The last day before they must leave the Illustrious Hall and head for Biyong College, the headmaster gives every child a ryuoh stone with their names carved in Khitan and Han; a Han seal on one side that when turned over makes a Khitan seal.
“This stone was mined in Mount Yuheng.2” The headmaster sits in the centre of the parlour, sipping his tea in a leisurely manner. “Never forget where this stone came from.”
More than a dozen children bow to the headmaster. From today onwards, they have finished their studies in the Illustrious Hall, and in the sixth month they will have to take the recommendation letter jointly signed by their headmaster and their teachers to Biyong College in order to participate in their entrance exams.
A sudden and rather peculiar feeling arises in Duan Ling’s heart as he holds that letter.
“Am I Han?” That very day, Duan Ling can’t help but ask Lang Junxia.
“Of course you’re Han.” Lang Junxia is slicing fish belly in the kitchen, his tone as casual as always. “You’re a Han among Han.”
Duan Ling is no longer the ignorant, confused child he used to be; he’s keenly detected the words Lang Junxia is hiding between the lines. “What does that mean?”
Lang Junxia says absentmindedly, “It meant exactly what the words said. Go study.”
“But my family name is Duan and not one of the four most common names of the central plain.”3
“You’ll find out all about it someday,” Lang Junxia says.
Duan Ling stands to the side idly with his hands in his sleeves, watching Lang Junxia slice fish. Lang Junxia’s fingers are remarkably dexterous, and with a few easy cuts he manages to make the fish slices thin as paper. Duan Ling offers to help but Lang Junxia tells him, “A gentleman steers clear of the kitchen.4 Your job is to study.”
Duan Ling is just bored, but having spent so much time in Long Junxia’s company, he’s gotten used to obeying him. Thereupon he saunters off to the courtyard, and picking up a long stick, he brandishes it for a few casual slashes in the air.
“When are you going to teach me martial arts?” Duan Ling asks, “You promised me that when I finish my studies at the Illustrious Hall you’ll teach me equestrian, archery and train me in the martial arts.”
“Folk heroes violate the law with martial might.” Lang Junxia replies, “Only illiterate boors train in the martial arts. Why learn it? Learning how to fight only gets you into trouble.”
“Scholars upset the law with language.” Duan Ling says, “But doesn’t everyone study the four books and five classics anyway?”5
Lang Junxia is immediately at a loss for words. Duan Ling’s thought processes are clear and logical, and he’s very bright; he’s no longer the same child who went along with whatever Lang Junxia said. His mind works real fast in an argument, so much so that quite often Lang Junxia can’t win over him verbally.
“When others are knives, I’m fish on the chopping block.6 If I don’t learn to fight, I’d just get beaten,” Duan Ling answers perfectly seriously.
“Naturally there’ll be people there to protect you through your whole life.” Lang Junxia wipes his hands. “Put down the sword in your hand and pick up the writing brush. The way of benevolent rule is your sword. A person can only accomplish one thing well in a single lifetime. Where would you find enough focus to study both medicine and the martial arts?”
“Borjigin told me that no one can be relied upon, all one has is oneself.”
The corners of Lang Junxia’s mouth turn up slightly. “Not even me?”
“Of course you’ll protect me, but just in case if you … if you’re in danger too, how will I protect you?”
“If I failed to protect you,” Lang Junxia says offhandedly, “then I’d have failed in my duty. If that day ever comes, even if I’m not dead someone will come finish me off. But that’s no matter. Once I die there’ll naturally be plenty of others who’d line up to stand in front of you to block blades and swallow swords for your sake …”
Lang Junxia is only halfway through what he’s trying to say when Duan Ling nuzzles at his back. “No way, I want to be the one to shield you,” he says, before turning to go.
Sunlight streams in and shines onto the cutting board. The knife has left a small, shallow scratch on Lang Junxia’s finger sometime earlier, somehow without him noticing.
Duan Ling sets up the clothes-drying rod in the back courtyard and hangs up their washed, snow-white underclothes. Since moving into their new home Lang Junxia has never hired help; their everyday necessities are taken care of solely by him. When Duan Ling is at school, Lang Junxia also visits him from time to time at the Illustrious Hall to bring him things.
When Duan Ling has his days off, Lang Junxia would pay for all the daily expenses so Duan Ling never wanted for anything.
Sometimes, Duan Ling would feel baffled, and wonders aloud where Lang Junxia gets his money from, but he only ever tells Duan Ling he doesn’t have to worry about that.
