Chapter 20: Lantern Festival
The Lantern Festival night, bright as day, with trees ablaze and silver blossoms of fire lighting up the sky. In Chang’an City, drums thundered, torches lit the street like daylight and high tents were set up along many avenues, hosting performers, acrobats, games of chance, and endless displays of food and drink. Whether rich or poor, man or woman, all were dressed in their finest. Luxurious carriages rolled through the streets, friends calling out to one another to see the fireworks.
Duan Jinke was accompanying his mother and grandmother as they toured the Lantern Festival by carriage. He walked alongside the carriage, carrying his four year old sister, Yanshu, in his arms. When they reached the area of the grand performance stages, the throng of people blocked the way. The carriage could go no farther, so the family had to disembark with their servants and walk on foot. Yanshu had rarely seen such lively scenes. Along the way, they bought: rabbit-shaped lanterns, bird lanterns, candied hawthorns, snow willows, lion head balls… until the arms of the attendants behind them were completely filled.
“Er-gege (Second Brother),” Yanshu called out childishly, bundled in a bright red velvet coat, her voice soft and childish, “Er-gege, I saw lion candy up ahead, I want lion candy!”
“Just the other day you were whining about your toothache, and now you want candy again?” Children loved sweets, but they did not eat too much, for fear that they would ruin their teeth and make them ugly. “Aren’t you afraid the Second Madam will scold you?”
“Not if Er-gege buys it for me, Mother will not scold Shu’er.” Yanshu beamed and whispered into Duan Jinke’s ear, “Mother and Eldest Madam are walking ahead, looking at lanterns. They won’t see Shu’er eating candy.”
Clutching her brightly colored sheepskin lantern, Yanshu wrapped her arms around Duan Jinke’s neck and swayed back and forth, whining playfully, “Er-gege, I want lion candy.”
Duan Jinke could not properly hold her for a moment, her movements threw off his balance slightly, and the five-colored lantern she held swung wildly, brushing past a group of beautiful, finely dressed women. The tassel of the lantern snagged on a delicate, hand-twisted, golden snow-willow hair ornament pinned into the bun of a tall, slender woman.
The woman had a delicate silk veil draped over her hair, and as the hair ornament was pulled loose, the veil slipped from her head, revealing light-colored hair beneath. Duan Jinke only heard the women let out a soft, startled ‘ah’, as Yanshu held onto her hair.
Their eyes met. Seeing that pair of captivating, watery eyes, he could not help but pause for a moment, “It’s you.”
The lantern light from either side of the streets shone upon her face, it was as flawless as jade, almost translucent under the glow. She had deep-set eyes, a high nose bridge, and irises like shimmering blue-green water and jadeite. So this was the Hephthalite woman, the mysterious Hu dancer whose name he still did not know from back then.
The Hu girl froze for a moment too when she saw Duan Jinke, then quickly pulled the silk veil back over her hair and hurried after her companions.
“Miss, Hu girl!” Duan Jinke called out, picking up the snow willow ornament she had dropped. Holding Yanshu in his arms, he quickened his pace to follow. Ever since parting ways in Ganzhou, she had not even left him her name. He never imagined that in a world so vast, fate would bring her to him again here, in Chang’an.
“Er-gege, that big sister looked so strange, Er-gege.”
The streets were filled with noblewomen and revelers, a sea of silk and color. Duan Jinke weaved through the crowd, chasing after the figure, but when he turned a corner where the crowd thinned, she was already gone.
Having lost her, with the ornament still in hand and Yanshu in his arms, Duan Jinke slowly walked down the lantern-lit street.
“Er-gege, do you know that big sister?”
“No.”
“Then was it because this big sister looked strange, which is why you chased her?”
Duan Jinke smiled and said, “She doesn’t look strange. She’s just not Han, so her features are a little different from ours.”
“She’s not Han? Then where is she from? Where’s her home?”
Duan Jinke shook his head with a smile. Not far away, Duan furen realizing her son and daughter were missing, had already sent the servants out in a flurry to search. Upon spotting the two, Wei Lin dashed over like a gust of wind. “Aiyou, my little ancestors! Where did you run off to watch the fun without telling a word to this humble servant?”
“We just wandered nearby,” Duan Jinke replied. “Let’s head back.”
As the group passed by Fengle Tower, the largest restaurant in Chang’an, now decked out in lanterns and festive decor for the holiday, a clean-shaven man with a pale face, in a soft blue robe and boots approached Duan Jinke and greeted him. “Perfect timing, Young Master Duan. My lord would like to invite you upstairs for a chat.”
