After a quarter of an hour, one lieutenant commander flies out of the office backwards, turning over the flowerpot stand outside, sending shattered ceramic all over the ground.
The other lieutenant commander stands there watching Wu Du, and he keeps gasping for breath. Wu Du says, “I said, hit me.”
“I dare not raise my hand against you, General.”
“If you don’t raise your hand against me how am I supposed to know what you’re capable of? Block three moves of mine, and you can be the commandant instead.”
“You jest, General …” before the lieutenant even finishes speaking, Wu Du has already kicked a foot out. That lieutenant also flies out of the room, crashing into the spirit screen. Blood immediately sprays out of his mouth.
Wu Du stands at the doors to the main hall, his figure blocking sunlight. “I told you people that we were going out with the troops to save him, and all you did was stand there at the back watching. When we couldn’t find the governor, you all just came back on your own. The last official of the imperial court’s already been lost behind enemy lines. It’s one thing that I haven’t put the lot of you to death for desertion on the battlefield, but did you think you could simply do it again and throw the life of your newly appointed governor away?!”
Inside, Duan Ling listens without interrupting him. But Wu Du is quite aware of what’s really going on here, it seems.
Those two moves of Wu Du’s were utterly ruthless; with armour on, both lieutenants were hit by Wu du’s internal qi, which had moved right through their armour to rattle their internal organs, hitting them so hard that they actually ended up spitting blood.
All the bodyguards are watching with fear in their eyes. Sword in hand, Wu Du steps forward. Sun Ting says at once, “General! General, Have mercy!”
Wu Du makes one of the lieutenants look up by tipping his chin up with the end of his sword. “The reason the imperial court hasn’t held anyone here accountable for the loss of Governor Lu was precisely because the newly appointed governor ensured you live. Did you really think that Ye can’t go on without you lot?”
“General,” Duan Ling says decisively, “Please have mercy!”
In that split second, Duan Ling has a feeling that Wu Du really does intend to kill — even though they’re several steps apart he could still feel a murderous aura rolling off Wu Du, and he also guesses that Wu Du wants to kill someone right now in order to intimidate the army of Ye. Sometimes, killing really can solve a problem, but not killing can solve their problem as well.
Wu Du’s sword has already pushed through the gap between the lieutenant’s helmet and armour, and with a single turn of his wrist, the sword would push right into his throat. The soldier is pacing at the gates of hell, and he can’t stop shaking as he meets Wu Du’s cold, dark eyes; he realises that this new commandant of theirs really would just draw his sword and kill someone.
Yet his mouth is full of blood and he’s already unable to utter a single word; all he can do is keep shaking and beg for mercy with his eyes.
“I’ll let you live … for now.” Wu Du sheathes his sword. “When you have the time you may as well ask around and find out who I am. Even if you sell both of us out, with my martial arts skills I’m definitely not going to die. Then once I survive whatever you send my way I’ll make sure anyone who’d dare sell me out and their family never get a day of peace. Sooner or later, not even a chicken from their household will live to tell the tale.” Once he finishes speaking, Wu Du turns around, comes inside, and reclaims his seat on the daybed, leaning back lazily into it.
“Sun Ting, bring them in here,” Duan Ling says.
Sun Ting tries to help one of the lieutenants up, but he can’t do it on his own, so he can only ask one of the bodyguards to help him bring one of them in first.
“Put your hand up here,” Duan Ling says.
The lieutenant coughs several times, his nostrils filled with bloody foam. Duan Ling reads his pulse for him. “Help the other one in here as well.”
Wu Du had kicked them both in the same spot, and both of them have broken ribs that had gone on to puncture their lungs. Duan Ling sets their bones for them one by one, then writes a prescription so they can both go home and recuperate.
Duan Ling says, “Summon our centurions, ten at a time. We’ll call them in by name so they can report on their work.”
The most important thing in Ye concerns the military, and the city was built for the sake of having a defensive border town to begin with. Other counties are mainly ruled by their governors supplemented by their military officers, but when it comes to the perpetual warzone that is the border, Wu Du’s duty appears to be ever more important. Duan Ling, on the other hand, seems to have become the logistics that provide support to the army.
