It is midsummer, the seventh month of the year, and the heat is so intense as to be unbearable.
Chang Pin is covered in sweat, so hot he can barely stand it, madly fanning with a fan on his way into Jiangzhou. Mu Kuangda is sitting in the veranda drinking iced sour plum soup, and when he notices Chang Pin’s return he orders, “Get Master Chang Pin a bowl.”
Chang Pin stands there guzzling, and Mu Kuangda doesn’t press him for answers right away either. He waits for Chang Pin to catch his breath before he starts talking.
“How was your trip?” Mu Kuangda asks.
“Nearly gave me heatstroke,” Chang Pin replies, sitting down in the shade.
“I sent a messenger with a letter for you, but with them heading there while you were coming back, they must have just missed you.”
Chang Pin says, sounding surprised, “I never saw them.”
“Never mind. I was merely thinking that since it would have been on your way back to Jiangzhou, you could stop over in Ye. Wang Shan just took up an appointment there so he’s bound to run into lots of trouble. I wanted you to lend him your help and come back once things in Ye are more settled.”
Chang Pin nods. He produces a rolled-up written complaint from a pocket and hands it to Mu Kuangda. Frowning, Mu Kuangda unrolls it.
“Eight years ago,” Chang Pin says, “the very day Wuluohou Mu arrived in Xunyang, the house where Duan Xiaowan’s parents used to live caught fire in the middle of the night and everything was burned to ashes. There were forty-seven people living in that household. Not a single one survived.”
“Oh? They’re all dead?”
Chang Pin nods. “There was a famine in the city five years ago, and there was war after that. The Mongols plundered the city several times and as the years went by, the people of Xunyang either left for the south or died. Lots of kids died of starvation during the famine too; I looked all over for kids around the same age, but there weren’t many of them left. Xunyang is really sparsely populated these days — it’s like a ghost town.”
“That really does make things difficult,” Mu Kuangda says with a frown.
“And yet heaven did not close all its gates on me. I found an old man in the city of Xunyang. He knows about the Duans.”
“Where is he?”
“It’s the middle of summer and it’s a tough journey, so I daren’t bring him back. If he gets sick then even this last clue would be gone.”
“Let’s talk upstairs.” Mu Kuangda rises, moving to the library on the second floor, and Chang Pin follows him upstairs, turning back at the last moment to close the door behind him.
Duan Ling has a long, long dream. In his dreams, he had returned to the woodshed in the Duan estate, and his little friends are yelling for him nearby: Duan Ling — Duan Ling —
“Hey, wake up!” Batu’s voice is saying to him, “Stop sleeping already!”
Duan Ling’s head hurts like it’s been split open. He turns over to find his nose is filled with the scent of grass and dirt. He’s lying on a patch of grass, with a wide, blue lake nearby, and suddenly realising his situation, he immediately opens his eyes.
Duan Ling isn’t quite sure what to make of this.
Batu is patting him down with one hand, and Duan Ling is struggling right away, so Batu holds him down. His wrist is thick and strong; somehow, Duan Ling can’t shake him off, and he’s held down by Batu’s weight.
“Why you … Batu! Let me go! What are you trying to do?!”
Batu is heavily built; three short years apart and he’s already gotten so strong, with wide shoulders and cinched waist, built like a leopard. He holds Duan Ling’s wrists together with one hand, and with a knee pushed up between Duan Ling’s legs, he’s studying him carefully. He’s leaned in awfully close, so close that his breath nearly lands on Duan Ling’s face.
Duan Ling tries to get away from the hold with a start, but Batu has him immobilised, and one hand slides up from Duan Ling’s waist, expediently removing his undershirt along with the White Tiger Silver Armour that’s worn over it. Suddenly shirtless, Duan Ling howls, “What are you trying to do?!”
Batu casually gives Duan Ling’s face a little pat and tosses the undershirt back at him. “Who gave you these clothes?”
“Give it back! It’s mine!”
“It’s mine now. You still owe me a token.” Batu has taken off his armour, opening his shirt to reveal sturdy arms and lean muscles. He pulls the White Tiger armoured tank top over himself and walks over to the lake to stare at his reflection.
