Chapter 31: Yiwu Route
Li Wei and Chun Tian pressed on, heading deeper along the road, until even the usual signs of life in the desert, sea buckthorn, sand willows, needlegrass, and desert poplars, vanished from sight. They gradually entered a vast, barren expanse of bleached land where not even a blade of grass grew. Pebbles littered the ground, and the earth was tinged a pallid white. The locals called this place the White Sea. A hundred years ago, it had been a lush oasis, but the water source had long since dried up, and over time, it had become parched and briny, saline and alkaline.
Li Wei had passed through here once ten years ago. The landscape remained unchanged, as though time itself had halted in this place. The pale gray rocks scattered across the land seemed to have lain there since the beginning of time, untouched and unmoved by the shifting tides of the world beyond.
Chasing Thunder gave a sharp snort, and Li Wei reached out to calm the horse, then said to Chun Tian, “Come. The wind and sand here are poisonous. It’s no place to linger.”
Salt crystals had accumulated in the soil and stone over countless years, each carrying a corrosive sting. In spring and summer, the fierce winds and blazing sun scorched the sand into the skin; even the briefest exposure could raise a rash, and should the grit enter a wound, the skin would redden and itch before quickly festering and rotting.
Both horses were fitted with wooden hoof guards, their steps clicking crisply across the loose stones in a rhythm that rang out in the stillness. The two travelers wore face coverings, concealing their features, and their voices, when they spoke at all, were muffled and faint. Li Wei was never much for words to begin with, and along the way he said little. Most of the journey passed in silence, deep, uninterrupted silence.
The deeper they ventured into the White Sea, the drier and harsher the wind became. Beneath her face covering, Chun Tian’s lips were parched and cracked, the skin peeling into pale lines. She moistened them slightly, but the air tasted bitter. As they neared noon, a strange sound rose in the wind, a low, rasping wail, like the weeping of a distant soul, or the faint, drawn-out gasps of someone in pain, breaking and reforming, long and short, like a breath that could not settle.
The hair on the back of her neck bristled. She whispered, “It sounds like someone crying ahead…”
“It’s only the wind,” Li Wei said quietly, reassuring her. “Up ahead, there’s a patch of dead trees. The sound you hear is the wind scraping through the branches.”
A chill ran down her spine as she listened. In a hushed voice, she asked, “It sounds like someone is crying ahead.”
“It’s only the wind,” Li Wei reassured her. “There’s a dead forest up ahead. The sound comes from the wind scraping through the treetops.”
Their horses climbed a sandy ridge, and beyond it lay a forest of withered poplars, stretching out in all directions in a desolate expanse of deathly gray. The trees, long dead and weathered by time, stood or collapsed in twisted, unnatural postures. Their gnarled branches reached and curled in midair, frozen in what looked like silent, tormented contortions. As they walked into the woods, a chill settled over them. The eerie keening that filled the air was the wind slipping through those barren limbs, rubbing bone against bone.
Chun Tian followed Li Wei in silence for a long while before she finally asked, “How long ago did they die?”
“Perhaps a hundred years. Not even the oldest shepherds know when they once stood green, or when they withered,” Li Wei said, pointing to the cracked, hardened crust of salt beneath their feet. “Centuries ago, there was likely a spring-fed lake here. The land was lush, trees thrived around the water. But when the spring dried up and the surface water vanished, they waited… year after year, without ever again tasting a drop. In the end, they died of thirst.”
It was the first time she had seen death like this, and it left her shaken. The spring-fed rivers of Jiangnan, the magnificent spires of Chang’an, the rich and fertile land of Guanzhong, all of it seemed eclipsed, pale and distant beneath this lifeless forest. Heaven’s craftsmanship… what brushstroke of spring and autumn could have wrought such stark sorrow?
“They must have been in such pain when they died,” she murmured. Some trees lay slumped upon the ground, their limbs collapsed in defeat; others stood with twisted branches stabbing toward the sky in silent cries. And everywhere, the wind sang in their splintered bones, crying out, Water. Water. Water.
“When Da-ye came here ten years ago, were they like this too?” she asked.
Li Wei thought back to that winter ten years ago, when they had pursued a band of Turkic riders through this very land. A dry snow had fallen across the salt flats, drifting with the wind until everything, sky, ground, and breath, blurred into white. The dead forest of poplars moaned with wind like weeping ghosts. One of the men had whispered it was the sound of souls, trapped in the trees, crying out their pain.
And indeed, many had died here back then. This poplar grove had once held fallen soldiers, blades, and bones. But now, all of it was gone, either buried by shifting sands or dragged away by wolves and carrion birds. Only the trees remained, standing motionless in the wind.
