Duan Ling is a bit overly thrilled; when he’s with Li Jianhong, life is entirely unfettered. However big the world is, they’re free to do whatever they like, never having to worry about anything no matter where they go. Li Jianhong will even occasionally let him steer the horse and run wildly all over the plains.
“Wanna ride the horse on your own for a bit?” Li Jianhong asks, sounding genuinely interested.
Duan Ling does somewhat want to try it — he’s never ridden a horse on his own before, but he’s a little afraid if it means Li Jianhong won’t be there to protect him.
“Come on then!” Li Jianhong jumps off the horse and casually smacks it on the hindquarters. The horse immediately whinnies and bolts off like a shot. Duan Ling is so startled he starts yelling at the top of his lungs, turning to call out, “Dad — !”
Li Jianhong waves at him. He whistles loudly, and the warhorse leaps right past a brook, galloping away at top speed. Duan Ling keeps yelling over and over; he finds it rather exciting at first, but by the time he looks back again Li Jianhong is nowhere to be found and now he’s suddenly panicking. He tries to turn the horse around, but the war-horse won’t listen to his commands. Duan Ling yells, terrified, “Stop running! Dad! Where are you, dad?!”
The war-horse charges into a forest and Duan Ling nearly falls off. He wraps his arms tightly over its back and cries out sounding like he’s on the verge of tears.
“Dad —! Where are you?!”
The cadence of the whistling rise, fall, and stop. Li Jianhong appears from behind a tree and looks at him cheerfully.
Duan Ling nearly faint dead away. He gets off the horse at once and throws his arms around Li Jianhong to wrap him in a tight hug.
“Its name is Wanlibenxiao.” Li Jianhong gives the divine steed a pat, and it lowers its head, snorts, nudging Duan Ling with its nose. Duan Ling let out a sigh of relief only then.
“It’s a Wusun horse.” Li Jianhong holds Duan Ling’s hand, and takes the reins with his other hand as he explains, “Your dad saved the King of Wusun beneath Mount Qilin. They gave me this horse as thanks.”
“It runs so fast. It nearly bucked me right off.”
“On my escape from the snowy desert, it was the one who saved my life.”
At midday Li Jianhong and Duan Ling are pushing their way through the forest when Duan Ling spots a lot of fruit he does not recognise. “What is this?”
“Winter cherry.” Li Jianhong gives it a passing glance. “Too sour. Don’t randomly eat wild fruit and mushrooms off the side of the road. The more colourful it is, the more likely it is to be highly toxic.”
“I won’t eat it. And what kind of tree is this?” Duan Ling possesses an extraordinary level of curiosity, and over time he has discovered something rather crucial — no matter what question he asks Li Jianhong he’d be given a convincing answer, and not Lang Junxia’s typical ‘don’t ask, you’ll find out in the future’.
“Desert poplar. The young ones look like willow trees, but once they unfold they’re extremely resistant to drought.”
Li Jianhong is nearly omniscient. Duan Ling thinks to himself, what am I even studying for? If I don’t understanding anything all I have to do is ask dad.
Duan Ling asks, “Are we going to sleep outside tonight?”
“Well that won’t do.” Li Jianhong declares firmly, “In all likelihood, my son ought to be able to get a hot meal in Huaide before sundown.”
“Where’s Huaide?”
“A place in Xinzhou.”
“And where’s Xinzhou?” Duan Ling is practically completely ignorant about the world.
“The founding Liao emperor chose Shangjing as the capital and established the Shangjing Road as one of the nineteen main roads, and southward on Shangjing Road goes to Xinzhou; farther south from Xinzhou and you reach the great wall.”
Duan Ling knows about the great wall. “Past the great wall you’ll get to Yubiguan, and if you keep going south after that you’ll reach Zhili,2 then taking the Hebei road southwards …”
“Precisely.” Li Jianhong dodges a branch. “You’ll reach Shangzi, and Runan. Nowadays that’s all Liao territory.”
“Is the entire Chen empire farther south?”
“Land north and south of the Yangtze went to Chen.” As though ancient memories have been called to the fore, Li Jianhong heaves a sigh. “In Xichuan, Jiangnan, and Jiangzhou.”
“You said before that we’ll return to the Chen empire, right?”
“Do you really want to go back?” Li Jianhong asks.
They’ve exited the forest before they know it. Li Jianhong picks up Duan Ling, helps him onto the horse, and they canter along the stream. On horseback, Duan Ling says, “The headmaster says the south is very beautiful. It’s too bad I’ve never seen it.”
