Chapter 15
Shen Yi reached out his hand to hold onto the window frame, feeling completely dazed. He felt a little unsteady on his feet and wanted to close his eyes, hoping this was just a nightmare that was too terrifying.
He hadn't slept well for half a month and was overly worried, so he had such a terrifying dream.
He thought blankly, closed his eyes and opened them again, trying to struggle to wake up from the nightmare and continue the long and agonizing wait as before.
Wishing and hoping for the day when his grandfather returns to Chang'an, perhaps it won't be long before the snow in Chang'an has melted and the battle in Longxi has finally ended.
Maybe he would have to wait until the beginning of next spring, when his grandfather would win a brilliant victory, ride into Chang'an on horseback, and then enter the court to receive the emperor's reward.
But he hasn't woken up yet.
Shen Yi could still hear the voices of his servants, they were calling him and wanted to tell him about the great victory in Longxi.
Longxi won a great victory and Yumen Pass was also recaptured.
This was good news. His grandfather, the old general who wielded the silver spear, was still as splendid as ever. He had defended Longxi, the land he cherished, and had returned to it.
What Chen Qian mentioned would not happen again, so he could continue to treat that sneer and inconsiderate words as nonsense, and continue to despise his so-called way of being an official.
Chang'an City was bustling with activity today. It seemed the heavy snow had almost melted away. Even within the Marquis's residence, he could hear the bustling crowds outside.
The news of the great victory in Longxi finally spread throughout Chang'an City.
The people in Chang'an would also mention his grandfather again, either in teahouses or in taverns, telling his anecdotes, his blood-stained silver spear, and the red tassel he would change every time he went to war.
The white pigeon that delivered the message went back into the pigeon cage of the Marquis' Mansion, trying to squeeze in to compete for food with its companions whom it had not seen for a long time, and it kept pecking at its dusty tail feathers.
The piece of silk cloth was held in Shen Yi's hand. He fell back to the table and looked away from the window. The heater in the room was still burning, but he felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar.
Why can't I wake up?
His grandfather was about to return from Longxi. He had already taken the head of the Hu people, had seen the wind and sand of Longxi, had waited for the new grain sent by Xue Congzhi, and had won a victory in the battle. It was time for him to return.
Shen Yi let out a bitter laugh, laughing at himself for sleeping so soundly. He clearly had to wake up in the morning and continue to push open the doors and windows, waiting for news from Longxi, which he didn't know when it would arrive.
The old man had promised him many things, and he had also promised A-niang many things. When he returned from Longxi, he would bring him a young eagle, teach him spearmanship personally, and wait for him to be crowned so that he could personally choose a name for his grandson. When he returned from Longxi, he would return A-niang hundreds, thousands of pieces of red cloth, because the red tassel on his silver spear was cut by A-niang and given to her.
How could his grandfather not come back?
Shen Yi opened his eyes again, looked down at the small piece of silk cloth in his hand, then slowly unfolded it and looked at the only eight words on it.
He began to understand that these were not dreams.
The news from Longxi had spread throughout Chang'an. His grandfather had won a victory, a victory worthy of the court, worthy of the royal family, worthy of the people of Longxi, and worthy of himself.
Chen Yi felt that someone had probably misinformed him, intent on causing chaos in the mansion. He covered his face with his hands, sighing at his own absurd thoughts and speculations.
Aside from officials who had already arranged this, no one dared to stop the white pigeons raised in the mansion. Their normal use in delivering messages was also kept a secret. Only Wei Qianyu and I knew about it.
The ink on the silk cloth had dried, and every stroke was Xue Congzhi's handwriting, exactly the same as the handwriting in the letter Shen Yi had received before and the handwriting he had first seen in Xue's mansion.
Even the bamboo tube used to stuff the letter was engraved with patterns to prevent forgery.
If he admits his own absurdity, he must admit the absurdity of the world.
He could clearly recognize the eight characters written on the silk cloth: General Huo, his maternal grandfather, died in Yumen.
He would rather have been dreaming from which he could not wake up, would rather not have heard the news of the great victory in Longxi, would rather not have asked Xue Congzhi to send letters to the Marquis' Mansion from time to time.
That day, the banquet was in full swing, the guests and hosts were delighted, the silver spears were on the horses, the red tassels reappeared. That day, my grandfather just said he wanted to go back to Longxi to see old friends, just to return to the place he had longed to visit for decades, just like twenty years ago, with his weapons and armor, and to build his career.
Why can’t you come back? Why don’t you go home?
Every household in Chang'an City now talks about the achievements of the General of Cavalry again, but the old general who they said defeated the Hu people will never come back.
Isn’t Longxi raising eagles that were trained by my grandfather before? Isn’t the wind and sand of Longxi the most likely to recognize my grandfather who treated them as nothing? Isn’t the soldier of Longxi supposed to know how to write the word “Huo” on the general’s flag?
