With a short dagger worn at his waist and a small medicine sack hanging from his belt, Duan Ling looks like an itinerant travelling swordsman from the wilderness. His clothes are rolled up into a bundle he keeps thrown across his shoulders. Sleeping rough and foraging has made him a lot thinner, and over the journey his skin has darkened from the sun.
He lingers outside the city for a long time. Seeing soldiers checking the documents of those leaving and entering the city, he dares not rashly approach lest they arrest him and throw him in jail.
He’s only a single step away from going into the city, yet whenever one gets to the last step of anything one must be incomparably careful and cautious. Duan Ling has gone over the scene of their reunion countless times, but he constantly holds Li Jianhong’s teachings close to his chest — as he approaches the moment of success he has to be more careful than ever.
In the worst case scenario he may be arrested as soon as he goes inside the city. If Mu Kuangda still has full control over the imperial court, then he may not even tell Li Jianhong and simply throw him into prison. That’s why he mustn’t walk right into the city just like this.
Duan Ling observes the city gates for a long time; he sees a lot of traffic there but the security isn’t all that tight. He waits for three full nights until late one night the gate guards drink themselves to intoxication, before he leaps over several steps and hops over the low door inside the city gate tower.
But where will he go now? The entire city of Xichuan is quiet and still in the night; when the night patrolmen pass by, Duan Ling conceals himself deep in an alleyway, peering out vigilantly.
Where’s the palace? Duan Ling knows he can’t go on like this — is he supposed to climb sneakily over every single wall until he gets to the imperial palace hall? He’ll need to find someone suitable to bring word inside, but what ‘word’ is he supposed to ask them to bring?
The jade arc is gone, and the only thing he can pass on as a token of identity is his knife. Li Jianhong has seen it before. Should he lie and say that he’s a messenger? Can they bring the dagger to his father and let him see it? That day, he only gave it a single glance. Will he remember it? He probably does remember it.
Duan Ling is so nervous that his eyes stay open the whole night through. By dawn he can’t be more tired, but his head is clearer than ever.
Xichuan’s market in spring is a hive of activity. It’s been so long since Duan Ling’s eaten that he’s dizzy with hunger, and when he surreptitiously slips out of the alleyway and sees that someone is looking him up and down, he quickens his pace and orders a huge bowl of shiso wontons, then he decides to go try his luck in front of the palace.
If it really doesn’t work, then he’ll do as he did in Luoyang, find some work so he can shelter himself in Xichuan. He can take his time to figure out something after that.
“Move aside, move aside —”
Someone is coming by to clear the road. Mu Kuangda’s palanquin goes down the street. The commoners seem used to it, but Duan Ling stands there watching him go by at a distance. So Mu Kuangda really is still alive, after all.
In the afternoon, Duan Ling dithers outside the palace with his only token of identity in his pocket — the bone knife Batu gave him.
“Excuse me,” Duan Ling says.
The guard on the street considers Duan Ling, but doesn’t say anything.
“Is His Majesty in the palace?” Duan Ling asks again.
He cannot get any answer out of them. The guards seem clearly accustomed to this. Duan Ling reaches his hand into his lapel, searching, and the guard is immediately on guard, scanning Duan Ling.
“Leave!” The two guards draw their sabres.
Duan Ling takes several steps back at once. “I have something that I must present to His Majesty!”
“What is the matter?” Another person steps out from within, two guards closely following him. That man is obviously a captain of some sort. “What’s your name?”
“Duan,” Duan Ling replies, and hands over the dagger with two hands. “An item to its rightful owner. Please return this to His Majesty.”
Puzzled, the captain looks over Duan Ling. “Where’re you from? Where’re your documents?”
“I’m from the Xianbei mountains; not a local.”
“Where do you live? Leave your address and wait there.”
“I’ll wait right here,” Duan Ling answers thus; after all it’s not as though he has anywhere to stay.
“His Majesty is not in the palace. It’s no use even if you wait.”
Duan Ling’s heart does a little somersault. He thinks, oh no, dad’s not here?! Duan Ling wants to ask where he’s gone, but he assumes he won’t get an answer. What if the captain hands the item to someone else? He remembers Li Jianhong telling him that he has a fourth uncle as well … it probably won’t end up in the grand chancellor’s hands. Perhaps Mu Kuangda won’t know what this dagger means either.