Early into spring, Duan Ling is listless at his study, and Lang Junxia sits on his heels near Duan Ling helping him grind ink and light incense, preparing a warm towel to wipe his hands with. Duan Ling is languid all over; he feels something strange stirring restlessly in the depths of his heart that makes it hard for him to sit still. When he sees that Lang Junxia has gone outside, he sneaks out of the room, and takes a shovel with him to care for his flowers in the flowerbed.
Back in Runan, he used to watch the gardener plant flowers, prune, and graft often; that’s how he grew to love this vocation. Lang Junxia has repeatedly tried to talk him out of it to no avail, and now just lets him do as he likes as long as it doesn’t get in the way of his studies.
Study, study, nothing but study … even though Duan Ling isn’t against studying, too much of it is making him feel stifled. Cai Yan is older than him by two years so he’s long since left for Biyong College; Batu on the other hand isn’t motivated to apply himself in this regard, and once he left the Illustrious Hall, Duan Ling has no idea where he’s gone — he didn’t even say goodbye. Duan Ling went to his house a few times but never managed to see him. Batu’s house is all dark and sombre, gloomy and frightening to boot, and his father glared at Duan Ling and told him not to come again, just because Duan Ling is Han.
Helian Bo’s mother though, is quite cordial. That’s probably because the Han and Tangut peoples have a good relationship with each other. She took Duan Ling’s hand and asked him all sorts of questions, thanking him for looking after her stammering son.
He doesn’t have to go to the Illustrious Hall, and he hasn’t entered Biyong College yet, so Duan Ling often spends time gardening at home.
Today, he’s carefully digging out a peony sprout and transplanting it to another hole. Lang Junxia suddenly starts speaking behind him, “I should find you a gardener some other day, lest this takes up more of your focus.”
Duan Ling is quite startled and nearly breaks the root. “I can take care of them myself.”
“The exams are in the sixth month.” Lang Junxia’s brows furrow slightly. “See how preoccupied you are.”
Duan Ling stretches. “I’ll study in a bit.”
“I should get myself a punishment ruler too. Otherwise, once you’re not at school anymore, no one is here to hit your palms and keep you in line.”
Duan Ling laughs aloud. Lang Junxia has never hit him; even when he’s chastising Duan Ling it’s not with emotion. There’s no great sorrow or joy to him, like bamboo standing quietly beneath the roof of a gallery.
“Or should I take you to the Viburnum to stay the night?” Lang Junxia asks.
Duan Ling’s cheeks immediately flush red. A lot of children in the Illustrious Hall are already halfway to adulthood, and when they spoke of relations between men and women they did not mince words at all. One time Batu and Helian Bo even took him out through the garden fence, and they sneaked into the Viburnum. They happened to see Ding Zhi waiting on Cai Yan’s older brother, pouring his drinks for him.
Duan Ling already has a rough idea of what sort of a place the Viburnum is, and he goes back to his room with a bright blush in his cheeks.
But Lang Junxia now asks him, “What are you blushing about?”
After returning inside, he sees Lang Junxia’s shadow coming and going in the corridor. Spring days make him drowsy; he can’t help himself from falling asleep on the table, and once he falls asleep he doesn’t wake until it’s dark. Then in the night he tosses and turns, unable to sleep soundly. It’s already been many years since he shared a bed with Lang Junxia, and all he hears of him is a bit of occasional noise from the next room over.
“Want some water?” Lang Junxia says through the door.
Duan Ling says something like aye but doesn’t respond. He can kind of feel Lang Junxia sitting outside, that he hasn’t left.
“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Duan Ling turns over, half awake.
“I can’t sleep.” Lang Junxia says, “I’ll just sit here for a while.”
Next day, the weather is sunny and bright. At sunrise Lang Junxia says from out in the courtyard, “Duan Ling, I’m heading out to get some stuff done so I won’t be here during the day. I’ll be back in the evening.”
Duan Ling says something back in a daze, still dozing on the daybed. Sunlight shines through the latticework of his windows, warm on his face, and he moves a bit over to get away from the sun.
Each time the sunlight slants in some more, he would move a bit over, shifting with the sunlight to avoid having the sun on his face.
Li Jianghong is standing outside the window lattice, watching Duan Ling without a word. He’s travel-worn and dressed in hemp-woven clothes, and his lips, dry to the point of peeling, tremble imperceptibly.
