At nightfall, twilight draws Lang Junxia’s shadow into a long, long line; what little sunlight left streams in from outside the walls, looking like beacon fire from beyond the borders was staining the black bricks.
“Lang Junxia! Lang Junxia —!” Duan Ling races through the corridor towards Lang junxia, shouting, “My dad is back!”
Lang Junxia smiles a slight smile, turning to face Duan Ling. He nods.
“He …” Duan Ling has been running so hard he’s breathless, and he stands there panting.
“I know.”
“But he says his surname is Li, and so is mine. His name is not Duan Sheng.” Duan Ling frowns.
"You’ve grown, Duan Ling.”
Duan Ling looks at Lang Junxia, baffled.
“I have to go out tonight to do some work,” Lang Junxia says.
“Didn’t you just come back? You have to go out again?”
Lang Junxia doesn’t explain. He just reaches out toward Duan Ling. Looking puzzled, Duan Ling walks to him, and Lang Junxia wraps him in his arms.
“This is wonderful,” Lang Junxia says.
After he hugs Duan Ling, he steps apart from him, and makes him stand properly. Thereafter he parts the tails of his gown and kneels down in front of Duan Ling on both knees.
‘Hey!” Duan Ling wants to go help him up, but Lang Junxia gestures for him to stay still. Bending at the waist, he kowtows.
“Farewell,” Lang Junxia says.
“Wait a second!” It occurs to Duan Ling that something is happening. “You have to go? Where are you going? Dad! Dad!”
“Yes.” Lang Junxia is still kneeling on the ground. He looks up; he does not let go of Duan Ling’s hand as he stares up at him. “The reason I went to Runan was to find you. Fortunately I did not fail in my duty. Now that you and your father are reunited, my mission is complete as well, and my work in Shangjing can come to an end.”
“Don’t … don’t go! You promised you’d stay with me, didn’t you?”
“Perhaps in as long as a year or as short as a few months we’ll meet again. But you have his high— you have your dad to take care of you, and even if what you want is the entire territory of the central plain, he can give that to you. To you, I’ve already … I still have more important things I must do.”
“Don’t go, Lang Junxia!” The rims of Duan Ling’s eyes at once turn red, but Lang Junxia is already rising with a smile.
“Duan Ling,” Lang Junxia says, “I’m nothing more than a passing traveller in your life. You must do what your dad tells you from now on. If anyone can ever care for you wholeheartedly, to never lie to you or to hide things from you, to save you when you’re in danger regardless of whether it may cost him his own life, to think of what’s best for you in every situation — if such a person exists in the world, then aside from him, there would be no one else.”
Duan Ling grips Lang Junxia’s hand firmly, refusing to let go, pulling him toward the house. “No! No way! You have to explain to me where you’re going first, and how many days it’ll take before you come back!”
Lang Junxia stands there like a mountain range, not budging an inch, and Li Jianhong’s voice rings out from behind them.
“I’m sending him away to check on something for me. Your dad can’t get a day of peace until this matter is thoroughly investigated.”
Lang Junxia tries to get back down on one knee, but Li Jianhong puts out a hand to signal that he may dispense with the formalities.
Duan Ling feels terrible. Lang Junxia speaks again earnestly, “Duan Ling, be good. I will come back.”
Duan Ling has no choice but to slowly let go of his hand.
“Once you return to the south, you don’t have to mention me again,” Li Jianhong says.
“Certainly,” Lang Junxia replies.
Duan Ling still has things to say, but he doesn’t know how to say them. Li Jianhong is already saying, “Well go on, leave while the city gates are still open.”
Lang Junxia bows. “Please excuse me.”
“Can’t he leave tomorrow?” Duan Ling says sullenly. But Lang Junxia has already turned, disappearing at the end of the corridor, bringing up a gust of wind in his wake.
“Wait!” Duan Ling says, “Let me help you pack some …”
Duan Ling heads inside, flustered, wanting to pack something for Lang Junxia, but the sound of horseshoes striking the ground is heard; Lang Junxia really doesn’t linger at all once he decides to go. Duan Ling runs out of the room with a half packed bundle, the tails of his gown fluttering in the spring evening breeze.
It hasn’t really hit Duan Ling yet how Lang Junxia can be gone just like that. Everything that happened today has happened far too quickly, more than all he’s experienced over the past five years added up altogether. He chases after him, distraught, shouting, “Lang Junxia! Lang Junxia!”
There’s no longer any sign of Lang Junxia in the distance, but Duan Ling stands there staring off blankly after him anyway. Li Jianhong is here, but Lang Junxia is gone; like how the sun travels across the sky, how the moon waxes and wanes, how the tide comes in and the tide goes out, everything has come so suddenly.
Li Jianhong watches Duan Ling with a deep furrow between his brows; he wants to hug him, but Duan Ling is inconsolable, taking deep breaths as he stands there working so hard to hold back his tears that his face turns bright red, on the verge of crying. Li Jianhong can settle anything — the only thing he can’t settle is his own son’s tears. He’s immediately discombobulated, at a complete loss as to what to do.
“Your dad seriously does have work that needs him doing …” Li Jianhong says, all at sea. “Then should I postpone it for a few days? Never mind never mind …”
“You don’t have to do that.” Duan Ling wipes his tears, sobs audibly caught in his throat, “I understand.”
“Don’t cry.” Li Jianhong says, “These tears of yours are giving your dad a throbbing headache.”
Duan Ling is at once caught between laughter and tears. Li Jianhong picks him up sideways and takes him back home.
In the end Duan Ling’s sadness piles up inside his heart into a persistent melancholy, so Li Jianhong can only keep coming up with new ways to make him smile, and speak to him until soon his thoughts are gradually distracted — but only because while they’re having dinner Li Jianhong promises Duan Ling that once Lang Junxia’s work is finished he’ll make him come back and serve Duan Ling exclusively.
Duan Ling asks, “Really?”
“If that’s what you want naturally you’ll have the final say.”
But Duan Ling maintains that something isn’t quite right about that, as though the word ‘serve’ is too much. That shouldn’t be the relationship between Lang Junxia and himself.
Duan Ling is used to seeing the heirs of noble houses in the Illustrious Hall order people around; they often have one or more servants to shout orders at. Even though Lang Junxia once stated that he was a ‘retainer’, their relationship is not like that of those people.
“Even though I made him come pick you up and look after you, I really don’t want to see my son become a little Lang Junxia.”
Duan Ling says, “Lang Junxia is a really wonderful person.”
