“Stop it! Stop it right now!”
The noise has finally alerted Lang Junxia. He rushes out of the room like a gust of wind, with the teacher following closely behind, bellowing, “Stop it!”
At once the children self-consciously back up to the wall. The youth runs off and the teacher goes after him in a rage, grabbing him. Ghastly pale, Lang Junxia rushes in to pick up Duan Ling to see how badly he’s been hurt.
“Why didn’t you call for help?!” Lang Junxia is angry now; he thinks he really ought to hand it to Duan Ling for his forbearance. If Duan Ling called for help naturally Lang Junxia would’ve been able to tell that something has happened outside, but instead Duan Ling chose not to say a word. When he heard the sound of children messing around he thought they were simply kicking a ball around, playing.
Duan Ling’s left eye’s all swollen and he’s in quite a state, but he gives Lang Junxia a smile.
One hour later.
Lang Junxia has washed Duan Ling’s face and wiped the mud off his body and his hands.
“Serve the headmaster tea,” Lang Junxia instructs him. “Go on.”
Duan Ling’s just got a beating, his hands keep trembling and the teacup he’s holding makes a bunch of clanging noises as they shake.
“If you want to join the Illustrious Hall, then you’ll have to restrain this pugnacious temper of yours.” The headmaster says deliberately. “If you cannot leave this antisocial behaviour at the door then I’ll point you another way — keep walking toward the Northern Administration2. They’ll find a place for you.”
The headmaster looks at Duan Ling, but doesn’t accept his tea. Duan Ling holds the tea for ages, but he has no idea what he’s supposed to say. Since the headmaster’s not taking it, Duan Ling puts the tea on the table, and some of it splashes out onto the headmaster’s sleeve. The headmaster is immediately upset and shouts angrily, “Insolence!”
“Headmaster,” Lang Junxia quickly kneel down on one knee, pleading on Duan Ling’s behalf. “He doesn’t know etiquette. It’s my fault that I haven’t taught him well.”
“You get up,” Duan Ling has taken humiliation like this before, and pulls at Lang Junxia to make him get up. Those words the youth used earlier to put him down is still reverberating in his ears.
But in a rare display of anger Lang Junxia yells at him, “Kneel! I said kneel!”
Duan Ling has no choice but to kneel also, and that finally, does seem to calm the headmaster a little. He says coldly, “If he doesn’t know etiquette then teach him etiquette before you bring him back. Military kids, foreign prince hostages — which of them has ever come here and dare say they don’t know etiquette?!”
Lang Junxia says nothing, and Duan Ling follows suit and says nothing also. The headmaster’s mouth is dry from all the talking and takes a sip of the tea Duan Ling served him. “Once you start school here, the rules are the same for everyone. If you get into a fight again, you’ll be expelled.”
“Thank you, headmaster.” A great load is off Lang Junxia’s mind, and he makes Duan Ling give the teacher three kowtows. Duan Ling grudgingly does it, and Lang Junxia takes him away.
They pass by the young man he fought with earlier, kneeling in front of the wall to reflect on his actions, as they come back through the front courtyard. Duan Ling gives him a second glance and the young man looks back at him — their eyes filled with resentment.
“How come you didn’t say anything when you were being beaten?” There’s a deep furrow between Lang Junxia’s eyebrows.
Back at the Viburnum, he washes Duan Ling’s face and puts ointment on him.
Duan Ling says, “He started it.”
Lang Junxia says offhandedly as he rinses out a towel, “I’m not blaming you. But if you can’t beat him why didn’t you run?”
“Oh.” Duan Ling replies.
Lang Junxia says patiently, “If anyone tries to provoke you again, then you have to weigh the situation. If you can beat them, then fight. If you can’t beat them, run, and I’ll settle things for you. But you mustn’t ever stake your life on a fight, understand?”
“Okay,” Duan Ling says.
The room falls quiet. Duan Ling asks suddenly, “Can you fight? Teach me.”
Lang Junxia puts the towel down, quietly watching Duan Ling. Finally, he says, “There’s going to be plenty of people who’ll want to ridicule you or kill you. Even if you learned how to kill, there are so many people in the world, how are you ever going to kill them all if you kill them one at a time?”
Duan Ling looks at Lang Junxia with confusion; he doesn’t really get it. Lang Junxia says, “What you’re going to learn is scholarship. It’s reasoning. In the future, the people you’ll want to kill will number in the millions. How long do you think that will take with your fists? If you want revenge, then behave and go to school.”
“Do you understand now?” Lang Junxia asks again.
Duan Ling doesn’t understand, but he nods anyway. Lang Junxia taps the back of Duan Ling’s hand with a finger. “You mustn’t ever act like you did today again.”
“Oh.” Duan Ling replies.
“You will move into the school today,” Lang Junxia says. “I’ll give you a ride over in the evening, and we’ll buy what we have to and borrow the rest.”
Duan Ling’s heart is suddenly in his throat and it’s staying there, not going anywhere. The truth is, throughout this time, Lang Junxia has become his only family. Since his memories began, no one has ever been so nice to him. Now that he seems to have found a place to go home to, he’s saying they’ll have to part now?
“What about you?” Duan Ling asks.
“I still have work to do. I’ve already arranged things with the headmaster. Every month, on the first and fifteenth, I’ll come get you, and you’ll get two days off each time. I will check your homework, and if you do well I’ll take you out to play.”
“I won’t go!”
Lang Junxia stops what he’s doing and watches Duan Ling with a sombre look in his eyes. He hasn’t started speaking yet, but Duan Ling can already feel his imposing aura — an aura that does not tolerate disobedience.
