“Will there be war?” Duan Ling asks.
Wanlibenxiao looks down from where it is stopped halfway up the mountain. Huaide has already become an ocean of people; an endless stream of refugees are still heading west from Huchang and near Decheng.2 Their goal is to get through the Altyn-Tagh, either heading into Shangjing, or escaping through Yubiguan.
“There will be,” Li Jianhong replies.
“Then what will happen to Batu and his father?”
“The Mongols have been maintaining an army for a long time. They weren’t fighting beneath Mount Jiangjun before, but I reckon they’ve started fighting right around now. Even if you didn’t save Batu, this war would have started anyway.” Li Jianhong tells him, “The two of them would have simply paid for it with their lives without just cause, that’s all.”
It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever seen a spectacle like this. “Who will win?”
“Hard to say. Who do you want to win?”
Although everyone in Shangjing is Khitan, Duan Ling has been living there so long that it’s like a second homeland to him. From the bottom of his heart he hopes Liao doesn’t lose, but when two countries are at war, who wins and who loses isn’t something that can be decided by the power of a person’s wish.
“Dad, do we have to leave too?”
“I don’t know. But we’ll have an answer very soon. Let’s go.”
Li Jinghong turns the horse around, and Wanlibenxiao canters swiftly along the mountain paths, disappearing between the mountains. Soon, Duan Ling hurriedly says, “Dad!”
Li Jianhong turns to look at where Duan Ling’s finger is pointing. The morning mountain streams are thick with fog, and a squad of cavalry is meandering through the mist towards them. Duan Ling and Li Jianhong keep moving for a bit longer, and come upon a few Khitan soldiers’ bodies — a violent encounter has clearly taken place.
“How long has it been since we left?” Li Jianhong asks.
“Nearly two hours.” Duan Ling asks anxiously, “Why is the Mongol army here?”
“Hold this.” Li Jianhong tosses the Khitan soldiers’ quivers, crossbow, and longbow to Duan Ling before mounting the horse again. He checks the bow’s weight. “They’re an advance squadron, probably planning to detour around the Altyn-tagh to mount a sneak attack on Huaide. Come on, this is for you. Make a headcount and tell me how many of them are there.”
“Five, ten …” Duan Ling makes the count while Li Jianhong adjusts the crossbow, and answers, “One hundred.”
Li Jianhong instructs Duan Ling how to use the crossbow, and lets him take a few test shots before putting it on his back. Then he shoulders the long bow himself. “Yeah, running into the enemy’s advance troops on the road. Mustn’t panic.”
Duan Ling gives him a nod, and Li Jianhong continues his explanation. “First we must conceal ourselves, then weigh the strength, terrain, weather, and manpower between us and the enemy. When they’re out in the open and we’re in the shadows, we can risk mounting a raid if we’re six-tenth’s sure of a positive outcome.”
“But there’s only two of us.”
“King Wei of Qi asks Sun Tzu,” Li Jianhong says, “D’you remember how it’s laid out in the book or no? Is there a way for one to attack ten?”
“Yes there is!” Duan Ling’s read this section before. “Attack before they’re ready, take them by surprise!”
Li Jianhong gives him a smile.
“Gup!”
Li Jianhong squeezes the horse’s flanks with his legs, telling it to go as fast as it can; Wanlibenxiao treats the mountain range like level ground, passing through forests as quickly as it crosses the plains, approaching the enemy as fast as lightning.
“You steer the horse,” Li Jianhong says.
Duan Ling takes the reins. Li Jianhong says, “Turn!”
Duan Ling pulls at the reins, and Wanlibenxiao turns swiftly on the mountain path. Li Jianhong steps on its armour, his slender figure leaning out as he draws the longbow to its fullest and lets the arrow loose!
A light sound rings out; Li Jianhong comes back down to drape himself flat on the horse’s back. “Turn again!”
