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xxkai9597xx · 2 years

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Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

A Bird’s Eye View of the Realm2

“Duan Ling! Duan Ling —!”

Riding on Wanlibenxiao, Wu Du charges all the way out of the capital of Jiangzhou. He stares at Duan Ling with an exasperated look on his face. On a side road just beyond the capital’s walls, Duan Ling turns his horse around unhurriedly beneath the star-studded night sky with a brilliant Silver River cutting through the background. Edged with starlight, Duan Ling smiles at Wu Du.

“Let’s go?” Duan Ling says.

“Let’s go? Your emperor uncle is going to skin your lord and master!” Wu Du’s not sure if he should laugh or cry.

Duan Ling heaves a sigh and nods with a frown, ready to head back to the city with Wu Du. But seeing him like this, Wu Du just can’t bear to make him go back to the palace. It’s almost like if he could wipe that frown off Duan Ling’s face, it’s worth getting himself skinned.

“Come on then … Where’d you want to go?” Wu Du says, “Come on over here.”

Duan Ling’s frown disappears, turning into a smile. “Seriously?”

“Where to?” Wu Du asks. “The sun’s going to come up soon. What could be so important that you couldn’t forget it by the time you wake up again anyway?”

“To the ends of the earth,” Duan Ling says, slowly approaching Wu Du on horseback.

Wu Du shoots a glance at Duan Ling. “Let’s go then. I’ll let you go wherever you want, even to the ends of the earth.”

Duan Ling puts his foot into Wu Du’s stirrup, and with a swing of his leg over Benxiao’s back, he’s sitting in front of Wu Du. Now that they’re sharing a horse, Wu Du shakes the reins and shouts, “Gup!”

Benxiao runs on four hooves as though stepping on clouds, onto a Jiangzhou highway swirling with mist, kicking up a great trail of dust. The humidity of morning mist brushes them by, and the stars of the Silver River above gradually fade away until they all vanish in a flash of morning sunlight. A red sun surges above the horizon at the end of the Yangtze, bestowing this world new life.

“Whatever happened last night?” Wu Du whispers, putting his arms around Duan Ling so that he’s encircled, and protected.

“Last night’s stars and last night’s wind, west of the painted tower east of the hall …” Duan Ling recites smilingly.3

“We lack a butterfly’s wings and thus cannot fly as one, but my heart and yours will sing as one —” Wu Du follows by reciting the next line.

“We play pass the hook and drink warm spring wine, the shell game is fun and the candles are especially red …”

His memories gradually take him back to a time in the Illustrious Hall, and the voices of children reciting poetry join him in unison.

“Ah, I hear the nightwatchman’s clapper signalling roll-call — I spur my horse onwards but my heart only spins in place.”

Curled up in Wu Du’s arms, Duan Ling slowly nods off. Upon exiting the Jiangzhou highway, the ponds to the left and right of the road are blanketed with the remnants of lotus leaves. The morning breeze sends a ripple through the water, its crystalline lines reflecting the boundless blue sky.

Wu Du brings him all the way north, fording the Yangtze, turning into a gust of wind as they gallop past golden rice paddies, past the wide open prairies with the returning geese flying overhead, through puddles big and small left behind by the autumn rain, kicking up the fresh scent of the earth as they continue north. The mountains and clouds above them and the fields and forests they travel past are no longer black and white like an ink-brush painting but have gradually filled in with colour.

This sky, this earth, they seem to become a fast-moving painted scroll, multicoloured, fresh and elegant. Duan Ling slowly wakes from his sleep, and he looks up from Wu Du’s embrace to feel as though he’s travelled from early spring to midsummer, then through the cries of cicada and lush greenery, into gold-foiled late autumn.

Spring weeds grow lush in a land now vanquished; summer palace ruins lie buried beneath mounds of dirt.4

“Is this where you wanted to go?”

“No.”

— Thus they cross the Southern Chen border and pass through Runan.

The geese fly south but no letter came; the bamboo by the River Xiang is stained with tears.5

“How about here?”

“Not here either.”

— Thus they leave Luoyang without stopping to rest.

Finally, tracing the path he took north many years ago, Wu Du takes Duan Ling all the way to the outskirts of Shangjing. Whatever wounds that war had given this capital of Great Liao had healed long ago, and the biggest city in the north is also populated again.

The sun is beginning to set. Bells toll in the distant mountains, and the autumn wind rustling through the yellowing leaves already feels a bit chilly. A pale full moon hangs at the horizon, seemingly blending into the dark red sky. Wu Du stops halfway up a mountain, quietly watching Shangjing from above. Lights flicker in the city as every household hangs its lanterns.

It’s the fifteenth of the Eighth Month, the day of the Mid-Autumn festival. The Mongolians don’t celebrate this holiday; many years ago, the Han passed slips of paper in their mooncakes, and in the name of “resisting the barbarians” had risen up in rebellion, commencing a fierce battle beneath Mount Jiangjun.

Of course, the Mongolians don’t eat mooncakes, and they don’t celebrate this Han festival either, but the Khitans do. They say that at every Mid-Autumn Festival, Yelü Zongzhen’s seasonal palace in Zhongjing would be hung full of decorated lanterns so that he may reminisce fondly about old friends.

“Do you want to go take a look inside?” Wu Du crouches before the cliff’s edge in his white martial artist robes, looking into the distance like a white tiger in the night staring at the excitement and hubbub of the mortal world beneath the mountains.

They already came all the way so of course they ought to go inside and have a look around, but knowing Duan Ling as he does, Wu Du thinks sometimes all Duan Ling wants to do is to see it from a distance.

And as expected, Duan Ling says, “Never mind, let’s just leave.”

“We’re not leaving,” Wu Du says, turning to Duan Ling with a smile.

Duan Ling suddenly finds the sight of Wu Du’s back extraordinarily reliable, so much so that he decides to throw himself on there, and sprawls over his back. Wu Du smiles, saying, “Let’s go home.”

A gush of warmth rises from Duan Ling’s heart unbidden. Carrying Duan Ling on his back, Wu Du looks around him before slowly approaching the city via a small footpath. Shangjing is no longer the strictly defended stronghold it used to be, and it’s no longer the most important city in the north either; when Wu Du gets to the city gates, he takes Duan Ling’s hand, and when Duan Ling tells the soldiers at the gates in Khitan that they’ve come to visit relatives, the soldiers don’t press him for more details before letting them through.

“It’s reunion night,” Duan Ling says, standing at the city gate, facing the city of Shangjing in the midst of a festival. On either side of the main street are maple trees with leaves as red as blood, and underneath the lanterns, the street is bustling. A bright moon sits on the horizon.

This is clearly the Shangjing he remembers, and it has never changed; he takes Wu Du’s big hand and crosses the main street with him, walking towards his home. When they pass by an apothecary, the two of them stop automatically.

“I’ve been here before,” Wu Du says.

“I’ve been before as well,” Duan Ling replies.

Wu Du picks up the apothecary’s door and shoves it aside. Duan Ling goes behind the counter and notices that the place has been in a state of disrepair for a long time already — the drawers that used to hold herbs and medicinal ingredients are lying all over the place, whatever used to be in them long gone. Duan Ling picks up a half stick of candle left on the counter and lights it. When he stands it back up on the counter, the room is immediately suffused in a warm glow, casting their shadows onto the window lattice.

“Let’s go out this way,” Duan Ling says, taking Wu Du out of the apothecary through the rear courtyard. Just before leaving, he takes a glance behind him. The entire apothecary looks to him like a giant magic lantern, reflecting all the mortal world’s joys and sorrows, its many partings and reunions.

After the calamity that befell this city, people haven’t moved back in to fill all of its houses yet. Duan Ling walks through the alley that leads to his house and pushes open the two redwood doors that have almost rotted off their hinges to find the courtyard covered in lichen. A water bowl sits on the table still, left behind by Cai Yan just before they departed. It’s filled by half with rainwater.

I’m not a very good cook. I don’t have Zheng Yan’s skills. Someday when you taste better food than this you won’t think much about this table full of food, but for now you’ll have to make do.

It feels like Lang Junxia is still busying himself in the kitchen. Duan Ling sticks his head in for a look and asks smilingly, “Lang Junxia, where’s my dad?”

Lang Junxia looks up, glances at Duan Ling, and replies, “Your dad should be here by the time the peach blossoms bloom.”

Duan Ling turns around and walks into the courtyard. Wu Du is lying on a lounger Li Jianhong once used. He says to Duan Ling, “Come over here and look at the moon.”

And so Duan Ling goes to Wu Du and leans back against him. They lie there without a word.

“Mud all over your hands, and you wipe them all over your dad’s face.” Li Jianhong says, smiling at Duan Ling as he passes through the gallery.

Duan Ling thus quickly gets back on his feet, but all he hears is a gust of wind moving through the gallery, setting the rusted wind chines clanging.

Wu Du asks, “Are you hungry yet?”

“I’m hungry,” Duan Ling says. “Let’s have a walk around. I remember a shaobing place around here that was pretty tasty.”

Wu Du puts away his sword and leaves the house with Duan Ling. When they get to the main street, Duan Ling walks along the city wall. As they cross the river in the middle of the city, Wu Du can’t help but keep staring at the water. Duan Ling knows he’s remembering how he’d had to jump into the frozen river years ago, and teases him about it.

Soon, Wu Du picks up Duan Ling and leaps onto the roof. Stepping along the roof tiles, he jumps from roof to roof for an entire street, then he lands and buys them two pieces of shaobing, two catty of beef, and four taels of wine. Holding all that with one hand, he leaps onto the roof again and heads down to another street.

As they arrive at the Illustrious Hall, Duan Ling is surprised to find that the place has been renovated, and school is in session again. Right now though, the children have already gone home for the holidays. The gatekeeper is someone new as well; an old man, tipsy from drink, who left rather early.

“I’ve been to this stable,” Wu Du says as they walk in through the back door.

Duan Ling is chewing on a shaobing, and upon hearing this he almost spits it out. “You also crashed through the roof of the main hall.”

Wu Du laughs so hard that he doubles over. He grabs Duan Ling and takes a running leap onto the roof. The two of them lie down on the roof, and facing the bright harvest moon at the horizon, they drink and gaze at the moon.

“Milord,” Duan Ling says.

“Yeah,” Wu Du replies, drinking his wine. “The moon is particularly round in the north. I’ll take you to Shangzi next year.”

“Sure. There are still lots of tall mountains and great rivers still, and I want to see them all.”

“There’s plenty of time. Did you leave a message for your uncle?”

This concerns Wu Du’s skin after all. Duan Ling smiles as he says, “I left one when I left the palace that day.”

They look up at the sky, and as the moon rises to its zenith, there is a sudden squeak from the back gates as someone pushes them open. The sound is followed by a familiar voice.

“I never thought I’d run into you here,” Batu says.

“Jiangzhou … couldn’t go there,” Helian Bo says as he waves his sabre around fancily. “So I thought I’d … keep His Majesty … company. Have a walk … around.”

“Let’s call a temporary truce on my account,” says Yelü Zongzhen’s voice. “Borjigin, it’s not like you can come all this way here all the time, and you don’t have many guards with you either. Starting a fight inside the city won’t do you any good.”

Batu turns his nose up at the idea. “If you people hadn’t ambushed me I wasn’t planning to show my face anyway.”

“This trip is a trip down memory lane, so let’s just say we’re having a reunion dinner. See? We were meant to see each other again,” says Yelü Zongzhen. “Get someone to bring us a couple of catty of wine, and we’ll drink it here. We will raise our cups to Duan Ling in the far south — the moon is full and our table is full, and no matter the distance, we’re looking at the same moon.”

Duan Ling stares at them without a word.

