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It was a clear day in late autumn. This was a capital city a hundred years in the making—Chang'an. The great capital of the Han dynasty.
Originally, it had been nothing more than a secondary palace, the Xingle Palace of the Qin dynasty. Later, Liu Bang had it heavily renovated and renamed it Changle Palace, moving the capital here from Yueyang. Xiao He constructed the Great Granary and the Arsenal. Emperor Hui of Han built the city walls of Chang'an.
Emperor Wu of Han erected the North Palace, the Cassia Palace, the Palace of Bright Light, and the Jianzhang Palace, and excavated the Kunming Pond and the Shanglin Park. It was here that Han Xin received the seal and ribbons of the King of Qi, and it was here, without ever seeing the blades of heaven and earth, that he met his end. It was here that Wei Qing, once a mere stable hand feeding horses, rose to become a General enfeoffed as Marquis, reaching the pinnacle of his life.
Chang'an...
Chang'an—meaning "Perpetual Peace."
Yet Chang'an could not, like its very name, preserve its fortune in perpetuity. It was subsequently consumed by the flames of war during the time of Wang Mang. Many palaces were destroyed in that era, and of those now reconstructed, only the Changle and Weiyang Palaces were relatively complete. The Cassia Palace and the Palace of Bright Light still lay in ruins.
Fei Qian stood beneath the walls of Chang'an, tilting his head back to gaze upward. Upon the city walls, there still remained scorched and blackened scars left by the fierce flames. Though one could still see chipped and broken grey bricks that had yet to be repaired, they did nothing to diminish the towering, majestic, and imposing aura of the city. A gentle breeze drifted past, brushing over the treetops of the woods beyond the walls, brushing over the battle robe upon Fei Qian's body, and brushing over the many-colored banners atop the ramparts. The rustling, sighing sound was like that of a centenarian elder, murmuring low in his aged voice. It seemed to be telling Fei Qian:
Here, there once was a dynasty, filled with youthful ambition and heroic resolve, that defined itself precisely thus: the highest, the greatest, the most magnificent, the most spectacular. And this unprecedented pioneering spirit became the central theme of the Han people of Huaxia.
Here, there once were people of every kind—from the Western Regions, from Da Qin, from Jiaozhi, from the Hundred Yue, from the Eastern Barbarians—who, just like Fei Qian at this very moment, stood dumbstruck before these city walls, gazing upward.
Here, there once was an enormous marketplace, a convergence point for all the wealth under heaven, with an endless stream of carriages and horses, a bustling scene of ceaseless traffic. In this vast marketplace gathered merchants from the four seas, manipulating thousands upon thousands in money and goods with a single word or smile.
Here, there once was a script called "Han characters." Here, there once was a language called "Han speech." Here, there once was a people called the "Han people."
This was a city spanning several square kilometers. Once upon a time, it was covered entirely in palatial halls and gilded pavilions, resplendent in gold and jade. Once upon a time, a young empire drove its roots deep into this yellow earth, and then, with this city as its center, ceaselessly expanded outward, unleashing the boundless power contained within its vigorous, burgeoning body.
When Liu Bang established the capital at Chang'an, it was, to a very great extent, because he fundamentally did not trust the people east of the mountains. The Guanzhong region was geographically superior—"girdled by mountains and rivers, secured by four fortresses; should sudden urgency arise, a host of a million could be mustered." At the same time, it was a "land blessed with exquisite fertility," a place from which one could advance to attack and retreat to defend, "guarded on three sides by shadowed heights, using but a single front to the east to hold the feudal lords in check." Yet Liu Xiu, relying on the gentry clans east of the mountains to raise his army, though he ultimately reclaimed the lands of the Han house, was forced to establish his capital at Luoyang instead. From that point on, Chang'an gradually fell into decay.
Though it underwent several rounds of restoration, it never again recaptured the heroic spirit of its prime. It was now like an old man in his dotage, in whose frame one could still discern the robust skeleton of his youth, yet also see the now somewhat hunched and crooked ridge of his spine.
