Chinese New Year

Chapter 1453 A Difficult Journey
In June, Pingguo County is bathed in warm, southerly winds.

The fields have long since shed their spring shyness, revealing their alluring side in their nakedness.

In the cultivated fields that have been tilled for many years, the wheat awns are just beginning to stand out, green with a hint of white, rustling and undulating in the wind.

In the newly prepared field, the millet seedlings were only knee-high, a deep, vibrant green, like splashes of rich ink.

The village road was newly trodden, a winding, yellow-black ribbon that stood out starkly from the lush forest and grass.

A large, tall, wheeled cart of the Hu style creaked past, its wooden axles groaning, loaded with freshly cut hay that almost overflowed the sides.

The Xianbei man driving the cart was dark-skinned and robust, humming a mumbled tune as his gaze swept over the hillside where his livestock grazed—where last year there were lush trees, the stumps still standing, but the sparse grass had been trampled into mud and mottled patches by the hooves of sheep.

At the foot of a low hill on the edge of the village, the walls of the Han family courtyard stand out clearly.

In Liu Datou's yard, the stone millstone hummed as several speckled chickens strolled leisurely.

The vegetable plots are lush and green, and the fruits and vegetables are growing vigorously. Farmers who pass by can't help but praise them.

On the opposite slope, however, lay the yurt of the Xianbei Balue clan, half-submerged in the ground, with dried cheese hanging from a wooden pole in front of the door, emitting a slightly fishy and muttony smell.

A crooked willow fence symbolically separates the two plots of land, with clear wet marks and gaps where sheep have recently gnawed at them.

The boundary marker was newly erected, with official inscriptions carved deep into the wood.

This is Liaodong, this is Pingguo, this is a typical area where Han and non-Han peoples live together.

"Pingguo County is even better than I imagined." Shao Yu climbed up a high slope and looked down ahead.

It was a quiet little valley, dotted with dozens of households, where Han and non-Han peoples had lived together for several years.

It's clear they're doing quite well.

What's even more fortunate is that these are household registrations directly controlled by Pingguo County, rather than belonging to the three major local powerful clans of Yan, Xiao, and Tong.

Prince Yan's friend Pei Man watched all of this with a sense of rapture.

In terms of poetry and prose styles, Pei Man is somewhat of a pastoralist, and even belongs to the "sub-segment" of rural life.

Upon seeing the tranquil countryside of Pingguo County in June, he said, "Your Majesty, I regret settling down in Xiuyan. If I had known Pingguo was so wonderful, I should have moved here."

Guo Shi chuckled and said, "If you really don't like the hustle and bustle of Xiuyan, you can go to Xiping. It's close to Goguryeo, has the Yalu River, and boasts unique peaks and beautiful scenery. Why don't you go?"

Pei Man rolled her eyes at him, too lazy to say anything more.

Guo Shi is a boorish fellow who doesn't understand the joy of farming. Talking to him is like playing music to a cow.

Shao Yu listened quietly to his subordinates bickering with a smile on his lips.

He actually really liked everything in front of him, because it gave him a sense of accomplishment.

When Murong Ren went north, he took everyone he could with him, leaving behind only some houses and broken belongings. Pingguo's current prosperity is inseparable from their efforts over the past few years.

"Your Majesty..." A shout rang out from the foot of the hill.

Shao Yu looked in the direction of the sound and saw a fiery red figure galloping out on horseback. It was none other than Lady Yuwen, who had just given birth to a daughter for him last year.

Shao Yu waved to indicate that he had seen him.

The fiery red knight slowed his horse and finally stopped beside a village in the valley.

There is a newly dug well at the entrance of the village, covered with wooden planks.

Several teenagers chased each other around the well, clapping and singing a distorted version of a folk rhyme: "July's heat is intense, August is for peeling dates—the millet grows tall on the flat plain, feeding our old folks!"

Several women squatted on the bluestone by the well, beating their clothes. The wooden pestles made a dull sound, and water splashed and wet their linen trouser legs.

As they washed clothes, they glanced at an old man under a large tree not far away.

The old man was wearing a light jacket, and a group of children had already surrounded him.

He smiled and gave each child a wild fruit, then said, "Have you all learned that proverb from earlier?"

"We've learned it!" the children replied in unison.

"Good children," the old man laughed, "Today I will teach you a new one. It goes, 'In July, the Fire Star moves westward; in September, clothes are distributed. On the first day, the wind howls…'"

The children ate fruit while reciting the poem in a scattered manner.

“Your Majesty, that is Zheng Lin, the former Yan State Commandant under Murong Huang, a native of Beihai, Qingzhou,” Pei Man introduced.

"So it was him." Shao Yu realized.

He had long heard that Zheng Lin was very famous in Qingzhou, a renowned scholar who was later forced by Cao Yi to cross the sea to the north to escape the chaos in Liaodong. He was appreciated by both Murong Hui and his son Murong Huang.

After he established his fiefdom in Liaodong, he learned that Zheng Lin was living in seclusion in Pingguo. He twice tried to recruit him, but Zheng Lin refused both times, citing his advanced age. Surprisingly, the old man seemed to be in good spirits, even playing with children in the countryside.

"Don't disturb him," Shao Yu said to his attendants. "Lord Zheng is an elder, and it is a blessing for them to be able to teach Han, Xianbei, and Wuhuan children in the countryside. Before he leaves, send someone to deliver grain, meat, and cloth. You can prepare accordingly."

"Yes," Pei Man replied.

Shao Yu glanced again at the place where Zheng Lin was teaching the children, then turned and left.