Duan Ling shakes the reins and Li Jianhong takes three successive shots. Soon, a scream comes from beneath them as a Mongol soldier falls off his horse, followed by three consecutive screams, one after another.
“Between the first and second sneak attacks, you must be fast, fierce, and accurate.” Li Jianhong gives Duan Ling instructions by his ear, “Only then will the enemy become paranoid, unable to figure out the other sides’ numbers. If it’s just one arrow, they’ll be able to guess that there was only one person.”
“Got it.”
Li Jianhong and Duan Ling cross the stream and follow the army at arm’s length. As expected, the Mongol army does get suspicious and get into formation, unwilling to rashly advance any farther.
“What do we do now?” Duan Ling asks.
On horseback, Li Jianhong reaches inside his lapel for flint. “Good timing and favourable weather conditions are less useful than favourable terrain, and favourable terrain is less useful than people working for a common purpose. Who said that?”
“I think it’s Mencius.”
Li Jianhong focuses on striking the flint. “That’s right. One must use the terrain to its fullest. Since they’ve set themselves up in the forest, naturally we’ll be smoking them out.”
In the present moment the forest is overgrown with heather, leaves have fallen all over the ground, there is a thick spring fog above the shrubs — and the understory has been built layer upon layer, from wet to dry, piling on top of each other. Li Jianhong ignites the dry leaves beneath his feet, setting it crackling, and the fire borrows from the force of the wind; burning, it gives off a great deal of white smoke, and the wind takes it towards the forest.
“Pay attention to the one who dresses differently than the others,” Li Jianhong says, “he’s the centurion.”
The Mongol soldiers cough loudly but their formation does not waver the slightest degree as they withdraw from the forest, hooting all the while. And yet with the smoke spreading everywhere, visibility has been vastly limited, and now a warhorse brazenly charges out of the smoky haze. Duan Ling steers the horse into the enemy’s formation. With one long handle sword in each hand, Li Jianhong brandishes them with dizzying speed and suddenly there is blood spraying everywhere in a spattering trail as they gallop off!
“Throw the lasso!” Li Jianhong says.
Duan Ling throws the lasso, and it loops right over the centurion’s neck; a soldier’s hundred-eighty catty3weight nearly pulls him off the horse, but Li Jianhong’s eyes are sharp and his hands are deft. He grabs the rope with one hand and Wanlibenxiao takes the two of them out of the circle of surrounding soldiers through a hail of arrows.
Duan Ling is still panting. The centurion is bound at the neck, gripping firmly to the rope as he’s dragged along the mountain paths.
“Yuan military is strictly regulated. If the centurion dies, his second-in-command in charge of fifty will take his place. So don’t even think about catching a hostage. It won’t work on any of the soldiers.”
“Then what … what did we catch … catch him for?” Duan Ling is still in a state of shock. He keeps looking behind him.
Li Jianhong pulls at the rope and using the horse’s momentum he coils it around the top of a tree a few times, tying a knot to keep it in place so that the centurion hangs from the tree. The two then gallops off, stopping their horse at higher ground to watch the centurion at a distance.
“This is called ‘guard the corpse and attack the reinforcements’. Watch closely.”
The Mongolian army charges out of the jungle, wishing to save their centurion. Li Jianhong nocks six arrows on the bow, and as the enemy makes it to the centurion’s location, he lets all the arrows fly in an instant!
The six arrows fly off like meteors, killing more of them; the other party is in utter disarray. The centurion, red in the face, is kicking wildly at the air, and the Yuan formation is a complete disaster. They immediately discover Li Jianhong upon the hillside, but alas Li Jianhong is standing with this back to the wind, and arrows can not reach him — all they can do is retreat.
As they retreat Li Jianhong again fires off one arrow after another, like a scythe through rice stalks he kills ten-odd more.
Duan Ling’s heart beats wildly in his chest. Li Jianhong asks, “Do you understand?”
“I … I understand.” Duan Ling nods, his eyes filled with fear.