Batu turns his head. “Even you belong to me now. Saved me two thousand and four hundred taels of gold. Turned a profit.” Speaking of which, he tosses a water bladder at Duan Ling. “Have a drink.”
Duan Ling takes a few mouthfuls and considers whether Wu Du has realised he’s missing yet. If Wu Du’s coming to get him with his men. He stares off at the horizon, wondering where he could be right now.
“Stop thinking about it,” Batu says, reading his mind. “I lost them ages ago. Nobody’s going to come to save you.”
“Let me go.”
“You think that’s possible?” Batu starts laughing instead.
Duan Ling is essentially out of options when it comes to Batu. He gulps down all the water in the water bladder and tosses it back at Batu, knowing he’ll have to fill it up now. As Duan Ling expected he would, Batu turns around and bends down to start filling the bladder up with lake water. Before he realises it, Duan Ling has already charged at the grazing horse nearby and thrown his leg over its back. Without hesitation, he makes a run for it.
“Gup—!”
The horse turns around and starts galloping. Batu’s not sure what to say; he stands up with a frown on his face.
Breathing heavily, Duan Ling can’t help but turn back to look at Batu, suddenly feeling a pang at having to leave him. To his chagrin, upon their reunion, they’re now on opposing sides, and before they can properly converse he will have to run away like this.
And yet, Batu bends low, then charging onto the plains like an arrow, he goes right for Duan Ling!
“Gup!” Duan Ling yells.
As he speeds along the plains, Batu suddenly swings his arm and a rock flies at Duan Ling like a meteor, hitting the horse on the buttocks. The warhorse neighs in surprise, and caught off guard, Duan Ling is thrown off. Batu follows closely with a quick charge forward, throwing himself into the air to wrap his arms around Duan Ling, then with a roll they both crash onto the grass.
“Hahaha —!” Batu suddenly bursts out laughing, “You’re no — no match for me!”
Duan Ling snarls in anger, “Go to hell, you!”
Duan Ling straddles Batu and throws a punch down at him, but Batu simply raises one hand and grabs his fist, twisting Duan Ling’s hand to his back to hold it there. He pushes Duan Ling forward, “Move it!”
Duan Ling is at the end of his tether; he can’t beat Batu in a fight, and he can’t run fast enough to get away. He’s just about to lose his mind.
“I almost forgot how to speak Han. It’s been too long. Get on the horse.”
Duan Ling says angrily, “Let me go!”
“You getting on or what?” Batu is taller than Duan Ling by a full head. “Don’t force me to get rough. I’m in a really good mood today. I don’t feel like tying you up.”
“Where’re we going?”
“Horse-running.”
“Get outta here!” Duan Ling snarls back ferociously. What Mongols calls “horse-running” is to capture a woman and take her away on a horse, and race along the prairies until they reach some deserted place, then with the sky as a blanket and the grass as a bed, to consummate their relationship. Some Mongolians also call getting married horse-running.
Getting impatient, Batu forcefully pushes Duan Ling onto the horse. Duan Ling doesn’t really want Batu to tie him up either, so he can only stay there.
“I need to pee.” It suddenly occurs to Duan Ling that maybe he can just stall them here for a while. Wu Du must be looking all over for him.
“Don’t try to pull anything,” Batu says, then he takes a rope and ties Duan Ling’s hands together. He gets on the horse and sits firmly behind him, then putting his hands to either side of Duan Ling’s waist, he grabs the reins and whips them, shouting, “Gup!”
The warhorse once more tramps on deeper into the wilderness. The skies are blue and the wilderness boundless; it is high noon, and the mountains go on forever. Duan Ling knows that even if he can run away, he’ll get lost regardless, so he may as well not run.
“Don’t try to run. You’ll get lost, and I don’t want you to starve to death in the mountains.”
“If it’s that easy to starve to death, do you know how many times I’d have died already?! What on earth did you grab me for anyway?!”
“I just missed you, that’s all.” Batu says absentmindedly, “You’ve killed off most of my personal guard. Duan Ling, when did you become so ruthless?”
