Chapter Seventeen: Lord Zhangsun

With Zheng Shian's capabilities, sending out a message without anyone noticing was a matter of utmost ease. The family and servants at the old Luoyang residence were, after all, more loyal to Zheng Shian. Although Cui Daolin ostensibly held the reins, in the eyes of the old household's servants, he remained an outsider. The power of the clan was immense; no matter how skilled Cui Daolin might be, it was impossible for him to take immediate control of the old estate. Furthermore, the residents of Tianjin Bridge Street were also considered part of the Zheng family, having lived for generations beneath the bridge and sharing the fortunes of those in the old house. Thus, with only a word from Zheng Shian, someone went at once to relay the news.

To Zheng Yanqing, the affairs of Luoyang City scarcely concerned him anymore. He retired early to bed, while Zheng Shian and Zheng Weishan sat in the outer room, drinking and chatting until the crow of the morning rooster signaled the end of their gathering.

At dawn, Zheng Shian took Yanqing and left the old Luoyang residence. Yanqing had little luggage, merely leading his blue donkey as he followed his grandfather out of the city towards the country estate.

The estate had already received word. With only so much land, each plot already spoken for, the arrival of the Tianjin Bridge residents meant many tenant farmers would soon face the prospect of losing their fields. As soon as Zheng Shian and his grandson arrived, the tenants gathered quickly to voice their concerns.

“Steward Zheng, we've farmed Zheng family land for decades—why are we suddenly being driven out?”

“Yes, yes! If we can't till the earth, what will become of us? Our entire families depend on these fields… Steward Zheng, you must stand up for us! You can't turn your back on this—otherwise, we'll have no way to survive!”

Their voices rose in a cacophony, and Zheng Shian’s face darkened.

“This matter is not mine to decide. The master of Luoyang now is Steward Cui Daolin. If you are dissatisfied, take it up with him. I am only responsible for resettlement… It's not that I refuse to help, but I simply cannot.”

The crowd fell silent.

After a long moment, someone spoke loudly, “Let's not trouble the old steward—let’s go find Cui Daolin and demand justice!”

“That’s right, let’s go find Cui Daolin!”

Watching the tenants’ agitation, Zheng Shian frowned. “Yanqing, do you think this will cause trouble?”

“Grandfather, don’t worry. This has nothing to do with us. Cui Daolin said himself that as long as you manage the estate and settle the Tianjin Bridge people properly, that's all that matters. Why should you be concerned? If Cui Daolin intervenes, he won’t win favor with Madam Cui; if he doesn’t, the eldest son won’t look kindly on him either. In the end, whatever happens, no blame will fall on you.”

Unconsciously, Zheng Shian had begun to rely on Yanqing as his pillar. Hearing Yanqing's words, he nodded gently.

Yes, this matter was not his concern; why worry over it? Since the eldest son distrusted him, any attempt to take charge might only breed further misunderstanding. It was best to simply do his own job—the rest was not his responsibility.

With this in mind, Zheng Shian had someone drive the carriage slowly into the estate.

As Yanqing predicted, that very afternoon, the residents of Tianjin Bridge and the estate’s tenants confronted Cui Daolin. Just as Yanqing said, Cui Daolin brusquely refused to negotiate and even summoned officials from the Luoyang magistrate’s office to forcibly disperse the crowd. The eviction of Tianjin Bridge residents, the demolition of the street, and the construction of taverns and entertainment halls—all were Madam Cui’s idea. Cui Daolin would not risk offending her by negotiating with these people.

In his eyes, these were but rabble.

He had expected another uproar.

Yet after the magistrate’s men dispersed them, both the Tianjin Bridge residents and the estate tenants became silent; none raised further protest. Cui Daolin felt smug—how could a bunch of rabble dare challenge the Zheng family?

When Zheng Yanqing heard what had happened, he merely smiled...

“Grandfather, just wait—the matter’s not over yet!”

Zheng Shian snorted in agreement, and that very night, he wrote a letter and sent it to Xingyang.

This matter had to be reported to Zheng Dashi. Moreover, Zheng Shian had to distance himself from it, or trouble would be endless. Though he lacked formal education, in terms of shrewdness, he surpassed Cui Daolin a hundredfold.

——————————————————————

Life at the estate proceeded as usual, or so it appeared on the surface—calm and uneventful.

The Zheng family’s estate housed over a hundred households, with more than seventy percent relying on farming Zheng family land for their livelihood. The remaining thirty percent either held their own plots or depended on fishing and hunting. Luoyang’s terrain was high in the west and low in the east, crossed by mountains and hills in a complex web. Centered on Luoyang, a dozen mountain ranges radiated in all directions: Mount Yu, Mount Mang, Mount Qingyao, Mount Jingzi, Mount Longmen, and others. Rivers and canals abounded: Yi River, Luo River, Qing River, Jian River—seven or eight waterways coursed through Luoyang.

Since ancient times, Luoyang was known as “surrounded by mountains, with six rivers flowing, and eight gates to the city.”

As the saying goes, “Live by the mountain, live by the water.” The small Zheng estate was home to all sorts of people.

Most built cave dwellings according to the land’s contours—one pit, ten caves—a common way of life in the River Luo region at that time.

These pits were akin to the communal courtyards of later generations.

Such dwellings arose partly from necessity, partly from poverty. Building cave homes cost much less than brick-and-tile houses, and they were comfortable too—a first choice for poor families.

