The rain, which had ceased for a day and a night, began to fall once more.
Such was the weather in Yu’an. It was so now, and it had been so more than a decade ago.
Ten-odd years was time enough for a sapling to grow into a towering tree.
The iron-clad general stood before the vast expanse of mountain forests, his mount pacing restlessly beneath him. This was a warhorse seasoned by many battles; its sense of smell was far keener than that of an ordinary horse, and it could always discern the murderous intent hidden beneath the silence.
The general gently patted the black horse’s mane to soothe it.
He, too, sensed the approaching enemy. Yet, for some reason, he found it difficult to concentrate on the imminent clash. Instead, his mind drifted with an unusual lack of focus.
It had to be because the land beneath his feet was soaked with the blood of his old friends. Otherwise, why would he suddenly recall those sun-drenched, untainted days of the past amidst this hazy, rain-soaked darkness?
At twelve years old, fueled by the glorious history of the Xiao clan, he had spent every day dreaming of the life of a soldier—of charging across battlefields and carving out a legacy. He had held the harmony and tranquility before his eyes in no regard whatsoever.
Back then, he did not know that a life numbed by slaughter would become a curse he could never escape for the rest of his days, nor that the warm, bustling General’s Mansion on Yukun Street would be a place he could only revisit in his dreams.
He rose at the first crow of the cock to practice his spear forms. At dawn, he followed his father and elder brothers to the Valiant Cavalry Camp to practice mounted archery, returning home only after the sun had set. After dinner, he had to study the art of war and military governance. His mother, pained by his grueling schedule, used the excuse that "the pursuit of martial prowess must not come at the expense of letters" to tuck him into an academy for the sons of the capital’s nobility. Between training sessions, he was forced to spend time mingling with the academy’s scholars.
His skill in prose and verse never matched that of his elder brother, though he could manage a line or two of poetry.
But he disliked writing poetry. He felt that those words plucked from the romantic winds and moons were soft and fragile, the polar opposite of everything he wished to achieve. Most of the friends he knew then were the sons of his father’s close comrades; their interests lay in wrestling and archery. When they had free time, even horse racing and hunting were not enough to satisfy them—how could they possibly gather to chant poems and compose odes?
In the height of summer, the academy grew exceptionally sweltering. The hours spent sitting still and reading were agonizing. Occasionally, he and a few close friends would sneak out of the city to gallop through the crisp, cool streams in the outskirts. Whenever they did, he would beg the two brothers of the Bai family to act as his "insiders" at the academy to handle the master. Since both were excellent students, even if the master spent half the day huffing and puffing in anger, the matter would eventually be dropped. In return, he would offer the freshest seasonal river delicacies from Que City to his two friends. The academy’s outer wall and the back gate of the Bai residence became the most frequent meeting spots for the youths. On the rare occasion they were caught, they took turns "taking the fall," their expressions solemn and resolute as they marched to the master’s study to have their palms lashed.
Dust on the drill grounds, afternoons at the academy. Osmanthus wine in hand, horses tethered by the high tower.
His youth had been like that—always yearning for an extraordinary life, yet quietly flowing through the ordinary.
The path he was meant to walk was the calibrated, straight road between the military camp and the city gates. On either side of that great road were lush canopies that blotted out the sky; even if he looked aside, he could see no other scenery. He should have continued walking that road forever.
And yet, he eventually caught a glimpse of a different landscape—a speck of white amidst the rapidly receding scenery.
He remembered it was a twilight at the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. The sky, washed clean and blue, was dyed golden by the setting sun. He and his companions were riding back from the training camp outside the city. As soon as they entered Jiazi Avenue, their path was blocked by a crowd of onlookers.
After a long while, a procession finally approached slowly from the end of the street—fragrant carriages, precious horses, and a path paved with fresh flowers.
He heard from the passersby that it was a daughter of the Mei family being married off in grand style to King Xuanyuan. That was why Jiazi Avenue had been packed with people for the past half-hour.
At the time, possessed by the arrogance of youth, he deliberately avoided looking at the spectacle. He only complained to his comrades about taking the wrong route and being needlessly stuck in the impenetrable crowd.