“He is my son,” Li Jianhong says.
“Yes, your highness,” Lang Junxia replies, producing a yellowed birth certificate from beneath his lapel, presenting it with both hands deferentially to Li Jianhong.
Li Jianhong doesn’t take it from him. He doesn’t even give the birth certificate a single glance. Lang Junxia says quietly, “When the princess went south via Yubiguan and returned to the Duans she was already with child. Once Shangzi fell into enemy hands, she did not dare proclaim the young prince’s identity. The labour was a difficult one … the only one they were able to save was the child.”
Marks from blades cover Li Jianhong’s exposed wrist, and there’s a scar beneath his ear; several years ago when he went on the run, he was all alone in the world as he fled from the full force of the southern Chan assassins. He has suffered more than what most ordinary people could endure, and more than anything he feared he would bring harm to his only son and dared not rashly go north.
Once he recuperated from his injuries, he vanished in Lang Junxia’s homeland, the holy mountains of the Xianbei people, without a trace; then he entered Goryeo7, infiltrated a merchant caravan, and travelled to Xiqiang. Only once he verified that those in the Southern Chen imperial court thought him dead did he begin the indirect journey to Shangjing.
This journey took far too long for him to make; by the end all that he had left to sustain him was this insubstantial, tenuous faith. Reaching the location he and Lang Junxia promised to meet, he did not dare take another step, he did not dare believe — he did not even dare to guess at what may be waiting for him.
The most probable thing is for there to be nothing there at all; that once he knocks on that door what awaits him will doom him to a thoroughly lonely existence.
But luckily heavens is not unfair to him, and on this pitch dark path forward they left him a single lamp.
On this vast river of life and death, they left him a single boat.
Though the lamp is dim and wavering, it lights up his entire life.
The very moment he sees Duan Ling, at last he receives a certain kind of salvation.
His eyes are like deep pools, and his whole body exudes an intangible might, but right now, it is tenderness that colours his eyes.
“My son has his mother’s eyes.” Li Jianhong says, “He has my father’s lips. They’re the lips of a Li.”
“Yes, your highness,” Lang Junxia replies.
Li Jianhong cannot take his eyes off the sleeping Duan Ling. Over the past five years Duan Ling has grown quite a bit; a soft mouth, a pretty profile with a high nose bridge just like Li Jianhong’s.
“He’s thirteen this year.” Lang Junxia’s hands are holding up the piece of paper as before. “His birthday is on the sixth day of the twelfth month.”
“Yes, correct. It was the second month of that year,” Li Jianhong mutters, “when Xiaowan left me and returned to the south.”
“It’s all my8 fault.” Lang Junxia says, “It was just one mistake after another, unable to keep the princess safe, and neither able to provide adequate support for your highness. That night I left for Huchang to find your highness, but was hindered by Wu Du …”
“No.” Li Jianhong tells him clearly, enunciating every word, “Lang Junxia, all your past mistakes are null and void once and for all.”
Duan Ling turns over. Sunlight shines onto his face, still clad in the innocence of childhood. Li Jianhong can’t help himself from taking a step forward and nearly walks into the window lattice.
Seeing Duan Ling, Li Jianhong feels as though he’s an exhausted traveller beneath a scorching sun, and at the point of death he discovers that in the distance, an oasis has finally appeared —
— and he’s both full of longing and fearfulness of taking another step forward, terrified that it’s nothing more than a mirage, rising out of a dust storm.
I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
Mount Yuheng is either fictional or on a historic map I don’t have, and the word Yuheng itself is the name of the Big Dipper. All you have to know here is that Mount Yuheng is north of the current Southern Chen capital. ↩︎
The big four surnames in the Song dynasty were 趙錢孫李 / Zhao, Qian, Sun, and Li. ↩︎
Mencius said a gentleman should stay far from the kitchen, not because cooking is bad, but killing animals makes it difficult to eat them. ↩︎
“Scholars upset the law with language; folk heroes violate the law with martial might” are two lines from Han Feizi. You can read more about the four books and the five classics here. ↩︎
From Sima Qian’s Record of the Grand Historian. ↩︎
Goryeo was a kingdom of the Korean peninsula during the Song dynasty. ↩︎
This translation uses regular pronouns, for the most part, for readability. Informal pronouns are worked into the text, while formal pronouns are replaced by regular ones in the text while the original pronoun is saved in a mouse-hover note. ↩︎
The last day before they must leave the Illustrious Hall and head for Biyong College, the headmaster gives every child a ryuoh stone with their names carved in Khitan and Han; a Han seal on one side that when turned over makes a Khitan seal.