Everyone they called for has arrived, filling up the main hall. Duan Ling says, “Sit down. We’re not going to beat you.”
That’s when everyone sits down. Two lieutenant commanders by the name of Bai and Zhu each commands a thousand men, and those who’ve come in would be Lieutenant Bai’s ten subordinates.
“Whatever problems you have, how you want to live your days, how are things with leading the troops,” Duan Ling says, “Tell us.”
Everyone looks this way and that at each other. With the list of soldiers in hand, Duan Ling calls out a name. “Let’s start with you. The general has a short temper so don’t let him wait too long now.”
Wu Du smiles and takes a sip of tea. The first centurion pauses to think before saying, “Lord Governor, we have no money. The men don’t have enough food to eat. They can’t fight on an empty stomach.”
“That’s already taken care of,” Duan Ling says, “You’ll get your salary as soon as you get back. What else?”
“The mountain bandits are too brazen,” Another centurion says.
Wu Du absentmindedly flips through the book in his hand as he listens to the centurions details their work, but Duan Ling knows he’s absorbing it all. He speaks to the first ten, sends them away, and brings in the next ten to speak to them next. He doesn’t get out of his seat until it’s time to have lunch, rubbing at his temples.
“What are you reading?” Duan Ling asks.
Wu Du waves the book at Duan Ling. It’s a copy of The Book of Food,2 and it just so happens that Lin Yunqi’s steward enters the room to ask them what they want to have for lunch, so Duan Ling orders that everything be kept simple — they’re so poor he can hear the jangling of silver bits, so let’s not waste it on extravagance.
“We’ll have to make some money somehow.” Duan Ling looks miserable. Ever since Lang Junxia brought him to Shangjing, though he didn’t exactly live a life of luxury, they never had to worry about money. When his father was alive, his food and clothes may not have been particularly remarkable, but what food they had, what tea they drank, what vessels these were contained in — all of these were chosen with quality in mind.
Then once he started staying with Wu Du, they were only poor for the first six months or so before things gradually got better.
“I’ll figure out something,” Wu Du says.
Duan Ling believes that since they’re in Ye, Wu Du will have to go out and do things. Leaving Duan Ling in the estate by himself probably won’t lead to any problems; he’s carrying poison on his person, shielded by the White Tiger Silver Armour, and he even knows some martial arts, so what could ever happen to him? With Wu Du insisting on staying by his side all the time anyway, how is he supposed to make any money?
They’re both quiet while they eat. Duan Ling says, “I’ll have to write a letter, get a messenger to take it to Liao for Master Fei, and ask him to help us borrow some grain.”
Wu Du says, “Aren’t there supposed to be a lot of mountain bandits in the area? I’m sure they have quite a bit of money. In a few days, once my wounds are healed, we can just rob the bandits.”
Duan Ling expects that plenty of people must have left the city to become bandits since it’s been so hard to make a living in the city through the years, and he knows they must get rid of them as quickly as they can. But how much can they ever bring back by killing bandits?
“What did the city of Ye live on before?” From what Duan Ling can remember, Ye never had any sort of local speciality, so they couldn’t use that to deal with the other regions. Neither could they trade for resources with other places in the central plains.
“Charcoal.” Wu Du replies as he eats, “They’d manufacture charcoal and sell it on to the south. Gradually, a lot of the trees have been cut down in the mountains.”
“We don’t have much land on which to plant food.” Duan Ling once read in a book regarding the loss of water and soil from the north; Shangzi and Xunyang are in possession of both rivers and prairies, and so can already be considered the fertile ground of the central plains. Alas, Ye is surrounded by mountains and hilly forests, and its only prairie is situated at the border between Chen and Liao.
“We mustn’t cut down any more trees.” Duan Ling says, “We’ll have to find some other way to make a living.”
Outside, it’s still raining; this rain has almost never stopped, coming down with a constant pitter-patter that drives one to distraction, while the humidity makes one sticky all over. The first thing Duan Ling does is write a letter and get it sent off before he hunts down maps and the history of the county. From there he discovers that the land between Hejian and Ye can be worked to grow food, it’s just that it was always getting plundered, once by the Khitans and now by the Mongols.