Duan Ling can’t help but yield, holding his tears back. Lang Junxia says to him quietly, “You’re a good boy. In the future you will achieve great things.”
“Once out of Runan and away from Shangzi, the world won’t give you any more grief. Even if there is hardship, it’s not worth mentioning compared to what you’ve been through. It’s just going to school on your own. What’s there to cry about?”
Lang Junxia looks perplexedly at Duan Ling, as though he can’t comprehend Duan Ling’s fear and sorrow. On their journey he has often thought about what Duan Ling will be like, yet Duan Ling always goes against his expectations.
He’s mischievous, but he never misbehaves in front of Lang Junxia; he spent years in a dark, sunless world of a woodshed in Runan when he lived with the Duans, so anywhere else to him should be perfectly comfortable —
— It’s just a school, so why is he looking like he’s about to walk into a wolf’s den? Lang Junxia doesn’t know how else to think of Duan Ling’s defiance other than simply to treat it as the nature of children: when no one’s there to coddle them they’re listless like half-wilted plants, and once someone has taken notice of them they start acting all spoiled.
“Only those who can suffer the worst can become the best of men.”
Lang Junxia ponders for a long time, and in the end that’s the only proverb he can think of to tell Duan Ling.
In the evening it’s snowing again. Duan Ling doesn’t want to go to that place anymore, but he has no other choice, it was as if since the moment he was born, no one has ever asked him what he wanted. And Lang Junxia is only soft on the outside; he seldom speaks, but if his decision is ever defied then he becomes like a wolf opening its eyes in a quiet night, emitting a dangerous aura.
Whenever Duan Ling doesn’t do what Lang Junxia says, this aura would spread and take an invisible hold on Duan Ling’s soul until he concedes. As for everything that happens in his life, Lang Junxia never goes back on his word.
Next day, Lang Junxia buys all the daily essentials that Duan Ling may need and pays his tuition to the Illustrious Hall, registering him to a room in the secluded eastern wing.
“I asked Ding Zhi to ask a friend of hers to look after you.” Lang Junxia tells him, “Nobles and officials often drink at the Viburnum. She also got someone to give that Yuan3 child a warning. He probably won’t come looking for trouble with you anymore.”
Everyday, servants will tidy up the rooms and light the fires, and the furnace is right up against the wall. Even though it’s not as nice as the Viburnum, at least it is warm. Duan Ling gets to know the dining hall, which serves two meals a day, and the students would assemble to the sound of a bell. He takes the bowl and chopsticks Lan Junxia bought him and goes back to his room.
Duan Ling sits there and Lang Junxia bends over to make his bed for him.
“Make sure you keep the jade arc safe with you.” Lang Junxia reminds him again and again, “Keep it under your pillow when you sleep. You mustn’t lose it. Wear it on your person when you’re awake.”
Duan Ling doesn’t say anything. His eyes are red; Lang Junxia just pretends he can’t see it.
His Four Treasures of the Study have been delivered, and given to the school for safekeeping.
Finally, Lang Junxia finishes making the bed and sits across from Duan Ling. Duan Ling’s room is the only occupied room in this wing. It starts getting darker, and a servant comes to light the lamps. Lang Junxia sits quietly in the lamplight like a handsome statue, and Duan Ling sits on the daybed alone, staring into space.
Lang Junxia doesn’t get up until the bell rings three times. “Let’s go, it’s time to eat. Bring your bowl and chopsticks.”
Duan Ling takes his bowl and chopsticks and follows Lang Junxia to the dining hall. On the path in front of the dining hall, Lang Junxia says, “I’m going to go now. I’ll come get you on the first day of next month.”
Duan Ling stands there staring blankly in front of him. Lang Junxia says, “Go eat on your own. Remember everything I told you. Get up as soon as the bell rings, you mustn’t linger in bed. Someone will help you during the first few days.”
Lang Junxia stands there hinting that Duan Ling should go inside the dining hall, but Duan Ling can’t make his feet move at all.
The two face each other in silence for a long time. With his bowl and chopsticks in his arms, Duan Ling opens his mouth wanting to say something, but he can’t get the words out.
In the end Lang Junxia steels himself and goes on his own, but the moment he turns around, Duan Ling is on his heels.
Lang Junxia takes one look back, and unwilling to stay any longer, he quickly walks away. Duan Ling chases after him with his bowl all the way to the school’s back door, where the gatekeeper blocks his way, not letting him go outside. And so Duan Ling stands inside the door watching Lang Junxia, tears on the verge of rolling down his cheeks.
Lang Junxia doesn’t know what to do; he turns to say as he walks away, “Go back! Otherwise I won’t come back on the first!”
Duan Ling can do nothing but stand inside the door. Lang Junxia feels sad watching him too, but he knows he can’t stay any longer, and he disappears behind a door.
“Study, learn, and you can be a functionary in the future,” The old man watching the door says softly. “Go on back. Hm?”
Duan Ling turns around, wiping his tears as he walks. It’s dark, and the school is lit with yellow lanterns; before he manages to walk halfway back, he’s already lost. Fortunately, the headmaster passes by in front of the gallery with a bunch of teachers as Duan Ling is sitting in the corridor on this cold winter day where dripping water can turn to ice, wiping his tears.
“What are you doing?!” The headmaster hasn’t recognised Duan Ling yet, and he says angrily, “Acting like a delicate little thing, so sentimental! How is this any way to act?!”
Duan Ling gets up immediately for fear of offending the headmaster — and making Lang Junxia mad again.
