When Hong Chengchou stepped onto the train, he could not help but sigh inwardly.
Back then, trains existed only within that tiny patch of land in Gao Family Village. A single mu and a third of miracle. And now the iron tracks had stretched all the way to Yan'an Prefecture.
Give it enough time, he thought, and it might truly spread across the whole realm.
Only after sitting down did his emotions settle slightly.
Then he asked the conductor about the route and discovered something unexpected.
The train would first head to Xi'an, and from there he would transfer toward Shanxi.
That was practically a horseshoe detour.
"There is no direct train from Yan'an to Taiyuan?" he asked the passenger beside him.
The man laughed. "They're building it. The direct Yan'an to Taiyuan line is under construction. Just started not long ago. No idea when it'll be done. For now, you'll have to endure the transfers. Go to Xi'an first. Then to Xi'an East Station. Transfer to the train bound for Luoyang Xiaolangdi. Get off halfway at a station called Longmen Ancient Ferry. Transfer again there. Only then can you catch the train to Taiyuan."
Complicated.
But Hong Chengchou was a scholar. A map of the Ming realm lived inside his mind. After a moment's thought, he understood.
The railways relied on major cities, forming a modest network.
All he needed to do was switch trains at the intersections.
No direct line, yes. But still countless times faster than a horse carriage.
After arriving in Xi'an, he did not enter the city. The train skirted around it and stopped at Xi'an East Station. There he boarded another train heading toward Luoyang.
Just as it was about to depart, a figure flashed past the carriage door.
A fair skinned, beardless, middle aged fat man stepped aboard. After presenting his ticket, he walked down the aisle and sat not far from Hong.
Hong felt the man looked familiar, as though he had seen him somewhere before. Yet he could not immediately recall where.
Before he could figure it out, the man recognized him first.
"Eh? Isn't this Lord Hong?"
"You recognize me? I seem to recognize you as well, yet I cannot place you."
"San Shier! Third Steward! Do you remember? The Tianzun Hotpot Festival!"
The moment "Hotpot Festival" was mentioned, Hong Chengchou's long buried memories sprang back to life and launched a direct assault.
That spicy, numbing hotpot. Thick with beef tallow. So fragrant it clung to one's robes for days, utterly destroying official dignity.
The greatest enemy of his life.
"You are the steward from the Li family who invited me to dine. Surname San."
Hong's memory was formidable. Give him a single clue and even events from years ago resurfaced clearly.
San Shier grinned. "Lord Hong truly has a remarkable memory. To remember such a small figure as me."
"You are no small figure," Hong replied calmly. "Chengcheng County. Gao Family Village. I have heard those names many times since."
When he served as Governor of Yansui suppressing bandits, the families of rebel troops he was unable to handle had been handed over to Chengcheng County for resettlement.
"A tiny county like Chengcheng could never have managed so many displaced bandits on its own. It must have been your Li family who pacified them."
Hong continued, "Later I heard that Huanglong Mountain was filled with resettlement camps. The former bandits were arranged to reclaim wasteland and labor. Your Li family has rendered great merit for Shaanxi's peace."
San Shier merely smiled, tacitly accepting the praise.
"Along this journey," Hong added, "Yan'an and Xi'an are prosperous beyond imagination. That was your doing as well?"
"I only handled some trivial matters," San Shier replied modestly. "The real credit belongs to Dao Xuan Tianzun's grace, and to the common people striving upward themselves."
Hong let out a quiet sigh.
"Back then, you once asked me how to govern bandits. I pondered long and hard and concluded there was only one word. Kill."
He paused.
"But now, seeing Shaanxi like this, I have a different proposal. If the entire realm were as prosperous as Shaanxi, there would be no need to kill at all. Everyone could simply be fed."
San Shier smiled. "Lord Hong speaks wisely. These days, when we deal with bandits, we do not kill them. We capture them and put them to work. Railway construction never complains about too many laborers. Only too few."
By now, the train had begun moving, the wheels clattering rhythmically.
Ka-chi. Ka-chi.
On San Shier's chest, the embroidered image of Dao Xuan Tianzun suddenly opened its eyes.
Using the train's noise as cover, a low voice spoke.
"This time, Hong Chengchou is heading to the capital to assume the post of Minister of War."
San Shier lowered his voice instantly. "Ah. Tianzun has arrived. What instructions do you have?"
In the modern world above, Li Dao Xuan pondered.
Historically, Hong Chengchou entered the capital to deal with the Jurchens. Later came the Song Jin Campaign. He was captured, coerced, tempted, cornered. With no way out, he surrendered and became a traitor.
But after the Jurchens were heavily battered at Pi Island, would the Song Jin Campaign even occur?
Hard to say.
Most likely, Hong would not follow the same path this time.
Even so, better safe than sorry.
Many science fiction stories spoke of historical convergence. If one forcibly altered history, history itself might exert a powerful pull to guide events back to their original course.
Even if the Qing entry into the Pass never happened.
Even if the Song Jin Campaign vanished.
Some trivial butterfly wing, some minor accident, might still nudge Hong Chengchou toward his recorded fate.
That possibility could not be ignored.
One could not simply watch a capable man turn into a traitor.
There were two solutions.
First, kill him on the spot.
Second, prevent him from entering the capital.
Li Dao Xuan was not a bloodthirsty man. The first option was rejected immediately.
That left only the second.
"San Shier," he whispered, "stop Hong Chengchou from entering the capital. Use any feasible method. Keep him within the liberated region. He must not be allowed to go to Beijing."
San Shier blinked. "Ah?"
After a brief pause, he asked, "Tianzun, why not simply reach down and grab him? Would that not solve everything?"
"That is the final option."
San Shier understood at once.
Dao Xuan Tianzun always treated mortals with care. Unless someone was truly wicked, he would not casually frighten them with divine means.
And at present, Hong Chengchou had shown no signs of treachery.
So divine intervention was off the table.
They would have to use mortal methods.
San Shier turned back toward Hong Chengchou, a peculiar smile forming on his face.
"Lord Hong, this trip to the capital. You are being promoted to Minister?"
Hong nodded. "I am about to assume the post of Minister of War."
"Congratulations," San Shier said warmly. "But that seat is not an easy one to occupy."
Hong naturally understood.
He leaned back and gazed at the scenery rushing past outside the window.
"To serve the sovereign is to lie beside a tiger," he said quietly. "Especially in this dynasty. Grand Secretaries are replaced as swiftly as lanterns spinning in a festival."
He let out a long breath.
"This journey to the capital. I truly do not know whether it will bring fortune or disaster."