The former governor had never bothered to police it, leaving those commoners living there to fend for themselves; he supposes that’s normal though — anyone who gets sent here wants to get transferred away as soon as possible because when it’s all said and done it’s somebody else’s empire. Idling one’s time away and barely getting by is good enough while making some spending money in the meantime.
Duan Ling spends three whole days getting himself familiarised with the city from the maps and the town histories; Wu Du has also gradually gotten to know his army. Whenever it stops raining, the two of them would take a walk around town. After they had punished the two lieutenants, the rest of the soldiers have also learned their place.
Even though they have no idea if the army really does know its place or it’s just putting on an act, at the very least nothing is likely to go pearshaped for now, as they’re both in observation mode, observing each other. Wu Du assigns all the soldiers to shifts so they would be constantly on the move, off on patrol. Once Duan Ling has finished surveying Ye, he begins his survey of the mess that is Hejian. Hebei’s seat of government used to be in Shangzi; after signing the peace treaty with the emperor of Liao, it was first moved to Hejian, then because the Commandant of Hejian needs to watch over the border, moved to Ye.
Hejian is defended by Lieutenant Qin, who came out of the city the other day to repel the Mongols, alongside one Lieutenant Qi. The two cities have four thousand soldiers between them, two thousand garrisoned in each, led by Wu Du. There is a distance of two-hundred and eighty miles separating them, and riding whip and spur, one can reach the other city within a half-day.
Over the past several days, news has also been arriving nonstop from Hejian, reporting back once a day from the County Magistrate of Hejian; Duan Ling hasn’t summoned him over to give a detailed account of his duties yet either, leaving things as they are for now. Even the occasional correspondence is simply annotated by Duan Ling with a “read” as his reply. The city of Chang, far to the southeast, is even more impoverished, so much so that even the Mongols don’t bother to loot the place, and it’s occupied by all kinds of bandits. It’s nearly four hundred miles away from Ye, and noting that it’s hard on the messenger, Duan Ling tells him he only has to come by once every ten days.
The first thing they must do is build an early warning system between the three cities while at the same time restoring a line of communication.
“Has your wound gotten a bit better?” Duan Ling asks after he’s got most everything in order.
Wu Du rolls his arms and shoulder. “Where do you want to go have some fun?”
Wu Du guesses that Duan Ling would like to go on an outing, and so Duan Ling tells him, “Let’s make a roundtrip between Hejian and Ye. Have a look at our domain.”
Wu Du assigns them a squad of soldiers, readies the supplies for the trip, and they leave Ye that very day. Duan Ling rides on Benxiao, while Wu Du picks the best horse he can and rides behind him.
It’s summer’s end and the cusp of autumn; after several bouts of rain, the climate has cooled immediately.
“What date is today?” Duan Ling asks.
“It’s the twenty-first of the Sixth Month.” Wu Du replies, “The Seventh of Seventh is coming up soon.”
He never imagined that he would spend the Seventh of Seventh in Hebei this year. Duan Ling pulls on the reins and stops the horse before the mountains, staring at the distant land beyond the river. That’s Xunyang — where his home used to be.
“Khitan territory,” Wu Du says, “nowadays the Mongols control it.”
The two of them sit on their horses, side by side, grass rustling in the late summer breeze. Duan Ling says, “Nine years ago, Shangzi was still a rather bustling place. It’s probably in ruins by now.”
“Do you want to go back and have a look?”
Duan Ling shakes his head. He has no attachment to the Duans at all, and he seldom brought up his childhood in front of Wu Du. In his memories, every portion of his life belongs to a different person; just as his present days belong to Wu Du, his days in Shangjing belong to his father, and as for his days in Shangzi, they belong to Lang Junxia.
“Let’s go.” Duan Ling takes the path along the river shore. This great river that cuts across the Hebei Prefecture is called Xunshui. They say what’s south of the mountains and north of the water is yang,3 and when those living in Ye and Hejian speak they more or less have a Xunyang accent, sounding familiar to Duan Ling’s ear. When his father was bestowed the title Prince of Beiliang, his fiefdom was the entire Hebei Prefecture. He seems to have been born with a sense of belonging towards this barren and primitive wilderness.
