What on earth was going on?
At that very moment, even the few soldiers from the northwest who had come with Fan Jianglin and were walking in the funeral procession couldn’t help but keep asking themselves this question.
They had already been astonished when they saw the mourners outside the city, but it turned out that was only the beginning.
So many people!
So many people!
Heavens above, why are there so many people? It felt as if the entire capital had come out to pay respects!
Good heavens, was this really just the masters of a small shop?
The soldiers stood stiffly within the funeral procession, and as far as their eyes could see, it was a sea of people, dark and dense – before them, behind them, on either side. Even the upper floors of roadside buildings, rooftops, and treetops were crowded with onlookers.
Those unable to squeeze in shouted curses at the top of their lungs, straining desperately to push their way forward. The crowd surged like waves everywhere. Many people had already stepped out of the procession, joining hands and struggling with all their might to hold back the press of bodies, lest the road become blocked. Their faces flushed crimson as they shouted themselves hoarse, doing all they could to keep order.
The soldiers lifted their heads and looked at the paper money fluttering down like a vast storm, covering heaven and earth in a white haze, as if all of creation was mourning together.
The whole city wears mourning to welcome the heroic souls.
Such a refined, literary phrase suddenly welled up in the hearts of those illiterate soldiers.
It wasn’t their own words, but something they had heard others say before.
That was years ago, after a great battle in the northwest. The garrison and townsfolk of a fortress chose to live and die together with their city, fighting the western invaders for three days with all their strength. In the end, almost all perished. Afterwards, a shrine was erected along the northwest front in memory of the fallen, and the entire populace, dressed in mourning, joined the funeral procession. They had been children back then, and their deepest impressions were of the deafening blare of horns and drums, the paper money flooding the skies just like this, and the multitudes from seven towns and eight fortresses who came to pay their respects.
At that time, scholars and men of letters wrote essays and poems to commemorate the event. They remembered none of the flowery rhetoric, only this one simple, plain, and unforgettable line.
They had never dreamed they would see such a sight again, here in the capital – and for the funeral of five ordinary soldiers like themselves.
Who on earth were these men?
“Brothers, see that you escort them safely into the capital. We can guarantee you a prosperous future.”
On the eve of departure, Xu Sigen’s words still echoed in their ears.
At the time, when they heard it, none of them said anything aloud, but inwardly they all sneered.
The Maoyuan Mountain brothers hadn’t secured their own prosperous future – indeed, they’d lost their very lives – yet they spoke of granting it to others? Who wouldn’t find such words laughable?
But at this very moment, it no longer seemed laughable at all.
If they had the power to stir an entire city, to draw such multitudes out in mourning, then could they not also secure a bright future for a handful of common soldiers?
The soldiers instantly broke out in gooseflesh.
The sharp, rapid, orderly clatter of horses’ hooves surged through the commotion, accompanied by shouted commands in unison.
“Make way! Make way!”
The city patrol troops from the City Watch, having received reports, rushed over – but when they saw the tide of people with their own eyes, they too sucked in a breath of cold air.
No wonder the gate officers had sent urgent word that a riot might break out. Looking at the densely packed, dark mass of people filling the street, even these dozen men in iron armor with long spears in hand felt a shiver of dread.
“What are you doing here? What are you all doing?” the leading patrol officer shouted.
“We’re not doing anything – just watching the funeral procession.”
“And grabbing a bowl of wine while we’re at it.”
Voices called out noisily from within the crowd.
Watching a funeral? Grabbing a bowl of wine? Bah – did they take him for a fool?
Who knew who the deceased really was – wasn’t this just a pretext to incite the people to riot?
“The funeral procession is supposed to leave the city – why are you bringing it into the city?” the patrol officer shouted, raising his hand.
At once, the soldiers behind him surged forward, crossbows in hand, aiming squarely at the funeral party, poised for battle.
“Disperse immediately, or you will be seized and punished for your crimes!”
Fan Jianglin sat on horseback, a child cradled in his arms, his face expressionless as he looked at the soldiers blocking the road.
