“Langjun!”
Inside the silk-draped tent, Shen Yujiao suddenly jolted awake, her chest heaving — like a fish gasping for breath on the shore.
The embroidered canopy above her blurred in the dim light. Sweat clung to her skin as she whispered, trembling, “Shouzhen… Brother Shouzhen…”
“Mother?”
A sleepy voice murmured beside her. “What’s wrong?”
The child, heavy with drowsiness, stirred and instinctively burrowed into her arms.
“It’s nothing,” Shen Yujiao murmured, gathering the small, warm body close and gently patting his back. “Be good, go back to sleep.”
It was still the dead of night. Outside, the sky was ink-dark. Di Ge’er soon drifted off again under her soothing voice.
But Shen Yujiao could not sleep.
Her tone had been soft, her touch calm but only she knew how wildly her heart was pounding.
Thump, thump, thump—like war drums pounding in her chest, her heart almost leapt out of her ribs.
Pei Xia had been away from home nearly three months. She had dreamed of him twice before, but neither dream was as terrifying as this one.
In the dream, Pei Xia was covered in blood, yet his eyes that turned toward her were gentle as ever, warm like the spring breeze in March. “Yuniang.”
He called her the same way he always did.
She stepped forward, trembling, her hands reaching to touch his face. “Why is there so much blood?”
She raised her sleeve to wipe it away but no matter how she wiped, the blood only spread, thicker and more vivid, staining her sleeve bright red.
“Brother Shouzhen, what do I do? It won’t come off…”
She panicked, her voice choking. “Think of something, quickly, why is there so much blood? It can’t keep flowing—”
Pei Xia took her hand, smiled faintly. “If it won’t come off, then stop wiping.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t, I can’t!”
He didn’t move again, letting her continue, until she suddenly realized something was wrong and asked him, “Why is your face so cold?”
Cold like ice, bone-chillingly so.
Pei Xia didn’t answer. He only looked at her.
That gaze, as always, was calm and deep, its undertone full of tenderness, soothing even her frantic heart.
“Good Yuniang.”
He cupped her face, his long fingers caressing it lightly. His voice was soft. “I’m leaving.”
She asked, “Where are you going?”
He didn’t reply. His eyes lowered slightly, his expression faintly smiling.
The thick red of blood slowly faded with his figure, dissolving into drifting sand, into dust and light, vanishing before her eyes.
Panic surged within her, and she reached out instinctively to grab him. “Langjun—!”
She woke.
Her heart pounded even harder now that she was awake.
Pei Xia’s long journey north to Yanbei already weighed heavily on her mind, and now this dreadful dream, Shen Yujiao could not fall asleep again for the rest of the night.
All she could do was hold her child tightly, close her eyes, and tell herself, it was just a nightmare.
Don’t people always say, dreams mean the opposite of reality?
It must be her worry that brought such a dream.
Even so, the next morning, she took Di Ge’er to Dacien Temple. They offered incense and prayed, recited sutras and ate vegetarian fare, and lit a long-life lamp before leaving at dusk.
On the carriage ride home, Di Ge’er lay across her knees, curling his little fingers around hers. “Mother, do you miss Father?”
Meeting her child’s clear, stream-like eyes, Shen Yujiao pressed her lips together and murmured, “Yes.”
Then she asked, “Don’t you miss him?”
“Of course I do,” Di Ge’er answered without hesitation. “I miss him so, so much! If he doesn’t come back soon, I might forget what he looks like.”
Shen Yujiao couldn’t help laughing, tapping the tip of his nose. “Little heartless one, how could you forget your father’s face?”
Di Ge’er said seriously, “I’m still a child. Uncle said children’s memories aren’t good. When we grow up, we forget many things.”
Shen Yujiao replied, “Even so, you mustn’t forget what your father looks like. Otherwise, he’ll be sad when he comes home and hears you say that.”
“I haven’t forgotten yet.”
Di Ge’er counted on his fingers as he spoke, then sighed like a little adult. “Father’s been gone three months already. The New Year’s almost over, why hasn’t he come back?”
Shen Yujiao stroked his small head. “Didn’t I tell you before? Yanbei is very, very far from Chang’an. Even by carriage, it takes three or four months to get there. And right now it’s snowing heavily up north, mountains sealed in snow, roads blocked. We’ll have to wait until spring, when the snow melts, before anyone can travel.”
Di Ge’er’s eyes widened. “Then how big must the snow be?”
Shen Yujiao smiled. “There’s a poem that says: ‘In the Yanshan Mountains, snowflakes fall as large as mats.’”
“Really that big?” Di Ge’er asked in disbelief.
“I’ve never seen it myself,” Shen Yujiao chuckled. “You can ask your father when he comes home.”
