Chapter 75
“HYAH!”
Wu Du rode at a gallop, spurring his horse through the narrow mountain paths of the Tong Pass and into the plains as dusk fell. The road back to Xichuan was straightforward; it would take him two and a half days, and if all went smoothly, three days more to scale the mountains and hills again, returning to the Tong Pass.
The sinking sun dyed the land a deep red as it disappeared below the endless hills stretching to the horizon, where shadows intermingled and overlapped among the mountain range. Wu Du didn’t know when the change had started, but gradually, he’d found he no longer enjoyed the night. Every evening, as darkness descended, it carried with it a sense of desolation around the day’s impending end. He’d grown used to walking under the sun before he knew it, and now felt reluctant to return to the shadows.
A familiar voice seemed to ring in his ears: You are an assassin. An assassin knows no day, only the night.
He urged his horse onward in pursuit of the last streaks of light on the western horizon, rushing as though he could outrun the dark. He chased the waning rays until the sun sank beyond the mountains, leaving the sky overhead a brilliant shade of blue and plunging him into a tranquil, vibrant dream. He still remembered how he’d disliked the daytime when he was little. He’d only liked the night; he was safest when he was one with darkness. Yet somehow, things were different now. He would much rather stay in the light of day—it was livelier, more fun. When that brat woke up in the mornings, he would smile and chatter and bustle about, and the world would come alive with him.
And at night, once that brat fell asleep, it was as though Wu Du returned to his own world—a world that wasn’t filled with their conversations—to watch over that closed door until Duan Ling woke again, spoke with him again. Another day would pass, and they would go to bed, and the door would shut once more.
It was a cycle, reminiscent of a western clock he’d once seen in Zhao Kui’s manor, some foreign country’s tribute. When the clock’s hands indicated a certain time, a little door would open, and a miniature figure would emerge to chirp cuckoo-cuckoo. Wu Du had found it hilarious the first time he saw it—but the figure only emerged on the designated hour. Whenever Wu Du passed by the room with the clock, he would stand still and wait for the little time-telling figure to come out.
Looking back on it now, Wu Du had to marvel. What a dismal life he’d led, that this was all the fun he had within it.
Overhead, the stars had emerged, the Big Dipper shimmering brightly in the autumn sky, pointing his way forward. In a few more days, it would be Qixi. How would he spend it this year? As usual, he probably wouldn’t be able to get away from his responsibilities… Wu Du thought back. Since leaving his sect, he’d been alone—festivals ignored, New Year’s disregarded. But this time, once the mission was over, he should be able to take a real break.
Wu Du couldn’t figure that brat out. Since the first day the boy named Wang Shan had come into his life, it’d seemed he was hiding a deep, deep secret—like he wore a mask all the time. But when Wu Du thought about it carefully, Wang Shan had never really acted out of the ordinary. Sometimes he was as clever as a fox, and at others, he was completely oblivious. Wu Du honestly didn’t know what to make of him…
A cool, refreshing breeze swept through the mountain paths on this tranquil night. The Black Turtle had risen overhead as well. Wu Du felt as if his horse’s hooves had become light, and fallen leaves spiraled up around him, rustling, as he left them in the dust. He wound down the mountain road, setting a southwestward course and merging onto the official road that threaded through the mountains.
Duan Ling slept soundly, dead to the world until the next morning. Even after he woke, fatigue lingered on his face. A thick fog hung in the air, such that when Duan Ling emerged from his room, he could barely see past the tips of his fingers. He nearly called for Wu Du without thinking, but caught himself just in time—Wu Du had gone back to Xichuan. The steward came to fetch him shortly after, and he went to see Bian Lingbai.
Fei Hongde’s broken leg was already on the mend, and the old man was waiting with Bian Lingbai for Duan Ling to join them for breakfast in the main hall, where several military officers were also present.
When Duan Ling arrived, Bian Lingbai gestured to the men with him. “You came so unexpectedly the other day that I haven’t yet had the chance to introduce these gentlemen to you. They are deputy commanders of Tong Pass, from the same generation as me.”
Duan Ling rose to make his greetings, but the officers were quick to humble themselves with a chorus of “Oh no, please,” and “That’s too great an honor.”
Bian Lingbai introduced each officer in turn: two deputy commanders, two field captains, and a secretary. Among them, the deputy commanders surnamed Wang and Xie held the highest ranks. The secretary had limited authority, as Bian Lingbai preferred to consult with his advisor Fei Hongde on strategic measures and therefore kept the man away from internal affairs. Accordingly, the field captains and the secretary excused themselves before the meal began, leaving deputy commanders Wang and Xie as their sole company at the table.
Once the meal concluded, Bian Lingbai directed one of the deputy commanders to ready his troops for a march to the east side of Qin Ridge with him and Duan Ling, intending to inspect the treasure and ensure it remained secure.
The fortress at Tong Pass was set into the mountainside, with Xichuan to the south, Huaiyin and Shangzi to the east, and Western Liang to the north. This strategic location had been coveted since ancient times. As their party emerged from the pass, Duan Ling reined his horse to a halt before the towering mountains that stretched before him, the magnificent landscape filling his chest with a wild freedom.
Their horses trotted further up the hills, and their view expanded, revealing a vast sea of rolling clouds and wispy white mist cascading between the peaks of the mountains. In the distance, the Yellow River surged down its course—peaks and ridges converging, tempestuous waves raging; the Tong Pass road lay, perilous and forbidding.21
Bian Lingbai rode at a leisurely pace beside Duan Ling. “Rong-er.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Duan Ling answered.
“You talk too little,” Bian Lingbai said. “You’re always so quiet. Sure, it makes you appear mature, but I can’t help you rise through the ranks if you don’t speak up.”
“You’re right to scold me, Uncle,” Duan Ling said. “I’ve always been this way at home, but I’ll try to speak up more in the future.”
“Your dad was a prudent man. Silence is golden, as they say—the more you say, the more mistakes you make,” Bian Lingbai said. “Tell me, what do you make of the current situation between the Liao Empire and Western Liang?”