Chapter 32: Camel Caravan
This caravan had set out from the Shuangjing Relay Post and was heading toward the Lengquan relay post to restock on water and supplies.
Along the Yiwu Road, there were ten relay stations in total, shorter distances between them could be thirty or forty li, while the longer stretches spanned over a hundred. Shuangjing was the first station outside Yumen Pass. The journey from there to the Lengquan relay post could take as little as one day or as long as two. Lengquan was the largest of the ten stations. At the base of the outpost, an underground spring fed into Lake Mozi, its shores thick with reeds and forests of sand jujube trees. The station itself held a relay inn, granaries, wine shops, and various supply stores, making it a vital point for travelers moving east or west.
Kang State, the foremost of the Nine Sogdian States, served as the suzerain of the other eight. Its people were skilled merchants, and every boy, upon coming of age, was sent beyond the country’s borders to learn the trade. The caravan’s leader, or Sabao, was named Kang Duolu. His attendants referred to him respectfully as “Master Yingsha.” With him was a fourteen-year-old slave boy named Duoge who drove the carriage, and a twelve-year-old maidservant named Podianlu who handled his daily needs.
By now, all the women in the high carts had woken and were cooing over the still-sleepy children. As always, where women gathered, the conversation turned to familiar themes: what clothing and hair ornaments were fashionable this year, what quarrels or gossip had surfaced among neighbors, whether one’s husband was considerate or brutish, which mother-in-law or sister-in-law caused headaches, and how best to manage the household inside and out.
Chun Tian had been raised for years by her aunt, Cao-shi. When her mother, Xue furen, had been left with no support, that aunt treated her with evident impatience. But when Xue furen came into favor, the same aunt fawned upon Chun Tian as if she were her own daughter. Chun Tian resented this kind of life, women perpetually circling the back courtyard, sisters-in-law and extended kin sparring over every inch, where both the wealthy and the poor fought small domestic battles as if winning them were life’s greatest triumph.
Wrapped in a sheepskin cloak, she huddled in a corner of the cart, gazing off into the distance. The sun was slowly climbing over the sand dunes, glowing orange. The morning light unfurled like a ribbon, casting the dunes in soft, brilliant hues. It felt like the land itself was breathing, gently and quietly.
Li Wei, hearing the laughter of women rising behind him, detached himself from the guards up front and made his way back to check on her. The women on the high cart couldn’t help sneaking glances at him, tall, striking, heroic and unmistakably handsome, covering their mouths as they giggled and whispered. Li Wei nodded politely to them, then turned to Chun Tian and asked in a quiet voice, “Hungry?”
Her chin was resting lightly on her knees, still lost in the dreamlike haze of the sunrise. Only when the brilliant orange sun had fully crested the dune and its dazzling light bathed the land did she finally exhale and turn her face toward him. “What did Da-ye say?”
Li Wei blinked, then handed her the water pouch. “Have some water.”
She shook her head. “I want to get down and walk a bit.”
He moved as if to help her down, but she shook her head again, slightly resistant, and climbed down on her own, gripping the rail of the cart. As she jumped, she stumbled a little, and Li Wei caught her by the arm to steady her.
Now that they were walking behind the caravan, the women on the cart began to murmur among themselves. “That little lady didn’t say a word the whole time on the cart, still looks quite childish. But she sure did marry well, that husband of hers is so gentle and considerate.”
“She’s not his wife,” the woman who had spoken with Chun Tian earlier explained. “That girl still has baby fuzz on her forehead, clearly a proper young lady who hasn’t yet come of age. She said that’s her older brother, not her husband.”
The caravan stretched for miles, the head and tail lost from view. Chun Tian led her horse in silence, stepping firmly through uneven patches of hardened soil, regardless of the depth of the land. Her leather boots were soon covered in dust. Li Wei noticed the flash of childish defiance in her expression and found it oddly curious, but wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d spent so many years away from home and rarely spent much time with those in their youth, so he had no idea what might be weighing on her mind.
Chun Tian’s irritation, of course, stemmed from what the women had said the night before, mistaking her and Li Wei for husband and wife. She knew well that Li Wei and Madam Li had once shared a harmonious household, and with Madam Li’s recent passing, even though she herself had nothing to feel guilty about and she was open-minded, she couldn’t help but feel a burning shame at being misunderstood like that.
She had long borne the sting of rumors and mockery because of her mother, Xue furen, and she’d always sworn never to let anyone twist the truth when it came to matters between men and women.
Li Wei, still confused by her sudden change in mood, said nothing. Chuntian glanced up at him, her brows lightly drawn, and said instead, “I wonder how Changliu is doing with Auntie Lu. I didn’t even get to say goodbye properly before we left. I feel so bad about it.”
“He bought a little bay jujube-colored colt,” Li Wei said. “Said he wanted to give it to his Chun Tian-jiejie. But by the time he got back, you were already gone.” Li Wei said, “I’m afraid the horse will have grown up by the time we return.”