Wu Du takes one look at Duan Ling, and as he’s just about to jump down there, Duan Ling grabs him and puts a finger in front of his lips, letting him know that he shouldn’t act without thinking. Then, while Yelü Zongzhen’s guards go around to secure the Illustrious Hall, Wu Du picks Duan Ling up sideways and walks to the end of the flying eaves like a great big cat. The two of them conceal themselves in the shadows of the next building over, quietly watching those in the courtyard as they gaze at the moon and drink their wine.

Helian Bo, Yelu Zongzhen and Borjigin Batu drink to each other beneath the moon, while Duan Ling and Wu Du sit still against each other on the roof. Time passes, and the silver disc moves across the sky, shining its bright light into the world. Three rounds of drinks later, Batu suddenly starts singing a bold, heroic tune.

His voice is forceful and unruly, startling the crows that have been sitting still on this moonlit night so that they fly off towards the horizon. Helian Bo and Yelü Zongzhen beat their cups with chopsticks, making a rhythmic clanging.

It’s a Mongolian pastoral song, and Duan Ling can understand the lyrics; with a full moon above the prairies, the wind blows through a sea of grass, sending waves in every direction, and yearning, like south-flying geese, has returned again.

Batu lets out a long sigh at the end of the song, but then they hear a flute start to play. It comes from above them, faint and barely there, lingering from the rafters to the horizon. All three are startled by the sound and look up together. All they can see is a young man’s pitch-black silhouette against a bright, clear moon, sharp like a paper cutout, while another man stands on the flying eaves protectively at his side.

The guards make to step up, but Yelü Zongzhen raises a hand to stop them. Slowly, Batu stands incredulously and walks to the centre of the courtyard to look up at that silhouette.

Duan Ling’s flute playing is melodic and bright, and through the years he has spent with Wu Du, he has finally learned how to play this song. It may be a bit shaky, but the music is more or less piercing with a wintry air.

Compared to Wu Du’s way of turning his tempered, steel-like strength, into the softness of a feather touch, Duan Ling plays with a lot of power, and the song inevitably takes on a strong resonating tone. The music sounds like a farewell, and it also sounds like regret; and finally, beneath the moon, it fades away until it can no longer be heard.

“Duan Ling?” Batu says, his voice trembling.

Wu Du becomes a black shadow, and with Duan Ling in his arms, he leaps from one uneven rooftop to another, leaving Shangjing behind. They get on Wanlibenxiao and gallop away from the city.

Just before he leaves, Duan Ling looks up at the bright, clear harvest moon above.

“Let’s go home!” Duan Ling says.

“Let’s go home. Gup!” Wu Du urges Wanlibenxiao on and takes Duan Ling away from there as though riding on the wind, looking down at ten thousand miles of the realm.

This translation is by foxghost, on tumblr and kofi. I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, it was reposted without permission. Do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

The title is from a poem by Xin Qiji, and like many of Xin Qiji’s poems, may sound like it’s about yearning for someone while being a poem that yearns for a lost homeland, as it was written during the Southern Song dynasty. The whole line that the title came from would read: I wish to ride on the wind and get a bird’s eye view of the realm. ↩︎

A poem by the Tang dynasty poet Li Shangyin. The second line that Wu Du recites is so famous that it’s essentially an idiom. ↩︎

This poem opened chapter 1. ↩︎

Another poem by Li Shangyin. This one is about yearning for someone far away. ↩︎

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JIMIN X W KOREA MAGAZINE (watermark removed) HQ

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Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Watchtowers of the Seven Stars

7. Autumn Lake Mirrors the Boundless Sky2

By the time Duan Ling arrives in Huaiyin, it’s already early spring, and naturally, as soon as he sees him, Li Yanqiu bites his head off over that whole business of running away from home. This is followed by three months of house arrest, forbidden to take a single step out of Huaiyin.

Duan Ling was planning to return to Jiangzhou, but he never figured that Li Yanqiu would make him stay in the Yao estate in the meantime and put off going back to Jiangzhou until Li Jianhong’s triumphant return. After three months on the road with the northern expedition, Duan Ling is beyond exhausted, and he feels rather complicated about returning to peaceful, prosperous Huayin.

But the one strange thing is …

“Eh?” Duan Ling says, “Uncle, what are you doing in Huaiyin?”

Li Yanqiu sips his tea without a word. Then he says with a frown, “Are you going to stick your nose in other people’s business? I haven’t started meddling in your affairs yet, but it seems you’re already questioning what I’m doing.”

Duan Ling thinks to himself, well fine, come if you feel like, and it’s fine by him to stay here for a while longer. Spring in Huaiyin is beautifully lush, everything fresh and growing, so warm that it makes him feel fluttery and restless as though there’s a heated something in his chest trying to claw its way out.

“When is dad going to come back?!” Duan Ling says. “He hasn’t even sent a single letter! How is the war going anyway?!”

Springtime flowers are all in full bloom; and so Duan ling treats Li Yanqiu as though he’s Li Jianhong, spending all his time by his side, clinging to him like a child. Li Yanqiu is playing a game of Weiqi with Yao Fu, and Yao Fu’s young son is also spending most of the day in his father’s lap.

“You were always giving me the cold shoulder when your dad’s around,” Li Yanqiu says, pinching Duan Ling’s ear. “But now that he’s off to war, you seem to know to come to me for attention.”

Sheepishly, Duan Ling sprawls over the Weiqi board in front of Li Yanqiu, and he can’t help turning to look at him.

“I heard noises from your courtyard last night, uncle. Was it you getting up in the night to use the washroom?”

Li Yanqiu flatly denies, “No.”

Yao Fu laughs, making faces at Duan Ling. Duan Ling has no idea what he’s trying to say, and he gives Yao Fu a look.

After spring comes summer, and after summer, two letters arrive from the north. The war isn’t over yet. Wu Du had filled pages with how much he missed Duan Ling, and it makes Duan Ling feel rather wistful.

The cuisine served at the Yao estate in autumn is all about medicinal ingredients to strengthen one’s body, and there’s a lot of it. Alas, Duan Ling is right at that age when one’s blood tends to run hot anyway, and without Wu Du by his side, he spends most of the night tossing and turning trying to get to sleep. There’s nothing more he wants than to have someone to hold; nights of intimacy are what brings good sleep.

Tonight Duan Ling really can’t fall asleep, so he gets up and runs through a set of the Palm of the Realm. Suddenly, he hears footsteps from Li Yanqiu’s bamboo dwelling.

Out of curiosity, he sneaks over there, and as he thought he would, spies a figure coming out of the small building.

“Uncle?” Duan Ling says, frowning.

As soon as Li Yanqiu spots Duan Ling, he puts a finger in front of his lips for quiet.

“Shh.” Li Yanqiu grabs Duan Ling and walks around the courtyard wall. “Don’t let your aunt find out. Or else she’s going to talk my ears off again.”

Duan Ling looks at him questioningly.

They get to the courtyard wall, and Duan Ling says, “Where are you going? If you don’t take me with you, I’ll yell.”

“Come along,” Li Yanqiu says, bending down to let Duan Ling step on his back. He whispers, “Hop the wall. We’re going outside.”

And so Duan Ling hops over the courtyard wall. He finds Zheng Yan holding the reins of two horses on the other side; the sight of each other gives them both quite a fright.

Zheng Yan says, “What are you doing here?”

Li Yanqiu hops over the wall too, and he gets on a horse with Duan Ling. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ll take you out on a stroll.”

Duan Ling isn’t sure what he should say to his uncle. He shares a mount with Li Yanqiu, wrapping his arms around his waist. “When is my dad coming back?”

“He’ll be back soon. Probably in the next few days.”

Zheng Yan brings the two to a floating pavilion moored at Lake Wanguang’s shore. Laughter emanates from behind its curtains. Someone whispers, “Is it you, Mister Li?”

Li Yanqiu goes inside. He gets Duan Ling a seat nearby and orders him some food before stepping behind the curtains.

No wonder you refuse to leave Huaiyin, Duan Ling thinks.

“Should I order someone for you?” Zheng Yan says, “Do you want a man or a woman?”

All Duan Ling wants is Wu Du. He waves off Zheng Yan’s idea, feeling rather bored about this whole thing. “I’ll just sit here for a while.”

Night’s arrival had brought a gentle breeze across the lake, and it is utterly delightful. As Duan Ling leans upon the railing to enjoy the scenery, he feels a drowsiness come over him. He yawns, and sitting against the railing, he falls asleep.

He dreams a long, long dream; in the dream, there are armoured troops, blood, the fires of war, and infinite tears and sadness.

He dreams until there are clear tracks of tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Wake up, Duan Ling,” says a familiar voice.

Duan Ling tries to wave them away, but the person grabs his finger. Duan Ling opens his eyes, and as soon as he realises that he’s looking at Lang Junxia, he’s wide awake.

“Lang Junxia?! You’re back?” Duan Ling abruptly opens his eyes wide.

Lang Junxia smiles gently. Duan Ling wastes no time saying, “Where’s my dad?”

“Come.” Lang Junxia takes his hand and walks him towards the stern of the floating pavilion. A boat is waiting there. Lang Junxia beckons him to get on.

Summer lotus would stretch for ten miles 'round, but the air is thick with late autumn osmanthus.

By Lake Wanguang’s shore, the water is so still its surface is like a mirror, reflecting the moon above. Lang Junxia plays a beautiful melody, standing at the prow, while Duan Ling sits at his feet, staring at the water.

“Will he come?” Duan Ling looks up and asks Lang Junxia.

“He will,” Lang Junxia replies. “He will surely come.”

“It’s been so long already.”

“This song is called Joyful Reunion. The legends say that it can pacify all pain and regret in the mortal world. Be it across mountains and oceans, across rivers and plains, so long as you can’t bear to be apart from him, he will come, and reunite with you.”

Duan Ling sits at the prow. Their boat speeds through water so still that not a ripple could be seen, with the moon looking like it’s lying at the bottom of the lake. It takes him to the lake’s wide open heart, and at the centre of the lake, another little boat is waiting. It looks as though it’s been waiting there for a long, long time.

A man is standing on the boat. He faces Duan Ling with his palms spread, moonlight weaving through his fingers like an ancient dream.

“Dad —!” Duan Ling cries out.

Lang Junxia and Duan Ling’s boat approaches, and Duan Ling leaps onto the other boat to wrap his arms tightly around Li Jianhong. In a robe sewn out of peasant cloth, Li Jianhong looks just the way he did years ago, with a mischievous grin on his handsome face.

“Look how big you’ve grown,” Li Jianhong says, putting his hand on Duan Ling’s cheek, bending down to study his features carefully. His fingers run over Duan Ling’s brows and lips. Duan Ling is so moved that he can’t stop trembling, and tears almost spill from his eyes.

“Shh,” Li Jianhong says softly, “Don’t cry.”

He bends down, and presses a feather-light kiss to Duan Ling’s cheek.

As the moon nears its culmination, Li Jianhong is lying on the boat with Duan Ling in his arms. Their little boat has stopped on the calm surface of the lake, and they can no longer see the mountains by the shore. Li Jianhong puts his arm around his son’s shoulder and takes his hand; Duan Ling, meanwhile, holds both of their jade arcs in one hand as he tells Li Jianhong about the dream he had earlier.

“And then I got to Luoyang …”

“Yeah,” Li Jianhong says, smiling, “you found a wee little child, went to an apothecary, and worked there as an employee for a few months …”

Duan Ling says, baffled, “How did you know that?”

“Isn’t your dream also my dream?” Li Jianhong says absentmindedly, “Inside the dream, I had someone go pick you up with a cart, and gave you a place to stay so you could have someplace to sleep out of the cold; I put my hands over your ears and sealed the mouths of those around you so that you wouldn’t be too sad …”

Duan Ling looks up into Li Jianhong’s bright, clear eyes.

