Batu and his army are taking ages to show up. The city of Ye has sent ten scouts into the surrounding area to reconnoitre, and several times they find traces of the Mongol army, but no matter where the Mongols stop, they don’t stay too long. They take circuitous, winding paths in order to wreak havoc with the Ye army’s judgement, making them unable to tell when the battle will commence.
“What are they waiting for?” Duan Ling stares at the map with a deep furrow between his brows.
“Waiting for the opportunity to strike.” Wu Du replies, “As for what this opportunity is, they’re the only ones who can know that.”
The weather is hot and stuffy. Layers of heavy dark clouds are rolling in, and it looks like another major storm is brewing. That’s not a good thing — Duan Ling stands on top of the wall, observing the weather in the distance. If this rainstorm should come, it’ll be hard for those beacon towers he had built between Ye and Hejian to work. Smoke signals can’t work once they’ve been soaked by the rain.
It would also be much harder to move an army and fight a battle in the mud. And If the Mongols should decide to attack the city right then, it’ll put Ye in an extremely precarious position.
It is unusually windy. The first beacon tower is nearby, and many militiamen are practising archery inside the city. Wu Du had chosen some men in their prime and assigned five Centurions and twenty Decanus of the Ye army to lead them in simple training. This way, they can somewhat add another two thousand men to their ranks, but they barely got any time to train, so they’re really not all that useful.
This is the benefit of utilising their own people though — no real conflict is going to arise from their addition, but Duan Ling doesn’t think this militia can fight with the Mongols head-on. All they can do is guard the city, stand at the top of the walls, and intimidate the other side.
“When do you think they’ll come?” Duan Ling asks.
“It will be the anniversary of the late emperor’s death tomorrow.” Zheng Yan does not answer his question.
“Yeah.” Duan Ling’s concentration has been distracted. “I barely noticed that two years have already gone by. How does His Majesty spend the anniversary every year?”
“All he can do is grieve in the palace,” Zheng Yan says, “how else can he spend it?”
Duan Ling nods. Suddenly, he notices Wu Du coming back to the city with about a hundred people.
“You left the city?” Duan Ling yells.
“Get down!” Wu Du looks up and calls to Duan Ling, “What are you doing standing on the wall for? It’s too high up!”
For the past two nights, Wu Du hasn’t come home to sleep, and Duan Ling has no idea where he’d gone; perhaps he’d gone to scout out the Mongols’ movements. Duan Ling comes down the tower and tells the guards to open the gate.
Wu Du doesn’t enter the city though. “I’m ready for them. Don’t worry. Go back to the estate. It’s going to rain soon, and I’m going to inspect the beacon towers. Go on, go home.”
Two days without seeing Wu Du has made Duan Ling miss him very much. He asks for a horse and gallops after him. “I’ll go with you!”
Wu Du wants to make Duan Ling go back, but then he ponders this for a moment before saying, “Come here.”
Thus Duan Ling and Wu Du end up sharing a horse while Zheng Yan stays behind to guard the city. The two of them leave with their hundred or so soldiers to inspect the beacon towers.
“Get up!” Wu Du shouts at the soldiers at the foot of the beacon tower. “Chin up! It’ll start raining soon!”
The starter fuels and firewood for lighting a smoke signal are all ready, and when it rains the soldiers would carry it all under an awning to stop them from getting wet. They check the towers one by one and finish inspecting six of the beacon towers. Every once in a while, Duan Ling would look up, worrying that some problem may arise.
“I wish we had those scout falcons like the ones the Mongolians have,” Duan Ling says, “even homing pigeons would help.”
“Your dad once told me,” Wu Du replies, “that they have bird hunting archers for this very purpose, just to kill homing pigeons. You cold?”
A squall has begun to blow, and dark clouds push down upon the city. On the boundless plain, Wu Du shakes a cloak open to envelop himself and Duan Ling both. The tail of the cloak ripples in the wind, and their warhorse carries the two of them towards the horizon.
“It’s going to rain,” Duan Ling says, “I really hope they don’t attack us at a time like this.”
“Even if they do come we’ll be fine, don’t worry. Why did you want to come along all of a sudden? You miss me?”
Duan Ling reaches out, wrapping his arms around Wu Du’s waist from beneath the cloak, and they press tightly against each other. “Do you think we can win this battle?”
“We won’t lose,” Wu Du replies, “this is your dad’s fief. He’s up in the sky above watching over us, you know.”