Yumen had been captured, the Hu people had retreated, and even the snow in Chang'an City was almost melted. Why was it that only his grandfather remained at Yumen Pass?
Chen Yi clutched the piece of silk cloth tightly, tears falling from the corners of his eyes soaking his sleeves. Now his grandfather, his sister's grandfather, his mother's father, will never wake up again.
He seemed to have lost all his strength and could only let the silk cloth float on the stove, where it was lifted up by the charcoal fire. The flames quickly burned the plain silk cloth, but it burned without any sound.
The white cloth curled up, scorched by the red-hot charcoal fire. Thick black smoke billowed out, threatening to drift into the courtyard with the cold wind from the window.
Shen Yicai glanced at the silk cloth, and for some reason he stretched out his hand, wanting to grasp the still burning piece of silk cloth. The ink on it had been wiped away by the fire, and he could no longer see the words on it.
He didn't even notice the flames kissing his fingertips. He just held the small piece of silk cloth tightly and wanted to pick it up, but it was too heavy to lift at all.
The silk cloth and flesh were burned by the charcoal fire, and only the stinging pain reminded him and woke him up.
He just waited like this, watching with his eyes wide open, letting his fingertips touch the scorching fire, and holding the silk cloth tightly.
As he watched it burn completely to ash, the burning sensation on his fingertips quickly faded. His skin was also charred, with blisters of varying sizes forming. He just sat there on the stove, trying in vain to get the ash to fall through his fingers.
Now there was nothing left, only the stove was still burning. The servants were waiting outside the house, and no one dared to enter.
Shen Yi raised his hand in front of him, the residual pain still reminding him of the burning sensation just now.
The silk cloth was burned clean, and he suffered the pain, but he could never wake up from this dream again.
Why is it his maternal grandfather? His maternal grandfather will never wake up in Yumen.
At the same time, Chen Yi was very clear that he and his grandfather were not in the same dream now, and would not be in the same dream in the future.
In my grandfather's dreams, there would still be the eagle he had personally trained, the old friends who drank and talked with him, the never-ending sandstorms in Longxi, the silver spear he held in his hand, and the commander's flag that never fell. Even if there were piles of bones under his feet, even if the weeds were knee-high, even if the old man could never return to Chang'an.
As for him, he would be lost in such a dream, without even the strength to curl his fingers. Sitting by the stove would feel like lying in the snow. He would let the cold erode him, let the pain erode him, and he would only remember, over and over again, the pain of today, and the pain of tomorrow.
The tears on his face were dried by the cold wind that came in. Shen Yi stood up shakily, using his burned hands to support himself on the table.
Even though he was dizzy and weak all over, he had to stand up and walk out.
His maternal grandfather returned to Longxi and stayed there forever.
But General Huo will come back, return to Chang'an City, and be carried back in a coffin.
What's more, he still has his elder sister in the palace and his mother in the mansion. Shen Yi had no choice but to stand up, push open the door and look at the servants who were instantly silent, watching them scatter in the mansion like birds and beasts.
He naturally couldn't see what he looked like now, nor did he have the time to care about what he looked like. He just walked forward, walked into the courtyard, approached the door of the study, and knocked on the half-open door.
Until Shen Qian opened the door, the two stood facing each other. Shen Yi felt that he had looked at Shen Qian, but it seemed that he did not see him at all. There was nothing in front of him, even the pain had left him, leaving only some coldness, and only some things that supported him to walk through.
He pursed his lips, wanting to make a sound, to confirm once more that he was not dreaming, that what he had seen and heard today was not false, to confirm once more that the eight words written on the silk cloth were true, and there was no room for maneuver.
The snow water on the eaves dripped down from top to bottom, dripping onto his shoulders and onto his head. Shen Yi felt that he had asked the question. He asked Shen Qian if there was any important matter in the court today, and asked Shen Qian whether his grandfather could come back.
Chen Qian understood perfectly. His eldest son simply stood before him in silence, his heartbroken expression giving him a rare feeling of comfort. He wanted to reach out and touch his face, as if he were the child who had followed him yesterday, carefree and carefree.
Shen Yi didn't see any movement from Shen Qian. Shen Qian didn't reach out his hand, but only sighed in response. How could he not know those unspoken words, those unspoken questions, and the tears that had been blown away.
Chen Qian could only bring one sentence to Chen Yi, a sentence that was not even comforting, "Tomorrow someone will come to issue an imperial decree. The old general's coffin will be returned to Chang'an in two days and buried in the mausoleum outside the city, the mausoleum that His Majesty personally granted."
He could barely hear what Shen Qian said, nor did he know what he had said. The north wind brushed against his bloodied fingertips, and the burning pain seemed to still be tormenting his flesh. The snow in Chang'an was about to melt.
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