“Don’t be afraid.” Li Jianhong lowers his head, and gives Duan Ling a quick kiss next to his ear. “We’re killing people, but we’re saving people too. If you’ve ever seen a Mongolian army capture a city and massacre everyone inside it, then you’ll know that there’s no telling how many lives these few arrows have managed to save.”
“I know.” Duan Ling has heard about the horrifying sight of a Mongolian army slaughtering innocents before, but what he’s seeing right now has given him too much of a blow.
“Don’t be afraid to kill. So long as you believe that you’re in the right.”
As he speaks Li Jianhong shoots another two arrows, taking down another two Mongolian soldiers. The other side dares not advance again, riled in their grief beyond measure, but can only retreat beyond the reach of his bow, looking on helplessly as their leader is hanged to death bit by bit until his last breath.
Li Jianhong continues to speak to his son, “None of these people are without blood on their hands. The reason we’re hanging him by the neck is to make sure he can’t talk — that way he can’t warn them, and he can’t sacrifice himself and tell his brothers-in-arms to evacuate.”
Duan Ling acknowledges this with a trembling hum.
Now that every Mongolian soldier is red-eyed from anguish, but none of them dare take another step, Li Jianhong fires off a single arrow that strikes the rope dead-on from a hundred paces away. The centurion falls ten feet from the top of the tree, and thereupon Li Jianhong turns the horse around, disappearing behind the hilltop.
The Mongolian soldiers charge forward to rescue their leader. Duan Ling is about to ask, are we going to leave just like that? when Li Jianhong spins around on the spot and reappears from behind the hill. This time, he uses the string of pearls technique to fire off arrows that rain down like torrential downpour, casting a shroud over the soldiers who’ve come to rescue their leader. Screams ring out from them all at once; corpses litter the ground and blood pools into streams beneath their feet. Losing all desire to fight, the Mongolian army rapidly retreats.
“That’s called ‘deceit’.” Li Jianhong says, “There can never be too much deception in war.”
Duan Ling looks on wordlessly.
Finally, Li Jianhong shoots one last arrow; it flies toward the centurion, thoroughly ending his life. “Let’s go.”
The Mongolian army’s one hundred men vanguard has somehow been misled and raided by Li Jianhong until he has managed to kill nearly half of them. For now, they’re nervous as a bird who’d fly off at the twang of a bowstring, no longer daring to make any rash moves.
Wanlibenxiao vanishes into the mountain’s forests, crisscrossing the jungle. Those pained dying screams from earlier are still echoing in Duan Ling’s ears.
“Dad doesn’t want you to thoughtlessly slaughter the innocent.”
“But dad really doesn’t want you to waver indecisively in the face of danger, to completely lack the strength to fight back. Sometimes the reason you can’t make up your mind is not because you’re unable to, but because you don’t want to.”
“Kill those who ought to be killed, save those who ought to be saved, even if a million should stand against you, move bravely forward.4 No one else on this here earth can declare you guilty save for yourself.”
Li Jianhong’s voice is deep and resonant yet gentle, driving away the screams echoing in Duan Ling’s ears.
The sun has risen; sunlight dapples through the canopy, flickering over them, sweeping past them like a million shooting stars in a tranquil night, gone in the twinkling of an eye.
“My son, you need to use your eyes and see clearly.”
“Life is bitterly short. If you live in this world then you have no choice but to face a lot of horrifying and cruel things.”
In the blink of an eye the scorching sun is shining down on them like a ball of flame. They have charged out of the woods into a wide clearing. Radiant sunlight surrounds them, and shockingly, a sea of clouds is beneath their feet, rolling in like the waves as they hold up a mountain top. Their one horse carrying the two of them seems like a small skiff crossing the sea.
“When you can stand high enough,” Li Jianhong says calmly, “everything will be left far behind you. The only voice you have to heed is right here …”
Holding a horsewhip, he places his hand over the left side of Duan Ling’s chest, and tells him earnestly, “Listen to your heart. Don’t be afraid.”