“Yeah.” Li Jianhong says offhandedly, “A really wonderful person, aside from the three or five times he nearly stuck a clean knife into your dad and took out a red one. Generally speaking, he’s not bad.”
Duan Ling is rather speechless.
“In your life you’ll still encounter many more people aside from him yet. You need to learn to distinguish between people’s intentions for you, whether they’re sincere, or whether they’re just anxious to ingratiate themselves to you.”
“I don’t get it, but I know he’s sincere.”
“Judge a person by his eyes.” Li Jianhong replies, “Those who are earnestly there to be your friends would often speak before they think when they’re in front of you. They’d always reveal their true nature to you, and not hold any reservations.”
“You can’t know someone only by who they are now.” Li Jianhong continues, “He has a past. He has a life background.”
Duan Ling says, “But the headmaster says that a person’s background can’t decide on much.”
“I’m not talking about family background. It doesn’t matter what house a hero comes from; family background is no matter. I’m talking about what he’s lived through. What kind of a person your friend is, is half decided by his history.”
Now that Li Jianhong has laid it out to him, Duan Ling suddenly realises it too; Lang Junxia has never told him what sort of a person he was before they met. Duan Ling has asked him often, but Lang Junxia’s lips are as sealed as a corked jug, and he never spoke of his past.
“But Lang Junxia treats me very, very well.” Duan Ling finishes, “His history ought not to be so bad. He’s a … yeah, to me, he is a good person.”
Though Duan Ling is very sad to be parted from Lang Junxia, he’s getting accustomed to Li Jianhong’s arrival quite quickly. Lang Junxia has only ever made him study and tended to his everyday needs, but he never taught Duan Ling how to conduct himself and deal with people; by comparison Li Jianhong talks altogether too much. At dinner he tells Duan Ling not to talk and chew at the same time, and to wait until after he swallows; he patiently answers whatever question Duan Ling asks him, always thinking the question through from the beginning, and answers them from the beginning too, never putting off his question with a mere ‘don’t ask, you’ll understand in the future’.
After dinner Li Jianhong sits next to the well in Lang Junxia’s place, to draw water and wash the dishes, and he even does Duan Ling’s laundry as though it’s a matter of course, just what he ought to be doing. Duan Ling rests for a while and makes tea for Li Jianhong. It suddenly occurs to him that Li Jianhong may need to bathe, and so he gathers up soap-pod honeylocust and other bathing items, finds a new robe that Lang Junxia hasn’t worn yet, and waits for Li Jianhong to finish so they can go to the bathhouse together.
Shangjing’s bathhouses are open through the night. It’s not easy to set up a bath in the winter, so Lang Junxia brought Duan Ling here often. There’s dried fruits to snack on, fermented glutinous rice2 to drink, and a storyteller downstairs. Duan Ling knows the place well; he walks inside the bathhouse holding Li Jianhong’s hand, counts out the money they need over the counter on his tiptoes and orders some workers in to scrub them later. Li Jianhong just watches him from a few steps back with smiling eyes.
Li Jianhong looks up into a brightly lit hall. “Your dad doesn’t need a scrubbing — you don’t have to send in anyone.”
Thinking perhaps Li Jianhong is unused to having others wait on him, Duan Ling gets ready to scrub him himself, but as Li Jianhong undresses and reveals his naked body, Duan Ling can’t help feeling quite shocked.
Li Jianhong is covered in scars — slashes from knives, points from arrows. A long sword scar cuts across his well-defined abdomen, an arrow scar dots his chest, and a small patch of his broad back show signs of having been burned.
Li Jianhong lets out a long breath as he reclines into the warm pool. They’re the only ones in it. Holding a rough towel in his hands, Duan Ling doesn’t know how to begin, but Li Jianhong says to him, “Your dad fights with people a lot so that’s why there’ve been so many injuries. No need to be scared, my son.”
“How … did you get this?” Duan Ling puts his hand under Li Jianhong’s ribs.
“That sabre cut was left behind from Nayantuo’s attempted assassination.”
“Who’s Nayantuo?”
“They say he’s the best swordsman of Xiyu, but now he’s just a dead man.” Li Jianhong casually says, “A sword for his sabre; he stabbed me under the ribs, I stabbed him in the throat. Quite fair.”
“Then what about here?”
Li Jianhong turns to one side. “Hand to hand combat with Mongolian soldiers beneath Yubiguan. Jebe3 shot an arrow right through my armour and left this mark”
“What happened to Jebe?” Duan Ling asks.
“Ran away. Still alive. But he won’t live much longer. That patch on my back was burned with crude4 oil, you can scrub that as hard as you like, it won’t peel.”
Duan Ling counts all the scars on Li Jianhong’s body silently as he scrubs him. Li Jianhong’s naked skin is seemingly held together by many patches, but it doesn’t make Duan Ling afraid at all, as though each scar when matched with his robust, manly physique merely completes a special aesthetic of strength.
“Do you see this, my son?” Li Jianhong turns his face to show Duan Ling the corner of his eye. Li Jianhong has a straight and tall nose bridge — a beautiful nose, and his skin is a healthy copper, but there’s a faint scar at the corner of his eye as though it’s been struck before.
Duan Ling runs his fingers over the corner of Li Jianhong’s eye. “How’d you get that?”
“A fine thing your mother did,” Li Jianhong says with a smile, reaching into the tea tray placed next to the bath for a slice of butter and feeding it to Duan Ling. Drawing Duan Ling to him with one arm, he touches their foreheads together and rubs his head against him.
Duan Ling thinks it feels nice; Li Jianhong wraps an arm around Duan Ling to hold him close and they soak in the water, skin to skin.
“What for?” Duan Ling asks.
“I told her to leave, and she didn’t want to. She hit me over the face that night with a vase from the Xiongnu King Ke’ersu’s tent — she was seriously ruthless. Don’t you think you and your mother’s a bit alike? Usually completely harmless, but pushed into a corner you’re capable of pretty much anything.”
Duan Ling goes quiet for a moment before pressing, "And then what? Did you hit her back?
“Of course not. How could I ever bear to hit her?”
Li Jianhong heaves a sigh, holding Duan Ling as though holding his entire world in his arms.
“Have you ever seen her, my son?” Li Jianhong asks.
“I haven’t.” Duan Ling turns, resting his head on Li Jianhong’s chest.
After bathing, Li Jianhong puts on a robe the colour of spring grass, Lang Junxia’s; they look a little bit small on him. The father and son pair go home in the spring breeze winding through small lanes. Li Jianhong carries his son on his back and walks slowly on the flagstone paved paths. In this late-arriving radiant spring day, Shangjing resembles a young lady freshly waking, languidly unfolding from sleep.