Zheng Shian, of course, did not live in a cave.

The Zheng family had houses on the estate; he resided in one with seven or eight rooms, a small courtyard, and stables—fully equipped. Some estate houses were even finer, but those were beyond his reach.

Beyond the estate, following the Yi River upstream, two mountains could be seen.

They stood as the southern gateway to Luoyang, known in old times as the Yique. The two mountains faced each other across the river; to the west was Longmen Mountain, to the east Xiang Mountain.

In the Taihe era of Northern Wei, Emperor Xiaowen moved the capital to Luoyang.

Northern Wei revered Buddhism, so Xiaowen began carving caves in Longmen Mountain to build Buddhist statues—what would become the famous Longmen Grottoes.

At this time, however, the grottoes were only in their infancy, far from the grand scale they would later achieve.

In his previous life, Zheng Yanqing had toured the Longmen Grottoes, but due to wars and other factors, many Buddhist niches, reliefs, and murals had been stolen by bandits and looters. For instance, the reliefs in the Binyang Cave later ended up in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Yanqing longed to see what the original reliefs truly looked like.

Thus, on the third day after arriving at the estate, Zheng Yanqing rode his blue donkey leisurely toward Longmen Mountain.

The dreariness of winter had already vanished.

All along the path, he saw vibrant greenery, lifting his spirits.

He could not journey alone, being too young. His guide was Mao Wang, father of Mao Xiaoba—a simple and honest farmer, well respected in the estate.

Mao Wang answered Yanqing’s questions as he led the way.

As they crossed the Yi River, Longmen Mountain came into view. Yanqing suddenly halted, noticing a caravan approaching from the mountains, and signaled Mao Wang to step aside. Judging by the procession, these were surely people of rank: two teams of armored horsemen led the way, followed by several large carriages drawn by magnificent horses.

Yanqing knew little about horses, but even from their appearance, he could tell they were no ordinary beasts.

Anyuan Hall had reaped its fortune from military exploits and kept many fine steeds; Yanqing sensed these carriage horses rivaled those of Anyuan Hall. Who could they be, to display such extravagance? He could not help but feel curious.

On the carriages hung golden shields emblazoned with a tiger’s head, and at the shafts, flags bore the bold characters: “Changsun.”

“Old Mao, which noble family is this?”

Mao Wang, having lived in Luoyang all his life, knew the city’s powerful families.

“That, Young Master Zheng, is the carriage of General Changsun.”

“General Changsun?” Yanqing was taken aback, then realized it must be Changsun Sheng, the famed “Double Falcon with One Arrow,” Grand Minister of the Palace, and Left Commander General.

In the history of Sui and Tang, Changsun Sheng was an indispensable figure.

Yang Jian had said, “Changsun is unmatched in martial arts and wisdom; future generations of great generals will surely be his kin.”

Indeed, in the campaigns against the Turks during the Kaihuang era, Changsun Sheng had repeatedly distinguished himself.

The later idiom “two falcons with one arrow” originated from him. Yet what made him most renowned among later generations were his children. His daughter became Empress Changsun, wife of Li Shimin; his youngest son was the celebrated early Tang minister, Changsun Wuji.

Yanqing was stunned—not by Changsun Sheng’s reputation, but because a long-buried memory resurfaced. He recalled, upon first arriving in this era, surviving a massacre. The man who carried out that slaughter was Ning Changzhen.

Yanqing had investigated Ning Changzhen’s background: he was a tribal leader’s son, his father named Ning Mengli. Ning Changzhen was the son of Ning Mengli, who journeyed to Chang’an to pay homage to Emperor Wen of Sui in the late Kaihuang era, and was now appointed governor of Qinzhou by Yang Jian.

Where was Qinzhou?

Yanqing wasn’t sure, but Zheng Shian had vaguely mentioned it was in the Lingnan region—a wild and untamed land. The local tribes lived in clans, their leaders known as “Li Chiefs.” Thus, Yanqing confirmed Ning Changzhen’s origins.

When Ning Changzhen pursued his uncle Yan Hu, he mentioned a certain “Lord Changsun.”

Could it be that Lord Changsun was Changsun Sheng?

If so, then Yan Hu must have been on good terms with Changsun Sheng. Who, then, were Yanqing’s parents?

“Young Master Zheng, shall we cross the river?”

Mao Wang noticed Yanqing’s silence and wondered at it.

The Changsun family’s caravan had already passed…

Yet, for reasons unknown, as the caravan disappeared into the distance, it carried away Yanqing’s desire to explore Longmen Mountain.

“Old Mao, let’s go another day. Suddenly, I’ve lost the mood… Let’s head back.”

“Very well, Young Master Zheng. Whenever you wish to visit, I’ll take you.”

Mao Wang could not understand Yanqing’s complicated feelings—he merely smiled, leading the donkey back home.

Before they reached the estate, they saw Mao Xiaoba running toward them.

“Father, something’s happened!”

Mao Wang started, “Xiaoba, what’s the matter?”

“Just now, a dozen old soldiers from the village led everyone to Luoyang. I heard the people from Tianjin Bridge went too. They say the eldest son has arrived, and they’re going to seek justice from him.”

Zheng Renji had arrived in Luoyang?

Upon hearing this, Yanqing couldn’t help but smile to himself: At last, the real drama was about to begin!