Starting with a Wei Wu soldier

Chapter 306 Cultural Integration

On the fifteenth day of the ninth month of the fifth year of the Qiming era, autumn in Chang'an City entered its most splendid season.

The locust trees lining the imperial road had turned completely yellow; when the wind blew, the leaves fell in a rustling sound, carpeting the ground and rustling underfoot. The bustling markets on both the east and west sides were even more vibrant than in previous years. The foreign merchants with their high noses and deep-set eyes, the foreign travelers with their headscarves, and the envoys in their strange costumes had become a familiar sight for the people of Chang'an.

However, in the autumn of that year, Chang'an City welcomed something different.

West Market, Hushang District.

A crowd had gathered in front of Sa's Goods Store.

In the center of the crowd, a man from the northern desert wearing a fur robe sat cross-legged on the ground, with a strangely shaped zither in front of him. The zither's body was made of wood and covered with sheepskin, with a long, thin neck and three strings stretched across it.

"What is this?" someone asked.

The man from the northern desert raised his head and said in broken Chinese:

"The morin khuur. Our instrument from the grasslands."

After saying that, he lowered his head and plucked the strings with his fingers.

The sound of a piano began.

That sound was different from the zithers of the Central Plains. It wasn't the clear and melodious kind, but rather a desolate, distant sound, as if it came from the depths of the grasslands. In the zither music, there were sounds of wind, horses' hooves, shepherds' songs, and the bleating of cattle and sheep.

The crowd quieted down.

Some people closed their eyes, as if they could see that boundless grassland. Some people's eyes were slightly red, as if they were remembering something.

When the music ended, enthusiastic applause erupted from the crowd.

"good!"

"One more!"

The man from the northern desert grinned and played another tune.

This piece was even more lively than the previous one. The music evoked images of a grassland wedding, a fireside dance, and a young couple singing a duet. Some people started clapping along to the rhythm, while others even swayed their bodies, wanting to jump up and down.

A young merchant from the Central Plains couldn't resist any longer. He jumped into the center of the circle and began to dance. His dance moves were different from those of the people from the Central Plains. He spun, jumped, and tossed his head, like an eagle spreading its wings.

The crowd became even more lively.

Saban stood at the entrance of his shop, watching all this, his eyes narrowing into slits with a smile.

"Boss Sa," a Uyghur merchant nearby chimed in, "why don't you go in and jump around a couple of times?"

Saban shook his head and laughed:

"I'm too old to jump anymore. It makes me happy to see young people jumping."

The Uyghur merchant nodded and smiled.

"This Chang'an city is truly wonderful."

Dongshi, Zhouji Guangyuanhao.

Manager Zhou is receiving several special guests.

They were several Persian merchants, but they weren't there to discuss business. They held a long scroll in their hands, which they carefully unfurled and laid out on the counter.

Manager Zhou went over to take a look and was stunned.

It was a painting. In the painting was a magnificent palace, with many people standing in front of it. Some were dressed in official robes, some in foreign clothing, some with turbans, and some with fur hats. In the upper left corner of the painting, four Chinese characters were written: "All Nations Pay Tribute".

"This is..." Manager Zhou raised his head and looked at the Persian merchants.

The Persian merchant in the lead spoke in broken Chinese:

"Manager Zhou, this is a painting we commissioned. It depicts the scene of foreign envoys on the city wall on the Double Ninth Festival this year."

He pointed to the figures in the painting and introduced them one by one:

"This is the Tiele Khan, this is a Yanqi merchant, this is a Japanese monk, this is a Arab merchant, this is an Indian monk, this is... this is Manager Zhou."

Shopkeeper Zhou followed his finger and saw a person dressed in the clothes of a merchant from the Central Plains standing in the crowd, smiling as he looked at something.

He stood there, speechless for a long time.

The Persian merchant said:

"Manager Zhou, we'd like to present this painting to His Majesty. What do you think, is it appropriate?"