Pear blossoms drift to and fro beneath the moonlight, falling onto an empty, silent trail.
“Dad.” Duan Ling is getting a bit sleepy draped over Li Jianhong’s back.
“Yeah.” Li Jianhong seems lost in thought.
Today is the first day Duan Ling ever met Li Jianhong, and to get to know him, but strangely he realises that they seem to already know each other. It’s a kind of familiarity where no words needed to be exchanged; a smooth and continuous intimacy, a deep connection that seems branded into their souls. They never needed to introduce themselves, and never needed to question the other, as though over the past thirteen years, Li Jianhong has been by Duan Ling’s side all this time. It’s like he wasn’t there when Duan Ling got up in the morning, but that just means he’s gone out to get some groceries, and when evening comes, there he is.
And the reason why all of his troubles have feels as though they’ve left him far behind is because he feels so secure right now — it is a certainty of knowing that once Li Jianhong has found him, he’ll never ever leave him, as though in this whole wide world, the moment Duan Ling was born Li Jianhong had to follow him, and to live inside his world.
“Dad, how old are you?” Duan Ling asks without thinking.
“Twenty-nine. The year I met your mother I wasn’t much older than you are right now. I’d just turned sixteen.”
“Was my mother beautiful?”
Li Jianhong says gently, “Of course she was very beautiful. When she smiled even the snow on the permafrost would melt; all the vastness of an empty desert turned into Jiangnan. That year beneath the Qixue Spring5, I fell in love with her at first sight. Otherwise why would there be you?”
“Then …”
“Hm?”
Duan Ling doesn’t press him for more. He has a feeling he shouldn’t ask anymore; his father may feel sad.
“Did the Duans treat you badly when you were in Runan?” Li Jianhong asks.
Duan Ling goes quiet, then he tells a lie. “No, they knew you were coming. They were pretty good to me.”
Li Jianhong shows he heard him with a hm before saying, “Lang Junxia betrayed me three times and indirectly killed several tens of thousands of people. His whole life he’s been encumbered by his very nature — he far too readily does whatever he feels like without considering the consequences. When it’s all said and done, if it wasn’t for a passing notion of his, your mother and I, and you as well, we wouldn’t have been separated for so many years.”
Duan Ling listens quietly.
“Luckily he still has his humanity, and finally took you away from Runan — I suppose that chain of karma is meant to be. I promised him that if he kept you safe it would redeem him. Otherwise, my nameless sword will chase him to the ends of the earth. He’d never be able to show his face again.”
Duan Ling feels like he just heard about a Lang Junxia he’s never met before, and he presses, “What did he do?”
“It’s a long story.” Li Jianhong thinks about this. “I’ll tell you the whole story when we have the time. If you still regard him as your confidant once you find out his whole history, I of course won’t force you not to. Do you want to hear it now?”
Truthfully, Duan Ling doesn’t dare believe it, but he believes that his father won’t lie to him, so he can only nod.
“You must be quite tired today,” Li Jianhong says. “Sleep.”
Once at home Li Jianhong puts him down on the daybed, but Duan Ling is still holding onto his sleeve, staring at him steadily.
Li Jianhong thinks for a second and realises what Duan Ling isn’t saying aloud, and so he smiles, unties his gown, and bare to the waist dressed only in a pair of underpants that reaches his knees, he lies down next to Duan Ling.
Duan Ling wraps his arms around Li Jianhong’s waist, rests his head on his arm, and drifts off to sleep.
Wind whips through the pine forests, the sound bringing to mind an army’s killing aura and the devastation they wreak; at midnight, the distant battlefield, the spatter of fresh blood, and the sorrowful snarling of his comrade-in-arms moments before death once more materialises into an endless nightmare that suddenly besets him.
Li Jianhong lets out a loud shout as he wakes with a violent start and sits up.
“Dad!” Startled, Duan Ling’s heart beats madly as he frantically gets up to find Li Jianhong covered in sweat, sitting on the bed hyperventilating.
“Dad?” Duan Ling asks worriedly. “Are you okay?”
“Had a nightmare.” Li Jianhong can still feel it. “I’m okay. Did I scare you?”
“What did you dream about?” Duan Ling used to have frequent nightmares when he was little too; he dreamt of getting beaten. But as he grew older the shadow of what he experienced in Runan has faded away.
“Killing.” Li Jianhong’s eyes are closed. “And I dreamt of my dead subordinates.”
Duan Ling presses his fingers on Li Jianhong’s triple-heater meridian to help him calm down before he’s able to slowly lie back down, keeping his eyes open, lost in thought.
And Duan Ling curls up in his arms, his head resting on Li Jianhong’s chest, playing with the jade arc hanging from his neck.
“It’ll get better over time,” Duan Ling says.
“Do you have nightmares often too?” Li Jianhong has already recovered.
“Before.” Duan Ling plays with the jade arc, his eyes locked on it.
“What did you dream about?”
Duan Ling hesitates, not sure if he should tell Li Jianhong about his getting beaten in Runan. After all, it’s all in the past.
“I dreamed about mom,” Duan Ling says, finally.
“You’ve never seen your mom, so you were probably dreaming of the pain of birth. Birth, ageing, illness, and death are all suffering. They’ll all fade away over time.”
“I don’t get nightmares anymore. Tomorrow I’ll buy you some medicinal ingredients for calming down your heart. You’ll feel better after having a decoction.”
“To think someone in our family is actually an expert of the medicinal arts.” Li Jianhong begins to smile, and turning to the side he pulls Duan Ling into his arms, and resting them nose to nose, he asks, “What do you want to do when you grow up? Want to be a doctor?”
“I don’t know. Lang Junxia said …”
Duan Ling was going to say that Lang Junxia told him he needed to take his studies seriously and accomplish great things in the future, mustn’t disappoint his dad, but Li Jianhong says, “My son, you don’t have to worry about what anyone else says. You can do whatever you want to do when you grow up.”
This is the first time Duan Ling has ever heard anything like that. Before, when he was in the Illustrious Hall, from the headmaster all the way down to the servants believed that water flows to low places, and people go to high places; mastering the literary and martial skills is for the sake of benefiting the imperial family. Since we’re fortunate enough to incarnate as a human being, we should have high ambitions.
Li Jianhong smooths down his son’s bangs, and looks into his eyes. “My son, if you want to practice medicine or learn the martial arts or even if you simply want to devote yourself to Buddhism and become a monk, beg for alms, it’s all fine as long as you’re happy.”
Duan Ling starts to laugh. No one has ever told him before that he can become a monk if he wanted to.
