xing turned around and stepped down from the city wall.

Behind me, the lights of Chang'an City still shone brightly, the sound of firecrackers still rose and fell, and the laughter of children could still be faintly heard.

It's New Year's Eve again.

It's another brand new year.