“Whose child is this?” One of the teachers asks.
The headmaster scrutinises Duan Ling for ages before finally remembering. “Right, it’s the one who had a fight on his very first visit. How come you didn’t seem so soft when you were fighting, hm? Come on, follow the teacher.”
The teacher takes Duan Ling to the dining hall. The schoolkids are almost all done with dinner, leaving a mess on the tables. The servants scoop food into Duan Ling’s bowl for him, and Duan Ling eats everything in his bowl. He sets his utensils down on the table; both the wooden bowl and the box holding his chopsticks have his name carved onto them, so someone will come collect them for washing. Duan Ling goes back to his room alone to sleep.
Someone, somewhere begins to play a bamboo flute.
The notes float through the air, sounding both far and near; it starts and stops like a farewell song in Runan at sunset — and it all feels like a dream. During the last month and some days that they spent travelling north, Duan Ling thought he’d already forgotten the years he spent with the Duans. Lang Junxia by his side is proof that his new life has begun.
And yet once everything goes still and quiet, in a dark room with the crackle and hiss of a fire burning beneath the window, with only himself on the bed, Duan Ling realises that he’s afraid to fall asleep — he fears that when he wakes up he’ll be back again in that gloomy wood shed, covered in cuts and bruises. He’s anxious, panicky, as though there’s a nightmare in the room waiting for him to fall asleep, and as soon as he loses consciousness he’ll be dragged all the way back to Runan, a thousand miles away.
Luckily, the song is melodious, twisting and meaningful, weaving a tapestry of scenes filled with the drifting petals of peach blossoms, and it stays with him as he falls asleep.
Lang Junxia stands beneath the eaves, his cloak piled high with snow.
He is silent for a long time. With a deep frown he takes out a letter that he never delivered.
_Xiaowan,
Consider seeing this letter as seeing me. I sent the one who delivered this letter; he possesses the token you did not accept many years ago. Consider it proof also.
Someone in southern Chen has betrayed me. Things are dire. In order to prevent your kidnapping by an assassin sent by the imperial court, please follow the messenger to the north. Before the third day of the first month I will make my way to Shangjing to reunite with you.
Hong_
It’s midnight, the fourth day of the first month. Li Jianhong didn’t come.
Lang Junxia returns to the Viburnum, packs his things, changes into a set of black, nocturnal travelling clothes, and throws on a cloak.
“Where are you going now?” Ding Zhi appears outside the door.
“Work,” Lang Junxia answers absentmindedly.
“I’ve entrusted someone about what you asked.” Ding Zhi says, “The guard captain’s little brother will look after him.”
“Help me buy a house. Don’t worry about cleaning it.” Lang Junxia takes out a single banknote and puts it under a paperweight.
“When will you be back?” Ding Zhi asks.
Lang Junxia replies, “Fifteenth.”
Ding Zhi steps inside the room, and after a long silence she asks, “Where did that child you’re taking care of come from, really?”
Dressed head to toe in black rogues’s clothes, Lang Junxia’s cloak is hiding the top of his face, and he’s slender and tall standing at the door with his mask on. His eyes are clear and bright as they gaze at Ding Zhi.
The thumb of his sword hand pushes lightly forward, and the blade shimmers with a cold light.
“There’s been word from the south. The Chen emperor took away Li Jianhong’s right to deploy the army. Wu Du is moving north through the night with eighteen assassins from the shadow guard, so they must be off to track down Li Jianhong. Since you’re not with Li Jianhong but somehow protecting a child like that all the way here instead…”
Lang Junxia lifts his left hand slowly. Ding Zhi stops talking.
“Who else knows about this?” Lang Junxia’s voice comes from beneath the mask, and his sword is on Ding Zhi’s neck, sheath and all, the sharp blade pressing right against her throat.
“I’m the only one.” Ding Zhi raises an eyebrow, and raises her head to stare at Lang Junxia. “If you kill me now you can keep this secret forever.”
Lang Junxia goes quiet, as though considering. And then without letting his sword leave its sheath another fraction, he withdraws, walks past Ding Zhi, turning his head to glance at her as he does so.
“Watch out for Wu Du,” Ding Zhi says quietly.
There’s no further reply from Lang Junxia. Reaching the back courtyard, he mounts the horse and speeds off with his cape fluttering behind him.
By the time Duan Ling opens his eyes again it’s already dawn. The bell is ringing, each time more urgent than the last. A servant stands outside his room. “Young master Duan, it’s time for the morning reading. This way please.”
Duan Ling didn’t have any nightmares, and he didn’t wake up in Runan either; last night’s sadness has been long forgotten. He remembers what Lang Junxia told him, and rushes to get up and wash his face, joining in the morning recitation class with the other children.
“Black sky yellow earth, vast universe all chaos …”
“Gold in the river Li, jade in Mount Kunlun …”
“An empire’s foundation is in farming, work hard sowing and reaping …”
Duan Ling sits down in the last open seat, and nods along with the other children, trying hard to match their lips, but he’s utterly clueless — he has no inkling of the content of his recitation. Fortunately, by eavesdropping outside of private schools in the past he’s heard it all before, and the words feel smooth and flow off the tongue, so it’s not long before he recalls the words and gradually falls into rhythm.
Once morning recitation is over, the teacher gives them character sheets with pictures on them on yellow bamboo paper, so they can start learning the characters. Duan Ling is starting school late so he has a thick stack in front of him. Learning them strains his mind heavily, and he manages to get through the lesser half of them before his mind starts to wander; he wonders where the young man he had that fight with yesterday may be.