Duan Ling has no idea that imagining a distant paradise of peach blossoms that he’s never seen before is far too strenuous for him.
“Those who travel far are guests, and they all miss home.” Li Jianhong gets on the horse as well. “Those in the south miss the north, those in the north miss the south; all Han have the same idea. It’s true. The south is quite beautiful.”
Little by little, the past five years Duan Ling spent in Shangjing has helped him understand a lot. He has realised that when the iron hoofs of Liao cavalry went south, the Han had to leave their homeland against their will. Each Han living in Shangjing is holding onto this one dying breath hoping from the bottom of their heart to one day return to the south.
“Did our family also die out when the Liao military marched south?” Duan Ling asks.
“What?” This question has interrupted Li Jianhong’s line of thought. Beneath them their horse trots along, not too fast and not too slow. Li Jianhong pats Duan Ling’s head and answers, “Our family is still around, but there aren’t that many of us left.”
“Who else is there?” Duan Ling has never thought that he’d have relatives too, but today he suddenly gets the sense that he’s just like every other person: he has a father, a mother, uncles and aunts and other relatives, such as that ‘fourth uncle’ his father spoke of but that he himself has never met.
“Your fourth uncle and your fifth aunt are both still around. Now, dad’s going to tell you, but just keep it in your heart, my son. You mustn’t tell anyone.”
Duan LIng nods, so Li Jianhong continues, “Your dad comes in third. I had one eldest brother who died before reaching adulthood. Second was an older sister, not a daughter of the principal wife, and she died young too. My younger brother, the fourth, is still in Xichuan. He doesn’t have children yet. Your fifth aunt got married off to Jiangnan.”
“What about your dad?”
“Still around. He likes your fourth uncle, but he doesn’t like me … gup!”
That’s why Li Jianhong’s feelings toward the south is so complicated — Duan Ling gets it now. At the same time what he can also feel is Li Jianhong’s avoidance of the past; so thoughtfully, he does not press him with any further questions.
At spring’s end and the onset of summer, Jiangzhou is paved in snow white viburnum, eight blossoms to the end of each branch full of life, set off against a solitary spring mountain backdrop paired with a clear sky so blue it looks freshly washed. Occasionally there’ll be multicoloured kites rising in the distance, its image reflecting off the mirror-like lake, and when the lines twist and break they fly off after the birds to vanish at the end of the mountain forests.
Dressed in a long azure gown, Lang Junxia leads his horse along the meandering plank-lined path downhill. He passes by the city of Jiangzhou without entering, merely stopping by the shore of the Yangtze River to scoop up a handful of southern water for a drink before boarding a long-distance boat. The boat will go north along the river, enter the Xichuan province beneath Mount Yuheng, making a detour around the difficult Roads to Shu3 as he heads toward the southern Chen capital.
He speaks very little along the way; when the other guests disembark he steps off the boat also, to stand next to the shore, bowing down to drink a handful of water. Three months later, Lang Junxia finally arrives in the city of Xichuan.
The city walls are verdant and lush, coloured with greenery. When autumn comes it will be covered in blooming cotton roses.
Once inside the national capital, Lang Junxia makes his way to a bookshop in the west quadrant. He twists off the rusted lock easily, and the inside is covered in dust. He finds the horse a place to rest first and feeds it some hay, then he unties his travelling cloth bundle from his shoulder before pushing the door open and entering the book shop — then his steps abruptly stop.
There is a masked assassin standing beneath the drab sunlight. It both seems as though he’s waited for Lang Junxia for a long time, and that he just got here.
The assassin is tall and sturdily built, standing over nine feet tall; he will not look less stalwart if standing next to Li Jianhong. With a sword in his hand he’s planted there in the main hall like a mountain range. His eyes, showing above the mask, are staring intently at Lang Junxia.
“Greetings,” the assassin declares the first phrase.
Lang Junxia puts his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist.
“My name is Chang Liujun,” the assassin states the second phrase, and slowly he reaches up at his mask with his fingers, pulling it down to reveal a handsome face.
“I’ve come to kill you,” Chang Liujun finishes with the third phrase.
Lang Juxia doesn’t wait for Chang Liujun to raise his hand before drawing his sword, but Chang Liujun already had his in hand; he was waiting precisely for this moment to make his preemptive strike. Lang Junxia only manages to get his sword half out of its scabbard before Chang Liujun’s Baihongjian rings through the air, a line of sword force suddenly looming right before his eyes.
This moment is the closest to death Lang Junxia has ever been in his entire life.
