“In the future, I’ll take you there.” Wu Du spends a few seconds putting his words together, and says to Duan Ling, “I’ll take you to all the places you haven’t been, all the places you want to see. I promise you that even if you become … become … I’d still take you there. We’ll sneak out and see the ocean, see the snow, see the mountains and the lakes, and we’ll come back only once you’ve seen enough.”
When he finishes speaking, his eyes remain on Duan Ling, his cheeks burning; he takes another sip of tea and avoids eye contact. His eyes are smiling.
A strange feeling wells up in Duan Ling’s heart, unlike any of the other times he’s ever felt when he’s with Wu Du. Even though it’s a winter’s night, it’s as though there’s a peach tree in his heart begetting new shoots of green curling into fresh leaves, buds bursting into blazing blooms at the cusp of spring.
“Sure,” Duan Ling’s heart starts to beat violently behind his ribcage; for some reason he thinks of the moment Wu Du had let him lean against his chest, clad in his rogue’s blacks, carrying him while dashing along the rooftops; he thinks of the time Wu Du wrapped him in his embrace, dressed in armour and the stink of blood, stars shining brightly above the Tongguan walls.
Feelings are welling up and rushing forth inside his chest like a flood; it is as though everything he’s lost since the moment his father departed has finally returned to him, right there in front of him, inside the person sitting across the table. Duan Ling wants to give this feeling a name, but he doesn’t know how to describe it, and he has even less of an idea of how to say it aloud.
“I remember that …” Duan Ling says.
Wu Du’s eyes are on Duan Ling, but everything in Duan Ling’s head is suddenly all tangled up together; his eyes can hold nothing but Wu Du, and words failing him, unable to convey how he feels in the slightest, he says, “Remember …”
What was I going to say again? Duan Ling’s head has gone blank.
“What do you remember?”
“Remember …” Duan Ling has lost his bearings, and has gotten quite embarrassed. He turns to the snowflakes fluttering towards the ground outside the window and says, “I remember that the headmaster taught me a … a poem once … I remember it now. It sounds rather lovely.”
“Which poem?”
Duan Ling is about to recite the poem for Wu Du, but then he actually remembers the words and his cheeks turn thoroughly red; all that flashes into his head is a single scene — that night in Tongguan, both of them dressed in their white unlined robes, Wu Du holding him down on the bed and making fun of him. If I really wanted to take you, there’s no point in calling for help.
Meanwhile, the Wu Du sitting in front of him is dressed in a well-fitted martial artist robe, and his hand over his cup is somehow slightly trembling.
“I’ve … forgotten.” Duan Ling’s heart races, so many memories are rushing back to his heart, but he has no idea what’s going on with himself, for he still remembers that poem —
— The mountains have trees oh the trees have boughs;
I have you in my heart oh but you don’t know.2
He thinks of meeting Wu Du for the first time, how Wu Du put together an antidote for him; in the Mu estate, how Wu Du helped him get the chance to go to school and attend the exams; on the Qinling Mountains, how Wu Du dressed up in armour and went to war for him; on Tongguan’s city wall, how Wu Du dragged his wounded body back to him, braving any danger to save him.
The headmaster once told them that this is “love”, and Duan Ling suddenly senses a different kind of love than what he feels for his father, or for his fellow students … His heart is a mess of emotions, unsure what he should say, and so he picks up his teacup immediately and takes a sip of tea.
When he lifts his gaze once more to meet Wu Du’s eyes, they both seem about to speak, and to stop; words lingering on their tongues. Duan Ling stares at Wu Du in a daze, his thoughts momentarily too complicated for words. Wu Du reaches beneath his lapel as if to take something out of his pocket, but then his hand slips and accidentally knocks over the teacup. The tea spills, flowing towards Duan Ling.
Wu Du quickly looks around for a cloth to wipe the table with, and Duan Ling says, “It’s fine.”
Wu Du makes Duan Ling move closer to the window and says, “I’ll call someone over to clean it up.”
“Waiter!” Wu Du calls out loudly.
