Chapter Fifteen: Chang'an in a Dream

Pei Min and Zhang Xu left Jie County together, heading south from Fengling Ferry, passing through Tongguan to enter Guanzhong, and followed the official road eastward. Along the way, travelers filled the fields, the clamor and shouts never ceasing. People from all directions journeyed to and from Chang’an; as far as the eye could see, the crowds stretched endlessly.

On this journey south, Pei Min often took side paths to practice his riding, but when no byways were available, he also traversed many main roads. Now, comparing the two, the difference was simply beyond words.

With Chang’an so near, anticipation welled up in his heart.

Beside him, Zhang Xu rode a mule. At this moment, he was utterly transformed from the drunken wretch he once was. He now wore a deep purple long robe beneath, a flat-topped cap on his head, a sword at his waist, and a blue cloak over his shoulders. He looked spirited and full of vigor, a far cry from their first meeting in Jie County when he reeked of wine and his hair was as black as ink. Now, he seemed entirely reborn, a refined and graceful scholar.

The other day, when Zhang Xu had washed and changed into this attire, Pei Min nearly failed to recognize him.

Catching Pei Min’s expression, Zhang Xu smiled knowingly and said, “The first time I traveled this road to Chang’an, my feelings were exactly like yours now. I wondered how grand and prosperous Chang’an could truly be, imagining its appearance. As someone who has been there, let me give you a word of advice: don’t waste your time guessing. However much you imagine it, Chang’an will always surpass your wildest dreams.”

Pei Min was a bit skeptical. After all, he had the perspective of the twenty-first century—could Chang’an truly exceed his understanding of grandeur? Yet Zhang Xu’s words only deepened his longing for the city, and he couldn’t help but raise his riding crop.

His horse, Little Chestnut, responded to its master’s cue and quickened its pace. With just a few strides, Zhang Xu was left far behind.

Zhang Xu called out anxiously, “Pei Min, wait for me! My mule can’t keep up with your horse…”

As it turned out, Zhang Xu was right. Even though Pei Min had seen the towering Oriental Pearl Tower, the majesty of the Three Gorges Dam, and the wonder of the Jiaozhou Bay Bridge, all these marvels paled in comparison to the sight before him: the city of Chang’an.

Entering Chang’an, Pei Min felt like a frog at the bottom of a well, leaping out for the first time and realizing how vast the sky and earth truly were.

The city’s streets were laid out like a chessboard, broad and straight, arranged in a north-south and east-west grid that intersected at right angles, perfectly straight and generous in width. By this time, Chang’an’s population had already surpassed one million, and with a single glance down any street, one could spot several foreigners with blonde hair and blue eyes. Especially around the taverns, alluring foreign women in revealing attire stood outside, enthusiastically soliciting customers. Compared to the brothels of Ji City, these places were even more open, drawing the eyes of every passerby. Many men, captivated by their charms, were unable to resist drifting inside.

What impressed Pei Min most was that the engineers who designed Chang’an had considered both drainage and greenery for every street. On both sides of every street in the city ran drainage ditches, and elms and locust trees were planted all around. Though it was winter and the leaves had long since fallen, one could easily imagine how lush and shaded it must be in spring and summer.

In this era, untouched by industrial pollution, such attention to environmental greenery would put later generations to shame.

Walking the streets of Chang’an, Pei Min felt a profound awe for the greatness of the ancients. Such a magnificent capital, such a mighty nation—how could it not stand atop the world, receiving homage from all corners of the earth?

Pei Min felt a surge of hot-blooded passion. If he could, by his own efforts, make the flourishing Tang even stronger—free from the scourge of Tubo, safe from Turkic raids, spared the defeat of Talas, and even avoid the An Lushan Rebellion, allowing the Tang Dynasty to endure another hundred years—then his journey to this world would not be in vain.

Eyes wide, Pei Min gazed everywhere, unable to take it all in. Zhang Xu, leading the way, walked briskly, and before they knew it, they reached the long street in the west of the city where He Zhizhang resided.

Suddenly, Zhang Xu stopped, eyeing the scene ahead with a strange look.

Pei Min looked forward and saw that the place was bustling with visitors. Numerous young scholars, manuscripts in hand, queued up to hand their work to a steward-like figure.

After thinking for a moment, Zhang Xu unexpectedly turned and walked away.

Pei Min, puzzled, was about to ask when a small troop approached from behind. Leading them was a middle-aged official, who, upon seeing Zhang Xu, immediately dismounted and hurried over, grabbing the mule’s reins. “Zhang Xu, where do you think you’re going? You’ve come to my residence, how can I let you leave? Come, return with me to the house—we’ll drink three hundred cups together and get gloriously drunk!”

Without waiting for Zhang Xu to refuse, he pulled the reins and turned back.

Pei Min looked over the middle-aged official. He was undoubtedly He Zhizhang. Pei Min had long heard of his fame; his favorite poet, Du Fu, had written “The Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup,” describing eight famous drunkards of Chang’an. He Zhizhang was ranked first among them, and the newly acquainted Zhang Xu was also one of these immortals.

He Zhizhang was tall and lean, with handsome features, though fine wrinkles had begun to appear at the corners of his eyes. His moustache flared outward, and his chin beard hung down to his chest like a willow branch. Dressed in impeccable official robes, he looked especially spirited.

Pei Min dismounted and bowed. “Pei Min of Huairou, a humble student, greets Doctor He!” In the Tang Dynasty, it was not common to address officials as “Your Excellency.” The only proper use of “Excellency” was for one’s father; using it elsewhere was akin to calling someone your father. Typically, one addressed an official by their surname and title, or as “Lord So-and-so”—for example, Wang Xizhi was often called “Right General Wang.” Pei Min did not know He Zhizhang had been promoted to Assistant Director for Merit Evaluation and assumed he was still the Grand Musician, as Zhang Xu called him, hence addressed him as Doctor He.

He Zhizhang paused, gave him an appraising look, and nodded with a smile. “Come with me to the house.”

The crowd of students delivering poems outside the residence were stunned to see He Zhizhang himself leading Zhang Xu’s mule, quickly making way and greeting respectfully, “Lord He!”

He Zhizhang nodded in return but did not linger.

Once they entered the main hall, He Zhizhang laughed heartily. “With drinking companions here, how can we be without wine? Someone, bring wine at once! I wish to drink three hundred cups with Zhang Xu and his new young friend!”

Zhang Xu, however, interrupted, “Let’s not drink just yet—He, my friend, take a look at my calligraphy first.” With pride, he took out his masterpiece and handed it to He Zhizhang.

He Zhizhang received it with great care, opened the scroll, and stood transfixed at the bold and vigorous “Ode to the King of Qin.” His eyes were filled with undisguised astonishment. Though the work contained fewer than thirty characters, he pored over it a dozen times, finally sighing, “You write with divine inspiration, my worthy brother! I am truly convinced, and must admit my own inferiority.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “Dear brother, I have fallen in love with this scroll. Would you consider giving it to me?”

Zhang Xu laughed with satisfaction. “You’re too late, old friend! A fine work is for a kindred spirit, and I’ve already decided to give this ‘Ode to the King of Qin’ to Brother Pei. I brought it only for you to admire… ha ha ha!”