“How does it feel?” Wu Du asks Duan Ling.
“Feels like a family business.”
Wu Du smiles, comprehending Duan Ling’s meaning.
“What’s that?” Duan Ling notices a sentry tower at a higher point along the riverbank.
“Lord Wang, this was once a sentry tower.” Sun Ting answers him, “There used to be villages near the Xunshui as well. After that, the Mongols started coming frequently so all the commoners left.”
“They all left?” Duan Ling asks absentmindedly.
They all left is just a nicer way of telling him that everyone in these villages had been killed, and the place was set to fire and burned to cinders besides. All that’s left is a high tower made of bricks, its walls singed black. Duan Ling finds quite a lot of stuff in the ruins, like pulverised ceramic tiles and ironware used in farming.
“Tell them to look around,” Duan Ling says, “take any hoes and shovels that are usable. Throw away the wooden handles and bring back the iron, we’ll find a use for them later.”
Wu Du just stands there and laughs; even Duan Ling feels like he’s a scrap collector. He scratches his head with some embarrassment. “It’s good to live frugally.”
There’s quite a lot of stuff buried underneath the ruins. This place really is too deserted, so much so that even commoners seldom travel this way. Standing outside the village, Duan Ling looks up at the sentry tower, and he says to Wu Du, “Let’s go up there and have a look.”
“Let’s go,” Wu Du replies. The two of them enter the sentry tower. The building is nearly thirty feet tall, with a solid brick wall on the outside, the inside reinforced with stakes. It’s completely empty.
“There should be a gong up there …”
“Look out!” Wu Du suddenly shouts, and with a shake of his left hand, unfolds his knuckle daggers. Duan Ling feels his blood freezing in his veins in an instant — an ambush! But who can it be?!
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. ↩︎
The Book of Food by Xie Feng comes from the Sui dynasty, but most of it has been lost. The menu still exists though and it’s plenty extravagant. ↩︎
Yang as in Yin and Yang. ↩︎
After a quarter of an hour, one lieutenant commander flies out of the office backwards, turning over the flowerpot stand outside, sending shattered ceramic all over the ground.
The other lieutenant commander stands there watching Wu Du, and he keeps gasping for breath. Wu Du says, “I said, hit me.”
“I dare not raise my hand against you, General.”
“If you don’t raise your hand against me how am I supposed to know what you’re capable of? Block three moves of mine, and you can be the commandant instead.”
“You jest, General …” before the lieutenant even finishes speaking, Wu Du has already kicked a foot out. That lieutenant also flies out of the room, crashing into the spirit screen. Blood immediately sprays out of his mouth.
Wu Du stands at the doors to the main hall, his figure blocking sunlight. “I told you people that we were going out with the troops to save him, and all you did was stand there at the back watching. When we couldn’t find the governor, you all just came back on your own. The last official of the imperial court’s already been lost behind enemy lines. It’s one thing that I haven’t put the lot of you to death for desertion on the battlefield, but did you think you could simply do it again and throw the life of your newly appointed governor away?!”
Inside, Duan Ling listens without interrupting him. But Wu Du is quite aware of what’s really going on here, it seems.
Those two moves of Wu Du’s were utterly ruthless; with armour on, both lieutenants were hit by Wu du’s internal qi, which had moved right through their armour to rattle their internal organs, hitting them so hard that they actually ended up spitting blood.
All the bodyguards are watching with fear in their eyes. Sword in hand, Wu Du steps forward. Sun Ting says at once, “General! General, Have mercy!”
Wu Du makes one of the lieutenants look up by tipping his chin up with the end of his sword. “The reason the imperial court hasn’t held anyone here accountable for the loss of Governor Lu was precisely because the newly appointed governor ensured you live. Did you really think that Ye can’t go on without you lot?”
“General,” Duan Ling says decisively, “Please have mercy!”
In that split second, Duan Ling has a feeling that Wu Du really does intend to kill — even though they’re several steps apart he could still feel a murderous aura rolling off Wu Du, and he also guesses that Wu Du wants to kill someone right now in order to intimidate the army of Ye. Sometimes, killing really can solve a problem, but not killing can solve their problem as well.