Duan Jinke’s eyes lit up. He recognized the man. This was Tang Sanxing, a close attendant of Prince Jing. Smiling, he stepped forward. “So it’s Tang-xiong.”
He turned around and handed Yanshu over to a servant, gave a few brief instructions, and then followed Tang Sanxing up the stairs.
They entered the elegant, private Penglai Pavilion on the upper floor. Prince Jing was inside, drinking and chatting with ease. There was also a young man leaning against the window, enjoying the lanterns and scenery. His bright eyes and handsome brows, refined bearing, and warm, gentle smile gave one the sense of a spring breeze, but behind that calm grace, there was an unspoken authority and majesty that made it hard to meet his gaze directly.
Duan Jinke felt a sudden jolt in his chest. He stepped forward and bowed deeply. “This student, Duan Jinke, pays respects to His Highness Prince Jing and His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince.” Although Duan Jinke held no official post, and was still of common status, the Duan family had grown closer to Prince Jing in recent years, and the prince was well acquainted with several of the Duan sons and nephews.
“Rise, rise, this is just a private gathering, no need for such formal courtesies,” Prince Jing said, sitting up casually with one knee propped, his demeanor exuding carefree elegance. “I happened to see you walking downstairs and thought I’d invite you up for a drink.”
Prince Jing was, indeed, remarkably approachable and warm.
The Crown Prince, Yang Zheng, strolled over with a smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, how did you recognize me?”
“During the New Year, when Your Highness led the court officials to offer sacrifices at the Gate of Highest Virtue, this student caught a distant glimpse of your noble figure from afar,” Duan Jinke replied, bowing respectfully. “Besides, Your Highness possesses a commanding presence, incomparable and unlike any ordinary man.”
“That rather sounds like your older brother instead,” the Crown Prince remarked with a faint smile, his brows softening. “I’ve heard from Prince Jing that you’ve just returned from Longyou, and your journey seems to have been quite eventful. Though I hold the post of Commander-in-chief of Hexi, I’ve yearned to experience the customs of the frontier. But, I’ve never once set foot outside Chang’an. I’m quite curious to hear what you’ve seen and heard.”
Prince Jing personally poured a cup of wine for the Crown Prince, picked out a few savory dishes to go with it, and even called for a songstress to play the zither outside the curtain. “Just recount a few local tales and customs for His Highness to enjoy.”
Duan Jinke nodded and began recounting his journey from Chang’an to the city of Suyab. Some of the stories he had already shared with Prince Jing, who occasionally nodded and chimed in to supplement a few details. The Crown Prince listened attentively and asked pointed questions: about goods and taxes, the locations of customs checkpoints, beacon towers and courier stations along the route, the number of merchants on the road, the size of their loads. These were all small, subtle technical matters, many of which Duan Jinke did not always have complete answers for. As for the grass stirring in the wind1 behind the scenes, the Crown Prince had his own sources and did not need Duan Jinke to speak of them.
When Duan Jinke finally mentioned the incident at Red Ravine Valley, he added that he’d just received a reply from Hexi a few days prior. The letter had been written by Li Wei and summarized what Chun Tian had recounted at the time: the herders carrying long blades, speaking a Hu dialect, merchants with a Guanzhong accent and the fragrant tea leaves, among other things.
As Duan Jinke laid it all out before the Crown Prince, the latter’s expression darkened slightly. Prince Jing added, “Leaving everything else aside, the goods were intercepted, yet not a single merchant from the caravan came forward to report it. Moreover, the local authorities along the route had already conducted their checks months ago and found no records of such a caravan ever passing through. Very suspicious indeed.”
“The merchants likely have ghosts in their hearts, they dare not deal with the authorities,” the Crown Prince laughed. “As for the hoofprints left by the horse bandits, they’re quite unusual. Not the work of Central Plains craftsmen, they resemble the ironwork of the Tiele people.”
The Tiele were one of the ten major divisions of the Turkic tribes. The Turks had originally been the iron-smith slaves of the Rouran Khaganate, and were famed for their metallurgy. Among them, the Tiele were the most skilled. Weapons, armor, and tack forged by Tiele smiths were bartered across the grasslands to other tribes in exchange for cattle, sheep, and pastureland, thus securing their place of power on the steppe.
From his sleeve, the Crown Prince pulled out a sheet of line-drawn paper and handed it to Duan Jinke. “Young Master Duan, do these hoofprints look familiar?”
Duan took the paper and glanced at it, his expression instantly froze. “Exactly the same,” he said solemnly.
