THE GATES OF QINGHE
959 Words
The morning mist clung to the mountains as Prince Zhao Yun's procession departed from the village.
The villagers gathered along the narrow road to see them off. Though many still wore patched clothing and their homes remained scarred by fire, hope had returned to their eyes.
The little girl whose father had been saved by Mei Lian stepped forward, holding a small pouch woven from reeds.
"Young Master," she said shyly, "Mother made this for you."
Zhao Yun accepted the gift with both hands.
"Please thank your mother for me."
The little girl smiled brightly.
"You'll come back one day, won't you?"
Zhao Yun looked at the ruined village before answering.
"When this land is peaceful again."
As the procession resumed its journey, Mei Lian watched the prince from the side of the road.
"You speak as though Qinghe is already your responsibility."
Zhao Yun smiled.
"If a ruler ignores suffering until he reaches his official residence, then he has already failed the people."
Mei Lian lowered her eyes.
She had treated countless officials during her travels, but none had ever spoken those words.
---
The mountain road gradually widened into a well-traveled highway.
Merchants carrying silk and tea passed in long caravans, while farmers guided ox carts laden with grain toward the city.
Yet something troubled Zhao Yun.
Every traveler seemed anxious.
No one laughed.
No one lingered.
Everyone hurried onward as though afraid of being caught on the road after sunset.
Finally, Zhao Yun stopped an elderly merchant.
"Sir, why does everyone seem so frightened?"
The old man glanced around before answering.
"Young Master... have you never heard of the Black Riders?"
Captain Lu Feng frowned.
"Who are they?"
The merchant lowered his voice.
"They wear no official uniform, yet they collect silver in the Governor's name."
"If anyone refuses..."
He stopped speaking.
"What happens?" Zhao Yun asked.
The merchant swallowed hard.
"They disappear."
Without another word, the old man urged his horse forward and quickly left.
---
By noon, the towering walls of Qinghe City appeared on the horizon.
Built from gray stone, the city stood proudly beside a broad river, its watchtowers flying the banner of the Great Tian Empire.
At first glance, it seemed prosperous.
Busy markets lined the streets outside the walls.
Fishing boats drifted peacefully along the river.
Children chased one another near the docks.
But as Zhao Yun drew closer, he noticed something unusual.
The city gates were closed.
A long line of merchants, travelers, and farmers waited outside under the scorching sun.
Imperial soldiers stood guard above the walls.
One by one, each traveler was questioned before being allowed inside.
Captain Lu Feng rode ahead.
"Open the gates."
"The Fourth Prince of the Great Tian Empire has arrived."
The soldiers looked at one another in surprise.
Moments later, the gates creaked open.
Governor Chen Rong hurried out with dozens of officials following behind him.
He was a tall man in his late fifties, dressed in elegant robes embroidered with silver cranes.
The governor dropped to one knee.
"This humble servant greets His Highness."
The officials followed.
"Greetings, Fourth Prince."
Zhao Yun stepped down from his horse.
"There is no need for such formality."
Governor Chen smiled warmly.
"Your Highness honors Qinghe with your presence. A welcoming banquet has already been prepared."
As they entered the city, Zhao Yun quietly observed the streets.
The buildings were impressive.
The markets were full.
Yet something felt unnatural.
Whenever Governor Chen approached, the people immediately lowered their heads.
No one smiled.
No one cheered.
Even the children stopped playing.
It was not respect.
It was fear.
---
That evening, the governor hosted a magnificent banquet.
Musicians played elegant melodies while servants served roasted duck, steamed fish, fragrant rice, and the finest wine from the imperial cellars.
Governor Chen raised his cup.
"To the health of His Highness."
The officials echoed the toast.
Zhao Yun merely smiled politely.
Instead of eating, he asked, "Governor Chen, how many households live in Qinghe?"
The governor blinked.
"Approximately eighty thousand."
"And how many requested tax relief after last year's floods?"
The hall fell silent.
Governor Chen hesitated for only a heartbeat.
"The floods caused little damage."
"Did they?"
Zhao Yun reached into his sleeve and produced a small notebook.
"On our journey here, I visited seven villages."
"In every village, I heard the same story."
"Heavy taxes."
"Burned homes."
"Missing relatives."
The governor forced a laugh.
"Your Highness must have encountered criminals spreading false rumors."
Several officials quickly nodded in agreement.
Zhao Yun did not argue.
Instead, he calmly lifted his teacup.
"I hope you are right."
Governor Chen smiled, but beneath the table, his fingers tightened around the armrest.
---
Late that night, after the banquet ended, Zhao Yun was unable to sleep.
The governor's answers had raised more questions than they had resolved.
Leaving Captain Lu Feng behind, he quietly changed into ordinary clothes and slipped out of the governor's residence.
The streets were almost deserted.
Only a few lanterns illuminated the narrow alleys.
As he walked past a closed grain storehouse, he heard muffled sobbing.
Turning the corner, he found an elderly woman kneeling before the locked doors.
"My son has not eaten for two days," she whispered through tears.
"The governor's men took everything..."
Before Zhao Yun could speak, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the alley.
Three armed men carrying wooden clubs emerged from the darkness.
Their leader sneered.
"So..."
"We've found another fool trying to help beggars."
He pointed his club toward Zhao Yun.
"Hand over your money."
"Or your life."
Hidden behind the clouds, the moon slowly emerged.
Its pale light fell across Zhao Yun's calm face.
Without saying a word, he slowly reached for the hilt of his sword.
- Writer