Looking perfectly serious about it, Li Jianhong tells him, “From what you told me in the afternoon it sounded like you knew what you were talking about, so I presume you’d rather have fun. Do you not want to go to school?”
“The question isn’t whether I want or not want to.” Duan Ling gives this some thought. “I have to study, but I like gardening more.”
Li Jianhong nods. “Well if you become a gardener that’s fine too.”
“The headmaster said that all occupations are base save for book-learning.”6
“Book-learning is good.” Li Jianhong breathes a sigh. “But if you really don’t want to, dad’s not going to force you. Dad just wants you to live a happy life.”
“Then I’ll change profession tomorrow and become a gardener.” Smiling, Duan Ling closes his eyes, putting the jade arc hanging around his father’s neck onto his eyelid, warm from Li Jianhong’s skin.
Li Jianhong gives him a little smile, and holding Duan Ling, he closes his eyes, bowing his head to smell the fresh scent of honeylocust in his hair.
Duan Ling is asleep before he knows it, and it’s already morning by the time he opens his eyes again. Li Jianhong is training outside in the courtyard without a top on, wielding a long staff so swiftly that it whistles through the air, swirling up eddies of peach petals that go flying off once more in an instant.
Duan Ling comes out yawning. Li Jianhong puts away the long staff and starts going through a set of palm moves instead: cross at the wrist, forward push, turn both palms up and down again. His concentrating expression looks extremely handsome.
After Duan Ling has watched for a while, Li Jianhong draws his palms back to the centre. “Do you want to learn?”
Duan Ling nods, so Li Jianhong starts teaching him one move, one form at a time. Duan Ling says, “But I haven’t practiced the horse-stance before. I have no foundation.”
“Oh don’t worry about any of that — as long as you’re having fun.”
Duan Ling doesn’t know what to say.
Duan Ling emulates Li Jianhong and goes through the entire set of moves; Li Jianhong doesn’t tell him if he’s got it right either, just stuffs him with some basic knowledge and says, “That’s enough. Learn a bit, and if you’re interested we’ll get back to it by and by. This is called ‘the profound explained in simple terms’.”
Duan Ling laughs aloud — he just finds his father’s personality too much to his liking. A bit tired from practice, Li Jianhong knows they should start breakfast. After breakfast, Duan Ling habitually waits for that phrase go study the way he always does, but Li Jianhong seems entirely disinclined to rush him.
“Dad, I want to go take care of the flowers.”
Li Jianhong signals him that he can go right ahead, and Duan Ling goes to the flowerbed to fiddle with his plants. And Li Jianhong cuts down some bamboo to make him a bamboo canal to water his plants with.
Without anyone to push him, Duan Ling still feels a bit restless. He busies himself for a while with his head in the clouds, but then he runs off to study again.
“Can’t get past your conscience?” Li Jianhong sits outside the study with a teacup in his hand, looking up at the white clouds flowing by.
“Yeah, I just feel uneasy,” Duan Ling can only say.
“Looks like studying is what you want to do after all.”
Duan Ling feels a bit embarrassed. And so Li Jianhong begins living in the estate, and the days go by. He never forces Duan Ling to do this or that — he can do whatever he wants, even if what he wants to do is nothing but to sit there spacing out with some tea. But that’s how Duan Ling always has been — if you push him and make him do things he won’t, but without anyone to urge him on he gets bored. So without Li Jianhong having to prod him he voluntarily studies everyday anyway. From time to time he’ll also emulate Li Jianhong and learn a few palm moves.
Li Jianhong on the other hand seems unable to leave Duan Ling’s side at all; even if he’s just going out shopping for groceries he has to keep Duan Ling by his side, nearly never letting him out of his sight, always sleeping together at night and always staying in the same room during the day.
And Li Jianhong is always pondering. One day, Duan Ling finally can’t help himself from asking him about it.
“Dad,” Duan Ling says. “What are you thinking about?”
“Thinking about you, my son.”
Duan Ling laughs, and putting down his books he goes to cling to him. Between Li Jianhong’s brows there seems to be a knot that cannot be untied, filled with problems he cannot solve. But when he looks at Duan Ling his eyes are very gentle.
“You’re unhappy.” Duan Ling puts his hands on Li Jianhong’s cheeks and turns his head left and right. “Something on your mind?”
He can feel it. Aside from the first few days after they met, Li Jianhong seems to always have something on his mind.
“Yes. Your dad’s been worrying about what he can give you.”
Duan Ling says smilingly, “I want to eat the Jasper Dumplings at the Five Rivers to Sea.”
“Well then of course we’ll have to go.” Li Jianhong gets ready to take Duan Ling out for some good food. He takes Duan Ling’s hand. "But snacks are not all that’s on my mind.”
Duan Ling looks at Li Jianhong with puzzlement.
“Do you want to go home, my son?” Li Jianhong asks this of Duan Ling.
Duan Ling gets it now. Just like what he has heard in the Illustrious Hall before, all Han wants to go home.
“Dad wants to give you something that should have been yours in the first place.”
“I’m already quite satisfied. We must be happy with our lot. Lang …”
Facing the courtyard, Duan Ling nearly called for Lang Junxia, but then he remembers that he’s already left so he can only say despondently, “Oh, he’s not back yet.”
It’s been a long time since Lang Junxia left already, but Duan Ling is accustomed to thinking of him as still at home. What did he get sent to do? It’s been so long already so why isn’t he back yet? He can feel that his father doesn’t really like it when he keeps talking about Lang Junxia.
Every time Duan Ling brings him up, Li Jianhong would not be without jealousy.
“When is Lang Junxia coming back?” Duan Ling’s daily question has switched from ‘when is my dad coming back’, but Li Jianhong replies, "He’s preparing a new home, so he can welcome you back.”
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. ↩︎
In Taiwan, fermented glutinous rice, or Jiuniang, is a breakfast food eaten like congee. It’s also slightly alcoholic, very sweet and a little sour, and very delicious. ↩︎
Jebe was one of the most famous generals under Genghis Khan. ↩︎
The word 火油 / “fire oil” in modern terms means kerosene, but for a lot of imperial history it referred to crude oil and used as a weapon. By the time of Northern Song, there were already records of it being refined into a purer, stronger form, but it was still only recorded as being used for war. ↩︎
Literally “the pool that wept blood”. Not a real location, but it did appear in Yingnu, one of the other books in this universe. ↩︎
This phrase comes from the “Prodigy Poetry”, compiled during the Northern Song dynasty. It’s really easy to read, and a lot of common proverbs and five-character idioms came from it. ↩︎
At nightfall, twilight draws Lang Junxia’s shadow into a long, long line; what little sunlight left streams in from outside the walls, looking like beacon fire from beyond the borders was staining the black bricks.