Manager Zhou took a deep breath and nodded:

"Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

He paused, then suddenly asked:

Who painted this picture?

The Persian merchant said, "This is a painter we invited from Persia. He has been painting all his life and has never seen so many different people. He said this is the best painting he has ever done."

As Manager Zhou looked at the painting, at the lifelike figures, at the faces that came from all directions yet gathered together, he suddenly felt his eyes well up with tears.

"A beautiful painting," he said. "A truly beautiful painting."

Daci'en Temple.

Kukai knelt in the scripture pavilion, a thick Buddhist scripture lying in front of him.

That was left behind by his master Ennin before he passed away. It was an important commentary on the Fasang school of Buddhism, which was not found in Japan. Ennin said that he had spent three years copying this scripture and asked Kukai to keep it safe.

Kukai turned to the first page, about to begin reading, when he suddenly heard a commotion outside.

He frowned, got up, and walked out of the library.

In the courtyard, several young monks were surrounding a man dressed as a foreign merchant, chattering amongst themselves. The merchant was holding a small copper box containing some black powder.

"What is this?" a monk asked.

Hu Shang said in broken Chinese, "Spice. It's from India. Sprinkle a little on it when burning incense to make the aroma stronger."

Several monks curiously gathered around to look. One reached out to touch it, but the foreign merchant stopped him.

"Don't touch it! This is an offering, meant for Buddha."

Kukai walked over and glanced at the bronze box.

The powder in the box was black with a hint of purple, emitting a strange fragrance. The fragrance was different from the sandalwood and agarwood he usually smelled; it was stronger and more mysterious, as if it carried the scent of a distant, exotic land.

"Sir," he asked, "what is the name of this spice?"

The merchant from Hu said, "It's called 'benzoin.' It's harvested by the Indians from a certain tree, and only a small amount can be collected each year. It's very precious."

Kukai nodded and clasped his hands together:

"You are too kind, benefactor. This humble monk thanks you on behalf of Buddha."

The merchant grinned and handed the box to the monk next to him, asking him to place it before the Buddha.

Kukai stared at the bronze box, at the black powder, and suddenly thought:

If my master were still alive, he would be very happy to see these spices from India.

Imperial Academy.

Gao Yuan sat by the window, holding a thin booklet in his hands.

He bought it from the West Market; it was brought by a Persian merchant. On the cover, four characters were written in Persian and Chinese: "Selections of Kings".

"Your Highness," Da Wu leaned closer, "what are you looking at?"

Gao Yuan didn't even look up: "Books."

Da Wu scratched his head: "What book?"

Gao Yuandao said, "It's a Persian book. It tells the stories of their ancient kings."

Da Wu was taken aback: "You can understand it?"

Gao Yuan looked up and glared at him:

"Can't I learn something if I don't understand it?"

Da Wu awkwardly shut his mouth.

Gao Yuan lowered his head and continued reading the book. He didn't recognize a single word of the Persian text, but there were Chinese translations next to it. He read the Chinese translations while comparing them with the Persian text, trying hard to decipher the winding, curving characters.

As he watched, he suddenly looked up, his eyes shining:

"Da Wu, do you know that there was an ancient Persian king named Kejan who was somewhat similar to our Goguryeo king, Taejo?"

Da Wu was stunned: "How does it look like it?"

Gao Yuan said, "They were all bullied when they were young, and when they grew up, they killed all the people who bullied them."

Da Wu scratched his head and didn't say anything.

Gao Yuan lowered his head and continued reading.

As he looked, he thought:

It turns out the world is so big, with so many different places, so many different people, and so many different stories.

How wonderful it would be if I could visit them one by one.

Imperial Medical Academy Herbal Garden.

Lan Fenghuang squatted in the courtyard, with seven or eight cloth bags in front of her.

Each cloth bag contained different things. Some were spices, some were medicinal herbs, and some were seeds. They were all obtained from merchants in the Western Regions, the northern deserts, and the South China Sea.