Wu Du’s sword has already pushed through the gap between the lieutenant’s helmet and armour, and with a single turn of his wrist, the sword would push right into his throat. The soldier is pacing at the gates of hell, and he can’t stop shaking as he meets Wu Du’s cold, dark eyes; he realises that this new commandant of theirs really would just draw his sword and kill someone.
Yet his mouth is full of blood and he’s already unable to utter a single word; all he can do is keep shaking and beg for mercy with his eyes.
“I’ll let you live … for now.” Wu Du sheathes his sword. “When you have the time you may as well ask around and find out who I am. Even if you sell both of us out, with my martial arts skills I’m definitely not going to die. Then once I survive whatever you send my way I’ll make sure anyone who’d dare sell me out and their family never get a day of peace. Sooner or later, not even a chicken from their household will live to tell the tale.” Once he finishes speaking, Wu Du turns around, comes inside, and reclaims his seat on the daybed, leaning back lazily into it.
“Sun Ting, bring them in here,” Duan Ling says.
Sun Ting tries to help one of the lieutenants up, but he can’t do it on his own, so he can only ask one of the bodyguards to help him bring one of them in first.
“Put your hand up here,” Duan Ling says.
The lieutenant coughs several times, his nostrils filled with bloody foam. Duan Ling reads his pulse for him. “Help the other one in here as well.”
Wu Du had kicked them both in the same spot, and both of them have broken ribs that had gone on to puncture their lungs. Duan Ling sets their bones for them one by one, then writes a prescription so they can both go home and recuperate.
Duan Ling says, “Summon our centurions, ten at a time. We’ll call them in by name so they can report on their work.”
The most important thing in Ye concerns the military, and the city was built for the sake of having a defensive border town to begin with. Other counties are mainly ruled by their governors supplemented by their military officers, but when it comes to the perpetual warzone that is the border, Wu Du’s duty appears to be ever more important. Duan Ling, on the other hand, seems to have become the logistics that provide support to the army.
Everyone they called for has arrived, filling up the main hall. Duan Ling says, “Sit down. We’re not going to beat you.”
That’s when everyone sits down. Two lieutenant commanders by the name of Bai and Zhu each commands a thousand men, and those who’ve come in would be Lieutenant Bai’s ten subordinates.
“Whatever problems you have, how you want to live your days, how are things with leading the troops,” Duan Ling says, “Tell us.”
Everyone looks this way and that at each other. With the list of soldiers in hand, Duan Ling calls out a name. “Let’s start with you. The general has a short temper so don’t let him wait too long now.”
Wu Du smiles and takes a sip of tea. The first centurion pauses to think before saying, “Lord Governor, we have no money. The men don’t have enough food to eat. They can’t fight on an empty stomach.”
“That’s already taken care of,” Duan Ling says, “You’ll get your salary as soon as you get back. What else?”
“The mountain bandits are too brazen,” Another centurion says.
Wu Du absentmindedly flips through the book in his hand as he listens to the centurions details their work, but Duan Ling knows he’s absorbing it all. He speaks to the first ten, sends them away, and brings in the next ten to speak to them next. He doesn’t get out of his seat until it’s time to have lunch, rubbing at his temples.
“What are you reading?” Duan Ling asks.
Wu Du waves the book at Duan Ling. It’s a copy of The Book of Food,2 and it just so happens that Lin Yunqi’s steward enters the room to ask them what they want to have for lunch, so Duan Ling orders that everything be kept simple — they’re so poor he can hear the jangling of silver bits, so let’s not waste it on extravagance.
“We’ll have to make some money somehow.” Duan Ling looks miserable. Ever since Lang Junxia brought him to Shangjing, though he didn’t exactly live a life of luxury, they never had to worry about money. When his father was alive, his food and clothes may not have been particularly remarkable, but what food they had, what tea they drank, what vessels these were contained in — all of these were chosen with quality in mind.
Then once he started staying with Wu Du, they were only poor for the first six months or so before things gradually got better.
“I’ll figure out something,” Wu Du says.