“When will he return?” Duan Ling asks.
“I don’t know,” the captain replies.
Duan Ling steps back behind a chest at the end of the street, where he peers at the palace’s back door.
The sun slowly begins to set.
When Duan Ling grows tired from standing he shifts his weight to his other foot, and leans on the chest looking out. Every single person who leaves the palace, whether it’s a eunuch, guard, or a palace maid, all give him some shard of hope. However they all seem to be in a hurry, and do not stay around. It’s getting late; he’ll have to find some place to stay for the night soon. When he came this way earlier he passed by the Feng River Bridge; it looked like he could sleep under there.
Where has his father gone? Duan Ling turns the question over and over in his head. He notices that the lights have already been lit in the palace as twilight fades to darkness. He makes up his mind to leave for now and come back tomorrow.
Someone else is coming out. In that instant, Duan Ling is shocked beyond measure, so much so that for a long moment his legs won’t move him.
“Where is he?” Lang Junxia’s voice says.
Lang Junxia has changed into a set of opulent clothes, and he’s hardly recognisable as the man Duan Ling knows at all. That day, when they saw each other briefly in the Viburnum, Lang Junxia looked like a drowned hen from the rain, but even then Duan Ling was overcome with the urge to run up and wrap his arms around him.
Now that he sees him again, Lang Junxia is clothed in a set of swordsman’s robes of dark red and black that sets off his wide shoulders and trim waist, making him look tall. He has on a pair of black boots, and there’s a black hat on his head with a red string hanging from its edge. His mouth seems soft and his brows are dark; with Qingfengjian and its three feet of metal sheathed in its scabbard by his waist, he’s as finely put together as a flawless jade torus pendant.
It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever seen Lang Junxia dressed up like this. Clearly he’s gained an official position at court. Duan Ling was never so apprehensive; recalling what happened in the Viburnum, he conceals himself behind the boxes, and he momentarily lacks the courage to step forward.
While he was on the run from Shangjing, he once thought numerous times on the reasons why Lang Junxia wanted to take him away that day, why he didn’t say anything, and whether the traitor Yelü Dashi spoke of was him … but Duan Ling stubbornly believed that there’s no way Lang Junxia could have betrayed him. And he has no explanation as to why except for the look in Lang Junxia’s eyes that day inside the Viburnum.
“Duan Ling?” Lang Junxia’s voice says.
Lang Junxia turns around, facing where Duan Ling is hiding.
Duan Ling’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he watches Lang Junxia look all over for him before turning to ask the guard again. The guard looks rather baffled, but his attitude as he replies is quite deferential.
There’s a string of Buddhist prayer beads around Lang Junxia’s wrist that wasn’t there before, and a jasper pendant hanging from his belt. Even his belt has been exchanged for one with burnished gold buttons. There are impressions of clouds and tigers embroidered on his clothes; they glimmer faintly as the sun shines onto them at some particular angle.
He’s so good-looking, Duan Ling thinks to himself. Lang Junxia used to always dress in head-to-toe blue; Duan Ling has almost never seen him wear the uniform of an imperial bodyguard.
“Duan Ling!” As though he can sense him nearby, Lang Junxia says anxiously, “Come out! I know it’s you! Trust me!”
Duan Ling feels exceedingly uneasy, but still he gets to his feet anyway. Lang Junxia inadvertently turns back, and over one glance their eyes meet in an instant.
The edges of Duan Ling’s eyes go red at once. Lang Junxia takes a single step forward, and Duan Ling subconsciously takes a step back; Lang Junxia runs up to him, grabs his hand, and pulls Duan Ling firmly into his arms.
“Lang Junxia …” A sob is caught in the back of Duan Ling’s throat.
Lang Junxia closes his eyes, breathing out heavily like he’s expended every last bit of his life’s strength. Duan Ling reaches out to wrap his arms around Lang Junxia’s back; he’s suddenly reminded of that day when the snow fell heavily, and Lang Junxia was wounded. When he came back to pick Duan Ling up then, he was like this as well — all his weight pressing down on Duan Ling as if he’s entirely overcome by weariness and exhaustion.