“This dream really was so long, and I had no idea when I would ever wake up either,” Duan Ling says.

“That time will come eventually. You will live to a ripe old age. Lang Junxia, Wu Du, Zheng Yan, Chang Liujun … they’ll all be there at your side.”

Duan Ling turns to his side and puts his head on Li Jianhong’s shoulder.

“But all I could think of was you. I wanted you to come back sooner,” Duan Ling mumbles.

“Dad never left,” Li Jianhong says. “I’ve always been with you.”

Duan Ling falls asleep in the midst of this serenity. At dawn, osmanthus petals flutter through the air to cover the surface of the lake, filling the air with a rich fragrance.

Someone is standing on a small boat by the shore replete with drifting osmanthus, sailing through the water towards Duan Ling.

“Duan Ling,” Wu Du says smilingly.

The voice reverberates inside his heart. Somewhere in the distance, someone is playing the flute; the music lingers on for ages, drifting endlessly towards the horizon.

I shortened the title to match the other ones. Here’s the full line: autumn lake mirrors the boundless sky; I lean upon this railing to await our joyful reunion. ↩︎

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xxkai9597xx · 2 years

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Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Watchtowers of the Seven Stars

5. Of Purple Lightning and Falling Golden Glint

Dressed in a set of martial artist robes, Li Jianhong sits up on a daybed in the main hall, drinking out of a teacup he holds gently in his left hand, his penetrative gaze is sweeping over the terrain map spread open on the table, while his right hand is wrapped around Duan Ling, who’s fallen asleep in his daytime clothes.

Duan Ling had stayed up for most of the night, waiting for word from Mu Qing and Wu Du, until he started getting sleepy and nodded off leaning against Li Jianhong’s chest. Even though he’s grown a lot over the past several years, when it’s just the two of them, Duan Ling still acts like a child much of the time.

“Are they here?” Duan Ling says in a daze.

“Not yet. Go sleep on the bed.”

Duan Ling yawns. There’s a deep furrow between his brows.

Li Jianhong asks, “Had another dream?”

“I’m always dreaming lately,” Duan Ling says gloomily.

Li Jianhong then proffers his teacup and feeds Duan Ling some of his tea. As he carries Duan Ling to bed, the doors fly open with a crash. A slender assassin dashes into the room and tosses something on the floor — it turns out to be a severed head.

Duan Ling immediately cries out loudly. The assassin hadn’t expected Duan Ling to be here as well, and he says at once, “I didn’t know Your Highness was here! I’m so sorry!”

It’s Zheng Yan’s voice, though. Duan Ling frowns. “Zheng Yan?!”

Zheng Yan unties his cloak and pushes the hood away from his face, and he looks like he’s been spending a lot of time on the road. “Wu Du killed the Goryeon envoy, but it was already too late. Borjigin Batu has formed an alliance with the Goreyo Emperor Wang Jeong, and they’re planning to surround our troops. Wu Du is still hiding in the enemy encampment, trailing the Mongolians as they strike camp. He awaits your orders.”

“Just as I thought!” Li Jianhong says, “Transmit this order to the entire army. First, we’ll intercept the Mongolians, then once we’ve rid ourselves of Borjigin, we’ll attack the Goryeon army in full force!”

All of a sudden, the entire army is on the move as the commanders at every level muster their troops. Zheng Yan’s been assigned to stay with Duan Ling, so Duan Ling walks out of the army camp with Lang Junxia and Zheng Yan, ready to march with Li Jianhong.

“Wu Du is fine,” Zheng Yan says to Duan Ling. “He asked me to tell you that he’ll be back soon.”

Duan Ling says, sounding quite astonished, “What are you doing here?”

Zheng Yan’s not sure if he should laugh or cry. “Need you ask? Your Highness left without nary a goodbye — you almost ended up getting us killed.”

Only now is Duan Ling finding out that after he sneaked out of the palace, Li Yanqiu flew into a rage and bade Zheng Yan and Lang Junxia chase him down. Zheng Yan went on the highway east, while Lang Junxia took the highway west, but even as Lang Junxia located Duan Ling, Zheng Yan still hadn’t gotten the news so he just kept going north without stopping. When he was told at last in Xunyang that Duan Ling’s been found, Li Jianhong decided to simply have him come along with the army as an assassin to help out behind the scenes.

“Then what about my uncle?” Duan Ling asks a little sheepishly.

“He almost expired from anger thanks to you. Right now he’s in Huaiyin, having tea, and he says you must go see him as soon as possible.”

“I … I’ll go once this battle is over with.”

Li Jianhong issues his orders, and the whole army is on high alert all at once, grabbing their weapons and getting ready to march. Li Jianhong rushes over to Duan Ling on horseback and says to him, “Lend me one of yours.”

“Which one?”

“Doesn’t matter which one,” Li Jianhong says.

Chang Liujun and Wu Du are out on their respective missions. Duan Ling knows that aside from directly confronting the enemy, his father also needs someone in reserve to assassinate the other party’s leader. He thinks silently about this before saying, “Lang Junxia, why don’t you go.”

Lang Junxia answers him with an affirmative hum, gets on a horse, and he’s off to follow Li Jianhong. Li Jianhong gives Duan Ling a meaningful look.

Duan Ling tries to explain himself right away, “Zheng Yan just travelled a thousand miles to get here, so let’s just let him rest for a bit …”

Li Jianhong laughs candidly and shakes his head in exasperation. With a pull on the reins, he turns his horse around and is gone.

Duan Ling knows that his father had seen right through him — he has reasons for sending Lang Junxia, and it’s certainly not as simple as letting Zheng Yan get some rest. Since Li Jianhong wanted an assassin, who would he want to assassinate? It has to be Batu. Duan Ling grew up with Batu and truly does not want him to die; all he wants is for him to leave.

But Zheng Yan doesn’t know Batu, so he’s not about to stay his hand; all Duan Ling can hope for is that Lang Junxia would, at that most crucial moment, give Batu a way out and stay his hand before the last killing blow.

By the middle of the night, what troops used to be garrisoned here have almost all been deployed. Zheng Yan is sitting on top of a pile of logs, languidly putting his gloves in order, while Duan Ling is pacing back and forth anxiously. It’s almost dawn and there’s still no word from Chang Liujun.

“Why don’t I sleep with you for a bit?” Zheng Yan says smilingly.

“I’ve been sleeping nonstop for days. I sleep during the day, I sleep during the night, and everyone who sees me tells me to go to sleep.”2

“Aiyoh, so you slept with all of them but you won’t sleep with me,” Zheng Yan teases.

“Do you want to die?!” Duan Ling says through gritted teeth, “Careful now or my uncle’s going to beat you.”

Zheng Yan is always like this — not a moment’s decency in front of Duan Ling’s face, but as soon as someone else is in the room he’s suddenly loyal and true and all ready to die for His Highness.

“You can tell on me and have me beaten a hundred times with the truncheon as well,” Zheng Yan says with a smile. “As long as you don’t feel bad about it.”

“Well then next time Wu Du gets a beating, you can simply take his place. Since the two of you are such good buds anyway …”

Before Duan Ling even manages to finish that sentence, Zheng Yan is already snapping to attention, standing ramrod straight with his knees together. “Your Highness, there’s no need to worry. I would never let anything happen to you.”

Duan Ling is speechless.

Li Jianhong’s voice rings out behind him, "My son, when you hear the warhorns later you’ll come along with us. You mustn’t act so rashly again.

Zheng Yan changes faces faster than he can flip through a book, and Duan Ling can’t make him do a damn thing. He turns around to let his father know he heard, and Li Jianhong is gone as quickly as he came; his sole purpose here was to inform him, and then he’s off to lead his troops again.

“Someone will have to let Chang Liujun know,” Duan Ling says. “Judging by how late they are, they’ve probably got nothing.”

Zheng Yan picks up the leather satchel and slings it over his shoulder. He tells Duan Ling to get on the horse, and then he also swings his leg over its back, sitting behind him.

Duan Ling says, “Get your own horse.”

“If I ride on my own, what am I supposed to do if you run away? His Majesty would behead me.”

“I promise I won’t.”

Zheng Yan can only get himself another horse. As Duan Ling is about to get someone to take a message for him, a guard suddenly charges out of the dark.

“Where is His Highness?!” Upon noticing that the camp is no longer occupied, the guard says immediately, “I need to see His Highness!”

As he comes face to face with Duan Ling, he dismounts in a panic, shouting, “Your Highness! We found the enemy troops by Lake Yinlang! Lord Mu’s been captured!”

Duan Ling snaps to attention, and with a shake of the reins, he charges out of the camp. Zheng Yan is at once alarmed and shouts, “Hey! What happened to that promise you made not to run off?!”

Duan Ling’s already charged into the night, so Zheng Yan has no choice but to start catching up while bellowing at the guard, “Go inform His Majesty at once! Send a division to reinforce us!”

It’s late into the night, and the mountains’ forests are pitch dark.

Chang Liujun has been shot in the back, arm, and leg, but thankfully all these wounds are minor, and once he bandaged them, he hides in the treetops to survey a location in the distance.

There is a narrow road on the eastern shore of Lake Yinlong, at the bottom of a slot canyon between two cliffs. It was through that very path that the Goryeo army managed to enter the interiors of the Xianbei Mountains. Once their army spread out, they’d pitched camp on the spot. They’d also gone without lighting campfires to avoid alerting their enemy.

A carrier pigeon flies in. By now, the troops garrisoned here have already begun assembling, getting ready to launch that pincer attack alongside the Mongolians for that crucial battle against Southern Chen. Things have reached the point of no return, and both sides are scrambling for time, as whichever side takes the first win will decide what the world would look like over the next century.

Chang Liujun takes a deep breath, his grip tightening over the Baihongjian. Spying a tent in the distance, he becomes a black shadow that blends into the night.

With the first muffled grunt, a Goryeon soldier falls to the ground, and then there’s a second noise, then a third. Each and every soldier blocking his way is downed by Chang Liujun with all his might.

Then, there is a blood-curdling scream — the Baihongjian’s path had strayed just enough to miss its mark without killing on the first strike, and this scream immediately alerts the entire camp. All at once, the camp erupts with shouts in Goryeon, and torches are lit all over the encampment as the soldiers begin to search for the assassin’s whereabouts.

Chang Liujun can’t be bothered to hide any longer and makes a run for the main tent. Yet the other party is already on the alert, assembling their forces to surround him.

“My dad is here!”

Inside the tent, Mu Qing explodes angrily at the Goryeon commander, “Let me go! Or else you’re all going to die!”

Outside, it’s utter pandemonium with Chang Liujun fighting a bloody battle, but just then, more commotion can be heard to the northwest — another group of soldiers has fought their way through!

“Come with me!” Duan Ling shouts.

Duan Ling fires off arrows in rapid succession, sowing chaos through the enemy troops, while Zheng Yan sends the blood and flesh of men or horses alike flying with every crack of his nine-sectioned steel whip.

Then, the eastern side of the camp is on fire. Southern Chen soldiers are shouting, “Charge —!”

Though they have less than a thousand men on their side, this has been a surprisingly successful raid so far. From the east, flames start to spread, and it’s chaos all around. Horses are running all over the place, so Chang Liujun grabs one of them and gets on. He howls, “I’m going to go save him!”

“Let’s go together!” Duan Ling shouts back.

With Chang Liujun and Zheng Yan in tow, Duan Ling rushes ahead to the central tent, crashing right into it.