The Crown Prince continued, “I’ve heard that in Liangzhou, several families make their living cultivating rhubarb. This year, they reported a harvest of 5,000 dan to the authorities. Of those, 1,000 dan were purchased by the government, while the rest were sold in batches to medicinal merchants and apothecaries throughout the Central Plains. But down the chain of distribution, over 500 dan2 have disappeared without a trace. Coincidentally, similar reports have come out of Hezhou and Sichuan. Where did all that rhubarb end up?”
“Your Highness means that some merchant caravans have been secretly smuggling rhubarb out of the pass to sell to the Hu people.”
At the height of trade along the eastern and western routes, among every thousand camel caravans passing through the Jade Gate Pass, nearly one-third contained rhubarb from the Central Plains. In the West, this Chinese medicinal herb was even more valuable than tea. The various tribes of the Western Regions, the Nine Sogdian Tribes, and even further–Persia, the Abbasid Caliphate, the Northern Nomads3, Tokharistan4, and lands as far as the distant West–all needed rhubarb.
This was because in those arid and scorching regions, people subsisted on dried meats and coarse grain daily, which led to overheated digestive systems. Rhubarb was used to regulate the bowels and strengthen the spleen, and during epidemics, it also served as a treatment for plague. Moreover, rhubarb was well-suited for dry storage; if transported by sea, it would likely rot en route–so all rhubarb destined for the western tribes had to be sent overland, exiting through the Jade Gate Pass and the Dunhuang region.
A few years ago, although the major battle with the Turks allowed the current dynasty to regain control of the Yiwu Route, it did not truly shake the Turks’ foundation, only gave them a modest deterrent. Over the past year or two, there have been frequent reports of Turkic raids on villages and merchant caravans in Hexi and the Beiting Protectorate, making another large-scale war in the coming years all but inevitable.
The court was short on funds, and troops in Hexi and Beiting were always insufficient to mount a proper defense. In a moment of resolve, the Emperor imposed strict controls on the export of rhubarb, intending to cut off its supply to the Turks. Since war between the two sides is inevitable, if the conflict could be delayed, this embargo might give the Central Plains a better strategic advantage. All rhubarb passing through the Yumen Pass and Yang Pass must now be registered, no matter where it was sold to or which city, all must be recorded. Troops inspect caravans along the way and impose heavy taxes. As a result, merchants are reluctant to trade rhubarb, the Turks, or Hu people, grumbled in protest, and, as always, where there’s profit, there are risk-takers. Illegal smuggling of rhubarb persisted despite repeated crackdowns.
“What if a group of Turks disguised and hiding in Hexi set their sights on a caravan smuggling rhubarb?”
“Would it really be the Turks? Or could it be the Tibetans? The Uyghurs?” Prince of Jing looked out the window at the brilliant fireworks lighting up the sky. “Whoever it is, they’re a problem all the same.”
In recent years, the state treasury had grown woefully depleted, and the military expenses for Hexi and Beiting were mostly drawn from the court’s private coffers. If another war were to break out, where would they find enough funds to supply troops and provisions?
Thousands of miles away in Ganzhou Prefecture, perhaps there weren’t quite so many troubles. Outside the city, the black, brooding Mount Yanzhi slumbered beneath ice and snow; within the city, thousands of households and alleyways lit up the night like day, echoing with laughter and celebration.
In Hexi, where Han and non-Han/Hu peoples lived intermixed, the customs were rougher and more uninhibited. Along the roads, performance booths often featured nomadic singing and dancing, as well as games like archery and gambling. Children loved the tricks of breaking stones with chests and swallowing swords or breathing fire; women envied the lithe, captivating figures of the Hu dancers jingling onstage; and the men gathered in crowds to drink, revel, and gamble to their heart’s content.
Lu Mingyue had been listless and bedridden for several days, but today, unable to withstand Jiayan’s pestering any longer, she took him out to see the lantern displays. Jiayan, annoyed by the crowd that was too thick for him to see the fun, also felt that his mother hadn’t scolded him in days, laughed mischievously and leapt onto his uncle, Helian Guang’s back.
“Uncle Guang, there’s a hundred-acts show up ahead, let’s go watch!”
“Hold on tight.” Helian Guang supported the boy with one hand under his bottom and held an ice lantern aloft with the other. His usually stern face softened with rare gentleness. Jiayan was full of energy and mischief, cheering loudly for the stage performers one moment, whistling at the crowd the next, then jumping down to shoot arrows and toss coins, and soon darting off into the throng again.
In the past, Lu Mingyue would never have let him run wild like this. But now, she wandered through her days in a daze, not knowing why she felt this way, disoriented, forgetting even directions or how to dress and eat. Helian Guang walked ahead with Jiayan, turning back every so often to glance at her.
