In the twilight, Zhao Yilou’s wet black hair was disheveled, with several long strands clinging to his neck and winding down to his chest. His face was only slightly larger than a palm, yet it had already begun to show faint angular contours. His long brows slanted sharply toward his temples, and the eyes half-hidden beneath his hair were clearly burning with anger, yet to Song Chuyi, they resembled distant cold stars in the sky. Paired with his straight, prominent nose, his features revealed a temperament of stubbornness and fortitude.
Even with such a countenance, the scar at the corner of Zhao Yilou’s lips was not at all unsightly.
“Radiant as the sun and moon held close to the bosom,” Song Chuyi praised him, saying that his beauty was as striking as if he carried the sun and moon in his embrace.
It was exceedingly high praise. Zhao Yilou was still of a boy’s build – tall and lean from prolonged hunger and the natural stretching of growth, appearing rather thin. Fortunately, his features were not of the delicate type.
Flustered by her intense gaze, Zhao Yilou turned and walked to the stone wall, burrowing into a pile of straw with his back to Song Chuyi, ignoring her entirely.
“Young man, let’s talk something over.” Song Chuyi stood behind him with her hands tucked into her sleeves, speaking with a smile.
“Do not address me thus; you are clearly no older than I am,” Zhao Yilou replied flatly.
Song Chuyi had conceived an idea the moment she saw Zhao Yilou’s face. She had not originally planned to discuss it with him, but realizing she would need his cooperation, she said, “This matter concerns both our lives.”
Only then did Zhao Yilou sit up from the straw, leaning against the stone wall as he fixed his gaze on her, waiting for her to continue.
Song Chuyi paused briefly. Had he still looked as he did before, such a posture would have made others see him as nothing more than a withdrawn child. But now, in his current state, he actually carried a faint air of imposing presence.
“Do you know which country we are in? And what year it is now?” The unintentional air of presence that Zhao Yilou revealed made Song Chuyi change her mind on the spot.
She asked this without holding much hope. In these times, travel depended mostly on foot, communication mostly on shouting, and keeping warm mostly on shivering. In such isolated and backward conditions, with wars large and small breaking out constantly between states – territory seized by one country one day and taken by another the next – knowing which country you belonged to and who its ruler was already marked one as quite knowledgeable.
But Zhao Yilou clearly counted as someone relatively informed. “This is the border between Qi and Zhao. It is some year after King Wei of Qi’s reign.”
Song Chuyi listened, guessing that Zhao Yilou probably knew no more than that, and said, “We’re going to Song.”
“Weren’t you going to marry into Zhao…” Zhao Yilou suddenly realized he had let something slip and immediately fell silent.
Judging from Zhao Yilou’s behavior over the past few days, he clearly had not known her before. Song Chuyi chuckled, plopped herself down onto the straw, and said lazily, “Let me guess…”
Zhao Yilou stared at her nervously, as if terrified that she might uncover the truth.
“Judging by how smoothly you strip clothes off people, this isn’t your first time, is it?” Song Chuyi lowered her voice.
She deliberately made her words sound ambiguous, though she knew full well that Zhao Yilou must have been surviving by stripping burial goods from corpses to exchange for food. He had probably stumbled upon the wedding escort convoy by chance, noticed the bride was at death’s door, and followed along.
In these times, the dead lay everywhere, and being wrapped in a mat for burial was already a relatively decent send-off. The original owner of this body had been married off to a place far away – at least ten days to half a month’s journey. To prevent the corpse from decomposing beyond recognition, they had chosen a quiet, safe spot to inter the bones temporarily. After some time, once negotiations with the groom’s family were settled, they would return with a proper coffin to retrieve the remains. The grave mounds beside her were most likely those of sacrificial attendants.
Zhao Yilou’s face paled slightly. He had been wandering outside since the age of seven or eight, too afraid to fight others for food, and had resorted to such deeds merely to stay alive.
People held deep reverence for ghosts and spirits, and even Zhao Yilou was only marginally bolder than most. Moreover, he had been robbing the graves of noble clans. If those rule-bound aristocrats ever found out, Zhao Yilou would surely be ground to dust.
Song Chuyi knew when to stop. Just as Zhao Yilou didn’t trust her, she didn’t trust him either – who knew what he might do if pushed too far, even silencing her to cover his tracks.
“Light a fire. Dry your hair before sleeping.” She gave him a light kick.
Zhao Yilou took the cue and rose to start the fire.