Eager discussions and gasps of surprise rose continuously from the crowd. On the last of the ten carriages of the dowry sat a massive red-lacquered wooden crate. Inside that crate were no gold, silver, jewels, or fine silks—it was a tree. A lush, leafy plum tree.
His companions marveled, saying it was the most precious dowry General Mei had given his beloved daughter. It was called "Yingshui Chonglou," one of only three double-petaled green-calyx plum trees left in the world. He, however, frowned as he looked at it for a long time, unable to see what was so precious about those gnarled, withered branches.
And then, he saw her.
She wore a simple, light-colored garment, her dark hair tied up in a man’s topknot. Her profile, outlined by the golden glow of the setting sun, traced a bright silhouette. Though it was only half a smile of joy, it was more complete and precious than any beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Everyone’s gaze fell upon that plum tree; his gaze fell upon the girl looking at the tree.
He did not realize his state of mind at that moment. He only felt that those romantic poems he had once looked down upon from the bottom of his heart suddenly had an image and a purpose.
That night, he had a long dream. In the dream, they held hands, looking into each other’s eyes and smiling constantly.
He had never encountered such tenderness before, and his imagination for it was naturally impoverished.
But he didn't feel that way then. He often felt joy because of those dreams and savored them for a long time. After waking, he frequently returned to that street, hoping to see that figure again, but she never reappeared.
Yet he did not forget her. Throughout the long years, he frequently recalled that profile. Thus, he took up his brush and wrote down verses, then cut the rice paper and carefully hid the slips close to his body.
After all, he was to be a general. How could a general write love poems?
Finally, one day, on his way back to the city, he followed his usual routine of leading his horse to drink at the stream. On a whim, he drew his bow and shot at the reeds by the bank. When he stood up, he suddenly realized that the slip of paper he always kept hidden in his boot was gone.
His heart skipped a beat, but his face remained calm. Perhaps it had fallen in some deserted corner.
Until he saw that slip of paper appearing between a girl’s fingertips.
He hadn't expected to meet her again in the outskirts. After all, the reputable families of Que City would never allow their female kin to leave the city alone, let alone wander by a wild stream.
His astonishment was written all over his face. The girl held the slip of paper, a playful smile at the corners of her mouth.
He saw a hint of teasing in that smile, and he instantly became even more flustered.
"What is so funny?"
She shook her head and tucked the paper back into his palm with feigned seriousness.
"It’s not funny. I just didn't expect that someone would carry poems they wrote themselves so close to their person, to be admired at any time."
The tips of his ears turned red instantly, whether from annoyance or shame.
"How do you know I wrote it? That was... I was just holding it for someone else... I put it there randomly..."
She laughed again but did not expose his clumsy lie. She turned and picked up the bow he had set aside.
"Your shot was wrong."
Not expecting her to change the subject, he was caught off guard. Then, his pride and self-esteem began to flare up.
In all his years, no one had ever said his archery was unrefined. He believed that at his age, no one could do better than him.
Moreover, the one saying this was a girl.
"What was wrong with it?"
The thin-skinned youth was somewhat annoyed, but he still maintained a composed front.
"Do you think I am deliberately provoking you?"
It turned out the girl not only had lively eyes but also a very keen mind.
He wanted to appear magnanimous, so he simply replied, "What if I do? Can you shoot better than me?"
"If I say your form is good and your strength is sufficient, but your accuracy is lacking, would you be angry?"
*If you know I’ll be angry, why ask?!*
He was already angry, yet he still tried to keep a stiff face, the defiance in his heart surging upward.
"When you say the accuracy is lacking, do you mean the arrow is no good, the bow is no good, or I am no good?"
She looked at the rapidly shifting expressions on his face. Not only did she not back down, but her smile deepened. She turned and pointed to a brown rock on the opposite bank of the stream.
"If you’re not convinced, how about a wager? If I can shoot an arrow into the eye of that rock, you must admit what I said is true and grant me one request."
He turned to look in the direction she pointed. In the center of that massive brown rock was a naturally formed, nearly invisible crevice.
With a gap like that, even if one walked up to it with an arrow to measure, it might not pass through smoothly.
They practiced mounted archery at the drill grounds, but military archery focused on speed and power. The key was how to hit a fast-moving target with armor-piercing force in a short time.