Duan Ling’s eyes reflect the mountains and the stratus folded layer upon layer like waves rolling towards them. He feels the moment like it’s a tangible thing; he is tiny and insignificant under his father’s protection, but he’s standing on the highest point of the world. All living things are nothing more than an ebbing reflection on the cloud sea beneath them.
Li Jianhong slows their horse to a trot and they proceed slowly along the coiling paths at the mountain’s summit.
“I’m not afraid,” Duan Ling says.
“I know you’ve killed before. That was for the sake of protecting Lang Junxia. But you haven’t understood that sometimes killing is more about protecting those you’ve never met. Those people won’t know how much you’ve sacrificed for them, in a place far, far from them. It may even be that in their entire lifetime they will never give you a word of thanks.”
“But dad thinks you’ll still do it. Will you do it?”
“I will.” Duan Ling nods.
They take a turn past a mountain top, looking into the distance. At the end of the unbroken mountain chain, they can see a monastery, and here beneath the sun it’s alightwith raging flames that roll up into the sky in a persistent fire.
Duan Ling says, “It’s burning!”
“Damn it, we’ve come too late,” Li Jianhong says to himself.
“Are we going to help?” Duan Ling.
“Let’s hope we’re not too late … gup!” Li Jianhong spurs the horse to a gallop, and winding through the coiling footpaths, they tear off towards the monastery.
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. ↩︎
There is something very odd with these directions, the original text was pretty ambiguous, so if you’re confused, check the map on the ref page. I don’t have Decheng on the map since there isn’t enough hints here to let me know where it is, but Huchang, Huaide, and Shangjing are there, as are the mountain ranges. (Roughly) ↩︎
~108kg. ↩︎
From Mencius. Full quote: Reflect on your reasoning, and if your reasoning be sound, then even if a million should stand against you, move bravely forward. ↩︎
“Will there be war?” Duan Ling asks.
Wanlibenxiao looks down from where it is stopped halfway up the mountain. Huaide has already become an ocean of people; an endless stream of refugees are still heading west from Huchang and near Decheng.2 Their goal is to get through the Altyn-Tagh, either heading into Shangjing, or escaping through Yubiguan.
“There will be,” Li Jianhong replies.
“Then what will happen to Batu and his father?”
“The Mongols have been maintaining an army for a long time. They weren’t fighting beneath Mount Jiangjun before, but I reckon they’ve started fighting right around now. Even if you didn’t save Batu, this war would have started anyway.” Li Jianhong tells him, “The two of them would have simply paid for it with their lives without just cause, that’s all.”
It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever seen a spectacle like this. “Who will win?”
“Hard to say. Who do you want to win?”
Although everyone in Shangjing is Khitan, Duan Ling has been living there so long that it’s like a second homeland to him. From the bottom of his heart he hopes Liao doesn’t lose, but when two countries are at war, who wins and who loses isn’t something that can be decided by the power of a person’s wish.
“Dad, do we have to leave too?”
“I don’t know. But we’ll have an answer very soon. Let’s go.”
Li Jinghong turns the horse around, and Wanlibenxiao canters swiftly along the mountain paths, disappearing between the mountains. Soon, Duan Ling hurriedly says, “Dad!”
Li Jianhong turns to look at where Duan Ling’s finger is pointing. The morning mountain streams are thick with fog, and a squad of cavalry is meandering through the mist towards them. Duan Ling and Li Jianhong keep moving for a bit longer, and come upon a few Khitan soldiers’ bodies — a violent encounter has clearly taken place.
“How long has it been since we left?” Li Jianhong asks.
“Nearly two hours.” Duan Ling asks anxiously, “Why is the Mongol army here?”