Duan Ling believes that since they’re in Ye, Wu Du will have to go out and do things. Leaving Duan Ling in the estate by himself probably won’t lead to any problems; he’s carrying poison on his person, shielded by the White Tiger Silver Armour, and he even knows some martial arts, so what could ever happen to him? With Wu Du insisting on staying by his side all the time anyway, how is he supposed to make any money?
They’re both quiet while they eat. Duan Ling says, “I’ll have to write a letter, get a messenger to take it to Liao for Master Fei, and ask him to help us borrow some grain.”
Wu Du says, “Aren’t there supposed to be a lot of mountain bandits in the area? I’m sure they have quite a bit of money. In a few days, once my wounds are healed, we can just rob the bandits.”
Duan Ling expects that plenty of people must have left the city to become bandits since it’s been so hard to make a living in the city through the years, and he knows they must get rid of them as quickly as they can. But how much can they ever bring back by killing bandits?
“What did the city of Ye live on before?” From what Duan Ling can remember, Ye never had any sort of local speciality, so they couldn’t use that to deal with the other regions. Neither could they trade for resources with other places in the central plains.
“Charcoal.” Wu Du replies as he eats, “They’d manufacture charcoal and sell it on to the south. Gradually, a lot of the trees have been cut down in the mountains.”
“We don’t have much land on which to plant food.” Duan Ling once read in a book regarding the loss of water and soil from the north; Shangzi and Xunyang are in possession of both rivers and prairies, and so can already be considered the fertile ground of the central plains. Alas, Ye is surrounded by mountains and hilly forests, and its only prairie is situated at the border between Chen and Liao.
“We mustn’t cut down any more trees.” Duan Ling says, “We’ll have to find some other way to make a living.”
Outside, it’s still raining; this rain has almost never stopped, coming down with a constant pitter-patter that drives one to distraction, while the humidity makes one sticky all over. The first thing Duan Ling does is write a letter and get it sent off before he hunts down maps and the history of the county. From there he discovers that the land between Hejian and Ye can be worked to grow food, it’s just that it was always getting plundered, once by the Khitans and now by the Mongols.
The former governor had never bothered to police it, leaving those commoners living there to fend for themselves; he supposes that’s normal though — anyone who gets sent here wants to get transferred away as soon as possible because when it’s all said and done it’s somebody else’s empire. Idling one’s time away and barely getting by is good enough while making some spending money in the meantime.
Duan Ling spends three whole days getting himself familiarised with the city from the maps and the town histories; Wu Du has also gradually gotten to know his army. Whenever it stops raining, the two of them would take a walk around town. After they had punished the two lieutenants, the rest of the soldiers have also learned their place.
Even though they have no idea if the army really does know its place or it’s just putting on an act, at the very least nothing is likely to go pearshaped for now, as they’re both in observation mode, observing each other. Wu Du assigns all the soldiers to shifts so they would be constantly on the move, off on patrol. Once Duan Ling has finished surveying Ye, he begins his survey of the mess that is Hejian. Hebei’s seat of government used to be in Shangzi; after signing the peace treaty with the emperor of Liao, it was first moved to Hejian, then because the Commandant of Hejian needs to watch over the border, moved to Ye.
Hejian is defended by Lieutenant Qin, who came out of the city the other day to repel the Mongols, alongside one Lieutenant Qi. The two cities have four thousand soldiers between them, two thousand garrisoned in each, led by Wu Du. There is a distance of two-hundred and eighty miles separating them, and riding whip and spur, one can reach the other city within a half-day.
Over the past several days, news has also been arriving nonstop from Hejian, reporting back once a day from the County Magistrate of Hejian; Duan Ling hasn’t summoned him over to give a detailed account of his duties yet either, leaving things as they are for now. Even the occasional correspondence is simply annotated by Duan Ling with a “read” as his reply. The city of Chang, far to the southeast, is even more impoverished, so much so that even the Mongols don’t bother to loot the place, and it’s occupied by all kinds of bandits. It’s nearly four hundred miles away from Ye, and noting that it’s hard on the messenger, Duan Ling tells him he only has to come by once every ten days.
