Joyful Reunion Vol. 2, page 48
Table of Contents
Color Gallery
Title Page
Copyrights and Credits
Arc 2: A Thousand Cups of Wine Drained Dry
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
To Be Continued
Character Guide and Glossary
About the Author
Back Cover
Footnotes
Newsletter
Chapter 38
ON THE SEVENTH DAY of the seventh month, the Yuan army breached the walls of Shangjing and massacred tens of thousands inside the city.
On the seventh day of the seventh month, the Han and Khitan reinforcements arrived and engaged Ögedei’s army in a heated battle within the city walls. The loss of their general Li Jianhong forced the Southern Chen army into a temporary retreat, but the Khitan he had led there were aflame with determination to defeat the Mongols—or at least go down with them. With only their bodies as their shields, they swarmed Shangjing. Southern Chen’s army retrieved their general’s body the following day, and forty thousand grief-ridden soldiers charged back into the fray.
Not an inch of Shangjing was unmarred by battle, the entire city nearly razed to the ground. Two hundred thousand civilians met their ends—if not under a rain of arrows, then on the blades of the Mongol soldiers.
Two days after the Mongols entered the city, the Liao reinforcements from Zhongjing finally arrived. After suffering a great loss to these fresh forces, the Yuan army retreated toward the vast wilderness in the north. The Khitan soldiers, mad with bloodlust, chased the fleeing soldiers eighty li from Shangjing to the Bailu Plains, where Ögedei regrouped and launched a fierce counterattack. The battle’s aftermath was bloody beyond imagining; corpses littered the wide plain.
The push and pull between the two forces persisted for half a month, the conflict stretching from Shangjing to the western Xianbei Mountains. Cities burned, and nine out of ten families in the north were forced to flee from their homes.
On the night of the Qixi Festival, when Shangjing had fallen into enemy hands, the people of Qionghua House had escaped through an underground passage with Duan Ling in the lead, breathing heavily as he carried an injured courtesan.
“Your Highness—you mustn’t, with your injuries…”
“Forget the courtesies right now!” Duan Ling said.
He was drenched in blood, though whether from his own injuries or those of the girl on his back, it was impossible to say. As they approached the exit of the underground passage with dawn nearing, thuds sounded on the wooden board overhead.
Footsteps. Then more footsteps, followed by the twangs of bowstrings snapping and grisly shrieks. Everyone looked up uneasily. Early sunlight peeked through the cracks in the board and shone on the blood pooling on the ground before them.
Xunchun pointed up, and Duan Ling waved a hand, mouthing Mongols.
He waited until the sounds of soldiers had faded to lift the wooden hatch and climb out.
In the pale glow of dawn, the corpses of Chen soldiers covered the ground; fires burned in the buildings all around them. Duan Ling lowered the injured girl he carried to the ground, then held a finger under her nose to feel for breath.
At some point, she had passed away.
“She’s gone,” Xunchun said.
“What was her name?” asked Duan Ling.
“Qiu Jin,” Xunchun said. “We must keep moving.”
Duan Ling laid down the girl’s delicate body. A Mongol soldier had slashed a foot-long wound across Qiu Jin’s shoulder blade, and she’d endured the agony with eyes squeezed shut and face drained of color. Her death to her was a relief, and a release from her burdens.
From the women of Qionghua House, less than twenty remained. The arrow wound on Duan Ling’s back had been bandaged but still seeped red. He looked to Xunchun.
“There’s a path through the back of the city guard headquarters,” she declared.
Duan Ling hesitated more than once along their escape route. He knew his father had likely fought his way into Shangjing, but with the chaos everywhere, he had no idea where the Chen army even was. Xunchun had urged him in the strongest terms to put survival first and foremost—and not to turn back rashly.
The moment they entered the city guard headquarters, a squadron of Mongols ambushed them with a torrent of arrows. They had been lying in wait for Khitan soldiers but instead encountered civilians fleeing the battle.
“Retreat!” Xunchun cried.
Two more girls were shot dead as they fled for cover. Duan Ling fended off their attackers, protecting the group as he fired back. With a furious cry, Xunchun charged up the wall in two great bounds and ran the archer through with one smooth strike of her blade. As Duan Ling called to her from below, more shouts of alarm sounded from behind. Yuan reinforcements were on their way, and fast.
“Run!” Xunchun ordered.
Duan Ling and the group fled deeper into the city guard headquarters as more Mongols arrived to replace their dispatched comrades. Without warning, someone burst from behind a closed door with a nocked arrow pointed straight at Duan Ling. He jerked back in alarm before he recognized Cai Yan.
Cai Yan loosed the arrow. Duan Ling froze on instinct as it skimmed past his shoulder and punched through the chest of the Mongol cavalryman charging him from behind. There was no time for an emotional reunion as Cai Yan began dragging Duan Ling away. “Follow me!”
Xunchun turned from them, the Cleaver of the Land in her left hand and a saber she’d snatched from a Mongol soldier in her right. “I’ll cover you! Get out of the city, now!”