And yet, the sky above them is covered in layers and layers of dark clouds, and as time passes they only grow thicker, flashing with the occasional stroke of lightning. Wu Du pulls the horse to a stop. “It’s starting to rain. Let’s get back for now. I’ll inspect the rest tomorrow.”
Wu Du whistles. The soldiers all turn around in unison, and they return to the city. He’s not sure why, but Duan Ling has an extremely strong premonition — Batu will come to attack the city today.
“Dispatch—!” A soldier is dashing in their direction, calling out, “Lord Sun Ting has returned!”
Duan Ling’s heart is immediately drawn to his throat. “Come on! Let’s go!”
“Dispatch —!” As they reach a place within forty miles of Ye, another soldier comes to them with a report, shouting, “We have word from the scouts! The Mongolian army has appeared a hundred miles away, currently heading towards Ye!”
They’re finally here!
A loud boom of thunder cracks through the horizon soon after, and it begins to pour. Duan Ling cries out, “They’re coming! Hurry! Send someone! Get a message to Hejian!”
Wu Du pulls his cloak to cover both himself and Duan Ling; his handsome and indifferent profile can be seen beneath the hood as he spurs the horse on a mad gallop through the rain.
Ye lies within a dark shroud. Thunder roars and lightning flashes; the last rainstorm before autumn has arrived.
“Everyone, in position!” Wu Du shouts as soon as he enters the city, “Be ready for war! When this battle is over, we’re going to drive all the Mongols back to their home!”
Wu Du’s several subordinates immediately leave separately to mobilise the troops. Duan Ling had no idea that in no time at all, he’s already got the soldiers of Ye to submit to him, and stares at him with an astonished look on his face.
“What are you smiling about?” Wu Du asks.
“Nothing much. Are you going to leave the city to fight now?”
“We’re going to split up and ambush them, so I may not come back tonight. Let’s head back and see Zheng Yan first.”
They find Sun Ting waiting in the governor’s estate, and as soon as he sees Duan Ling he gets down on one knee. “Lord Governor, Lord Commandant, I completed my mission!”
Upon hearing this, Duan Ling almost faints dead away. Putting one hand on the corner of a table to keep himself upright he says breathlessly, “That’s wonderful … wonderful.”
When Han Bin saw Sun Ting arrive with the letter, things had turned out just as Duan Ling predicted. The Mongolian army had dispatched several messenger falcons, and they had taken the request to Ögedei separately. Ögedei, for his part, had also sent troops to reinforce Batu.
Meanwhile, Han Bin had moved out without demur and ambushed the Mongols outside Yubiguan, and Sun Ting headed into battle alongside them. This battle routed the Mongols as well as cut off the path heading to Ye. With his mission accomplished, Sun Ting rushed back to Ye with this message and reached Ye a day ahead of schedule. Right now the Mongols’ forces where Batu is may not have received the news yet — that their reinforcements aren’t coming.
Or perhaps he already knows and that’s why he’s going to brave the rain and attack the city.
“You did great,” Duan Ling says to Sun Ting, “go get some rest.”
“It was because your letter was convincing, My Lord. After General Han read the letter, he didn’t even bother to ask me any questions before he left to muster the troops for battle.”
Duan Ling nods reassured. Sun Ting continues, “Are we going to war right now? I would fight in the vanguard for you, Lord Governor!”
“No.” Wu Du unrolls the map and says to Sun Ting, “You stay in the city and provide support.”
Wu Du turns to Duan Ling then to say, “We’ll be here, here, and here. We’ll ambush them in these three places.”
Zheng Yan is here as well. He glances at the map before saying, “It’s raining tonight, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop any time soon.”
Wu Du says, “I’ve already sent a messenger to get word to Qin Long, and they can get there in one night at a forced march. I’ll lead the troops out of the city and set up ambushes. When the Mongolian army gets here we’ll attack their rear formation without warning. You guys stay in the city, don’t do anything at all. The militia will defend the city by making some noise and bluffing them.”
“You best wait until Qin Long’s reinforcements arrive before you start attacking,” Duan Ling says.
“We can’t pin all our hopes on him.” Wu Du turns to go, and Duan Ling chases him all the way out to the courtyard. Another thunderbolt flashes across the sky, illuminating the night sky, casting their silhouettes onto the ground.
“Take Benxiao!” Duan Ling says.
Duan Ling stops walking and takes Wu Du’s hand. With his back facing Duan Ling, Wu Du stops as well.
“Above all else, be careful,” Duan Ling says.
