Chapter 349: A Cup of Cheap Wine, Home Ten Thousand Li Away

On the fifteenth day of the ninth month, after Li Congzhao delivered the last batch of supplies to the Guiyi Army, Zhang Zhao released Li Congyan and several thousand Fengxiang troops as promised, pulled all his forces back to the line from Qianzhou to Xingping, and made every preparation for the return north.

On the twenty-second day of the ninth month, Yan Jin, who had been guarding the Guiyi Army's rear, also arrived at Xingping County with five hundred cavalry; they had come to prepare to pay their respects together at Zhang Yichao's tomb.

At the same time, many in the Guiyi Army still had their ancestral homes in Chang'an, and the Guo family even had brothers of the same clan there; they all wanted to use this time to make contact and pay respects at their ancestors' graves.

Before the collective worship at Zhang Yichao's tomb, Zhang Zhao gave the Guiyi Army's officers and men several days of leave in rotation, letting them go into Chang'an to sightsee and pay their own respects.

Although Chang'an at this time had only seventy or eighty thousand people, and its former glory was not even one-tenth of what it had been, it still left the Guiyi Army's officers and men dazzled.

A starved camel is still bigger than a horse; the largest city in Anxi, Shule, had only fifty or sixty thousand people, and Liangzhou, before Zhang Zhao entered it, had only a little over twenty thousand.

Even if Chang'an had only broken walls and ruins left, it was still enough to stun the Guiyi Army's "country bumpkins."

However, unlike what Zhang Zhao had imagined — these fellows returning to Chang'an to mourn the past and reflect on the present — they had purely gone off to carouse.

It was said that as soon as the Guiyi Army arrived, they directly drove up the rates of the lowest class of half-veiled prostitutes in Chang'an by thirty percent.

Actually, even before the great battle was finished, the Guiyi Army had already shown this tendency.

Quite a few soldiers took out their rewards and half-bought, half-married daughters of poor families, or of families that had suffered from the war.

There were also many women who could not survive who came wandering around the army camp, seeking some money or grain; what they could trade with was perfectly obvious.

Zhang Zhao had someone lightly maintain military discipline, and after that, except for the few days right before a battle, he did not bother much with it.

For a feudal army, the Guiyi Army could be considered very disciplined, but this was almost the limit of what the great majority of feudal armies could achieve; to control it any further would have the opposite effect.

The worship at Zhang Yichao's tomb was done on a grand scale. Kang Fu, Military Governor of Xiongwu in Qinzhou; An Shenqi, Military Governor of Jinchang Army and Mayor of Jingzhao; Zhao Kuangzan, Military Governor of Zhenguo Army in Huazhou; and even Li Congyan sent people to attend.

Besides these bigwigs, officials under the three Military Governors, officials of Chang'an's one prefecture and six counties, village elders and respected seniors from all over, villagers who had received Zhang Zhao's kindness, common people he had rescued — several thousand people came surging over in a mighty crowd.

Zhang Zhao also presented sacrificial offerings at Zhang Yichao's tomb. This was in fact somewhat presumptuous, but considering that Zhang Zhao's princely title was all but certain, no one raised any objection, and it was treated as Zhang Zhao enjoying the privilege a little early.

In front of Zhang Yichao's tomb, Zhang Zhao also built a small shrine housing his spirit tablet, and assigned ten households of villagers specifically to keep it swept and to make offerings at the four seasons and eight festivals.

After everyone else had withdrawn, Zhang Zhao slowly walked up before Zhang Yichao's spirit tablet and respectfully kowtowed three times, his head striking the ground.

"Although I do not know exactly how this came about, I think it must have been summoned by the stubborn longings of the Zhang clan line and the millions upon millions of sons of Tang in Anxi, Hexi, and Longyou who refused to sink into barbarian dust!"

Zhang Zhao's transmigration had been very quick — not a soul transmigration, not a pure body transmigration, but something in between the two.

Many times, he himself could not tell whether this was a dream, or whether it was truly real.

Only as he walked forward step by step could he be certain that all of this was real.

Perhaps, when one unwilling soul encounters other unwilling souls, Heaven arranges for them a wondrous meeting.