From downstairs comes the sound of footsteps, and Duan Ling calms himself down, sitting there blankly — he wants to look up to look at Wu Du, but he feels too embarrassed to do so. He used to merely think that Wu Du is handsome, but now there seems to be something to his face that he had never noticed before; when he looks at him tonight, Wu Du seems better looking by the second.
Footsteps approach, and a figure comes up to the second floor, but it’s not the waiter. He enters the partition next to theirs.
The waiter follows him up and asks, “What would you like to have, sir?”
“I’m not having anything,” a voice answers.
When Duan Ling hears this voice he feels instantly thunderstruck; Wu Du’s expression is also filled with astonishment.
Lang Junxia!
What is Lang Junxia doing here?!
Lang Junxia is right there in the other partition, a single screen away behind Wu Du. Inside, Duan Ling’s mind is whirling, but Wu Du reaches out and puts his hand on the back of Duan Ling’s and shakes his head, There’s no need to be afraid. I’m here.
“A bowl of your signature wontons, and a cup of Pu’er.” Lang Junxia adds, “Bring them to the private booth next to mine.
“It’s your birthday today,” Lang Junxia says from behind the screen. “I’ve been too busy and haven’t had a chance to do anything. Try their wontons. They’re very good.”
Duan Ling doesn’t answer him. And so the three of them simply sit there peacefully.
All’s quiet; tea spreads along the table and drips off the edge, one droplet, then two, landing on the carpet the table it’s sitting on, creating a spreading, darkening spot.
Wu Du’s eyebrows are tightly knit. Soon, Duan Ling starts to say, “I don’t eat wontons anymore. It’s been a long time since I’ve last had them.”
“Worried they’re poisoned?” Lang Junxia says from behind the screen.
Wu Du takes a deep breath, and as he’s about to say something, Duan Ling tugs on his hand to signal he should not speak.
Someone else is coming up the stairs to the second floor, their voices reaching those upstairs before they come around the corner.
“Bring out another two bottles of your wine,” Zheng Yan’s voice says from downstairs, “and a cut of some high-quality beef.”
Wu Du turns quizzically to the stairs.
“There’s actually a private dining room upstairs?” Chang Liujun’s voice says.
Duan Ling is speechless. Why have they all shown up all of a sudden? Duan Ling doesn’t even know what to say.
Zheng Yan and Chang Liujun come up the stairs. Upon entering, he sees Duan Ling and Wu Du sitting across from each other and exclaims “aiyoh” in surprise, but he doesn’t ask them why they’re there. He and Zheng Yan take their seats in the partition Lang Junxia is already sitting in.
Duan Ling dips a finger in the tea and writes on the table, What’s going on?
Wu Du shakes his head to let him know he’s not sure. He points outside. Why don’t we just go?
But Duan Ling shakes his head to indicate he wants to stay and listen to what they’re going to talk about. Since all four assassins have gathered here, something important may actually be afoot.
“Excuse us.” Zheng Yan tips his head out from behind the screen and gives them a look, and smiling, he says, “Wu Du, apologies for interrupting your evening. I only made them come here because I really couldn’t think of anywhere else.”
Wu Du says, “It’s fine, just say whatever you’ve got to say.”
“It’s not anything too urgent, really,” Zheng Yan says. “We haven’t eaten all day, so let’s wait until we’ve filled up our stomachs.”
“Wang Shan, you didn’t go back to the estate? Where’s Mu Qing?” Chang Liujun too, peeks out from behind the screen to look Duan Ling over.
“I didn’t. He’s still with the Empress, so he’s probably been asked to stay for dinner.”
Bowls of noodles are brought upstairs and spread along the tables. There are two bowls of noodles on Wu Du and Duan Ling’s table, and there’s also a bowl of fresh shrimp wontons. Four kinds of river-food are lined up on top of the noodles, and several plum petals are floating on the soup.
“The noodle broth they use is a secret recipe,” Zheng Yan tells him with a smile, “made by simmering eel bones, duck cartilage, cow’s knee bone, north sea kelp, and plum blossoms pickled the year previous. Eaten with a single brined plum, it’s the best thing there is. Since we’re having noodles, we must have some fine wine to complete the flavour. Wu Du, would you two like a bottle?”