Wu Du turns around and lowers his head so that his forehead is touching Duan Ling’s. Then he leans in and gives him a kiss on the lips.
“Wait for me to come home,” Wu Du replies.
The rain is opaque like a curtain, showering down to the earth as though it wants to put out every smoke beacon in the world, wipe away all of the mortal world’s sins, flush away grievances and feuds both old and new, washing the night clean to welcome the dawn of a new day.
“The Mongols are coming —!”
Dong — dong — dong —
Gongs begin to sound, and all the militiamen rush towards the city walls while Wu Du leads the army out via the northern gate. Spurring Benxiao to gallop on ahead, horseshoes kick up sprays of water in a continuous wave. With a whistle, the soldiers behind him split up to take their predetermined paths towards the planned ambush points.
A clamour of activity is ringing out all around outside. Duan Ling stands in the estate, his breathing coming in short, and he cannot help but think of the night of Shangjing’s fall. It was a rainy night just like this one as well, and it was equally noisy.
Zheng Yan is standing behind Duan Ling with this hands at his sides, dressed in a set of dark red martial artist robes, looking down as he puts on his gloves.
“What do we do now?” Duan Ling asks.
“No idea. Wu Du asked me to guarantee your safety. You’re not sure what to do?”
“Can we watch from the gate tower?” Duan Ling asks.
“Of course. What weapons do you use? I haven’t seen you go to war yet. Do you know how to use a weapon?”
Duan Ling changes into informal dress, tying up his sleeves to expedite shooting. He slings a longbow over his back, as well as tie a long sword to his belt. Thunder roars and the rain pours; the two of them leave the governor’s estate and rush towards the gate tower.
The militiamen readying for battle beneath the gate tower are jostling against each other. Every once in a while, someone calls out.
“Bring the fire pan over here —”
“Where’s the oil?”
“The rain’s coming down too hard! I can’t get it lit!”
“The governor is here! Move aside!” Zheng Yan calls out in a loud shout.
Everyone along the path self-consciously gets into formation. Duan Ling cries out, “Where are the archers?! Come with me!”
A centurion hurries down to welcome him. “My Lord! It’s too windy! We can’t shoot!”
Wu Du has left a hundred archers behind and taken the rest of the soldiers out of the city. Right now, the only soldiers in the city aside from the archers would be the militia. The archers get ready under the centurion’s guidance and climb the tower.
As Duan Ling starts climbing the stairs, he’s nearly blown off by the wind. It really is too windy, so strong that the rain is practically horizontal.
Watch over me, dad, Duan Ling says silently to himself.
“Don’t go up there!” Zheng Yan shouts, “ The wind is whipping towards us! It’s too dangerous! Watch out for stray arrows!”
“There’s no need to fear!” Duan Ling shouts back, “Get on the top of the tower!”
Zheng Yan can but hold onto Duan Ling and tow him up the stairs.
At his arrival, the wind picks up, and clouds are forced aside; as the gongs ring, a grand and ancient typhoon rolls through, its gusts stretching from the heavens all the way down to the earth, its furious winds pushing layers of heavy rainclouds towards the west. In an instant, the east wind seems everpresent, and the rain and clouds retreat ceaselessly under this god’s hand of a squall.
As Duan Ling steps on the top of the tower, the world suddenly brightens. An angry wind carries off the raging storm, receding to reveal a ribbon-like Silver River that shimmers at the horizon.
“Light the signals —!” Duan Ling realises that the rain has stopped. There’s still hope!
The gongs ring out again. Dong — dong — dong —
The Mongolian army rushes towards Ye like an incoming tide.
The wind gradually subsides. Duan Ling steps onto the gate tower, the ends of his robe fluttering in a gentle breeze.
Above his head is a radiant river of stars, uncovered once the rolling storm clouds had moved aside; while beneath his feet is the earth, covered in puddles.
“You’re too late!” Duan Ling says the first thing he’s come to say. He has no idea which one of the Mongolian soldiers out there is Batu, but he knows he has to be right here, at the foot of the city walls.
An order is called out among the Mongolian army, then there’s a long shout and the uniform sound of weapons being sheathed. Everyone steps back.
A young Mongolian general sits atop his horse, stopping in front of the army. He pushes up the rim of his helm, revealing Batu’s handsome features.
Batu is covered head-to-toe in armour, and with a long spear in his hand, he stops on horseback before the city gates.
“I’m always one step too late,” Batu says, “but right now, it looks like there’s still time.”