“Hold this.” Li Jianhong tosses the Khitan soldiers’ quivers, crossbow, and longbow to Duan Ling before mounting the horse again. He checks the bow’s weight. “They’re an advance squadron, probably planning to detour around the Altyn-tagh to mount a sneak attack on Huaide. Come on, this is for you. Make a headcount and tell me how many of them are there.”
“Five, ten …” Duan Ling makes the count while Li Jianhong adjusts the crossbow, and answers, “One hundred.”
Li Jianhong instructs Duan Ling how to use the crossbow, and lets him take a few test shots before putting it on his back. Then he shoulders the long bow himself. “Yeah, running into the enemy’s advance troops on the road. Mustn’t panic.”
Duan Ling gives him a nod, and Li Jianhong continues his explanation. “First we must conceal ourselves, then weigh the strength, terrain, weather, and manpower between us and the enemy. When they’re out in the open and we’re in the shadows, we can risk mounting a raid if we’re six-tenth’s sure of a positive outcome.”
“But there’s only two of us.”
“King Wei of Qi asks Sun Tzu,” Li Jianhong says, “D’you remember how it’s laid out in the book or no? Is there a way for one to attack ten?”
“Yes there is!” Duan Ling’s read this section before. “Attack before they’re ready, take them by surprise!”
Li Jianhong gives him a smile.
“Gup!”
Li Jianhong squeezes the horse’s flanks with his legs, telling it to go as fast as it can; Wanlibenxiao treats the mountain range like level ground, passing through forests as quickly as it crosses the plains, approaching the enemy as fast as lightning.
“You steer the horse,” Li Jianhong says.
Duan Ling takes the reins. Li Jianhong says, “Turn!”
Duan Ling pulls at the reins, and Wanlibenxiao turns swiftly on the mountain path. Li Jianhong steps on its armour, his slender figure leaning out as he draws the longbow to its fullest and lets the arrow loose!
A light sound rings out; Li Jianhong comes back down to drape himself flat on the horse’s back. “Turn again!”
Duan Ling shakes the reins and Li Jianhong takes three successive shots. Soon, a scream comes from beneath them as a Mongol soldier falls off his horse, followed by three consecutive screams, one after another.
“Between the first and second sneak attacks, you must be fast, fierce, and accurate.” Li Jianhong gives Duan Ling instructions by his ear, “Only then will the enemy become paranoid, unable to figure out the other sides’ numbers. If it’s just one arrow, they’ll be able to guess that there was only one person.”
“Got it.”
Li Jianhong and Duan Ling cross the stream and follow the army at arm’s length. As expected, the Mongol army does get suspicious and get into formation, unwilling to rashly advance any farther.
“What do we do now?” Duan Ling asks.
On horseback, Li Jianhong reaches inside his lapel for flint. “Good timing and favourable weather conditions are less useful than favourable terrain, and favourable terrain is less useful than people working for a common purpose. Who said that?”
“I think it’s Mencius.”
Li Jianhong focuses on striking the flint. “That’s right. One must use the terrain to its fullest. Since they’ve set themselves up in the forest, naturally we’ll be smoking them out.”
In the present moment the forest is overgrown with heather, leaves have fallen all over the ground, there is a thick spring fog above the shrubs — and the understory has been built layer upon layer, from wet to dry, piling on top of each other. Li Jianhong ignites the dry leaves beneath his feet, setting it crackling, and the fire borrows from the force of the wind; burning, it gives off a great deal of white smoke, and the wind takes it towards the forest.
“Pay attention to the one who dresses differently than the others,” Li Jianhong says, “he’s the centurion.”
The Mongol soldiers cough loudly but their formation does not waver the slightest degree as they withdraw from the forest, hooting all the while. And yet with the smoke spreading everywhere, visibility has been vastly limited, and now a warhorse brazenly charges out of the smoky haze. Duan Ling steers the horse into the enemy’s formation. With one long handle sword in each hand, Li Jianhong brandishes them with dizzying speed and suddenly there is blood spraying everywhere in a spattering trail as they gallop off!