The Illustrious Hall was built by the Han who defected to the Liao empire after the Khitan punitive southern expedition. It’s separated into three areas: the primary school, the ink room, and the literature pavilion. Children starting school go to primary school first to learn their characters, and once they learn them all and pass the exam they advance to the ink room, to learn more difficult texts. The literature pavilion on the other hand will teach the languages Khitan, Han, and Xiqiang4 in addition to how to write essays and the study of the six Confucian arts.5
By the time when even the literature pavilion can’t teach you anymore, then it’s time to leave the Illustrious Hall behind and enter Biyong College6, under the administration of the Southern Bureau of Military Affairs. There, one will learn the Five Classics and prepare for the imperial examinations in hopes of becoming an official.
The learning pace of the students in the Illustrious Hall varies. The youth he saw yesterday is studying in the ink room. Duan Ling only managed to see him at lunch time; he’s sitting with one foot on the bench, with no one daring to sit anywhere near him, glaring at Duan Ling while eating out of an iron bowl.
Another Han youth comes to sit next to Duan Ling and says to him, “Your name is Duan Ling, isn’t it?”
Duan Ling looks at the Han youth, not without caution. He’s a bit older than Duan Ling himself, but appears quite mature; he’s dressed in luxurious clothes with a golden crow embroidered on his collar and the button on his right lapel is made out of lapis lazuli, his eyebrows are ink-black and his face is pretty like someone from a noble home.
“How … did you know that?”
The noble youth whispers to Duan Ling, “My older brother was asked to get me to look after you and make sure you don’t get bullied.”
“Who’s your brother?”
The noble youth doesn’t answer the question. He points at the young man who had a fight with Duan Ling yesterday, far away. “He’s part of the Borjigin family. Even his dad has to be a dog for the Han estate. If he gives you any more trouble, go tell on him to that person.”
As they speak the noble youth points to someone closer. The one he’s pointing at is a half-grown child surrounded by other children; chubby, with kind eyes. He looks rather likeable — even though his features are rather ordinary, lots of children are following him around.
“Just tell him, Mister Han,” the aristocratic young man instructs, “the Borjigin kid is always making trouble for you, and ask him to help you.”
Duan Ling doesn’t really get it, but he understands that the young man means well. The noble youth asks him, “Is your family with the northern or the southern administration?”
Duan Ling has no choice but to answer, “I don’t know.”
“Han or Liao?”
“Han. My dad’s name is Duan Sheng. He does business in Shangzi.”
The noble youth nods. “Oh, he’s a businessman. I’m Cai Yan. My older brother is Shangjing’s patrol guard captain. His name is Cai Wen. I’m Han, and so is Mister Han. If someone bullies you, come talk to us. That’s all for now.”
Once he finishes speaking, Cai Yan walks away with his bowl without bothering to explain anything else to Duan Ling. He doesn’t think of Duan Ling as anyone important — he’s only come to complete a task his elder brother gave him.
Duan Ling finishes his food, takes a nap after lunch, and the bell rings again. Winter days are lackadaisical. The schoolchildren each take their seats, and in the afternoon they’re taught to write, but with a brazier in the room everyone feels rather drowsy, nodding off. One of the children simply puts his head on a stack of writing paper and falls asleep so deeply he starts drooling.
“Spread out your characters!” The headmaster tells them deliberately, “Don’t try to save paper —”
It’s the first day of school, and his many worries are temporarily forgotten. Duan Ling very much treasures this hard-won opportunity, and focuses all his attention on writing his characters. The headmaster walks by him, then swings the punishment ruler onto the face of the child sleeping next to him.
The child’s cheek swells up right away, and he begins to howl like a dam’s been opened. The headmaster drags him out by the collar, and makes him stand in the corridor. Duan Ling shudders, watching that child fearfully; after that he doesn’t dare to feel any slight bit of exhaustion any more.
Day after day goes by and what Duan Ling expects to happen never happens. The young man doesn’t come seeking revenge; Cai Yan and the other children don’t treat him especially favourably either. Everything is following a set routine, neat and orderly. No one asks him about his family background, and no one asks him why he’s come. Duan Ling’s presence seems a matter of course, as though he’s nothing more than a pine tree in the courtyard that has always been there.
When school’s over and Duan Ling is alone in his room, tossing and turning, he always remembers the flute-playing that he heard the very first night here.
The playing only happened that one night; its melody swirled in the air like wilting blossoms in the south, falling to wither in the wind, carrying a hint of hope and melancholy. Each time he thinks of it, Duan Ling remembers a poem that the headmaster taught.7
It should already be spring in Runan by now, shouldn’t it?
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. ↩︎
The Liao empire was divided into the Northern and Southern administrations, and the northern administration controlled the military. ↩︎
The Yuan dynasty was the Mongolian dynasty in China, but the Yuan, Liao, and Chen (Song) being dynasties all at the same time is fictional. The historic dynastic order after Tang is Song (Han) > Southern Song + Liao (Khitan) > Southern Song + Jin (Jurchen) > Yuan (Mongolian) > Ming (Han again) > Qing (Manchurian) > post-dynastic modern era ↩︎
Disputed history, but possibly one tribe of the Xirong. ↩︎
The rites (philosophy), music, archery, charioteering, calligraphy, and mathematics. ↩︎
Biyong college existed as a part of the Imperial College, but in this case it only borrows the name, since the real one wasn’t in Shangjing. ↩︎
Probably “Joyful Reunion” by Li Yu. I’ve translated it here. ↩︎
“Stop it! Stop it right now!”
