Chapter 64: Entering the City

The wailing wind and sand fluttered Guo Xin's faded cape.

The old general's calloused hand suddenly trembled, then slowly raised in a long-forgotten Chang'an salute.

A gesture unblemished by twenty-five years of Western Regions dust was recreated now among his weathered knuckles.

In an instant, the clanking of iron armor echoed beneath the city wall.

Veterans with temples frosted in white raised their right arms in unison, their movements slightly unfamiliar yet profoundly solemn.

Some had deformed knuckles that could no longer close; others, missing fingers, still strove to maintain the etiquette. The sound of iron gauntlets striking breastplates rose like a sudden downpour, and the youngest garrison soldiers were unaware that tears were already streaming down their faces.

Walking behind Jiang Ye, Wang Zhengqing stepped forward slowly and stood by Jiang Ye's side.

They were soldiers of twelve hundred years ago, while he was a modern soldier.

Gazing at the weather-beaten veterans of Anxi before him, Wang Zhengqing slowly raised his right hand and, imitating Jiang Ye's posture, performed a standard Tang dynasty salute.

His movement was somewhat stiff, yet exceptionally solemn.

On a distant sand dune, Yang Fang instinctively pulled out her mobile phone.

She aimed the lens at this encounter that spanned a millennium.

Jiang Ye and Wang Zhengqing stood side by side, paying solemn tribute to the Anxi army in tattered armor. The setting sun gilded the scene with a golden halo, and their figures formed a wondrous tableau on the phone screen.

Jiang Ye's sincere devotion, Wang Zhengqing's solemnity, and the figures of the Anxi army—their armor mottled yet their spines unyielding—composed a chord bridging a thousand years. Modern purity and archaic tenacity melted together seamlessly in the twilight.

"Click."

The faint sound of a photograph being taken was swallowed by the desert wind.

Jiang Ye cupped his hands to Guo Xin and said, "General Guo, please promptly send men to transport these supplies into the city to avoid any unforeseen troubles."

Jiang Ye couldn't help worrying in case the Tibetans or someone else launched a sudden raid.

Though the probability was very slim, even the slimmest possibility existed.

Guo Xin's gaze turned sharp as he immediately turned and shouted, "Zhang Qian, take two squads and immediately move the supplies into the city! Remember, not a single grain of rice is to be spilled."

"Understood!" Zhang Qian cupped his fists in acknowledgment and immediately summoned twenty elite veterans, dashing toward the piles of supplies.

When the troop passed that bag of open flour, every soldier was captivated by the snow-white flour.

Never before had they laid eyes on wheat flour of such purity.

This wheat flour was actually whiter than the snow of winter, dazzlingly white to their eyes.

"This—this is probably finer even than the wheat flour used for the imperial pastries bestowed during the Shangyuan Festival in Chang'an," exclaimed an experienced veteran who had seen the world. He carefully gathered the mouth of the bag, his movements as gentle as if he were handling a rare treasure.

The rest reined in their wandering minds and began transferring the supplies from the sand dune onto the supply carts one by one.

Chen Xuelin noticed several veterans about to move the iron boxes and stepped forward to remind them, "Be careful with these iron boxes; the contents inside possess immense destructive power. Handle with utmost care and place them on a separate cart alone. Otherwise, one careless move and all our lives will be forfeited."

The veterans were astonished, looking down at the small iron boxes in their hands. "This thing is capable of such formidable power?"

Chen Xuelin nodded. "Indeed. Later on, we'll have Brother Wang demonstrate it for you, and then you'll understand the terrifying power of these items."

Hearing this, the surrounding soldiers grew even more curious about the contents inside the iron boxes, and they became exceptionally cautious while moving them.

Guo Xin made a gesture of invitation toward Jiang Ye and his group, personally leading the six of them toward the city gate.

Behind them, the Anxi veterans pushed creaking wooden supply carts laden with rice, flour, oil, and grain as they slowly followed, the wheels grinding deep ruts into the sandy ground.

Passing through the heavy city gate, the scene before them left Jiang Ye and his companions breathless.

By sheer coincidence, all six of them had visited the ruins of the ancient city of Kucha in modern times and had witnessed those wind-eroded remnants of walls.

Yet at this moment, the real, living city of Kucha stood right before their eyes.

The inner sides of the rammed-earth city walls were covered in soot and burn marks, with several collapsed gaps patched up with rubble.

The bazaar that must once have been bustling was now desolate, with sparse stalls displaying some shriveled hubing flatbreads and blackened jerky. The central plaza, which ought to have been a bustling commercial hub, was now piled high with repairing armor and weaponry.

A few tattered women were sewing torn leather armor.

Beside them, several children under the age of ten were practicing spear techniques with wooden staffs, their slender figures stretched long by the setting sun.

A gust of wind blew by, kicking up dust in the streets.

Yang Fang covered her nose and mouth, yet she was still provoked to cough by the smell of scorched earth lingering in the air.

She spotted a few ragged children hiding behind a broken wall, watching out of curiosity, yet too timid to approach.

Wang Zhengqing looked down at the paving stones beneath his feet; those slabs that should have been level were now cracked and sunken, with stubborn camel thorns sprouting from the crevices.

He noticed that beside an ancient well at the street corner, the earthen jars held by the townspeople waiting in line for water were mostly chipped and incomplete.

Most heartbreaking of all was the Governor's Mansion in the center of the city. The lacquer on its lintel had long since peeled off, and its wooden pillars were riddled with insect holes, yet they stubbornly continued to support the banner of the Great Tang. The banner was faded and tattered, but the character for "Tang" remained clearly discernible.

In the distance, on the crumbling ruins of a Buddhist pagoda, exquisite flying apsaras murals could still be faintly made out, though now deserted due to the ravages of war.

Jiang Ye reached out to stroke an earthen wall, his fingertips stained with the dust of ages.

This city, which in the twenty-first century existed only in archaeological reports, was now faintly "breathing" beneath the palm of his hand.

Guo Xin keenly perceived that the moment these six individuals crossed the city gate, their expressions froze abruptly.

An inexpressible, complex emotion surfaced upon those young faces.

In a daze, it resembled the sorrow of wanderers returning home only to witness the decay of their native land.

What startled the old general most was the deep sorrow lingering in the depths of their eyes—a look utterly inappropriate for those seeing this place for the first time, resembling rather those who had long foreseen this desolation yet still felt heartbroken upon witnessing it with their own eyes.

The emotions revealed by these people caused even this battle-hardened grand general to tremble.

While the six of them were immersed in gazing upon the ancient city long vanished from history, their arrival had caused no small commotion among the townspeople.

The busy citizens stopped what they were working on, soldiers repairing weaponry raised their heads, and even the playing children opened their curious eyes to peer secretly at them.

The attire of these strange visitors was a spectacle they had never laid eyes on before.

Jiang Ye's immaculate white shirt stood out glaringly among the city's sea of dusty, coarse hemp garments, the exquisite buttons on his cuffs flashing with metallic luster as he moved.

Yang Fang's light-colored casual trousers outlined her slender silhouette, and the sequin-decorated belt at her waist prompted several women to gossip curiously.

Whether it was the luxury watch on Chen Xuelin's wrist, the metal-framed glasses worn by He Xu, or even Wang Zhengqing's short hair and Yang Fang's casually flowing locks, this entire group had become the focal point of discussion for everyone in the city.