Chapter 5
The day I left was clear, without a cloud in the sky.
His Miss Xuanmeng did not come to see him off—or rather, to see me off in his body.
I heard she had opened a new pleasure house and was holding a grand opening promotion that day. Xu Ziyi had wanted to go, but in my identity he could not so much as pass beyond the household gates.
He was disappointed and restless.
Fortunately, a single line from Miss Xuanmeng swept his displeasure away: “If love between two hearts endures, why must they share each dawn and dusk?”
Zhaoye was beside herself with excitement, nuzzling my neck again and again. I swung into the saddle, and she reared joyfully. Smiling, I stroked her snowy mane. Her coat was glossy and sleek; Xu Ziyi had taken good care of her.
With a touch of jealousy, he said:
“I’ve faced death with her for four years, and she’s never fawned over me like that.”
It was a ten-day ride north. Beyond Liaoyan Pass lay two or three hundred li of wasteland, all withered grass and bare poplars, without a soul in sight. Only a few scattered way stations shivered in the cold wind.
The setting sun was blood-red. Its fading light lent the little border town a desolate air of decay. In the distance, snowbound mountains gleamed gold and crimson, shining with a chill that seemed at once icy and fierce.
This was where I had grown up. Zhaoye neighed happily, and my eyes grew hot.
Just then, the sentry at the camp entrance called out:
“It’s Zhaoye! And the ochre commander’s banner! The deputy general and the general are both back!”
The deputy general? Yang Zhaoxi, the man Xu Ziyi described as unruly and constantly defying his superiors?
I turned and saw a rolling cloud of dust on the horizon, pierced by a flash of dark red.
Only when that dust swept up to me did I see his face.
A cold, sharp light glinted on his armor. The young man on horseback held a silver spear, the blood upon it not yet dry.
A scarlet ribbon bound his black hair into a high, neat ponytail. At a glance, there seemed to be only three colors on him: red, black, and white. He resembled the towering, unreachable snowy peaks in the distance, all clean lines and wild freedom.
When I had seen him four years ago, he had been no more than a child. Now he was already a deputy general.
But before I could speak—
His silver spear came whistling toward my face. It flashed out like a darting dragon. A clear metallic note rang through the air, and in the next instant the spearhead halted at my throat, checked at the very last moment.
Seeing me frozen, he suddenly smiled, with a trace of a young man’s mischievous defiance.
“Our great general won’t even smile. How dull.”
As though nothing had happened, he turned his horse toward camp, paying no heed to the thunderous cries of “Welcome back, General Xu!” behind him.
But I did not think he had been playing. In that instant I had clearly seen… murderous intent in his eyes.
…This went far beyond mere unruliness.
From a distance, I saw two men standing on either side of the tent entrance.
The man on the left wore a cloak of black crow feathers. His features were foxlike, his thin lips curved in something almost a smile, and he had the shrewdness and quick wits of a man from the streets.
The man on the right wore plain robes beneath a thick blue-fox fur cloak. Unlike the calculating man beside him, his long eyes looked almost sorrowful, almost compassionate. Though the Northern Wastes were bitterly cold, he was still waving a feather fan.
A fragment of Xu Ziyi’s memory rose within me: Chief Scout Shouya and Strategist Yuanque.
That night, the noise of the welcome feast had subsided.
Throughout the meal, Yang Zhaoxi had opposed me at every turn. When I politely raised my cup to him, he would not even lift his head. Eventually he claimed to feel unwell and, without waiting for permission, flung aside the tent flap and stalked away.
Yet no sooner had I felt my way into my tent in the dark than Yang Zhaoxi punched me. While I was still dazed, he kicked the back of my knee, then seized my collar and forced me to look up at him.
His eyes shone like a wolf’s in the darkness.
Cold-faced, through clenched teeth, he spoke each word distinctly.
“You went ahead and divorced her, didn’t you?”
“For that whore?”