Chapter Three: Chang'an

Chang’an.

Situated on the Guanzhong Plain, it had always been a place fiercely contested by military strategists since ancient times.

After Liu Bang, the founding emperor of the Han dynasty, established his capital there, Chang’an swiftly rose to become the world’s foremost city. Its city walls, rebuilt and expanded several times, stretched an impressive thirty kilometers from east to west and spanned twenty-five kilometers from north to south. The walls towered sixteen meters high and measured over six meters thick—an awe-inspiring feat.

And this was just the standard set during the Han dynasty.

When the Li Tang dynasty ascended, the city walls underwent another extensive reconstruction. Partly because the old walls no longer befitted the imperial image, and partly because the city had weathered too many wars, leaving some parts collapsed and crumbling.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Emperor Gaozu Li Yuan ordered the original walls preserved and commissioned new walls to be built nearly ten kilometers outward from the old boundary.

This grand project continued into the present year, still awaiting its final touches. According to historical records, it was not until the sixth year of the Zhenguan era that the construction was fully completed, officially cementing Chang’an’s status as the greatest city in the world.

...

After half a month of continuous marching, Li Kong finally laid eyes upon this magnificent capital. As he disembarked and gazed up at the vast city walls, an overwhelming surge of emotion flooded his mind:

Chang’an—this is Chang’an. The grandeur of the Great Tang, stretching across a thousand years. Even in distant foreign lands centuries later, Chinatowns would still bear the name of the Tang people, a legacy that began this very year, in this very place.

No matter how Li Shimin came to power, his achievements are indelible, impossible for anyone to erase or distort.

“Yunfeng, after all you've been through, do you have any thoughts?” At some point, Cheng Yaojin had come up behind Li Kong, his voice gentle.

Li Kong shook his head, then nodded, replying, “It’s complicated, General Cheng. Shall we go in?”

Cheng Yaojin laughed heartily, clapping Li Kong on the shoulder. “Not yet! I need to take these soldiers to the nearby barracks to station them before reporting to His Majesty. If you’re homesick, you may go ahead—after all, you’re not enlisted.”

Not enlisted?

Upon hearing those words, Li Kong suddenly felt a pang of bitterness—a sympathy for his former self.

But it was true: even though he fought and died on the battlefield resisting the Turks, his lack of official military status could not be changed.

“Then, nephew, I’ll go in first. General, please see to your duties.” With a deep sigh, Li Kong strode toward the great gates of Chang’an.

Up close, the city radiated an awe-inspiring imperial majesty. Some say that Ming emperors were the least afraid to die, earning the praise, “The Son of Heaven guards the frontiers; the ruler dies for the nation.”

Yet Chang’an lay less than three hundred li from the Hetao region—a fast horse could reach it in half a day. At that very moment, Hetao was still home to countless foreign tribes, with a Turkic chieftain ruling in name, though nominally still subject to Great Tang. Everyone knew otherwise; such claims were for the common folk.

So, if one truly speaks of “The Son of Heaven guarding the frontier,” the Tang emperors were no less courageous than those of the Ming. In fact, Chang’an’s location made it even more vulnerable to the iron cavalry of the northern tribes.

Otherwise, the humiliating Treaty of Weishui, which would bind Li Shimin for life, would not have occurred in the second year of Zhenguan.

Early in the Zhenguan era, after nine years of relative stability, Chang’an was beginning to show signs of prosperity. Yet, due to the ravages of war, the city’s population remained modest—fewer than a hundred thousand households, perhaps only several hundred thousand people.

But life was peaceful; the streets bustled with activity. As Li Kong walked through them, for the first time since his return, he felt truly alive again. It was a sensation unlike seeing the iron cavalry of the Tang—deep down, he was still just one among the countless masses.

“Young Master, you’re finally home! Come with me at once—Master has been worried sick about you!” Suddenly, a group of people blocked Li Kong’s path. An elderly man, past forty, gazed at him with excitement.

This was Li Fu, steward of the Li family’s outer household, a distant relative from Li Ji’s old home who had followed him to Chang’an. Li Fu was the only one who never treated Li Kong as a lesser son, and for that, Li Kong was deeply grateful.

“So it’s you, Uncle Fu!”

“Oh, come quickly! The master heard you’d return today and had lunch specially prepared to welcome you home. If you’re late, he’ll surely be upset.” Without waiting for a reply, Li Fu took Li Kong by the arm and led him forward.

But Li Fu’s words surprised Li Kong.

He knew well that eating three meals a day only became common practice during the Ming dynasty. In the Tang, the old custom of just two meals a day still prevailed.

Even among noble families, three meals were rare—reserved only for special occasions.

Li Kong never expected Li Ji would go to the trouble of preparing a midday meal for him. Was there an error in his inherited memories? Or did he simply not understand Li Ji at all?

Glancing at the beaming Uncle Fu, Li Kong opened his mouth, then said, “Uncle Fu, I’d like to see my mother first. The banquet can wait.”

Hearing this, Li Fu’s expression changed slightly. He glanced about, then leaned in to whisper, “Let me tell you: your mother isn’t dead. The master only put on that show for others. But this is a grave secret—never speak of it!”

What?

Li Kong’s mind suddenly went blank.

Seeing his reaction, Li Fu gave a wry smile and shook his head. “You’d best ask the master yourself. For now, go home and attend the welcome banquet—don’t wound the master’s feelings.”

Once again bewildered, Li Kong felt like the most hapless traveler through time. In less than twenty days, how many blunders had he made?

But why had Li Ji done this? Was it simply to dispel Li Shimin’s suspicion?

He quickly rejected the thought. Li Shimin had trusted Li Ji implicitly from the start, and after ascending the throne, even granted him the title Duke of England. There was no suspicion to speak of. So what was the real reason?

Li Kong realized he needed a proper conversation with this “father” he had never met.

Since his mother was not dead, there was no need for any pretense of visiting her. With that, and only half in control of the situation, Li Kong followed Li Fu through several bustling streets, stopping before an imposing noble residence.

“Duke of England’s Mansion.” Staring up at the four bold characters above the gate, Li Kong took a deep breath, then stepped inside.

Meanwhile, in the Imperial City of Chang’an, within the Ganlu Hall, a man of about thirty sat in imperial yellow robes. A mysterious smile played across his face as he looked at the attendant below. “That rascal has finally decided to come home. Make preparations—I will leave the palace!”