In his eyes, she was always reflected there. Whether upright or sideways, in the light or in the shadows, she was always there. That pair of pale eyes, that foreign face, had somehow charged into the depths of her heart. She didn’t even know anymore if what she felt was hatred, resentment, bitterness, or pain.
But in the night, when he filled her with a fierce, unrelenting force, breaking her body and soul, and in that blood-tinged air she tasted the extreme ecstasy that came only after spasms that bordered on death, she found she no longer remembered the pain. The searing memories of the past seemed to part, just enough to let through a sliver of light–a breath of relief.
Jiayan had played to exhaustion and finally fell asleep on Helian Guang’s back. Carrying the child and a pile of “spoils of war,” he walked home with Lu Mingyue, one behind the other.
When the distance grew too wide, he would stop and wait. She kept her expression cold and refused to walk too close, so he waited in silence. The ice-crystal lantern in his hand was still burning; its palm-sized halo cast their shadows in soft blur on the ground, twining together as the winter wind swept past. She grew impatient with this silent stalemate and tried to escape his gaze. He simply followed without a word.
“You want me dead.” His voice was very soft, so as not to wake the child. “But I can’t die, I want to be with you.”
Because Madam Li felt like going out that day, Li Wei specially rented a carriage. Inside, a brazier had been set up, and the seats were laid with soft pillows and cushions. He took Madam Li and Changliu out to watch the fireworks.
Changliu also had a wonderful day. With both his father and mother accompanying him, he rode a small pony, won a prize of an inkstone and a spinning lantern, and in the end, the family sat beneath a stall filled with ice lanterns and shared a bowl of sweet osmanthus tangyuan.
Madam Li, too, was exhausted. She held the sleeping Changliu in her arms, leaning against the carriage wall. Li Wei sat outside, and the sound of horses’ hooves echoed gently on the stone pavement, a pleasant, rhythmic clatter.
After viewing the lanterns, Chun Tian returned home with Aunt Zhao and Xianxian, only to see the carriage Li Wei had rented already parked in the courtyard. Li Wei had carried Changliu into the bedroom to rest.
“Madam must be tired after the evening, get some early rest,” said Madam Zhao, helping her into a chair. “I’ll fetch some water for you to wash up.”
No one noticed that Madam Li’s complexion had grown pale. Cold sweat dampened her hairline, and when chilled by the night wind, her body alternated between hot and cold. She grasped Aunt Zhao’s hand, just about to speak, when she suddenly retched, vomiting out the dumpling she’d eaten earlier, along with a mouthful of thick, dark blood. She still didn’t feel much discomfort, but then a sharp pain pierced her chest, and crimson blood surged up from her throat again and again.
“Madam!”
Li Wei rushed over. Seeing the pool of blood on the ground, panic flared in his eyes and shouted repeatedly, “Fetch a physician. Quick, go fetch a physician!”
Footnotes:
- Grass stirring int eh wind: chinese idiom meaning the slightest whiff of trouble ↩︎
- Dan: ancient chinese measurement, picul (100 catties or 50 kg) ↩︎
- Northern Nomads: referred to tribes living in the northern regions of China. Captures broad range of non-Han ethnic groups who were perceived as barbarians by the Central Plains people ↩︎
- Tokharistan: region and a kingdom (or rather, several kingdoms in succession) located in the triangle between the Pamir and the Hindukush Ranges and the River Amu Darya the south of modern Uzbekistan and the north of Afghanistan. For all important states Asia the region of Tokharistan was a crossroads between east and west and towards the south to India. Not only merchants travelled these ways, but also a lot of Chinese monks like Xuanzang 玄奘. During the early 7th century there were a lot of statelets scattered over Tokharistan, a circumstance that made it easier for the Tang emperors to bestow the local rulers the titles of commander-in-chief (dudu 都督) of the Tang empire. Emperor Gaozong 唐高宗 (r. 649-683), for instance, created the area command of the Yuezhi 月氏都督府 and bestowed its commander the title of yabghu (a Türkic sub-khan) of Tokharistan, King of the Hephthalites and military commissioner of 25 prefectures. In the mid of the 8th century the Arabs arrived in Central Asia and destroyed the ancient polities in that region. The name Tokhara disappears in Chinese sources in the 13th century .http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Altera/tokhara.html There is still much discussion about the ethnicity of the Tokharians, yet most scholars believe they were related to the Iranians. ↩︎
TN: Hope everyone is doing well! Lots of storylines going on right now~
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