The request took Duan Ling aback, but he soon grasped Fei Hongde’s true intent. It wasn’t a simple visit he was after; Yao Jing’s marriage into the Shang family must be dependent on certain demands from Yao Fu, so making her acquaintance could be a good source of information. Perhaps they’d catch wind of something significant.
He shot Wu Du a glance, and Wu Du waved a hand. “Go if you want.”
“What should I say, though? Do you have anything you wish me to convey to her, sir?” Duan Ling asked Fei Hongde.
“Tell her…” Fei Hongde paused, then continued after some thought: “Never mind. Everyone has their own destiny; there’s no forcing these things. But I strongly suspect it isn’t Shang Leguan that Yao Jing is marrying, but someone else. Ask her if she’s aware of this. Once we have her answer, we can decide our next steps.”
It was becoming increasingly clear to Duan Ling that Fei Hongde had never cared a whit about Bian Lingbai. To him, the general was just some brute. It was the Yao family’s marriage alliance with Western Liang that was likely his core reason for coming to Tong Pass.
Duan Ling and Wu Du emerged from Fei Hongde’s room and looked across the manor toward the courtyard where Yao Jing resided.
“Is she in there now, you think?” Duan Ling asked.
“Just call out to her,” Wu Du said. “What are you dragging your feet for?”
“I’m shy.”
In his mind, girls were basically a completely different race. His father had taught him almost everything—except how to talk to a girl. Maybe Li Jianhong didn’t know how he’d managed to win Duan Xiaowan’s heart either.
Wu Du leapt onto the wall and peered down into the courtyard.
“She’s inside drawing,” he reported back. “Go on in. I’ll skip the meeting—keep my proper distance from the ladies and all.”
Still, Duan Ling couldn’t shake his awkwardness. Yao Jing’s steward was sweeping the yard; when he peered outside to see who was passing by, he spotted Duan Ling.
“Young Master Bian! Oh, please do come in!” he beckoned.
It took Duan Ling a moment to realize he was Young Master Bian. But when he heard a soft exclamation of surprise from inside, he braced himself to enter. Yao Jing rose to her feet to greet her guest, shifting her position to offer Duan Ling the seat of honor and ordering tea to be served.
“Since you’re the general’s relative, allow me to call you Tangge,” Yao Jing said with a smile.
“Miss Yao, there’s no need to be so polite. Please make yourself at home here,” Duan Ling said.
As far as family ties went, Duan Ling’s supposed aunt had married Yao Jing’s uncle, so they were technically distant cousins. But before her marriage, a maiden was only allowed to see paternal cousins, not maternal ones. Given that Yao Jing was currently staying under someone else’s roof, it was exceedingly clever of her to refer to Duan Ling as her tangge: the address used for a paternal older cousin. This both implied a closer relationship between Yao Fu and Bian Lingbai and helped sidestep any unnecessary gossip.
Duan Ling felt immediate sympathy for Yao Jing. It couldn’t have been easy for her growing up.
“The bridal escort from Western Liang arrived earlier today,” Duan Ling remarked as he sipped his tea.
A slight smile graced Yao Jing’s lips. “I’ve heard. Has Bian-xiong seen Young Master Shang yet?”
“Your groom?” Duan Ling thought for a moment, then said, “No, I haven’t, but I’ll have to meet with him when I get a chance.”
“And has Young Master Shang come personally?” Yao Jing asked.
“Mm-hmm,” Duan Ling responded. “You’re marrying into the Shang family, right?”
Looking somewhat lost, Yao Jing nodded; it seemed obvious that she didn’t know. But regardless of whom she married—be it Young Master Shang or a member of Western Liang’s royal family—what awaited her wouldn’t be a simple life of harmony between husband and wife. Duan Ling had no idea how to console her, but Yao Jing smiled anyway.
“I hear the Tanguts drink heartily and ride like the wind. If my tangjie18 Yao Zheng was here, she would love it,” she said.
“The noble families are decent enough. They won’t be brutes,” Duan Ling said.
At that moment, the steward reappeared and interrupted their conversation. “My lady, there is…a group of Tanguts coming this way. I don’t know if you—”
A commotion erupted outside the courtyard before he could finish. Yao Jing seemed bewildered by what was happening, but Duan Ling—who understood the Tangut language—knew at once that it was the young men from the bridal escort arriving to cause a ruckus. Among the Tanguts, Mongols, Rourans, Xiongnu, and other nomadic peoples who roamed the lands beyond the western frontier, there was a wedding tradition that differed from those of the Han people: They serenaded the bride-to-be. Once the engagement was confirmed but before the bride was formally escorted to her new family, the groom would gather his friends and pay the maiden a visit. They would scale the wall of her courtyard and sing to her from above, and the maiden would respond with her own sweet songs for all to witness.
The Shangs couldn’t possibly be in the dark about the difference in customs, so this uproar could be chalked up purely to the playful nature of boys.
“Pay them no mind,” Duan Ling said. “Just stay where you are. I’ll go and send them away for you.”
“Is this what they call serenading the bride?” Yao Jing asked, apparently having done her research.
“Yes,” Duan Ling replied. “They’ll do three verses in total. I’ll sing something back on your behalf; they’ll leave after that.”
The first round of serenading occurred outside the courtyard wall. Wu Du—watching from where he sat on the roof, a stalk of grass dangling from his lips—cast the group a glance and quickly wrote them off. He, too, knew it was a nomadic tradition.
The gist of the first verse was this: “Oh beautiful girl, tell me, why do you turn away? Soon we will be married, and gaze at each other night and day…”
The young men hopped onto the wall for the second verse.
At the resounding chord that followed, Duan Ling nearly spat the tea he was drinking in surprise—these men had even brought lutes! Duan Ling was entertained despite himself. He gazed out the window to see a row of sumptuously dressed young men perched on the wall, singing boisterously as they plucked their lutes.
The second verse’s lyrics were: “If you remain so shy, when will I behold your gorgeous face?” According to Western Liang’s customs, the betrothed maiden should come out into the yard at this point, veiled, and stand quietly. Once the young men began hollering, she would respond with her own song.
“How lovely,” Yao Jing said. The young men’s voices held such vitality, brimming with the passion and wonder of love.
“The song is written by a Persian poet,” Duan Ling explained. “The part they’re singing means from now on, my garden will only be planted with the flowers you love. I will sing only for you, and let you fly freely in the sky.”
Yao Jing sighed, soft and quiet. But just as she was about to rise, Duan Ling cautioned her: “Don’t go out there.”