Chang'an was not a perfectly square city. Because its walls were built after the completion of Changle Palace and Weiyang Palace, and in order to accommodate the positions of the two palaces and the course of the Wei River north of the city, the walls were constructed in an irregular rectangle, missing the northwest corner. The southern section of the west wall and the western section of the south wall bent outward. In olden days, it was said that the south of Chang'an resembled the Southern Dipper constellation and the north the Northern Dipper, hence it was also known as the "Dipper City."
Weiyang Palace was where the Emperor held court and resided. Its towering structures could be seen not long after entering the city. The newly restored Weiyang Palace, with its platforms, towers, pavilions, and galleries clustered together in dense array, was an awe-inspiring sight. The eaves of the grand palace halls swept upward, flaunting their power and majesty in the sunlight.
Fei Qian left the bulk of his troops outside the city and entered with only fifty guards. The roads were very broad. The central Vermilion Bird Avenue could even accommodate ten chariots advancing abreast. Although the yellow sand spread across the very center was forbidden to be trod upon, even walking along the sides felt very spacious. Along both sides of the road, atop some of the older houses, inscribed tiles still remained on the roofs. The characters written most frequently were "Wealth," "Peace," "So-and-so Clan's Prosperity," "May You Prosper in Peace," and the like. These words expressed, with such openness and righteous confidence, the pursuit of wealth, rank, and peace.
The greatest benefit of Dong Zhuo's death, it seemed, was that all the coin and grain stored within Mei Fort had finally been brought out, greatly alleviating the tense atmosphere in the marketplace. Fei Qian smiled silently to himself. What was the point of it all? To struggle with one's life on the line to hide wealth and provisions away in a hole like a groundhog, only to have someone else come and cart the whole pot away?
It was said that Huangfu Song had personally struck off the head of Dong Zhuo's mother, already over eighty years of age, and had then also killed Dong Zhuo's granddaughter, Dong Bai, who was not yet fourteen. It was as if he wished to demonstrate that his earlier groveling and trembling bootlicking at Dong Zhuo's feet had been nothing but a temporary expedient, and that between him and the traitor Dong there was, in fact, an irreconcilable blood feud. Haha...
Wang Yun was now at the pinnacle of ambition and self-satisfaction, wielding the Imperial Warrant, "Recording the Affairs of the Masters of Writing, presiding over all court governance." No longer did he bear any resemblance to the amiable man who, before Dong Zhuo's execution, had discussed affairs together with everyone. Now, he made arbitrary decisions, issuing three policies practically without consulting anyone. First, he publicly and wantonly proclaimed Dong Zhuo's crimes, declaring that all generals who had followed Dong Zhuo would be executed without exception. At the same time, he completely ignored the letters of repentance from the disheartened Li Jue, Guo Si, Fan Chou, and Zhang Ji, considering them guilty of heinous crimes with absolutely no grounds for pardon, insisting they must face the people's righteous judgment, just like Niu Fu.
Second, he concentrated all power in his own hands. Wang Yun ordered the opening of Tong Pass, inviting the feudal lords east of the mountains to enter the capital to jointly deliberate on state affairs. When some raised objections, Wang Yun retorted that those from east of the mountains were fellow travelers on the same path and that no precautions whatsoever should be taken against them.
Third, he seized a vast amount of the property left behind by Dong Zhuo. Lü Bu had originally proposed using these assets to reward the dukes, ministers, generals, and officers. But Wang Yun refused, citing the emptiness of the state treasury and that all of Dong Zhuo's wealth had originally been plundered from the flesh and blood of the common people and thus should not be privately accepted or distributed. Instead, he handed it all over to the imperial court.
Fei Qian shook his head. He did not wish to involve himself in these affairs, nor could he manage them even if he tried. Wang Yun, a man of Bingzhou, had chosen to stand in the position of the gentry east of the mountains and speak on their behalf, utterly failing to consider the rights and interests of the people from Yong, Liang, and Bing provinces. This very stance had, from the very beginning, sealed his tragic fate. Right now, all Fei Qian wanted was to take his teacher, Cai Yong, and leave before Li Jue and Guo Si led their troops to besiege the palace.
Of course, this time, Fei Qian had also come bearing so-called auspicious omens, using them to smooth over Wang Yun's pride and, at the same time, ensure that Wang Yun would not regard him as an enemy.