The noise has finally alerted Lang Junxia. He rushes out of the room like a gust of wind, with the teacher following closely behind, bellowing, “Stop it!”
At once the children self-consciously back up to the wall. The youth runs off and the teacher goes after him in a rage, grabbing him. Ghastly pale, Lang Junxia rushes in to pick up Duan Ling to see how badly he’s been hurt.
“Why didn’t you call for help?!” Lang Junxia is angry now; he thinks he really ought to hand it to Duan Ling for his forbearance. If Duan Ling called for help naturally Lang Junxia would’ve been able to tell that something has happened outside, but instead Duan Ling chose not to say a word. When he heard the sound of children messing around he thought they were simply kicking a ball around, playing.
Duan Ling’s left eye’s all swollen and he’s in quite a state, but he gives Lang Junxia a smile.
One hour later.
Lang Junxia has washed Duan Ling’s face and wiped the mud off his body and his hands.
“Serve the headmaster tea,” Lang Junxia instructs him. “Go on.”
Duan Ling’s just got a beating, his hands keep trembling and the teacup he’s holding makes a bunch of clanging noises as they shake.
“If you want to join the Illustrious Hall, then you’ll have to restrain this pugnacious temper of yours.” The headmaster says deliberately. “If you cannot leave this antisocial behaviour at the door then I’ll point you another way — keep walking toward the Northern Administration2. They’ll find a place for you.”
The headmaster looks at Duan Ling, but doesn’t accept his tea. Duan Ling holds the tea for ages, but he has no idea what he’s supposed to say. Since the headmaster’s not taking it, Duan Ling puts the tea on the table, and some of it splashes out onto the headmaster’s sleeve. The headmaster is immediately upset and shouts angrily, “Insolence!”
“Headmaster,” Lang Junxia quickly kneel down on one knee, pleading on Duan Ling’s behalf. “He doesn’t know etiquette. It’s my fault that I haven’t taught him well.”
“You get up,” Duan Ling has taken humiliation like this before, and pulls at Lang Junxia to make him get up. Those words the youth used earlier to put him down is still reverberating in his ears.
But in a rare display of anger Lang Junxia yells at him, “Kneel! I said kneel!”
Duan Ling has no choice but to kneel also, and that finally, does seem to calm the headmaster a little. He says coldly, “If he doesn’t know etiquette then teach him etiquette before you bring him back. Military kids, foreign prince hostages — which of them has ever come here and dare say they don’t know etiquette?!”
Lang Junxia says nothing, and Duan Ling follows suit and says nothing also. The headmaster’s mouth is dry from all the talking and takes a sip of the tea Duan Ling served him. “Once you start school here, the rules are the same for everyone. If you get into a fight again, you’ll be expelled.”
“Thank you, headmaster.” A great load is off Lang Junxia’s mind, and he makes Duan Ling give the teacher three kowtows. Duan Ling grudgingly does it, and Lang Junxia takes him away.
They pass by the young man he fought with earlier, kneeling in front of the wall to reflect on his actions, as they come back through the front courtyard. Duan Ling gives him a second glance and the young man looks back at him — their eyes filled with resentment.
“How come you didn’t say anything when you were being beaten?” There’s a deep furrow between Lang Junxia’s eyebrows.
Back at the Viburnum, he washes Duan Ling’s face and puts ointment on him.
Duan Ling says, “He started it.”
Lang Junxia says offhandedly as he rinses out a towel, “I’m not blaming you. But if you can’t beat him why didn’t you run?”
“Oh.” Duan Ling replies.
Lang Junxia says patiently, “If anyone tries to provoke you again, then you have to weigh the situation. If you can beat them, then fight. If you can’t beat them, run, and I’ll settle things for you. But you mustn’t ever stake your life on a fight, understand?”
“Okay,” Duan Ling says.
The room falls quiet. Duan Ling asks suddenly, “Can you fight? Teach me.”
Lang Junxia puts the towel down, quietly watching Duan Ling. Finally, he says, “There’s going to be plenty of people who’ll want to ridicule you or kill you. Even if you learned how to kill, there are so many people in the world, how are you ever going to kill them all if you kill them one at a time?”
Duan Ling looks at Lang Junxia with confusion; he doesn’t really get it. Lang Junxia says, “What you’re going to learn is scholarship. It’s reasoning. In the future, the people you’ll want to kill will number in the millions. How long do you think that will take with your fists? If you want revenge, then behave and go to school.”
“Do you understand now?” Lang Junxia asks again.
Duan Ling doesn’t understand, but he nods anyway. Lang Junxia taps the back of Duan Ling’s hand with a finger. “You mustn’t ever act like you did today again.”
“Oh.” Duan Ling replies.
“You will move into the school today,” Lang Junxia says. “I’ll give you a ride over in the evening, and we’ll buy what we have to and borrow the rest.”
Duan Ling’s heart is suddenly in his throat and it’s staying there, not going anywhere. The truth is, throughout this time, Lang Junxia has become his only family. Since his memories began, no one has ever been so nice to him. Now that he seems to have found a place to go home to, he’s saying they’ll have to part now?
“What about you?” Duan Ling asks.
“I still have work to do. I’ve already arranged things with the headmaster. Every month, on the first and fifteenth, I’ll come get you, and you’ll get two days off each time. I will check your homework, and if you do well I’ll take you out to play.”
“I won’t go!”
Lang Junxia stops what he’s doing and watches Duan Ling with a sombre look in his eyes. He hasn’t started speaking yet, but Duan Ling can already feel his imposing aura — an aura that does not tolerate disobedience.