And yet Chang Liujun, who has had everything perfectly planned, never expected that even with such meticulous design Lang Junxia can still manage to slip away from the one strike that certainly should have ended his life — Lang Junxia raises his left hand and lowers his right, and Qingfengjian, three inches drawn, is abruptly returned to its scabbard. With a resounding boom, his internal qi surges out in a wave and at once locks Chang Liujun’s blade in place.
Lang Junxia pays dearly for this one move. He follows it by gripping the scabbard with his left hand, and with the momentum of turning to avoid their collision, he drags Chang Liujun with him as he turns; the two reverse position and each pushes out a palm at the same time — Lang Junxia with his right and Chang Liujun his left.
The left hand is ultimately weaker than the right hand; as their palms connect, Chang Liujun’s stone-shattering form is received by Lang Junxia at a near touch, then defusing it with a soft force, he redirects it against the wall. With a loud crash the entire wall collapses beneath Chang Liujun’s strength.
Blood sprays from Lang Junxia’s right hand, and crashing through the door he fades into the crowded marketplace, vanishing without a trace.
Chang Liujung takes two steps forward, and bends down to pick up a finger from the floor. He then puts on his bamboo hat. Upon his return to the chancellor’s estate, he throws the little finger for the dog to eat without a second thought, puts away his sword in his room, and returns to the study through the corridor.
Mu Kuangda is currently writing a memorial earnestly beseeching the emperor to abdicate his throne so he may enjoy the rest of his twilight years in peace.
“I failed.” Chang Liujun comes to a stop behind Mu Kuangda.
“If you weren’t always announcing those three phrases before you make your move,” Mu Kuangda calmly observes, “he probably couldn’t have gotten away. Where did you injure him?”
“His right hand is missing its little finger.”
“Then let’s send a letter to the general. I’m sure he’ll be quite happy.”
The northern county of Huaide is hidden deep among the Altyn-Tagh’s ranges, and it is a place one must traverse on one’s way into the mountain forests or while heading towards Shangjing. Its county town encompasses a wide area, its villages and countryside scattered deep in the mountains, with winding, spiderweb-like footpaths connecting them back to the town. Now happens to be the spring season where all is lush and the mountains are bountiful, thus Huaide has become a place where goods are bartered.
This is the first time Duan Ling has ever been anywhere aside from Shangjing and Runan. His eyes are brimming over with curiosity as he looks around him, sitting astride on horseback with Li Jianhong, passing through the marketplace outside a hamlet.
“Hey! Tiger skin and tiger bones, want some?!”
“Where are you from?”
“Want candy?”
Duan Ling daren’t answer. He glances at Li Jianhong.
“What? If you want something, just take it. You don’t have to look at me — of course I’ll pay for it for you.”
“I can’t talk to strangers, can I?”
Li Jianhong starts to laugh. “There’s no such rule. You want to talk, talk. Talk to whomever you like.”
Thereupon Duan Ling comes to an herbal medicine vendor and inquires curiously, “What is this? Is it an ox bezoar?”
The vendor’s spread is full of strange plants and rare herbs gathered in the valleys of the Altyn-tagh, and a piece of ox bezoar the size of a hen’s egg has attracted Duan Ling’s attention. Li Jianhong merely gives it a passing glance before handing over the money to buy it for Duan Ling.
“It’s not that you can’t talk to strangers.” Li Jianhong leads the horse by the reins and walks slowly next to Duan Ling through the marketplace. “It’s that in an unfamiliar environment, you need to know what you should say and what you shouldn’t say in order to fulfil the purpose of protecting yourself.”
Duan Ling makes an affirmative noise — he understands that Li Jianhong is teaching him how to deal with people and conduct himself.
Li Jianhong continues, “Society is made up of all kinds of people. Even if you don’t go around hurting other people, it may well be that other people will try to harm you.”
“Then how am I supposed to know what I should say and what I shouldn’t say?”
“When you don’t have a task to accomplish,” Li Jianhong explains, “you can say anything. But you must observe the person you’re speaking with, and be vigilant in case the other party has bad intentions. Do not speak of wealth to the poor, do not discuss poverty with the rich, do not argue opinions with men, do not grow desires towards women.”
“When you do have a task to accomplish, you can’t let just anyone know who you are. You must be constantly on your guard.” Li Jianhong adds, “When the circumstances demand it, you’ll also have to invent another identity in accordance with the local environment. Places of ill-repute such as inns are a mixed crowd, so when it comes to important things, you must remain tight-lipped. Especially with the innkeeper and the waiters, and random people — you mustn’t let them know what you’ve come for.”
Duan Ling only kind of gets it. He nods.
