Chapter 42

Xie Ci thought of his childhood friend, Zhang Ningyuan—the one who, after Xie Ci’s escape from prison, went on a hunger strike to beg his uncle, Minister Zhang, to intercede for the women of the Xie family, and secretly used coded messages on yellow proclamations to send Xie Ci news. Zhang Ningyuan was truly a good friend, sincere and loyal, but in his youth, he once made a grave mistake.

Handsome and fond of mingling with beautiful women, Zhang Ningyuan was ever the gentleman to both his own sisters and the noble ladies of the capital. He was sought after by all the courtesans of the Eight Alleys, admired by young ladies from both prominent and humble families, and, as long as the affection was mutual, he welcomed every romance with open arms.

Yet, frequent walks by the river, and eventually one’s shoes get wet. In the early winter of his sixteenth year, he truly fell in love. The girl’s background was unremarkable—a minor branch of a fifth-rank official’s family—but she was brave and passionate, burning with an all-consuming fire. At the height of his love, Zhang Ningyuan confessed everything to his parents, kneeling in the ancestral hall for three days and nights, suffering injuries all over his body.

But how could a direct nephew of the Minister, heir to the Marquis of Xiangcheng, marry the daughter of a mere incense and paper merchant? His father, long ill and bedridden, grew gravely worse after a fit of rage, nearly dying; his mother, normally so strong, wept bitterly and fell ill herself. Inevitably, Zhang Ningyuan could not hold out. Kneeling by his parents’ sickbed, he compromised. He swore never to see the girl again and promised that henceforth he would marry only as his parents and matchmakers decreed.

Half a month later, he was betrothed to the virtuous legitimate daughter of the Duke of Ping’s household. Everyone thought the matter was thus resolved—Zhang Ningyuan composed himself and put aside his feelings. Whether openly or behind the scenes, the Zhang family made many compensations to the girl and her family. In the end, all appeared well; the girl’s family, with much persuasion, soon arranged another marriage for her.

It was a good match: a harmonious household, a diligent husband. Yet, on her wedding day, the girl leapt from her flower sedan, stood atop the high railing of Tongji Bridge, and threw herself off. With her life, she buried the love that had seared itself into her soul.

Xie Ci suddenly remembered Zhang Ningyuan’s ever-smiling face stricken with panic, all of them present at the time—No, I didn’t know, I didn’t know it would end like this! What he thought was merely a youthful affair left a scar on a life.

Xie Ci quickened his pace. Comparing himself to Zhang Ningyuan, he suddenly saw things clearly. He finally understood—he loved her. Unknowingly, imperceptibly, the feeling had seeped into his very soul.

He did not know when it began—perhaps very, very early. Even that fleeting moment of emotion when he looked up in prison had left a memory that would never fade. Only, back then, he didn’t have the heart to consider it.

“I find that every day is vivid in my mind,” he thought. Every moment spent with her, memories spinning with the changing world—whether grief, sorrow, or a sudden stirring of the heart—all remain so clear. “I have not forgotten a single thing.”

He was nearly eighteen. At sixteen, a man comes of age; his eldest brother met his sister-in-law at this age, his second brother two years later, even his father had saved his mother and arranged their betrothal at this age.

Morning light broke through the billowing smoke, casting golden rays on his hands and body. Xie Ci halted, turned his head, and said softly, “I think—I must love her. I want to live and die together, to be with her through heaven and earth, never parting.”

He finally understood. Smiling gently, he thought, the road ahead may still be hard, but remembering all of you, I feel no fear. Qin Ying, too, could not help but smile—this was as it should be.

Xie Ci’s eyes shone brightly. He stepped back, bowed deeply to his second sister-in-law, then straightened swiftly and strode forward, mounting his horse in one fluid motion.

The strong black steed neighed and pranced. Xie Ci reined it in, his tall, lean form upright in the saddle. Raising his eyes, he gazed at the massed cavalry and infantry, their black armor stretching like a tide to the distant mountains, a boundless sea of steel and horses.

