Yelü Dashi doesn’t recognise him at first, but as soon as he hears that voice he’s immediately sober. He takes a step back and roars, “Men!”
Several bodyguards rush out to make a defensive perimeter around Yelü Dashi, but Li Jianhong simply puts down the teacup, saying, “I have it even worse than a stray dog right now. What are you so nervous about, Yelüxiong?”
Momentarily losing his composure, Yelü Dashi doesn’t turn to consider Xunchun until he comes to himself again and realises Li Jianhong is the only person in the parlour. “Your … your Viburnum, is actually …”
“I don’t know this guest.” Xunchun replies, sounding unconcerned, “But since he’s come it’s been impossible to make him go, and the only way he’s willing to leave is if he sees Your Highness first. Please, you mustn’t doubt us.”
“Come in and have a drink. Whether amity or enmity, what used to lie to the east of the river thirty years ago is now on the western shore — things change. Is there any need to brood over it even now?”
Yelü Dashi gives him a scornful laugh, but he’s a sport and steps inside. Xunchun quickly closes the door after him. The bodyguards want to follow him in, but Xunchun raises a hand before them, waving them off as a sign that they should not trespass.
“Wait outside.” Yelü Dashi says, “Without my explicit order, no one is allowed to come in.”
Xichuan.
“Sometimes, I find myself thinking …”
On a pitch dark night, a light rain patters on the pavement, and deep within an alleyway stands Lang Junxia.
Lang Junxia has already been driven into a dead end, unremittingly panting while soldiers surround him, blocking off the alley’s exit. Zhao Kui’s cape flutters behind him as he steps through the rainwater towards Lang Junxia, puddles splattering beneath his feet. In the middle of the alleyway, Lang Junxia leans back against the wall; half of his arm where the finger is missing has already turned a dark grey, his hand swollen, the skin glistening.
“What did Li Jianhong ever do to make you so devoted to him.” Zhao Kui stands triumphantly with his hands clasped behind his back as torchlight shines down on Lang Junxia’s face.
“One must take refuge with someone.” Lang Junxia says placidly. “If it’s not you, then it’s him, I’m a guest either way here or there — what’s the difference?”
Crossbows are all over the alleyway: in the surrounding residential homes, on top of the tiled roofs, behind Lang Junxia. In order to catch him, Zhao Kui has mobilised nearly a thousand men in Xichuan, truly befitting of the saying “nets above and snares below”, leaving him not a single path to escape.
“Li Jianhong’s days are numbered. Leave the darkness behind and come into the light. You’re a man, I respect you. There’s no point in saying more.”
Lang Junxia takes in a deep breath. He closes his eyes, and slowly, he lets it out.
“I thought that with Chang Liujun’s abilities, he wouldn’t have used poison,” Lang Junxia says quietly.
Zhao Kui turns to go. His underlings step forward, and supporting Lang Junxia beneath the arms, they leave the alley behind.
Shangjing.
“Have a drink,” Li Jianhong says offhandedly, “Do forgive that I can’t show my real face.”
Li Jianhong picks up the jug and pours wine for the two of them, downing his drink first as a sign of respect.
But Yelü Dashi doesn’t drink his cup of wine. He raps his knuckles against the table.
Li Jianhong says, “My son is the one sitting behind the screen.”
Yelü Dashi keeps staring at the screen. Duan Ling doesn’t know whether to come out or not. In the end, his shadow gives Yelü Dashi a slight bow.
Only then does Yelü Dashi drink that cup of wine, and when he finishes it, he puts the cup back onto the table upside down.2
“They say that among the Han, you are the most courageous of them all.” Yelü Dashi was already tipsy before he came to the Viburnum, and now the wine’s gone to his cheeks as he murmurs, “What are you trying to do coming to Shangjing at a time like this?”
“The world may be big,” Li Jianhong says casually, “but with a home I can’t go back to and having no wish to fraternise with the Mongolians, my only option is to settle down in Shangjing.”
“Settle down?” Yelü Dashi is rather suspicious — this nemesis of his has somehow managed to infiltrate his turf without making so much as a whisper. He blurts out in spite of himself, “Where, where do you live?”
Yelü Dashi narrows his eyes, looking Li Jianhong up and down. He’s suddenly reminded of the assassin from years ago.
“That time at the Illustrious Hall!” Yelü Dashi says, thunderstruck.