“When it comes down to it, one must not let greed take root while on a journey. Don’t go around coveting what doesn’t belong to you and you’ll be saved a lot of trouble.”
Li Jianhong brings Duan Ling to an inn for food and lodgings, and tells the waiter that they’ll be staying for the night, handing over his personal identity papers to the innkeeper for inspection. Currently things are complicated in Liao with all the tribes travelling all about each with their own standard for documentation, so the innkeeper can’t see anything odd about the papers either, thus he instructs his workers to get a high quality room ready.
”Dad, are we going to keep travelling tomorrow?“ Duan Ling lies in Li Jianhong’s lap, while Li Jianhong leans back against the headboard with his arms around Duan Ling, still lost in thought.
“You don’t want to go?”
Duan Ling replies eh, a bit sleepy, and shakes his head. “Let’s go.”
Li Jianhong kisses Duan Ling, and Duan Ling turns to his side, buries his head in Li Jianhong’s shoulder and nuzzles him this way and that. Li Jianhong airs the thought, “What, not happy?”
Duan Ling doesn’t say anything either, just keeps nuzzling him. Li Jianhong says, “You just want attention, huh.”
Li Jianhong holds Duan Ling down on the daybed and tickles him until he’s laughing aloud and struggling back. When they’re face to face, Li Jianhong stares at Duan Ling’s eyes, then taking his hand he lets it rest on his own cheek. And closing his eyes, he gets lost in his thoughts again.
Bleary-eyed, Daun Ling stares at Li Jianhong’s face groggily. He runs his fingers over Li Jianhong’s profile, his lips, and leaning on Li Jianhong’s shoulder, he gradually falls asleep.
There is commotion outside; when Duan Ling opens his eyes again, it’s already morning. The noise startles him, and thinking it’s people hunting them down he asks, “What is it?”
“Nothing much.” Now that Duan Ling is awake, Li Jianhong gets up to wring out a towel to help him wash up.
Turmoil had descended upon Huaide overnight, with many retreating from the northeast road dragging their entire families with them. They’re all yelling, “The Mongols are coming!”
“Let’s go! Everyone, this way!”
Duan Ling has never seen anything like this before. He anxiously surveys Huaide’s main road outside the inn and finds it densely packed with refugees as far as his eyes can see. Duan Ling and his father are having noodles inside the inn, but Li Jianhong doesn’t seem phased at all by this unusual sight.
“Stay out!” The innkeeper looks rather displeased, making the waiter go outside to drive off the refugees; in times of chaos those without money can barely move an inch. Duan Ling glances outside from time to time, and finds a child about his own age with a much younger child, and looking dirty and dishevelled they make their way inside.
“Want some?” Duan Ling takes a flatbread, giving it to the older child. “Rest for a bit.”
“Outside! The lot of you, outside!” The waiter says.
Li Jianhong shoots the waiter a look. Just a look, and the waiter dares not speak again.
“I’ll take one for my little brother.” The child bows. “Thank you very much. Safe journey to you, sir.”
Duan Ling can’t help feeling a pang in his heart at the scene of them together. The child understands their social position though, and only takes up a little corner to feed his little brother flatbread.
Li Jianhong takes another piece of flatbread, pries it apart, and soaks in a bowl of mutton soup for Duan Ling.
“Where’d you come from?” Li Jianhong asks offhandedly.
“Huchang,” the child answers.
“Oh? Has the city been captured?” Li Jianhong asks.
“It won’t be long now.” The older child says, “The Mongols are coming, and everyone’s worried they’d massacre everyone in the city, so they’re all running to Shangjing. Could you give us some water please, guv’nor?”
Li Jianhong picks up the pot to pour tea, and gives the child a cup of tea. The child takes a few big gulps first before feeding it to his little brother.
“Where’s your mom and dad?” Duan Ling asks.
“We got separated.” The older child says, “If you’re heading north, can you ask around for us …”
“We’re heading east.” Li Jianhong says, “You need not worry. The Mongols haven’t made it here yet. Presumably your parents are okay.”
The older child gives him a nod. “Do be careful on your way east as well. Mongol troops are all over the mountains and the plains.”
“Let’s go.” Li Jianhong settles the bill for their food and lodgings, and leaves the inn with Duan Ling. They get on Wanlibenxiao, then going around the road they tear away from the village.