“You Mongols charged into Shangjing and killed my dad. And you go around killing us Han all over the land too. I wish I could kill all of your people. I only killed a few personal guards of yours, and you call that ‘ruthless’?”
“Do you hate me then?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“That’s fine then.”
Duan Ling is speechless.
The warhorse slows as it passes by a stretch of marshes. Sunlight streams down from above, its light passing through the leaves in patches. Dappled sunlight flashes over them as they pass.
“I’ve missed you for so many years, you know. I nearly didn’t recognise you. I only managed to recognise you once you called my name.”
“I recognised you at a single glance. Just a glance. But once you caught me I don’t know who you are anymore. Batu, you’ve changed a lot. Just now, I almost thought I got the wrong person.”
“Oh.” Batu scrutinises the inside of the forest casually, guarded against an ambush. Just this one simple action and Duan Ling knows there’s no way he can get away. Batu is impressive — sometimes he squints to think, sometimes he turns his head to listen, sometimes moving fast and sometimes moving slowly as they pass through the marshes and the forest.
“That trick you pulled yesterday was beautiful,” Batu says, “It’s been ages since anyone beat me like that. What was that ruse you used? Poisoned smoke?”
Duan Ling doesn’t answer him, guarded against his trying to probe him for information.
“Where on earth are you taking me?” Duan Ling asks.
“Back to my encampment, of course. Where else could we be going? When did you ever get this dumb.”
“Just let me go …”
“Impossible! I’ve been looking for you for two years! How can I ever let you go?!”
Once they’ve passed through the marshes and went around a cliff face, the space opens up in front of them to reveal a Mongolian camp. From the looks of it, there are at least four thousand people camped here. Holding onto the rope wrapped around Duan Ling’s wrist, Batu helps him down the horse and walks him inside. Along the way, some people greet him, and Batu looks annoyed as he returns their greetings.
The Mongol soldiers passing by check out Duan Ling as they pass as though not at all surprised. Without stopping along the way, Batu takes Duan Ling to one of the tents, and bending down, pushes him inside.
This is a tent of a battalion commander. Borjigin’s son is only given the lowly rank of a battalion commander? With his hands tied, Duan Ling sits down on the carpet. Batu ties the rope to a wooden stake and says to Duan Ling, “Don’t try to run. Wait for me, I’ll be back.” And as soon as he finishes saying this, he turns and leaves.
Even if Duan Ling wants to run there’s no way he can run — Batu’s taken his White Tiger armour, and he’s surrounded by Mongol soldiers. If he runs out there in broad daylight he’ll be shot to death the moment he gets outside. The Mongols aren’t going to care about whose captive you happen to be.
What is this place? Last night the Mongols had raided Hejian and left the city at dawn. A full morning hasn’t yet passed, and they’re already at camp, so this place is probably still within the borders of Great Chen.
“Borjigin!” Someone else has come into the tent, and Duan Ling immediately backs away. Their newcomer is a stout fellow, and he gives Duan Ling a curious glance before he drops the tent flap and is gone.
Soon, Batu returns with roast meat and flatbread in his hands. He sets the food down in front of Duan Ling and hands him a canteen, but he doesn’t loosen Duan Ling’s bonds.
That other man chases him into the tent and snarls, “Borjigin Batu!”
Batu stands up to his full height. This tent has a low ceiling, to begin with, so the two of them are practically holding up the tent as they speak. Duan Ling can understand them, but he doesn’t look at the stout man. Instead, he turns away so that the man won’t realise that he understands Mongolian.
“Where’d you take your men?!” The stout man says to Batu with his fierce, puffy face, “Zhiluo wants to hold you responsible! You didn’t manage to take Hejian, and so many people are dead!”
“Tell him to come see me. My sabre hasn’t tasted blood yet today,” Batu replies.
“You best think this through,” The strong man says viciously, “think about how you’re going to explain this to the Khan when you get back.”
“They were my own men. They were all warriors who followed me, so if they died of course it’s my own business.”
“And what’s this? A Han?” The stout man points at Duan Ling, sitting in the corner of the tent.
“My captive. I caught him. He’s my slave.”