She stood alone in the way of a dozen Mongol soldiers.
Before Duan Ling could protest, Cai Yan was hauling him down the path. Though everyone was out of breath and Cai Yan had taken an arrow to the leg, the group made haste along the rocky trail behind the city guard headquarters toward the mountains; without hesitation they lowered themselves down a rope, making their way out of the city.
“What were you doing in the city guard headquarters?” Duan Ling finally asked.
“It was either stay home and wait to be slaughtered or camp out there and kill whoever I could,” Cai Yan explained as he caught his breath. “What about… I heard the Chen army arrived. We might be able to win. Will you…?”
Duan Ling looked steadily back at him, and they lapsed into silence. In the end, Cai Yan didn’t speak his true identity aloud.
A loud rumble startled the pair—the sound of the north gate collapsing. In the far distance, on the roof of the city guard headquarters, Xunchun’s red robe flashed through the air as she held off the Mongols. But they were like a swarm of locusts, and in no time at all, they’d overrun the streets of the north district.
“We should go,” Duan Ling said.
He and Cai Yan tallied the survivors. Aside from the two of them, only nine girls were left.
But where could they flee? Further into the Xianbei Mountains? Every other road led to danger. Southward was the battleground of a hundred thousand soldiers; they’d never make it through alive. On the other hand, the lands to the east and west would be filled with deserters.
“We’ll head north and hide in the mountains for now,” Duan Ling decided.
In the city, Mongols were ransacking every house in the north district and shooting survivors on sight.
Duan Ling and his party set out through the rugged wilderness on foot, eventually ducking into a wheat field under the open skies. Li Jianhong had taught him he must never let his guard down near the battlefield so long as there was still any possible threat. One must keep their wits about them because one never knew when they might come upon a deserter—and a deserter was more dangerous than a soldier. Those who fled from battle would be paranoid that anyone they encountered would report them, leading to their capture and execution. Under threat of death, there was nothing a deserter wouldn’t do.
Most of the day was spent trekking through the endless wheat fields. The sun beat down until Duan Ling started to feel lightheaded from the heat. The arrow wound on his back stung horribly. With no medicine to apply to the wound, he’d developed a fever along the way, his head throbbing and his vision blurring. Eventually his legs gave out, and he slumped to the ground.
“Duan Ling!” Cai Yan cried in alarm.
A few girls had fallen behind in the wheat fields, and those who remained w
A shrill scream split the skies: “The Mongols are here! Run!”
All the girls of Qionghua House knew some martial arts, but they were already exhausted from being forced to flee again and again. It would only be a matter of time until the mighty Mongols on horseback overpowered any defense they might put up with waves of arrows, saber slashes, and flying ring-shaped lasso poles. When they heard the warning cry, the girls—one by one—resolved to stay and hold the enemy off, urging the rest of the party to go ahead.
At last, Cai Yan reached for his blade with a howl, intending to face down the Mongols. It was Ding Zhi who dragged him back by his lapels. “If your brother was still alive, he wouldn’t want you to die here,” she said coldly, staring him dead in the eye.
Cai Yan’s chest worked as he gazed back at her.
“Come on!” Ding Zhi commanded.
Cai Yan fled with Ding Zhi deeper into the fields, carrying the collapsed Duan Ling on his back. Piercing cries echoed through the wheat stalks as the girls who stayed behind were shot down. Ding Zhi couldn’t help but turn back again, barely resisting the urge to run to their rescue. She protected her charges until the fields came to an end, and they arrived on the shore of a lake, Duan Ling bouncing woozily on Cai Yan’s back the whole way. A small shack stood on the banks with a boat anchored to its dock.
“Follow the shore of the lake southeast and head into the mountains. You’ll be safe there,” she promised.
The noise of slaughter grew closer as she untied the rope tethering the boat to the dock. Mongol soldiers, galloping fast, were nearing. Cai Yan lowered Duan Ling into the boat, and Ding Zhi untied the rope and camouflaged it among the reeds.
“Don’t come out,” she whispered. “No matter what.”
Cai Yan stared at her. Ding Zhi met his eyes, lips curving into a soft smile as she reached out and stroked his cheek.
“No…” His eyes welled with tears, but Ding Zhi simply laid her hand over his mouth and pushed him down into the boat beside Duan Ling. She turned, drew her dagger, and ran toward the front of the shack. The Mongol soldiers bellowed in pain, then suddenly, all was quiet.
A single shriek from Ding Zhi pierced the silence.
Duan Ling’s eyes snapped open, terrified. He would’ve lunged upright were it not for Cai Yan firmly holding him down. An eternity seemed to pass before Ding Zhi’s screaming stopped.
Afterward the Mongols patrolled the banks several times on horseback, but all they found was the broken rope. They rode off along the lakeshore barking curses.
