Chapter 309: Storm

The sixteenth year of Hongwu, May 17.

Western Regions, deep in the Gobi.

The sun was like a red‑hot iron disc hanging in the gray‑white sky. No clouds, no wind, even the air was still.

Zhu Yong stood before a specially made large carriage, squinting as he looked ahead.

Where his gaze fell, there was only sand and Stone, occasional clumps of withered yellow camel spines swaying faintly in the heat.

"Prince, have a sip of water!" Guanyin Nu handed a Water Bag from the carriage.

Zhu Yong took it, drank a mouthful, then passed the Water Bag back.

"How much farther..." Guanyin Nu asked.

Zhu Yong shook his head and said, "Hard to say; according to the map's distance, another seven or eight days should get us out of this Gobi, but look over there..."

Zhu Yong raised his hand and pointed toward the northwest.

Guanyin Nu looked in the direction he indicated.

On the horizon, a thin yellow line flickered, barely perceptible; if you didn't look closely, you wouldn't notice it at all.

"What is that..."

"A sandstorm, it's coming fast," Zhu Yong said calmly.

Guanyin Nu's complexion changed slightly.

She had seen sandstorms on the Grassland and knew how fierce they were.

The overwhelming yellow sand could cover the sky; inside it a person couldn't open their eyes, couldn't walk, and might even be buried alive.

"Prince, what shall we do?"

Zhu Yong turned his head and glanced at the troops behind him.

Three thousand Longxiang Army cavalry, plus the caravans that had followed from Yingtian Prefecture, and after leaving Yumen Pass, more caravans had joined; now the massive procession numbered over five thousand.

With so many people and such a long line, even if they tried to speed up, they couldn't.

"Send the orders down, increase the pace; there's an abandoned Post Station ahead, aim to reach it before the sandstorm arrives," Zhu Yong said in a deep voice.

"Yes!"

Zhang Wu spurred his horse forward, issuing the commands down the line.

The convoy's speed noticeably increased.

Wheels rolled, hooves clattered, raising clouds of dust.

…

Inside the carriage, Zhu Huanhuan set the book down, lifted the carriage curtain, and looked outside.

"Mother, what's wrong?"

Guanyin Nu grasped her hand and softly said, "It's nothing; there's a Post Station ahead, let's hurry on."

Zhu Huanhuan watched her mother's expression, knew something was definitely wrong, but did not ask further.

Zhu Qiongjiong perched at the carriage window, excitedly peering outward.

"Father said there's a sandstorm ahead; I've never seen one!"

Zhu Huanhuan glared at him and said, "Fool, what's so interesting about a sandstorm?"

Zhu Qiongjiong pursed his lips, but his eyes still sparkled.

He was seven years old, braver than anyone, wanting to experience everything.

…

The convoy raced for half an hour.

The yellow line on the horizon drew nearer and thickened, gradually becoming a moving wall that blocked half the sky.

The wind rose.

At first, a few strands of cool breeze blew, feeling pleasant.

But soon the wind grew stronger and fiercer, whipping up sand and stones that struck the face with a stinging pain.

"Quick, quick..." Zhang Wu rode his horse back and forth shouting, his throat hoarse.

The Longxiang Army soldiers shielded the craftsmen and caravans, scrambling forward.

Finally, the outline of the abandoned Post Station appeared ahead.

It was called a Post Station, but really it was just a few dilapidated mud‑brick houses surrounding a small courtyard.

Half the courtyard wall had collapsed, the roofs had several large holes, but it was at least a place that could block the wind.

"Get in, all get in..." Zhu Yong spurred his horse toward the Post Station and shouted loudly.

Carriages one after another barreled into the courtyard.

The soldiers jumped down, leading their horses into the wind‑sheltered corner.

The caravan people hurried their camels and donkeys, a chaotic tangle.

Zhu Yong stood at the courtyard gate, facing the growing sandstorm, his gaze fixed on the yellow wall drawing ever nearer.

"Father!" Zhu Qiongjiong stuck his head out of the carriage.

"Get inside, don't come out!" Zhu Yong roared.

Zhu Qiongjiong startled at his father's shout and obediently curled back into the carriage.

Guanyin Nu gathered the two children, huddled in the innermost part of the carriage, covering their heads with a blanket.

The wind grew stronger.

Sand struck the carriage, clattering like hail.

The sky grew darker.

It was noon, yet it was as dark as evening.

Finally, that yellow wall arrived.

"Boom..."

Between Heaven and Earth only one sound remained: the whistling wind and the roaring sand mingling together, shaking people's ears numb.

Zhu Yong was the last to rush into the courtyard, slamming the dilapidated wooden door shut with force.

The door had just closed when the wind battered it, "Bang bang" ringing, as if it might be blown open at any moment.

He turned around and glanced at the people in the courtyard.

The soldiers crowded in the corner of the wall, shielding their heads and faces with shields.

A few servants huddled inside the house, daring not to breathe.

The caravan members knelt on the ground, some chanting sutras, others weeping.

"Don't panic, this house may be broken but it can hold!" Zhu Yong's voice rose above the wind.

As soon as the words fell, several mud bricks on the roof were ripped off by the wind, "Snap" hitting the ground.

Everyone's complexion turned pale.

Zhu Yong looked up at the hole letting in a sliver of sky, then strode over.

