Chapter 627: Wei River Clear, Winding Chang'an, Duke Chen

Chang'an.

In early June, the sun is at its most fierce, climbing the heavens by the hour of the Rabbit.

By the hour of the Goat, it hangs directly overhead, like a scorching red‑gold copper mirror.

It pours ten‑thousand‑foot rays over the entire capital.

The Qingshi slabs of Zhuque Avenue are baked hot; stepping on them you can faintly feel heat rising from the soles of your shoes.

The old huai tree by the street spreads a dense green canopy, its layered leaves filtering the sun into tiny specks of light that fall to the ground, swaying gently with the passing breeze.

The wind carries the moist vapor of the Wei River, mingles with the scent of wheat cakes drifting from the tavern, and the soap‑berry aroma on the children, filling the whole street with lively bustle.

The tavern's awning hangs lazily; the proprietor leans on the threshold, dozing, his palm fan swaying slowly back and forth.

A few peddlers with shoulder loads seek the shade to rest, set down their burdens, pull a clay jar from their satchels, sip cool tea, and let out a sigh of content.

Amid this lazy afternoon, a crisp children's voice, like shards of jade falling onto a plate, suddenly pierces the street's quiet.

"Wei River clear, winding Chang'an, Duke Chen's bearing like ancient pines—"

A group of children about seven or eight years old runs in clusters from the far end of the street.

They wear short jackets; some roll up their pant legs, some are barefoot, their little faces dotted with sweat, yet they smile with curved eyes like ripe red cherries on a branch.

The leading boy, his hair in twin braids, grips a foxtail grass, runs at the front, his steps bouncing and leaping.

The children behind follow, clapping their hands, their footsteps pattering, their youthful voices rising and falling, singing loudly and in unison.

"Dripping heart's blood, securing the four corners, An Tou documents stacked a few lines—"

"Grand Preceptor whips the northern frontier clear, the Son of Heaven lowers his scepter to steady the realm—"

The song rides the wind, drifting far, prompting the resting peddlers to open their eyes and wave a smile toward them.

The little girl in the line, her hair in twin loops with a red headband at the tips, runs so the red band bounces with the braids like two fluttering red butterflies.

Her voice is the sweetest, as if coated with honey; at the final line she deliberately raises the pitch: "When the beacon smoke has all dispersed, every household's flutes celebrate Tai Kang—"

The children stop beneath an old huai tree, forming a circle, still clapping, singing the newly learned ballad again and again.

Sunlight filters through the leaves, landing on their sweaty little faces, making their eyes sparkle like summer stars.

A short distance away at the alley entrance stands a little boy.

He appears six or seven, dressed in a plain short shirt, clutching a cloth tiger, tiptoeing and curiously looking this way.

He is the youngest son of the Zhang butcher family from the neighboring lane.

Listening to this unheard ballad, his small brows furrow slightly, his eyes full of puzzlement and a hint of yearning.

When the children's singing pauses, he can no longer hold back, scurries over with his short legs, looks up shyly and asks, "What are you singing?"

"How come I've never heard this before!"

The crisp children's voice falls, and the children in the circle all stop.

The leading boy turns, eyes him, sees the cloth tiger, grins, showing two freshly replaced front teeth, and says eagerly, "We're singing a newly learned ballad!"

The little girl with twin loops steps forward, her cheeks round with baby‑fat, and when she smiles, shallow dimples appear at the corners of her mouth, like summer sweetness.

She tilts her head and asks crisply, "Pretty good?"

The little boy nods repeatedly, his head bobbing like a rattle, his eyes full of approval: "Very good, very good!"

"It's even better than the Moonlight Ballad my mother taught me!"

As he says, his small hand rubs the edge of his garment unconsciously, his gaze full of anticipation, his voice softening a bit: "Then… could you teach me to sing it?"

The little girl's eyes brighten at the words, and she replies without hesitation, "Sure!"

She says this while extending her plump little hand, grabbing the little boy's wrist.

The little boy's face flushes slightly, but he does not break free, instead gripping the cloth tiger tighter.

The little girl steadies herself, clears her throat, like a tiny teacher, lifts her chin and says, "Come, let's sing the first line together…"

"Wei River clear, winding Chang'an, Duke Chen's bearing like ancient pines!"

The other children immediately gather, clapping, and sing in unison, "Wei River clear, winding Chang'an, Duke Chen's bearing like ancient pines!"

The little boy watches their earnest faces, opens his mouth, his voice initially tiny, as thin as a mosquito, but hearing the surrounding bright children's voices, he gradually gains courage and his voice grows louder: "Wei River clear, winding Chang'an, Duke Chen's bearing like ancient pines!"