“Correct. One of them was my subordinate, and the other is the assassin Zhao Kui sent to kill my son.”
Yelü Dashi rises, and paces several steps in the parlour, but Li Jianhong remains unruffled. He turns the cup on the table right side up. “How about another drink?”
Yelü Dashi turns to face Li Jianhong. He says coldly, “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”
“You know what things are like in Southern Chen. Zhao Kui pared down my military authority, my father handed down an edict to escort me back to Xichuan to denounce me. Sometimes things are exactly the way they seem. Here, have a drink.”
Yelü Dashi is skeptical. He lets out a long breath before saying, “You should go. There’s no room in Shangjing for you.”
“Then tell your people to come in, tie me up, and escort me back to Xichuan?” Li Jianhong tosses out casually.
“I can’t detain you, either.” Yelü Dashi gives this some thought, and concedes to this vexing truth. “In the city of Shangjing, you can come and go as you please like the walls and guards don’t even exist. What else do you want?”
“I’ve come to save you.” Li Jianhong says dispassionately, “Only because your death is near at hand.”
Yelü Dashi suddenly turns right around and glares at Li Jianhong.
“The Mongolians have marched south and they’ve already captured Huchang. They’re reorganising in the mountains as we speak and they’ll fight their way to the gates of Shangjing in no time. Shulü Jin guards the northern road, Wang Ping guards the southern road. Neither of your two great generals can hold back the house of Borjigin’s iron cavalry. Now that Jochi has escaped, he will definitely take revenge against you.”
Contrary to what one may expect, Yelü Dashi starts to laugh. “Li Jianhong, you’re as fond of exaggeration as ever.”
“Han Weiyong has been waiting for this moment for a long time.” Li Jianhong says, nonchalant, “If my guess is right, his son has probably left for Zhongjing in the name of attending college.”
Yelü Dashi falls silent.
“If my guess is right, after the Mongol army breaks through the southern and northern roads, and executes everyone in the cities, the reinforcements you’ve been waiting for will probably not be coming.” Li Jianhong once more gestures palm up for him to drink. “My patience is limited. Yelüxiong, this cup of wine … will you or won’t you drink it?”
After a long silence, ultimately Yelü Dashi slowly sits down.
“I have been in charge of the northern administration for twenty-two years. Back then I offered my advice to the former emperor — wherever you Han steps foot you’d conspire against each other and we’ll never get a day of peace.”
Yelü Dashi finishes saying this, enunciating every word, closes his eyes, and knocks back the cup of wine Li Jianhong poured him.
“The road south of Yubiguan is being guarded by Jochi. It seems like I won’t need to nag you about what will come of that. Drink this third cup of wine, and lend me ten thousand cavalry tomorrow. I’ll pacify the Mongol army for you, and then I’ll keep moving south, and take back Xichuan.”
Li Jianhong fills the wine cup, picks it up with three fingers, and sets it down squarely in front of Yelü Dashi.
“Same as before, I will drink to you first — bottoms up.” Li Jianhong doesn’t even spare a glance at Yelü Dashi. He casually gestures, palm up, go on. “Yelüxiong, please.”
Yelü Dashi doesn’t drink that cup of wine. He’s sitting on the other side of the daybed, his elbow on the table between them. Leaning in a bit closer, he stares at Li Jianhong.
“Do you know why Zhao Kui wants to kill you?”
“I don’t hate Zhao Kui. It’s the truth. Him and I don’t have any sort of vendetta against each other. We each have our own path to tread, and this is nothing more than a fair match. Though naturally if what he wants is to betray the Lis, that’s an entirely different story.”
There is sudden commotion outside. Yelü Dashi’s expression darkens slightly; Li Jianhong turns his attention outside the door.
“You cannot go inside.” It’s Xunchun’s voice. “His Highness is meeting with a guest.”
“Your Highness,” Cai Wen says, gasping for breath, “Please return to the Northern Administration, messengers have arrived from both the northern and southern roads!”
Yelü Dashi’s expression takes on the tone of panic immediately, but Li Jianhong doesn’t say anything more.
Cai Wen finishes his report and turns to leave.
“Bring out His Highness’s horse,” Outside, Xunchun’s voice says quietly.
Xunchun opens the parlour door. Yelü Dashi stands up without warning.
“How long has it been since we last faced each other on the battlefield?”
“Five years.” Yelü Dashi has a dour expression as he takes big strides to leave. In the end, he has not drunk that last cup of wine.