“Captives need to be given out and redistributed by Zhiluo. You’re privately keeping spoils of war, and that’s a crime too! There aren’t any women — you sacrificed so many warriors, and all you brought back is a man! You need to hand him over, and use him to comfort the troops!”
“Fuck off,” Batu says expressionlessly. “You want to try talking some more?”
“Borjigin!” The strong man flies into a fury, and in a flash, he’s drawn his sabre and thrown himself at Batu. “You’re too arrogant! I will kill you!”
“Watch out!” As soon as he sees the man’s shoulder move, Duan Ling is yelling. Batu never could have expected the man to seriously try to kill him, and he backs up abruptly, trying to get out of the way. The stout man’s blade slashes across Batu’s waist, and if it hadn’t for landing on top of the White Tiger armour, that move would have slashed him right open and had his guts running all over the floor; instead, the sabre glances across the metal, leaving the armour completely unscathed.
By then Batu has already pulled himself together; he draws his dagger, and waving it around in an arc, he stabs the blade into the side of the man’s neck. Duan Ling is about to rush forward in an attempt to help, but Batu’s dagger is already buried in the stout man’s neck.
Blood fills the man’s mouth and nose, breath caught in his throat as he glares at Batu. His lips quiver once, and falling backwards onto the ground, he dies on the spot.
Duan Ling looks down at him in silence.
Batu pats the White Tiger armour he’s wearing and stares at Duan Ling incredulously.
“What … Kind of a treasure is this?” Batu says.
“Um … who was this man?! Is he one of your fellow clansmen? You killed him just like that?!”
“I’ve no idea.” Looking quite bewildered, Batu says, “I haven’t looked him in the eyes since we went on the march.”
“What’s his name?”
“Forgot.”
Duan Ling looks exasperated.
Batu says, “I’ll get someone in here to clean this up.”
Again, Batu leaves the tent. In all his days it’s the first time Duan Ling has ever witnessed for himself the barbarism of the Mongols — these people are plain beasts!
This time, Batu is gone for a long while. Soon, another stranger walks in and says to Duan Ling, “Come with me. The Army Inspector wants to see you.”
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It is midsummer, the seventh month of the year, and the heat is so intense as to be unbearable.
Chang Pin is covered in sweat, so hot he can barely stand it, madly fanning with a fan on his way into Jiangzhou. Mu Kuangda is sitting in the veranda drinking iced sour plum soup, and when he notices Chang Pin’s return he orders, “Get Master Chang Pin a bowl.”
Chang Pin stands there guzzling, and Mu Kuangda doesn’t press him for answers right away either. He waits for Chang Pin to catch his breath before he starts talking.
“How was your trip?” Mu Kuangda asks.
“Nearly gave me heatstroke,” Chang Pin replies, sitting down in the shade.
“I sent a messenger with a letter for you, but with them heading there while you were coming back, they must have just missed you.”
Chang Pin says, sounding surprised, “I never saw them.”
“Never mind. I was merely thinking that since it would have been on your way back to Jiangzhou, you could stop over in Ye. Wang Shan just took up an appointment there so he’s bound to run into lots of trouble. I wanted you to lend him your help and come back once things in Ye are more settled.”
Chang Pin nods. He produces a rolled-up written complaint from a pocket and hands it to Mu Kuangda. Frowning, Mu Kuangda unrolls it.
“Eight years ago,” Chang Pin says, “the very day Wuluohou Mu arrived in Xunyang, the house where Duan Xiaowan’s parents used to live caught fire in the middle of the night and everything was burned to ashes. There were forty-seven people living in that household. Not a single one survived.”
“Oh? They’re all dead?”
Chang Pin nods. “There was a famine in the city five years ago, and there was war after that. The Mongols plundered the city several times and as the years went by, the people of Xunyang either left for the south or died. Lots of kids died of starvation during the famine too; I looked all over for kids around the same age, but there weren’t many of them left. Xunyang is really sparsely populated these days — it’s like a ghost town.”
“That really does make things difficult,” Mu Kuangda says with a frown.
“And yet heaven did not close all its gates on me. I found an old man in the city of Xunyang. He knows about the Duans.”
“Where is he?”