“There are many forests like this across the desert,” he said, stopping her just as she was about to walk forward. “There may be venomous creatures in there. Don’t go in.”
But she had seen something half-buried in the sand ahead, a shard of copper glinting faintly. Just as she was about to step closer, his whip flicked out and coiled around her wrist. “Don’t.”
“There’s something there,” she said, puzzled.
“This place is heavy with ill fortune,” he replied. He feared she might see something dreadful, something that would haunt her. “Come on.”
They mounted up again, and Li Wei pushed the pace. Beyond the poplar grove, the wasteland stretched out into endless gravel flats. The wind picked up, whirling stones across the ground with a clicking da-da sound. A sticky layer of white grit clung to their horses’ sweat-soaked flanks. Though his horse, Chasing Thunder, was still strong, Chun Tian’s mount was suffering, panting and hissing with effort. When they paused midway to rest, Chun Tian slumped to the ground, legs trembling. The water and dried rations he handed her were barely touched, after two days on the road, she was already thinner, her frame looking even more fragile.
They pressed onward until dusk fell, the gray-blue sky slowly retreating toward the horizon. A black veil of night descended in its place, and moonlight and stars took to the sky one by one. The salt flats began to fade from pale white to dusty yellow. Sparse clumps of dry, white grass lay low and shivering on the cracked ground. At last, the terrain began to change, low hills, shallow ridges, and the bitter sting in the wind gradually faded away.
They had finally left the White Sea behind.
Chun Tian’s sweat had dried and soaked through her clothes again, again and again. When she finally removed her face covering, the hair at her forehead was drenched as if pulled from water, her cheeks red from the heat, and the evening wind now made her shiver with cold. Li Wei handed her the sheepskin coat. “The night wind’s sharp. Don’t want you catching a cold.”
She was too exhausted to even sit up straight and obediently wrapped herself in the coat, looking every bit a wilted soul on the brink of collapse. Li Wei glanced at her heaving shoulders and shoulder blades protruding from her back and led her horse forward. “There’s still a few dozen li left. If you’re tired, close your eyes and rest. I’ll lead you.”
She shook her head. “I’m not tired.”
That night, they didn’t stop to camp. Wrapped in the sheepskin, she didn’t feel the cold anymore, just that her limbs were stiff and heavy. Li Wei talked to her here and there, mostly about what lay ahead. She knew now that it was roughly 800 li from Yumen Pass to Yiwu, a journey of two weeks. Between them lay ten oasis-built post stations where water could be found; beyond that, it was all desert and sand. Each post had a beacon tower garrisoned with troops, and most trade caravans followed that route both to resupply and to stay under military protection from bandits.
The sky was vast and high, but the stars hung unusually low. She listened to his voice in a daze, letting every detail settle quietly into her mind: how tall the walls were, where the waters lay, whose patrols to avoid. His low, warm voice was carried gently by the wind, lulling her into sleep. She slowly slumped forward onto her horse’s back, her expression peaceful and calm.
Before falling fully asleep, she opened her eyes once more in a haze and saw Li Wei’s back, no longer so tense. His hair had come loose, dark strands fluttering at his temples. In the starlight, his resolute profile looked both rugged and free, revealing a rare trace of defiance and dishelvement, like a man who belonged to the open road, wandering traveler of the rivers and lakes, a lone soul roaming the world.”
The jianghu… the wandering world. She, too, was now part of the jianghu.
Li Wei loosened the reins, letting the horse amble so the girl on its back could rest. He said nothing, just quietly kept watch over her as the wind blew around them. The night was long. The road was longer. He had all the time in the world to wait for her.
Because the moon was so bright, the northern night lacked the deep darkness of the Central Plains. From somewhere out in the empty wilderness came a faint, irregular jingling sound. She strained to listen, standing in her stirrups to peer ahead, but saw nothing.
Li Wei took a swig of strong liquor, then flicked his whip. “Come on,” he said. “Up ahead, that’s the Yiwu Road.”
The Yiwu route had once been occupied by the Turks. For years, caravans detoured through Dunhuang, only regaining access in the last three or four years. But in those few years, the court had added a 20% tax on border trade, diverted grain from the northwestern storehouses, and built a military buffer for Hexi. For the empire, it was a great triumph.
By the time dawn began to pale the sky, she finally saw it, a slow-moving caravan stretching out across the horizon. There were torchlights, camels, mules, ox-carts, and people of all appearances and clothing, plodding forward with the steady rhythm of hoof and foot, clinking and clattering like a never-ending procession.
Chun Tian finally let out a long breath of relief.