And yet suddenly there comes a dull boom from the high platform in the centre of Ye as a giant flame burst forth, illuminating the land for ten miles around! The light and heat from the beacon catch the Mongolian army unaware, and they all back away.
Batu pulls the reins of his warhorse tight, taking one step back.
In each of the countless puddles made by five thousand warhorses is a reflection of the stars shining at the horizon. At the end of that Silver River, there’s a pulsing, blazing light like a raging inferno that would set everything aflame.
The light of beacon towers from afar brightens in succession, illuminating the long, dark night.
One tower after another is lit, their path resembling a winding, spiralling road in the sky leading into the distance. The Mongolian soldiers are all whispering to one another; this isn’t the first time they’ve seen something like this — the day the beacons were lit along the Great Wall was the day the two great armies from their opposing nations once faced off.
The heavy cloud layers that used to fill the sky have retreated entirely, as though gracefully waved aside by the hand of heaven; on the other shore of life and death, the spirit of war that watches over this land seems to be stepping towards them on this sky road of beacons.
Who dares trespass on my territory and threaten my son?!
Batu turns his head and gives his commands to his army loudly.
The Mongolian soldiers nock and draw, lighting their arrows on fire, pointing them towards the centre of the city.
“Back away!” Wearing a cold and indifferent expression, Batu yells up at the tower, “I don’t want to kill you by accident!”
But Duan Ling hasn’t the slightest shred of fear. He too, nocks and draws, pointing his arrow at Batu.
“If you want to take Ye,” Duan Ling, “you’ll have to do it over my dead body.”
Batu furiously shouts, fire!
Both sides fire their arrows at the same time.
“Men! To battle with me!”
“Charge —!”
Outside the city of Ye, troops that have been lying in ambush make their first strike as Wu Du charges out with his army!
Duan Ling’s arrowhead glitters with the shimmering stars above, and glow with the flames of the blazing beacon behind him; it shows the way for a hundred arrows shot by the archers on the top of the wall, flying towards the Mongolian army like a torrential downpour.
A thousand flaming arrows rise from the Mongolian troops, illuminating Batu laying siege to the city with his troops; illuminating Duan Ling’s face as he stands high atop the gate tower.
Both sides’ arrowheads are lit like ten thousand shooting stars crossing the sky and fading away, igniting the entire night sky.
On the Seventh of Seventh, Duan Ling’s and Batu’s eyes meet from afar. Everything in the world seems to have vanished around them, and they’re the only ones left standing on either side of an immense river, gazing at each other at a distance.
They have no idea when this roaring, raging river has cut between them to ruthlessly relegate them to two opposing shores of the mortal world, never again allowed to meet.
Seventh of Seventh; old grudges and new grievances, what dreadful lament?
Seventh of Seventh; loathe the mortal world, how seldomly we meet, so frequently we part, for always and forevermore.
In the Epang Dance Palace dancers danced with fluttering long sleeves;2
in the famed Jungu Garden jade towers rose to the sky;3
the imperial boats touring the Sui Levees passed by a row of planted willows.4
Looking back pains me, and the east wind is once more rising; only wildflowers are blooming so late this desolate spring.
Consort Yu suicided on Wujiang’s shore;5
the fires of war once burned Red Cliff;6
a general died of old age guarding Yumen Pass in vain.7
Thinking of the warring years saddens me, of all those who lived in war’s misery; all a scholar can do is heave a wistful sigh.8
《End of Book 3: The East Wind Rises》
This translation is by foxghost, on tumblr and kofi. 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, it was reposted without permission. Do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
The Epang Palace’s construction began in 212 BC as ordered by the first Emperor of China. It was never fully completed. ↩︎
The Jungu Garden was built by the merchant Shi Chong during the Western Jin dynasty. He died by execution after being framed for treason, and all his riches including the Jungu Garden was confiscated by the state. ↩︎
Emperor Yang of Sui built canals during his time and planted willow trees along its shore, this line talks about his tour of them. ↩︎
Yes, that Consort Yu, of Farewell My Concubine fame. ↩︎
This is referring to that famous battle during the Three Kingdoms period. ↩︎
Specifically, this general Ban Chao who died of old age guarding Yumen Pass. Although he didn’t exactly die there — he died a month after he retired to Luoyang. ↩︎
“Reminiscence”, a poem by Zhang Kejiu in the Yuan dynasty. He’s widely regarded as the “Li Bai” of the sanqu genre. ↩︎
Batu and his army are taking ages to show up. The city of Ye has sent ten scouts into the surrounding area to reconnoitre, and several times they find traces of the Mongol army, but no matter where the Mongols stop, they don’t stay too long. They take circuitous, winding paths in order to wreak havoc with the Ye army’s judgement, making them unable to tell when the battle will commence.