Mu Qing cries out and Chang Liujun grabs him, turning him around to put him securely on the back of their horse. Chang Liujun shouts, “To the south! There’s a small path out that way!”

Duan Ling whistles, and the soldiers all rally at his location. Zheng Yan shouts, “Don’t you charge ahead. Chang Liujun, protect His Highness. Follow me!”

Zheng Yan spurs his horse toward the slot canyon’s entrance while the Goryeon army hurriedly musters their forces. A commander in fancy armour has the entry tightly guarded.

“Watch out!” Duan Ling shouts.

“Cover me!” Zheng Yan says loudly.

As he rides at full speed on horseback, Duan Ling pulls his bowstring taunt, and a thousand Southern Chen soldiers also nock and draw. A rain of arrows burst forth, flying towards the enemy archers.

Their enemy’s commander lets out a prolonged, furious howl that resembles the splitting of the mountains, reverberating in the forest. While Zheng Yan also lets out a shout that seems to go on forever, his qi feeding the sound as he crashes into the enemy leader!

The two pass each other by; Zheng Yan tows the Zidianjinmang behind him and draws the sword abruptly. As it leaves its sheath, it breaks through the air with a strike of formless lightning, as though an ear-splitting thunder had just roared by.

Out of the commander’s neck, blood sprays in an arc. His head spins through the air, landing with a thud.

It is a great boon to Southern Chen’s morale, and they let out a shout in unison as they charge past the enemy defences behind Duan Ling into the slot canyon.

The way is only wide enough for three horses to gallop abreast. Even though the Goryeon army would like to chase after them, they can’t squeeze into the path, so they start to gather before the canyon.

In a split second, Duan Ling has already charged into the canyon. Breathing heavily, he gives Zheng Yan a thumbs-up. Zheng Yan had used too much force with his left arm, and it is still shaking as he returns his sword to its sheath, breathing heavily.

The original was a double entendre — 個個見了我都讓我睡, which can mean both “everyone who sees me tells me to go to sleep” and “everyone who saw me let me sleep with them”, so Duan Ling walked into this one. Also Zheng Yan’s not technically wrong in his next assessment. ↩︎

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xxkai9597xx · 2 years

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Do you ever remember an unfinished and abandoned fic from years ago which touched you so deeply that it still sometimes resurfaces and lingers in your mind?

And you’re just like, dear unknown author, i hope you are doing well, wherever you are. It wasn’t finished but i loved it, thank you for your words.

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xxkai9597xx · 2 years

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ao3 is not instagram, and it’s not embarrassing to comment on a story that’s old. we understand that you just happened to come across it now; writing is magical in that you often come across the right story at just the time you need to read it.

also, authors will literally cry over their keyboard if you comment on the stuff they write.

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xxkai9597xx · 2 years

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Hey friends. Do this:

This probably took this person 3 seconds to do but it immediately told me that they liked my story enough to come back and read it again and they liked it again the second time.

Your favorite writers Do Not Know that you think about their stories after you read them. I generally assume that my stories make people happy for the few minutes they’re reading and then they never think about it again. To know that that’s not the case and that someone has returned just makes my little heart swell with joy.

I needed this today. If you’re the person who left this comment (or if you’ve ever commented on any of my writing) I love you.

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xxkai9597xx · 2 years

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Mammals both produce milk and have hair. Ergo, a coconut is a mammal.

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xxkai9597xx · 2 years

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Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Watchtowers of the Seven Stars

3. All the Realm’s Rivers End In the South

The eternal Silver River spans the northern night sky. Like a bolt of silk, the gentle aurora shines on the present just as it had shone on the past. Duan Ling remembers Wu Du telling him once that he didn’t like the nighttime, if only because the night is pitch-black.

But sometimes, Duan Ling favours the night, for nighttime has a sky full of stars, rare hours of tranquillity, brief moments of solitude, and dreams without boundaries and without end.

Night, like how right now he has his arms around his father’s waist, his head against his father’s powerful back. The sound of hoofbeats thunder through the snow and vibrate through his ears; the fragmentary noises of armour scraping against armour string together into a continuous, gentle rustling in the night.

The sun slowly rises between the mountains, and the world finally takes on colour again.

What he hears is the long-lost clamour of civilization; coming back from the wilderness, Duan Ling feels as though it’s been a long, long time since he’s seen the hustle and bustle of a city.

From the day the army set off on their expedition and Duan Ling stole away to follow them, leaving Jiangzhou for the north, three months have already gone by. Wu Du once asked him if he misses Jiangzhou, but of course he doesn’t. Both Wu Du and his father are here, so that’s basically home anyway.

Li Jianhong has been looking displeased this whole time, and his murderous aura is even more pronounced than usual. When they arrive at the encampment in Baihe, he throws Duan Ling over his shoulder and carries him off like some sort of animal. Duan Ling is all at once awake, and he starts struggling, but Li Jianhong simply carries him all the way into the marshal’s residence and drops him onto the daybed in the main hall.

“Are you so sure that I won’t beat you to death?!” Li Jianhong says, furious.

Yawning, Duan Ling grabs the blanket on the daybed and wraps it around himself. Li Jianhong is basically so angry that he’s not even sure where to begin anymore. He takes off his bracers and unstraps his armour, tossing each piece to the floor loudly in a series of metallic clangs.

“Why you …” After Li Jianhong has finished removing his armour, he strides up to Duan Ling, and Duan Ling immediately retreats into the blankets, leaving two eyes exposed to stare at his dad.

“Don’t yell at me anymore,” Duan Ling protests, “I’m going to sleep!”

Li Jianhong glares at him. Then he says grimly, “Get in here.”

“Aye,” Chang Liujun replies from outside and briskly walks in.

“Pass this message onto the rest of the army: we’ve found the crown prince. Wu Du failed in his duty. Although he’s already been dispatched to perform a mission, martial law must not be neglected. He will be demoted three ranks, and once he returns, he will be beaten by the truncheon …”

Duan Ling throws his blanket off and sits up. “Don’t you hit Wu Du anymore!”

“If it wasn’t for him, who’d take you all over the place and let you get into trouble all the time? This could have turned into a much bigger problem. What are we supposed to do if you fell into Mongolian hands?”

“The situation we were in was complete chaos at the time,” Duan Ling disputes, frowning. “At the moment of the ambush, how were we supposed to know where our people were and where the enemy was? They all say that when a general is on the field he can’t always follow orders. And here you are punishing him again!”

Li Jianhong bellows, “If he doesn’t go along with everything you say, why would you have ever run away from Jiangzhou to begin with and come all the way here?! You’re out of control!”

Duan Ling yells back, “Can’t you at least be reasonable?! I ran away myself! What did that have anything to do with him?!”

“Recall Wu Du for me right this minute!” Li Jianhong howls angrily at Chang Liujun.

“If you hit him again, I’m leaving!” Duan Ling is also howling angrily.

Chang Liujun keeps mum. He looks one way at Li Jianhong, then the other way at Duan Ling, and he’s finding it momentarily difficult to manage being stuck in the middle.

Li Jianhong’s breathing is coming in hard. Chang Liujun slowly backs away, saying, “Then … I will go in a little while.”

At the drop of his last word, Chang Liujun is gone like a gust of wind.

In a prolonged bout of silence, Li Jianhong finally speaks again, sounding entirely hostile, “Even since that knave started following at your side, you and I have been constantly at odds.”

Duan Ling’s also got a dark expression on his face. He refuses to speak.

“That docile and decorous demeanour you used to possess has vanished entirely,” Li Jianhong adds coldly. “My whole life, I only ever wanted you to be happy, and so you often behave atrociously under his abetment, putting yourself in danger, keeping me always in constant dread …”

“I’m the one who did wrong,” Duan Ling says, still as stubborn as ever. “That has nothing to do with him. You never used to speak harshly to me either, but ever since Wu Du’s been with me, you’ve been constantly finding fault with him. At any rate, if you don’t like someone then no matter what he does you’re going to say he’s doing wrong. Someday, once I’ve annoyed you once too many times, I’ll make sure to vanish from your sight without you having to ask. I won’t stick around to bother you.”

Li Jianhong remains silent.

Once Duan Ling finishes speaking, he turns away and falls onto the daybed with his face to the wall, ignoring Li Jianhong out of spite.

Li Jianhong can but sit behind the table helplessly, letting out one long sigh. All the murderous rage has gradually, finally subsided.

Soon, Duan Ling stirs. Li Jianhong says, “Are you hungry? Want breakfast?”

Duan Ling retreats closer to the wall, sneaking a glance at Li Jianhong in the meantime. Li Jianhong is squatting behind the table, drinking without looking at him.

“You should have at least found someone who’s less of an eyesore,” Li Jianhong says.

Duan Ling ignores his dad and flips over again.

“You making pancakes over there?” Li Jianhong continues, “if you’re thirsty, get up and have some water.”

Now Duan Ling gets up. Li Jianhong’s slender fingers pick up a cup of tea and set it down before him. Duan Ling drinks it in one gulp.

“I want more,” Duan Ling says.

And so Li Jianhong gets up and pours him more tea. When their eyes meet, Duan Ling’s gaze is full of resentment.

“Look at you. Are you just itching to fight your dad to the death or what,” Li Jianhong says offhandedly as he hands the second cup of tea to Duan Ling.

Duan Ling drinks that as well, and he wants more. “I can fight somebody else to death.”

“Now that definitely won’t do. Can you bear to leave me behind all by my lonesome to feel sad?”

Upon hearing these words, the edges of Duan Ling’s eyes go red in an instant.

Li Jianhong adds, “Judging by the way you look at me like I’m some nemesis you’d fight to the last breath, someday, if I really do die first, you’d probably be sad once it hits you. If I die alongside you, then we’d save us all this shouting. In the next lifetime, I’ll reincarnate as your son, and you can be my dad. Whatever you owe me now, I’ll make sure to get it all back. That’d teach you how much grief it is.”

“Pfft,” Duan Ling laughs. To him, if he ever holds a grudge against anyone it wouldn’t be against Li Jianhong. With this one laugh, they’ve basically reconciled.

“Hey,” Duan Ling says.

“Hay’s for horses.” Li Jianhong hands him his third cup of tea.

Duan Ling stops after drinking only half of it.

“Dad,” Duan Ling calls him.

Li Jianhong raises an eyebrow, meaning if he’s got something to say he should just say it. Duan Ling sits there a bit awkwardly and suddenly starts to hate himself. That day, when Li Jianhong left to go on this campaign, he’d taken Wu Du and Chang Liujun with him, while Li Yanqiu was supposed to guide Duan Ling in administration work for the court, leaving Lang Junxia and Zheng Yan to protect Duan Ling and to keep him company. Duan Ling couldn’t stop worrying about Li Jianhong though, and he missed Wu Du besides, so thinking that once they part it’d be at least a year before they get to see each other again, he’d hid in a carriage and came along.

It had taken Lang Junxia ages to catch up to him. Duan Ling was in the forest then, catching hares for dinner, and got caught right then and there. Once they met up with the army, he clung onto Li Jianhong and refused to let go, so Li Jianhong could only take the little young master along.

“Originally, I’d …” Duan Ling says, “never mind.”

Duan Ling was going to say that he only followed Li Jianhong because he couldn’t bear to part with him, but he’s not a kid anymore, so it’s embarrassing to admit to being so clingy.

Li Jianhong sits on the daybed in front of Duan Ling with his back to him. “Rub my shoulders for me.”

So Duan Ling tries his best to drum along Li Jianhong’s shoulders, gripping his sore muscles. A slight furrow remains between Li Jianhong’s brows. Duan Ling says, “The day you left, I had a dream about that year in Shangjing.”

“Which year?” Li Jianhong says offhandedly.