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. ↩︎
Zhili was just the old name for Hebei, however that wasn’t its name until the Ming dynasty. Before that it just meant wherever the capital is. ↩︎
The Roads to Shu ran mostly up and down mountains. ↩︎
Duan Ling is a bit overly thrilled; when he’s with Li Jianhong, life is entirely unfettered. However big the world is, they’re free to do whatever they like, never having to worry about anything no matter where they go. Li Jianhong will even occasionally let him steer the horse and run wildly all over the plains.
“Wanna ride the horse on your own for a bit?” Li Jianhong asks, sounding genuinely interested.
Duan Ling does somewhat want to try it — he’s never ridden a horse on his own before, but he’s a little afraid if it means Li Jianhong won’t be there to protect him.
“Come on then!” Li Jianhong jumps off the horse and casually smacks it on the hindquarters. The horse immediately whinnies and bolts off like a shot. Duan Ling is so startled he starts yelling at the top of his lungs, turning to call out, “Dad — !”
Li Jianhong waves at him. He whistles loudly, and the warhorse leaps right past a brook, galloping away at top speed. Duan Ling keeps yelling over and over; he finds it rather exciting at first, but by the time he looks back again Li Jianhong is nowhere to be found and now he’s suddenly panicking. He tries to turn the horse around, but the war-horse won’t listen to his commands. Duan Ling yells, terrified, “Stop running! Dad! Where are you, dad?!”
The war-horse charges into a forest and Duan Ling nearly falls off. He wraps his arms tightly over its back and cries out sounding like he’s on the verge of tears.
“Dad —! Where are you?!”
The cadence of the whistling rise, fall, and stop. Li Jianhong appears from behind a tree and looks at him cheerfully.
Duan Ling nearly faint dead away. He gets off the horse at once and throws his arms around Li Jianhong to wrap him in a tight hug.
“Its name is Wanlibenxiao.” Li Jianhong gives the divine steed a pat, and it lowers its head, snorts, nudging Duan Ling with its nose. Duan Ling let out a sigh of relief only then.
“It’s a Wusun horse.” Li Jianhong holds Duan Ling’s hand, and takes the reins with his other hand as he explains, “Your dad saved the King of Wusun beneath Mount Qilin. They gave me this horse as thanks.”
“It runs so fast. It nearly bucked me right off.”
“On my escape from the snowy desert, it was the one who saved my life.”
At midday Li Jianhong and Duan Ling are pushing their way through the forest when Duan Ling spots a lot of fruit he does not recognise. “What is this?”
“Winter cherry.” Li Jianhong gives it a passing glance. “Too sour. Don’t randomly eat wild fruit and mushrooms off the side of the road. The more colourful it is, the more likely it is to be highly toxic.”
“I won’t eat it. And what kind of tree is this?” Duan Ling possesses an extraordinary level of curiosity, and over time he has discovered something rather crucial — no matter what question he asks Li Jianhong he’d be given a convincing answer, and not Lang Junxia’s typical ‘don’t ask, you’ll find out in the future’.
“Desert poplar. The young ones look like willow trees, but once they unfold they’re extremely resistant to drought.”
Li Jianhong is nearly omniscient. Duan Ling thinks to himself, what am I even studying for? If I don’t understanding anything all I have to do is ask dad.
Duan Ling asks, “Are we going to sleep outside tonight?”
“Well that won’t do.” Li Jianhong declares firmly, “In all likelihood, my son ought to be able to get a hot meal in Huaide before sundown.”
“Where’s Huaide?”
“A place in Xinzhou.”
“And where’s Xinzhou?” Duan Ling is practically completely ignorant about the world.
“The founding Liao emperor chose Shangjing as the capital and established the Shangjing Road as one of the nineteen main roads, and southward on Shangjing Road goes to Xinzhou; farther south from Xinzhou and you reach the great wall.”
Duan Ling knows about the great wall. “Past the great wall you’ll get to Yubiguan, and if you keep going south after that you’ll reach Zhili,2 then taking the Hebei road southwards …”
“Precisely.” Li Jianhong dodges a branch. “You’ll reach Shangzi, and Runan. Nowadays that’s all Liao territory.”
“Is the entire Chen empire farther south?”
“Land north and south of the Yangtze went to Chen.” As though ancient memories have been called to the fore, Li Jianhong heaves a sigh. “In Xichuan, Jiangnan, and Jiangzhou.”
“You said before that we’ll return to the Chen empire, right?”
“Do you really want to go back?” Li Jianhong asks.
They’ve exited the forest before they know it. Li Jianhong picks up Duan Ling, helps him onto the horse, and they canter along the stream. On horseback, Duan Ling says, “The headmaster says the south is very beautiful. It’s too bad I’ve never seen it.”
