Joyful Reunion Vol. 2, page 28
“We’ll make our move today,” Wu Du said. “Take a nap. I’ll wake you once I’ve poisoned him, and we’ll take our leave during the commotion.”
“No.” Duan Ling immediately shot down the idea. “We can’t kill him now. Helian Da wants control over trade at Tong Pass; we just heard how big an army he has lurking nearby. If Bian Lingbai dies without paying his debts, Helian Da is sure to launch an attack, and Xichuan is right in the middle of moving the capital. If our defenses in the northwest fall now, the country will be thrown into chaos.”
Wu Du frowned. “So we’ll kill him and go back as fast as possible so we can tell Prime Minister Mu to send another general to hold the pass.”
“Send who, though?” Duan Ling asked. “If we kill Bian Lingbai today, one round trip to Xichuan—even on the fastest horse—will take six full days and nights. Too much can happen in six days.”
Wu Du grunted and lapsed into silence. When he noticed Duan Ling watching him expectantly, he snapped, “Well, you think of something! What’re you looking at me for? Didn’t I bring you along specifically to deal with stuff like this?”
Duan Ling contemplated the problem—and a brazen idea occurred to him. Helan Jie had gone after the mysterious assassin for revenge. The loss of a hand… Had the sword-wielding assassin been the one who cleaved off Helan Jie’s? If so, Helan Jie would be utterly determined in his pursuit; he would very likely be gone the whole seven days he’d declared. Seven days was more than enough time for Wu Du to make a round trip to Xichuan and return.
Helan Jie’s absence meant Duan Ling was temporarily safe. If Wu Du could deliver the ledger along with Duan Ling’s letter to Xichuan and urge Mu Kuangda to dispatch an imperial envoy who could broker an alliance with Helian Bo, then find a way to take control of Tong Pass’s garrison at the second Bian Lingbai died…
Chapter 74
WU DU WAS THE ONLY suitable man for the job, but what excuse could they give Bian Lingbai for his departure? It wouldn’t make sense for Wu Du to leave so suddenly without a good reason. In the end, Wu Du was the one to hit upon a solution; he told Duan Ling not to worry about it, and to focus on writing his letter.
Focus was what he sorely needed, because composing the letter took practically everything Duan Ling had learned in his life. He scraped every inch of his brain attempting to mimic the style Mu Kuangda used in his own memorials to the throne—which unfortunately gave his own writing the comical air of a young man trying to act old and mature. He drafted and tore up the letter, then drafted and tore it up again, over and over. Nothing sounded right, no matter how he phrased it. He needed to inform Mu Kuangda of the situation at Tong Pass and caution him adequately without sounding alarmist; he needed to put forward his sincere suggestions without Mu Kuangda detecting his tiny pinch of selfishness nor guessing that he shared a secret friendship with Helian Bo; and finally, he needed to provide a clear analysis of the relationships between Yao Fu, Bian Lingbai, and Helian Da.
Duan Ling organized his thoughts through his writing: Presently, Yao Fu and Bian Lingbai were in the same camp. Yao Fu had sent his niece Yao Jing to Bian Lingbai so she could be married into Helian Bo’s branch of the Western Liang royal family. However, Bian Lingbai and Helian Bo’s uncle had brokered a second agreement behind their backs—not only had Bian Lingbai betrayed Yao Fu, he also planned to have Helian Bo killed on the border between the two nations.
Should he mention Helan Jie’s murder of the late emperor? Duan Ling weighed the idea but ultimately decided against adding another complication. Next, he proposed his suggestion: Use this situation as an opportunity to forge an alliance with Helian Bo that would offer both sides significant benefits, including shared control of the Silk Road and the elimination of the rebellious Bian Lingbai. In this deal, management of the northern stretch of the Silk Road would be in Helian Bo’s hands, while the southern stretch would belong to Mu Kuangda and the Chen imperial court. Helian Da’s machinations would be exposed, Yao Fu’s plans would be foiled, and Bian Lingbai would die.
However, the instant Bian Lingbai died, the loan note Helian Da held for thousands of taels would become bad debt, which would likely trigger an immediate assault on Tong Pass. Helian Da would attempt to seize control of the border city and march his men south, or, at the very least, sack the city before retreating. Unless a plan to safely hand off military control was established in advance, Bian Lingbai could not be killed—but as the man intended to revolt, he nonetheless should be removed with all haste.