“When I left, it was too sudden. I should’ve at least said goodbye,” Chuntian murmured. “Once I find Uncle Chen, Da-ye, you’ll be able to return to Ganzhou.”
There was a quiet loneliness etched between her brows, and her lips were pressed into a stubborn line.
As a rough-around-the-edges man, he was rarely good at reading such moods; he figured it was probably just the fatigue of the long road. After a pause, Li Wei rummaged through his bundle for a while before finally producing a small oiled-paper packet. It held candied sugar shards, the kind Xianxian always loved to eat during New Year. Sweet as honey, rich and mellow. He broke off a little piece and handed it to her. “Here.”
She stared blankly, as though she’d seen a ghost. “Da-ye, why do you… why do you have candy?”
Li Wei rewrapped the paper and tucked it back into his bundle, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re feeling low, have something sweet.”
Chun Tian placed the sugar on her tongue. The taste was rich, like molten honey, lingering long after it melted. For a while she said nothing, then suddenly let out a soft laugh, her eyes bending like a crescent moon.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, cloudless and searing. The day grew hot. In the high cart, Podianlu knelt in the corner, fanning gently. When she saw her master stirring from the pile of soft furs, squinting his eyes and trying to get up, she quickly dampened a cloth and knelt by his side to wash his hands.
Kang Dolu, in his mid-forties, had a pair of thick black mustaches. His nose was high and his eyes deep-set, but his attire was entirely Han, robes and cap alike. Aside from his devotion to the god Ao, he had fully adopted Han customs. Outsiders called him Master Yingsha (Silversand), referring to the wealth in his home: as vast as dunes of silver. Earlier that year, he’d brought a pouch of luminous pearls to Liangzhou and traded them for dozens of bales of silk and tea, planning to return to Kang City and sell them to merchants from the Western Regions.
“Duoge, Duoge, Master’s ready to eat, stop the cart,” Podianlu called out in Hu language, lifting the curtain flap.
“Got it!” Duoge, the young driver, cracked his whip and shouted, “Mishinian! Master says we’re stopping here!”
By now, everyone was drenched in sweat, horses and mules snorted heavily under the scorching sun. The caravan finally came to a halt to rest. Most people made do with dry flatbread and water; those better off had preserved meats and pickled vegetables to accompany their meal.
Duoge jumped off his horse and started a fire, placing a small pot over it to stew lamb. But instead of water, he poured in an entire jar of grape wine. Soon, the rich aroma of lamb and wine wafted through the warm air, mouthwatering and heady.
When the lamb was done, Podianlu plated it in a golden dish and brought it to the master’s carriage. The rest of the meat and wine was shared among the guards.
Nearby, a boy of seven or eight sat on a dune. He sniffed the air deeply, enticed by the scent of meat, and tugged at his mother’s sleeve. “Mama, I want meat.”
“Be good, Daneng, we’re having bread.”
“I don’t want bread. I want meat.” He pouted, on the verge of tears, aggrieved. “I’ve been eating bread for days. I don’t like bread.”
His father scowled and yanked him down. “Eat, eat, eat, is that all you know? You’re lucky there’s even bread. Wanting meat, when we’re not dead of hunger yet?”
Chastised, the boy sobbed softly, only to be hushed quickly. He sat pitifully beside his mother on the sandy slope, chewing reluctantly on the dry, tough bread.
Suddenly, Podianlu hopped off the carriage carrying a silver bowl, beaming. She held it out in front of the boy, her Han words clumsy but earnest: “Master say, hard bread with lamb meat.”
Inside the silver bowl were a few chunks of tender lamb. The boy’s parents panicked, standing up to politely refuse, but Podianlu just giggled, shoved the bowl toward the boy, and dashed away before they could say more.
“Thank you, jiejie!” the boy grinned from ear to ear, clutching the silver bowl and gobbling down the meat. The others didn’t even glance at the lamb, the intricate silver bowl alone, with its ornate patterns, was clearly worth a fortune.
The boy’s mother was the same woman who had chatted with Chun Tian in the high cart. Seeing her son cradling the silver bowl, she looked somewhat embarrassed and said to the other women and children around her, “This child, how he’s embarrassed us all. But that Master Yingsha, he’s not only wealthy, he’s also kindhearted.”
“With meals served in silver bowls and golden platters, no wonder he travels with so many guards,” another woman sighed with envy. “All those camel loads of goods must be worth thousands of strings of cash. A life without a single worry.”
“I heard he sold one luminous pearl for fifty thousand strings,” someone added. “He owns residences in Chang’an, Liangzhou, and Ganzhou.”