Duan Ling has no idea that imagining a distant paradise of peach blossoms that he’s never seen before is far too strenuous for him.
“Those who travel far are guests, and they all miss home.” Li Jianhong gets on the horse as well. “Those in the south miss the north, those in the north miss the south; all Han have the same idea. It’s true. The south is quite beautiful.”
Little by little, the past five years Duan Ling spent in Shangjing has helped him understand a lot. He has realised that when the iron hoofs of Liao cavalry went south, the Han had to leave their homeland against their will. Each Han living in Shangjing is holding onto this one dying breath hoping from the bottom of their heart to one day return to the south.
“Did our family also die out when the Liao military marched south?” Duan Ling asks.
“What?” This question has interrupted Li Jianhong’s line of thought. Beneath them their horse trots along, not too fast and not too slow. Li Jianhong pats Duan Ling’s head and answers, “Our family is still around, but there aren’t that many of us left.”
“Who else is there?” Duan Ling has never thought that he’d have relatives too, but today he suddenly gets the sense that he’s just like every other person: he has a father, a mother, uncles and aunts and other relatives, such as that ‘fourth uncle’ his father spoke of but that he himself has never met.
“Your fourth uncle and your fifth aunt are both still around. Now, dad’s going to tell you, but just keep it in your heart, my son. You mustn’t tell anyone.”
Duan LIng nods, so Li Jianhong continues, “Your dad comes in third. I had one eldest brother who died before reaching adulthood. Second was an older sister, not a daughter of the principal wife, and she died young too. My younger brother, the fourth, is still in Xichuan. He doesn’t have children yet. Your fifth aunt got married off to Jiangnan.”
“What about your dad?”
“Still around. He likes your fourth uncle, but he doesn’t like me … gup!”
That’s why Li Jianhong’s feelings toward the south is so complicated — Duan Ling gets it now. At the same time what he can also feel is Li Jianhong’s avoidance of the past; so thoughtfully, he does not press him with any further questions.
At spring’s end and the onset of summer, Jiangzhou is paved in snow white viburnum, eight blossoms to the end of each branch full of life, set off against a solitary spring mountain backdrop paired with a clear sky so blue it looks freshly washed. Occasionally there’ll be multicoloured kites rising in the distance, its image reflecting off the mirror-like lake, and when the lines twist and break they fly off after the birds to vanish at the end of the mountain forests.
Dressed in a long azure gown, Lang Junxia leads his horse along the meandering plank-lined path downhill. He passes by the city of Jiangzhou without entering, merely stopping by the shore of the Yangtze River to scoop up a handful of southern water for a drink before boarding a long-distance boat. The boat will go north along the river, enter the Xichuan province beneath Mount Yuheng, making a detour around the difficult Roads to Shu3 as he heads toward the southern Chen capital.
He speaks very little along the way; when the other guests disembark he steps off the boat also, to stand next to the shore, bowing down to drink a handful of water. Three months later, Lang Junxia finally arrives in the city of Xichuan.
The city walls are verdant and lush, coloured with greenery. When autumn comes it will be covered in blooming cotton roses.
Once inside the national capital, Lang Junxia makes his way to a bookshop in the west quadrant. He twists off the rusted lock easily, and the inside is covered in dust. He finds the horse a place to rest first and feeds it some hay, then he unties his travelling cloth bundle from his shoulder before pushing the door open and entering the book shop — then his steps abruptly stop.
There is a masked assassin standing beneath the drab sunlight. It both seems as though he’s waited for Lang Junxia for a long time, and that he just got here.
The assassin is tall and sturdily built, standing over nine feet tall; he will not look less stalwart if standing next to Li Jianhong. With a sword in his hand he’s planted there in the main hall like a mountain range. His eyes, showing above the mask, are staring intently at Lang Junxia.
“Greetings,” the assassin declares the first phrase.
Lang Junxia puts his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist.
“My name is Chang Liujun,” the assassin states the second phrase, and slowly he reaches up at his mask with his fingers, pulling it down to reveal a handsome face.
“I’ve come to kill you,” Chang Liujun finishes with the third phrase.
Lang Juxia doesn’t wait for Chang Liujun to raise his hand before drawing his sword, but Chang Liujun already had his in hand; he was waiting precisely for this moment to make his preemptive strike. Lang Junxia only manages to get his sword half out of its scabbard before Chang Liujun’s Baihongjian rings through the air, a line of sword force suddenly looming right before his eyes.
This moment is the closest to death Lang Junxia has ever been in his entire life.