“Lang Junxia! Lang Junxia —!” Duan Ling races through the corridor towards Lang junxia, shouting, “My dad is back!”
Lang Junxia smiles a slight smile, turning to face Duan Ling. He nods.
“He …” Duan Ling has been running so hard he’s breathless, and he stands there panting.
“I know.”
“But he says his surname is Li, and so is mine. His name is not Duan Sheng.” Duan Ling frowns.
"You’ve grown, Duan Ling.”
Duan Ling looks at Lang Junxia, baffled.
“I have to go out tonight to do some work,” Lang Junxia says.
“Didn’t you just come back? You have to go out again?”
Lang Junxia doesn’t explain. He just reaches out toward Duan Ling. Looking puzzled, Duan Ling walks to him, and Lang Junxia wraps him in his arms.
“This is wonderful,” Lang Junxia says.
After he hugs Duan Ling, he steps apart from him, and makes him stand properly. Thereafter he parts the tails of his gown and kneels down in front of Duan Ling on both knees.
‘Hey!” Duan Ling wants to go help him up, but Lang Junxia gestures for him to stay still. Bending at the waist, he kowtows.
“Farewell,” Lang Junxia says.
“Wait a second!” It occurs to Duan Ling that something is happening. “You have to go? Where are you going? Dad! Dad!”
“Yes.” Lang Junxia is still kneeling on the ground. He looks up; he does not let go of Duan Ling’s hand as he stares up at him. “The reason I went to Runan was to find you. Fortunately I did not fail in my duty. Now that you and your father are reunited, my mission is complete as well, and my work in Shangjing can come to an end.”
“Don’t … don’t go! You promised you’d stay with me, didn’t you?”
“Perhaps in as long as a year or as short as a few months we’ll meet again. But you have his high— you have your dad to take care of you, and even if what you want is the entire territory of the central plain, he can give that to you. To you, I’ve already … I still have more important things I must do.”
“Don’t go, Lang Junxia!” The rims of Duan Ling’s eyes at once turn red, but Lang Junxia is already rising with a smile.
“Duan Ling,” Lang Junxia says, “I’m nothing more than a passing traveller in your life. You must do what your dad tells you from now on. If anyone can ever care for you wholeheartedly, to never lie to you or to hide things from you, to save you when you’re in danger regardless of whether it may cost him his own life, to think of what’s best for you in every situation — if such a person exists in the world, then aside from him, there would be no one else.”
Duan Ling grips Lang Junxia’s hand firmly, refusing to let go, pulling him toward the house. “No! No way! You have to explain to me where you’re going first, and how many days it’ll take before you come back!”
Lang Junxia stands there like a mountain range, not budging an inch, and Li Jianhong’s voice rings out from behind them.
“I’m sending him away to check on something for me. Your dad can’t get a day of peace until this matter is thoroughly investigated.”
Lang Junxia tries to get back down on one knee, but Li Jianhong puts out a hand to signal that he may dispense with the formalities.
Duan Ling feels terrible. Lang Junxia speaks again earnestly, “Duan Ling, be good. I will come back.”
Duan Ling has no choice but to slowly let go of his hand.
“Once you return to the south, you don’t have to mention me again,” Li Jianhong says.
“Certainly,” Lang Junxia replies.
Duan Ling still has things to say, but he doesn’t know how to say them. Li Jianhong is already saying, “Well go on, leave while the city gates are still open.”
Lang Junxia bows. “Please excuse me.”
“Can’t he leave tomorrow?” Duan Ling says sullenly. But Lang Junxia has already turned, disappearing at the end of the corridor, bringing up a gust of wind in his wake.
“Wait!” Duan Ling says, “Let me help you pack some …”
Duan Ling heads inside, flustered, wanting to pack something for Lang Junxia, but the sound of horseshoes striking the ground is heard; Lang Junxia really doesn’t linger at all once he decides to go. Duan Ling runs out of the room with a half packed bundle, the tails of his gown fluttering in the spring evening breeze.
It hasn’t really hit Duan Ling yet how Lang Junxia can be gone just like that. Everything that happened today has happened far too quickly, more than all he’s experienced over the past five years added up altogether. He chases after him, distraught, shouting, “Lang Junxia! Lang Junxia!”
There’s no longer any sign of Lang Junxia in the distance, but Duan Ling stands there staring off blankly after him anyway. Li Jianhong is here, but Lang Junxia is gone; like how the sun travels across the sky, how the moon waxes and wanes, how the tide comes in and the tide goes out, everything has come so suddenly.
Li Jianhong watches Duan Ling with a deep furrow between his brows; he wants to hug him, but Duan Ling is inconsolable, taking deep breaths as he stands there working so hard to hold back his tears that his face turns bright red, on the verge of crying. Li Jianhong can settle anything — the only thing he can’t settle is his own son’s tears. He’s immediately discombobulated, at a complete loss as to what to do.
“Your dad seriously does have work that needs him doing …” Li Jianhong says, all at sea. “Then should I postpone it for a few days? Never mind never mind …”
“You don’t have to do that.” Duan Ling wipes his tears, sobs audibly caught in his throat, “I understand.”
“Don’t cry.” Li Jianhong says, “These tears of yours are giving your dad a throbbing headache.”
Duan Ling is at once caught between laughter and tears. Li Jianhong picks him up sideways and takes him back home.
In the end Duan Ling’s sadness piles up inside his heart into a persistent melancholy, so Li Jianhong can only keep coming up with new ways to make him smile, and speak to him until soon his thoughts are gradually distracted — but only because while they’re having dinner Li Jianhong promises Duan Ling that once Lang Junxia’s work is finished he’ll make him come back and serve Duan Ling exclusively.
Duan Ling asks, “Really?”
“If that’s what you want naturally you’ll have the final say.”
But Duan Ling maintains that something isn’t quite right about that, as though the word ‘serve’ is too much. That shouldn’t be the relationship between Lang Junxia and himself.
Duan Ling is used to seeing the heirs of noble houses in the Illustrious Hall order people around; they often have one or more servants to shout orders at. Even though Lang Junxia once stated that he was a ‘retainer’, their relationship is not like that of those people.
“Even though I made him come pick you up and look after you, I really don’t want to see my son become a little Lang Junxia.”
Duan Ling says, “Lang Junxia is a really wonderful person.”