Xie Ci gripped the reins tightly. He knew what he must do now: become stronger. Only by gaining strength could he protect those he wished to protect. He had already experienced the suffocating terror of helplessness twice—he never wanted to face it a third time.

Far ahead, Qin Guan nodded slightly to him. Xie Ci nodded in return. With swift, wordless coordination, the command banner was unfurled and pointed northeast.

Xie Ci’s voice rang out: “Flying Zhai Camp, White Plume Camp, listen up! Target: Malian Pass—advance at full speed!” Wheeling his horse, he galloped ahead.

The cavalry and infantry surged after him, billowing dust and shaking the earth as they swept northeast.

Meanwhile, Gu Wan and Xun Xiao had already left the main army, riding hard toward Guzang Mountain.

Within the army, Qin Wenxuan had followed Gu Wan the whole way, but the man’s heart was as hard as iron—Xun Xiao never appeared, and Gu Wan, helpless, had to persuade her to return. As Gu Wan rode away, she looked back one last time to see the young woman still waiting forlornly on horseback.

But now was not the time for such concerns. Gu Wan adjusted her helmet, zigzagging along with the cavalry until she reached a bend in the road. Taking advantage of the dim light, she plunged into dense grass and brush, quietly leaving the army behind.

Pressing on, she finally caught sight of Xun Xiao’s silhouette. He was waiting beneath a tree on a grassy slope, having changed into a gray hooded cloak. Hearing hoofbeats, he did not turn, but tossed a bundle onto Gu Wan’s head.

She caught it and opened it—women’s clothes, a jacket and trousers, slightly damp and worn, dark red top with olive green pants. What sort of combination was this? Gu Wan ducked into the grass, quickly changed, bundled her helmet and armor in a large parcel on her saddle, then urged her horse forward—only to see Xun Xiao gazing down at a pale indigo silk undergarment.

—Gu Wan recognized it at once: the very one used to provoke Xun Xiao. After dealing with Huang Shiwei’s guards, he had gone searching for the skull and this garment. Fortunately, Gu Wan had confirmed the skull did not belong to a middle-aged woman. In the end, he had found the undergarment, its collar embroidered with entwined patterns, and brought it back.

The yellow earth and dust had been wiped from the garment as best as possible, and the creases smoothed with care. Gu Wan said, “Let’s go,” and rode forward. Xun Xiao, head bowed, carefully folded the undergarment, wrapped it in a clean cloth, and hung it on his saddle.

Gu Wan asked softly, “Was that your mother’s?” Xun Xiao glanced at her and nodded.

Their relationship had indeed improved. Before, Xun Xiao would never have looked at this garment while waiting for her, nor would he have left his hands and face unconcealed.

“Is Luo Qian all right?” Gu Wan asked.

“He’s been injured, but nothing serious.”

After a brief exchange, they spurred their horses east, finally reaching Gujian Mountain by afternoon. They climbed the winding, rugged ridges, and when they reached the peak, they could look out over the undulating mountains and the distant Guiyi River.

March was ending; the mountains were cloaked in somber hues, storm clouds gathering on the horizon, and the long-delayed spring rains finally approaching. To the north, beyond towering mountain barriers, stretched endless grasslands—the territory of the Northern Rong. To the south, the mountains twisted and rolled. From their vantage, they could see a winding mountain path, not leading to Guanzhong, but connecting Longzhou with the rear of Xiangzhou and Suzhou.

Perched on the summit, their garments fluttering in the wind, Xun Xiao finally spoke: “My mother died after being abducted, on her way back to Suzhou from visiting her family.”

The incident had occurred in these very mountains. Xun Xun was still the governor of Suzhou at the time; the dynasty prided itself on filial piety, but this was not the first nor the last such incident. Lady Pei’s abduction did not happen in Suzhou. Her family was from Longzhou; she was returning from ancestral rites when she was attacked, abducted, and killed. To this day, Xun Xiao had never found her body.