Duan Ling can’t help but yield, holding his tears back. Lang Junxia says to him quietly, “You’re a good boy. In the future you will achieve great things.”
“Once out of Runan and away from Shangzi, the world won’t give you any more grief. Even if there is hardship, it’s not worth mentioning compared to what you’ve been through. It’s just going to school on your own. What’s there to cry about?”
Lang Junxia looks perplexedly at Duan Ling, as though he can’t comprehend Duan Ling’s fear and sorrow. On their journey he has often thought about what Duan Ling will be like, yet Duan Ling always goes against his expectations.
He’s mischievous, but he never misbehaves in front of Lang Junxia; he spent years in a dark, sunless world of a woodshed in Runan when he lived with the Duans, so anywhere else to him should be perfectly comfortable —
— It’s just a school, so why is he looking like he’s about to walk into a wolf’s den? Lang Junxia doesn’t know how else to think of Duan Ling’s defiance other than simply to treat it as the nature of children: when no one’s there to coddle them they’re listless like half-wilted plants, and once someone has taken notice of them they start acting all spoiled.
“Only those who can suffer the worst can become the best of men.”
Lang Junxia ponders for a long time, and in the end that’s the only proverb he can think of to tell Duan Ling.
In the evening it’s snowing again. Duan Ling doesn’t want to go to that place anymore, but he has no other choice, it was as if since the moment he was born, no one has ever asked him what he wanted. And Lang Junxia is only soft on the outside; he seldom speaks, but if his decision is ever defied then he becomes like a wolf opening its eyes in a quiet night, emitting a dangerous aura.
Whenever Duan Ling doesn’t do what Lang Junxia says, this aura would spread and take an invisible hold on Duan Ling’s soul until he concedes. As for everything that happens in his life, Lang Junxia never goes back on his word.
Next day, Lang Junxia buys all the daily essentials that Duan Ling may need and pays his tuition to the Illustrious Hall, registering him to a room in the secluded eastern wing.
“I asked Ding Zhi to ask a friend of hers to look after you.” Lang Junxia tells him, “Nobles and officials often drink at the Viburnum. She also got someone to give that Yuan3 child a warning. He probably won’t come looking for trouble with you anymore.”
Everyday, servants will tidy up the rooms and light the fires, and the furnace is right up against the wall. Even though it’s not as nice as the Viburnum, at least it is warm. Duan Ling gets to know the dining hall, which serves two meals a day, and the students would assemble to the sound of a bell. He takes the bowl and chopsticks Lan Junxia bought him and goes back to his room.
Duan Ling sits there and Lang Junxia bends over to make his bed for him.
“Make sure you keep the jade arc safe with you.” Lang Junxia reminds him again and again, “Keep it under your pillow when you sleep. You mustn’t lose it. Wear it on your person when you’re awake.”
Duan Ling doesn’t say anything. His eyes are red; Lang Junxia just pretends he can’t see it.
His Four Treasures of the Study have been delivered, and given to the school for safekeeping.
Finally, Lang Junxia finishes making the bed and sits across from Duan Ling. Duan Ling’s room is the only occupied room in this wing. It starts getting darker, and a servant comes to light the lamps. Lang Junxia sits quietly in the lamplight like a handsome statue, and Duan Ling sits on the daybed alone, staring into space.
Lang Junxia doesn’t get up until the bell rings three times. “Let’s go, it’s time to eat. Bring your bowl and chopsticks.”
Duan Ling takes his bowl and chopsticks and follows Lang Junxia to the dining hall. On the path in front of the dining hall, Lang Junxia says, “I’m going to go now. I’ll come get you on the first day of next month.”
Duan Ling stands there staring blankly in front of him. Lang Junxia says, “Go eat on your own. Remember everything I told you. Get up as soon as the bell rings, you mustn’t linger in bed. Someone will help you during the first few days.”
Lang Junxia stands there hinting that Duan Ling should go inside the dining hall, but Duan Ling can’t make his feet move at all.
The two face each other in silence for a long time. With his bowl and chopsticks in his arms, Duan Ling opens his mouth wanting to say something, but he can’t get the words out.
In the end Lang Junxia steels himself and goes on his own, but the moment he turns around, Duan Ling is on his heels.
Lang Junxia takes one look back, and unwilling to stay any longer, he quickly walks away. Duan Ling chases after him with his bowl all the way to the school’s back door, where the gatekeeper blocks his way, not letting him go outside. And so Duan Ling stands inside the door watching Lang Junxia, tears on the verge of rolling down his cheeks.
Lang Junxia doesn’t know what to do; he turns to say as he walks away, “Go back! Otherwise I won’t come back on the first!”
Duan Ling can do nothing but stand inside the door. Lang Junxia feels sad watching him too, but he knows he can’t stay any longer, and he disappears behind a door.
“Study, learn, and you can be a functionary in the future,” The old man watching the door says softly. “Go on back. Hm?”
Duan Ling turns around, wiping his tears as he walks. It’s dark, and the school is lit with yellow lanterns; before he manages to walk halfway back, he’s already lost. Fortunately, the headmaster passes by in front of the gallery with a bunch of teachers as Duan Ling is sitting in the corridor on this cold winter day where dripping water can turn to ice, wiping his tears.
“What are you doing?!” The headmaster hasn’t recognised Duan Ling yet, and he says angrily, “Acting like a delicate little thing, so sentimental! How is this any way to act?!”
Duan Ling gets up immediately for fear of offending the headmaster — and making Lang Junxia mad again.