"A'luo," she said without looking up, "write this down. This is from Arabia, called 'frankincense,' which can invigorate blood and relieve pain. This is from India, called 'cardamom,' which can warm the middle and dispel cold. This is from Srivijaya, called 'clove,' which can warm the kidneys and invigorate yang."

A Luo took out her pen and frantically wrote things down.

Blue Phoenix opened the last cloth bag, which contained some dried grass leaves. She brought it closer to smell them and frowned.

"What is this?"

A businessman from the South China Sea nearby quickly said:

"Your Majesty, this is betel nut. People in my area like to chew it; it's a good way to stay alert."

Blue Phoenix picked up a blade of grass and examined it closely. The leaf was dry and yellow, and had a strange smell.

She hesitated for a moment, then put the blade of grass in her mouth and chewed it.

Then, her face scrunched up.

"Ptooey, ptooey, ptooey!" she spat out. "What is this rubbish! It's bitter, astringent, and it makes my mouth numb!"

The South China Sea merchants turned pale with fright and kowtowed repeatedly.

"Your Majesty, please forgive me! Your Majesty, please forgive me! This stuff is meant to be chewed with lime and betel leaves; it can't be eaten alone..."

Lan Fenghuang waved her hand, signaling him to get up.

"It's nothing, it's nothing. I was just curious."

She picked up a pen and wrote a line on the cloth bag:

"Betel nut, a specialty of the South China Sea, has a bitter taste and needs to be chewed with lime and betel leaves to refresh the mind."

After she finished writing, she looked at the pile of colorful cloth bags and suddenly smiled.

"Ah Luo, tell me, these things all came from such a faraway place, how did they end up here?"

Aro thought for a moment and said:

"Because...because His Majesty opened the border trade?"

Lan Fenghuang nodded, then shook her head.

"More than that. It's because there are roads. There are official roads, sea routes, and trade routes. Those roads connect us to those places."

She stood up and patted the dirt off her hands.

"Alright, let's pack up and move all these things into the storeroom. We can study them later."

Chengxiang Hall.

Su Xiaoxiao sat at the desk, with a long list spread out in front of her.

That was a list of gifts brought by envoys from various countries. There were sable furs from the Tiele, wine from the Uyghurs, jade from Khotan, ironware from Kucha, Buddhist scriptures from India, rose water from the Arab world, and glassware from Fulin…

She looked at each item one by one, occasionally writing or drawing on the list.

"Your Highness," the accountant leaned closer, "what are you calculating?"

Su Xiaoxiao didn't even look up:

"We're calculating the value of these gifts. How much is the mink fur worth? How much is the jade worth? How much is the rose water worth?... Once we've figured it out, we can give the envoys a return gift."

The accountant was taken aback:

"A return gift? They brought us a gift, isn't that expected? Why do we need to return a gift?"

Su Xiaoxiao raised her head and looked at him:

"Remember this: there's no such thing as a free gift. When someone gives you something, it's a sign of goodwill and respect. If you don't reciprocate, you're being rude. And rude people don't make friends."

The accountant nodded thoughtfully.

Su Xiaoxiao lowered her head and continued calculating.

The abacus beads clicked and clattered, a clear and pleasant sound.

Qiyun Pavilion.

Lin Wan'er was hunched over her desk, a thick stack of manuscripts spread out in front of her.

That was the first draft of the "Four Barbarians" chapter of the Qiming Classified Book. It contained information about the customs, products, languages, and histories of various countries and tribes collected over the years.

She was reviewing the chapter on "Great Food".

The manuscript reads:

"The Abbasid Caliphate, located west of Persia, has a hot climate and is mostly desert. Its people have dark brown skin, often grow beards, and wear white turbans. They practice a religion called Islam, and pray five times daily facing west. Their products include frankincense, myrrh, coral, and pearls. Merchants often sail there to trade with Guangzhou and Quanzhou..."

She read it once, then read it again, and picked up her pen to change a few words.