By the end of his letter, Duan Ling had resigned himself to Mu Kuangda tearing his memorial to shreds, or flipping his table with a furious shout upon reading it. What in the world was he suggesting?! Surely it would be impossible for any competent military commander to take charge of the entirety of Tong Pass in just seven days.
Then, as if from the heavens, a brilliant idea struck him: Was he not the ideal candidate for this last endeavor? Bian Lingbai had told everyone Duan Ling was his nephew, Bian Rong. Given this, should his “uncle” meet with an untimely demise, Duan Ling would be in an ideal position to wield Bian Lingbai’s military token and rally the troops to avenge him. Though this might be a strategy of last resort, Duan Ling nonetheless included it in his letter for Mu Kuangda’s assessment. Once he finished, he handed the letter to Wu Du, who barely glanced at it. He merely skimmed through the ledger and shooed Duan Ling out the door to join him as he bade Bian Lingbai farewell.
Bian Lingbai had already had quite a night. Dragged out of bed yet again by Wu Du, he regarded them both with a look of pure misery.
“I have some business to take care of,” Wu Du informed him.
Bleary-eyed, Bian Lingbai stared at them without speaking.
Wu Du added, “I’m leaving Zhao Rong in your care. If anything happens to him, I’ll take your thrice-damned life.”
With that, he darted out of the room.
Bian Lingbai sat with a blank look as he took a second to fully process Wu Du’s words, then jolted in surprise. He turned to the sour-looking Duan Ling.
“…Where’s he going?”
“He said he’s searching for something called the Guardian of the Realm,” Duan Ling answered.
Bian Lingbai stared at Duan Ling in sleepy confusion for another moment before understanding dawned on him. “Where’s he even going to look? It’s been lost for a year now.”
“It might be…because of the assassin from last night?” Duan Ling ventured.
Bian Lingbai paced the length of the hall, shaking his head. “No, that can’t be.”
“What’s the Guardian of the Realm?” Duan Ling asked.
“The late emperor’s sword,” Bian Lingbai answered. “Ever since his death in the Mongols’ invasion of Shangjing—”
Though Duan Ling had heard it before, he felt a pang in his chest when Bian Lingbai said it aloud.
“—the Guardian has been lost,” Bian Lingbai finished. “Unless last night’s assassin was from Yuan? Hm…”
“How did the late emperor die? Who killed him?” Duan Ling asked.
“You don’t know?” Bian Lingbai gave him a perplexed look.
Since he was already up and awake, Bian Lingbai ordered breakfast to be served. Seated together at the table, he and Duan Ling ate their rice porridge. Bian Lingbai had formed a good impression of this fake nephew of his. After all, the boy had traveled all the way to Tong Pass to meet him and resolved his debt crisis in one fell swoop. He’d bristled at the constant presence of Wu Du, but now that that eyesore was gone, he could have a genuine chat with the boy.
“The late emperor was a real man,” Bian Lingbai said. “To save Yelü Dashi, he marched his forces all the way to Shangjing, only to fall into Helan Jie’s ambush and ultimately perish from exhaustion. In all my life, I’ve feared nothing and no one—except for him.”
“Helan Jie is the one who…?”
“Mm-hmm.” Bian Lingbai scanned the courtyard, somewhat forlorn. “It’ll be the seventh day of the seventh month in seven days. Do you see? I took in that assassin because I’ve got no other way out at this point. If I don’t strike the Mu family first, they’ll come for me sooner or later.”
The Mu family is coming for you as we speak, Duan Ling thought. This guy is too slow on the uptake. Despite his internal musings, he said, “You don’t need to fear the prime minister, Uncle. Unearth the treasure and we’ll have plenty of money. We won’t need the court’s salaries.”
Bian Lingbai shook his head with a wry smile and chuckled quietly as he sipped his porridge.
“Why did Helan Jie kill the late emperor?” Duan Ling asked.
“Now that, I don’t know. That guy is…”
Duan Ling tensed with anticipation.
