Chapter Nine: The Past Has Turned to Dust

Li Chang and Jiang Zhenyuan were both utterly astonished. Mingchu, who had been playing the flute, heard the sudden shout and was just as confused.

“Big Beard, what are you yelling about?”

Li Chang didn’t answer, his gaze shifting uncertainly between Mingchu and Wuxuan. Wuxuan strode into the courtyard. Yuewu put down her bucket and walked over to stand beneath the parasol tree. Mingchu had already nimbly climbed down from the tree.

“Danruo… Are you Danruo?” Wuxuan’s eyes were full of shock, his outstretched hand trembling in the air. Yuewu calmly scrutinized him.

Mingchu was a little at a loss. “Danruo? Sir, you must be mistaken. I’m not Danruo. My name is Mingchu.”

“Mingchu, Mingchu… How can the resemblance be so striking? No, no, you can’t be Danruo. Danruo has long been dead.” Wuxuan staggered backward, shaking his head vigorously before collapsing to the ground, as if all strength had suddenly left him.

“Chief, are you all right?” Li Chang stepped up to ask.

“Big Beard, you must be mistaken. Who’s Danruo? Her name is Mingchu, and she’s my sister,” Jiang Zhenyuan tried to explain.

Wuxuan’s head hung low. Jiang Zhenyuan crouched down and, to his surprise, discovered Wuxuan’s face was wet with tears.

“Hey, aren’t you a hero of the grasslands? How can you cry?”

Mingchu looked puzzled. “Sir, what’s wrong? Who is Danruo?”

Yunxi and the old nurse, who had been cooking, now stood aside, watching. A flicker of panic flashed in the old nurse’s eyes.

After a long moment, they heard Wuxuan speak, his voice hoarse and thick with emotion: “Danruo, Princess of the Yue clan, has been dead… for fifteen years.”

Thirty-one years ago, on a midsummer night, the Yue Queen gave birth to a baby girl. In that instant, a strange fragrance filled the room, and wolves across the grasslands howled in unison.

The infant had a red birthmark between her brows. She smiled instead of crying at birth, and was named Danruo. The chieftain, Wuzhuo, already had three sons but no daughter. Danruo’s arrival filled him with joy.

At that time, our Yue people ruled the grasslands, and the Jie Hu bowed their heads in submission. Danruo became the most beloved little princess of the steppe.

Danruo was lively and mischievous, fond of laughter and song, with none of the delicacy expected of little girls. She loved to ride the wildest horses; she could outdrink a whole crowd.

And when each silent night descended on the grasslands, everyone could hear her singing. On nights when the moon was full and gentle, she would dance barefoot beneath it, the little bells on her wrists tinkling brightly.

On the vast and lonely steppe, if one saw a girl in a red dress twirling in the moonlight, dazzling and dreamlike, it could only be Danruo—the moon shone for her.

Often the wolves would follow her scent, lying affectionately by her side, never harming her. Wolves were the enemies of the steppe folk, cruel and greedy, but Danruo had saved many from their jaws.

The bright moon was her lamp; she was the dream of the steppe people.

The Yue people had always been devout. The little princess was born with mysterious gifts and was revered as a saintess.

Wuzhuo, the queen, and her three brothers all loved her dearly. The little princess lived a carefree life. Wuzhuo adored the culture of the Central Plains and taught his children to read and write Chinese, to speak the language.

He longed for peace with the Central Plains, for an end to war, hoping both sides could trade tea and horses, and that the people would no longer suffer from conflict.

The little princess loved beauty and admired the dresses of Central Plains women. On her sixteenth birthday, Wuzhuo promised to lead the tribe himself to exchange goods, and to buy her the wide-sleeved, joyous dress she had always wanted.

In the ninth autumn of Chengxuan’s reign, Wuzhuo led his people through Zhao Pass. When their business was done and they were about to leave, city officials invited him to a banquet.

Wuzhuo had always acted with integrity and saw no reason to refuse. Little did he know that the official Zhao Mengliang had conspired with the Jie, and, with the help of Yetan, ambushed and killed the unsuspecting Wuzhuo. Over a hundred who accompanied him were massacred.

The Jie had long been restless and resented Yue rule. Yetan bribed Zhao Mengliang with gold. When news of Wuzhuo’s death reached the Yue people, grief enveloped them as though they had lost a father or brother.

At this moment, the Jie launched their attack. The Yue, long at peace, had grown weak in battle and suffered heavy casualties. The little princess and the queen, learning of Wuzhuo’s death, refused to be defiled by the Jie. They took their own lives in the tent. The fire that broke out reduced their bodies to ashes.

Wuxuan’s voice grew softer, his eyes gradually unfocused. “I am Danruo’s third brother. I was out hunting at the time. When I returned, I saw nothing but bodies, everywhere.

My kin, all gone in that massacre. Only I was left alive, a lonely wandering soul.”

“Our home destroyed, our loved ones dead, our tribe scattered.”

Wuxuan finished his tale, and all who heard it were moved to sorrow. Yunxi was already wiping her eyes; the old nurse wept the hardest. Only Li Chang and Yuewu remained impassive.

Jiang Zhenyuan shouted, “That bastard Zhao Mengliang! He makes my blood boil! Where is he? I’ll teach him a lesson!”

Yuewu noticed Mingchu’s expression was odd. “Miss, what’s wrong?”

Mingchu ventured, “Uncle, you said Princess Danruo had a red mark between her brows, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“My mother has a red mark between her brows, too.” Mingchu frowned deeply, trying to untangle her troubled thoughts.

Wuxuan lunged forward, gripping Mingchu’s shoulders. “What did you say? Say that again!”

Yuewu frowned and pushed Wuxuan away.

Mingchu’s face had gone pale; she felt as if a string in her mind was being pulled tighter and tighter, nearly to the breaking point.

Suddenly, she said, “I have a portrait of my mother.” Mingchu rushed to the old nurse. “Where did you put it? Please bring it out.”

The old nurse suddenly fell to her knees, tears streaming down her wrinkled face. “Miss, there’s no need for the portrait. Your mother was Danruo herself—she was the little princess of the Yue clan. She wouldn’t let me tell you, all so you could live a peaceful life. She didn’t want you to know about the past, only for you to grow up happy.”

With a sharp snap, the string broke.

Jiang Zhenyuan leapt up. “What is this? This is too much! A songstress turns out to be a princess? Ridiculous!” Li Chang shot him a look, signaling for him to be quiet.

Mingchu slowly crouched down, gazing straight at the old nurse. “But, Nanny, wasn’t my mother’s name Yiliu?”

“What! Danruo… Is Danruo still alive? Where is she?” Wuxuan seemed to wake from a long dream, springing to his feet.

His eyes grew wide, the lingering tears now replaced by an eager, feverish light. Without waiting for anyone’s answer, he began to search wildly through every room, calling out Danruo’s name.

Standing at the doorway, Yunxi was nearly knocked over. “What is going on?” she muttered, nervously wringing her cleaning cloth.

Mingchu held the old nurse’s hand, watching Wuxuan dart in and out of the rooms, calling loudly for Danruo. Her nose stung with emotion. “Nanny, please, tell me everything.”

At last, Li Chang, who had been silent all this time, spoke: “If any of us wishes to know the whole story, I believe the best course is to ask the prince himself.”