“Okay!” Di Ge’er nodded eagerly, face full of anticipation. “I have so many things I want to ask him! He and Master both say, ‘Read ten thousand books, travel ten thousand miles.’ Father’s already read ten thousand books, and now he’s traveled so far away. When I grow up, I’ll be just like him, read ten thousand books, travel ten thousand miles, and become a great man.”
Hearing her child’s innocent yet ambitious words, Shen Yujiao smiled, lowering her eyes as she pulled the little one into her arms. “Good. Mother believes you will.”
Time passed swiftly. When the grand annual Lantern Festival of Chang’an came to an end, the New Year of Chunqing’s fourth year was over as well.
Spring returned to the land, all things revived, the court reopened its seals, and the people resumed their work. Chang’an once again bustled with prosperity and life.
As the snow and ice melted and roads reopened, by the second month, good news poured in from Yanbei—
“Jincheng and Baicheng have both been successfully reclaimed.”
“The Yanbei army has annihilated fifty thousand enemy troops.”
“Our forces are unstoppable, the Rong Di’s main strength is collapsing. Complete victory is near.”
These reports stirred joy and excitement across the empire; the whole capital buzzed with celebration.
When Pei Yi came to the Pei residence with her two daughters for a visit, she smiled and said to Shen Yujiao, “At this rate, Sixth Brother should be back very soon.”
A faint breath of relief finally loosened in Shen Yujiao’s chest.
Relief for Pei Xia and for Xie Wuling as well.
When the war ended, one could return home and reunite with family; the other could rest and recover.
“If the military reports from Yanbei are able to reach here, that means the roads are open again. I just don’t know if he’ll make it back by March.”
Her gaze drifted toward the courtyard, where Di Ge’er was playing with his two younger aunts. Her delicate features softened with gentle warmth. “Next month will be Di Ge’er’s fifth birthday.”
At that, Pei Yi mentally counted the days and smiled lightly. “He’ll definitely make it. Sixth Brother is meticulous, he’ll surely remember his child’s birthday and hurry back.”
Shen Yujiao thought so too.
Pei Xia had always remembered both her and Di Ge’er’s birthdays with care. There were even a couple of times when she herself had nearly forgotten, only for him to remind her.
“March, it’s almost here already…”
She gazed out at the bright spring sunlight beyond the carved window lattice, her eyes glimmering with the same brightness, full of hope.
People, as long as they live, always need something to look forward to.
A long wait, a short one, big hopes, small hopes—one after another, that’s how days pass.
And once you have something to look forward to, time seems to pass a little faster.
In the blink of an eye, March arrived, peach blossoms pink, apricot blossoms white, willows trailing green ribbons.
Then came another major piece of good news from Yanbei: “The Rong Di Khan has fallen in battle, Rong Di’s forces have suffered a crushing defeat! Our army has won a great victory!”
The news filled Shen Yujiao with joy.
The rise and fall of the nation is every person’s responsibility, though she was a woman of the inner chambers, she too carried a heart that worried for her country and her people.
But when Qiulu stammered to her, “It seems…the one who brought this good news is that General Xie who used to have ties with our household…”
The smile on Shen Yujiao’s face froze for a moment.
She was startled then confused.
Why was Xie Wuling in Chang’an again? Was he delivering a report? But there was no need for him to come personally.
If Xie Wuling had already arrived in Chang’an, then why hadn’t Pei Xia returned yet?
By logic, Pei Xia was responsible for transporting military supplies. Once the roads reopened, he should’ve been able to hurry home on horseback. Xie Wuling, being a field general, would still be busy at the front. Even if he did come to Chang’an, it should’ve been after Pei Xia.
Countless questions flooded her mind when suddenly, outside came the hurried footsteps of Bai Ping.
“Madam, madam!”
Bai Ping was usually the most composed and steady among the servants. It was rare to see her so flustered.
A chill gripped Shen Yujiao’s heart as she lifted her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Bai Ping’s eyes were slightly red; she bit her lip and said, “Jinglin has returned and with him, that General Xie Guian. They’re both in the front hall right now. You…you should go take a look.”
Shen Yujiao’s mind went blank for a moment.
Jinglin and Xie Wuling came back together?
Then where was Pei Xia?
Where was he?
A sudden wave of panic rose within her, an uneasy, oppressive dread spreading swiftly through her chest like gathering storm clouds.
Her slender fingers clenched tightly around the handkerchief in her palm. Without asking further, Shen Yujiao pressed her lips together and walked quickly outside.
Her steps grew faster and faster.
She knew she ought to maintain the composure and dignity of a noblewoman but her legs seemed to move of their own accord. She couldn’t control them.