His voice carries a hint of baby‑like tone, yet he sings clearly and melodiously, causing the children to laugh.

The leading boy steps forward, pats his shoulder, and boisterously says, "Well sung! Now learn the second line!"

He clears his throat and sings loudly, "Dripping heart's blood, securing the four corners, An Tou documents stacked a few lines!"

The children clap and sing together; the little girl also holds the little boy's hand, swaying gently, humming the tune and keeping the beat for him.

The little boy follows closely, learning line by line; he picks it up extremely fast, and within moments has memorized the entire ballad.

The sun grows ever more scorching, yet the old huai tree's shadow deepens, sheltering the children in coolness.

Cicada chirps rise and fall, intertwining with the crisp children's voices, becoming the most melodious movement of a Chang'an afternoon.

When the final line "Every household's flutes celebrate Tai Kang" fades, the little girl stops, blinking her watery big eyes, her long lashes like two tiny fans fluttering gently.

She looks at the little boy and asks softly, "Did you learn it?"

The little boy nods vigorously, his face full of excitement, clutching the cloth tiger, and shouts, "I learned it!"

"I learned it all!"

As soon as the words finish, the surrounding children laugh joyfully.

The laughter is pure and bright, like a summer spring bubbling through the streets, prompting the tavern's proprietor to wake, stick his head out, look at the children, and let a smile curl at his mouth.

The little boy looks at their smiling faces and laughs along, tilting his head up, his eyes full of joy, sincerely praising, "What a wonderful ballad!"

"It's more beautiful than any ballad I've ever heard before!"

The little girl hears this, proudly lifts her head, her chin slightly raised like a victorious little peacock, and her voice brims with pride: "Of course!"

The little boy listens to the girl's words, his small brows relax gently, and the yearning in his eyes deepens.

Clutching the cloth tiger, he tilts his head, staring pensively at the shifting light spots on the ground; suddenly, as if recalling something important, he jerks his head up, curiosity rippling in his eyes: "Where did this ballad come from?"

When the question was asked, the children surrounding them burst into a frenzy, all clamoring to speak.

The little girl with a double‑ring bun smiled with curved eyebrows, first pulling the little boy's sleeve; her voice was as sweet as freshly made honey: "It was a big brother who taught us!"

As soon as the words finished, the leading boy stepped forward, a hint of pride on his face as if recalling a wonderful taste, and added: "That big brother is very kind; after teaching us the song, he even treated us to candied hawthorn!"

"Candied hawthorn!" When the leading boy said that, several children nearby immediately smacked their lips, faces full of reminiscence, "Red and glossy, coated with sugar glaze, a bite is sweet and delicious!"

The little boy's eyes widened as he watched their yearning faces, couldn't help swallowing his saliva, and sincerely exclaimed: "What a great brother!"

The little girl, seeing his reaction, smiled even more brightly.

She tugged at the little boy's sleeve, her big watery eyes full of invitation: "So, would you like to come with us and sing songs on the street?"

"Yes, let's go!" The little boy nodded repeatedly without a second thought, his shyness already replaced by excitement.

He clenched the cloth tiger in his hand, as if fearing it would fall, and stayed close behind the little girl.

The leading boy waved his hand, issuing orders like a tiny general: "Let's go! We'll sing at the far end of Zhuque Avenue so more people can hear!"

The group of children immediately cheered, clapped their hands, and bounded forward.

Sunlight fell on their backs, stretching their shadows long.

The tender song rose again, again and again, along the Qingshi Shiban road, drifting toward the depths of the alleys.

The sun gradually tilted westward, shedding the afternoon's scorching heat, becoming gentle.

The golden‑red afterglow spread over the rooftops of Chang'an, coating the upturned eaves with a warm halo.

The shadows of the locust trees by the street stretched long, cicada chirps grew sparse, replaced by the footsteps of returning pedestrians and the aroma of meals drifting from every household.

In the evening, Zhuque Avenue became even livelier than in the afternoon.

The porter carrying a load began packing his goods, preparing to go home.

Dim oil lamps lit up in the tavern and teahouse, sending out bursts of laughter and chatter.

A traveling merchant leading a Horse hurried along, his face showing some fatigue yet also a yearning for this capital city.

Amid the bustling streets, another crisp children's voice rang out.

A group of children holding hands bounded from the other end of the street.

The leader was still the boy clutching dogtail grass, the little girl with the double‑ring bun walked beside him, and the newly added little boy was tightly pulling the girl's hem, his face full of excitement.

They clapped their tiny hands, their tender voices neat and loud, singing a new ballad:

"Zhuque Street, drums and horns rise, the pillars of Chen Fu stand lofty."