“That year. I dreamt that you came to rescue me, and on the street just outside the Viburnum, you were shot to death.”

“You’re clearly thinking about that guy. You think I’m a child you can fool by making up a story like this?”

“I’m serious!” Duan Ling says anxiously, “I had such a long dream too … During that time in the dream I didn’t know you were gone, so I went all the way to Xichuan in the snow, but Lang Junxia tossed me into the river. Good thing Wu Du saved me.”

“Look at this look at this,” Li Jianhong just finds this hilarious. He says, “What on earth kind of grievance do you have against Wuluohou Mu anyway? And you say I hold a grudge?”

“Are you going to listen or what?”

Duan Ling pulls at the red string with the jade arc that Li Jianhong wears so it tightens around his strong neck, and Li Jianhong immediately begs for mercy. Duan Ling pulls him closer then, pushing him onto the bed. Duan Ling straddles his waist and rubs at his face. Li Jianhong’s handsome face gets kneaded and he sighs with pleasure.

Duan Ling grabs a towel and puts it across his father’s forehead, then sits down on the step at the edge of the daybed. “In the dream, everyone was picking on me. Cai Yan passed himself off as me and became the crown prince.”

“This Wuluohou Mu is seriously reprehensible,” Li Jianhong says, the corner of his mouth quirking up a tiny angle, “on the contrary, Wu Du is so loyal …”

Duan Ling kneads Li Jianhong’s knees for him, the back of his legs, and the joints of his fingers to loosen the knots, narrating every detail of that nightmare in the meanwhile — from the Xianbei Mountains to Xichuan, then Jiangzhou, Hebei … halfway through, thinking that Li Jianhong’d fallen asleep, he lowers his volume, but he still doesn’t want to stop, and so starts to mumble to himself.

“… Batu brought twenty thousand soldiers to lay siege to my city …”

To his surprise, Li Jianhong says, “I’m still listening.”

Duan Ling is massaging the knots out of his hands, so Li Jianhong turns his palm over and grabs Duan Ling’s fingertips, locking their fingers together, and then he sways their hands back and forth. He withdraws his hand again, gently strokes his fingers over Duan Ling’s face, and gives his cheek a squeeze.

And so Duan Ling continues his story all the way to the end. When he’s done, his mind is still engrossed in the dream, and his words come haltingly. For a long time, he can’t seem to shake it off.

“That’s the end of it,” Duan Ling says. He climbs onto the daybed and takes away the towel he’d placed over Li Jianhong’s eyes earlier. His father’s eyes seem a bit red to him; they stare at each other without a word.

Duan Ling looks wonderingly at him.

Li Jianhong stretches, sits up cross-legged, and hugs Duan Ling, putting his head on his shoulder. The jade arc on his bare chest sways with the motion, and it touches the jade arc in front of Duan Ling’s neck. They shimmer with a gentle glow.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Duan Ling says.

“It’s a dream. What can I ever say about it?” Li Jianhong looks at him strangely, “Let’s go practice your martial arts.”

Duan Ling is left speechless. He follows Li Jianhong outside to practice. It is getting close to evening, and the snow is gilded in gold.

“Dad,” Duan Ling says when they’re halfway through the set, turning at the same time as Li Jianhong. Li Jianhong’s eyes are focused on Duan Ling’s back, his palm held up vertically as he fixes Duan Ling’s posture.

“Yeah, my son.” Li Jianhong is clearly preoccupied.

“Don’t punish Wu Du again,” Duan Ling stops moving and implores.

“Fine fine fine,” Li Jianhong says, “out of everyone in the world, Your Highness Li Ruo is the greatest of them all. Whatever you say goes.”

“Out of everyone in the world, you’re the one who’s greatest,” Duan Ling says resentfully. “You just can’t stand to see me being nice to anyone is all.”

“Of course I can’t stand to see you being nice to anyone,” Li Jianhong says, baffled. He holds up a finger and beckons Duan Ling over to block his moves, and as Duan Ling blocks and parries, he continues, “You’re only realising this now? That scoundrel’s swindled you away, so then what about me?”

Duan Ling’s not sure if he should laugh or cry — neither in words nor in fights is he a match for his father.

“Can I castrate him?” Li Jianhong says.

Duan Ling is utterly speechless.

“That or we can make things fair,” Li Jianhong says with a deadpan expression on his face, "Some other day I’ll also …’

Li Jianhong was going to say I’ll also go find myself a lover, but as soon as he thinks of his late wife, he feels a sadness coming over him. Duan Ling naturally knows what he was about to say as well, and his expression darkens immediately. Li Jianhong stops himself in time and says instead, “Don’t do unto others what you would not want done to you. Can’t you stop for a moment and think about how your dad feels?”

“It’s not the same thing.” Duan Ling feels a bit bitter, and he stands there dejectedly in the snow.

Li Jianhong knows he’s gone too far and feels rather remorseful about it; he immediately vows that he would never do such a thing. But Duan Ling is still a bit sulky.

“Alright, alright,” it’s Duan Ling’s turn to fly off the handle, “stop talking! I’ve forgotten it all already!”

“Sure sure sure,” Li Jianhong knows he’s said something out of line and must make amends. He gets an idea and says, “We won’t demote Wu Du anymore.”

Duan Ling finally feels somewhat happier, but as night falls, he’s still a bit worried about what Wu Du is doing. After dinner, Li Jinghong takes his son into his room.

“You’re not going to convene a meeting and plan the next battle?” Duan Ling asks.

“My head hurts,” Li Jianhong says. “I don’t want to fight right now. There’s a bed here so let’s sleep today. We’ll worry about all that tomorrow.”

And so Li Jianhong tosses his son into the bed, lies down next to him, and goes to sleep.

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xxkai9597xx · 2 years

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Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Watchtowers of the Seven Stars

2. The Black Blade’s Flitting Shadow Is As It Once Was

Astride Benxiao, Duan Ling leans back into Lang Junxia’s chest, and the mountains to either side of them flit swiftly by. It reminds him of the night Lang Junxia took him away from Runan; the mountains stood like shapes in a shadowplay, while the swaying pine trees and great wide rivers had turned into intertwining shadows one by one that rotated with the magic lantern2, their blurry figures on window paper haloed by red and yellow light.

Through bright lantern light, hazy, indistinct shadows had cast themselves onto his young, innocent eyes, as though he had peered into another world.3

“Lang Junxia,” Duan Ling looks up to say.

Lang Junxia hmms gently in response.

“What happened earlier … please don’t tell,” Duan Ling says smilingly.

Lang Junxia doesn’t answer him. Instead, he asks, “Are you cold?”

Lang Junxia’s body temperature isn’t like Wu Du’s, who’s always scalding hot; sometimes, even through their clothes, Duan ling could feel the exuberant, powerful vitality within Wu Du.

“I’m not cold,” Duan Ling says. “What happened last time got him twenty blows with the truncheon …”

The last time Duan Ling and Wu Du were caught petting, Wu Du was impeached by the Imperial Censor and ended up getting beaten half to death. Even though Duan Ling knows that Lang Junxia isn’t about to tell on him, he’s always had this feeling that things aren’t exactly great between them — Lang Junxia seems instinctively hostile towards Wu Du.

“What do you like about him?” Lang Junxia asks suddenly.

“Oh?” Duan Ling has no idea where this is coming from.

The corner of Lang Junxia’s mouth turns up ever so slightly with a smile that may or may not be there.

Duan Ling and Wu Du had exchanged their vows of love long ago, so to be asked this all of a sudden, he actually isn’t sure how to answer. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“I like that he’s … good at martial arts?”

“Chang Liujun is also good at martial arts.”

Duan Ling smiles then. “He can cook for me.”

Lang Junxia says offhandedly, “Zheng Yan’s food is better than his.”

“He’s … handsome.”

“Your uncle is more handsome than he is.”

“He’s good to me.”

“Everyone is good to you. That one, especially.”4

Duan Ling’s not even sure what to say anymore, and says at last, “I’m just fond of him, that’s all. I can’t come up with why I do.”

“He’s just lucky,” Lang Junxia says nonchalantly. “The day is long, so eventually you won’t be so fond of him anymore. All children love novelty. He just happens to get along well with you.”

“That won’t happen,” Duan Ling says as he starts to frown. “My feelings can persevere.”

“Sure,” Lang Junxia says casually, “you’re not heartless like me.”

“What are you talking about?!” Duan Ling laughs, reaching out to tickle him. Lang Junxia takes Duan Ling’s hand then and presses it against his stomach, warming it for him.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” Duan Ling says, “It’s not like I don’t want you anymore just because I’m with Wu Du.”

“Jealous? I’d never dare.”

Duan Ling’s gaze flicker this way and that as he sneaks a glance at Lang Junxia’s face, trying to ascertain his expression. He’s always like this, seemingly indifferent, his emotions never written on his face. Sometimes he would judge that Lang Junxia is angry by something he said, but then by the next sentence, it would seem like nothing had happened. He’s never seen him shed tears, and also seldom seen him smile.

“We’re here,” Lang Junxia says. “For tonight, we’ll stay in the mountains, and head over to Baihe tomorrow.”

The Xianbei Mountains is Lang Junxia’s turf, and it’s obvious that he’s been here earlier, as everything is ready and waiting for them. The moment they enter the village, someone comes over to greet them and leads their horse away to the stables, and those passing them by salute Lang Junxia, calling him Your Highness in the Xianbei language.

The Xianbei have high noses and deep-set eyes; the men have handsome faces, while the women are beautiful and graceful, their clothing distinctive to their culture. Only Lang Junxia is walking around in a Han coat, though it does nothing to conceal his nobility.

He takes Duan Ling to their lodgings where they will be staying for the night. The inside of the house has been thoroughly cleaned, and there are fresh clothes laid out for the two of them. After days on the road, Duan Ling is already exhausted, and he tries to collapse onto the bed as soon as he sees it. Noticing what he’s about to do, Lang Junxia quickly grabs him by the waist.

“Have some water first,” Lang Junxia says. “I know you’re tired.”

Duan Ling takes a few mouthfuls of biting cold, clear spring water out of a cup in Lang Junxia’s hand. Lang Junxia then unwraps him from his robes. Duan Ling had gone many days without a bath, and he itches all over. Once he’s stripped and standing naked in front of the mirror, he feels a trifle embarrassed.

Lang Junxia notices his embarrassment and discomfort, and so he puts a flax robe on him before bringing him around the screen. There’s a bathtub behind the screen, filled with hot water. He tells Duan Ling to bathe first.

“There’s a hot spring in the mountains,” Lang Junxia says, sitting down outside the screen. “Once this war is over, I’ll take you there for a soak.”

“Eh.”

Lang Junxia asks, “Do you want me to scrub your back?”

There’s a bit of pink in Duan Ling’s cheeks, and he curls in on himself in the water. Lang Junxia continues before he gets an answer, “If I knew this would happen I wouldn’t have sent Wu Du away. He could have waited on you.”

Recalling that when he was little, Lang Junxia was always the one who bathed him anyway, Duan Ling says, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought you should get some rest too.”

Lang Junxia comes around the screen with a towel, and he helps Duan Ling wash his hair and scrub his back. Soon, someone brings them fruit — freshly picked raspberries from the mountains, sweet and sour, ice cold on the tongue; Duan Ling ends up eating quite a lot of them. Only once Duan Ling has bathed and unwound entirely does Lang Junxia make him sit on the bed, while he himself gets into the bathwater Duan Ling just used.

“Get them to bring another tub,” Duan Ling says immediately.

“It’s too much trouble.” Lang Junxia’s bare, athletic body is cast onto the screen, forming a well-proportioned silhouette as fine and beautiful as a horse’s. He’s wiping at his own chest.