Behind him, the mourners stood solemnly in place, white funeral banners bristling like a forest, rustling in the wind. Five coffins, nearly buried beneath heaps of paper money, lay in a straight line across the street, forming an eerie contrast with the noisy clamor all around.
The patrol officer couldn’t help but swallow hard at the sight.
Who on earth were these people?
“I am Fan Jianglin, Brave of the Northwest Battalion, escorting five fallen brothers back to the capital for burial,” Fan Jianglin said slowly, taking out an official notice from his robe.
The patrol officer accepted the document – indeed, the identities of the dead were confirmed.
“So it is the Brave of the Northwest Battalion,” he said, his expression easing somewhat.
But how had this drawn such an enormous crowd of onlookers?
Scenes like this were only ever seen when the court celebrated a great victory, bringing captured enemies back to the capital in triumph. Even then, coffins might accompany the procession – but only for slain officers of fifth rank or higher.
Since when had common soldiers been given such honors?
“If it is for burial, then it should be done outside the city. Why have you brought them inside?” he asked with a frown. “Turn back at once and leave the city.”
“Sir.”
The patrol officer froze for a moment, staring blankly at the man before him – why had the man’s voice suddenly turned into that of a woman?
“Sir, the reason the procession entered the city was by my arrangement.”
Everyone quickly turned their heads, and the patrol officer, snapping back to his senses, also turned to look. At some point, a group of people had arrived behind them. Unlike the onlookers crowding around, these were clearly mourners too, holding aloft white funeral banners.
At that moment, a veiled lady stepped forward at a measured pace. She was dressed in black, with a length of hemp rope tied around her waist.
“Sister.”
At the sight of the lady, Fan Jianglin swung down from his horse. Whether from the long ride or from grief too heavy to bear, his steps faltered and he nearly stumbled – but the child in his arms only let out a delighted giggle at the jolt.
“Sister,” Fan Jianglin choked out as he drew closer, “I’ve brought them home.”
Such simple words, spoken in a hoarse voice, struck the patrol officer’s heart like a weight, and his gaze involuntarily shifted to the five coffins.
Beside the veiled lady, two maids had already dropped to their knees, weeping bitterly.
All along the road it had been only men accompanying the procession, and apart from the first faint sobs offered during roadside rites, no one had cried since. Now, at last, with women’s voices breaking into tears, the sorrow of the funeral surged forth with new force.
At that very moment, whether frightened by the crowd or startled by the women’s cries, the infant suddenly burst into loud wails as well.
Gradually, the noisy throng around them fell silent. On the packed street, among the dark press of people, only the sobs of two women and the crying of a child echoed – making the atmosphere all the more strange and suffocating.
“Sir.” Cheng Jiao-niang looked at the patrol officer. “The burial ground is set in the east of the city.”
The patrol officer glanced at her, about to speak, but Cheng Jiao-niang went on ahead of him.
“However, one can also reach the eastern outskirts from outside the city – it isn’t absolutely necessary to pass through the city itself,” she said.
So she knows full well, the patrol officer thought to himself.
“But I once promised my brothers,” Cheng Jiao-niang continued, “when they departed the capital for the northwest.” A faint smile touched her lips, though hidden beneath her mourning veil no one could see it. Her gaze shifted to the five coffins resting on their wagons. “I promised that when they fulfilled their duty to the nation, and returned victorious, the streets would be filled with warhorses, fine wine, fireworks, and we would welcome them home in triumph.”
As she spoke, she slowly stepped past the patrol officer and approached the coffins, reaching out a hand to stroke the horses that pulled the wagons.
They were five steeds of identical coat, and any connoisseur could see at once they were rare and excellent mounts. Even those who knew nothing of horses would not help but exclaim at their quality.
Before, everyone’s attention had been caught up in the spectacle; few had noticed that the teams of horses themselves were so fine.
“They have returned.”
Only, when they left, they were living men – yet what returned were five cold, lifeless coffins.
The people around them sighed in unison.
“They fulfilled their duty to the nation, they fought and returned in triumph. Then the promise I made cannot be left unkept.”
Cheng Jiao-niang spoke, withdrawing her hand from the horse.