“Yeah.” Li Jianhong says offhandedly, “A really wonderful person, aside from the three or five times he nearly stuck a clean knife into your dad and took out a red one. Generally speaking, he’s not bad.”
Duan Ling is rather speechless.
“In your life you’ll still encounter many more people aside from him yet. You need to learn to distinguish between people’s intentions for you, whether they’re sincere, or whether they’re just anxious to ingratiate themselves to you.”
“I don’t get it, but I know he’s sincere.”
“Judge a person by his eyes.” Li Jianhong replies, “Those who are earnestly there to be your friends would often speak before they think when they’re in front of you. They’d always reveal their true nature to you, and not hold any reservations.”
“You can’t know someone only by who they are now.” Li Jianhong continues, “He has a past. He has a life background.”
Duan Ling says, “But the headmaster says that a person’s background can’t decide on much.”
“I’m not talking about family background. It doesn’t matter what house a hero comes from; family background is no matter. I’m talking about what he’s lived through. What kind of a person your friend is, is half decided by his history.”
Now that Li Jianhong has laid it out to him, Duan Ling suddenly realises it too; Lang Junxia has never told him what sort of a person he was before they met. Duan Ling has asked him often, but Lang Junxia’s lips are as sealed as a corked jug, and he never spoke of his past.
“But Lang Junxia treats me very, very well.” Duan Ling finishes, “His history ought not to be so bad. He’s a … yeah, to me, he is a good person.”
Though Duan Ling is very sad to be parted from Lang Junxia, he’s getting accustomed to Li Jianhong’s arrival quite quickly. Lang Junxia has only ever made him study and tended to his everyday needs, but he never taught Duan Ling how to conduct himself and deal with people; by comparison Li Jianhong talks altogether too much. At dinner he tells Duan Ling not to talk and chew at the same time, and to wait until after he swallows; he patiently answers whatever question Duan Ling asks him, always thinking the question through from the beginning, and answers them from the beginning too, never putting off his question with a mere ‘don’t ask, you’ll understand in the future’.
After dinner Li Jianhong sits next to the well in Lang Junxia’s place, to draw water and wash the dishes, and he even does Duan Ling’s laundry as though it’s a matter of course, just what he ought to be doing. Duan Ling rests for a while and makes tea for Li Jianhong. It suddenly occurs to him that Li Jianhong may need to bathe, and so he gathers up soap-pod honeylocust and other bathing items, finds a new robe that Lang Junxia hasn’t worn yet, and waits for Li Jianhong to finish so they can go to the bathhouse together.
Shangjing’s bathhouses are open through the night. It’s not easy to set up a bath in the winter, so Lang Junxia brought Duan Ling here often. There’s dried fruits to snack on, fermented glutinous rice2 to drink, and a storyteller downstairs. Duan Ling knows the place well; he walks inside the bathhouse holding Li Jianhong’s hand, counts out the money they need over the counter on his tiptoes and orders some workers in to scrub them later. Li Jianhong just watches him from a few steps back with smiling eyes.
Li Jianhong looks up into a brightly lit hall. “Your dad doesn’t need a scrubbing — you don’t have to send in anyone.”
Thinking perhaps Li Jianhong is unused to having others wait on him, Duan Ling gets ready to scrub him himself, but as Li Jianhong undresses and reveals his naked body, Duan Ling can’t help feeling quite shocked.
Li Jianhong is covered in scars — slashes from knives, points from arrows. A long sword scar cuts across his well-defined abdomen, an arrow scar dots his chest, and a small patch of his broad back show signs of having been burned.
Li Jianhong lets out a long breath as he reclines into the warm pool. They’re the only ones in it. Holding a rough towel in his hands, Duan Ling doesn’t know how to begin, but Li Jianhong says to him, “Your dad fights with people a lot so that’s why there’ve been so many injuries. No need to be scared, my son.”
“How … did you get this?” Duan Ling puts his hand under Li Jianhong’s ribs.
“That sabre cut was left behind from Nayantuo’s attempted assassination.”
“Who’s Nayantuo?”
“They say he’s the best swordsman of Xiyu, but now he’s just a dead man.” Li Jianhong casually says, “A sword for his sabre; he stabbed me under the ribs, I stabbed him in the throat. Quite fair.”
“Then what about here?”
Li Jianhong turns to one side. “Hand to hand combat with Mongolian soldiers beneath Yubiguan. Jebe3 shot an arrow right through my armour and left this mark”
“What happened to Jebe?” Duan Ling asks.
“Ran away. Still alive. But he won’t live much longer. That patch on my back was burned with crude4 oil, you can scrub that as hard as you like, it won’t peel.”
Duan Ling counts all the scars on Li Jianhong’s body silently as he scrubs him. Li Jianhong’s naked skin is seemingly held together by many patches, but it doesn’t make Duan Ling afraid at all, as though each scar when matched with his robust, manly physique merely completes a special aesthetic of strength.
“Do you see this, my son?” Li Jianhong turns his face to show Duan Ling the corner of his eye. Li Jianhong has a straight and tall nose bridge — a beautiful nose, and his skin is a healthy copper, but there’s a faint scar at the corner of his eye as though it’s been struck before.
Duan Ling runs his fingers over the corner of Li Jianhong’s eye. “How’d you get that?”
“A fine thing your mother did,” Li Jianhong says with a smile, reaching into the tea tray placed next to the bath for a slice of butter and feeding it to Duan Ling. Drawing Duan Ling to him with one arm, he touches their foreheads together and rubs his head against him.
Duan Ling thinks it feels nice; Li Jianhong wraps an arm around Duan Ling to hold him close and they soak in the water, skin to skin.
“What for?” Duan Ling asks.
“I told her to leave, and she didn’t want to. She hit me over the face that night with a vase from the Xiongnu King Ke’ersu’s tent — she was seriously ruthless. Don’t you think you and your mother’s a bit alike? Usually completely harmless, but pushed into a corner you’re capable of pretty much anything.”
Duan Ling goes quiet for a moment before pressing, "And then what? Did you hit her back?
“Of course not. How could I ever bear to hit her?”
Li Jianhong heaves a sigh, holding Duan Ling as though holding his entire world in his arms.
“Have you ever seen her, my son?” Li Jianhong asks.
“I haven’t.” Duan Ling turns, resting his head on Li Jianhong’s chest.
After bathing, Li Jianhong puts on a robe the colour of spring grass, Lang Junxia’s; they look a little bit small on him. The father and son pair go home in the spring breeze winding through small lanes. Li Jianhong carries his son on his back and walks slowly on the flagstone paved paths. In this late-arriving radiant spring day, Shangjing resembles a young lady freshly waking, languidly unfolding from sleep.