"Your Highness," the maid said softly, "it's late. Let's look at it tomorrow."

Lin Wan'er shook her head without looking up.

"Let's look at it a little longer. This chapter needs to be sent for printing tomorrow, and there can't be any mistakes."

The maid dared not persuade her any further, but quietly added a few pieces of charcoal to the brazier.

Lin Wan'er continued reviewing the records. She looked at the accounts of distant lands, thinking about places she had never seen, people she had never met, and things she had never experienced.

She suddenly remembered something His Majesty had said:

"The world is vast."

Yes.

It's very big.

Lizheng Hall.

Murong Mingyue sat by the window, gazing at the rising moon outside.

The moonlight, like water, spilled into the courtyard and onto the crabapple tree. She had brought that crabapple from the Northern Capital; it had been planted for five years and was now taller than a person.

"Your Majesty," the lady-in-waiting said softly, "it's time to rest."

Murong Mingyue shook her head.

"Sit a little longer."

She continued to gaze at the bright moon.

The moon is full again.

Every month, there is a day when the moon is as round as a mirror, reflecting Chang'an, as well as the northern capital thousands of miles away, and the places where people once lived.

She suddenly remembered a poem her father had taught her to recite when she was a child in Beidu:

"The bright moonlight shines before my bed, I wonder if it is frost on the ground. I raise my head to gaze at the bright moon, then lower my head and think of my hometown."

At that time, she didn't understand why seeing the moon would make her miss home.

Now she understands.

It's not that I miss home, it's that I miss the places I can never go back to, and the people I'll never see again.

But she doesn't regret it.

Because now, she has a new home and new people.

She smiled softly.

"Someone come here."

The female official entered in response.

"Your Majesty?"

Murong Mingyue stood up.

"Let's rest."

Wenhua Hall.

Chen Xing stood by the window, gazing at the bright moon outside.

The moonlight shone on him, casting a long shadow.

Jia Wen stood behind him without saying a word.

After a long silence, Chen Xing suddenly asked:

"Prime Minister Jia, tell me, how many different kinds of people are there in Chang'an now?"

Jia Wen thought for a moment and said:

"I can't say for sure. There are people from the Central Plains, people from the northern deserts, people from the Western Regions, people from the South China Sea, people from Japan... there are probably dozens of kinds."

Chen Xing nodded.

"Dozens of people, dozens of languages, dozens of customs, dozens of beliefs. They come together, don't fight, don't cause trouble, and can even do business, make friends, and learn from each other..."

He paused, turned his head, and looked at Jia Wen.

"Prime Minister Jia, tell me, why is this?"

Jia Wen was silent for a moment, then slowly said:

"Because...because this is Chang'an."

Chen Xing looked at him.

Jia Wen continued:

"Chang'an is the center of the world. People who come to Chang'an, no matter where they come from, all know one thing—this is where the emperor is, and this is where the rules are. Here, you must abide by the rules."

He paused, then said:

"But rules alone are not enough. Tolerance is also necessary. His Majesty allows them to retain their own customs, to believe in their own gods, and to intermarry and befriend the people of the Central Plains. Tolerance is more important than rules."

Chen Xing nodded and looked out the window at the bright moon.

"tolerant……"

He repeated the word softly.

"Prime Minister Jia, do you think these people will still be around a hundred years from now?"

Jia Wen said, "Yes, their descendants will."

Chen Xing then asked, "Will their descendants remember where they came from?"

Jia Wen thought for a moment and said:

"They may remember, or they may not. But they will remember one thing—their ancestors came from a very far place, came to Chang'an, and stayed."

Chen Xing fell silent.

After a long silence, he said softly:

"That's enough."

The night breeze blew by, stirring his clothes.

Outside the window, the bright moon hangs high, casting its cool, clear light.

The light fell on every rooftop, every street, and every face in Chang'an.

The faces of those people were varied in color: some were white, some were yellow, some were black, and some were brown.

But they were all under the same moonlight.