The thick bed of reeds seemed to stretch on forever, swaying gently in the breeze. The setting sun over the mountain dyed the lake crimson, and the waves glistened in the failing light. The wind carried the scent of dry grass, and white clouds drifted across a sky so blue it was as if it had been rinsed clean. Ding Zhi’s naked corpse floated on the placid water, her hair loose, blood blooming around her like a plume of smoke. Her unseeing eyes reflected the vast, brilliant sky.
A day later, Cai Yan whispered, “Drink some water.”
Duan Ling woke shivering through a coughing fit. He found himself lying in a strange house with Cai Yan, who gave him an herbal decoction and began removing his bandages.
“Where are we?” Duan Ling asked.
“A village,” Cai Yan answered curtly. “An herb village, three days outside the city.”
The village in which they had landed lay nestled in the southeast stretch of the Xianbei Mountains and was home to a dozen or so people who had made their living harvesting medicinal herbs for generations.
Duan Ling felt slightly better after drinking the medicine. Seeing the look in Cai Yan’s eyes, he asked, “What about everyone else?”
“We lost them.”
The autumn breeze picked up in the afternoon, rustling against the window. The air was crisp and fresh, and the blazing sun cast the dappled shadows of swaying leaves on the window. Duan Ling felt as if he was inside a vivid dream. Sighing deeply, he lay back down for a moment to gather his strength and slipped his feet over the side of the bed. “Is there any news about my dad?”
“I don’t know,” Cai Yan said. “I didn’t have time to ask. Survival came first; as long as we’re alive, we can sort the rest out later.”
Duan Ling met his eyes.
“Heal up first,” Cai Yan said. “Then you can plan your route south. You can go back to Xichuan, and I’ll go back to Zhongjing.”
After another break, Duan Ling managed to walk a short distance. He patted his chest out of habit—but the jade arc was missing.
Cai Yan sat completely still in the doorway.
Oh no, where’d it go? Duan Ling thought. I’ll need to prove my identity if I run into Chen soldiers. He patted himself down from head to toe, but the jade arc wasn’t there.
“Looking for this?” Cai Yan asked, pulling the familiar pouch from his robe, its cord dangling.
Duan Ling breathed a sigh of relief and looped the cord around his neck. “Thank you.”
“I grabbed your sword too,” Cai Yan added. “But I couldn’t find the sheath.”
“That’s okay,” Duan Ling said. He wasn’t particularly attached to this sword. He stared at Cai Yan for a moment, then sank to his knees.
“Don’t! You’re the crown prince!” Cai Yan cried, swiftly reaching out to help him up.
“You saved my life,” Duan Ling said simply.
“Your father taught me martial arts to protect you, and those girls—they all gave their lives not because of their ties to you, but because of…” Duan Ling stayed silent, and for a moment Cai Yan didn’t know how to finish the sentence. “…who you are,” he said finally.
Duan Ling nodded and heaved another sigh.
Soon enough, a villager returned. Cai Yan stepped outside to ask for any news of the war. The man informed him that the Liao reinforcements had arrived in Shangjing, and though the city was ravaged, it had fallen back into Khitan hands. As for where the Yuan army had gone, no one knew.
“What about the Chen army?” Cai Yan asked.
“They went home. They went home, oh, they went home,” the old ginseng farmer repeated, singsong. “First it was Great Yu, then it was Great Xia, then it was Great Chen, and now it’s Great Liao. The world never stops turning. One leaves the stage and the next steps on.”
They went home? Duan Ling thought. His father must have left when he couldn’t find him—that was a good thing; it would be too dangerous if he’d stayed. But…had he really left so easily? Perhaps he was still out scouring the lands for him.
Later that night, as Duan Ling sat in the doorway hugging his knees and looking up at the early autumn sky spangled with stars, his thoughts drifted back to his father.
Dad must be worried sick. But what can I do? Should I leave now? No, it’ll be even more dangerous if I run into the Yuan army, especially after they lost the battle. Ögedei must be burning, killing, and looting his way home after such a defeat.
The world was ever-changing, as fickle as the shifting clouds in the sky…but in this little pocket of the mountains, secluded from the outside world, all of that seemed an eternity away. His father had once said that, back when his own former allies were hunting him, he’d hidden in Lang Junxia’s home deep within the Xianbei Mountains. Perhaps he’d felt the same way then.
“Get some sleep. It’s chilly,” Cai Yan said. After another moment’s pause, he observed: “Hundreds of thousands are dying out there in the war, but here in this little village, it’s like none of that affects them.”
“That’s just how the common folk are,” Duan Ling said.
Just as he was about to step inside, a piercing scream rang out in the distance, followed by the sound of rumbling hooves Duan Ling knew too well. He dropped onto his stomach at once, pressing his ear to the ground to listen for the distant echo of stomping hooves in their thousands. “The Mongols are coming!”
Elsewhere, on the banks of that placid lake, Lang Junxia reined Skychaser to a halt and dismounted. Pitch-black water sloshed in the night as he fished Ding Zhi’s body from the lake and laid it out on the shore. With another quick glance around, he whistled for Skychaser, leapt astride, and rode deeper into the Xianbei Mountains.
Chapter 39