“What are they waiting for?” Duan Ling stares at the map with a deep furrow between his brows.
“Waiting for the opportunity to strike.” Wu Du replies, “As for what this opportunity is, they’re the only ones who can know that.”
The weather is hot and stuffy. Layers of heavy dark clouds are rolling in, and it looks like another major storm is brewing. That’s not a good thing — Duan Ling stands on top of the wall, observing the weather in the distance. If this rainstorm should come, it’ll be hard for those beacon towers he had built between Ye and Hejian to work. Smoke signals can’t work once they’ve been soaked by the rain.
It would also be much harder to move an army and fight a battle in the mud. And If the Mongols should decide to attack the city right then, it’ll put Ye in an extremely precarious position.
It is unusually windy. The first beacon tower is nearby, and many militiamen are practising archery inside the city. Wu Du had chosen some men in their prime and assigned five Centurions and twenty Decanus of the Ye army to lead them in simple training. This way, they can somewhat add another two thousand men to their ranks, but they barely got any time to train, so they’re really not all that useful.
This is the benefit of utilising their own people though — no real conflict is going to arise from their addition, but Duan Ling doesn’t think this militia can fight with the Mongols head-on. All they can do is guard the city, stand at the top of the walls, and intimidate the other side.
“When do you think they’ll come?” Duan Ling asks.
“It will be the anniversary of the late emperor’s death tomorrow.” Zheng Yan does not answer his question.
“Yeah.” Duan Ling’s concentration has been distracted. “I barely noticed that two years have already gone by. How does His Majesty spend the anniversary every year?”
“All he can do is grieve in the palace,” Zheng Yan says, “how else can he spend it?”
Duan Ling nods. Suddenly, he notices Wu Du coming back to the city with about a hundred people.
“You left the city?” Duan Ling yells.
“Get down!” Wu Du looks up and calls to Duan Ling, “What are you doing standing on the wall for? It’s too high up!”
For the past two nights, Wu Du hasn’t come home to sleep, and Duan Ling has no idea where he’d gone; perhaps he’d gone to scout out the Mongols’ movements. Duan Ling comes down the tower and tells the guards to open the gate.
Wu Du doesn’t enter the city though. “I’m ready for them. Don’t worry. Go back to the estate. It’s going to rain soon, and I’m going to inspect the beacon towers. Go on, go home.”
Two days without seeing Wu Du has made Duan Ling miss him very much. He asks for a horse and gallops after him. “I’ll go with you!”
Wu Du wants to make Duan Ling go back, but then he ponders this for a moment before saying, “Come here.”
Thus Duan Ling and Wu Du end up sharing a horse while Zheng Yan stays behind to guard the city. The two of them leave with their hundred or so soldiers to inspect the beacon towers.
“Get up!” Wu Du shouts at the soldiers at the foot of the beacon tower. “Chin up! It’ll start raining soon!”
The starter fuels and firewood for lighting a smoke signal are all ready, and when it rains the soldiers would carry it all under an awning to stop them from getting wet. They check the towers one by one and finish inspecting six of the beacon towers. Every once in a while, Duan Ling would look up, worrying that some problem may arise.
“I wish we had those scout falcons like the ones the Mongolians have,” Duan Ling says, “even homing pigeons would help.”
“Your dad once told me,” Wu Du replies, “that they have bird hunting archers for this very purpose, just to kill homing pigeons. You cold?”
A squall has begun to blow, and dark clouds push down upon the city. On the boundless plain, Wu Du shakes a cloak open to envelop himself and Duan Ling both. The tail of the cloak ripples in the wind, and their warhorse carries the two of them towards the horizon.
“It’s going to rain,” Duan Ling says, “I really hope they don’t attack us at a time like this.”
“Even if they do come we’ll be fine, don’t worry. Why did you want to come along all of a sudden? You miss me?”
Duan Ling reaches out, wrapping his arms around Wu Du’s waist from beneath the cloak, and they press tightly against each other. “Do you think we can win this battle?”
“We won’t lose,” Wu Du replies, “this is your dad’s fief. He’s up in the sky above watching over us, you know.”