"Rest assured! From now on, everyone will remember that there was a hero named Zhang Yichao, who at the advanced age of forty-eight raised his arm in a rallying cry beside Crescent Moon Spring, and heroes flocked to follow him, saving a million lives and returning the six commanderies' mountains and rivers to the nation. The road you did not finish, I will finish from now on!"

Walking out of the sacrificial shrine, Zhang Zhao suddenly laughed in spite of himself. By the reckoning of time, Emperor Taizu of Song, Zhao Kuangyin, was just ten years old this year, and Zhao the Second would not even be born for another two years.

With what he had done, the "miracle" of the donkey cart drifting at Gaoliang, with the Liao warhorses running until they foamed at the mouth and still could not catch up — was that not about to vanish?

That was precious meme material!

How about it? Should he go to the Gaoliang River himself someday and put on such a show?

And once Zhang Zhao emerged from the shrine, the sacrificial ceremony was declared over. The elders of Chang'an's one prefecture and six counties prepared parting rice wine, and outside, the masses of common people, roaring like mountains and seas, also brought forward food from their own homes.

This was not arranged by Zhang Zhao; they had brought it forward of their own accord. The common people had seen the Guiyi Army's discipline with their own eyes, and they had seen Zhang Zhao's benevolence with their own eyes.

More importantly, Zhang Yichao's grave was in Chang'an, so Zhang Zhao was naturally regarded by them as a man of Chang'an.

In the thinking of people of this time, an honest official from elsewhere was still not as reliable as a corrupt official from one's own home region.

The reality was indeed so. In the feudal era, apart from a few exceptions, honest officials and corrupt officials were all relative; a man from one's home region still had more things he would be wary of.

Cup after cup of rice wine went down. Although the alcohol content was not high, and Zhang Zhao's tolerance was very good, he still got somewhat drunk.

It was not only him — Yan Jin, Guo Tiance, and the others, even Man Xiong and the rest, had all drunk a bit too much.

And outside, the mountain-and-sea roar of shouts and even weeping still rose, as countless people raised their clay bowls high and held them out toward Zhang Zhao.

Zhang Zhao had no choice but to wave his hand. "I truly cannot hold my liquor any longer. I can only drink three more bowls!"

With that, Zhang Zhao took an old man's wine bowl and drained it in one gulp, saying to the old man, "May you enjoy long life and good fortune!"

Then he took the wine bowl of a brawny young man who was bare-armed, wearing only a pair of short trousers, his eyes somewhat evasive.

The man looked at Zhang Zhao in terror, as if he was about to kneel and kowtow, begging for mercy.

Sure enough, what was in the bowl was water. Zhang Zhao drained it in one gulp, then raised the bowl high, signaling that he had drunk it all, and loudly praised it: "Fine wine!"

Cold sweat rolled down the brawny man's forehead; his expression was both grateful and ashamed. He had not done it on purpose — his family had truly suffered from the war, and he simply had no money to buy wine.

"Young man, next year you will surely have an abundant harvest of all five grains!" Zhang Zhao patted the brawny man on the shoulder and said.

"Your great kindness, my lord! I will never forget it as long as I live!" The man knelt before Zhang Zhao, his eyes brimming with tears.

Finally, under the gaze of the multitude, Zhang Zhao took the wine bowl of a boy still wearing his hair in the two tufts of childhood, drained it in one gulp as well, then took a jade disc from his waist and placed it in the child's hand.

A jade disc was something that, at this time, could not be used by anyone without a certain status; the poor common folk could not afford to use one, and even less dared to.

Zhang Zhao gave this white jade disc to the child because his family lived near Mawei Slope, and his two elder brothers had both been killed while helping the Guiyi Army scout the roads and search for the Fengxiang Army.

Zhang Zhao had originally wanted to take the boy away, but the boy's mother and elder sister would not agree, and were unwilling to leave Guanzhong.

"Little lad! May your future be boundless!" Zhang Zhao patted the child on the head. The village elders gathered around understood at once — this family would certainly be looked after.

"Many thanks for the warm hospitality of my fellow villagers, but all feasts under heaven must come to an end. When the nation is at peace and the people prosper, we will surely meet again!"

