Chaosheng didn’t catch on to Wu Yingzong’s feelings and just laughed. “Really? But Chang Ge said I don’t have a past life. The deer was so beautiful, gentle and gorgeous.”
With that, he leaned into Wu Yingzong’s arms and played with his fingers.
Wu Yingzong fell silent for a moment, got no response, and changed the subject. “We’re already in Western Xia. Do you miss your homeland?”
“Hm?” Chaosheng did miss home a little. He hadn’t understood at first why there wasn’t even a single tree in the vast wilds. Wu Yingzong explained along the way: people in the River Loop and Hexi areas felled trees for firewood to survive winter, leaving most mountains bald. The northwest got little rain, unlike the dense forests of Chuan-Shu.
“A little,” Chaosheng said.
Wu Yingzong asked, “Do you remember your mortal parents?”
Chaosheng zoned out a bit. He’d thought Wu Yingzong meant Kunlun Mountain, not Western Xia.
“You’re the Prince of Western Xia, right?” Xiao Kun said from inside the carriage. “Chaosheng?”
“Mm,” Chaosheng said. “But I’ve almost forgotten everything, except my parents.”
Chaosheng had been only six when Pi Changge brought him back to Kunlun.
Chaosheng answered, “When I was little, she often held me and never handed me to the nursemaids. Her clothes were embroidered with a little flower, and she smelled nice—like scented powder.”
“Was your father Li Qianshun?” Xiang Xian asked from the carriage.
“Yes,” Chaosheng said.
“Tough guy,” Xiao Kun said.
“Mm.” Xiang Xian knew what Xiao Kun meant. Li Qianshun had suppressed powerful ministers at home, consolidated Western Xia’s imperial power, and slaughtered his in-laws until blood ran like rivers.
“Want to go home?” Xiang Xian asked. “If Xiao Kun’s not in a rush, we can detour to Yinchuan.”
Xiao Kun had wanted to ask too but suddenly remembered something else and stayed quiet.
“No,” Chaosheng said. “Let’s keep going. Back then, my mother fell ill and was dying. Pi Changge told her we only had six years of mother-son fate left, and I had to return to Kunlun Mountain. In exchange, Chang Ge used Lord Jumang’s tree sap to extend her life until her natural end…”
Everyone understood: Chaosheng’s forced separation from his mother must have been heartbreaking.
Yet Chaosheng smiled. “…My mother couldn’t bear to let me go. She said even if she died tomorrow, she wouldn’t send me away tonight. I’ll remember those words forever and ever.”
Silence fell inside and outside the carriage.
The coachman driving said, “Young Master, that’s how mortal family bonds are.”
Chaosheng laughed with the coachman. “Right? Thinking back now, my mother really loved me.”
Wu Yingzong asked, “What happened after?”
“But my father decided,” Chaosheng said. “He thought my mother was too foolish. Even if I didn’t leave, she wouldn’t live much longer. Once she died, she’d never see me again. Better to leave a memory, with a chance to see me one more time someday.”
In the silence, Chaosheng reflected, “So my father handed me over to Pi Changge, and my mother must have survived. Chang Ge said our fate was over—visiting her again wouldn’t be good. He told me not to return to Yinchuan.”
Wu Yingzong said, “I still remember my mother too, after over two hundred years. Never forgotten.”
“What was she like?” Chaosheng asked.
“Gray,” Wu Yingzong said. “The fur on her chest and belly was soft. I loved holding it as a child.”
Wu Yingzong grabbed Chaosheng’s hair and rubbed it in his palm, laughing.
Without the Golden Dragon, Shenzhou Great Land felt endlessly vast. Over ten days had passed since leaving Bianjing, and the road seemed without end.
Xiang Xian used to hear storytellers in teahouses recount tales of past dynasty heroes: one chapter in Jingzhou, the next in Luoyang, after a month of travel… But experiencing it themselves, the journey dragged on. They had to find ways to pass the long hours.
“Lord Xiao, Master, we’ll reach Shazhou today,” Wu Yingzong said. “If we push on, we can get to Yang Pass by midnight. Shall we stay overnight in Shazhou or head straight to Yang Pass?”
“Let’s rest first,” Xiao Kun said. He knew riding in the carriage all day was exhausting.
“Yang Pass—is that the ‘west of Yang Pass, no old friends’ one?” Chaosheng asked.
“Yes,” Xiang Xian said. “Beyond Yang Pass is the Western Regions, into Gaochang Kingdom territory, then Tianshan Mountains—another six days. We’ll resupply in Shazhou first.”
Even so, they had little need to buy anything. The gifts from Chang’an’s citizens had lasted the whole way; the steamed buns were now hard as rocks, suitable as meteor hammers with a rope.
At the foot of Mingsha Mountain, by Crescent Moon Spring, lights blazed like day. Shazhou City bustled unusually, like a paradise outside the world, filled with lanterns and a night market.
Finally back in a thriving place, Chaosheng cheered, hopped down to stretch, and Wu Yingzong went to book an inn. Xiang Xian and Xiao Kun headed to a bathhouse in the city.
Shazhou was the last stop before leaving the Central Plains for the Western Regions’ world, a transshipment point for Silk Road trade from Han through Sui, Tang, Song, and Liao eras. It brought the Li Dynasty millions in taxes yearly, the throat guarded by Tangut People, with Tangut Guards patrolling to prevent trouble.
Though the Lantern Festival had passed, roofs still hung colorful lanterns, illuminating rammed-earth buildings with a Western Regions flair. The bathhouses for merchants featured luxurious carpets from the Dashi Kingdom and tea snacks for rest.
Amid the steam, Wu Yingzong entered bare-chested and whispered, “Lord Xiao, Master, all inns in Shazhou are full.”
Xiao Kun said, “Stay in the bathhouse then.”
