Sichuan Governor Wang Weizhang had been living rather comfortably lately.
The bandits had been driven out of Sichuan by the tusi tribal troops. After that, they vanished into the perilous mountain border between Sichuan and Shaanxi. The Shaanxi governor, Sun Chuanting, never reported any bandits entering his jurisdiction.
It was as if those rebels had evaporated into thin air.
The heavy stone that had pressed on Wang Weizhang's heart simply dissolved.
Then came good news after good news.
Every few days, a county magistrate would submit a report. The local mountain bandits troubling his county had been wiped out by a civilian militia somewhere in such and such valley.
A few days later, another prefect would report that the troublemakers in his prefecture had been eliminated in some ravine by local militia forces.
Public security across Sichuan suddenly reached a level not seen in years.
At the same time, agriculture and commerce began rising in tandem.
Wang Weizhang, the highest administrative official of the province, was essentially coasting. He had done nothing remarkable. Yet somehow, internal affairs across Sichuan were improving at an astonishing pace.
On the Chengdu Plain, rice paddies had begun using something called chemical fertilizer. Even Wang Weizhang, who understood little about farming, could see with the naked eye that the rice stalks were growing stronger and greener. The entire plain seemed to radiate the aura of an inevitable bumper harvest.
Outside the Chengdu Plain, in the mountainous regions, the transformation was even more dramatic.
For reasons unknown to him, the common people had begun planting large quantities of foreign crops from the Western seas. Potatoes. Corn. Sweet potatoes.
It was painfully obvious that autumn would bring a harvest beyond previous comprehension.
Agriculture was surging forward. Commerce was even more outrageous.
Large merchants from Shaanxi had poured into cities across Sichuan, establishing factories everywhere. At first, the factories were relatively ordinary. Hunting farms. Chicken farms. Cement plants. Paper mills.
But before long, they began venturing into forbidden territory.
Coal mining. Iron extraction. Salt production.
These were state monopolies.
How could private individuals be allowed to meddle in such affairs?
Alarmed, Wang Weizhang ordered local officials to investigate.
They returned soon after, faces pale.
"My lord," one of them reported, "the local tusi are backing them. I brought over thirty yamen runners to inspect a coal mine. All the workers were Miao tribesmen. The moment I mentioned sealing the mine, they began summoning reinforcements. Within half an hour, the tusi himself arrived with five hundred tribal soldiers. I did not dare approach. I could only watch them continue their illegal mining."
At the mere mention of tusi, Wang Weizhang shrank internally.
In Sichuan, you could offend anyone except the tusi.
He cleared his throat and changed his stance instantly.
"If these activities occur within territories governed autonomously by the tusi, then let the tusi manage them. We shall not interfere."
And thus, he dared not intervene.
Factories of every conceivable type flourished.
Hardworking commoners found employment. Wages rose. Living standards improved.
When the people have money, consumption follows naturally.
There was an old saying. If I have money, do you still need to teach me how to spend it?
As the political and economic heart of Sichuan, Chengdu felt the surge most vividly.
The streets were bustling. Every trade guild displayed its finest skills. Traffic flowed like water.
Wang Weizhang walked through the busy avenues with his entourage, staring in disbelief.
"I have done nothing," he muttered. "How has Chengdu suddenly become prosperous? Should I report this achievement to the court?"
At that moment, loud commotion erupted ahead. Over a hundred voices gasped in unison.
"Wow, it's huge!"
"What kind of strange thing is that?"
"There are no horses pulling it. How is it moving?"
"Incredible!"
Wang Weizhang frowned. "What is causing the disturbance?"
A subordinate hurried ahead and returned shortly.
"My lord, there is a large iron vehicle in the middle of the street. It emits smoke and moves slowly. The people are surrounding it."
An iron vehicle?
Wang Weizhang pushed forward.
When the crowd parted, he froze.
A massive iron machine was indeed rolling forward slowly. No horses. No oxen. Smoke rose from its top. Strange sounds clanked and hissed as it moved.
The driver spoke in a thick Shaanxi accent.
"Brothers, make way, make way. If you crowd me like this, I'm afraid I'll hit someone. My foot's been pressing the brake so long it's cramping."
Wang Weizhang stepped forward and blocked its path.
"You there. What is this vehicle? Where did it come from?"
The driver sized him up. Recognizing the governor's rank, he showed slightly more courtesy but not fear.
"My lord, I'm a pathfinder from Shaanxi."
"A pathfinder? What path are you exploring?"
"The route from Hanzhong to Guangyuan, and from Guangyuan to Chengdu."
Wang Weizhang's heart skipped.
"That route passes through the Shu Road. The most perilous terrain in all of Shu. Even wheelbarrows struggle there. How did you cross?"
The driver grinned.
"The road is being repaired. Seventy thousand workers building it together. Progress is fast. The stretch from Hanzhong to Mingyue Gorge is nearly leveled. It's not paved with cement yet, but a flattened dirt road works if you drive slowly."
He lowered his voice slightly.
"As for the most dangerous section of the Shu Road, it's not fully opened yet. So Dao Xuan Tianzun reached down, picked up me and the vehicle, and whoosh, carried us across."
Wang Weizhang stared at him.
This was absurd.
He had been hearing the name Dao Xuan Tianzun more frequently lately. Stories. Legends. Ridiculous exaggerations. The last merchant who tried to preach such nonsense to him had been beaten with twenty strokes.
And now this.
Yet the iron vehicle stood before him, undeniable. There was no conceivable way such a machine could traverse the old Shu Road unaided.
His brows knitted.
Perhaps… he needed to see it with his own eyes.
Sichuan was thriving inexplicably. Bandits were gone. Internal affairs improved without his intervention. If he left Chengdu briefly to inspect the Shu Road, surely nothing would collapse.
Besides, even Li Bai once traveled the Shu Road to compose poetry.
Why should he not follow in such refined footsteps?
A diligent official would remain buried in paperwork.
But Wang Weizhang had ample time for an officially funded excursion.
Soon, the governor's procession was arranged.
He departed Chengdu with a sizable escort, crossed the flourishing Chengdu Plain, reached Guangyuan, and changed into more practical attire suitable for arduous travel.
Standing at the threshold of the legendary mountain road, he drew a deep breath.
"Shu Road," he declared solemnly, "I have come to compose poetry."