“Throw the lasso!” Li Jianhong says.
Duan Ling throws the lasso, and it loops right over the centurion’s neck; a soldier’s hundred-eighty catty3weight nearly pulls him off the horse, but Li Jianhong’s eyes are sharp and his hands are deft. He grabs the rope with one hand and Wanlibenxiao takes the two of them out of the circle of surrounding soldiers through a hail of arrows.
Duan Ling is still panting. The centurion is bound at the neck, gripping firmly to the rope as he’s dragged along the mountain paths.
“Yuan military is strictly regulated. If the centurion dies, his second-in-command in charge of fifty will take his place. So don’t even think about catching a hostage. It won’t work on any of the soldiers.”
“Then what … what did we catch … catch him for?” Duan Ling is still in a state of shock. He keeps looking behind him.
Li Jianhong pulls at the rope and using the horse’s momentum he coils it around the top of a tree a few times, tying a knot to keep it in place so that the centurion hangs from the tree. The two then gallops off, stopping their horse at higher ground to watch the centurion at a distance.
“This is called ‘guard the corpse and attack the reinforcements’. Watch closely.”
The Mongolian army charges out of the jungle, wishing to save their centurion. Li Jianhong nocks six arrows on the bow, and as the enemy makes it to the centurion’s location, he lets all the arrows fly in an instant!
The six arrows fly off like meteors, killing more of them; the other party is in utter disarray. The centurion, red in the face, is kicking wildly at the air, and the Yuan formation is a complete disaster. They immediately discover Li Jianhong upon the hillside, but alas Li Jianhong is standing with this back to the wind, and arrows can not reach him — all they can do is retreat.
As they retreat Li Jianhong again fires off one arrow after another, like a scythe through rice stalks he kills ten-odd more.
Duan Ling’s heart beats wildly in his chest. Li Jianhong asks, “Do you understand?”
“I … I understand.” Duan Ling nods, his eyes filled with fear.
“Don’t be afraid.” Li Jianhong lowers his head, and gives Duan Ling a quick kiss next to his ear. “We’re killing people, but we’re saving people too. If you’ve ever seen a Mongolian army capture a city and massacre everyone inside it, then you’ll know that there’s no telling how many lives these few arrows have managed to save.”
“I know.” Duan Ling has heard about the horrifying sight of a Mongolian army slaughtering innocents before, but what he’s seeing right now has given him too much of a blow.
“Don’t be afraid to kill. So long as you believe that you’re in the right.”
As he speaks Li Jianhong shoots another two arrows, taking down another two Mongolian soldiers. The other side dares not advance again, riled in their grief beyond measure, but can only retreat beyond the reach of his bow, looking on helplessly as their leader is hanged to death bit by bit until his last breath.
Li Jianhong continues to speak to his son, “None of these people are without blood on their hands. The reason we’re hanging him by the neck is to make sure he can’t talk — that way he can’t warn them, and he can’t sacrifice himself and tell his brothers-in-arms to evacuate.”
Duan Ling acknowledges this with a trembling hum.
Now that every Mongolian soldier is red-eyed from anguish, but none of them dare take another step, Li Jianhong fires off a single arrow that strikes the rope dead-on from a hundred paces away. The centurion falls ten feet from the top of the tree, and thereupon Li Jianhong turns the horse around, disappearing behind the hilltop.
The Mongolian soldiers charge forward to rescue their leader. Duan Ling is about to ask, are we going to leave just like that? when Li Jianhong spins around on the spot and reappears from behind the hill. This time, he uses the string of pearls technique to fire off arrows that rain down like torrential downpour, casting a shroud over the soldiers who’ve come to rescue their leader. Screams ring out from them all at once; corpses litter the ground and blood pools into streams beneath their feet. Losing all desire to fight, the Mongolian army rapidly retreats.
“That’s called ‘deceit’.” Li Jianhong says, “There can never be too much deception in war.”