But Bian Lingbai seemed to catch himself, reconsidering his words: “…a desperate man. After assassinating the late emperor, he fled to Western Liang. But they didn’t dare shelter him, so he fled here to Tong Pass. Ay…”
Listening to his heavy sigh, Duan Ling almost sympathized with him. Though he wanted to press forward with more questions, delving too deeply might arouse Bian Lingbai’s suspicions.
When they’d set aside their bowls, Bian Lingbai turned to Duan Ling. “Well, now that it’s only the two of us left in the manor, go tidy up. I’ll call you in a bit, and we’ll go for a ride.”
Assuming Bian Lingbai wanted to check whether his treasure had been disturbed, Duan Ling readily agreed. Just as he was about to leave the table, Bian Lingbai asked, “Do you have any other uncles?”
Duan Ling shook his head. “The whole Zhao family is gone.”
“Then I’ll be your real uncle from now on. We’ll tell the others you’re my elder brother’s son, who came to Tong Pass to seek refuge with me.”
While Duan Ling nodded gratefully, inwardly he thought, My real uncle is in Xichuan. Careful: Once you’re a ghost too, my grandpa’ll beat the crap out of you.
After staying up all night, Duan Ling could hardly keep his eyes open. The instant he returned to his room and lay down in bed, he passed out, dead to the world. Time passed unmarked as he slumbered, and somewhere deep in his dreams, the melody of “Joyful Reunion” echoed once again.
It was strange. Duan Ling had heard this tune played by four different people: Lang Junxia, Xunchun, Li Jianhong, and Wu Du. The two occasions it had resonated with him most deeply were his first day at Ming Academy and that final time in Xichuan. The entire world had seemed to hold its breath, the stillness breeding a quiet loneliness in Duan Ling’s heart as he’d leaned against the door and listened to Wu Du play.
Lang Junxia.
The name made Duan Ling shudder whenever he remembered it. He refused to let himself think of that person’s face—let alone his name. He rolled onto his side, unconsciously reaching out, but his hand didn’t find Wu Du beside him. He opened his eyes. The flute’s melody lingered in his ears as though it was real, but the moment he woke, the music had stopped.
Wu Du wasn’t there.
It was the first time in all these months he’d been parted from Wu Du. Whenever Duan Ling was awake, whether Wu Du was training outside in the yard, watering the flowers in the garden, or tidying up the room, he was always there. But now, only an empty room greeted him when he opened his eyes. He found himself strangely unsettled as the sun’s dying light filtered in.
Today was the first day. There were still six more to go.
Duan Ling sat up and stared blankly out into the courtyard. Autumn had arrived, bringing a somber desolation to Tong Pass as the first wave of yellow leaves crackled in the wind, skittering off their branches and drifting down onto the ground.
“Wu Du…” Duan Ling mumbled.
“What?” Wu Du replied out of nowhere, startling Duan Ling badly. He crouched, seated on his haunches, at the foot of the bed.
“You’re not gone yet?!” Duan Ling exclaimed.
“Shh.” Clad once more in his black clothes, Wu Du put a finger to his lips. His gaze swept over Duan Ling and darted around the room, alert.
“I couldn’t help worrying,” Wu Du said. “Why don’t we go together after all?”
“I can’t,” Duan Ling said.
Wu Du frowned. “It’s too dangerous here. I really can’t leave you behind.”
“If we both leave, then what about Bian Lingbai?”
“I mixed a dose of Seven-Day Mania into his porridge,” Wu Du replied. “It should cause him to have a seizure, foam at the mouth, and die bleeding from his seven orifices. If we head back to Xichuan now, we can still make it in time.”
“What if Prime Minister Mu has other plans?” Duan Ling asked. “Not to mention Helan Jie will be coming back.”
“And what if he finds you here and kills you?” Wu Du countered. “What will I do then?”
For some reason, Wu Du’s words made Duan Ling’s heart race. He knew Wu Du was genuinely weighing their options. Whenever Wu Du got serious, he became calm, displaying none of his usual impatience.
Brows knit in a slight frown, Wu Du continued, “The first thing I did when I left the hall was poison his porridge, then check if he’d eaten it. I was worried he’d come after you the second I was gone.”
“But look, I’m fine, aren’t I?” Duan Ling said. He turned his eyes toward the yard and asked, “Where did he head off to?”