“Nah. We’re leaving as soon as the food is done. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Duan Ling feels rather awkward, but since both Chang Liujun and Zheng Yan are here, Lang Junxia probably won’t give him any trouble, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Wu Du seems a bit irritated however, and he’s restraining himself so as not to blow up.
The waiter finishes serving them their noodles, and bows to withdraw. Zheng Yan leaves one more instruction, “If we don’t call for you, there’s no need to come back upstairs.”
“Do you want to eat the wontons?” Wu Du asks Duan Ling.
Duan Ling shakes his head, and neither of them touch that bowl of wontons. Duan Ling takes a mouthful of the soup, and finds it truly delicious and not at all greasy. The noodles are bouncy with a nice bite, while the clams, shrimp, carp belly and crab meat are all fresh and tender — this noodle shop really does live up to its arrogant name.
“The reason I asked us to meet here today,” Lang Junxia says from behind the screen, “is because I would like to hear the opinion from each of you regarding several matters of note.”
“A certain someone was absent from the meeting in the Eastern Palace.” Zheng Yan says, “I presume you must have gone to make some inquiries.”
“To be quite honest,” Lang Junxia says, “I made a visit to the inn at the posthouse and found out something. I cannot take care of this on my own.”
All four stop what they’re doing to listen as Lang Junxia relates the matter he has found out.
“The Mongolian envoy is Khatanbaatar, but in reality, the person in charge within the diplomatic delegation is Amga. Their plans contain both distractions and their true intentions — Khatanbaatar operates in the open while Amga operates in the dark. They have another motive aside from celebrating the crown prince’s birthday.”
Zheng Yan replies, “Last evening in the Eastern Palace, I heard the Minister of Rites bringing up that Yuan is worried Liao would take revenge on them after the battle of Shangjing, and so they have a mind to ally with Chen in order to oppose Liao, coming to a mutual agreement with us and establishing friendly relations. Between Chen and Liao stands the ire of Shangzi, while between Chen and Yuan stands the feud of Shangjing. Of the three states, each considers the other two enemies. Chancellor Mu and the ministers spent a long time in discussion, but in the end were unable to come up with a solution.”
“What did His Majesty say?” Duan Ling asks suddenly.
“His Majesty didn’t say anything at all,” Zheng Yan replies.
Wu Du says, “Though the late emperor was not killed by the Mongolians, he died because of the battle of Shangjing. If the crown prince chooses to ally with Yuan at this time, I’m afraid His Majesty would say no.”
“That is so,” Lang Junxia replies, “but there is no such thing as a permanent enemy in the world. Post battle of Shangzi, all of our nation’s enmity was pointed at Liao, so how could anyone have imagined that the late emperor would lead troops back to Shangjing to save Yelü Dashi?”
Chang Liujun asks, “Wuluohou Mu, is this His Highness’s opinion, or is it your opinion?”
“Is it important whose opinion it is?” Zheng Yan says, “Borjigin Batu and His Highness are old childhood friends, and according to the rumours they’re sworn brothers, with the promise of Anda between them. Jochi and Batu were rescued and sent away from Shangjing by the late emperor as well. The Borjigins are hoping to establish friendly relations with Great Chen and use this opportunity to call a truce.”
Wu Du turns to Duan Ling. Duan Ling points at himself, nods, then a furrow appears between his brows and he spreads his hands open to indicate “the big picture” before he lightly brushes it aside. With a casual interpretation, Wu Du understands what Duan Ling means — it’s true they’re Anda, but decisions made between two nation states cannot be tainted by personal relationships.
“And so?” Chang Liujun says, “Do we make this alliance or not?”
“Then that will depend on you, Wuxiong.” Lang Junxia says, “His Majesty went out of his way to summon you to the Imperial Study today, and I presume it wasn’t to talk about the weather and inquire after your family’s health.”
Duan Ling thinks silently for a moment. Wu Du begins to speak, “His Majesty gave me something to take care of, but as for the details, it would not be appropriate for me to divulge”
“I’ll do it on your behalf” Zheng Yan says, “You’re the one who’s most cognisant of His Majesty’s thinking. So tell us.”
“We each serve our own master,” Wu Du says, “but since this has to do with the fate of the nation, there’s no harm in letting you know. It is regarding the whereabouts of the Zhenshanhe. His Majesty wants to trade for it with Kublai Khan’s sword.”