“Whose child is this?” One of the teachers asks.
The headmaster scrutinises Duan Ling for ages before finally remembering. “Right, it’s the one who had a fight on his very first visit. How come you didn’t seem so soft when you were fighting, hm? Come on, follow the teacher.”
The teacher takes Duan Ling to the dining hall. The schoolkids are almost all done with dinner, leaving a mess on the tables. The servants scoop food into Duan Ling’s bowl for him, and Duan Ling eats everything in his bowl. He sets his utensils down on the table; both the wooden bowl and the box holding his chopsticks have his name carved onto them, so someone will come collect them for washing. Duan Ling goes back to his room alone to sleep.
Someone, somewhere begins to play a bamboo flute.
The notes float through the air, sounding both far and near; it starts and stops like a farewell song in Runan at sunset — and it all feels like a dream. During the last month and some days that they spent travelling north, Duan Ling thought he’d already forgotten the years he spent with the Duans. Lang Junxia by his side is proof that his new life has begun.
And yet once everything goes still and quiet, in a dark room with the crackle and hiss of a fire burning beneath the window, with only himself on the bed, Duan Ling realises that he’s afraid to fall asleep — he fears that when he wakes up he’ll be back again in that gloomy wood shed, covered in cuts and bruises. He’s anxious, panicky, as though there’s a nightmare in the room waiting for him to fall asleep, and as soon as he loses consciousness he’ll be dragged all the way back to Runan, a thousand miles away.
Luckily, the song is melodious, twisting and meaningful, weaving a tapestry of scenes filled with the drifting petals of peach blossoms, and it stays with him as he falls asleep.
Lang Junxia stands beneath the eaves, his cloak piled high with snow.
He is silent for a long time. With a deep frown he takes out a letter that he never delivered.
_Xiaowan,
Consider seeing this letter as seeing me. I sent the one who delivered this letter; he possesses the token you did not accept many years ago. Consider it proof also.
Someone in southern Chen has betrayed me. Things are dire. In order to prevent your kidnapping by an assassin sent by the imperial court, please follow the messenger to the north. Before the third day of the first month I will make my way to Shangjing to reunite with you.
Hong_
It’s midnight, the fourth day of the first month. Li Jianhong didn’t come.
Lang Junxia returns to the Viburnum, packs his things, changes into a set of black, nocturnal travelling clothes, and throws on a cloak.
“Where are you going now?” Ding Zhi appears outside the door.
“Work,” Lang Junxia answers absentmindedly.
“I’ve entrusted someone about what you asked.” Ding Zhi says, “The guard captain’s little brother will look after him.”
“Help me buy a house. Don’t worry about cleaning it.” Lang Junxia takes out a single banknote and puts it under a paperweight.
“When will you be back?” Ding Zhi asks.
Lang Junxia replies, “Fifteenth.”
Ding Zhi steps inside the room, and after a long silence she asks, “Where did that child you’re taking care of come from, really?”
Dressed head to toe in black rogues’s clothes, Lang Junxia’s cloak is hiding the top of his face, and he’s slender and tall standing at the door with his mask on. His eyes are clear and bright as they gaze at Ding Zhi.
The thumb of his sword hand pushes lightly forward, and the blade shimmers with a cold light.
“There’s been word from the south. The Chen emperor took away Li Jianhong’s right to deploy the army. Wu Du is moving north through the night with eighteen assassins from the shadow guard, so they must be off to track down Li Jianhong. Since you’re not with Li Jianhong but somehow protecting a child like that all the way here instead…”
Lang Junxia lifts his left hand slowly. Ding Zhi stops talking.
“Who else knows about this?” Lang Junxia’s voice comes from beneath the mask, and his sword is on Ding Zhi’s neck, sheath and all, the sharp blade pressing right against her throat.
“I’m the only one.” Ding Zhi raises an eyebrow, and raises her head to stare at Lang Junxia. “If you kill me now you can keep this secret forever.”
Lang Junxia goes quiet, as though considering. And then without letting his sword leave its sheath another fraction, he withdraws, walks past Ding Zhi, turning his head to glance at her as he does so.
“Watch out for Wu Du,” Ding Zhi says quietly.
There’s no further reply from Lang Junxia. Reaching the back courtyard, he mounts the horse and speeds off with his cape fluttering behind him.
By the time Duan Ling opens his eyes again it’s already dawn. The bell is ringing, each time more urgent than the last. A servant stands outside his room. “Young master Duan, it’s time for the morning reading. This way please.”
Duan Ling didn’t have any nightmares, and he didn’t wake up in Runan either; last night’s sadness has been long forgotten. He remembers what Lang Junxia told him, and rushes to get up and wash his face, joining in the morning recitation class with the other children.
“Black sky yellow earth, vast universe all chaos …”
“Gold in the river Li, jade in Mount Kunlun …”
“An empire’s foundation is in farming, work hard sowing and reaping …”
Duan Ling sits down in the last open seat, and nods along with the other children, trying hard to match their lips, but he’s utterly clueless — he has no inkling of the content of his recitation. Fortunately, by eavesdropping outside of private schools in the past he’s heard it all before, and the words feel smooth and flow off the tongue, so it’s not long before he recalls the words and gradually falls into rhythm.
Once morning recitation is over, the teacher gives them character sheets with pictures on them on yellow bamboo paper, so they can start learning the characters. Duan Ling is starting school late so he has a thick stack in front of him. Learning them strains his mind heavily, and he manages to get through the lesser half of them before his mind starts to wander; he wonders where the young man he had that fight with yesterday may be.