“Farewell. Take care, I won’t be seeing you out.”
When Yelü Dashi hears this he suddenly stops walking, then he turns around to walk toward Li Jianhong. Li Jianhong has already risen, and quickly smoothing out the creases in his gown, he clasps his hands behind his back, watching Yelü Dashi.
Yelü Dashi stops walking once more and turns to go, but when he gets to the threshold he comes back again. Li Jianhong starts to laugh, watching him. Duan Ling sticks his head out curiously from behind the screen to appraise Yelü Dashi, but Li Jianhong pushes him back again.
“These days you and your son have both been in Shangjing.”
“Precisely.” Li Jianhong tells him earnestly, “but I definitely won’t hand him over to you. It’s enough for you to know that he’s in the city. Don’t make any futile attempts to test the limits of my tolerance, Yelüxiong.”3
Yelü Dashi scrutinises Li Jianhong for a moment, then he approaches the table, picks up that cup of wine, knocks it back, and tosses the cup onto the floor without noting where it lands. Li Jianhong puts out a hand palm up please, and sees Yelü Dashi out of the parlour.
Only then does Duan Ling climb out from behind the screen.
“Did you get all that?” Li Jianhong asks.
“Not really.” Duan Ling shakes his head.
“Eaten your fill?”
Duan Ling nods. Li Jianhong says, “Let’s go home.”
On this night, Li Jianhong seems unable to fall asleep; he just holds Duan Ling in his arms and talks to him on and on. Duan Ling understands some of it — the three states of Liao, Chen, and Yuan checks and balances one another. When one side is getting too powerful, the other two will band together tacitly to control the more powerful one. The Battle of Huai River was exactly that, with Liao and Chen at war and the Mongolians on the sidelines keeping things balanced. And when Liao is prosperous, the Han would borrow the Mongolians’ strength to wear down Liao’s military.
And now with the Mongolians’ return, Chen’s attitude is crucial. The humiliation of Shangzi hasn’t yet been forgotten; knowing Zhao Kui, he’d probably let Yuan and Liao grievously injure one another, and it’s even highly likely that he will choose to let Yuan ally with Southern Chen. If Southern Chen and the Mongolians ally, then Liao will be greatly weakened. Yelü Dashi is facing a war that is nearly impossible to win, and he’ll also bear the brunt of the blame.
Duan Ling remembers that the last thing he said before falling asleep was, “And what if you renege on the agreement?”
“If I’m someone who’d renege, Xunchun wouldn’t have been outside, playing that song.”
By then, Duan Ling had fallen asleep. He has yet to learn that only the Han knows that tune, and when it’s played the melody is heartrending and sweet, resonating through one’s soul as though spreading the word: do not forget the humiliation of Shangzi.
Xichuan.
“I don’t hate Li Jianhong.” Zhao Kui says, “Quite the opposite. I hold him very much in high esteem. Great Chen went four hundred years before it managed to produce a man who wielded tactics on the battlefield as well as a god the way Li Jianhong does.”
A few cuts have been slashed into Lang Junxia’s hand, letting out a steady stream of poisoned blood. Zhao Kui and Wu Du are both standing to the side, watching him. Since he’s been brought back to the general’s estate, Lang Junxia had remained as silent as he had been before. Wu Du watches him with disdain with a slight furrow between his brows, as though looking at a medicine tester.4
“Remove his leg-irons,” Zhao Kui commands.
One of his men steps forward to unlock Lang Junxia’s leg irons.
Zhao Kui sits down and takes a sip of tea. “Do you know why I want to kill Li Jianhong?”
Lang Junxia remains silent as before.
“Seventeenth year of Qingyuan5, central plain and Sizhou levied two hundred and seventy thousand troops, paid four hundred and fourteen thousand taels in taxes.”
“Nineteenth year of Qingyuan, Sizhou levied three hundred and thirty thousand troops, paid three hundred and sixty taels in taxes.”
“Twenty-seventh year of Qingyuan, troops three hundred and sixty thousand, taxes one hundred ninety thousand. Out of them, the men of Jiangzhou enlisted the most, secondly Yizhou, thirdly Yangzhou, Jiaozhou.”
“We recruit more and more troops every year, but collect less and less taxes every year. Over the past ten years, nearly a million people have been sent to the north. They fought year after year in the bitter cold; many men barely made it to sixteen before dying beneath Yubiguan, and never had a chance to take a single glance at their homeland again.”