They all fall silent for a little while before Lang Junxia replies, “Well, that means His Majesty doesn’t want to negotiate an alliance. Chang Liujun, what are the Mongolians’ conditions for forming one?”
Chang Liujun meditates on this for a brief moment; though the others may not be aware of this, if they have a mind to find out, they’ll find out eventually — and it’s not any sort of secret either, so he starts to explain, “When the Mongolian envoy arrived in Jiangzhou three months ago, he made a visit to the chancellor. Khatanbaatar told him that the Zhenshanhe is in Yuan, but it’s not in Batu’s hands. If the two nations have a mind to form an alliance of brotherhood, the northern armies will need to withdraw from Mount Jiangjun and we’ll have to draw up a north-south trade route. Great Chen is to give up the cities of Ye and Hejian and draw them into Yuan territory.”
“Ye is a key city near the northern border,” Duan Ling says, “There’s no way we can give it up.”
“In exchange they would also give up a hundred and twenty miles of territory beneath Yubiguan. This way, once Chen and Yuan exchange territory, the Mongolians could be free to focus their attention on Liao, and slowly encroach their way south. If the imperial court forms this alliance with them, the two sides will trade cities, Yuan will return the Zhenshanhe, then we’ll have a marriage alliance to establish a century of peace and a promise to never make war.”
Zhenshanhe’s whereabouts are still unknown; one may surmise that there’s a high likelihood for it to be in Mongolian hands.
“Marriage alliance?” Wu Du says, “With whom? It wouldn’t be the Yaos again, would it? How many daughters does he have to marry off?”
There’s quite a bit of schadenfreude in Wu Du’s tone, and it’s instantly obvious to Duan Ling why Zheng Yan is so worried about it. Yao Zheng is a sovereign princess, but no matter who she’s to be married to, she wouldn’t want to marry her way to the north. If the imperial court really does agree to this, then all Yao Fu can do is to wave goodbye to his dear daughter in tears.
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. ↩︎
Song of the Yue Boatman. ↩︎
“In the future, I’ll take you there.” Wu Du spends a few seconds putting his words together, and says to Duan Ling, “I’ll take you to all the places you haven’t been, all the places you want to see. I promise you that even if you become … become … I’d still take you there. We’ll sneak out and see the ocean, see the snow, see the mountains and the lakes, and we’ll come back only once you’ve seen enough.”
When he finishes speaking, his eyes remain on Duan Ling, his cheeks burning; he takes another sip of tea and avoids eye contact. His eyes are smiling.
A strange feeling wells up in Duan Ling’s heart, unlike any of the other times he’s ever felt when he’s with Wu Du. Even though it’s a winter’s night, it’s as though there’s a peach tree in his heart begetting new shoots of green curling into fresh leaves, buds bursting into blazing blooms at the cusp of spring.
“Sure,” Duan Ling’s heart starts to beat violently behind his ribcage; for some reason he thinks of the moment Wu Du had let him lean against his chest, clad in his rogue’s blacks, carrying him while dashing along the rooftops; he thinks of the time Wu Du wrapped him in his embrace, dressed in armour and the stink of blood, stars shining brightly above the Tongguan walls.
Feelings are welling up and rushing forth inside his chest like a flood; it is as though everything he’s lost since the moment his father departed has finally returned to him, right there in front of him, inside the person sitting across the table. Duan Ling wants to give this feeling a name, but he doesn’t know how to describe it, and he has even less of an idea of how to say it aloud.
“I remember that …” Duan Ling says.
Wu Du’s eyes are on Duan Ling, but everything in Duan Ling’s head is suddenly all tangled up together; his eyes can hold nothing but Wu Du, and words failing him, unable to convey how he feels in the slightest, he says, “Remember …”
What was I going to say again? Duan Ling’s head has gone blank.
“What do you remember?”
“Remember …” Duan Ling has lost his bearings, and has gotten quite embarrassed. He turns to the snowflakes fluttering towards the ground outside the window and says, “I remember that the headmaster taught me a … a poem once … I remember it now. It sounds rather lovely.”
“Which poem?”
