Chapter Twenty-Four: A Token of Kindness from the Tang Dynasty

Chapter Twenty-four: A Good Person Card from the Tang Dynasty

Heaven knows, Zhang Qian had absolutely no intention of holding anything back. He could swear it upon the tombstone of Li Yuan, the founding emperor of the Great Tang. Although, such vows rarely linger in the mind of their maker for long.

In fact, even if Ren Qiong had shown him less courtesy today, even if the price had been far lower, so long as his actions were not excessively outrageous, Zhang Qian would not have considered exploiting the antagonistic effect between cephalosporin and alcohol to deliberately send him to the next world.

The remaining doses of Paracetamol and fourth-generation cephalosporin were only enough for a single person, yet their value, in Zhang Qian’s eyes, was nowhere near as high as Ren Qiong and Sun Anzu believed.

To Ren Qiong and Sun Anzu, these were miraculous medicines capable of bringing the dead back to life. But to Zhang Qian, who hailed from the twenty-first century and had grown up taking cephalosporin and paracetamol, these were commonplace items, nothing extraordinary. They were certainly not worth risking his life to possess, and even less worth committing murder over.

When Ren Qiong warned him of the trouble these medicines might bring, his first thought was to offload them as quickly as possible. The price he set was only to relieve his current penniless predicament, with no hope for anything grand.

Yet the price Ren Qiong offered was a staggering one hundred thousand strings of coins! Even if the consignment failed, the advance alone was ten thousand strings.

This was not the world of martial arts novels, where heroes spend fifty taels of silver on a meal. From Zhang Qian’s days of observation in the third year of Shenlong in the Great Tang, even near Chang’an, two strings of coins—about two taels of silver—were enough to buy an acre of fine land.

A hundred thousand strings would buy fifty thousand acres.

Imagine someone from the twenty-first century, unable to afford even a restroom in Xi’an’s Baqiao District, suddenly discovering he had inherited fifty thousand acres near the western ring road of Xi’an! If he didn’t go mad with joy on the spot, it meant his self-control was extraordinary.

Two tablets of paracetamol and a strip of fourth-generation cephalosporin, bought in the twenty-first century, cost about ten yuan. Their market worth equaled two pounds of aged millet.

From Zhang Qian’s recent inquiries, the price of food outside Chang’an was one dou of millet for six and a half coins. Each coin could buy two pounds of millet.

The cost was one coin; the final selling price was ten million coins! This was a deal he could not refuse.

If he could locate the time tunnel that had brought him here, Zhang Qian would cross it every day, each time hauling a truckload of cephalosporin and paracetamol!

Alas, that tunnel was invisible to him, and he doubted he would ever find it again in his lifetime.

So, faced with “lucky star” Ren Qiong, who had suddenly bestowed upon him fifty thousand acres of prime land on the western edge of Xi’an, Zhang Qian was only grateful, not about to let him tempt fate by drinking with cephalosporin. His earlier failure to warn him was simply due to overwhelming joy.

No sooner had he recovered his wits in the guest room than he remembered the dangers of cephalosporin and hurriedly sent the chubby boy back to the main hall to warn Ren Qiong’s father, fearful that the warning would be too late and Ren Qiong might suddenly take a drink.

That his warning terrified Ren Qiong and made others see him as mysterious was merely a side effect, never part of Zhang Qian’s intentions.

All he wanted now was for the chubby Ren Chong to escort him to Weinan as soon as possible, so he could settle his residency in the Tang, then move to his own estate and live as a cheerful little landlord.

An estate by the banks of the Wei River!

One hundred thousand strings of coins, all in weighty Kaiyuan Tongbao coins!

Just thinking of it made him giddy with delight.

As for Chang’an, who was emperor now, who was fighting whom, why the crown prince’s mother drove him to suicide—what relevance did such affairs have for a little landlord?

Whoever was emperor, he’d still pay taxes the same.

Whoever triumphed in court struggles, would Zhang Qian’s name ever appear on the list for promotion and titles?

Besides, history had taught him that all victors were destined to become rubbish! The one who laughed last was named Li Longji.

After Li Longji ascended the throne, until the An-Shi Rebellion, there was a long span of peace and prosperity. By the time that ended, Zhang Qian would likely be seventy. To live happily and comfortably to seventy—what need to concern himself with others?

When a man is happy, he scarcely notices the passage of time. After scribbling a few lines on hemp paper with a brush, he teased the little maid Ziju about the customs of Weinan for a while, and the sky darkened.

Though his phone held dozens of gigabytes of literature, gossip, and even otaku entertainment, Zhang Qian refrained from using it in the lamplight, both to avoid exposure and to conserve battery and charger life. He ate a simple supper, brushed his teeth with salt powder under Ziju’s care, washed his feet in warm water, then lay down.

With no industrial pollution, the moonlight of the Tang dynasty was far brighter than in the twenty-first century. It poured through the window paper, illuminating his bed curtains.

The finely crafted, unbleached curtains were soon shrouded in milky haze under the moon. From his pillow, it looked like a swirl of creamy fog.

Every autumn morning near Chang’an University, the same colored fog would envelop the area. But in the twenty-first century, it carried the smell of car exhaust and burning straw; tonight, the air was laced only with faint fragrance.