Lang Junxia stares at the basin full of bloodied water. In its reflection he can see the blue sky outside the window.
“And with it, farmland remains fallow for years on end; there are armed uprisings all over the south. Li Jianhong directs his troops with miraculous skill, that’s for sure, but we’ve run out of rations and fodder, and we’ve run out of soldiers we can send to the front line.”
Zhao Kuai rises, and says to Lang Junxia, “He was born in the wrong era, and therefore he must die.”
“You didn’t have to tell me these things to begin with,” Lang Junxia sounds unconcerned. “To an assassin, there are only orders, not people. Even if you cure me I wouldn’t feel any gratitude.”
Zhao Kui says immediately, “I have no intention to recruit you. Once your injuries are healed, you can go ahead and choose to leave.”
Wu Du adds without thinking, “If you want to come back and assassinate the general, you’re quite welcome to do so. Every one of us rely on our own skills.”
Lang Junxia falls silent.
“But before you leave this place,” Zhao Kui says, “I’d like to ask you to meet with someone first.”
A slight furrow appears between Lang Junxia’s brows.
“Come this way.” Zhao Kui brings Lang Junxia to the main hall of the general’s estate. An old woman is seated inside, drinking butter tea.6
Lang Junxia stares at her wordlessly.
“I heard you and the Feilian7 family’s young lady were once engaged,” Zhao Kui says.
Lang Junxia doesn’t answer him. Instead he says something towards the room in Xianbei. The woman’s eyes have gone milky with age, and she hurriedly puts down her teacup to reach for him. Lang Junxia takes quick strides inside and takes her hand with his left hand, hiding his right hand with the missing finger behind his back. He kneels on one knee and touches his forehead to the back of her hand.
The old woman starts to laugh, and says a few things to Lang Junxia. Lang Junxia takes deep breaths and doesn’t say anymore. He pats the back of her hand as a way to appease her.
Zhao Kui says, “You can spend some time reminiscing with her.”
His underling closes the door, and Zhao Kui walks off without bothering to worry anymore about Lang Junxia. Arms crossed, Wu Du walks behind him, matching his steps.
“How long does she have left?” Zhao Kui asks.
“Not even a quarter of an hour. By the time we get back that guy would have stabbed the old woman to death, and he’ll already be gone,” Wu Du replies.
Zhao Kui laughs, shaking his head. “Probably not.”
“Someone who’d kill those of his own school surely will not cling to this bit of old attachment.”
“According to what the shadow guards told me,” Zhao Kui answers as he looks up at the sky in front of the terrace, “I sent someone through the Xianbei mountains to pursue him, and made inquiries in multiple villages. In the end, they discovered that in front of the grave of the girl he once had an engagement with, someone has placed a bundle of flowers that only grows on high cliffs.”
“Wuluohou Mu.8 Who’d have thought that he’d turn out to be a descendent of the royal household,” Zhao Kui finishes, nodding, and it’s hard to say whether his tone is that of astonishment or lament as he turns to go.
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. ↩︎
It’s a universal gesture for “I’m not going to drink anymore”. It’s also somewhat rude. ↩︎
This translation uses standard pinyin name convention, but I’ll note when it’s confusing. Standard notation clumps a name, its suffix, and its prefix into a chunk except when the pronunciation is in question, in that case it’s separated by a single quote (’). “Xiong” here means literally ‘older brother’ and is a simple respectful suffix for an older man. ↩︎
A medicine tester was supposedly either someone raised from birth with herbs and poisons and their blood was poison, or they were used to test new poisons and medicines. Supposedly, since there’s no real evidence that they ever existed. ↩︎
Qingyuan is the era name of the current emperor, for example, first year of Qingyuan would have started spring of the NEXT year after the current emperor (Li Jianhong’s father) acceded to the throne. ↩︎
The original actually said yogurt tea, which isn’t a thing. Yogurt tea is a common spelling error for butter tea, which is actually something the Xianbei probably drank — their empire was in the eastern Eurasian steppes. ↩︎
The Feilians were a branch of the Tuoba, imperials of the Northern Wei dynasty, and both Feilian and Tuoba originated as Xianbei surnames. ↩︎
Wuluohou. Incidentally, at the end of the last book in the series (Let Go of that Shou), the other half of the jade arc went to the prince of Xianbei. ↩︎
Yelü Dashi doesn’t recognise him at first, but as soon as he hears that voice he’s immediately sober. He takes a step back and roars, “Men!”