And yet Chang Liujun, who has had everything perfectly planned, never expected that even with such meticulous design Lang Junxia can still manage to slip away from the one strike that certainly should have ended his life — Lang Junxia raises his left hand and lowers his right, and Qingfengjian, three inches drawn, is abruptly returned to its scabbard. With a resounding boom, his internal qi surges out in a wave and at once locks Chang Liujun’s blade in place.
Lang Junxia pays dearly for this one move. He follows it by gripping the scabbard with his left hand, and with the momentum of turning to avoid their collision, he drags Chang Liujun with him as he turns; the two reverse position and each pushes out a palm at the same time — Lang Junxia with his right and Chang Liujun his left.
The left hand is ultimately weaker than the right hand; as their palms connect, Chang Liujun’s stone-shattering form is received by Lang Junxia at a near touch, then defusing it with a soft force, he redirects it against the wall. With a loud crash the entire wall collapses beneath Chang Liujun’s strength.
Blood sprays from Lang Junxia’s right hand, and crashing through the door he fades into the crowded marketplace, vanishing without a trace.
Chang Liujung takes two steps forward, and bends down to pick up a finger from the floor. He then puts on his bamboo hat. Upon his return to the chancellor’s estate, he throws the little finger for the dog to eat without a second thought, puts away his sword in his room, and returns to the study through the corridor.
Mu Kuangda is currently writing a memorial earnestly beseeching the emperor to abdicate his throne so he may enjoy the rest of his twilight years in peace.
“I failed.” Chang Liujun comes to a stop behind Mu Kuangda.
“If you weren’t always announcing those three phrases before you make your move,” Mu Kuangda calmly observes, “he probably couldn’t have gotten away. Where did you injure him?”
“His right hand is missing its little finger.”
“Then let’s send a letter to the general. I’m sure he’ll be quite happy.”
The northern county of Huaide is hidden deep among the Altyn-Tagh’s ranges, and it is a place one must traverse on one’s way into the mountain forests or while heading towards Shangjing. Its county town encompasses a wide area, its villages and countryside scattered deep in the mountains, with winding, spiderweb-like footpaths connecting them back to the town. Now happens to be the spring season where all is lush and the mountains are bountiful, thus Huaide has become a place where goods are bartered.
This is the first time Duan Ling has ever been anywhere aside from Shangjing and Runan. His eyes are brimming over with curiosity as he looks around him, sitting astride on horseback with Li Jianhong, passing through the marketplace outside a hamlet.
“Hey! Tiger skin and tiger bones, want some?!”
“Where are you from?”
“Want candy?”
Duan Ling daren’t answer. He glances at Li Jianhong.
“What? If you want something, just take it. You don’t have to look at me — of course I’ll pay for it for you.”
“I can’t talk to strangers, can I?”
Li Jianhong starts to laugh. “There’s no such rule. You want to talk, talk. Talk to whomever you like.”
Thereupon Duan Ling comes to an herbal medicine vendor and inquires curiously, “What is this? Is it an ox bezoar?”
The vendor’s spread is full of strange plants and rare herbs gathered in the valleys of the Altyn-tagh, and a piece of ox bezoar the size of a hen’s egg has attracted Duan Ling’s attention. Li Jianhong merely gives it a passing glance before handing over the money to buy it for Duan Ling.
“It’s not that you can’t talk to strangers.” Li Jianhong leads the horse by the reins and walks slowly next to Duan Ling through the marketplace. “It’s that in an unfamiliar environment, you need to know what you should say and what you shouldn’t say in order to fulfil the purpose of protecting yourself.”
Duan Ling makes an affirmative noise — he understands that Li Jianhong is teaching him how to deal with people and conduct himself.
Li Jianhong continues, “Society is made up of all kinds of people. Even if you don’t go around hurting other people, it may well be that other people will try to harm you.”
“Then how am I supposed to know what I should say and what I shouldn’t say?”
“When you don’t have a task to accomplish,” Li Jianhong explains, “you can say anything. But you must observe the person you’re speaking with, and be vigilant in case the other party has bad intentions. Do not speak of wealth to the poor, do not discuss poverty with the rich, do not argue opinions with men, do not grow desires towards women.”
“When you do have a task to accomplish, you can’t let just anyone know who you are. You must be constantly on your guard.” Li Jianhong adds, “When the circumstances demand it, you’ll also have to invent another identity in accordance with the local environment. Places of ill-repute such as inns are a mixed crowd, so when it comes to important things, you must remain tight-lipped. Especially with the innkeeper and the waiters, and random people — you mustn’t let them know what you’ve come for.”
Duan Ling only kind of gets it. He nods.