Manager Wu, who followed beside her, immediately stepped forward and personally handed her a wine jar. Cheng Jiao-niang reached out and took it.
“Brothers, this is a strong wine I brewed for you with my own hands – there is none like it in this world.”
As she spoke, she tipped the jar, and a rich fragrance spread through the air.
As the clear stream of liquor spilled onto the ground, the quiet crowd stirred.
“Ah, what a pity – such fine wine…”
“Don’t pour it all out – leave a little, save some for us…”
Noisy voices rose from within the throng, the press of people surging like a wave.
After emptying the jar, Cheng Jiao-niang turned and looked toward the patrol officer.
“Sir, now that my brothers have returned, we share grief as well as joy. So I invite everyone to drink together,” she said. “Sir, you too – please taste it. Tell me if this wine is worthy of my brothers’ fierce spirit and loyal, gallant hearts.”
The patrol officer froze for a moment, but Manager Wu had already led men forward, presenting bowls of wine – not only to him, but to every soldier standing there.
“This wine is strong, sir – just a sip,” Manager Wu reminded.
Strong?
I’m a man, what’s there to fear in strong wine? The only thing to fear is if it isn’t strong enough!
The patrol officer immediately reached out and took the bowl. As if to mock Manager Wu’s warning, he drained it in one gulp. At once, his eyes flew wide, and his face flushed crimson.
Laughter erupted from the crowd.
“Ha! Ha! Down, down, down!” someone shouted.
And sure enough, at those cries, several of the soldiers on that side began swaying unsteadily before toppling to the ground with a thud.
The crowd instantly roared with laughter and noise.
“See, see? What did I tell you?”
“Hahaha – already countless people have gone down along the way!”
So strong – so fiery!
The patrol officer felt as if flames were rolling through his body, setting him ablaze. His ears rang, sweat poured down in sheets.
Good, good.
He suddenly felt the urge to shout. All the pent-up humiliation – looked down upon at home, bullied by superiors and colleagues outside – burst out in that instant. After the burning came a sweeping sense of release through his whole body.
He also wanted to laugh.
Good, good – what does it matter? A man lives but once; I’ll damn well live it to the fullest.
“Sir, does this wine measure up to my brothers who died in battle?”
The lady’s voice sounded at his ear.
Since ancient times, how many soldiers have ever returned from war? To fall on the battlefield, bold and unrestrained – that is to have lived without regret.
“It does!” the patrol officer shouted, and with a sweeping gesture clasped his fists in salute. “Di Sijiu honors the heroes!”
At his words, the soldiers blocking the way moved aside with a rustling shuffle – though not all of them.
Four or five of the men had collapsed drunk upon the ground, unmoving.
The patrol officer spat.
“Cowards!” he barked, eyes bulging, face flushed red, breath reeking of liquor. “Haul them out of the way!”
Those four or five were quickly dragged off.
“Look, the men of the City Watch have stepped aside!”
In truth, there was no need for him to shout – everyone else could see it too. Lu Si’an, in particular, stared without blinking.
They had originally been following along with the crowd, but when the press of bodies became unbearable, they relied on their status to gain a vantage point on the second floor of a tavern, looking down on the street from above.
“What on earth was said? How did they come with such force, only to bow their heads and make way?” everyone asked one another.
Such were the pros and cons of going upstairs: the view was clear, but the sound indistinct.
Just then, a sudden uproar burst forth below, pulling all their gazes back toward the street.
There, countless people had surged into a mass, seemingly fighting to snatch at something.
“Wine!” This time they saw clearly – it turned out more wine was being handed out.
“Is the wine really that good?” several people asked in puzzlement.
Earlier, they had not lowered themselves to go drink the wine being passed out.
“I’ll send someone to fetch a few bowls – then we can have a taste later,” one of them said with a laugh, sounding rather farsighted.
Before long, the door to the room was pulled open and a few servants rushed in, one of them carefully holding a bowl of wine.
“Master, we got it!” he called.
The man froze for a moment.
“How is there only one bowl?” he asked, glancing at what was brought before him. No -not even a full bowl, only half.