“He’s talking to Mister Fei right now. He’ll be coming to fetch you soon,” Wu Du said.
“Do you still remember what the late emperor told you?” Duan Ling asked. “‘There are some things you must do, even if it means certain death.’”
Wu Du fell silent. His eyes were deep and beautiful, and his brows had taken on a slight arch as he gazed at Duan Ling. He chuckled. “You’ve got guts. But even the most careful man can make mistakes—you forgot something, did you realize that?”
“What?” Duan Ling asked, racking his brain.
“What will Bian Lingbai do if he realizes his secret ledger is missing?” Wu Du said.
Shocked, Duan Ling muttered, “You’re right, I messed up—I should’ve put a copy back in its place. It’s too late now, though. If he asks, we’ll just have to play dumb. Without solid evidence he’ll have to relent.”
“Mister Fei already forged one for you. I stuck it in the hidden chamber earlier this afternoon,” Wu Du said.
Oh, thank heavens! Duan Ling’s back was soaked in cold sweat.
“I was already out of the city when I remembered,” Wu Du added. “I turned back to deal with it—and to let you know.”
Wu Du stared pointedly at Duan Ling, and Duan Ling laughed.
“So…” Wu Du trailed off.
Duan Ling was sitting up in bed looking mildly dazed, dressed only in his snow-white underrobe and trousers.
Wu Du gave him another once-over before saying, “I’m off, then.”
“You… Be careful. Go safely,” Duan Ling said.
“I know you can use a bow. Run if there’s danger. Keep yourself safe,” Wu Du instructed him. “And you…be careful too.”
Wu Du was a tall man, but he crouched low as they stared at each other, the silence between them broken only by their soft breathing. Outside in the yard, a single leaf detached from its branch and fluttered through the air before alighting on the flower bushes. Disturbed by its landing, a nearby bee buzzed into flight.
Without another word, Wu Du hopped off the bed and dashed out the door. He hooked a hand on the eave and leapt up, vanishing over the rooftop.
Duan Ling sat at a bit of a loss, words long unspoken drawn from him by their parting. Memories of that other voice crashed over him like a tidal wave, bringing with them his once-endless sorrow—yet, like the tide, the waves that had surged into his heart also gently receded.
Chapter 75
“HYAH!”
Wu Du rode at a gallop, spurring his horse through the narrow mountain paths of the Tong Pass and into the plains as dusk fell. The road back to Xichuan was straightforward; it would take him two and a half days, and if all went smoothly, three days more to scale the mountains and hills again, returning to the Tong Pass.
The sinking sun dyed the land a deep red as it disappeared below the endless hills stretching to the horizon, where shadows intermingled and overlapped among the mountain range. Wu Du didn’t know when the change had started, but gradually, he’d found he no longer enjoyed the night. Every evening, as darkness descended, it carried with it a sense of desolation around the day’s impending end. He’d grown used to walking under the sun before he knew it, and now felt reluctant to return to the shadows.
A familiar voice seemed to ring in his ears: You are an assassin. An assassin knows no day, only the night.
He urged his horse onward in pursuit of the last streaks of light on the western horizon, rushing as though he could outrun the dark. He chased the waning rays until the sun sank beyond the mountains, leaving the sky overhead a brilliant shade of blue and plunging him into a tranquil, vibrant dream. He still remembered how he’d disliked the daytime when he was little. He’d only liked the night; he was safest when he was one with darkness. Yet somehow, things were different now. He would much rather stay in the light of day—it was livelier, more fun. When that brat woke up in the mornings, he would smile and chatter and bustle about, and the world would come alive with him.
And at night, once that brat fell asleep, it was as though Wu Du returned to his own world—a world that wasn’t filled with their conversations—to watch over that closed door until Duan Ling woke again, spoke with him again. Another day would pass, and they would go to bed, and the door would shut once more.
It was a cycle, reminiscent of a western clock he’d once seen in Zhao Kui’s manor, some foreign country’s tribute. When the clock’s hands indicated a certain time, a little door would open, and a miniature figure would emerge to chirp cuckoo-cuckoo. Wu Du had found it hilarious the first time he saw it—but the figure only emerged on the designated hour. Whenever Wu Du passed by the room with the clock, he would stand still and wait for the little time-telling figure to come out.