And yet, the sky above them is covered in layers and layers of dark clouds, and as time passes they only grow thicker, flashing with the occasional stroke of lightning. Wu Du pulls the horse to a stop. “It’s starting to rain. Let’s get back for now. I’ll inspect the rest tomorrow.”
Wu Du whistles. The soldiers all turn around in unison, and they return to the city. He’s not sure why, but Duan Ling has an extremely strong premonition — Batu will come to attack the city today.
“Dispatch—!” A soldier is dashing in their direction, calling out, “Lord Sun Ting has returned!”
Duan Ling’s heart is immediately drawn to his throat. “Come on! Let’s go!”
“Dispatch —!” As they reach a place within forty miles of Ye, another soldier comes to them with a report, shouting, “We have word from the scouts! The Mongolian army has appeared a hundred miles away, currently heading towards Ye!”
They’re finally here!
A loud boom of thunder cracks through the horizon soon after, and it begins to pour. Duan Ling cries out, “They’re coming! Hurry! Send someone! Get a message to Hejian!”
Wu Du pulls his cloak to cover both himself and Duan Ling; his handsome and indifferent profile can be seen beneath the hood as he spurs the horse on a mad gallop through the rain.
Ye lies within a dark shroud. Thunder roars and lightning flashes; the last rainstorm before autumn has arrived.
“Everyone, in position!” Wu Du shouts as soon as he enters the city, “Be ready for war! When this battle is over, we’re going to drive all the Mongols back to their home!”
Wu Du’s several subordinates immediately leave separately to mobilise the troops. Duan Ling had no idea that in no time at all, he’s already got the soldiers of Ye to submit to him, and stares at him with an astonished look on his face.
“What are you smiling about?” Wu Du asks.
“Nothing much. Are you going to leave the city to fight now?”
“We’re going to split up and ambush them, so I may not come back tonight. Let’s head back and see Zheng Yan first.”
They find Sun Ting waiting in the governor’s estate, and as soon as he sees Duan Ling he gets down on one knee. “Lord Governor, Lord Commandant, I completed my mission!”
Upon hearing this, Duan Ling almost faints dead away. Putting one hand on the corner of a table to keep himself upright he says breathlessly, “That’s wonderful … wonderful.”
When Han Bin saw Sun Ting arrive with the letter, things had turned out just as Duan Ling predicted. The Mongolian army had dispatched several messenger falcons, and they had taken the request to Ögedei separately. Ögedei, for his part, had also sent troops to reinforce Batu.
Meanwhile, Han Bin had moved out without demur and ambushed the Mongols outside Yubiguan, and Sun Ting headed into battle alongside them. This battle routed the Mongols as well as cut off the path heading to Ye. With his mission accomplished, Sun Ting rushed back to Ye with this message and reached Ye a day ahead of schedule. Right now the Mongols’ forces where Batu is may not have received the news yet — that their reinforcements aren’t coming.
Or perhaps he already knows and that’s why he’s going to brave the rain and attack the city.
“You did great,” Duan Ling says to Sun Ting, “go get some rest.”
“It was because your letter was convincing, My Lord. After General Han read the letter, he didn’t even bother to ask me any questions before he left to muster the troops for battle.”
Duan Ling nods reassured. Sun Ting continues, “Are we going to war right now? I would fight in the vanguard for you, Lord Governor!”
“No.” Wu Du unrolls the map and says to Sun Ting, “You stay in the city and provide support.”
Wu Du turns to Duan Ling then to say, “We’ll be here, here, and here. We’ll ambush them in these three places.”
Zheng Yan is here as well. He glances at the map before saying, “It’s raining tonight, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to stop any time soon.”
Wu Du says, “I’ve already sent a messenger to get word to Qin Long, and they can get there in one night at a forced march. I’ll lead the troops out of the city and set up ambushes. When the Mongolian army gets here we’ll attack their rear formation without warning. You guys stay in the city, don’t do anything at all. The militia will defend the city by making some noise and bluffing them.”
“You best wait until Qin Long’s reinforcements arrive before you start attacking,” Duan Ling says.
“We can’t pin all our hopes on him.” Wu Du turns to go, and Duan Ling chases him all the way out to the courtyard. Another thunderbolt flashes across the sky, illuminating the night sky, casting their silhouettes onto the ground.
“Take Benxiao!” Duan Ling says.
Duan Ling stops walking and takes Wu Du’s hand. With his back facing Duan Ling, Wu Du stops as well.
“Above all else, be careful,” Duan Ling says.