“This stone was mined in Mount Yuheng.2” The headmaster sits in the centre of the parlour, sipping his tea in a leisurely manner. “Never forget where this stone came from.”
More than a dozen children bow to the headmaster. From today onwards, they have finished their studies in the Illustrious Hall, and in the sixth month they will have to take the recommendation letter jointly signed by their headmaster and their teachers to Biyong College in order to participate in their entrance exams.
A sudden and rather peculiar feeling arises in Duan Ling’s heart as he holds that letter.
“Am I Han?” That very day, Duan Ling can’t help but ask Lang Junxia.
“Of course you’re Han.” Lang Junxia is slicing fish belly in the kitchen, his tone as casual as always. “You’re a Han among Han.”
Duan Ling is no longer the ignorant, confused child he used to be; he’s keenly detected the words Lang Junxia is hiding between the lines. “What does that mean?”
Lang Junxia says absentmindedly, “It meant exactly what the words said. Go study.”
“But my family name is Duan and not one of the four most common names of the central plain.”3
“You’ll find out all about it someday,” Lang Junxia says.
Duan Ling stands to the side idly with his hands in his sleeves, watching Lang Junxia slice fish. Lang Junxia’s fingers are remarkably dexterous, and with a few easy cuts he manages to make the fish slices thin as paper. Duan Ling offers to help but Lang Junxia tells him, “A gentleman steers clear of the kitchen.4 Your job is to study.”
Duan Ling is just bored, but having spent so much time in Long Junxia’s company, he’s gotten used to obeying him. Thereupon he saunters off to the courtyard, and picking up a long stick, he brandishes it for a few casual slashes in the air.
“When are you going to teach me martial arts?” Duan Ling asks, “You promised me that when I finish my studies at the Illustrious Hall you’ll teach me equestrian, archery and train me in the martial arts.”
“Folk heroes violate the law with martial might.” Lang Junxia replies, “Only illiterate boors train in the martial arts. Why learn it? Learning how to fight only gets you into trouble.”
“Scholars upset the law with language.” Duan Ling says, “But doesn’t everyone study the four books and five classics anyway?”5
Lang Junxia is immediately at a loss for words. Duan Ling’s thought processes are clear and logical, and he’s very bright; he’s no longer the same child who went along with whatever Lang Junxia said. His mind works real fast in an argument, so much so that quite often Lang Junxia can’t win over him verbally.
“When others are knives, I’m fish on the chopping block.6 If I don’t learn to fight, I’d just get beaten,” Duan Ling answers perfectly seriously.
“Naturally there’ll be people there to protect you through your whole life.” Lang Junxia wipes his hands. “Put down the sword in your hand and pick up the writing brush. The way of benevolent rule is your sword. A person can only accomplish one thing well in a single lifetime. Where would you find enough focus to study both medicine and the martial arts?”
“Borjigin told me that no one can be relied upon, all one has is oneself.”
The corners of Lang Junxia’s mouth turn up slightly. “Not even me?”
“Of course you’ll protect me, but just in case if you … if you’re in danger too, how will I protect you?”
“If I failed to protect you,” Lang Junxia says offhandedly, “then I’d have failed in my duty. If that day ever comes, even if I’m not dead someone will come finish me off. But that’s no matter. Once I die there’ll naturally be plenty of others who’d line up to stand in front of you to block blades and swallow swords for your sake …”
Lang Junxia is only halfway through what he’s trying to say when Duan Ling nuzzles at his back. “No way, I want to be the one to shield you,” he says, before turning to go.
Sunlight streams in and shines onto the cutting board. The knife has left a small, shallow scratch on Lang Junxia’s finger sometime earlier, somehow without him noticing.
Duan Ling sets up the clothes-drying rod in the back courtyard and hangs up their washed, snow-white underclothes. Since moving into their new home Lang Junxia has never hired help; their everyday necessities are taken care of solely by him. When Duan Ling is at school, Lang Junxia also visits him from time to time at the Illustrious Hall to bring him things.
When Duan Ling has his days off, Lang Junxia would pay for all the daily expenses so Duan Ling never wanted for anything.
Sometimes, Duan Ling would feel baffled, and wonders aloud where Lang Junxia gets his money from, but he only ever tells Duan Ling he doesn’t have to worry about that.