******
The wind swept across the plains, and the wheat rippled low.

The mugwort on the field ridges is already growing tall, and the wild roses are blooming brightly along the ditches and banks. Their fragrance is a strong blend of soil, animal manure, and fresh wheat straw—this is the typical scent of a rural area in a mixed agro-pastoral zone.

In the distance, someone's plowshare was cutting through the dark, fertile wasteland, making a dull "hissing" sound.

As the sun gradually slanted westward, its rays bathed the earthen walls of the Han people's courtyards, the domes of the Xianbei felt tents, the scattered stone rollers on the threshing floor, and the ruminating cattle and sheep in their pens, all imbued with a warm, rough edge. At the end of the village road, a swift horse galloped in, kicking up dust. The messenger on horseback, shrouded in the dust of the journey, pounded the rhythm of the horse's hooves, a sound that seemed to resonate with the emerging new world—in this corner of Liaodong, the sounds of Han and non-Han dialects, the marks of plows and hoofprints, the ripples of wheat and the scent of grass, the sounds of new wells and old folk songs, all were clumsily and tenaciously merging and growing together in the warm breeze of June.

By the stream, a woman with her sleeves rolled up, drawing water, glanced up and saw the dust kicked up by the post horses. Suddenly, she asked her neighbor, a woman from the Hu tribe, "Sister, has the official document from the prefecture arrived again?"

The Hu woman was wringing out her wet clothes when she heard this. She grinned, revealing her slightly yellow teeth, and replied in a strange, awkward tone, "Who cares about any official document! The important thing is that our millet is filling and our lambs are fattening up."

"Indeed." The woman smiled, straightened up, and watched the courier gallop away on his horse before finally looking away after a long while.

The courier used his superb horsemanship to control the horse, and even on the country road, he did not slow down the horse at all.

Soon, he heard the sound of drums and gongs coming from behind the mountain ridge.

Having delivered messages many times before, he knew that the Prince of Yan would drill his soldiers whenever he had free time, even if he only had a hundred men with him. He would train them whenever he had a spare moment and never slacken his efforts. It was precisely because of heroic figures like the Prince of Yan that Goguryeo and others dared not act recklessly.

The courier went around in circles, and after passing through a grove of trees, he saw carriages and horses and tents lined up one after another ahead.

Hou Mochen stepped forward and stopped the courier. After inquiring about the situation, he put the letter away and hurriedly left.

The courier dared not leave, and dismounted to wait in place.

After an unknown amount of time, a shout of "He's here!" suddenly rang out.

The courier looked up and saw a boy of eleven or twelve holding a half-eaten fruit in his hand, speaking loudly.

A moment later, hurried footsteps sounded, and the figure of the Prince of Yan appeared in front of the postman, followed by several officials from the Prince's Palace and the famous Lady Yuwen from Liaodong.

"Where is the messenger?" Shao Yu asked, looking at the courier.

"Let's rest at the post station west of the county," the courier replied.

Shao Yu took a deep breath to calm himself down, sent someone to bring a bolt of silk as a reward to the postman, and then ordered his attendants to bring over a horse.

"Your Highness." Yuwen Shi held his hand tightly, her face full of worry.

"Godfather?" The boy swallowed the fruit in a few bites, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and then looked somewhat uneasy.

"It's nothing." Shao Yu patted the boy's head and said, "Your godfather is going on a long trip. You stay at home and study hard and practice martial arts. After the autumn harvest in August, all the warriors of the Xiluo tribe will gather together and follow the general's orders to go into the mountains for training."

The young boy, Xiluo Teng, hesitated for a moment, then finally nodded.

Shao Yu then looked at Yuwen Shi and said, "Wild Fox, go back to Xiuyan and take good care of our home."

Yuwen shook her head and said, "I will go to Luoyang with you."

"Nonsense!" Shao Yu glared and said, "What will happen to Xiuyan after you leave?"

“Your soldiers aren’t made of clay,” Yuwen Shi said softly, turning her face away.

"Stop making trouble." Shao Yu said unhappily, "The pastures in Lushun and Beifeng are almost full. Take the tribe, horses, cattle and sheep and move to Xiuyan and Xiping. Keep an eye on the north side."

Yuwen fell silent.

Shao Yu understood her temperament and knew that she had taken his words to heart, so he said no more. He turned to Pei Man and said, "Pen, ink, paper, and inkstone."

He stopped mid-sentence.

He rubbed his face vigorously and said, "Never mind, I'll go back to Xiuyan and arrange everything before I leave."

As he said this, his gaze swept across the countryside of Pingguo.

Over the years, he has actually come to like this place.

The wasteland was reclaimed by them year after year.

The irrigation canals were dug out by them bit by bit.

The roads were paved by them, one by one.

Unwittingly, they transformed this desolate land with their own hands.

The eleven counties of Liaodong are imbued with his heart and soul; they are where he settled down for the rest of his life, and where his children were born and raised.

So many people followed him here, enduring hardships and struggles to get to where we are today.

He has a responsibility to them; his heart is with them.

Now, the Central Plains still hold a few lingering attachments for him.

My mother's earnest gaze and my father's towering figure always linger in my mind.

He lost count of how many times he got up in the middle of the night, only to find himself trapped in this state of mind.

After a sigh that was hard to express, the horse was led over.

He flipped himself up and sped away.

Horses galloped across the plains, neighing, passing through flocks of sheep and skimming over wheat fields, leaving the tranquil countryside and towering cities far behind.

The crashing waves carried the fishing boats back to the harbor.

A gentle south wind carries a loving mother's tender greetings.

On the distant mountain ridge, the knight's figure gradually condensed into a dot and disappeared into the white mountains and black waters.

(End of this chapter)