Wu Du turns around and lowers his head so that his forehead is touching Duan Ling’s. Then he leans in and gives him a kiss on the lips.
“Wait for me to come home,” Wu Du replies.
The rain is opaque like a curtain, showering down to the earth as though it wants to put out every smoke beacon in the world, wipe away all of the mortal world’s sins, flush away grievances and feuds both old and new, washing the night clean to welcome the dawn of a new day.
“The Mongols are coming —!”
Dong — dong — dong —
Gongs begin to sound, and all the militiamen rush towards the city walls while Wu Du leads the army out via the northern gate. Spurring Benxiao to gallop on ahead, horseshoes kick up sprays of water in a continuous wave. With a whistle, the soldiers behind him split up to take their predetermined paths towards the planned ambush points.
A clamour of activity is ringing out all around outside. Duan Ling stands in the estate, his breathing coming in short, and he cannot help but think of the night of Shangjing’s fall. It was a rainy night just like this one as well, and it was equally noisy.
Zheng Yan is standing behind Duan Ling with this hands at his sides, dressed in a set of dark red martial artist robes, looking down as he puts on his gloves.
“What do we do now?” Duan Ling asks.
“No idea. Wu Du asked me to guarantee your safety. You’re not sure what to do?”
“Can we watch from the gate tower?” Duan Ling asks.
“Of course. What weapons do you use? I haven’t seen you go to war yet. Do you know how to use a weapon?”
Duan Ling changes into informal dress, tying up his sleeves to expedite shooting. He slings a longbow over his back, as well as tie a long sword to his belt. Thunder roars and the rain pours; the two of them leave the governor’s estate and rush towards the gate tower.
The militiamen readying for battle beneath the gate tower are jostling against each other. Every once in a while, someone calls out.
“Bring the fire pan over here —”
“Where’s the oil?”
“The rain’s coming down too hard! I can’t get it lit!”
“The governor is here! Move aside!” Zheng Yan calls out in a loud shout.
Everyone along the path self-consciously gets into formation. Duan Ling cries out, “Where are the archers?! Come with me!”
A centurion hurries down to welcome him. “My Lord! It’s too windy! We can’t shoot!”
Wu Du has left a hundred archers behind and taken the rest of the soldiers out of the city. Right now, the only soldiers in the city aside from the archers would be the militia. The archers get ready under the centurion’s guidance and climb the tower.
As Duan Ling starts climbing the stairs, he’s nearly blown off by the wind. It really is too windy, so strong that the rain is practically horizontal.
Watch over me, dad, Duan Ling says silently to himself.
“Don’t go up there!” Zheng Yan shouts, “ The wind is whipping towards us! It’s too dangerous! Watch out for stray arrows!”
“There’s no need to fear!” Duan Ling shouts back, “Get on the top of the tower!”
Zheng Yan can but hold onto Duan Ling and tow him up the stairs.
At his arrival, the wind picks up, and clouds are forced aside; as the gongs ring, a grand and ancient typhoon rolls through, its gusts stretching from the heavens all the way down to the earth, its furious winds pushing layers of heavy rainclouds towards the west. In an instant, the east wind seems everpresent, and the rain and clouds retreat ceaselessly under this god’s hand of a squall.
As Duan Ling steps on the top of the tower, the world suddenly brightens. An angry wind carries off the raging storm, receding to reveal a ribbon-like Silver River that shimmers at the horizon.
“Light the signals —!” Duan Ling realises that the rain has stopped. There’s still hope!
The gongs ring out again. Dong — dong — dong —
The Mongolian army rushes towards Ye like an incoming tide.
The wind gradually subsides. Duan Ling steps onto the gate tower, the ends of his robe fluttering in a gentle breeze.
Above his head is a radiant river of stars, uncovered once the rolling storm clouds had moved aside; while beneath his feet is the earth, covered in puddles.
“You’re too late!” Duan Ling says the first thing he’s come to say. He has no idea which one of the Mongolian soldiers out there is Batu, but he knows he has to be right here, at the foot of the city walls.
An order is called out among the Mongolian army, then there’s a long shout and the uniform sound of weapons being sheathed. Everyone steps back.
A young Mongolian general sits atop his horse, stopping in front of the army. He pushes up the rim of his helm, revealing Batu’s handsome features.
Batu is covered head-to-toe in armour, and with a long spear in his hand, he stops on horseback before the city gates.
“I’m always one step too late,” Batu says, “but right now, it looks like there’s still time.”