The caravan stretched far ahead, a scattered procession of perhaps a hundred people. At the front was a wide red-lacquered wagon, its wheels sturdy and its surface adorned with intricate carvings and embroidered silk. Behind it followed nearly a hundred pack mules and donkeys, and trailing them were a jumbled group of travelers, men, women, and children alike, with many of the women and little ones riding in the tall carts at the rear.
Li Wei dismounted and stepped forward to speak. Beside the red wagon, a narrow-sleeved, blade-bearing Hu man rode out. Li Wei cupped his fists and said, “Brother, my sister and I are headed to Yiwu. We’re lucky to have encountered your esteemed group. Might we join and travel along?”
The middle-aged man, a sturdy figure with thick brows, an aquiline nose, and deep-set eyes, scanned Li Wei from head to toe, then his gaze lingered on the saber and bow at Li Wei’s side. He raised a brow, and then noticed the young maiden standing quietly behind. In fluent Han speech, he said, “Brother, one moment.” He turned his horse back and leaned beside the wagon, murmuring a few words through the curtain and listening to a low reply.
Returning to Li Wei’s side, he nodded. “The Sabao consents. There’s a tall cart at the rear, make yourselves comfortable.”
The Sabao was the caravan master, a Sogdian merchant from the Kang State. This caravan, it turned out, belonged to a wealthy merchant hailing from Liangzhou, carrying sixty loads of silk, incense, and tea westward, with more than twenty servants and guards. Other Sogdian traders had joined to travel under the Sabao’s protection, and along the way, some Han and Hu merchants, seeing their strength and order, had attached themselves to the group for safety.
The man who had spoken to Li Wei was one of the Sabao’s personal guards, named Mishinian, long accustomed to traveling the Western Regions at his master’s side.
“Many thanks to the Sabao,” said Li Wei, leading Chun Tian to one of the rear high carts fitted for passengers. He tucked the sheepskin and a water pouch into her arms. “Get some proper rest. The road ahead won’t be so hard now.”
Chun Tian nodded with a quiet “Mm,” rubbing her eyes. As she watched him turn his horse to ride forward, she called out, “Da-ye, where are you going?”
“I’m not going far,” he said, glancing back at her.“Just up ahead. If you need anything, call for me.”
Chun Tian leaned out slightly, watching Li Wei ride alongside the caravan. Perhaps it was from years of traveling, but he exuded a quiet, natural protectiveness toward the group.
Beside her, a middle-aged woman in Han clothing stirred from sleep. She pushed aside her felt blanket, rubbed her eyes, and said, “Little lady, it’s still not yet dawn, get some more sleep.”
“Sorry to disturb Madam,” Chun Tian said, scooting slightly to the side. But now that she was awake, she found it hard to fall back asleep.
Seeing this, the woman sat up fully and began chatting to pass the time. “That man, is he your husband? So thoughtful and attentive. Truly enviable. You’re a lucky one.”
The word husband hit Chun Tian like a spark to dry tinder. Her face flushed red in an instant as she waved her hands frantically, flustered. “Madam, you’re mistaken, he’s not, he’s my cousin.”
“Oh!” The woman gasped, realizing now that the girl beside her was still quite young, not yet fully grown into womanhood. She looked embarrassed. “My eyes must be getting old, please forgive my mistake.”
Still hoping to pass the time with some conversation, she smiled kindly and asked, “So, where are you two headed?”
“To Yiwu,” Chun Tian answered, curling deeper into the sheepskin cloak. “And Madam?”
“And we’re going to Xizhou,” the woman said cheerfully. “My husband runs a shop there.” She continued talking, voice rambling on with idle stories, and in that steady stream of speech, Chun Tian finally succumbed to sleep. Her eyelids drooped, and she drifted off.
Not far ahead, Mishinian noticed Li Wei silently keeping watch over the carts and animals at the rear. He rode back to strike up a conversation. After some polite exchanges, he learned Li Wei too had once worked as a desert caravan escort. Slapping Li Wei’s shoulder with a hearty laugh, he exclaimed, “So we’re fellow tradesmen, my apologies for the earlier formality!”
Li Wei gave a modest nod. “I’ll be counting on your guidance along the way.”
The two soon struck up a lively conversation, speaking in Hu tongue, swapping stories about the desert, unusual happenings, and local customs. They got along easily.
Pleased with Li Wei, Mishinian insisted he join the other guards at the front to drink. Li Wei agreed, but first turned back for one more glance.
There, nestled in the rear cart, the young girl had curled into herself, fast asleep beneath the fur cloak. The night breeze brushed across her forehead, stirring her hair into a mess. Li Wei couldn’t help but smile slightly.
N: Hope everyone is doing well!
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