At last, Zhang Qian found himself missing the twenty-first century. Now that he saw hope for settling in the Tang, after escaping one trouble after another, homesickness surged uncontrollably, chilling his limbs, stinging his eyes, and weighing on his heart.

Tears slipped quietly onto the pillow, though he neither knew whom he cried for nor what, if anything, from the twenty-first century remained worth longing for.

In this moment, he was like a lone wild goose that had lost its flock, unable to find companions or direction, stranded on the shore in self-pity, oblivious to whether crocodiles lurked below or hunters waited in the grass behind, arrows nocked in silent readiness.

“Sss, sss, sss…” The soft sound of sniffing suddenly rose outside the door, clear in the solitude of this homesick night.

“What’s wrong, Ziju? Who bullied you?” Zhang Qian’s thoughts were yanked from the twenty-first century back to the Tang. He sat up and called toward the outer room.

He’d been so wrapped up in his own joy during the day that he never noticed Ziju’s mood, nor guessed what troubles she might face. Hearing the sniffles, he was inevitably surprised.

“N-no, nothing. Just—just a stuffy nose. Forgive me for disturbing your rest, young master! Please, don’t be angry!” The sniffing stopped abruptly, and Ziju replied timidly.

“A stuffy nose isn’t always a trivial matter. Have you seen the physician? Do you need some medicine?” Sitting up, Zhang Qian asked quietly, unaware how odd such concern was in Tang society.

“Sss, sss, sss…” The sniffing resumed, only to be suppressed. The girl, Ziju, answered in a hoarse whisper, “It’s nothing, young master. I’m strong, I don’t need a doctor. I’ll have some ginger soup from the kitchen tomorrow morning and I’ll be fine!”

“You? Strong?” Nearly amused by her words, Zhang Qian pulled on his robe and teased, “A gust of wind would send you tumbling. I wonder how you’ll manage in winter.”

“Really, I don’t need it. I’ve worried you, young master. I’m just a little maid, and there’s no physician for me at the estate.” Ziju managed a laugh, her nasal congestion more pronounced.

“Isn’t Imperial Physician Sun here?” Zhang Qian asked without thinking, then realized this was Tang, not modern China. He rose, lifted the curtain, skirted Ziju’s bedding, and strode toward the outer door. “If he won’t see you, I’ll have Ren Quan fetch a doctor from outside, I’ll pay for it. Ren—”

Having just clinched a ten-thousand-string business deal, he was flush with cash. Ren Quan had been haunting the guest rooms like a ghost for days, so Zhang Qian wasn’t worried about finding someone to answer his call.

But just as his fingers touched the latch, a small figure hurled herself from behind, clinging tightly to his waist. “Young master, don’t call the physician. I’m really fine! I just—just remembered my father and mother…”

She couldn't finish, burying her head in Zhang Qian’s back, sobbing uncontrollably. It turned out she hadn’t been sniffling from a cold, but, like Zhang Qian, quietly shedding tears in the dark.

His heart ached deeply. He paused, gently patted her hands at his waist, and soothed her in a low voice, “Don’t cry, don’t cry. If you miss your parents, just go visit them in the morning! Are you afraid the steward won’t let you off? Don’t worry, I’ll speak for you!”

“N-no!” Ziju could no longer hold back; her sobbing became a lament. “My parents—they’ve long been gone. Young master, you’re leaving soon, aren’t you? You’re a good person. To serve you is a blessing earned from my previous life!”

“I’m a good person?” Suddenly handed a “good person card,” Zhang Qian was baffled.

What did his departure have to do with being a good person?

He’d only stayed at Ren’s estate a few days; how was serving him a blessing for anyone?

“Wu wu, wu wu…” Behind him, Ziju cried harder, her tears soaking through his clothes, warm and faintly painful.

“Reluctant to see me go, eh?” He remembered she was only thirteen or fourteen, so it was normal for a child to cling to adults. Zhang Qian smiled and reassured her, “Then I’ll tell Ren Chong I’ll stay a few more days at the estate. There, don’t cry! The night is cold; if you keep crying, you really will catch a cold!”

“Mm!” Ziju nodded, but her tears kept flowing. “Young master, you’re a good person! The young master arranged for me to serve you, and you—you never bullied me.”

“Bullying you? I’m far too old to bully a child!” Amused by her naive words, Zhang Qian patted her hands at his waist again, gently comforting her, “Alright, stop crying. Light the lamp and wipe your tears, or tomorrow your eyes will be swollen and people will truly think I bullied you!”

But rather than calming her, his words made Ziju cry even harder, clutching his waist like a drowning person grasping a piece of driftwood.

“What’s wrong, are you in trouble? Ziju, tell me if something’s bothering you—maybe I can help!” Zhang Qian, feeling her grip tighten, struggled slightly and asked again in a low voice.

He dared not use much force, fearing he might throw her off and injure her. Sensing his movement, Ziju pressed her whole body against his back, thin and trembling.

“Young master, please take me with you!” She spoke urgently, her voice hoarse and desperate in the darkness. “My fate is bitter. Being sent to serve you was a blessing, but if you don’t take me, I’ll have to serve someone else in the future!”