Several bodyguards rush out to make a defensive perimeter around Yelü Dashi, but Li Jianhong simply puts down the teacup, saying, “I have it even worse than a stray dog right now. What are you so nervous about, Yelüxiong?”
Momentarily losing his composure, Yelü Dashi doesn’t turn to consider Xunchun until he comes to himself again and realises Li Jianhong is the only person in the parlour. “Your … your Viburnum, is actually …”
“I don’t know this guest.” Xunchun replies, sounding unconcerned, “But since he’s come it’s been impossible to make him go, and the only way he’s willing to leave is if he sees Your Highness first. Please, you mustn’t doubt us.”
“Come in and have a drink. Whether amity or enmity, what used to lie to the east of the river thirty years ago is now on the western shore — things change. Is there any need to brood over it even now?”
Yelü Dashi gives him a scornful laugh, but he’s a sport and steps inside. Xunchun quickly closes the door after him. The bodyguards want to follow him in, but Xunchun raises a hand before them, waving them off as a sign that they should not trespass.
“Wait outside.” Yelü Dashi says, “Without my explicit order, no one is allowed to come in.”
Xichuan.
“Sometimes, I find myself thinking …”
On a pitch dark night, a light rain patters on the pavement, and deep within an alleyway stands Lang Junxia.
Lang Junxia has already been driven into a dead end, unremittingly panting while soldiers surround him, blocking off the alley’s exit. Zhao Kui’s cape flutters behind him as he steps through the rainwater towards Lang Junxia, puddles splattering beneath his feet. In the middle of the alleyway, Lang Junxia leans back against the wall; half of his arm where the finger is missing has already turned a dark grey, his hand swollen, the skin glistening.
“What did Li Jianhong ever do to make you so devoted to him.” Zhao Kui stands triumphantly with his hands clasped behind his back as torchlight shines down on Lang Junxia’s face.
“One must take refuge with someone.” Lang Junxia says placidly. “If it’s not you, then it’s him, I’m a guest either way here or there — what’s the difference?”
Crossbows are all over the alleyway: in the surrounding residential homes, on top of the tiled roofs, behind Lang Junxia. In order to catch him, Zhao Kui has mobilised nearly a thousand men in Xichuan, truly befitting of the saying “nets above and snares below”, leaving him not a single path to escape.
“Li Jianhong’s days are numbered. Leave the darkness behind and come into the light. You’re a man, I respect you. There’s no point in saying more.”
Lang Junxia takes in a deep breath. He closes his eyes, and slowly, he lets it out.
“I thought that with Chang Liujun’s abilities, he wouldn’t have used poison,” Lang Junxia says quietly.
Zhao Kui turns to go. His underlings step forward, and supporting Lang Junxia beneath the arms, they leave the alley behind.
Shangjing.
“Have a drink,” Li Jianhong says offhandedly, “Do forgive that I can’t show my real face.”
Li Jianhong picks up the jug and pours wine for the two of them, downing his drink first as a sign of respect.
But Yelü Dashi doesn’t drink his cup of wine. He raps his knuckles against the table.
Li Jianhong says, “My son is the one sitting behind the screen.”
Yelü Dashi keeps staring at the screen. Duan Ling doesn’t know whether to come out or not. In the end, his shadow gives Yelü Dashi a slight bow.
Only then does Yelü Dashi drink that cup of wine, and when he finishes it, he puts the cup back onto the table upside down.2
“They say that among the Han, you are the most courageous of them all.” Yelü Dashi was already tipsy before he came to the Viburnum, and now the wine’s gone to his cheeks as he murmurs, “What are you trying to do coming to Shangjing at a time like this?”
“The world may be big,” Li Jianhong says casually, “but with a home I can’t go back to and having no wish to fraternise with the Mongolians, my only option is to settle down in Shangjing.”
“Settle down?” Yelü Dashi is rather suspicious — this nemesis of his has somehow managed to infiltrate his turf without making so much as a whisper. He blurts out in spite of himself, “Where, where do you live?”
Yelü Dashi narrows his eyes, looking Li Jianhong up and down. He’s suddenly reminded of the assassin from years ago.
“That time at the Illustrious Hall!” Yelü Dashi says, thunderstruck.