Finally, Zhang Zhao made a full circular bow to the people covering the hills and fields all around, and at once the sound of weeping rose from every direction.

"A scene like this! How can it be without poetry to record it?" Several scholars in long robes suddenly ran out, and with Zhang Zhao's permission, composed a few poems that at least rhymed.

Although the quality was quite ordinary, the officials of the Jingzhao prefectural government of Chang'an around them were all somewhat entranced.

The Great Tang! How could it be without poetry?

Only, those days were long gone; now it was the blade that ruled. Still, there were a few who could not hold back and composed, on the spot, one poem after another of somewhat better quality.

Chang'an truly deserved to be an imperial capital — even at a time like this, a trace of literary brilliance still lingered.

After using a few plants in the crowd to build up the atmosphere, Minister of Works Zhang was about to unleash his big move. Pretending to look around with drunken, hazy eyes, he suddenly let out a long howl.

"Autumn comes to the frontier, and the scenery is strange; the wild geese leave Hengyang without a backward glance. From all four sides, border sounds rise with the horns; amid a thousand peaks, in the long smoke and setting sun, a lone city gate stands closed."

A cup of cloudy wine, home ten thousand li away; before Mount Yanran is carved with our deeds, there is no plan for return. The Qiang flute plays long and slow, frost covers the earth; no one can sleep — the general's hair turns white, the soldier weeps.

When autumn comes to the borderlands, the scenery changes utterly; the wild geese flying toward Hengyang show no lingering attachment.

The mournful border sounds rise from every direction with the horn's call, among the layered mountain peaks. Dusk haze hangs heavy, the hills swallow the setting sun, and the lonely city gate stands shut.

Drinking a cup of aged wine, I long for home ten thousand li away; thoughts churn endlessly, recalling that the border troubles are not yet quelled and my deeds not yet accomplished — who knows when I may return to my native place.

The Qiang flute's notes drift long and slow, cold frost spreads across the earth. Deep in the night, neither officers nor soldiers can sleep; whether general or common soldier, their hair is whitened by frost and snow, and they can only weep in silence.

Fan Zhongyan's "Pride of the Fisherman: Autumn Thoughts" so perfectly matched Zhang Zhao's mood at this moment — a tragic hero guarding the border for his country, tearfully bidding farewell to his homeland — that the image seemed to leap from the page.

In particular, the lines "A cup of cloudy wine, home ten thousand li away" and "the general's hair turns white, the soldier weeps" brought tears to the eyes of several Chang'an officials and scholars on the spot.

They were not merely moved by Zhang Zhao's sentiments; they felt as though they had returned to the glorious age of the Great Tang.

In those days, scholars and men of culture were symbols of high status. Though warriors held high status too, it was never like now — when they are freely insulted and freely slaughtered.

If only Minister Zhang could be appointed Military Governor of Jinchang and concurrently Mayor of Jingzhao! This was the unspoken thought shared by many present.

The poem-copying was done, and his image was established. Once this lyric spread, many people — especially the great clan scholars — would know that in Hexi there was a military governor unlike the other brutish warlords.

He was accomplished in both letters and arms, loyal to the nation, and could compose poetry.

Those great talents with ambition, with ideals, with the will to end this age of chaos — surely some of them would be willing to go to Hexi.

Zhang Zhao departed. Whether sincere or feigned, at the very least he left an indelible impression on the hearts of the people of Chang'an and Guanzhong.

Zhang Zhao believed that the next time he entered Guanzhong, it would be a scene of people bearing baskets of food and pots of drink to welcome the royal army.

And when the main force continued with Zhang Zhao along the Qianzhou–Binzhou–Weizhou route back to Liangzhou, Murong Xinzhang and Hu Guang remained in Chang'an with six hundred elite cavalry.

This was at An Shenqi's request: they would serve as part of the Guanzhong grand army, marching east out of Tong Pass to exterminate Zhang Congbin, who was entrenched in Luoyang.

At the same time, this was also a matchmaking visit for Murong Xinzhang.

Beyond that, he would also go to the Eastern Capital, Kaifeng Prefecture, to meet Shi Jingtang on Zhang Zhao's behalf.

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