And so Duan Ling sits there holding a handwarmer and lets his mind wander for a bit, listening to the sound of water coming from behind the screen. Not a moment passes before Lang Junxia is saying offhandedly, “You’re the crown prince, Duan Ling.”

“I know—” Duan Ling says, dragging out the last syllable. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re always playing havoc with your safety, giving your people a fright — what are your subordinates supposed to think? When the fighting started, you charged right on ahead relying on the fact that someone is protecting you. As soon as you got separated, everyone was terrified that you’d fallen into Mongolian hands. You have no idea that some people would rather die than see you lose so much as a hair on your head.”

Duan Ling feels a bit gloomy from his lecture. “I won’t do it again. And it’s not like I did it on purpose either. What’s more, we were ambushed, to begin with.”

Lang Junxia knows when to stop, so he doesn’t keep going.

After Duan Ling says that, he feels even more depressed. He collapses onto the bed backwards, spreads his hands, and mumbles to himself, “The future historians are going to say that I was an inept ruler for sure. If you all desert me someday, I’ll at least make a textbook negative example for the descendants.”

Lang Junxia’s movement pauses as though he would like to add something, but ends up holding his tongue.

After a brief moment of silence, Lang Junxia says, “I spoke too much.”

“You haven’t,” Duan Ling replies wearily. That’s when Lang Junxia comes around the screen, finished with his bath and dressed in a brocade robe embroidered with white wolves. His face is as beautiful as jade, dazzling to the eye. Seeing him just puts Duan Ling in a good mood.

Lang Junxia tells the servants that they may start serving dinner, which is the roast meat wrapped in Shiso leaf that the Xianbei are accustomed to eating. Lang Junxia washes his hands again, carefully wraps Duan Ling’s food in shiso, and pours him a glass of sweet deer milk, waiting upon him as he eats.

Watching Lang Junxia’s graceful movements, Duan Ling thinks that this is what a prince should act like. Not like himself, who’s spoiled rotten and runs around all the time like a barbarian.

“We ought to trade places,” Duan Ling says with a smile. “The way I see it, you’re more like the crown prince of the Han, while I’m like a little barbarian king of the Lolo.”

“So long as you’re aware.” Lang Junxia’s eyes are smiling. “These are all things you love to eat.”

“You knew all along that Wu Du and I were in that canyon, didn’t you?” Duan Ling says suspiciously. How else could Lang Junxia have managed to get everything ready so quickly? Lang Junxia must have found him last night and rode Benxiao back here first to make sure everything is ready for him before riding over to get him.

Lang Junxia raises an eyebrow but doesn’t answer. Perhaps he can sense how Duan Ling is feeling, and thus acts a bit more familiar towards him, telling him to eat some more.

“You aren’t going broke from this meal, right?” Duan Ling notices that the banquet is full of delicacies that he can’t even find in the imperial palace of the central plains — it’s either deer tendon or roe tongue, which makes him wonder just how many cooks are in the kitchen just to serve him. His impression of the Wuluohou tribe in the Xianbei Mountains is that they’re rather poor; he wouldn’t want Lang Junxia to lose his entire fortune over one meal for the crown prince. He can’t possibly do that to him.

“It’s all thanks to you,” Lang Junxia says without fanfare. “You’ve given the Xianbei Mountains to the Wuluohous, exempted us from customs taxation, and bestowed gifts as well, so this place owes you.”

“The mountains belonged to your people in the first place.” Duan Ling is so full he can barely move, but he’s still staring at that tray of plum blossom pudding on the table, estimating how many he may be able to fit in his stomach if he gives it his all.

When he finally manages to eat it all, Lang Junxia steeps him a cup of ginseng tea.

Duan Ling drinks his tea and says, “In the past, it was the Han that owed you.”

“It was what the Han owed us, but not what you owed us.”

Duan Ling smiles. “I’m Han too. I’m a Han among Han.”

Lang Junxia says coolly, “You’re Xianbei.”

Duan Ling stares at him, flabbergasted.

They stare at each other for ages. Duan Ling almost spits out his tea.

Lang Junxia says nonchalantly, “From the very first day I met you, I treated you as Xianbei. I’ve never thought of you as Han.”

If this ever gets out it’d be way more than twenty blows with a truncheon for you, Duan Ling thinks, but he’s actually rather happy to hear it from Lang Junxia — as though Lang Junxia has admitted some sort of connection between them.

“Get up and take a walk. It’d help you digest your food,” Lang Junxia says.

“I want to lie down.” After eating his fill, Duan Ling doesn’t want to move at all.

“Get up and take a walk.”

“I want to lie down,” Duan Ling says stubbornly.

The servants put away the tables. Lang Junxia can’t make Duan Ling do anything, so he can only let him lie there. It’s so cold outside; Duan Ling won’t go even if you threaten him with death.

“I’ll take you stargazing,” Lang Junxia tries again.

“I don’t want to see them.” Duan Ling isn’t going to budge no matter what anyone says.

Lang Junxia can only sit by the bed and eat Duan Ling’s leftovers. He is a bit tired after dinner. Duan Ling glances over at him; he knows Lang Junxia wants to lie down with him.

It’s already been a long time since they had any time alone together. After he and Wu Du became a couple, Duan Ling thinks he really has left Lang Junxia in the cold.

Duan Ling scoots closer to the wall, making room. Lang Junxia takes this chance to half lie down, keeping one foot off the bed.

“I’ll get off in a little bit,” Lang Junxia says.

“This is your home,” Duan Ling says. “You’re the ruler of the Wulouhou.”

“I’m the ruler of the Wuluohou, but you are my ruler,” Lang Junxia says placidly before turning to look at Duan Ling.

“Sometimes I think maybe I should just let you come back here to lead Xianbei …”

“I never said I wanted to come back. Don’t decide things on your own.”

Duan Ling can’t help but laugh. He turns over and stares at Lang Junxia’s profile.

“Do you like it here?” Lang Junxia asks.

“I do,” Duan Ling replies.

It’s quiet. There’s not a sound to be heard save for the murmur of snow falling in the mountains.

“If you like it here, you can come as often as you like.”

“Every time I come the whole village will have to wait on me. Everyone gets to spin like a top the whole time I’m here. If I come again I’ll just cause you more trouble.”

“I don’t have anything I can give you,” Lang Junxia says. “It’s fine, we can afford to entertain you for while.”

“Yeah.” Duan Ling is getting a bit sleepy, so Lang Junxia pulls the blanket over him. Duan Ling yawns with his eyes closed.

And so Lang Junxia quietly watches him sleep, unblinking.

Duan Ling has no idea how long he sleeps until he hears the muffled cries of battle. Lang Junxia looks up at once, a deep furrow between his brows.

Outside, someone yells something in Xianbei, and Lang Junxia gets off the bed as swiftly as a gust of wind. Duan Ling starts to wake up as well.

By the time he’s awake, Lang Junxia’s just finished changing into a black martial artist robe. A dagger is worn at his waist, and the leather belt for the harness is slanted across his chest, hidden beneath his robe.

“Who’s there?” Duan Ling turns his head to listen. There are advantages to being a crown prince who has a tendency to run all over the place, actually. At the very least, whenever there is any sign of danger, he can react faster than any civil official. Two shakes of a lamb’s tail and he’s off the bed, pulling a robe over himself. He grabs a hunting bow, checks its weight, finds a quiver and starts counting the arrows within.

“No idea,” Lang Junxia replies. “Let’s leave through the back door.”

“What do you mean leave? Let’s fight!”

“You …” Lang Junxia says, frowning, “you’re getting more unruly by the day!”

Duan Ling’s taken food from the Xianbei people, so how can he simply leave? If the Han hasn’t been at war with the Goryeons, the fires of war wouldn’t have been lured to the Xianbei Mountains again. This time, he absolutely mustn’t run away.

“It can’t possibly be a large-scale army,” Duan Ling says. “The terrain here is complex, so there’s no point trying to station troops in this region. That’d just lead to Han raids. This is a group of scouts at most, and there won’t be too many of them either. I’m certain they are less than a hundred people — we can take them.”

In the middle of the night, Xianbei hunters have turned out in full force. By the time Duan Ling and Lang Junxia come out, a chaotic battle has already ensued. It’s so dark that they can’t tell how many enemy soldiers there are.

“Form a defensive perimeter!” Duan Ling shouts. “Sabres to the frontline, archers on the roofs. Cover us!”

The enemy seems to be well-trained scouts, but he can’t tell which nation they’re from as they begin rushing the village. Their numbers are less than a hundred as Duan Ling projected, but even so, the villagers are finding it difficult to fend them off.

Lang Junxia says, “I’m going to charge on ahead, you fall back.”

Duan Ling falls back obediently. With his sword in both hands, Lang Junxia fades into the night like a shadow, and his disappearance is followed by a series of screams. Duan Ling counts them off nervously; one round of attacks from Lang Junxia has taken care of seventeen men, and the enemy begins to grow frantic, backing away.

Then there is even more commotion — all around them, war horns are blown, and the rumbling of hoofbeats sends a tremor through the earth.

This is bad, Duan Ling thinks. Are the Mongolians here? What’s going on?

“Watch out!” Lang Junxia’s voice shouts furiously.

An arrow screams through the air towards Duan Ling, shimmering in the darkness. Duan Ling turns his head abruptly as another arrow flies in his direction, shattering the first arrow in a splintering of wood.

Duan Ling cries out as two enemy soldiers make it past the fence to him. A heavy sword spins through the air and crashes into the soldiers with a great bang, hitting them so hard that blood sprays from their mouths as they collapse to the ground.

Someone whistles.

Behind the stables, Benxiao suddenly looks up, struggles out of its reins, and charges through the street towards Duan Ling.

There is nothing but bewilderment in Duan Ling’s eyes, but before he can cry out, Benxiao has already made its way to him. It leaps past the fence and tramples all over.

Then a man in full armour and wielding a halberd is sweeping the weapon before him, clearing his way. Each time his battle boots step onto an enemy soldier, it makes a dull thud, and each time he casually points into the dark with his halberd, an enemy soldier would fall to the ground as though they’re made of paper.

Before Duan Ling has a chance to call out, that man has already charged his way to him, and scooping him up like a sack of rice, he tosses him onto Benxiao’s back. Then he plucks off his own helmet and puts it over Duan Ling’s head before getting on the horse himself.

Now Duan Ling pushes up his helmet, and shouts, “Dad —!”

Li Jianhong looks exceedingly grave, his majestic figure covering Duan Ling like a towering mountain, blocking all the arrows flying chaotically every which way.

The earliest known form of the camera obscura. Check the overview here. ↩︎

He’s referencing that scene in the Viburnum where he saw Lang Junxia naked. ↩︎

He’s referring to Li Jianhong. ↩︎

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xxkai9597xx · 2 years

Text

Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Watchtowers of the Seven Stars

1. Ardent Starlight Shines On the Nineteen Provinces

There is snow north of the Great Wall, and snow south of the Great Wall, but their colours are not the same.

Snow in the central plains is the colour of ice and jade. It falls like the soft bundles that wrap themselves around cotton and willow seeds, drifting across the sky, meandering their way into every wintry night, reflecting and refracting variegated lantern light shining from all walks of life.

Meanwhile, snow in the north is the colour of light. It falls like stars tumbling into the mortal world, sharp, dazzling, covering everything as far as the eyes can see. Each star links to the next to form a single fabric, as though the dam holding back the Silver River has burst so that it spills into the boundless desert, spills into the sombre mountains, spills into the vast, frozen rivers.

The north is untouched by civilization, nothing but wilderness and forest stretching all the way to the horizon, and every tree is weighed down by heavy, northern snow. Every once in a while, a tree would bend and crack, and a chain reaction would go from tree to tree. The sound of branches snapping would go on and on.