And yet suddenly there comes a dull boom from the high platform in the centre of Ye as a giant flame burst forth, illuminating the land for ten miles around! The light and heat from the beacon catch the Mongolian army unaware, and they all back away.
Batu pulls the reins of his warhorse tight, taking one step back.
In each of the countless puddles made by five thousand warhorses is a reflection of the stars shining at the horizon. At the end of that Silver River, there’s a pulsing, blazing light like a raging inferno that would set everything aflame.
The light of beacon towers from afar brightens in succession, illuminating the long, dark night.
One tower after another is lit, their path resembling a winding, spiralling road in the sky leading into the distance. The Mongolian soldiers are all whispering to one another; this isn’t the first time they’ve seen something like this — the day the beacons were lit along the Great Wall was the day the two great armies from their opposing nations once faced off.
The heavy cloud layers that used to fill the sky have retreated entirely, as though gracefully waved aside by the hand of heaven; on the other shore of life and death, the spirit of war that watches over this land seems to be stepping towards them on this sky road of beacons.
Who dares trespass on my territory and threaten my son?!
Batu turns his head and gives his commands to his army loudly.
The Mongolian soldiers nock and draw, lighting their arrows on fire, pointing them towards the centre of the city.
“Back away!” Wearing a cold and indifferent expression, Batu yells up at the tower, “I don’t want to kill you by accident!”
But Duan Ling hasn’t the slightest shred of fear. He too, nocks and draws, pointing his arrow at Batu.
“If you want to take Ye,” Duan Ling, “you’ll have to do it over my dead body.”
Batu furiously shouts, fire!
Both sides fire their arrows at the same time.
“Men! To battle with me!”
“Charge —!”
Outside the city of Ye, troops that have been lying in ambush make their first strike as Wu Du charges out with his army!
Duan Ling’s arrowhead glitters with the shimmering stars above, and glow with the flames of the blazing beacon behind him; it shows the way for a hundred arrows shot by the archers on the top of the wall, flying towards the Mongolian army like a torrential downpour.
A thousand flaming arrows rise from the Mongolian troops, illuminating Batu laying siege to the city with his troops; illuminating Duan Ling’s face as he stands high atop the gate tower.
Both sides’ arrowheads are lit like ten thousand shooting stars crossing the sky and fading away, igniting the entire night sky.
On the Seventh of Seventh, Duan Ling’s and Batu’s eyes meet from afar. Everything in the world seems to have vanished around them, and they’re the only ones left standing on either side of an immense river, gazing at each other at a distance.
They have no idea when this roaring, raging river has cut between them to ruthlessly relegate them to two opposing shores of the mortal world, never again allowed to meet.
Seventh of Seventh; old grudges and new grievances, what dreadful lament?
Seventh of Seventh; loathe the mortal world, how seldomly we meet, so frequently we part, for always and forevermore.
In the Epang Dance Palace dancers danced with fluttering long sleeves;2
in the famed Jungu Garden jade towers rose to the sky;3
the imperial boats touring the Sui Levees passed by a row of planted willows.4
Looking back pains me, and the east wind is once more rising; only wildflowers are blooming so late this desolate spring.
Consort Yu suicided on Wujiang’s shore;5
the fires of war once burned Red Cliff;6
a general died of old age guarding Yumen Pass in vain.7
Thinking of the warring years saddens me, of all those who lived in war’s misery; all a scholar can do is heave a wistful sigh.8
《End of Book 3: The East Wind Rises》
This translation is by foxghost, on tumblr and kofi. 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, it was reposted without permission. Do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
The Epang Palace’s construction began in 212 BC as ordered by the first Emperor of China. It was never fully completed. ↩︎
The Jungu Garden was built by the merchant Shi Chong during the Western Jin dynasty. He died by execution after being framed for treason, and all his riches including the Jungu Garden was confiscated by the state. ↩︎
Emperor Yang of Sui built canals during his time and planted willow trees along its shore, this line talks about his tour of them. ↩︎
Yes, that Consort Yu, of Farewell My Concubine fame. ↩︎
This is referring to that famous battle during the Three Kingdoms period. ↩︎
Specifically, this general Ban Chao who died of old age guarding Yumen Pass. Although he didn’t exactly die there — he died a month after he retired to Luoyang. ↩︎
“Reminiscence”, a poem by Zhang Kejiu in the Yuan dynasty. He’s widely regarded as the “Li Bai” of the sanqu genre. ↩︎