Duan Ling looks on wordlessly.
Finally, Li Jianhong shoots one last arrow; it flies toward the centurion, thoroughly ending his life. “Let’s go.”
The Mongolian army’s one hundred men vanguard has somehow been misled and raided by Li Jianhong until he has managed to kill nearly half of them. For now, they’re nervous as a bird who’d fly off at the twang of a bowstring, no longer daring to make any rash moves.
Wanlibenxiao vanishes into the mountain’s forests, crisscrossing the jungle. Those pained dying screams from earlier are still echoing in Duan Ling’s ears.
“Dad doesn’t want you to thoughtlessly slaughter the innocent.”
“But dad really doesn’t want you to waver indecisively in the face of danger, to completely lack the strength to fight back. Sometimes the reason you can’t make up your mind is not because you’re unable to, but because you don’t want to.”
“Kill those who ought to be killed, save those who ought to be saved, even if a million should stand against you, move bravely forward.4 No one else on this here earth can declare you guilty save for yourself.”
Li Jianhong’s voice is deep and resonant yet gentle, driving away the screams echoing in Duan Ling’s ears.
The sun has risen; sunlight dapples through the canopy, flickering over them, sweeping past them like a million shooting stars in a tranquil night, gone in the twinkling of an eye.
“My son, you need to use your eyes and see clearly.”
“Life is bitterly short. If you live in this world then you have no choice but to face a lot of horrifying and cruel things.”
In the blink of an eye the scorching sun is shining down on them like a ball of flame. They have charged out of the woods into a wide clearing. Radiant sunlight surrounds them, and shockingly, a sea of clouds is beneath their feet, rolling in like the waves as they hold up a mountain top. Their one horse carrying the two of them seems like a small skiff crossing the sea.
“When you can stand high enough,” Li Jianhong says calmly, “everything will be left far behind you. The only voice you have to heed is right here …”
Holding a horsewhip, he places his hand over the left side of Duan Ling’s chest, and tells him earnestly, “Listen to your heart. Don’t be afraid.”
Duan Ling’s eyes reflect the mountains and the stratus folded layer upon layer like waves rolling towards them. He feels the moment like it’s a tangible thing; he is tiny and insignificant under his father’s protection, but he’s standing on the highest point of the world. All living things are nothing more than an ebbing reflection on the cloud sea beneath them.
Li Jianhong slows their horse to a trot and they proceed slowly along the coiling paths at the mountain’s summit.
“I’m not afraid,” Duan Ling says.
“I know you’ve killed before. That was for the sake of protecting Lang Junxia. But you haven’t understood that sometimes killing is more about protecting those you’ve never met. Those people won’t know how much you’ve sacrificed for them, in a place far, far from them. It may even be that in their entire lifetime they will never give you a word of thanks.”
“But dad thinks you’ll still do it. Will you do it?”
“I will.” Duan Ling nods.
They take a turn past a mountain top, looking into the distance. At the end of the unbroken mountain chain, they can see a monastery, and here beneath the sun it’s alightwith raging flames that roll up into the sky in a persistent fire.
Duan Ling says, “It’s burning!”
“Damn it, we’ve come too late,” Li Jianhong says to himself.
“Are we going to help?” Duan Ling.
“Let’s hope we’re not too late … gup!” Li Jianhong spurs the horse to a gallop, and winding through the coiling footpaths, they tear off towards the monastery.
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. ↩︎
There is something very odd with these directions, the original text was pretty ambiguous, so if you’re confused, check the map on the ref page. I don’t have Decheng on the map since there isn’t enough hints here to let me know where it is, but Huchang, Huaide, and Shangjing are there, as are the mountain ranges. (Roughly) ↩︎
~108kg. ↩︎
From Mencius. Full quote: Reflect on your reasoning, and if your reasoning be sound, then even if a million should stand against you, move bravely forward. ↩︎