Early into spring, Duan Ling is listless at his study, and Lang Junxia sits on his heels near Duan Ling helping him grind ink and light incense, preparing a warm towel to wipe his hands with. Duan Ling is languid all over; he feels something strange stirring restlessly in the depths of his heart that makes it hard for him to sit still. When he sees that Lang Junxia has gone outside, he sneaks out of the room, and takes a shovel with him to care for his flowers in the flowerbed.
Back in Runan, he used to watch the gardener plant flowers, prune, and graft often; that’s how he grew to love this vocation. Lang Junxia has repeatedly tried to talk him out of it to no avail, and now just lets him do as he likes as long as it doesn’t get in the way of his studies.
Study, study, nothing but study … even though Duan Ling isn’t against studying, too much of it is making him feel stifled. Cai Yan is older than him by two years so he’s long since left for Biyong College; Batu on the other hand isn’t motivated to apply himself in this regard, and once he left the Illustrious Hall, Duan Ling has no idea where he’s gone — he didn’t even say goodbye. Duan Ling went to his house a few times but never managed to see him. Batu’s house is all dark and sombre, gloomy and frightening to boot, and his father glared at Duan Ling and told him not to come again, just because Duan Ling is Han.
Helian Bo’s mother though, is quite cordial. That’s probably because the Han and Tangut peoples have a good relationship with each other. She took Duan Ling’s hand and asked him all sorts of questions, thanking him for looking after her stammering son.
He doesn’t have to go to the Illustrious Hall, and he hasn’t entered Biyong College yet, so Duan Ling often spends time gardening at home.
Today, he’s carefully digging out a peony sprout and transplanting it to another hole. Lang Junxia suddenly starts speaking behind him, “I should find you a gardener some other day, lest this takes up more of your focus.”
Duan Ling is quite startled and nearly breaks the root. “I can take care of them myself.”
“The exams are in the sixth month.” Lang Junxia’s brows furrow slightly. “See how preoccupied you are.”
Duan Ling stretches. “I’ll study in a bit.”
“I should get myself a punishment ruler too. Otherwise, once you’re not at school anymore, no one is here to hit your palms and keep you in line.”
Duan Ling laughs aloud. Lang Junxia has never hit him; even when he’s chastising Duan Ling it’s not with emotion. There’s no great sorrow or joy to him, like bamboo standing quietly beneath the roof of a gallery.
“Or should I take you to the Viburnum to stay the night?” Lang Junxia asks.
Duan Ling’s cheeks immediately flush red. A lot of children in the Illustrious Hall are already halfway to adulthood, and when they spoke of relations between men and women they did not mince words at all. One time Batu and Helian Bo even took him out through the garden fence, and they sneaked into the Viburnum. They happened to see Ding Zhi waiting on Cai Yan’s older brother, pouring his drinks for him.
Duan Ling already has a rough idea of what sort of a place the Viburnum is, and he goes back to his room with a bright blush in his cheeks.
But Lang Junxia now asks him, “What are you blushing about?”
After returning inside, he sees Lang Junxia’s shadow coming and going in the corridor. Spring days make him drowsy; he can’t help himself from falling asleep on the table, and once he falls asleep he doesn’t wake until it’s dark. Then in the night he tosses and turns, unable to sleep soundly. It’s already been many years since he shared a bed with Lang Junxia, and all he hears of him is a bit of occasional noise from the next room over.
“Want some water?” Lang Junxia says through the door.
Duan Ling says something like aye but doesn’t respond. He can kind of feel Lang Junxia sitting outside, that he hasn’t left.
“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Duan Ling turns over, half awake.
“I can’t sleep.” Lang Junxia says, “I’ll just sit here for a while.”
Next day, the weather is sunny and bright. At sunrise Lang Junxia says from out in the courtyard, “Duan Ling, I’m heading out to get some stuff done so I won’t be here during the day. I’ll be back in the evening.”
Duan Ling says something back in a daze, still dozing on the daybed. Sunlight shines through the latticework of his windows, warm on his face, and he moves a bit over to get away from the sun.
Each time the sunlight slants in some more, he would move a bit over, shifting with the sunlight to avoid having the sun on his face.
Li Jianghong is standing outside the window lattice, watching Duan Ling without a word. He’s travel-worn and dressed in hemp-woven clothes, and his lips, dry to the point of peeling, tremble imperceptibly.