The warhorse whinnies as it charges into a snowy forest. Then, a deep, low voice speaks.

“Be quiet,” Wu Du says in a voice that seems magnetic. The horse settles down.

Duan Ling wraps his arms around Wu Du’s waist and presses his cheek tight against Wu Du’s back. “Where is the ambush?”

“We’ve lost them all.”

Wu Du sizes up their surroundings. They’ve taken a shortcut, but in the process, they’ve been separated from their unit and met with Goryeo ambushes all the way here. Wu Du had no choice but to take Duan Ling through the thick forest into the deepest part of the canyon.

He turns to look at Duan Ling behind him, and they face each other without a word.

“We’re lost.” Wu Du steers with the reins, turns their horse around, and stops there. “Are you cold?”

Duan Ling lets out a mouthful of hot air that crystalises before his eyes. Wu Du carries him off the horse. “Let’s move around for a bit.”

“We had marched 'til dawn the night before, and charged down from the highlands,” Duan Ling says. “We’ve been galloping nonstop one day and one night, so if we’d gone south, we shouldn’t have gotten this far out of the way. I fear we may have taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

In the snow, Duan Ling scratches out a rough map of the places they passed through along the way with a stick and studies it with Wu Du. Wu Du says, “You’re right. We should have left the mountains as soon as we saw the first exit to the canyon, but I wasn’t really paying attention at the time, and there were Goryeo assassins lying in ambush there as well, so if we go back that way now, it’s probably closed to us.”

This war with Goryeo has already gone on for half a year. Yuan, Liao, and Xiliang have all been dragged into the war. Southern Chen’s army amassed troops and crossed the northeastern border in midsummer through Shanhaiguan, but got delayed for the better part of a year — until the first snow of this year came along with the biting arctic chill.

This is what Duan Ling hates most: combat in the winter, combat in the north, combat over two frontlines, and combat in the middle of a blizzard. This war of resistance against the Goryeo invasion essentially checked all the boxes. Great Chen sent all of its best soldiers and was planning to give the Goryeo army a decisive blow, but now that they managed to confirm the King of Goryeo’s location, the Chen army was ambushed by the Mongols during a forced march, throwing them into confusion.

“If we go any farther north we’ll reach the Xianbei Mountains.” Wu Du looks up to observe the sky, but it’s all dark. He cuts down a tree with the Lieguangjian to study its growth rings before pointing south.

“Let’s rest for a while.” Duan Ling is utterly exhausted. He walks next to Wu Du towards the snowcapped mountains, finds a mountain cave, and ducks inside.

Wu Du soon returns holding two hares and a bundle of firewood. He starts a fire, propping up their boots next to the fire so they can dry. They lean against each other to roast the hares for dinner.

“Hey,” Duan Ling says.

“Yeah?” Wu Du stares at the campfire in front of him in a daze. Golden flames become leaping, twinkling starlight in his bright eyes.

“When we get back, you’re going to get yelled at again,” Duan Ling makes fun of him.

“I was born to be yelled at,” Wu Du says with a smile, “this time, I’ll at least be beaten with the truncheon ten times before it’s over.”

Several red welts are exposed on Wu Du’s strong arm at the edge of his rolled-up sleeve. They’re from the whipping he got just before the army set off. He’s always being punished over something Duan Ling did, and out of the four great assassins, he’s the one who’s punished most often. He’s already used to it. Every time Wu Du is punished, Duan Ling would stand somewhere nearby, watching, feeling terrible about it, and shouting, “stop hitting him, stop hitting him already! It’s not like he did it on purpose.”

But with all the beatings he’s taken, Wu Du’s gotten better at medical treatment, and he has a lot of ointments too, so whatever superficial injuries he suffers heal within days. Wu Du doesn’t really care, but Duan Ling cares about it something dreadful.

“Hey,” Duan Ling says again.

This time, Wu Du doesn’t answer. He has an arm around Duan Ling, and both their minds are wandering. A heartbeat later, Duan Ling’s hand move along the welts on his arm over to his muscular chest, while Wu Du’s big hand on the small of Duan Ling’s back pulls him closer, and caresses him.

“What are you thinking about?” Duan Ling whispers.

“What else could I be thinking about.” Wu Du kisses Duan Ling’s eyebrow with his warm lips, and laying him down, sniffs him along the side of his face like a wolf. Keeping his weight off Duan Ling with his elbows, he presses his body gently down on Duan Ling.

“Your dad must want to beat me to a pulp,” Wu Du says quietly next to Duan Ling’s ear.

Duan Ling can’t help but laugh. He wraps his arms around Wu Du’s neck and says, “Well then you better behave yourself.”

“Even if I have to die tomorrow,” Wu Du continues, “there’s no way I can behave.”

Then, Wu Du unbelts his undershirt and leans over him, and Duan Ling can’t help but gasp aloud; the two of them are always on edge in the barracks, and once separated from the army they’ve been kept busy dodging their pursuers. On this quiet, snowy night, they’ll finally get to be intimate.

Later, Duan Ling falls asleep on his side, cheeks glowing from the heat of the fire, while Wu Du leans back against the cave’s wall near the entrance, staying up to keep watch with his robes gathered around his waist, his tight, slim muscles covered in a sheen of sweat.

There’s a shallow scar on his nose that he’d gotten from a duel with a Khitan. At a horse exhibition between Liao, Yuan, and Xiliang, Wu Du fought a duel singlehandedly against the other three peoples, and in the end, managed to tame the king of the horses. Once the horse was taken back to Jiangzhou though, it didn’t even live two years before the unsuitable climate led to its death. Duan Ling was quite sad over this for a while.

He has a red burn scar on his arm, which he got from setting fire to the Mongolians’ rations and fodder when he attacked their encampment with Duan Ling. A pillar had been falling, and he immediately held it up with his arm, and that’d left this scar behind.

Several marks crisscross his back. As they were chased down by their enemies, they’d shot at his iron armour with their bolts, bending the metal out of shape. After days of hard travel on horseback, the blisters they’d made had healed and blistered again … rinse and repeat, leaving scars.

One of his ribs was broken before, and Duan Ling was the one who’d set it back in its place. Before healing up properly, he’d gone charging into the battlefield again, so it’d grown back a bit crooked. Each time they embrace, Duan Ling would touch him from his collarbones all the way down, to his waist, then to his buttocks.

He has a bright red mark on the side of his neck. Duan Ling had made it with his mouth earlier.

And now Wu Du stares at the snow outside, at the darkness. The silence is broken every now and again by the hooting of an owl. If there are scouting falcons, he’ll have to put out the campfire to prevent discovery by their enemies.

Duan Ling turns over and yawns. Wu Du pulls the robe over his shoulders like a blanket.

“Hot.” Duan Ling has gotten a bit thirsty in his sleep. Wu Du holds up a water canteen next to his mouth and gives him a drink.

“Let me keep watch,” Duan Ling says. “You sleep for a bit.”

“I’m fine.”

Soon after Duan Ling gets up, rinses out his mouth, and guzzles some water, he tries to burrow his way into Wu Du’s arms again. Wu Du feels himself burning up all over, and once Duan Ling has rubbed up against him for a while, he can’t help but kiss him.

“Actually, this is the one time I didn’t want to come out here and fight on the battlefield,” Duan Ling says. “But once you leave, we won’t be able to see each other for most of the year.”

“I know.” Wu Du smiles. When it comes to Duan Ling, he’s always been willing to do anything. He knows Duan Ling is awfully stubborn too, racking his brains to come up with ways to spend more time with him. Wu Du doesn’t make a fuss about anything else as long as their hearts are beating as one.

With his arms around Duan Ling, he pats him on the shoulder a couple of times. Duan Ling adds, “When I get back I’ll figure out something. We can’t always live like this.”

What can he ever figure out? He’s the crown prince, and Wu Du is an assassin. Coming this far together is already a special favour bestowed by the imperial family — did he think he could really monopolise Southern Chen’s sole descendent, the future Son of Heaven?

This is a problem without a solution. He can’t think of a solution, so of course he can’t push this responsibility onto Duan Ling either. This makes him always so frustrated — after all, it’s not like every man on earth faces the same difficult problem he’s facing. The roads others have travelled on cannot offer him much guidance either.

“One must be content with one’s lot,” Wu Du says with a smile.

“Alright then, I’m not content with my lot,” Duan Ling says helplessly.

“I’m talking about myself,” Wu Du whispers, kisses Duan Ling, and wraps his arms around him, pushing him to the ground. After a long time spent being intimate, they fall asleep together, and the sky gradually brightens. Outside, the snow has stopped falling. Duan Ling is still pillowed over Wu Du’s chest, his breathing even, submerged in his dreams.

At dawn, the chirping of a bird can be heard. Wu Du’s eyes snap open.

Outside, rustling footsteps approach, coming from far to near, quickly getting closer to the cave, like a fox. The sound reaches the inside of the cave alongside the gentle breezes of dawn.

“There are caltrops under the tree outside,” Wu Du says. “They’re poisoned.”

The footsteps halt. Duan Ling hears a vibration through Wu Du’s chest and turns, half asleep, trying to get his face out of the sun.

“There’s poisoned silk strung across the entrance,” Wu Du adds.

A shadow bends down just outside the cave, moving several strands of silk strung across the cave’s mouth like spiderwebs aside with a branch. They shimmer with the blue tinge of poison, and a slight scrape on the skin can kill someone in an instant.

“Watch out above you,” at last, Wu Du says.

The man turns and bends down to avoid a sharp dagger hanging from the top of the cave.

“The whole army’s been searching for the two of you for three days straight,” the man says, hazy morning light shining on his face. “If this took any longer we’d probably be totally annihilated — he’d behead the lot of us.”

Hearing this voice, Duan Ling rubs his eyes and struggles to sit up, half asleep. His lips move.

“Lang Junxia …”

The man who’d come in would be Lang Junxia. Half of his body is covered in mud and grime, and snow is all over his hair. There’s a steel claw for mountain climbing buckled to his left hand and a sword in his right hand.

“What are you doing here?” Duan Ling raises a hand to shade his face from the light.

“What do you think?” Lang Junxia looks rather grim, and he stares at Duan Ling in exasperation. He turns to leave the cave so that Duan Ling and Wu Du can get dressed.

A quarter of an hour later, Wu Du comes out of the cave listlessly. Lang Junxia hands Duan Ling a wine pouch, his reddened eyes showing clearly how he’s been looking for them for two days and three nights without sleep or rest.

“How did you ever find us?” Duan Ling smiles.

“These are the mountains of the Xianbei people,” Lang Junxia says coolly. “The mountains are essentially a part of our dreams, so of course I would be able to find you.”

“Where are the troops?” Wu Du asks.

“They’ve detoured around the southern foothills and headed to the town of Baihe.” Lang Junxia tosses him a bamboo tube. “Dispatch for you.”

Wu Du opens the tube and reads the letter contained therein. Lang Junxia adds, “The Goryeo envoy left their border on the western road, and they’re heading northwest. Probably off to hold peace talks with the Mongolians.”

Duan Ling says, “Why don’t the three of us head over together?”

“No way.” Wu Du doesn’t even pause to consider Duan Ling’s suggestion before vetoing him.

“No way,” Lang Junxia says, frowning. “More people just make for a bigger target, and it’s no joke if you get caught. Did you think we were the only ones looking for you? Borjigin Batu sent out a hundred Mongolian assassins to search all over for your whereabouts.”

Duan Ling can but concede. Wu Du finishes tying his belt, and says, “I’ll go. I’ll see if I can get some useful information.”