He leapt, grabbing a beam with one hand while the other hand shoved the fallen mud brick back into place.

The wind‑filled sand poured in, beating his eyes shut.

With his eyes closed, relying on his senses, he patched the bricks piece by piece, and used his body to brace the trembling beam.

"Your Highness!" Zhang Wu rushed over.

"Don't come! Go watch over there!" Zhu Yong shouted.

Zhang Wu gritted his teeth and turned to steady the others.

The wind blew ever stronger.

Sand poured in through every crack, building a thick layer on the ground.

Zhu Yong hung there on the beam, motionless.

No one knew how long had passed.

The wind gradually eased.

The sand gradually ceased.

A sliver of light seeped through the horizon.

Finally, the wind stopped.

Between Heaven and Earth lay a dead silence.

Zhu Yong released the beam and fell to the ground.

Both arms were numb; he shook them, moving his joints.

In the courtyard, everyone stared at him.

The soldiers, the servants, the caravan members—each with a face covered in dust, but all alive.

"Your Highness!"

Guanyin Nu burst out of the carriage, lunged before him, scanning him up and down.

"I'm fine," Zhu Yong said softly, gripping her hand.

Zhu Huanhuan and Zhu Qiong Jiong also ran out of the carriage.

Zhu Qiong Jiong was covered head to toe in ash, but his eyes shone brightly.

"Father, that just now was a sandstorm... so powerful!"

Zhu Yong lowered his head, looked at his son, and smiled.

"Are you scared?"

Zhu Qiong Jiong shook his head, then nodded.

"A little scared, but with father here, I'm not afraid."

Zhu Yong patted his head, then looked up at the sky.

The sky had brightened, the sun rose again, scorching people's eyes.

In the distance, that Gobi remained the same Gobi, only the sand had been reshaped; some spots gained a few dunes, others saw the original dunes disappear.

"Count the people and see if anyone is missing," Zhu Yong ordered.

Zhang Wu took the order and left.

A moment later, he returned to report.

"Your Highness, not a single one missing, all alive."

Zhu Yong nodded.

"Rest for one hour, then continue the journey."

……

One hour later, the caravan set out again.

Sand seeped into every corner, into the wheels, into the saddles, into people's clothing.

But no one complained.

Being alive is a great fortune.

Zhu Yong rode his horse, leading the front of the caravan.

Guanyin Nu rode beside him.

"Your Highness, how did you know a sandstorm would come?" she asked softly.

Zhu Yong glanced at her, smiled, and said, "The line on the horizon is the omen."

Guanyin Nu nodded, and asked no more.

……

At dusk, the caravan stopped in an oasis to rest.

It was called an oasis, but really it was just a few poplar trees, a small patch of grass, and a shallow pool.

Yet it was enough.

The soldiers pitched their tents, the servants began checking the luggage, and the merchants started a fire to cook.

Zhu Yong sat with his family beneath a large poplar tree.

Zhu Qiong Jiong leaned against his father and suddenly said, "Father, is the Timur Empire farther than the Western Regions?"

Zhu Yong nodded and said, "Far, far more."

"Then when will we stop walking?"

"We stop when we can't go on, we stop when we arrive."

Zhu Qiong Jiong thought for a moment, then asked, "Is Tie Mu Er a good person or a bad person?"

Zhu Yong looked at him, shook his head and laughed.

"I don't know; we'll have to meet him to know."

Zhu Qiong Jiong nodded as if he understood, though he didn't fully.

Zhu Huanhuan whispered, "Father, on this road will we still encounter sandstorms?"

Zhu Yong shook his head and said, "Hard to say; the Gobi is vast and sandstorms are common, but after this experience we won't fear the next one."

Zhu Huanhuan nodded, and asked no more.

Guanyin Nu leaned on her husband's shoulder, watching the sky darken gradually.

In the distance, the desert glowed golden in the setting sun.

It was beautiful.

And desolate.

Yet she was not afraid.

Because he was by her side.

……

Night deepened.

Inside the tent, Zhu Qiong Jiong had already fallen asleep, emitting a faint snore.

Zhu Huanhuan also slept, her posture quiet and refined.

Guanyin Nu sat beside Zhu Yong, looking at the slit in the tent's roof.

"Prince, what are you thinking?" she asked softly.

Zhu Yong was silent for a moment, then said slowly, "I'm wondering what Great Ming will become after this journey."

Guanyin Nu said nothing, only tightened his hand.

Outside the tent, the night wind blew, stirring fine grains of sand.

In the distance, a faint wolf howl could be heard.

But within this tiny tent, only the family's even breathing could be heard.

And two hearts leaning together.

……

At dawn the next day, the caravan continued westward.

The sun rose from the horizon, dyeing the whole Gobi a golden‑red.

Zhu Yong stood on a sand dune, hands behind his back, gazing ahead.

There, in the direction of the Timur Empire.

"Father, shall we go?" Zhu Qiong Jiong shouted from below.

Zhu Yong turned, looked at his son's sun‑tanned dark‑red face, patted his little head and said, "Go…"

He strode down the dune and mounted his horse.

The caravan pressed on, disappearing into the boundless Gobi.

Behind them, the dune bore a deep trail of footprints.

Soon, the wind smoothed them flat.

As if no one had ever been there.