But she was surely dead. Xun Xun, not knowing Xun Xiao lived, would never leave such a threat unburied.

Xun Xiao brought this up today because, in addition to Luo Qian, his followers had uncovered the route those “bandits” had used to attack the caravan and abduct Lady Pei—it must have passed through Guiyi Prefecture.

Staring at the rolling mountains, the wind whipped off his gray hood, and his voice was hoarse, laced with a hatred that cut to the bone. “The mastermind must have had help from the Northern Rong to pull off such a seamless plot.

The governor of Longzhou and the Xun family had been at odds since before Xun Xiao and Xun Xun were even born. For factional reasons, the governor was closer to Lu Xinyi and Zheng Shoufang. A little leniency from above, and the bandits could abduct a woman, then, in their flight, run into the Northern Rong’s foraging parties and pass her along—a tragedy, but not unheard of.

No wonder Xun Xiao’s hatred for the mastermind was as deep as Xun Xun’s.

Yet Xun Xiao was only stating facts about Guiyi Prefecture, showing no intention of revealing emotion. Abruptly, he turned away, face hidden, and after a brief, heavy breath, turned back, his profile cold: “Let’s go.”

The fleeting emotion vanished, replaced by his usual cold, hard, faintly mocking self.

Gu Wan scratched her head—he clearly didn’t want to discuss it, so she didn’t pry into his privacy. Fine. She tugged her horse down the mountain, determined to find out what was really happening in Guiyi Prefecture.

Their time was less constrained than Xie Ci’s, but since they knew little of Guiyi’s situation, they hurried on. Leading their horses through dense forest, they remounted halfway down and rode straight for Guiyi Prefecture.

Guiyi Prefecture, though called a “prefecture,” was really no bigger than a county. Tucked into the southwestern foothills of Guzang Mountain, its hills and valleys were home to Qiang, Di, and Krit tribes and their descendants, now in their second or third generation. Why had they suddenly rebelled?

Before setting out, Zheng Ying had come to her privately, hesitating for a long time before saying, “Miss Gu, I don’t know why this has happened. You—” He was of mixed Di blood, not from Guiyi, but since Marshal Xie’s time, all the tribes had been more loyal than ever. He, too, was caught completely off guard.

Gu Wan patted his shoulder. “I’ll take a good look.” Zheng Ying nodded gratefully.

She and Xun Xiao raced over hills and through rain, finally reaching Guiyi. After donning straw hats and raincapes, they abandoned their horses, slipped over a ridge, and entered from a spot far from the main gate.

Although called a prefecture, Guiyi was barely the size of a county. Amid the drumming rain, all was eerily quiet—almost no one was about. Gu Wan and Xun Xiao exchanged glances; panic rose in her chest. Had they already set out? Impossible, it was too soon!

They dashed through the downpour, dodging between thatched huts and brick houses, making for the central clan grounds and the big storage cellar. There, they spotted several Han-dressed Northern Rong men, whom Xun Xiao quickly dispatched.

Gu Wan rushed up to the storeroom, spent some time unlocking it, and found it stacked with grain newly brought from the Northern Rong.

How could she be sure it was theirs? Apart from the style, most of it was the grassland’s signature dried beef and mutton, with piles of furs, and, at the edge, many young livestock penned together, squealing in the rain, with fresh fodder and some shriveled old grain.

Gu Wan knelt, picked up and rubbed some of the old grain—though shriveled and poor, it had been carefully stored, and only enough to keep the livestock alive had been set aside. Clearly, whoever had done so cherished every kernel.

The young animals were carefully matched for breeding, obviously meant to be raised as sustainable herds. Gu Wan began to understand.

—For years, the northwest had suffered: spring brought either floods or drought, then summer downpours. Looking out the door, she saw scattered terraces where millet and wheat seedlings, battered by rain, lay flattened against the mud.