“It’s the middle of summer and it’s a tough journey, so I daren’t bring him back. If he gets sick then even this last clue would be gone.”
“Let’s talk upstairs.” Mu Kuangda rises, moving to the library on the second floor, and Chang Pin follows him upstairs, turning back at the last moment to close the door behind him.
Duan Ling has a long, long dream. In his dreams, he had returned to the woodshed in the Duan estate, and his little friends are yelling for him nearby: Duan Ling — Duan Ling —
“Hey, wake up!” Batu’s voice is saying to him, “Stop sleeping already!”
Duan Ling’s head hurts like it’s been split open. He turns over to find his nose is filled with the scent of grass and dirt. He’s lying on a patch of grass, with a wide, blue lake nearby, and suddenly realising his situation, he immediately opens his eyes.
Duan Ling isn’t quite sure what to make of this.
Batu is patting him down with one hand, and Duan Ling is struggling right away, so Batu holds him down. His wrist is thick and strong; somehow, Duan Ling can’t shake him off, and he’s held down by Batu’s weight.
“Why you … Batu! Let me go! What are you trying to do?!”
Batu is heavily built; three short years apart and he’s already gotten so strong, with wide shoulders and cinched waist, built like a leopard. He holds Duan Ling’s wrists together with one hand, and with a knee pushed up between Duan Ling’s legs, he’s studying him carefully. He’s leaned in awfully close, so close that his breath nearly lands on Duan Ling’s face.
Duan Ling tries to get away from the hold with a start, but Batu has him immobilised, and one hand slides up from Duan Ling’s waist, expediently removing his undershirt along with the White Tiger Silver Armour that’s worn over it. Suddenly shirtless, Duan Ling howls, “What are you trying to do?!”
Batu casually gives Duan Ling’s face a little pat and tosses the undershirt back at him. “Who gave you these clothes?”
“Give it back! It’s mine!”
“It’s mine now. You still owe me a token.” Batu has taken off his armour, opening his shirt to reveal sturdy arms and lean muscles. He pulls the White Tiger armoured tank top over himself and walks over to the lake to stare at his reflection.
Batu turns his head. “Even you belong to me now. Saved me two thousand and four hundred taels of gold. Turned a profit.” Speaking of which, he tosses a water bladder at Duan Ling. “Have a drink.”
Duan Ling takes a few mouthfuls and considers whether Wu Du has realised he’s missing yet. If Wu Du’s coming to get him with his men. He stares off at the horizon, wondering where he could be right now.
“Stop thinking about it,” Batu says, reading his mind. “I lost them ages ago. Nobody’s going to come to save you.”
“Let me go.”
“You think that’s possible?” Batu starts laughing instead.
Duan Ling is essentially out of options when it comes to Batu. He gulps down all the water in the water bladder and tosses it back at Batu, knowing he’ll have to fill it up now. As Duan Ling expected he would, Batu turns around and bends down to start filling the bladder up with lake water. Before he realises it, Duan Ling has already charged at the grazing horse nearby and thrown his leg over its back. Without hesitation, he makes a run for it.
“Gup—!”
The horse turns around and starts galloping. Batu’s not sure what to say; he stands up with a frown on his face.
Breathing heavily, Duan Ling can’t help but turn back to look at Batu, suddenly feeling a pang at having to leave him. To his chagrin, upon their reunion, they’re now on opposing sides, and before they can properly converse he will have to run away like this.
And yet, Batu bends low, then charging onto the plains like an arrow, he goes right for Duan Ling!
“Gup!” Duan Ling yells.
As he speeds along the plains, Batu suddenly swings his arm and a rock flies at Duan Ling like a meteor, hitting the horse on the buttocks. The warhorse neighs in surprise, and caught off guard, Duan Ling is thrown off. Batu follows closely with a quick charge forward, throwing himself into the air to wrap his arms around Duan Ling, then with a roll they both crash onto the grass.
“Hahaha —!” Batu suddenly bursts out laughing, “You’re no — no match for me!”
Duan Ling snarls in anger, “Go to hell, you!”