The first thing they must do is build an early warning system between the three cities while at the same time restoring a line of communication.
“Has your wound gotten a bit better?” Duan Ling asks after he’s got most everything in order.
Wu Du rolls his arms and shoulder. “Where do you want to go have some fun?”
Wu Du guesses that Duan Ling would like to go on an outing, and so Duan Ling tells him, “Let’s make a roundtrip between Hejian and Ye. Have a look at our domain.”
Wu Du assigns them a squad of soldiers, readies the supplies for the trip, and they leave Ye that very day. Duan Ling rides on Benxiao, while Wu Du picks the best horse he can and rides behind him.
It’s summer’s end and the cusp of autumn; after several bouts of rain, the climate has cooled immediately.
“What date is today?” Duan Ling asks.
“It’s the twenty-first of the Sixth Month.” Wu Du replies, “The Seventh of Seventh is coming up soon.”
He never imagined that he would spend the Seventh of Seventh in Hebei this year. Duan Ling pulls on the reins and stops the horse before the mountains, staring at the distant land beyond the river. That’s Xunyang — where his home used to be.
“Khitan territory,” Wu Du says, “nowadays the Mongols control it.”
The two of them sit on their horses, side by side, grass rustling in the late summer breeze. Duan Ling says, “Nine years ago, Shangzi was still a rather bustling place. It’s probably in ruins by now.”
“Do you want to go back and have a look?”
Duan Ling shakes his head. He has no attachment to the Duans at all, and he seldom brought up his childhood in front of Wu Du. In his memories, every portion of his life belongs to a different person; just as his present days belong to Wu Du, his days in Shangjing belong to his father, and as for his days in Shangzi, they belong to Lang Junxia.
“Let’s go.” Duan Ling takes the path along the river shore. This great river that cuts across the Hebei Prefecture is called Xunshui. They say what’s south of the mountains and north of the water is yang,3 and when those living in Ye and Hejian speak they more or less have a Xunyang accent, sounding familiar to Duan Ling’s ear. When his father was bestowed the title Prince of Beiliang, his fiefdom was the entire Hebei Prefecture. He seems to have been born with a sense of belonging towards this barren and primitive wilderness.
“How does it feel?” Wu Du asks Duan Ling.
“Feels like a family business.”
Wu Du smiles, comprehending Duan Ling’s meaning.
“What’s that?” Duan Ling notices a sentry tower at a higher point along the riverbank.
“Lord Wang, this was once a sentry tower.” Sun Ting answers him, “There used to be villages near the Xunshui as well. After that, the Mongols started coming frequently so all the commoners left.”
“They all left?” Duan Ling asks absentmindedly.
They all left is just a nicer way of telling him that everyone in these villages had been killed, and the place was set to fire and burned to cinders besides. All that’s left is a high tower made of bricks, its walls singed black. Duan Ling finds quite a lot of stuff in the ruins, like pulverised ceramic tiles and ironware used in farming.
“Tell them to look around,” Duan Ling says, “take any hoes and shovels that are usable. Throw away the wooden handles and bring back the iron, we’ll find a use for them later.”
Wu Du just stands there and laughs; even Duan Ling feels like he’s a scrap collector. He scratches his head with some embarrassment. “It’s good to live frugally.”
There’s quite a lot of stuff buried underneath the ruins. This place really is too deserted, so much so that even commoners seldom travel this way. Standing outside the village, Duan Ling looks up at the sentry tower, and he says to Wu Du, “Let’s go up there and have a look.”
“Let’s go,” Wu Du replies. The two of them enter the sentry tower. The building is nearly thirty feet tall, with a solid brick wall on the outside, the inside reinforced with stakes. It’s completely empty.
“There should be a gong up there …”
“Look out!” Wu Du suddenly shouts, and with a shake of his left hand, unfolds his knuckle daggers. Duan Ling feels his blood freezing in his veins in an instant — an ambush! But who can it be?!
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. ↩︎
The Book of Food by Xie Feng comes from the Sui dynasty, but most of it has been lost. The menu still exists though and it’s plenty extravagant. ↩︎
Yang as in Yin and Yang. ↩︎