《End of Book 1: Passage of the Silver River》
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. ↩︎
With a short dagger worn at his waist and a small medicine sack hanging from his belt, Duan Ling looks like an itinerant travelling swordsman from the wilderness. His clothes are rolled up into a bundle he keeps thrown across his shoulders. Sleeping rough and foraging has made him a lot thinner, and over the journey his skin has darkened from the sun.
He lingers outside the city for a long time. Seeing soldiers checking the documents of those leaving and entering the city, he dares not rashly approach lest they arrest him and throw him in jail.
He’s only a single step away from going into the city, yet whenever one gets to the last step of anything one must be incomparably careful and cautious. Duan Ling has gone over the scene of their reunion countless times, but he constantly holds Li Jianhong’s teachings close to his chest — as he approaches the moment of success he has to be more careful than ever.
In the worst case scenario he may be arrested as soon as he goes inside the city. If Mu Kuangda still has full control over the imperial court, then he may not even tell Li Jianhong and simply throw him into prison. That’s why he mustn’t walk right into the city just like this.
Duan Ling observes the city gates for a long time; he sees a lot of traffic there but the security isn’t all that tight. He waits for three full nights until late one night the gate guards drink themselves to intoxication, before he leaps over several steps and hops over the low door inside the city gate tower.
But where will he go now? The entire city of Xichuan is quiet and still in the night; when the night patrolmen pass by, Duan Ling conceals himself deep in an alleyway, peering out vigilantly.
Where’s the palace? Duan Ling knows he can’t go on like this — is he supposed to climb sneakily over every single wall until he gets to the imperial palace hall? He’ll need to find someone suitable to bring word inside, but what ‘word’ is he supposed to ask them to bring?
The jade arc is gone, and the only thing he can pass on as a token of identity is his knife. Li Jianhong has seen it before. Should he lie and say that he’s a messenger? Can they bring the dagger to his father and let him see it? That day, he only gave it a single glance. Will he remember it? He probably does remember it.
Duan Ling is so nervous that his eyes stay open the whole night through. By dawn he can’t be more tired, but his head is clearer than ever.
Xichuan’s market in spring is a hive of activity. It’s been so long since Duan Ling’s eaten that he’s dizzy with hunger, and when he surreptitiously slips out of the alleyway and sees that someone is looking him up and down, he quickens his pace and orders a huge bowl of shiso wontons, then he decides to go try his luck in front of the palace.
If it really doesn’t work, then he’ll do as he did in Luoyang, find some work so he can shelter himself in Xichuan. He can take his time to figure out something after that.
“Move aside, move aside —”
Someone is coming by to clear the road. Mu Kuangda’s palanquin goes down the street. The commoners seem used to it, but Duan Ling stands there watching him go by at a distance. So Mu Kuangda really is still alive, after all.
In the afternoon, Duan Ling dithers outside the palace with his only token of identity in his pocket — the bone knife Batu gave him.
“Excuse me,” Duan Ling says.
The guard on the street considers Duan Ling, but doesn’t say anything.
“Is His Majesty in the palace?” Duan Ling asks again.
He cannot get any answer out of them. The guards seem clearly accustomed to this. Duan Ling reaches his hand into his lapel, searching, and the guard is immediately on guard, scanning Duan Ling.
“Leave!” The two guards draw their sabres.
Duan Ling takes several steps back at once. “I have something that I must present to His Majesty!”
“What is the matter?” Another person steps out from within, two guards closely following him. That man is obviously a captain of some sort. “What’s your name?”
“Duan,” Duan Ling replies, and hands over the dagger with two hands. “An item to its rightful owner. Please return this to His Majesty.”
Puzzled, the captain looks over Duan Ling. “Where’re you from? Where’re your documents?”
“I’m from the Xianbei mountains; not a local.”
“Where do you live? Leave your address and wait there.”
“I’ll wait right here,” Duan Ling answers thus; after all it’s not as though he has anywhere to stay.
“His Majesty is not in the palace. It’s no use even if you wait.”
Duan Ling’s heart does a little somersault. He thinks, oh no, dad’s not here?! Duan Ling wants to ask where he’s gone, but he assumes he won’t get an answer. What if the captain hands the item to someone else? He remembers Li Jianhong telling him that he has a fourth uncle as well … it probably won’t end up in the grand chancellor’s hands. Perhaps Mu Kuangda won’t know what this dagger means either.