She only thought—faster, I need to know faster.
She had to find out where Pei Xia was.
And as her skirts fluttered in her hurried steps, that dream from the first month of the year suddenly flashed back into her mind.
Shen Yujiao told herself not to think nonsense, not to torment herself needlessly.
But when she reached the flower hall in the front courtyard and saw the two figures inside, one tall, one short and the familiar camphorwood chest beside them. Her steps stopped abruptly.
“Madam, slow down—” Bai Ping and Qiulu panted as they caught up.
The men inside heard the commotion and turned toward her.
Dressed in a dark purple robe, Xie Wuling stood with his hands behind his back. His gaze fell upon the young woman rushing toward him, her figure graceful, her features delicate and clear and his eyes dimmed slightly.
Half a year since they last met in this very hall. Everything looked the same yet everything was utterly different.
Once, he would have smiled brightly and said, “Jiaojiao, I’m back.”
But now, he only stood there in silence, watching her quietly.
Shen Yujiao met his eyes across that short distance and immediately sensed something was wrong.
This was not the Xie Wuling she knew.
If he had come to see her, he would have worn his finest robe and greeted her with that familiar, unrestrained smile—
Not like this, dressed in dark colors, his face solemn and heavy.
The panic in her chest solidified into a weight of stone, pressing down hard on her heart.
Forcing herself to stay composed, she stepped further into the hall.
She saw Jinglin’s thin face, his eyes red from crying, his hoarse voice as he bowed to her—and then quickly averted his gaze.
She also saw the chest beside them, indeed, it was familiar. It was the one she had packed herself when Pei Xia left home.
Her eyes finally fell on Xie Wuling. Her lips trembled, trying to form a greeting—
But her throat felt as if it were being strangled, and not a sound could come out.
It was Xie Wuling who spoke first. “Long time no see. I hope you’ve been well, Madam.”
He tugged at the corner of his lips in a semblance of a smile, though his voice was low and heavy.
Shen Yujiao pressed her palms together, looked at him, and also smiled faintly. “I’ve been well. I hope General Xie has been too.”
After a brief pause, her eyelashes trembled twice. Though she tried to restrain herself, her voice still shook uncontrollably. “You’ve returned… Where is he? He must have come back too, hasn’t he?”
As she spoke, her gaze darted around, murmuring softly, “Why don’t I see him anywhere… was he delayed on the road?”
Seeing her like this, Xie Wuling felt a deep, suffocating heaviness in his chest.
She was so intelligent and perceptive, how could she not have guessed?
Under his sleeve, his long fingers clenched and loosened, loosened and clenched again. At last, Xie Wuling took a step forward and said hoarsely, “Madam, Pei Shouzhen…
He drew in a deep breath. “…gave his life for the country.”
Even though Shen Yujiao had braced herself for it, when those words, gave his life, entered her ears, it was like a thunderclap striking her mind blank.
The color drained instantly from her pale face, her slender frame swaying like a leaf caught in an autumn gust.
Xie Wuling instinctively reached out to steady her.
But Shen Yujiao stepped away.
The maid behind her hurried forward, only to be pushed aside as well.
Her face white as paper, her gaze flickering, she raised a trembling hand. “I’m fine.”
Xie Wuling frowned; the servants in the hall all looked worried. With her face so ashen, how could she be fine?
Yet Shen Yujiao refused anyone’s support. She stumbled on her own toward a chair and sat down.
She sat there blankly, expressionless and silent— as though trying to digest the truth, or as though her soul had already left her body.
Xie Wuling grew uneasy, stepped closer, and said softly, “Madam, please… restrain your grief.”
Restrain her grief…
Shen Yujiao’s eyes flickered; she slowly lifted her gaze to him. “When…?”
The word gave his life caught in her throat; she had to dig her nails hard into her palm before she could force it out. “When… did it happen?”
Meeting her clear yet lifeless eyes, eyes as still as dead water, Xie Wuling’s throat tightened.
“On the fourth day of the first month, around the hour of Shen,” he said. “He led three hundred men deep into the snow valley to lure the enemy. Eight thousand Rong Di soldiers perished with them.”
Shen Yujiao was silent for a moment, then asked in a hoarse whisper, “Wasn’t he only sent to deliver supplies? Why did he end up on the front line?”
A flicker of guilt crossed Xie Wuling’s eyes. “I was trapped in Baicheng. He came to help me.”
Even though that man had once said not to flatter himself, it wasn’t for him, Xie Wuling knew deep down that he owed him his life.
Shen Yujiao thought for a moment, then seemed to understand.
Her eyes reddened, yet she forced herself to stay composed and asked again, “And his body?”
