Chapter 1138: The Winter Return to Annam

In the southern suburbs of Kaifeng, a broad thoroughfare lay spread across the earth like a bolt of fine silk. This was a true straight road—no matter which direction one looked, there was no end in sight, neither bends nor rises.

The road was nine zhang nine wide, enough for seven or eight carriages to pass abreast. On both sides, every three zhang, a tree stood planted in a straight line. As it was winter, the branches were sparse and bare, but in summer and autumn, the greenery along the road formed a splendid and magnificent sight for the Great Han.

This was the Great Han's "highway," and by grade and specification, it belonged to the third class of roads. The highest-grade roads of the Great Han were still within the walls of Kaifeng—especially the Eastern Capital's Heavenly Street, which was a thoroughfare over a hundred meters wide.

The court's investment in transportation was enormous. Dredging rivers and building roads had begun as early as the Qianyou era. Every year during the slack farming season, funds and grain were allocated and corvée labor conscripted.

And entering the Kaibao era, the enthusiasm for road-building had not diminished. This was a matter benefiting the state and the people, and as roads opened and improved across the country, all regions grew increasingly connected. Over so many years, the transportation network around Kaifeng could be called complete, and the central government's influence and control over the localities—especially over the circuits and prefectures surrounding the capital—had grown increasingly pronounced.

Most regions still relied primarily on dirt and mud roads, but within five hundred li of Kaifeng as the center, the main arteries connecting all directions were paved with blue stone slabs.

It could be said that as the capital, Kaifeng's various conditions were already fully developed, and the court had invested enormous human and material resources over time. Thus, the court ministers' lack of enthusiasm for the proposal to move the capital was not merely because of Kaifeng's prosperity.

However, not long ago, Emperor Liu had once again issued an edict, conscripting one hundred thousand laborers from the capital region to continue building westward along the existing blue stone straight road, with Luoyang as the terminus, intending to further connect the two capitals. Duke of Luan, Murong Yanchao, was appointed as chief supervisor, with Song Yanwo, Administration Commissioner of the Capital Region, as his deputy—showing how much importance Emperor Liu attached to the matter.

It was now deep winter, and the world between heaven and earth was bleak and desolate. Because of the bitter cold, even the thoroughfare that normally saw dense traffic of carriages and horses was cold and empty. A snow had just fallen—not heavy, barely enough to accumulate, with only traces of white visible on the sparse shrubs and vegetation by the roadside.

Against this backdrop of the dead of winter, a small troop of riders galloped swiftly along the road, with nothing to impede them, spurring their horses at full speed. They were not many in number—fewer than ten riders—but each sat astride a tall, fine horse, draped in campaign robes.

Judging by the colors and insignia, these were official riders, and more importantly, every one of them wore armor. In the Great Han's army, except for the imperial palace guards and those on special duty, soldiers—including the imperial army—generally did not wear armor. On ordinary days, armor and weapons were sealed away in camp armories.

Throughout the Great Han now, the only ongoing military campaign was the offensive against the Jiaozhi region. Pan Mei had also exercised patience, obtained imperial sanction, and after returning to Guangnan, had still held back for nearly three months before dispatching troops at the beginning of the eleventh month.

And this troop of riders were precisely men returning from the Annam front to report on the campaign. The leader was of no low status—this time serving as Deputy Commander of the Annam Expedition and Army Supervisor, Murong Chengtai.

The aristocratic wastrel of years past, after more than a decade of tempering, had become a great general worthy of important responsibilities. Murong Chengtai was now only thirty-one. His skin was still as dark as his father's, his beard growing ever thicker. His bearing was lean but radiated a fierce toughness, and his eyes were exceptionally bright.

In the years since the pacification of the south, Murong Chengtai had remained stationed in the south, first as Chief Commander of the Guangnan East Circuit, and when Pan Mei marched south against Jiaozhi, he had partnered with him again as deputy.

But this imperial clansman general's condition at the moment did not look good. As he rode, snot ran freely from his nose, and every so often he would flick it away—a great glob at a time.

"Never thought it would be this cold!" Reining in his horse to rest, Murong Chengtai could not help but sneeze, then wiped his nose without the slightest regard for appearances, complaining as he did so. A distinct flush of red rose on his dark face.

Clearly, Murong Chengtai had caught a chill. One of his attending guards could not help but say: "General, you're unwell. Should we find a household or a post station to rest, and have a medical officer take a look?"

This was already the outskirts of Kaifeng, where villages and post stations were dense and everything was convenient. However, Murong Chengtai shook his head, gazing north. The straight road was still empty, but Murong Chengtai knew well that it led directly to the Eastern Capital.