Leaving the storehouse, she entered a peasant home, lifted the pot lid, and found it false—the stove had been hollowed out, hiding seven or eight children. A woman tended them, with meager food and a water jar. All the children were gaunt, their eyes enormous with hunger and fear. Startled by the light, they looked up in terror.

“The northwest has had bad years for several in a row. Disaster relief grain from the south is sent everywhere, but none ever reaches Guiyi. For two years, there’s been no harvest. Starving beyond endurance, the people fell prey to the Northern Rong.”

Xun Xiao entered, sword in hand, the rain having washed the blood away. “With this downpour, some Northern Rong have already led the people over the mountains to dig at the riverbank.”

Water was hard to bring to the mountains, but over the ridge lay the Lianshui River, a branch of the Wu River. In Guiyi, there were seventy-nine thousand able-bodied men and women over the age of twelve, all armed by the Northern Rong.

With the recent rains, the Northern Rong had led them to dig at the dike—Guiyi’s location made this move devastatingly effective.

The Northern Army’s commander had the power to conscript these tribesmen in wartime. Who could have predicted that, once conscripted, Guiyi would turn its weapons against them?

So that explained it. Gu Wan finally pieced together the cause of the great defeat. “What now? Is there a way to resolve this? Should we rush over and stop them from breaking the dike?”

She should have been anxious, but Xun Xiao’s expression, tinged with mockery and something else, was all too familiar—a look he wore only in his clashes with Xie Ci.

Gu Wan: …

“Too late,” Xun Xiao said. “So many people, each with a hoe, could break through the dike easily. Unless something unexpected happened, they were probably waiting for the right moment. As it happens, Xie Ci and Qin Guan, if they escape, will head straight this way. The sudden appearance of a Wei army will surely prompt the Northern Rong to send Guiyi’s tribesmen against them.”

Xun Xiao’s lips curled coldly. “There’s only one person who can resolve this rebellion.”

Gu Wan understood at once—Xie Ci!

Years ago, Xie Xinchong treated all tribes fairly, petitioned the court for new policies, and gave them opportunities for advancement. The gratitude of the northern tribes was profound—just look at Zheng Ying. With Xie Xinchong gone, their fortunes had plummeted.

Xie Ci, as his trueborn son, would inherit all their gratitude, especially after Xie Xinchong’s unjust death.

But the problem was—Xie Ci only knew of Guiyi’s rebellion, and was about to strike at the Northern Army’s flank.

If he raised his hand against the tribes, it would become an inescapable deadlock.

“Even sending a message now would be too late.” Wiping his sword blade on a millet stalk, Xun Xiao sheathed it. “Guess—what will he do?”

He gave a cold laugh. “Of course, whether he can arrive in time is another question.”

Gu Wan: …

After all, they were cousins—was there really a need to set each other up like this? If Xie Ci fell, Xun Xiao would suffer, too! Gu Wan rolled her eyes, carefully replaced the pot lid so as not to frighten the children further, and strode outside. “He’ll get here in time.”

If it was just this, she could rest easy. She adjusted the locks on the storeroom, bolted doors and windows from the outside—having seen her, the children should stay hidden for a day or two.

Rain crashed from the eaves as Gu Wan stepped into the puddles, a confident smile on her pale, lovely face beneath her conical hat. “I don’t need to guess—Xie Ci will see through the plot and reclaim Guiyi!”

Will you bet on it?

Leading a Northern Rong horse, she mounted up, rain pattering on her hat. “Since that’s the case, let’s go meet him.”

Her brows sparkled with self-assurance, even pride. Xun Xiao raised a cold eyebrow, sneered, “Then I’ll wait and see.”

“Just watch!” Gu Wan retorted, draping the Northern Rong cloak over her shoulders, snapping her whip. Mud splashed as she galloped for the gate.

Author’s note:
Gu Wan: The people I’ve raised—how could I not know them?
Xie Ci: I must work hard, take my revenge, and win my bride!
Xun Xiao: Pitiful, full of sorrow, and no wife~