“Correct. One of them was my subordinate, and the other is the assassin Zhao Kui sent to kill my son.”
Yelü Dashi rises, and paces several steps in the parlour, but Li Jianhong remains unruffled. He turns the cup on the table right side up. “How about another drink?”
Yelü Dashi turns to face Li Jianhong. He says coldly, “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”
“You know what things are like in Southern Chen. Zhao Kui pared down my military authority, my father handed down an edict to escort me back to Xichuan to denounce me. Sometimes things are exactly the way they seem. Here, have a drink.”
Yelü Dashi is skeptical. He lets out a long breath before saying, “You should go. There’s no room in Shangjing for you.”
“Then tell your people to come in, tie me up, and escort me back to Xichuan?” Li Jianhong tosses out casually.
“I can’t detain you, either.” Yelü Dashi gives this some thought, and concedes to this vexing truth. “In the city of Shangjing, you can come and go as you please like the walls and guards don’t even exist. What else do you want?”
“I’ve come to save you.” Li Jianhong says dispassionately, “Only because your death is near at hand.”
Yelü Dashi suddenly turns right around and glares at Li Jianhong.
“The Mongolians have marched south and they’ve already captured Huchang. They’re reorganising in the mountains as we speak and they’ll fight their way to the gates of Shangjing in no time. Shulü Jin guards the northern road, Wang Ping guards the southern road. Neither of your two great generals can hold back the house of Borjigin’s iron cavalry. Now that Jochi has escaped, he will definitely take revenge against you.”
Contrary to what one may expect, Yelü Dashi starts to laugh. “Li Jianhong, you’re as fond of exaggeration as ever.”
“Han Weiyong has been waiting for this moment for a long time.” Li Jianhong says, nonchalant, “If my guess is right, his son has probably left for Zhongjing in the name of attending college.”
Yelü Dashi falls silent.
“If my guess is right, after the Mongol army breaks through the southern and northern roads, and executes everyone in the cities, the reinforcements you’ve been waiting for will probably not be coming.” Li Jianhong once more gestures palm up for him to drink. “My patience is limited. Yelüxiong, this cup of wine … will you or won’t you drink it?”
After a long silence, ultimately Yelü Dashi slowly sits down.
“I have been in charge of the northern administration for twenty-two years. Back then I offered my advice to the former emperor — wherever you Han steps foot you’d conspire against each other and we’ll never get a day of peace.”
Yelü Dashi finishes saying this, enunciating every word, closes his eyes, and knocks back the cup of wine Li Jianhong poured him.
“The road south of Yubiguan is being guarded by Jochi. It seems like I won’t need to nag you about what will come of that. Drink this third cup of wine, and lend me ten thousand cavalry tomorrow. I’ll pacify the Mongol army for you, and then I’ll keep moving south, and take back Xichuan.”
Li Jianhong fills the wine cup, picks it up with three fingers, and sets it down squarely in front of Yelü Dashi.
“Same as before, I will drink to you first — bottoms up.” Li Jianhong doesn’t even spare a glance at Yelü Dashi. He casually gestures, palm up, go on. “Yelüxiong, please.”
Yelü Dashi doesn’t drink that cup of wine. He’s sitting on the other side of the daybed, his elbow on the table between them. Leaning in a bit closer, he stares at Li Jianhong.
“Do you know why Zhao Kui wants to kill you?”
“I don’t hate Zhao Kui. It’s the truth. Him and I don’t have any sort of vendetta against each other. We each have our own path to tread, and this is nothing more than a fair match. Though naturally if what he wants is to betray the Lis, that’s an entirely different story.”
There is sudden commotion outside. Yelü Dashi’s expression darkens slightly; Li Jianhong turns his attention outside the door.
“You cannot go inside.” It’s Xunchun’s voice. “His Highness is meeting with a guest.”
“Your Highness,” Cai Wen says, gasping for breath, “Please return to the Northern Administration, messengers have arrived from both the northern and southern roads!”
Yelü Dashi’s expression takes on the tone of panic immediately, but Li Jianhong doesn’t say anything more.
Cai Wen finishes his report and turns to leave.
“Bring out His Highness’s horse,” Outside, Xunchun’s voice says quietly.
Xunchun opens the parlour door. Yelü Dashi stands up without warning.
“How long has it been since we last faced each other on the battlefield?”
“Five years.” Yelü Dashi has a dour expression as he takes big strides to leave. In the end, he has not drunk that last cup of wine.