Chun Tian chewed quietly on her dry flatbread, listening to their murmurs. Her gaze landed on the merchant’s carriage. The window curtain had been lifted by Podianlu, revealing a middle-aged Sogdian merchant’s hand resting lazily on the sill, adorned with three or four jade rings and clothed in the finest silk. Merchants of his stature had already greased every wheel from towns to checkpoints; official inspections were lax and cursory. A simple nod would see them safely passed through.
She looked ahead toward Li Wei, chatting with Mishinian, the two of them laughing heartily, trading wine from their flasks, bold and free. She figured he must’ve planned this, attaching them to such a caravan to escort her safely all the way to Yiwu.
Meanwhile, a few idle merchants in the convoy had begun discussing recent affairs. They talked about how, earlier this month, the King of Gaochang had sent an emissary to Chang’an. That very envoy was now stationed at Lengquan Post. Supposedly, the envoy’s procession was grand beyond compare, bringing tributes like singing salt pillows, fire-cleansed cloths, shadow-horn combs, and exquisite Qus rugs, dozens of chests of rare treasures destined for Chang’an. If their caravan made good time, they might arrive at the station in time to catch a glimpse of these priceless items.
After all, Gaochang had long aligned itself with the Turks, and for years helped them harass the Western Regions. But after the Imperial court’s crushing victory over the Turks a few years prior, Gaochang had begun to pivot, warming toward Chang’an. Recently, they’d even sent gifts to the capital, which responded in kind with craftsmen and emissaries. The diplomatic relationship between the two nations was now stronger than ever.
“The Emperor’s birthday is coming soon, hence Gaochang is rushing to Chang’an to offer birthday tributes,” someone said. “Among the gifts is a tenfold singing salt pillow, known to clear the mind and brighten the eyes, even cure headaches and wind ailments. It’s the first time they’ve offered such a tribute. They say the Sage’s headaches have worsened in recent years, this gift comes at just the right moment.”
“Gaochang cozied up to the Turks for decades,” another muttered. “But the moment the Turks were defeated, their king threw himself at the empire’s feet. Truly—”
“I heard the Turkic cavalry have started harassing the herding villages down by the base of Mount Zheluoman in the south. It’s early spring, the livestock season is in full swing, and that whole region’s been thrown into chaos.”
“But didn’t the Turks flee west and north, toward the Uyghurs and the Altai Mountains? When did they come back down to Zheluoman?”
“Probably just scattered troops, embers flaring back up. Still, with a strong enough army, they’re nothing to fear.”
“When the Turkic Khagan died, the tribes splintered and turned inward, pulling out of Beiting entirely. But the moment they unite again, we’ll be in for another hard war,” one man shook his head. “These savages were raised on horseback, always rebellious, tough to chew, harder to swallow. Just wait. It’s far from over.”
After resting and feeding the animals, the caravan pressed on westward. As they traveled in the heat of spring, a faint honeyed scent gradually floated into the air. At first it came and went on the wind, but the further they walked, the stronger it became, until it seemed to seep into their very lungs, cloying and heady, making Chun Tian feel lightheaded.
“I’ve never smelled something so sweet before,” she murmured. “What is it?”
“It’s the scent of flowering sand dates,” Li Wei replied. “There’s a grove just ahead, they’re blooming now.”
It was already the tail end of the fourth lunar month. In the south, pomegranate blossoms would’ve long passed their peak, and summer would be setting in. But here in the desert, the sand date trees were just beginning to flower.
After walking several more li, a stretch of dusky green sand date trees appeared in the distance, beyond the endless dunes. A few clumps of camelthorn were scattered haphazardly around. The trees were short and gnarled, with cracked, ashen bark that looked lifeless and half-dead. Their dry, curling leaves clung to twisted branches, and nestled beneath those leaves were clusters of tiny, delicate golden blossoms.
Chun Tian took a deep breath. The fragrance was overwhelming and intense, sweet and cloying. When the desert heat rose and swirled it into the air, it felt as though the whole world was saturated with that rich, honeyed scent.
“Another fifty or sixty li ahead is Lengquan Post,” said Li Wei. “They have a sand date grove there, too and the blossoms are even more abundant than this.”
The caravan passed slowly through the grove, bodies and baggage soaked in the scent of the blooms, and continued its journey into the distance.
After another twenty li, the sun had climbed halfway down the western sky. Clouds gathered in the blue above, dimming the light slightly. The afternoon heat began to ease, replaced by a comfortable breeze. Chun Tian, now in just a single layer, rode at ease. Someone in the caravan had begun to play a flute, the clear, high notes floated like fresh willow leaves, like spring water, weaving in and out of the steady jingling of camel bells, drifting softly across the open sky.
Suddenly, Li Wei opened his eyes, gave a sharp shhh, and pulled back on Chasing Thunder’s reins. He tilted his head to the north, listening intently.
Chun Tian followed his gaze, only to see the same endless dunes, bleak and featureless.
She asked quietly, “What is it?”
TN: Hope everyone is doing well!
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