“He is my son,” Li Jianhong says.
“Yes, your highness,” Lang Junxia replies, producing a yellowed birth certificate from beneath his lapel, presenting it with both hands deferentially to Li Jianhong.
Li Jianhong doesn’t take it from him. He doesn’t even give the birth certificate a single glance. Lang Junxia says quietly, “When the princess went south via Yubiguan and returned to the Duans she was already with child. Once Shangzi fell into enemy hands, she did not dare proclaim the young prince’s identity. The labour was a difficult one … the only one they were able to save was the child.”
Marks from blades cover Li Jianhong’s exposed wrist, and there’s a scar beneath his ear; several years ago when he went on the run, he was all alone in the world as he fled from the full force of the southern Chan assassins. He has suffered more than what most ordinary people could endure, and more than anything he feared he would bring harm to his only son and dared not rashly go north.
Once he recuperated from his injuries, he vanished in Lang Junxia’s homeland, the holy mountains of the Xianbei people, without a trace; then he entered Goryeo7, infiltrated a merchant caravan, and travelled to Xiqiang. Only once he verified that those in the Southern Chen imperial court thought him dead did he begin the indirect journey to Shangjing.
This journey took far too long for him to make; by the end all that he had left to sustain him was this insubstantial, tenuous faith. Reaching the location he and Lang Junxia promised to meet, he did not dare take another step, he did not dare believe — he did not even dare to guess at what may be waiting for him.
The most probable thing is for there to be nothing there at all; that once he knocks on that door what awaits him will doom him to a thoroughly lonely existence.
But luckily heavens is not unfair to him, and on this pitch dark path forward they left him a single lamp.
On this vast river of life and death, they left him a single boat.
Though the lamp is dim and wavering, it lights up his entire life.
The very moment he sees Duan Ling, at last he receives a certain kind of salvation.
His eyes are like deep pools, and his whole body exudes an intangible might, but right now, it is tenderness that colours his eyes.
“My son has his mother’s eyes.” Li Jianhong says, “He has my father’s lips. They’re the lips of a Li.”
“Yes, your highness,” Lang Junxia replies.
Li Jianhong cannot take his eyes off the sleeping Duan Ling. Over the past five years Duan Ling has grown quite a bit; a soft mouth, a pretty profile with a high nose bridge just like Li Jianhong’s.
“He’s thirteen this year.” Lang Junxia’s hands are holding up the piece of paper as before. “His birthday is on the sixth day of the twelfth month.”
“Yes, correct. It was the second month of that year,” Li Jianhong mutters, “when Xiaowan left me and returned to the south.”
“It’s all my8 fault.” Lang Junxia says, “It was just one mistake after another, unable to keep the princess safe, and neither able to provide adequate support for your highness. That night I left for Huchang to find your highness, but was hindered by Wu Du …”
“No.” Li Jianhong tells him clearly, enunciating every word, “Lang Junxia, all your past mistakes are null and void once and for all.”
Duan Ling turns over. Sunlight shines onto his face, still clad in the innocence of childhood. Li Jianhong can’t help himself from taking a step forward and nearly walks into the window lattice.
Seeing Duan Ling, Li Jianhong feels as though he’s an exhausted traveller beneath a scorching sun, and at the point of death he discovers that in the distance, an oasis has finally appeared —
— and he’s both full of longing and fearfulness of taking another step forward, terrified that it’s nothing more than a mirage, rising out of a dust storm.
I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
Mount Yuheng is either fictional or on a historic map I don’t have, and the word Yuheng itself is the name of the Big Dipper. All you have to know here is that Mount Yuheng is north of the current Southern Chen capital. ↩︎
The big four surnames in the Song dynasty were 趙錢孫李 / Zhao, Qian, Sun, and Li. ↩︎
Mencius said a gentleman should stay far from the kitchen, not because cooking is bad, but killing animals makes it difficult to eat them. ↩︎
“Scholars upset the law with language; folk heroes violate the law with martial might” are two lines from Han Feizi. You can read more about the four books and the five classics here. ↩︎
From Sima Qian’s Record of the Grand Historian. ↩︎
Goryeo was a kingdom of the Korean peninsula during the Song dynasty. ↩︎
This translation uses regular pronouns, for the most part, for readability. Informal pronouns are worked into the text, while formal pronouns are replaced by regular ones in the text while the original pronoun is saved in a mouse-hover note. ↩︎