“Farewell. Take care, I won’t be seeing you out.”
When Yelü Dashi hears this he suddenly stops walking, then he turns around to walk toward Li Jianhong. Li Jianhong has already risen, and quickly smoothing out the creases in his gown, he clasps his hands behind his back, watching Yelü Dashi.
Yelü Dashi stops walking once more and turns to go, but when he gets to the threshold he comes back again. Li Jianhong starts to laugh, watching him. Duan Ling sticks his head out curiously from behind the screen to appraise Yelü Dashi, but Li Jianhong pushes him back again.
“These days you and your son have both been in Shangjing.”
“Precisely.” Li Jianhong tells him earnestly, “but I definitely won’t hand him over to you. It’s enough for you to know that he’s in the city. Don’t make any futile attempts to test the limits of my tolerance, Yelüxiong.”3
Yelü Dashi scrutinises Li Jianhong for a moment, then he approaches the table, picks up that cup of wine, knocks it back, and tosses the cup onto the floor without noting where it lands. Li Jianhong puts out a hand palm up please, and sees Yelü Dashi out of the parlour.
Only then does Duan Ling climb out from behind the screen.
“Did you get all that?” Li Jianhong asks.
“Not really.” Duan Ling shakes his head.
“Eaten your fill?”
Duan Ling nods. Li Jianhong says, “Let’s go home.”
On this night, Li Jianhong seems unable to fall asleep; he just holds Duan Ling in his arms and talks to him on and on. Duan Ling understands some of it — the three states of Liao, Chen, and Yuan checks and balances one another. When one side is getting too powerful, the other two will band together tacitly to control the more powerful one. The Battle of Huai River was exactly that, with Liao and Chen at war and the Mongolians on the sidelines keeping things balanced. And when Liao is prosperous, the Han would borrow the Mongolians’ strength to wear down Liao’s military.
And now with the Mongolians’ return, Chen’s attitude is crucial. The humiliation of Shangzi hasn’t yet been forgotten; knowing Zhao Kui, he’d probably let Yuan and Liao grievously injure one another, and it’s even highly likely that he will choose to let Yuan ally with Southern Chen. If Southern Chen and the Mongolians ally, then Liao will be greatly weakened. Yelü Dashi is facing a war that is nearly impossible to win, and he’ll also bear the brunt of the blame.
Duan Ling remembers that the last thing he said before falling asleep was, “And what if you renege on the agreement?”
“If I’m someone who’d renege, Xunchun wouldn’t have been outside, playing that song.”
By then, Duan Ling had fallen asleep. He has yet to learn that only the Han knows that tune, and when it’s played the melody is heartrending and sweet, resonating through one’s soul as though spreading the word: do not forget the humiliation of Shangzi.
Xichuan.
“I don’t hate Li Jianhong.” Zhao Kui says, “Quite the opposite. I hold him very much in high esteem. Great Chen went four hundred years before it managed to produce a man who wielded tactics on the battlefield as well as a god the way Li Jianhong does.”
A few cuts have been slashed into Lang Junxia’s hand, letting out a steady stream of poisoned blood. Zhao Kui and Wu Du are both standing to the side, watching him. Since he’s been brought back to the general’s estate, Lang Junxia had remained as silent as he had been before. Wu Du watches him with disdain with a slight furrow between his brows, as though looking at a medicine tester.4
“Remove his leg-irons,” Zhao Kui commands.
One of his men steps forward to unlock Lang Junxia’s leg irons.
Zhao Kui sits down and takes a sip of tea. “Do you know why I want to kill Li Jianhong?”
Lang Junxia remains silent as before.
“Seventeenth year of Qingyuan5, central plain and Sizhou levied two hundred and seventy thousand troops, paid four hundred and fourteen thousand taels in taxes.”
“Nineteenth year of Qingyuan, Sizhou levied three hundred and thirty thousand troops, paid three hundred and sixty taels in taxes.”
“Twenty-seventh year of Qingyuan, troops three hundred and sixty thousand, taxes one hundred ninety thousand. Out of them, the men of Jiangzhou enlisted the most, secondly Yizhou, thirdly Yangzhou, Jiaozhou.”
“We recruit more and more troops every year, but collect less and less taxes every year. Over the past ten years, nearly a million people have been sent to the north. They fought year after year in the bitter cold; many men barely made it to sixteen before dying beneath Yubiguan, and never had a chance to take a single glance at their homeland again.”