"No need. A minor ailment, nothing serious. We're almost at the Eastern Capital—once we're back in the city, there'll be plenty of time!" Murong Chengtai said in his characteristically tough manner.

"Rest a moment more, then continue on. Don't let the body go cold!" Murong Chengtai ordered.

"Yes!"

Murong Chengtai also held special feelings for Kaifeng, for it had recorded too many of his youthful days. And since leaving the Eastern Capital, in the dozen or so years since, he had returned only once or twice.

This time, though he had not yet arrived in the capital, he could already feel Kaifeng's changes once more, and his anticipation swelled like a wandering son returning after long absence.

However, at Yong'an Post Station, he had to stop. Yong'an Station was one of Kaifeng's three great post stations, alongside Xiangfu and Chenqiao. And at a single glance, he saw standing outside the bustling station—a person, an old man.

Wrapped in a black brocade outer robe, only half his face was visible, his grizzled hair and beard swaying slightly in the north wind. Several attendants surrounded him, none daring to disturb him. Beneath the station's flag, the stationmaster waited properly, ready at any moment to receive orders.

The old man's steps were steady; the cold wind and frost held no sway over him, and the bustle within the station drew not a whit of his attention. A pair of dignified eyes gazed steadily at the open post road.

Murong Chengtai naturally noticed him. Drawing near and seeing the old man, his eyes reddened in an instant. He leaped from his horse, hurried forward, and knelt directly on the cold, damp ground, kowtowing three times with force, and said with deep emotion: "Father!"

The frost frozen on the ground was smashed to pieces under the force.

The old man was none other than the Great Han's Duke of Luan, Murong Yanchao. The Imperial Uncle Murong was already past sixty, visibly aging day by day. His frame was no longer as imposing as in years past, his face as dark as ever, but now covered in dense wrinkles.

Looking at his youngest son kneeling on the ground, Murong Yanchao was clearly deeply moved as well—after all, this was his most beloved son—but he strove to restrain himself, saying in a trembling voice: "Get up quickly, the ground is cold!"

Helping Murong Chengtai to his feet, he looked his son over carefully, a smile spreading across his face: "Finally willing to come back!"

Gazing at his white-haired old father, Murong Chengtai opened his mouth. At this moment he had a thousand words to say, yet knew not how to voice them, and could only answer: "The Annam campaign has ended in victory. Your son has been ordered back to the capital to report!"

"Good that you're back!" Murong Yanchao said, a trace of tears welling in his aged eyes, though he held them back.

Then he scolded: "And where are my two grandsons? Why didn't they come back with you? This grandfather of theirs hasn't even seen them yet!"

"This return to the capital was hasty. I've already sent word for them—mother and sons—to set out!" Murong Chengtai said hurriedly.

Over these dozen-plus years, father and son had rarely met; the most recent time had been six or seven years ago. Murong Chengtai had naturally married, and his wife was of no low standing—the third daughter of the Fu clan, with the match arranged by the elder Lady Fu, the Empress.

Father and son meeting, there was too much to say. Murong Chengtai forgot about hurrying on his way, and the stationmaster finally found his opportunity to curry favor, preparing a room for the two of them.

Over tea and conversation, Murong Chengtai did not speak much of military matters, only relating his experiences in the south. Of course, Murong Yanchao's attention was not on those matters either—he seemed more concerned about his daughter-in-law and the grandsons he had never met.

Moreover, after that brief burst of emotion, he quickly withdrew into himself, resuming his usual dignity. But his reddened eyes could not deceive anyone.

"Are you in good health?" Murong Chengtai asked, looking at his aged father with concern.

"I can eat and drink, and I can still carry out tasks for His Majesty. Do you think I'm old?" Murong Yanchao replied, looking at him: "As for you—chills and fever, and you don't seek timely treatment..."

"My body has always been robust. I was merely eager to report the victory to the court!" Murong Chengtai said: "It troubles you to wait so long in person at the station. As your son, I am both uneasy and unwilling."

Such words—the young Murong of earlier years could never have spoken them. Naturally, Murong Yanchao found them pleasing to hear, but he said: "Do you think I came specially to wait for you? I am supervising the construction of the two capitals' straight road for the court. The works are temporarily halted, and I'm returning to the capital on official business to see His Majesty. I merely heard you were returning and came along the way to pick you up..."

Hearing this, Murong Chengtai smiled softly, not exposing his old father's pretense. Coming back to the capital from the west—how would that detour to the south, dozens of li away...