Duan Ling didn’t want Wu Du to go on his own at first, but on second thought, he was right. If Wu Du doesn’t go back with him right now and carries out some other mission instead, it would be less likely for him to be punished when he gets back to camp.

The two are reluctant to part. They talk for quite a while before Duan Ling takes the reins and tells him to get on the horse.

“Be extra careful,” Duan Ling says.

“Don’t worry.” Wu Du bends down from the saddle and gives Duan Ling a hard kiss on the lips before he rides off at top speed.

Standing under the tree with crossed arms, Lang Junxia looks bored, having waited for ages before Duan Ling walks toward him, turning repeatedly to look back.

Their eyes meet for a moment, then Lang Junxia raises a hand as if he’s going to hit him. Duan Ling starts laughing right away, dodging this way and that out of his reach. Lang Junxia chases after him, so Duan Ling grabs a snowball and throws it at his face, where it explodes into a mess of flurries. Lang Junxia is covered in snow, but he’s smiling.

“We’re leaving!” Lang Junxia sheathes his sword. Duan Ling walks over to him then, but alas Lang Junxia was just luring him in. Suddenly, he scoops Duan Ling up by the waist. Duan Ling lets out a loud yell as he’s pushed into the snow, where he struggles to get away.

“Help — I surrender!” Duan Ling says in a muffled voice.

Lang Junxia thus picks him up sideways, pats the snow off of him, and puts him on top of the horse. And with a shake of the reins, he takes Duan Ling away from the canyon.

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xxkai9597xx · 2 years

Text

Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Seventh of Seventh · The Distance Between Two Shores

A rising autumn breeze passes through the empty palace hall. Duan Ling hurries through the gallery, the ends of his black robes fluttering in the breeze. His long hair is held in a low ponytail with a single black string, and his soft lips are ever so slightly pursed.

He walks past the swaying silhouettes of trees humming with the last of late summer cicadas, past the garden swirling with yellowing autumn leaves, past dusk adorned with crisp dark shadows cast by lantern light into the fresh night touched with the purple-red tinge of a dying sunset. Life is like a stage, and the curtains have fallen to reveal a sheet of sapphire silk studded with magnificent stars.

Dressed all in black, he seems almost to become one with the night. Slowly, he comes to a stop and stands before the White Tiger idol. Starlight shines down from the vaulted roof of the pavilion after reflecting off its angles. The Zhenshanhe has been placed horizontally on a sword stand, enshrined beneath the claws of the god that rules the autumn season.

This place is like the temple nearest the constellations, and every time Duan Ling stands beneath the white tiger’s gaze, he would feel as if he’s only one step away from the river of stars above. But it calmly blocks Duan Ling’s way as if there is a bustling heavenly realm behind its back, where mortals may not set foot.

“Dad.” Duan Ling walks forward, gently strokes the white tiger’s sharp canine, and puts his face against its ice-cold nose. He says, sounding enchanted, “Another year’s gone by.”

He lights three sticks of incense, and bows to the white tiger idol thrice. An autumn breeze sends the muslin curtains fluttering. The scent of sandalwood wafts through the air. Duan Ling climbs up the idol’s base, crawls into the white tiger’s outstretched, scouting paw, and leans back into its arm. He faces the star-studded firmament as though he’s being held by the white tiger, and in a daze, he lets his mind wander.

Lord White Tiger’s eyes reflect starlight, and its cool jade body gradually warms. Leaning back against the well-defined, powerful muscles of its chest, Duan Ling suddenly senses something.

“Who’s there?” Duan Ling can dimly notice a silhouette behind the muslin curtains.

Another gust of wind brings up the curtain, and a tall man walks into the shrine.

Duan Ling stares at him in shock.

The man has deep-set eyes like stars, with dark eyebrows and soft lips, and he’s dressed in an embroidered pale blue fighter’s robe. The clothes, however, are half foreign and half Han, with the left sleeve tied the way a warrior wears his sleeve, while the right sleeve is left hanging wide like a literati’s. The trajectory of the White Tiger constellation has been embroidered onto his open gown, with the major star done in silver thread, glittering with the same starlight that illuminates the sky.

He has on fighter’s boots decorated with a pattern of clouds, a silver pauldron on his left shoulder. A gem shaped like a water drop adorns his right wrist.

“Dad?” Duan Ling almost can’t believe his own eyes. This is his father, but not the father he knows well; this one is even younger than when Duan Ling met his father for the first time, as though he’s just past twenty. He’s handsome and fair, and there is not a sign of the turmoil and sternness that used to plague his eyes; in place of that is an innate graceful elegance.

Li Jianhong smiles, leaping onto the base of the white tiger idol, and leans against the tiger’s body. The white tiger suddenly starts to move, letting out a low growl, startling Duan Ling.

“How did you …” Staring at this whole get-up, Duan Ling feels a rush of pleasant surprise.

“Become so young?” Li Jianhong says. “Looks like my son’s all grown up though.”

Duan Ling finds it all incredible; he and Li Jianhong seem to be two young men similar in age, and next to each other, Li Jianhong barely looks much older than him at all.

“Even though you’ve grown up, and dad’s gotten younger, you still can’t call me gege.” Li Jianhong jokes, “You couldn’t have imagined what I looked like when I was younger, my son?”

There is nothing but astonishment in Duan Ling’s eyes, and the corner of his mouth keeps turning up for the smile he can’t hide. He picks up Li Jianhong’s hand and stares at the jade on his wrist. “What’s this?”

“Star jade,” Li Jianhong replies with a smile. “I need it to patrol the skies. Here, it’s all yours,” he says, taking it off for Duan Ling.

“I don’t want it,” Duan Ling looks blandly at him, having figured out the meaning behind his father’s frivolous smile. “What’s it good for? It’s not even as pretty as my jade arc.”

“It’s a star,” says Li Jianhong. “One of the many stars in the sky. It controls the fates of everyone in the mortal world. People are always saying, ‘if you want the stars from the sky I’d pluck them down for you’, this is what that means.”

“Dad, have you become a Daoist Immortal?” Duan Ling sounds amazed.

Li Jianhong’s robe flaps in the wind. He gives Duan Ling an enigmatic shh in reply and explains, “Tonight happens to be the Seventh of Seventh, so I came down while the Cowherd and the Weaving Maid are busy seeing each other. I’ll have to head back soon lest they find me out.”

“Will we ever see each other again?” Duan Ling can’t help himself; his voice grows thick with tears.

Li Jianhong calmly watches the tears in Duan Ling’s eyes, but he doesn’t answer. From his reading of the ancient tomes, Duan Ling has gleaned that the gods cannot enter the mortal world without cause, and they must not reveal the ineffable. But to be able to see him once more during this one lifetime already leaves Duan Ling without regrets.

“I see you every day,” Li Jianhong whispers. “I’m always here.”

He pulls Duan Ling to him, putting Duan Ling’s head on his shoulder. He says smilingly, “Do you not have anything else to say? Look how old you are already, and still such a crybaby.”

Duan Ling’s tearful expression turns into a smile. He studies Li Jianhong’s eyes and nose, and he thinks that he is still him; through all these years, Duan Ling has never forgotten every time he’d dreamt of him.

“I had a dream last month.” Duan Ling thinks of this and that, but doesn’t really know what he should say, and ends up saying, “I dreamt of you.”

“Yeah?” Li Jianhong takes off his outer robe and pulls it over them like a blanket as they stargaze together. “What was your dream about?”

Duan Ling pauses to think, but as he’s about to say more, Li Jianhong continues, “You’re like our great ancestor, and like Zhuangzi too — always sleeping and dreaming when you’ve got nothing better to do. One moment you’re turning into a butterfly, another you’re turning into a big fish … watch out you don’t end up getting stuck in your dreams and can’t wake up anymore.”

Duan Ling is smilng again. “Actually, if I can see you in my dreams all the time, I probably wouldn’t want to wake up.”

The two of them lean against each other the way two young men would. Whenever Li Yanqiu used to reminisce about his and Li Jianhong’s youth from time to time, Duan Ling would feel rather envious. Wouldn’t be nice if time can flow backwards so he can be around during his father’s younger days, to conquer the world at his side, or just to administer the realm for him?

But he never could have imagined that he would reunite with his father again under these particular circumstances. In the mortal world, people spend much of their time apart, and reunions are few and far between; it has always been thus. If he dillydallies much longer, his father may have to leave again before they manage to get much of a conversation going.

"In the dream, you took me along on a military campaign to the north to fight the Goryeo empire and the Mongolians. "Duan Ling recalls some details from his dreams, and everything seems so vivid it’s almost like it happened yesterday. He looks up again and says, “Lang Junxia was still alive, and he took me to his village as a guest. Chang Liujun was around too, also Zheng Yan and Wu Du. They were all by my side. Oh, and you gave me this huge lecture.”

Li Jianhong’s expression darkens. “Of course I’d have to lecture you. You follow Wu Du around all day long and don’t even want your dad anymore. Running off all the time doing lord knows what — what if you got lost?”

Duan Ling stares at him in shock.

“You knew?!” Duan Ling is stunned in an instant. “How did you know that?!”

“I don’t know.” The corner of Li Jianhong’s mouth twitches as he immediately washes his hands of the whole thing. “I seriously have no idea.”

“You knew!” Duan Ling grabs Li Jianhong’s sleeve and refuses to let go, arguing, “how else would you have known that I ran off with Wu Du?”

Li Jianhong can’t help but laugh out loud. “Where’s Wu Du? Call him over. It’s been ages since we had a drink together.”

“You two drank together?” Duan Ling sounds flabbergasted. “I never heard him say that.”

The more Li Jianhong says, the worse this gets; it’s his fault really that his own son is too smart, and he’s almost tricked into revealing a bunch of ineffable mysteries. He has no choice but to stop talking, just stares at Duan Ling and smiles.

“What are you smiling about?” Duan Ling frowns.

“There are lots of things I can’t say, so I can only smile. What else can I do?”

Looking at this father’s handsome smile, Duan Ling suddenly isn’t sure what he should say anymore. After a bit of thinking, he says, “So the one in my dreams really was you.”

Li Jianhong raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t refute Duan Ling, but he doesn’t admit to it either. He opens his hand, and in his palm is that star jade, its lustre incomparably gentle, with soft halos sparkling within.

“This is for you, a star from the sky,” Li Jianhong says.

Duan Ling touches it lightly with a finger, and the star jade blossoms with a bright but gentle glow, like he’s been placed in the centre of the Silver River. Its white light fills the space between sky and earth as the Silver River descends, and all at once, Duan Ling feels as though he’s in the middle of an ocean of light.

“Dad.” Duan Ling has a feeling that Li Jianhong is about to vanish in the middle of that ocean.

But Li Jianhong is smiling at him. “Come into my dream, my son.”

Duan Ling cries out, “Dad!”

But Li Jianhong has already become starlight, vanishing from Duan Ling’s side. In the midst of these brilliant rays, Duan Ling feels as though he’s become a lot smaller, all the way back to the time he reunited with his dad for the first time. Li Jianhong looks down at Duan Ling, his smiling eyes filled with tenderness. He reaches out and strokes Duan Ling’s head before turning into a gentle breeze, and on this holiday where girls pray to the stars for hands as nimble as the Weaving Maid’s, he scatters into the horizon.

Seventh of Seventh; the Silver River looks both clear and shallow; how vast can the distance between two shores ever be?

Duan Ling looks all around him. In this gentle dreamscape, the stars are fragments of light undulating on a river; on either shore of a crystalline river, they gaze at each other lovingly without a word.2

Two lines from ��迢牽牛星 / The Distant Cowherd Star, by an anonymous poet during the Han dynasty, is one of the Nineteen Old Poems. ↩︎

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