Lang Junxia stares at the basin full of bloodied water. In its reflection he can see the blue sky outside the window.
“And with it, farmland remains fallow for years on end; there are armed uprisings all over the south. Li Jianhong directs his troops with miraculous skill, that’s for sure, but we’ve run out of rations and fodder, and we’ve run out of soldiers we can send to the front line.”
Zhao Kuai rises, and says to Lang Junxia, “He was born in the wrong era, and therefore he must die.”
“You didn’t have to tell me these things to begin with,” Lang Junxia sounds unconcerned. “To an assassin, there are only orders, not people. Even if you cure me I wouldn’t feel any gratitude.”
Zhao Kui says immediately, “I have no intention to recruit you. Once your injuries are healed, you can go ahead and choose to leave.”
Wu Du adds without thinking, “If you want to come back and assassinate the general, you’re quite welcome to do so. Every one of us rely on our own skills.”
Lang Junxia falls silent.
“But before you leave this place,” Zhao Kui says, “I’d like to ask you to meet with someone first.”
A slight furrow appears between Lang Junxia’s brows.
“Come this way.” Zhao Kui brings Lang Junxia to the main hall of the general’s estate. An old woman is seated inside, drinking butter tea.6
Lang Junxia stares at her wordlessly.
“I heard you and the Feilian7 family’s young lady were once engaged,” Zhao Kui says.
Lang Junxia doesn’t answer him. Instead he says something towards the room in Xianbei. The woman’s eyes have gone milky with age, and she hurriedly puts down her teacup to reach for him. Lang Junxia takes quick strides inside and takes her hand with his left hand, hiding his right hand with the missing finger behind his back. He kneels on one knee and touches his forehead to the back of her hand.
The old woman starts to laugh, and says a few things to Lang Junxia. Lang Junxia takes deep breaths and doesn’t say anymore. He pats the back of her hand as a way to appease her.
Zhao Kui says, “You can spend some time reminiscing with her.”
His underling closes the door, and Zhao Kui walks off without bothering to worry anymore about Lang Junxia. Arms crossed, Wu Du walks behind him, matching his steps.
“How long does she have left?” Zhao Kui asks.
“Not even a quarter of an hour. By the time we get back that guy would have stabbed the old woman to death, and he’ll already be gone,” Wu Du replies.
Zhao Kui laughs, shaking his head. “Probably not.”
“Someone who’d kill those of his own school surely will not cling to this bit of old attachment.”
“According to what the shadow guards told me,” Zhao Kui answers as he looks up at the sky in front of the terrace, “I sent someone through the Xianbei mountains to pursue him, and made inquiries in multiple villages. In the end, they discovered that in front of the grave of the girl he once had an engagement with, someone has placed a bundle of flowers that only grows on high cliffs.”
“Wuluohou Mu.8 Who’d have thought that he’d turn out to be a descendent of the royal household,” Zhao Kui finishes, nodding, and it’s hard to say whether his tone is that of astonishment or lament as he turns to go.
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. ↩︎
It’s a universal gesture for “I’m not going to drink anymore”. It’s also somewhat rude. ↩︎
This translation uses standard pinyin name convention, but I’ll note when it’s confusing. Standard notation clumps a name, its suffix, and its prefix into a chunk except when the pronunciation is in question, in that case it’s separated by a single quote (’). “Xiong” here means literally ‘older brother’ and is a simple respectful suffix for an older man. ↩︎
A medicine tester was supposedly either someone raised from birth with herbs and poisons and their blood was poison, or they were used to test new poisons and medicines. Supposedly, since there’s no real evidence that they ever existed. ↩︎
Qingyuan is the era name of the current emperor, for example, first year of Qingyuan would have started spring of the NEXT year after the current emperor (Li Jianhong’s father) acceded to the throne. ↩︎
The original actually said yogurt tea, which isn’t a thing. Yogurt tea is a common spelling error for butter tea, which is actually something the Xianbei probably drank — their empire was in the eastern Eurasian steppes. ↩︎
The Feilians were a branch of the Tuoba, imperials of the Northern Wei dynasty, and both Feilian and Tuoba originated as Xianbei surnames. ↩︎
Wuluohou. Incidentally, at the end of the last book in the series (Let Go of that Shou), the other half of the jade arc went to the prince of Xianbei. ↩︎