Song Chuyi burrowed into the straw pile, shivered, and turned over to look at Zhao Yilou. Bathed in the firelight, his eyes sparkled brilliantly – truly, a single inch of autumn radiance from his gaze was worth more than a thousand measures of pearls.
Even a thousand measures of pearls could not match an inch of autumn radiance in those bright eyes. Song Chuyi felt that she had truly been shortchanged last night. Not that she had any particular interest in taking liberties with him, but lying beside a handsome young man was clearly a far cry from lying beside a mud-caked wretch reeking of filth – the quality of sleep was simply incomparable.
The sight was so pleasing that Song Chuyi watched him until drowsiness gradually crept over her, and she drifted off without knowing when.
She slept dreamlessly, and when she finally stirred, she heard Zhao Yilou calling her, “Hey, hey, wake up.”
Still groggy, Song Chuyi vaguely recalled that she had agreed to go hunting with him yesterday. She half-opened her eyes, sat up hugging the straw, and lingered there for a moment.
Zhao Yilou tossed her half a piece of flatbread as hard as stone. “Eat this, then we set out.”
Song Chuyi opened her eyes and shifted slightly – the half-piece of bread slipped off her leg. “Huh?” She hurriedly scrambled to search for it among the straw.
Zhao Yilou had already boiled some water. He squatted on a large rock holding an earthenware pot, dipping the bread into the water to soften it, watching with amusement as Song Chuyi rooted around with her rear in the air, while cheerfully munching on his own portion.
The dawn light was dim and visibility poor. Luckily, they had flattened the straw beneath them while sleeping. Song Chuyi finally found the egg-sized piece of bread, and when she turned around, she caught Zhao Yilou watching her with an expression of pure entertainment. She couldn’t help but curse under her breath, “You little brat.”
Neither of them had any spare clothes – only the single garment each wore to cover themselves. So they simply freshened up hastily, finished their bread, and hurried up the mountain.
It was late autumn, and many animals had begun to hibernate. Game was hard to come by, and even if they did spot something, there was no guarantee they could successfully hunt it – their only tools were wooden sticks they had found on the mountain. Coming up here was really just a shot in the dark.
Though animals were scarce, there were still some leftover wild fruits, medicinal herbs, and the like on the mountain, and Song Chuyi and Zhao Yilou let nothing go to waste.
They had caught a pheasant yesterday, but today’s luck wasn’t nearly as good. From morning till evening, they didn’t see so much as a trace of any prey – let alone make a kill. If one insisted on counting something, there was only a sparrow-sized bird that had darted past their eyes like a flash of lightning, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
“At least we’ve got some harvest. There’s plenty of ephedra around here – if we find a populated area, we can trade it for quite a few good things.” Song Chuyi could only console herself with empty hopes. It was anyone’s guess whether there was even a single settlement within a two-mile radius.
Zhao Yilou opened his mouth to respond, when suddenly the ground trembled and shook, and a thunderous roar rose to the heavens – the kind of clamor that could only be produced by tens of thousands of voices converging together.
“There’s a battle!” Zhao Yilou started, grabbing Song Chuyi’s arm to flee.
Song Chuyi pulled him back. “What are you running for? It’s far away – won’t reach us. Let’s take a look.”
Zhao Yilou steadied himself and listened closely – the sounds really didn’t seem close by. He followed Song Chuyi to the mountaintop, only to find that this mountain was a cliff face, with the other half collapsed inward and extremely steep.
Song Chuyi shot Zhao Yilou a contemptuous look. “You knew the terrain here all along, didn’t you? Then why were you scared out of your wits?”
“Nonsense. When was I ever scared out of my wits?” Zhao Yilou’s face darkened.
Song Chuyi ignored him and simply sat down on the mountaintop with her hands tucked into her sleeves.
The autumn air was dry, so as far as the eye could see, the plains in the distance were choked with dust and smoke billowing up like rolling waves, filling the space between heaven and earth. One could only dimly make out two armies locked in combat, unable to tell one side from the other.
War drums thundered into the sky, both sides beating fiercely to rally their soldiers’ morale.
“Such a bunch of cowards!” Song Chuyi couldn’t help clicking her tongue. “They’ve got half as many more troops than the enemy.”
Song Chuyi was cursing the commanders, naturally. From what she could roughly see, the overall strength of the two armies’ soldiers shouldn’t differ much – how to make the most of their potential still depended on the skill of the commanders.
Zhao Yilou was astonished. He could only see rolling dust and surging waves of men, nothing else. So he imitated Song Chuyi and narrowed his eyes to get a better look.