Duan Ling is about to recite the poem for Wu Du, but then he actually remembers the words and his cheeks turn thoroughly red; all that flashes into his head is a single scene — that night in Tongguan, both of them dressed in their white unlined robes, Wu Du holding him down on the bed and making fun of him. If I really wanted to take you, there’s no point in calling for help.
Meanwhile, the Wu Du sitting in front of him is dressed in a well-fitted martial artist robe, and his hand over his cup is somehow slightly trembling.
“I’ve … forgotten.” Duan Ling’s heart races, so many memories are rushing back to his heart, but he has no idea what’s going on with himself, for he still remembers that poem —
— The mountains have trees oh the trees have boughs;
I have you in my heart oh but you don’t know.2
He thinks of meeting Wu Du for the first time, how Wu Du put together an antidote for him; in the Mu estate, how Wu Du helped him get the chance to go to school and attend the exams; on the Qinling Mountains, how Wu Du dressed up in armour and went to war for him; on Tongguan’s city wall, how Wu Du dragged his wounded body back to him, braving any danger to save him.
The headmaster once told them that this is “love”, and Duan Ling suddenly senses a different kind of love than what he feels for his father, or for his fellow students … His heart is a mess of emotions, unsure what he should say, and so he picks up his teacup immediately and takes a sip of tea.
When he lifts his gaze once more to meet Wu Du’s eyes, they both seem about to speak, and to stop; words lingering on their tongues. Duan Ling stares at Wu Du in a daze, his thoughts momentarily too complicated for words. Wu Du reaches beneath his lapel as if to take something out of his pocket, but then his hand slips and accidentally knocks over the teacup. The tea spills, flowing towards Duan Ling.
Wu Du quickly looks around for a cloth to wipe the table with, and Duan Ling says, “It’s fine.”
Wu Du makes Duan Ling move closer to the window and says, “I’ll call someone over to clean it up.”
“Waiter!” Wu Du calls out loudly.
From downstairs comes the sound of footsteps, and Duan Ling calms himself down, sitting there blankly — he wants to look up to look at Wu Du, but he feels too embarrassed to do so. He used to merely think that Wu Du is handsome, but now there seems to be something to his face that he had never noticed before; when he looks at him tonight, Wu Du seems better looking by the second.
Footsteps approach, and a figure comes up to the second floor, but it’s not the waiter. He enters the partition next to theirs.
The waiter follows him up and asks, “What would you like to have, sir?”
“I’m not having anything,” a voice answers.
When Duan Ling hears this voice he feels instantly thunderstruck; Wu Du’s expression is also filled with astonishment.
Lang Junxia!
What is Lang Junxia doing here?!
Lang Junxia is right there in the other partition, a single screen away behind Wu Du. Inside, Duan Ling’s mind is whirling, but Wu Du reaches out and puts his hand on the back of Duan Ling’s and shakes his head, There’s no need to be afraid. I’m here.
“A bowl of your signature wontons, and a cup of Pu’er.” Lang Junxia adds, “Bring them to the private booth next to mine.
“It’s your birthday today,” Lang Junxia says from behind the screen. “I’ve been too busy and haven’t had a chance to do anything. Try their wontons. They’re very good.”
Duan Ling doesn’t answer him. And so the three of them simply sit there peacefully.
All’s quiet; tea spreads along the table and drips off the edge, one droplet, then two, landing on the carpet the table it’s sitting on, creating a spreading, darkening spot.
Wu Du’s eyebrows are tightly knit. Soon, Duan Ling starts to say, “I don’t eat wontons anymore. It’s been a long time since I’ve last had them.”
“Worried they’re poisoned?” Lang Junxia says from behind the screen.
Wu Du takes a deep breath, and as he’s about to say something, Duan Ling tugs on his hand to signal he should not speak.
Someone else is coming up the stairs to the second floor, their voices reaching those upstairs before they come around the corner.
“Bring out another two bottles of your wine,” Zheng Yan’s voice says from downstairs, “and a cut of some high-quality beef.”
Wu Du turns quizzically to the stairs.
“There’s actually a private dining room upstairs?” Chang Liujun’s voice says.