Duan Ling straddles Batu and throws a punch down at him, but Batu simply raises one hand and grabs his fist, twisting Duan Ling’s hand to his back to hold it there. He pushes Duan Ling forward, “Move it!”
Duan Ling is at the end of his tether; he can’t beat Batu in a fight, and he can’t run fast enough to get away. He’s just about to lose his mind.
“I almost forgot how to speak Han. It’s been too long. Get on the horse.”
Duan Ling says angrily, “Let me go!”
“You getting on or what?” Batu is taller than Duan Ling by a full head. “Don’t force me to get rough. I’m in a really good mood today. I don’t feel like tying you up.”
“Where’re we going?”
“Horse-running.”
“Get outta here!” Duan Ling snarls back ferociously. What Mongols calls “horse-running” is to capture a woman and take her away on a horse, and race along the prairies until they reach some deserted place, then with the sky as a blanket and the grass as a bed, to consummate their relationship. Some Mongolians also call getting married horse-running.
Getting impatient, Batu forcefully pushes Duan Ling onto the horse. Duan Ling doesn’t really want Batu to tie him up either, so he can only stay there.
“I need to pee.” It suddenly occurs to Duan Ling that maybe he can just stall them here for a while. Wu Du must be looking all over for him.
“Don’t try to pull anything,” Batu says, then he takes a rope and ties Duan Ling’s hands together. He gets on the horse and sits firmly behind him, then putting his hands to either side of Duan Ling’s waist, he grabs the reins and whips them, shouting, “Gup!”
The warhorse once more tramps on deeper into the wilderness. The skies are blue and the wilderness boundless; it is high noon, and the mountains go on forever. Duan Ling knows that even if he can run away, he’ll get lost regardless, so he may as well not run.
“Don’t try to run. You’ll get lost, and I don’t want you to starve to death in the mountains.”
“If it’s that easy to starve to death, do you know how many times I’d have died already?! What on earth did you grab me for anyway?!”
“I just missed you, that’s all.” Batu says absentmindedly, “You’ve killed off most of my personal guard. Duan Ling, when did you become so ruthless?”
“You Mongols charged into Shangjing and killed my dad. And you go around killing us Han all over the land too. I wish I could kill all of your people. I only killed a few personal guards of yours, and you call that ‘ruthless’?”
“Do you hate me then?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“That’s fine then.”
Duan Ling is speechless.
The warhorse slows as it passes by a stretch of marshes. Sunlight streams down from above, its light passing through the leaves in patches. Dappled sunlight flashes over them as they pass.
“I’ve missed you for so many years, you know. I nearly didn’t recognise you. I only managed to recognise you once you called my name.”
“I recognised you at a single glance. Just a glance. But once you caught me I don’t know who you are anymore. Batu, you’ve changed a lot. Just now, I almost thought I got the wrong person.”
“Oh.” Batu scrutinises the inside of the forest casually, guarded against an ambush. Just this one simple action and Duan Ling knows there’s no way he can get away. Batu is impressive — sometimes he squints to think, sometimes he turns his head to listen, sometimes moving fast and sometimes moving slowly as they pass through the marshes and the forest.
“That trick you pulled yesterday was beautiful,” Batu says, “It’s been ages since anyone beat me like that. What was that ruse you used? Poisoned smoke?”
Duan Ling doesn’t answer him, guarded against his trying to probe him for information.
“Where on earth are you taking me?” Duan Ling asks.
“Back to my encampment, of course. Where else could we be going? When did you ever get this dumb.”
“Just let me go …”
“Impossible! I’ve been looking for you for two years! How can I ever let you go?!”
Once they’ve passed through the marshes and went around a cliff face, the space opens up in front of them to reveal a Mongolian camp. From the looks of it, there are at least four thousand people camped here. Holding onto the rope wrapped around Duan Ling’s wrist, Batu helps him down the horse and walks him inside. Along the way, some people greet him, and Batu looks annoyed as he returns their greetings.
The Mongol soldiers passing by check out Duan Ling as they pass as though not at all surprised. Without stopping along the way, Batu takes Duan Ling to one of the tents, and bending down, pushes him inside.