Pear blossoms drift to and fro beneath the moonlight, falling onto an empty, silent trail.
“Dad.” Duan Ling is getting a bit sleepy draped over Li Jianhong’s back.
“Yeah.” Li Jianhong seems lost in thought.
Today is the first day Duan Ling ever met Li Jianhong, and to get to know him, but strangely he realises that they seem to already know each other. It’s a kind of familiarity where no words needed to be exchanged; a smooth and continuous intimacy, a deep connection that seems branded into their souls. They never needed to introduce themselves, and never needed to question the other, as though over the past thirteen years, Li Jianhong has been by Duan Ling’s side all this time. It’s like he wasn’t there when Duan Ling got up in the morning, but that just means he’s gone out to get some groceries, and when evening comes, there he is.
And the reason why all of his troubles have feels as though they’ve left him far behind is because he feels so secure right now — it is a certainty of knowing that once Li Jianhong has found him, he’ll never ever leave him, as though in this whole wide world, the moment Duan Ling was born Li Jianhong had to follow him, and to live inside his world.
“Dad, how old are you?” Duan Ling asks without thinking.
“Twenty-nine. The year I met your mother I wasn’t much older than you are right now. I’d just turned sixteen.”
“Was my mother beautiful?”
Li Jianhong says gently, “Of course she was very beautiful. When she smiled even the snow on the permafrost would melt; all the vastness of an empty desert turned into Jiangnan. That year beneath the Qixue Spring5, I fell in love with her at first sight. Otherwise why would there be you?”
“Then …”
“Hm?”
Duan Ling doesn’t press him for more. He has a feeling he shouldn’t ask anymore; his father may feel sad.
“Did the Duans treat you badly when you were in Runan?” Li Jianhong asks.
Duan Ling goes quiet, then he tells a lie. “No, they knew you were coming. They were pretty good to me.”
Li Jianhong shows he heard him with a hm before saying, “Lang Junxia betrayed me three times and indirectly killed several tens of thousands of people. His whole life he’s been encumbered by his very nature — he far too readily does whatever he feels like without considering the consequences. When it’s all said and done, if it wasn’t for a passing notion of his, your mother and I, and you as well, we wouldn’t have been separated for so many years.”
Duan Ling listens quietly.
“Luckily he still has his humanity, and finally took you away from Runan — I suppose that chain of karma is meant to be. I promised him that if he kept you safe it would redeem him. Otherwise, my nameless sword will chase him to the ends of the earth. He’d never be able to show his face again.”
Duan Ling feels like he just heard about a Lang Junxia he’s never met before, and he presses, “What did he do?”
“It’s a long story.” Li Jianhong thinks about this. “I’ll tell you the whole story when we have the time. If you still regard him as your confidant once you find out his whole history, I of course won’t force you not to. Do you want to hear it now?”
Truthfully, Duan Ling doesn’t dare believe it, but he believes that his father won’t lie to him, so he can only nod.
“You must be quite tired today,” Li Jianhong says. “Sleep.”
Once at home Li Jianhong puts him down on the daybed, but Duan Ling is still holding onto his sleeve, staring at him steadily.
Li Jianhong thinks for a second and realises what Duan Ling isn’t saying aloud, and so he smiles, unties his gown, and bare to the waist dressed only in a pair of underpants that reaches his knees, he lies down next to Duan Ling.
Duan Ling wraps his arms around Li Jianhong’s waist, rests his head on his arm, and drifts off to sleep.
Wind whips through the pine forests, the sound bringing to mind an army’s killing aura and the devastation they wreak; at midnight, the distant battlefield, the spatter of fresh blood, and the sorrowful snarling of his comrade-in-arms moments before death once more materialises into an endless nightmare that suddenly besets him.
Li Jianhong lets out a loud shout as he wakes with a violent start and sits up.
“Dad!” Startled, Duan Ling’s heart beats madly as he frantically gets up to find Li Jianhong covered in sweat, sitting on the bed hyperventilating.
“Dad?” Duan Ling asks worriedly. “Are you okay?”
“Had a nightmare.” Li Jianhong can still feel it. “I’m okay. Did I scare you?”
“What did you dream about?” Duan Ling used to have frequent nightmares when he was little too; he dreamt of getting beaten. But as he grew older the shadow of what he experienced in Runan has faded away.
“Killing.” Li Jianhong’s eyes are closed. “And I dreamt of my dead subordinates.”
Duan Ling presses his fingers on Li Jianhong’s triple-heater meridian to help him calm down before he’s able to slowly lie back down, keeping his eyes open, lost in thought.
And Duan Ling curls up in his arms, his head resting on Li Jianhong’s chest, playing with the jade arc hanging from his neck.
“It’ll get better over time,” Duan Ling says.
“Do you have nightmares often too?” Li Jianhong has already recovered.
“Before.” Duan Ling plays with the jade arc, his eyes locked on it.
“What did you dream about?”
Duan Ling hesitates, not sure if he should tell Li Jianhong about his getting beaten in Runan. After all, it’s all in the past.
“I dreamed about mom,” Duan Ling says, finally.
“You’ve never seen your mom, so you were probably dreaming of the pain of birth. Birth, ageing, illness, and death are all suffering. They’ll all fade away over time.”
“I don’t get nightmares anymore. Tomorrow I’ll buy you some medicinal ingredients for calming down your heart. You’ll feel better after having a decoction.”
“To think someone in our family is actually an expert of the medicinal arts.” Li Jianhong begins to smile, and turning to the side he pulls Duan Ling into his arms, and resting them nose to nose, he asks, “What do you want to do when you grow up? Want to be a doctor?”
“I don’t know. Lang Junxia said …”
Duan Ling was going to say that Lang Junxia told him he needed to take his studies seriously and accomplish great things in the future, mustn’t disappoint his dad, but Li Jianhong says, “My son, you don’t have to worry about what anyone else says. You can do whatever you want to do when you grow up.”
This is the first time Duan Ling has ever heard anything like that. Before, when he was in the Illustrious Hall, from the headmaster all the way down to the servants believed that water flows to low places, and people go to high places; mastering the literary and martial skills is for the sake of benefiting the imperial family. Since we’re fortunate enough to incarnate as a human being, we should have high ambitions.
Li Jianhong smooths down his son’s bangs, and looks into his eyes. “My son, if you want to practice medicine or learn the martial arts or even if you simply want to devote yourself to Buddhism and become a monk, beg for alms, it’s all fine as long as you’re happy.”
Duan Ling starts to laugh. No one has ever told him before that he can become a monk if he wanted to.