“When will he return?” Duan Ling asks.
“I don’t know,” the captain replies.
Duan Ling steps back behind a chest at the end of the street, where he peers at the palace’s back door.
The sun slowly begins to set.
When Duan Ling grows tired from standing he shifts his weight to his other foot, and leans on the chest looking out. Every single person who leaves the palace, whether it’s a eunuch, guard, or a palace maid, all give him some shard of hope. However they all seem to be in a hurry, and do not stay around. It’s getting late; he’ll have to find some place to stay for the night soon. When he came this way earlier he passed by the Feng River Bridge; it looked like he could sleep under there.
Where has his father gone? Duan Ling turns the question over and over in his head. He notices that the lights have already been lit in the palace as twilight fades to darkness. He makes up his mind to leave for now and come back tomorrow.
Someone else is coming out. In that instant, Duan Ling is shocked beyond measure, so much so that for a long moment his legs won’t move him.
“Where is he?” Lang Junxia’s voice says.
Lang Junxia has changed into a set of opulent clothes, and he’s hardly recognisable as the man Duan Ling knows at all. That day, when they saw each other briefly in the Viburnum, Lang Junxia looked like a drowned hen from the rain, but even then Duan Ling was overcome with the urge to run up and wrap his arms around him.
Now that he sees him again, Lang Junxia is clothed in a set of swordsman’s robes of dark red and black that sets off his wide shoulders and trim waist, making him look tall. He has on a pair of black boots, and there’s a black hat on his head with a red string hanging from its edge. His mouth seems soft and his brows are dark; with Qingfengjian and its three feet of metal sheathed in its scabbard by his waist, he’s as finely put together as a flawless jade torus pendant.
It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever seen Lang Junxia dressed up like this. Clearly he’s gained an official position at court. Duan Ling was never so apprehensive; recalling what happened in the Viburnum, he conceals himself behind the boxes, and he momentarily lacks the courage to step forward.
While he was on the run from Shangjing, he once thought numerous times on the reasons why Lang Junxia wanted to take him away that day, why he didn’t say anything, and whether the traitor Yelü Dashi spoke of was him … but Duan Ling stubbornly believed that there’s no way Lang Junxia could have betrayed him. And he has no explanation as to why except for the look in Lang Junxia’s eyes that day inside the Viburnum.
“Duan Ling?” Lang Junxia’s voice says.
Lang Junxia turns around, facing where Duan Ling is hiding.
Duan Ling’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he watches Lang Junxia look all over for him before turning to ask the guard again. The guard looks rather baffled, but his attitude as he replies is quite deferential.
There’s a string of Buddhist prayer beads around Lang Junxia’s wrist that wasn’t there before, and a jasper pendant hanging from his belt. Even his belt has been exchanged for one with burnished gold buttons. There are impressions of clouds and tigers embroidered on his clothes; they glimmer faintly as the sun shines onto them at some particular angle.
He’s so good-looking, Duan Ling thinks to himself. Lang Junxia used to always dress in head-to-toe blue; Duan Ling has almost never seen him wear the uniform of an imperial bodyguard.
“Duan Ling!” As though he can sense him nearby, Lang Junxia says anxiously, “Come out! I know it’s you! Trust me!”
Duan Ling feels exceedingly uneasy, but still he gets to his feet anyway. Lang Junxia inadvertently turns back, and over one glance their eyes meet in an instant.
The edges of Duan Ling’s eyes go red at once. Lang Junxia takes a single step forward, and Duan Ling subconsciously takes a step back; Lang Junxia runs up to him, grabs his hand, and pulls Duan Ling firmly into his arms.
“Lang Junxia …” A sob is caught in the back of Duan Ling’s throat.
Lang Junxia closes his eyes, breathing out heavily like he’s expended every last bit of his life’s strength. Duan Ling reaches out to wrap his arms around Lang Junxia’s back; he’s suddenly reminded of that day when the snow fell heavily, and Lang Junxia was wounded. When he came back to pick Duan Ling up then, he was like this as well — all his weight pressing down on Duan Ling as if he’s entirely overcome by weariness and exhaustion.
《End of Book 1: Passage of the Silver River》
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. ↩︎