“When it comes down to it, one must not let greed take root while on a journey. Don’t go around coveting what doesn’t belong to you and you’ll be saved a lot of trouble.”
Li Jianhong brings Duan Ling to an inn for food and lodgings, and tells the waiter that they’ll be staying for the night, handing over his personal identity papers to the innkeeper for inspection. Currently things are complicated in Liao with all the tribes travelling all about each with their own standard for documentation, so the innkeeper can’t see anything odd about the papers either, thus he instructs his workers to get a high quality room ready.
”Dad, are we going to keep travelling tomorrow?“ Duan Ling lies in Li Jianhong’s lap, while Li Jianhong leans back against the headboard with his arms around Duan Ling, still lost in thought.
“You don’t want to go?”
Duan Ling replies eh, a bit sleepy, and shakes his head. “Let’s go.”
Li Jianhong kisses Duan Ling, and Duan Ling turns to his side, buries his head in Li Jianhong’s shoulder and nuzzles him this way and that. Li Jianhong airs the thought, “What, not happy?”
Duan Ling doesn’t say anything either, just keeps nuzzling him. Li Jianhong says, “You just want attention, huh.”
Li Jianhong holds Duan Ling down on the daybed and tickles him until he’s laughing aloud and struggling back. When they’re face to face, Li Jianhong stares at Duan Ling’s eyes, then taking his hand he lets it rest on his own cheek. And closing his eyes, he gets lost in his thoughts again.
Bleary-eyed, Daun Ling stares at Li Jianhong’s face groggily. He runs his fingers over Li Jianhong’s profile, his lips, and leaning on Li Jianhong’s shoulder, he gradually falls asleep.
There is commotion outside; when Duan Ling opens his eyes again, it’s already morning. The noise startles him, and thinking it’s people hunting them down he asks, “What is it?”
“Nothing much.” Now that Duan Ling is awake, Li Jianhong gets up to wring out a towel to help him wash up.
Turmoil had descended upon Huaide overnight, with many retreating from the northeast road dragging their entire families with them. They’re all yelling, “The Mongols are coming!”
“Let’s go! Everyone, this way!”
Duan Ling has never seen anything like this before. He anxiously surveys Huaide’s main road outside the inn and finds it densely packed with refugees as far as his eyes can see. Duan Ling and his father are having noodles inside the inn, but Li Jianhong doesn’t seem phased at all by this unusual sight.
“Stay out!” The innkeeper looks rather displeased, making the waiter go outside to drive off the refugees; in times of chaos those without money can barely move an inch. Duan Ling glances outside from time to time, and finds a child about his own age with a much younger child, and looking dirty and dishevelled they make their way inside.
“Want some?” Duan Ling takes a flatbread, giving it to the older child. “Rest for a bit.”
“Outside! The lot of you, outside!” The waiter says.
Li Jianhong shoots the waiter a look. Just a look, and the waiter dares not speak again.
“I’ll take one for my little brother.” The child bows. “Thank you very much. Safe journey to you, sir.”
Duan Ling can’t help feeling a pang in his heart at the scene of them together. The child understands their social position though, and only takes up a little corner to feed his little brother flatbread.
Li Jianhong takes another piece of flatbread, pries it apart, and soaks in a bowl of mutton soup for Duan Ling.
“Where’d you come from?” Li Jianhong asks offhandedly.
“Huchang,” the child answers.
“Oh? Has the city been captured?” Li Jianhong asks.
“It won’t be long now.” The older child says, “The Mongols are coming, and everyone’s worried they’d massacre everyone in the city, so they’re all running to Shangjing. Could you give us some water please, guv’nor?”
Li Jianhong picks up the pot to pour tea, and gives the child a cup of tea. The child takes a few big gulps first before feeding it to his little brother.
“Where’s your mom and dad?” Duan Ling asks.
“We got separated.” The older child says, “If you’re heading north, can you ask around for us …”
“We’re heading east.” Li Jianhong says, “You need not worry. The Mongols haven’t made it here yet. Presumably your parents are okay.”
The older child gives him a nod. “Do be careful on your way east as well. Mongol troops are all over the mountains and the plains.”
“Let’s go.” Li Jianhong settles the bill for their food and lodgings, and leaves the inn with Duan Ling. They get on Wanlibenxiao, then going around the road they tear away from the village.
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. ↩︎
Zhili was just the old name for Hebei, however that wasn’t its name until the Ming dynasty. Before that it just meant wherever the capital is. ↩︎
The Roads to Shu ran mostly up and down mountains. ↩︎