“Master, it was impossible to get any. I nearly risked my life for this one…” the servant said with a bitter face. “To escape with even half a bowl – already a great stroke of luck.”
So sought after?
The few of them turned again to look out at the street below, and saw chaos like a tidal wave, people surging in a frenzy. The sight alone made their hearts pound – if one were caught in that crush, to snatch even a single bowl of wine would indeed be no easy feat.
Fortunately, there were only two jars of wine, and in the blink of an eye they were emptied. Otherwise, someone might well have been trampled or crushed to death.
What kind of wine could drive people into such madness?
“It’s all because of those who got a taste earlier – or those who missed out and only heard how good it was – so they all rushed forward,” the servant explained.
“Is it really that good?” one of the men asked.
But Lu Si’an no longer looked at the wine; instead, his eyes followed the throng in the street. The roadway there was already emptied – not because the crowd had dispersed, but because they had surged after the funeral procession. Lifting his gaze farther ahead, he could see that street was even livelier than the one before.
And this tide of people would only swell, like waters gathering into a greater flood.
That is how the world is: leave something by the roadside and no one cares, but once someone fights to seize it, whether it’s useful or worthless, everyone else can’t help but rush in to snatch it too.
“What a clever trick…” he murmured.
“Good wine!”
A loud exclamation from inside the room drew Lu Si’an’s gaze back indoors.
One of his companions was holding a bowl of wine, his face flushed bright red.
“Good wine, good wine – who would have thought such a fiery spirit could exist in this world!” he shouted.
The others crowded around in curiosity, wanting a taste, but that companion was reluctant to share.
“This fine wine must be for sale, surely?” he said. “Go and buy some.”
“Master, it isn’t sold. They said it’s home-brewed and not for sale – made only to honor those five brothers who died in battle.”
“Is that true? Wine this good not for sale? And once the memorial is over, it’ll be gone? How could that be possible? Who would willingly turn away from such profit?”
“What if… it wasn’t for money?” Lu Si’an suddenly murmured.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“Not for money? Then for what?” they asked.
Lu Si’an’s gaze shifted back to the street, recalling the snatches of conversation he had overheard in the surging crowd.
“…Those five were men of Maoyuan Mountain, all brave fellows, and they died in battle…”
“…Died in battle, yet received no reward or honor…”
“…What do you mean, no reward?”
“…What else? Clearly they were wronged – that’s the way of the world these days…”
“Good wine,” Lu Si’an murmured.
The people in the room laughed, and someone passed him the rest of the bowl.
“Brother Si’an, have a taste. Once you leave the capital, I fear wine this fine will be hard to come by,” they said.
Lu Si’an reached out to take the wine, glanced at it once, then drained it in a single gulp.
The liquor coursed down his throat like a flood of fire, setting his organs ablaze as though they might explode.
With a sharp motion, Lu Si’an hurled the empty bowl to the ground and burst into loud laughter.
The men in the room were startled, staring at Lu Si’an – his face flushed crimson, eyes glazed, hands on his hips as he laughed uproariously.
Before his laughter had even died away, Lu Si’an suddenly lunged toward the window. His movement set the room into a panic; several men rushed forward to seize him.
“Brother Si’an, don’t!”
“Brother Si’an, wait!”
They clutched him tightly, convinced that Lu Si’an, consumed by pent-up anger and grief, had found false courage in the wine and now meant to end his life.
Lu Si’an, held fast by the others, seemed not to notice at all. Laughing wildly, he lifted his hand and pointed out the window.
“You must hear it! You must hear it! Then let you hear it – hear the whole city speak of Maoyuan Mountain!”
With his hoarse, lung-rending shout, a thunderous boom suddenly split the air, louder than all their voices. Startled, everyone turned to look – only to see, in the eastern sky, a single firework bursting open.
In broad daylight, with no night sky for contrast, there were no dazzling colors – only a blaze of pure white.
As they watched, fireworks burst one after another, white blossoms scattering across the bright blue sky, drifting down like countless flakes of snow.
Never before had they seen fireworks in daytime appear so magnificent.
The sight left everyone stunned, their minds blank, while a prickling numbness swept across their scalps and tingled through their whole bodies in an instant.