Duan Ling is speechless. Why have they all shown up all of a sudden? Duan Ling doesn’t even know what to say.
Zheng Yan and Chang Liujun come up the stairs. Upon entering, he sees Duan Ling and Wu Du sitting across from each other and exclaims “aiyoh” in surprise, but he doesn’t ask them why they’re there. He and Zheng Yan take their seats in the partition Lang Junxia is already sitting in.
Duan Ling dips a finger in the tea and writes on the table, What’s going on?
Wu Du shakes his head to let him know he’s not sure. He points outside. Why don’t we just go?
But Duan Ling shakes his head to indicate he wants to stay and listen to what they’re going to talk about. Since all four assassins have gathered here, something important may actually be afoot.
“Excuse us.” Zheng Yan tips his head out from behind the screen and gives them a look, and smiling, he says, “Wu Du, apologies for interrupting your evening. I only made them come here because I really couldn’t think of anywhere else.”
Wu Du says, “It’s fine, just say whatever you’ve got to say.”
“It’s not anything too urgent, really,” Zheng Yan says. “We haven’t eaten all day, so let’s wait until we’ve filled up our stomachs.”
“Wang Shan, you didn’t go back to the estate? Where’s Mu Qing?” Chang Liujun too, peeks out from behind the screen to look Duan Ling over.
“I didn’t. He’s still with the Empress, so he’s probably been asked to stay for dinner.”
Bowls of noodles are brought upstairs and spread along the tables. There are two bowls of noodles on Wu Du and Duan Ling’s table, and there’s also a bowl of fresh shrimp wontons. Four kinds of river-food are lined up on top of the noodles, and several plum petals are floating on the soup.
“The noodle broth they use is a secret recipe,” Zheng Yan tells him with a smile, “made by simmering eel bones, duck cartilage, cow’s knee bone, north sea kelp, and plum blossoms pickled the year previous. Eaten with a single brined plum, it’s the best thing there is. Since we’re having noodles, we must have some fine wine to complete the flavour. Wu Du, would you two like a bottle?”
“Nah. We’re leaving as soon as the food is done. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Duan Ling feels rather awkward, but since both Chang Liujun and Zheng Yan are here, Lang Junxia probably won’t give him any trouble, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Wu Du seems a bit irritated however, and he’s restraining himself so as not to blow up.
The waiter finishes serving them their noodles, and bows to withdraw. Zheng Yan leaves one more instruction, “If we don’t call for you, there’s no need to come back upstairs.”
“Do you want to eat the wontons?” Wu Du asks Duan Ling.
Duan Ling shakes his head, and neither of them touch that bowl of wontons. Duan Ling takes a mouthful of the soup, and finds it truly delicious and not at all greasy. The noodles are bouncy with a nice bite, while the clams, shrimp, carp belly and crab meat are all fresh and tender — this noodle shop really does live up to its arrogant name.
“The reason I asked us to meet here today,” Lang Junxia says from behind the screen, “is because I would like to hear the opinion from each of you regarding several matters of note.”
“A certain someone was absent from the meeting in the Eastern Palace.” Zheng Yan says, “I presume you must have gone to make some inquiries.”
“To be quite honest,” Lang Junxia says, “I made a visit to the inn at the posthouse and found out something. I cannot take care of this on my own.”
All four stop what they’re doing to listen as Lang Junxia relates the matter he has found out.
“The Mongolian envoy is Khatanbaatar, but in reality, the person in charge within the diplomatic delegation is Amga. Their plans contain both distractions and their true intentions — Khatanbaatar operates in the open while Amga operates in the dark. They have another motive aside from celebrating the crown prince’s birthday.”
Zheng Yan replies, “Last evening in the Eastern Palace, I heard the Minister of Rites bringing up that Yuan is worried Liao would take revenge on them after the battle of Shangjing, and so they have a mind to ally with Chen in order to oppose Liao, coming to a mutual agreement with us and establishing friendly relations. Between Chen and Liao stands the ire of Shangzi, while between Chen and Yuan stands the feud of Shangjing. Of the three states, each considers the other two enemies. Chancellor Mu and the ministers spent a long time in discussion, but in the end were unable to come up with a solution.”
“What did His Majesty say?” Duan Ling asks suddenly.