Looking perfectly serious about it, Li Jianhong tells him, “From what you told me in the afternoon it sounded like you knew what you were talking about, so I presume you’d rather have fun. Do you not want to go to school?”
“The question isn’t whether I want or not want to.” Duan Ling gives this some thought. “I have to study, but I like gardening more.”
Li Jianhong nods. “Well if you become a gardener that’s fine too.”
“The headmaster said that all occupations are base save for book-learning.”6
“Book-learning is good.” Li Jianhong breathes a sigh. “But if you really don’t want to, dad’s not going to force you. Dad just wants you to live a happy life.”
“Then I’ll change profession tomorrow and become a gardener.” Smiling, Duan Ling closes his eyes, putting the jade arc hanging around his father’s neck onto his eyelid, warm from Li Jianhong’s skin.
Li Jianhong gives him a little smile, and holding Duan Ling, he closes his eyes, bowing his head to smell the fresh scent of honeylocust in his hair.
Duan Ling is asleep before he knows it, and it’s already morning by the time he opens his eyes again. Li Jianhong is training outside in the courtyard without a top on, wielding a long staff so swiftly that it whistles through the air, swirling up eddies of peach petals that go flying off once more in an instant.
Duan Ling comes out yawning. Li Jianhong puts away the long staff and starts going through a set of palm moves instead: cross at the wrist, forward push, turn both palms up and down again. His concentrating expression looks extremely handsome.
After Duan Ling has watched for a while, Li Jianhong draws his palms back to the centre. “Do you want to learn?”
Duan Ling nods, so Li Jianhong starts teaching him one move, one form at a time. Duan Ling says, “But I haven’t practiced the horse-stance before. I have no foundation.”
“Oh don’t worry about any of that — as long as you’re having fun.”
Duan Ling doesn’t know what to say.
Duan Ling emulates Li Jianhong and goes through the entire set of moves; Li Jianhong doesn’t tell him if he’s got it right either, just stuffs him with some basic knowledge and says, “That’s enough. Learn a bit, and if you’re interested we’ll get back to it by and by. This is called ‘the profound explained in simple terms’.”
Duan Ling laughs aloud — he just finds his father’s personality too much to his liking. A bit tired from practice, Li Jianhong knows they should start breakfast. After breakfast, Duan Ling habitually waits for that phrase go study the way he always does, but Li Jianhong seems entirely disinclined to rush him.
“Dad, I want to go take care of the flowers.”
Li Jianhong signals him that he can go right ahead, and Duan Ling goes to the flowerbed to fiddle with his plants. And Li Jianhong cuts down some bamboo to make him a bamboo canal to water his plants with.
Without anyone to push him, Duan Ling still feels a bit restless. He busies himself for a while with his head in the clouds, but then he runs off to study again.
“Can’t get past your conscience?” Li Jianhong sits outside the study with a teacup in his hand, looking up at the white clouds flowing by.
“Yeah, I just feel uneasy,” Duan Ling can only say.
“Looks like studying is what you want to do after all.”
Duan Ling feels a bit embarrassed. And so Li Jianhong begins living in the estate, and the days go by. He never forces Duan Ling to do this or that — he can do whatever he wants, even if what he wants to do is nothing but to sit there spacing out with some tea. But that’s how Duan Ling always has been — if you push him and make him do things he won’t, but without anyone to urge him on he gets bored. So without Li Jianhong having to prod him he voluntarily studies everyday anyway. From time to time he’ll also emulate Li Jianhong and learn a few palm moves.
Li Jianhong on the other hand seems unable to leave Duan Ling’s side at all; even if he’s just going out shopping for groceries he has to keep Duan Ling by his side, nearly never letting him out of his sight, always sleeping together at night and always staying in the same room during the day.
And Li Jianhong is always pondering. One day, Duan Ling finally can’t help himself from asking him about it.
“Dad,” Duan Ling says. “What are you thinking about?”
“Thinking about you, my son.”
Duan Ling laughs, and putting down his books he goes to cling to him. Between Li Jianhong’s brows there seems to be a knot that cannot be untied, filled with problems he cannot solve. But when he looks at Duan Ling his eyes are very gentle.
“You’re unhappy.” Duan Ling puts his hands on Li Jianhong’s cheeks and turns his head left and right. “Something on your mind?”
He can feel it. Aside from the first few days after they met, Li Jianhong seems to always have something on his mind.
“Yes. Your dad’s been worrying about what he can give you.”
Duan Ling says smilingly, “I want to eat the Jasper Dumplings at the Five Rivers to Sea.”
“Well then of course we’ll have to go.” Li Jianhong gets ready to take Duan Ling out for some good food. He takes Duan Ling’s hand. "But snacks are not all that’s on my mind.”
Duan Ling looks at Li Jianhong with puzzlement.
“Do you want to go home, my son?” Li Jianhong asks this of Duan Ling.
Duan Ling gets it now. Just like what he has heard in the Illustrious Hall before, all Han wants to go home.
“Dad wants to give you something that should have been yours in the first place.”
“I’m already quite satisfied. We must be happy with our lot. Lang …”
Facing the courtyard, Duan Ling nearly called for Lang Junxia, but then he remembers that he’s already left so he can only say despondently, “Oh, he’s not back yet.”
It’s been a long time since Lang Junxia left already, but Duan Ling is accustomed to thinking of him as still at home. What did he get sent to do? It’s been so long already so why isn’t he back yet? He can feel that his father doesn’t really like it when he keeps talking about Lang Junxia.
Every time Duan Ling brings him up, Li Jianhong would not be without jealousy.
“When is Lang Junxia coming back?” Duan Ling’s daily question has switched from ‘when is my dad coming back’, but Li Jianhong replies, "He’s preparing a new home, so he can welcome you back.”
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. ↩︎
In Taiwan, fermented glutinous rice, or Jiuniang, is a breakfast food eaten like congee. It’s also slightly alcoholic, very sweet and a little sour, and very delicious. ↩︎
Jebe was one of the most famous generals under Genghis Khan. ↩︎
The word 火油 / “fire oil” in modern terms means kerosene, but for a lot of imperial history it referred to crude oil and used as a weapon. By the time of Northern Song, there were already records of it being refined into a purer, stronger form, but it was still only recorded as being used for war. ↩︎
Literally “the pool that wept blood”. Not a real location, but it did appear in Yingnu, one of the other books in this universe. ↩︎
This phrase comes from the “Prodigy Poetry”, compiled during the Northern Song dynasty. It’s really easy to read, and a lot of common proverbs and five-character idioms came from it. ↩︎