He felt the girl was being ridiculous.
"A wager it is."
The girl reached out her hand to him. "Do you have a dagger I could borrow?"
He unfastened the dagger from his waist. She took it, deftly pulled out an arrow, and began to trim the fletching.
She was ruthless with her cuts. In a few strokes, she had trimmed the tail feathers until they were extremely narrow. He watched from the side, feeling that the arrow looked even stranger than the spinning-vane arrows he had seen before.
Could such an arrow really fly over a hundred meters? He grew more skeptical.
The next moment, the dagger was thrust back into his hand.
"You don't believe me?"
Of course he didn't.
This type of arrow had been in use for several years, and there was no shortage of weapons experts in the army. If it were truly as simple as she made it out to be, why had there been no improvement for so many years?
The girl said no more. she gripped the arrow, nocked it, drew the bow, and released.
Her youthful arm trembled slightly from the exertion, but the arrow she released was exceptionally steady.
The slender arrow traced a fluid arc through the air and finally vanished into the eye of the rock without a hair’s breadth of error. It was so clean that not even the sound of metal scraping stone could be heard.
He stood frozen on the spot, feeling as though the arrow hadn't pierced the rock, but had instead pierced through the very tip of his heart.
"Do you admit that I was right?"
He grew quiet and nodded. Then, a thought quickly formed in his mind.
He regained his usual composure, his face showing nothing, though his hand, restlessly gripping the dagger, betrayed a hint of emotion.
"Your accuracy is good, but your strength is lacking." He paused, finally speaking the words. "How about I teach you?"
"Fine. But before that, you must fulfill your promise." The girl looked steadily into his eyes, as if another stream were rippling beneath her lashes. "I want that newly bloomed Yingshui Chonglou. You will bring it to me, won't you?"
He smiled as well, though he couldn't see his own expression. He thought he was still being reserved.
"It’s a deal."
Not this year, but definitely next year.
He would not only bring her the flower she loved, but he would also offer her his most sincere heart.
Back then, the youth was full of high spirits. With his exquisite spear technique, he won the Emperor’s favor and was permitted to follow the imperial carriage to the hunting grounds.
He had already planned it out. The experts participating in the Spring Hunt were all extraordinary. He was willing to represent the Xiao family on the field. He didn't seek to win or take the top prize; he only wanted to make a brilliant showing as a youth so that he would have the chance to thank the Emperor for his grace.
He didn't want mountains of gold or silver, nor did he want military power or official rank. He only wanted a branch of plum blossoms. The Emperor would surely grant it to him.
However, what he pleaded for was not a branch of red plum, but a sea of blood.
The royal hunt lasted two days before one could leave the enclosure. He moved by day and rested by night. While chasing a buck, he had veered off onto a remote mountain path at dusk on the first day, unintentionally leaving the hunting grounds.
Passing by the Yueze Camp, the black horse beneath him grew restlessly agitated. Only then did he realize the garrison was nowhere to be found. The gates of Yu’an were wide open. The villa where the Xiao family resided was a muddy sea of blood, strewn with corpses.
He stumbled about, checking everywhere, wanting to distinguish the faces of his kinsmen from the countless mangled bodies, yet terrified that he might actually recognize one.
In the end, he stopped looking at their faces. He only checked their pulses one by one, wanting to confirm if anyone was still alive. But he checked seventy-nine bodies, and seventy-nine bodies had not a breath of life left—until he found his aunt in a dry well in the backyard, hacked until she was nearly a person of blood.
Xiao Dai still had a breath left, but she was no different from the dead. He had never seen such wounds in his life. Clearly, the weapon had already left the body, yet it seemed as if sword intent still remained within the veins; wherever it went, the meridians were severed and the flesh was separated.
Trembling, he pulled his aunt from the well, forcing himself not to look at that shattered face. Using two ropes meant for the well buckets, he tied his unconscious aunt to his back and attempted to find help nearby. He knew those murderers might not have gone far. He couldn't trust anyone. He had to leave Yu’an before they discovered him.
Relying on the instincts he had developed hunting in the northern forests with his father since childhood, he galloped his horse along the mountain paths of Douchen Ridge.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, drawing closer and closer, eventually converging behind him.