"Draining liver and gall, serving the court, pockets empty yet the case has statutes."

"Assist the Grand Preceptor, aid the Son of Heaven, sweep the four seas and settle the eight wildernesses."

"The drum of peace sounds bright, year after year abundant, joy never ends!"

When the song ended, passing pedestrians turned their heads, their faces showing gentle smiles.

Just not far from them, another group of children were also walking together.

They were a bit younger, clapping hands, humming the old ballad that had spread through half the alley:

"Wei River clear, winding around Chang'an, Duke Chen's spirit like ancient pines…"

The two songs, one after the other, singing in harmony, intertwined on the evening streets of Chang'an, like a melodious movement drifting into the noodle stall by the street.

On the noodle stall's cutting board lay freshly rolled noodles, the boiling water in the pot bubbling, a rich aroma filling the air.

Around several wooden tables sat diners. One man in short brown attire took a bite of steaming noodles, then was drawn by the song echoing from the street.

He looked up, glanced at the hopping children on the street, then turned to his companion, asking with a puzzled face: "What are these children singing?"

"I've already heard several waves of kids passing by humming this today…"

Looking at the lyrics, it seems to be singing about the Grand Preceptor and Lord Chen Yan…

Just as those words finished, a middle‑aged man in a blue‑cloth long robe at the neighboring table took up the conversation.

He was about thirty‑something, slender‑faced, with a short whisker under his chin, looking like a scholar.

He set down his cup, gazed at the children, and said with reverence: "You hear the line 'Wei River clear, winding around Chang'an, Duke Chen's spirit like ancient pines', it's obvious!"

He paused, lifted his cup and took a sip, his voice growing more certain: "Among the high officials in the court, besides Lord Chen Yan, who else bears the surname Chen?"

"Who else can live up to the phrase 'spirit like ancient pines'?"

The guest at the neighboring table, hearing this, immediately set down his chopsticks, nodded repeatedly in agreement, his tone full of affirmation: "Exactly, exactly!"

"Looking across the entire Great Zhou court, the only one worthy of such praise is our Lord Chen Yan!"

These words caused the diners at the noodle stall to turn their heads, many nodding in agreement.

The companion who had spoken earlier also agreed, lifted his coarse‑ceramic bowl, took a sip of warm noodle broth, smacked his lips, and continued: "And the verses 'Draining liver and gall, serving the court, pockets empty yet the case has statutes' and 'Assist the Grand Preceptor, aid the Son of Heaven, sweep the four seas and settle the eight wildernesses'—they clearly praise Lord Chen Yan!"

He said, tapping the table lightly: "Lord Chen Yan leads troops to quell rebellions, and assists the Son of Heaven to straighten the court's policies; each of these deeds is a great boon to the people."

The noodle stall owner, carrying a copper kettle to refill water for customers, heard the discussion and couldn't help pausing, his face full of approval.

He wiped his apron, gave a firm nod, eyes brimming with reverence, and loudly declared: "Indeed!"

"Only Lord Chen Yan, who loves the people as his own children, is upright and incorruptible, and possesses the talent to govern the realm!"

The diners listened, nodding repeatedly, their faces full of emotion.

The man who first asked the question had now finished his bowl of noodles, wiped the oil from his mouth with his sleeve, and, following the children's tune, softly hummed: "The drum of peace sounds bright, year after year abundant, joy never ends!"

After singing, he couldn't help patting his thigh, loudly praising: "What a truly good ballad!"

"The lyrics are simple, the melody catchy; no wonder the children love to sing it!"

He paused, then, with grateful tone, exclaimed: "If not for the Grand Preceptor and Lord Chen Yan defending the nation and stabilizing the four corners, could we be so leisurely and peaceful here, eating noodles and chatting?"

His companion set down his chopsticks, followed his gaze to the hopping children, watched their carefree smiles, and softly sighed, his voice full of contentment: "Hmm! With Lord Chen Yan leading troops to quell chaos, and the Grand Preceptor stationed in the court, the people of Chang'an can enjoy such stable, good days."

"Indeed!" the middle‑aged man in a blue‑cloth long robe also set down his cup, lifted his gaze beyond the noodle stall's awning toward the distant sky.

The final ray of the setting sun spread over the towering palace city, dyeing the upturned eaves golden.

He gazed at the golden light, his voice clear and resolute: "With these two gentlemen protecting the people of Great Zhou, what need is there for any kirin's descent or phoenix's ceremonial omen?"

At present, with the nation prosperous and the people at peace, year after year abundant, this is the finest era of peace and prosperity!