Xie Wuling lowered his gaze. “There was an avalanche. The corpses were buried beneath the snow, we couldn’t find him.”
He didn’t dare to add that perhaps wolves had devoured him, or that the Rong Di might have mutilated the remains.
That day, when he’d heard the distant rumble of the avalanche in the forest, he had immediately turned back.
But by the time he arrived, it was already too late.
The vast valley lay buried under a thick, endless blanket of snow.
He could still see traces of Rong Di soldiers abandoning their horses and fleeing, but the men of Yanbei were buried deep within the valley.
There were no words to describe the feeling.
Standing before that boundless field of snow, he wanted to dig, but didn’t even know where to begin.
Before the might of nature, man was so small, so fragile.
Heaven and earth stretched vast and silent; the mountains and rivers were still. Standing in the night, Xie Wuling had felt only endless helplessness and despair.
He rarely knew despair. Even on the brink of death, when his life hung by a thread, he felt anger, not hopelessness.
But that day, before the snow valley that buried ten thousand souls, he had felt nothing but despair.
He laughed and wept all at once, gritting his teeth and cursing into the snowfield: “Pei Shouzhen, you hypocrite, you liar, despicable man!”
His soldiers, terrified, rushed forward to restrain him. “General, please, don’t shout—if the snow collapses again—!”
It was common knowledge among the northern armies and people alike: you must never raise your voice in the mountains, or you would trigger another avalanche.
Pei Xia may not have been born in the north, but he was a learned man, he would have known that too.
On the battlefield, men died every day. The enemy’s blades left no time for grief.
Though Xie Wuling could not let go of Pei Xia’s death, he forced himself to stay strong, to turn grief and rage into strength, and pour it all into the battlefield.
Only by winning, by driving the Rong Di from Liang’s land, could he bring true comfort to the fallen heroes who had died there.
“When we finally turned the tide,” he went on quietly, “the Rong Di had already beaten us to it, they’d dug through that snow valley before we arrived.”
By the time the Yanbei army reached the site, the snowfield was riddled with pits and trenches. Most of the Rong Di bodies had been dug up and piled aside, some half-burned.
The Rong Di cared little for burial rites—sky burials, cremation, it made no difference.
As for the corpses of the Yanbei soldiers, once dug up, they were tossed aside, left to rot in the open, to be torn apart by vultures and snow wolves.
Their faces mangled beyond recognition. The sight, too tragic to behold.
After the battle, when they cleared the field, Pei Xia’s body was nowhere to be found. No one knew if he had been buried beneath deeper layers of snow, carried off by wolves, or dragged away by the Rong Di.
“So,” Shen Yujiao lifted her eyes and looked straight at Xie Wuling, “there’s no body left to bury, is that it?”
Xie Wuling’s thin lips pressed together. His voice dropped low. “Jiaojiao… I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”
Shen Yujiao shook her head, her expression so calm it bordered on indifference. “He died for his country. It has nothing to do with you.”
Though Xie Wuling knew she was level-headed and far stronger than most women,
seeing her so composed, neither crying nor raging—filled him with a strange unease.
“If not… you can hit me twice, curse me, or… at least cry a little?”
He would gladly lend her his shoulder.
But Shen Yujiao tilted her face upward and gave a faint, brittle smile. “Tears are the most useless thing of all.”
She had known that for a long time.
Tears couldn’t fill an empty stomach, stop a famine, or bring Pei Shouzhen’s life back.
“I’m fine.”
Supporting herself on the armrest of the chair, Shen Yujiao murmured, “I’m just… just a bit shocked. Give me a moment, once I catch my breath, I’ll be fine.”
Her steps wavered unsteadily.
Xie Wuling, uneasy, followed after her. “Where are you going?”
Shen Yujiao looked back at him, forcing another faint smile. “No need to follow. I’ll just walk a bit to clear my head… cough—”
Her throat itched; she turned aside, covering her mouth with a handkerchief as she coughed lightly.
When she looked back, she was still smiling faintly. “It’s not like you just met me today. I’m not that fragile… cough—cough, cough…”
This time the coughing grew harsher, cutting off her words, bending her over.
“Jiao—” Xie Wuling reached out, then drew back, glancing sharply at the maids. “What are you standing there for?”
The maids rushed forward to support her. “My lady, what’s wrong?”
Shen Yujiao held her handkerchief to her lips, coughing so hard she could barely straighten up, but still waved them off. “It’s nothing—”
“Ah! Blood—it’s blood!” Qiulu cried out.
The pale handkerchief was soaked through with scarlet, like crimson blossoms blooming in the snow.
Xie Wuling’s face changed drastically.
He was just about to speak when Shen Yujiao’s eyes rolled back, and her body went limp, collapsing to the side.
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