The Illustrious Hall was built by the Han who defected to the Liao empire after the Khitan punitive southern expedition. It’s separated into three areas: the primary school, the ink room, and the literature pavilion. Children starting school go to primary school first to learn their characters, and once they learn them all and pass the exam they advance to the ink room, to learn more difficult texts. The literature pavilion on the other hand will teach the languages Khitan, Han, and Xiqiang4 in addition to how to write essays and the study of the six Confucian arts.5
By the time when even the literature pavilion can’t teach you anymore, then it’s time to leave the Illustrious Hall behind and enter Biyong College6, under the administration of the Southern Bureau of Military Affairs. There, one will learn the Five Classics and prepare for the imperial examinations in hopes of becoming an official.
The learning pace of the students in the Illustrious Hall varies. The youth he saw yesterday is studying in the ink room. Duan Ling only managed to see him at lunch time; he’s sitting with one foot on the bench, with no one daring to sit anywhere near him, glaring at Duan Ling while eating out of an iron bowl.
Another Han youth comes to sit next to Duan Ling and says to him, “Your name is Duan Ling, isn’t it?”
Duan Ling looks at the Han youth, not without caution. He’s a bit older than Duan Ling himself, but appears quite mature; he’s dressed in luxurious clothes with a golden crow embroidered on his collar and the button on his right lapel is made out of lapis lazuli, his eyebrows are ink-black and his face is pretty like someone from a noble home.
“How … did you know that?”
The noble youth whispers to Duan Ling, “My older brother was asked to get me to look after you and make sure you don’t get bullied.”
“Who’s your brother?”
The noble youth doesn’t answer the question. He points at the young man who had a fight with Duan Ling yesterday, far away. “He’s part of the Borjigin family. Even his dad has to be a dog for the Han estate. If he gives you any more trouble, go tell on him to that person.”
As they speak the noble youth points to someone closer. The one he’s pointing at is a half-grown child surrounded by other children; chubby, with kind eyes. He looks rather likeable — even though his features are rather ordinary, lots of children are following him around.
“Just tell him, Mister Han,” the aristocratic young man instructs, “the Borjigin kid is always making trouble for you, and ask him to help you.”
Duan Ling doesn’t really get it, but he understands that the young man means well. The noble youth asks him, “Is your family with the northern or the southern administration?”
Duan Ling has no choice but to answer, “I don’t know.”
“Han or Liao?”
“Han. My dad’s name is Duan Sheng. He does business in Shangzi.”
The noble youth nods. “Oh, he’s a businessman. I’m Cai Yan. My older brother is Shangjing’s patrol guard captain. His name is Cai Wen. I’m Han, and so is Mister Han. If someone bullies you, come talk to us. That’s all for now.”
Once he finishes speaking, Cai Yan walks away with his bowl without bothering to explain anything else to Duan Ling. He doesn’t think of Duan Ling as anyone important — he’s only come to complete a task his elder brother gave him.
Duan Ling finishes his food, takes a nap after lunch, and the bell rings again. Winter days are lackadaisical. The schoolchildren each take their seats, and in the afternoon they’re taught to write, but with a brazier in the room everyone feels rather drowsy, nodding off. One of the children simply puts his head on a stack of writing paper and falls asleep so deeply he starts drooling.
“Spread out your characters!” The headmaster tells them deliberately, “Don’t try to save paper —”
It’s the first day of school, and his many worries are temporarily forgotten. Duan Ling very much treasures this hard-won opportunity, and focuses all his attention on writing his characters. The headmaster walks by him, then swings the punishment ruler onto the face of the child sleeping next to him.
The child’s cheek swells up right away, and he begins to howl like a dam’s been opened. The headmaster drags him out by the collar, and makes him stand in the corridor. Duan Ling shudders, watching that child fearfully; after that he doesn’t dare to feel any slight bit of exhaustion any more.
Day after day goes by and what Duan Ling expects to happen never happens. The young man doesn’t come seeking revenge; Cai Yan and the other children don’t treat him especially favourably either. Everything is following a set routine, neat and orderly. No one asks him about his family background, and no one asks him why he’s come. Duan Ling’s presence seems a matter of course, as though he’s nothing more than a pine tree in the courtyard that has always been there.
When school’s over and Duan Ling is alone in his room, tossing and turning, he always remembers the flute-playing that he heard the very first night here.
The playing only happened that one night; its melody swirled in the air like wilting blossoms in the south, falling to wither in the wind, carrying a hint of hope and melancholy. Each time he thinks of it, Duan Ling remembers a poem that the headmaster taught.7
It should already be spring in Runan by now, shouldn’t it?
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. ↩︎
The Liao empire was divided into the Northern and Southern administrations, and the northern administration controlled the military. ↩︎
The Yuan dynasty was the Mongolian dynasty in China, but the Yuan, Liao, and Chen (Song) being dynasties all at the same time is fictional. The historic dynastic order after Tang is Song (Han) > Southern Song + Liao (Khitan) > Southern Song + Jin (Jurchen) > Yuan (Mongolian) > Ming (Han again) > Qing (Manchurian) > post-dynastic modern era ↩︎
Disputed history, but possibly one tribe of the Xirong. ↩︎
The rites (philosophy), music, archery, charioteering, calligraphy, and mathematics. ↩︎
Biyong college existed as a part of the Imperial College, but in this case it only borrows the name, since the real one wasn’t in Shangjing. ↩︎
Probably “Joyful Reunion” by Li Yu. I’ve translated it here. ↩︎