“His Majesty didn’t say anything at all,” Zheng Yan replies.
Wu Du says, “Though the late emperor was not killed by the Mongolians, he died because of the battle of Shangjing. If the crown prince chooses to ally with Yuan at this time, I’m afraid His Majesty would say no.”
“That is so,” Lang Junxia replies, “but there is no such thing as a permanent enemy in the world. Post battle of Shangzi, all of our nation’s enmity was pointed at Liao, so how could anyone have imagined that the late emperor would lead troops back to Shangjing to save Yelü Dashi?”
Chang Liujun asks, “Wuluohou Mu, is this His Highness’s opinion, or is it your opinion?”
“Is it important whose opinion it is?” Zheng Yan says, “Borjigin Batu and His Highness are old childhood friends, and according to the rumours they’re sworn brothers, with the promise of Anda between them. Jochi and Batu were rescued and sent away from Shangjing by the late emperor as well. The Borjigins are hoping to establish friendly relations with Great Chen and use this opportunity to call a truce.”
Wu Du turns to Duan Ling. Duan Ling points at himself, nods, then a furrow appears between his brows and he spreads his hands open to indicate “the big picture” before he lightly brushes it aside. With a casual interpretation, Wu Du understands what Duan Ling means — it’s true they’re Anda, but decisions made between two nation states cannot be tainted by personal relationships.
“And so?” Chang Liujun says, “Do we make this alliance or not?”
“Then that will depend on you, Wuxiong.” Lang Junxia says, “His Majesty went out of his way to summon you to the Imperial Study today, and I presume it wasn’t to talk about the weather and inquire after your family’s health.”
Duan Ling thinks silently for a moment. Wu Du begins to speak, “His Majesty gave me something to take care of, but as for the details, it would not be appropriate for me to divulge”
“I’ll do it on your behalf” Zheng Yan says, “You’re the one who’s most cognisant of His Majesty’s thinking. So tell us.”
“We each serve our own master,” Wu Du says, “but since this has to do with the fate of the nation, there’s no harm in letting you know. It is regarding the whereabouts of the Zhenshanhe. His Majesty wants to trade for it with Kublai Khan’s sword.”
They all fall silent for a little while before Lang Junxia replies, “Well, that means His Majesty doesn’t want to negotiate an alliance. Chang Liujun, what are the Mongolians’ conditions for forming one?”
Chang Liujun meditates on this for a brief moment; though the others may not be aware of this, if they have a mind to find out, they’ll find out eventually — and it’s not any sort of secret either, so he starts to explain, “When the Mongolian envoy arrived in Jiangzhou three months ago, he made a visit to the chancellor. Khatanbaatar told him that the Zhenshanhe is in Yuan, but it’s not in Batu’s hands. If the two nations have a mind to form an alliance of brotherhood, the northern armies will need to withdraw from Mount Jiangjun and we’ll have to draw up a north-south trade route. Great Chen is to give up the cities of Ye and Hejian and draw them into Yuan territory.”
“Ye is a key city near the northern border,” Duan Ling says, “There’s no way we can give it up.”
“In exchange they would also give up a hundred and twenty miles of territory beneath Yubiguan. This way, once Chen and Yuan exchange territory, the Mongolians could be free to focus their attention on Liao, and slowly encroach their way south. If the imperial court forms this alliance with them, the two sides will trade cities, Yuan will return the Zhenshanhe, then we’ll have a marriage alliance to establish a century of peace and a promise to never make war.”
Zhenshanhe’s whereabouts are still unknown; one may surmise that there’s a high likelihood for it to be in Mongolian hands.
“Marriage alliance?” Wu Du says, “With whom? It wouldn’t be the Yaos again, would it? How many daughters does he have to marry off?”
There’s quite a bit of schadenfreude in Wu Du’s tone, and it’s instantly obvious to Duan Ling why Zheng Yan is so worried about it. Yao Zheng is a sovereign princess, but no matter who she’s to be married to, she wouldn’t want to marry her way to the north. If the imperial court really does agree to this, then all Yao Fu can do is to wave goodbye to his dear daughter in tears.
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Song of the Yue Boatman. ↩︎