It wasn't thunder; it was the sound of hooves.
There were dozens of them, each well-trained, closing in from behind.
Relying on the winding mountain roads, he told himself that as long as the enemy couldn't get close, he still had a chance.
But he was carrying a person on his back, and his black horse had reached its limit. Even though he whipped it until it bled, he still couldn't escape the sound of hooves drawing nearer.
Suddenly, another sound pierced the night—sharp and chaotic, like the screeching of a small swarm of beasts.
The hoofbeats behind him began to grow disorganized. The sound of clashing metal became as dense as a gale-driven rain, churning the wind in the valley and bringing the scent of blood to his nose.
His father had taught him during his lifetime: a soldier must never look back.
Looking back meant hesitation, meant worrying about what lay behind, meant being too eager for a result.
It meant that all previous efforts would be wasted.
But the rising and falling shrieks were getting closer. The dull thuds of bodies being sliced seemed to be right at his ear. He could almost feel the heat of blood splashing against the back of his head.
He still couldn't resist. He turned his head just slightly.
In the darkness before the storm, he saw a web woven of silver lines shifting behind him. That group of black-clad assassins on black horses was trapped within it, yet they still fought with death-defying strength to kill him...
In that moment of looking back, he felt something flash past his left shoulder, followed immediately by a sharp pain in his scapula.
In his blurred vision, he vaguely sensed that the thing piercing his left shoulder was a black arrow.
A murder of crows cried in the night.
A sudden commotion erupted in the forest—a flock of birds taking flight after being startled.
The past dissipated like smoke. Xiao Zhun opened his eyes just as a subordinate walked quickly toward him.
"Reporting to the General: there is an ambush party of about a thousand men to the due east. They may be remnants of the Bai clan. Should we..."
As expected, what was meant to come had arrived.
"Has the main tent issued any orders?"
"They said each camp is to hold its position. Other than that... nothing."
Xiao Zhun’s gaze turned toward a speck of firelight on the distant plain.
That was where the Fusho Terrace was located, and where the royal tent stood. The area surrounding the Fusho Terrace was a small plain with no cover, and surrounding the plain was an endless sea of forests and ridges. This made that small piece of plain, nestled against the mountains, look like a pocket with no return, and the mouth of the pocket faced the newly opened Imperial Hunting Enclosure.
What a fine play—the reopening of the Spring Hunt, a settling of old scores.
The Spring Hunt was the moment the throne left the capital, and it was also the Bai clan’s last chance. The Emperor could not possibly be unaware of this, let alone be unprepared.
Long before they set out, the generals of each camp had received secret orders to use the Spring Hunt as a pretext to go deep into various parts of the Yulin Villa hunting grounds. They were to use defense as offense and wait quietly for the enemy to walk into the trap.
Every design was but a link in the plan to "lure the tiger from the mountain." The so-called "Spring Hunt" was not for hunting birds or beasts, but for the old ailments that had been lurking in the shadows for a long time.
"Hold your position for now. Have the guards increase their vigilance and watch for changes."
"Yes."
The subordinate took the order and withdrew, but couldn't help stealing another glance at the general before leaving.
The Marquis of Qinghuai, who was already past thirty, had always looked more solemn than his peers. Tonight, he seemed especially heavy. His figure stood upon the protruding rock, as if he had already merged with the earth beneath his feet, turning into a stone statue amidst the wind and rain.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 映水重楼 | Yingshui Chonglou | A rare type of double-petaled green-calyx plum tree. Literally "Reflections in the Water, Multi-storied Pavilion." |
| 斗辰岭 | Douchen Ridge | A mountain range with treacherous paths. |
| 伏兽台 | Fusho Terrace | A platform or altar for taming/slaying beasts, used during the royal hunt. |
| 青怀侯 | Marquis of Qinghuai | Xiao Zhun's noble title. |
| 骁骑营 | Valiant Cavalry Camp | An elite military unit. |
| 甲子大街 | Jiazi Avenue | A major street in the capital. |
| 岳泽大营 | Yueze Camp | A military camp near Yu'an. |
| 羽林别苑 | Yulin Villa | An imperial hunting lodge or estate. |