This is a tent of a battalion commander. Borjigin’s son is only given the lowly rank of a battalion commander? With his hands tied, Duan Ling sits down on the carpet. Batu ties the rope to a wooden stake and says to Duan Ling, “Don’t try to run. Wait for me, I’ll be back.” And as soon as he finishes saying this, he turns and leaves.
Even if Duan Ling wants to run there’s no way he can run — Batu’s taken his White Tiger armour, and he’s surrounded by Mongol soldiers. If he runs out there in broad daylight he’ll be shot to death the moment he gets outside. The Mongols aren’t going to care about whose captive you happen to be.
What is this place? Last night the Mongols had raided Hejian and left the city at dawn. A full morning hasn’t yet passed, and they’re already at camp, so this place is probably still within the borders of Great Chen.
“Borjigin!” Someone else has come into the tent, and Duan Ling immediately backs away. Their newcomer is a stout fellow, and he gives Duan Ling a curious glance before he drops the tent flap and is gone.
Soon, Batu returns with roast meat and flatbread in his hands. He sets the food down in front of Duan Ling and hands him a canteen, but he doesn’t loosen Duan Ling’s bonds.
That other man chases him into the tent and snarls, “Borjigin Batu!”
Batu stands up to his full height. This tent has a low ceiling, to begin with, so the two of them are practically holding up the tent as they speak. Duan Ling can understand them, but he doesn’t look at the stout man. Instead, he turns away so that the man won’t realise that he understands Mongolian.
“Where’d you take your men?!” The stout man says to Batu with his fierce, puffy face, “Zhiluo wants to hold you responsible! You didn’t manage to take Hejian, and so many people are dead!”
“Tell him to come see me. My sabre hasn’t tasted blood yet today,” Batu replies.
“You best think this through,” The strong man says viciously, “think about how you’re going to explain this to the Khan when you get back.”
“They were my own men. They were all warriors who followed me, so if they died of course it’s my own business.”
“And what’s this? A Han?” The stout man points at Duan Ling, sitting in the corner of the tent.
“My captive. I caught him. He’s my slave.”
“Captives need to be given out and redistributed by Zhiluo. You’re privately keeping spoils of war, and that’s a crime too! There aren’t any women — you sacrificed so many warriors, and all you brought back is a man! You need to hand him over, and use him to comfort the troops!”
“Fuck off,” Batu says expressionlessly. “You want to try talking some more?”
“Borjigin!” The strong man flies into a fury, and in a flash, he’s drawn his sabre and thrown himself at Batu. “You’re too arrogant! I will kill you!”
“Watch out!” As soon as he sees the man’s shoulder move, Duan Ling is yelling. Batu never could have expected the man to seriously try to kill him, and he backs up abruptly, trying to get out of the way. The stout man’s blade slashes across Batu’s waist, and if it hadn’t for landing on top of the White Tiger armour, that move would have slashed him right open and had his guts running all over the floor; instead, the sabre glances across the metal, leaving the armour completely unscathed.
By then Batu has already pulled himself together; he draws his dagger, and waving it around in an arc, he stabs the blade into the side of the man’s neck. Duan Ling is about to rush forward in an attempt to help, but Batu’s dagger is already buried in the stout man’s neck.
Blood fills the man’s mouth and nose, breath caught in his throat as he glares at Batu. His lips quiver once, and falling backwards onto the ground, he dies on the spot.
Duan Ling looks down at him in silence.
Batu pats the White Tiger armour he’s wearing and stares at Duan Ling incredulously.
“What … Kind of a treasure is this?” Batu says.
“Um … who was this man?! Is he one of your fellow clansmen? You killed him just like that?!”
“I’ve no idea.” Looking quite bewildered, Batu says, “I haven’t looked him in the eyes since we went on the march.”
“What’s his name?”
“Forgot.”
Duan Ling looks exasperated.
Batu says, “I’ll get someone in here to clean this up.”
Again, Batu leaves the tent. In all his days it’s the first time Duan Ling has ever witnessed for himself the barbarism of the Mongols — these people are plain beasts!
This time, Batu is gone for a long while. Soon, another stranger walks in and says to Duan Ling, “Come with me. The Army Inspector wants to see you.”
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