Hàn Yuè (汉月) ran through the cobbled courtyard of the manor, her wet hair clinging to her robes. The biting night wind struck her skin, making her shudder. Her maid followed in hot pursuit, a woollen cloak in hand, shouting breathlessly:
"My Lady, I beg of you... stop for a moment! You shall catch your death in this cold!"
But Hàn Yuè paid her no heed. With eyes brimming with tears, she ran straight towards her father's private chamber. Inside, the atmosphere was heavy. Liángwáng (良王) sat behind his desk, while General Xīn (辛) glared furiously at the map spread before them.
"I warned him," the General said, his voice gruff.
"That young Prince, with all his pride, will be the death of himself and every man under his command."
Without so much as a blink, Liángwáng asked:
"If the barbarians take the city... what will be the cost of reclaiming it?"
Xīn replied instantly:
"Once they take cover behind the city walls, dislodging them will be arduous, requiring a siege of several days. We would likely need seven thousand men, along with catapults and siege towers. That is, of course, assuming some were slain in the skirmish with the Prince's forces."
Liángwáng's jaw tightened. In a sudden flash of rage, he slammed his fist onto the desk.
"What an ill-omened nuisance! How long will it take you to muster and dispatch these reinforcements?"
"I suggest we deploy the ready battalions currently under my command," Xīn said firmly. "Perhaps…"
"No!" Liángwáng cut him off.
"The South is of greater import. You must set out for Luoyang (洛阳) this very day. Leave the command and the levying of new troops to someone else."
As if he had been dealt a final, crushing blow, General spoke with a voice thick with despair:
"In that case... it will take at least ten days to equip and send the forces!"
"Ten days?!"
The cry rang out from the doorway. Hàn Yuè entered, her clothes dishevelled and her eyes burning with terror. Water dripped from the ends of her hair onto the floor, and her hands trembled beneath her robes.
"Father... ten days is too long," she pleaded. " Hēiláng (黑狼)'s life is in danger!"
Incensed by this sudden intrusion, Liángwáng
bellowed, "How dare you enter without leave?"
"Father, I implore you..." Hàn Yuè entreated, "send a messenger to warn him. Just let him know it is a trap!"
Liángwáng growled in fury, "Enough! Return to your chamber at once. This matter does not concern you!"
Beside him sat Shīyí (诗仪), possessed of an unsettling calm. Without even glancing at Hàn Yuè, she spoke to the attendant at the door in a frigid tone:
"Pray, escort the Lady out. It seems she is not at all herself."
As the attendant took Hàn Yuè by the arm, her last shred of composure vanished. Struggling against his grip, she shrieked:
"Father... you promised me! I beg of you... do not let him die like this!"
As she was dragged towards the door, her gaze locked onto Shīyí's indifferent eyes. The seer did not even lift her head. A tremor of rage and loathing surged through Hàn Yuè. With a voice shaking with hatred, she spat:
"Witch... you finally had your way... this was all your doing!" Then, with a piercing scream that echoed through the manor, she cried:
"I hate you!"
The attendant hauled her out, and the heavy door shut with a thud. Hàn Yuè continued to strike the wood; she hammered until her fists grew numb, sobbing and crying out:
"Father... please... help him."
After a while, she suddenly stopped. Her shivering ceased as a thought took hold. It was as if, in an instant, all her fears had frozen solid. With bloodshot, tear-stained eyes, she turned to her handmaid.
"I shall not wait for my father... I must go myself! That man you spoke of—the one who can smuggle someone through the city gates—go and find him. I will pay whatever he demands, just bring him here this instant!"
The handmaid stammered:
"But Lady, this is madness! Your life could be…"
"Do as I say!" Hàn Yuè snapped. "Be quick!"
The handmaid bowed and hurried away. Hàn Yuè rushed back to her chamber, donned simple attire, and wrapped a dark cloak around herself. On the table sat a delicate lady's hat with a black veil draped from its brim to conceal her face entirely [帷帽 - Wéimào]. With trembling but swift hands, she filled small silk pouches with jewels.
Moments later, the maid burst in, out of breath. Before she could speak, Hàn Yuè asked:
"Well?"
"He is waiting behind the manor wall," the handmaid whispered, trembling.
Hàn Yuè did not linger. She tossed two silk pouches to the maid to carry, pulled on her hat, and set off without a backward glance.
Behind the stone wall, in a thick darkness untouched by torchlight, stood a man whose face was lost in the shadow of his cowl.
"It is him..." the handmaid murmured.
They stepped forward. The handmaid glanced around fearfully to ensure the guards had not spotted them, then pressed the pouches of jewels into the man's palm. The man coolly pulled the drawstrings. The glint of gems under the faint moonlight caught his eye. He smirked.
"Very well," he said. "Follow me this way; I shall show you the path through the defile."
And the three of them vanished into the black of night.
Miles away, the sound of horses' hooves striking the stony ground of the plain shattered the heavy silence of the night. The faint, ghostly light of countless stars cast a semi-visible, eerie glow across the vast expanse. The Chief of the barbarians, riding at the head of the group, suddenly raised his hand, pulling on the reins to bring his horse to a halt.
One of his companions rode forward and, gesturing towards the distant hills, said:
"The lake lies just beyond those hills. The weather is strangely mild for these parts tonight; I reckon as long as we are on the plain and the ground is firm, it would be best to stop for a rest."
The Chief cast a fleeting glance at him and nodded in agreement. The barbarians immediately dismounted. One of them pulled out a waterskin, took a swig, and tossed it to another. The second man, parched with exhaustion, began to drink greedily, water spilling from the corner of his mouth onto the ground, until his companion shouted in anger:
"Oi! Don't drink it all!"
In an instant, several men were brawling over the waterskin, and amidst the scuffle, much of the precious water was spilt onto the dust. The Chief, hearing the commotion, turned away in a fury and growled:
"At it like dogs again, are you?"
The man who had been drinking immediately dropped the waterskin; his companion snatched it up savagely and shoved him back with a heavy fist to the chest.
The Chief paid them no further mind; he moved away from the group and stared, transfixed, into the plain. One of the barbarians, who seemed more composed than the rest, approached and stood a few paces behind him. The Chief crouched down, scooped up a handful of the cold earth, and brought it to his nose to sniff.
The barbarian asked anxiously, "Is something wrong, Chief?"
He replied:
"This soil... it still reeks of blood." He clenched his fist so tightly that the earth spilled from between his fingers, and continued, "That war... it is not something I can ever forget."
The barbarian's hands curled into claws, and he spoke with anger:
"That filthy bastard, Shénwǔ (神武)... he massacred thirty thousand of our men on this very plain. The news of his death did nothing to slake my thirst for vengeance. I wish I'd torn his body apart myself, and whilst he was still
drawing breath, ripped his liver from his chest."
The Chief shook his head in regret:
"That war was my mistake, too. My own greed led my men to their deaths, and in the end, I fled like a coward."
He looked towards the hills and added:
"And now, once again, fearing an ambush in the defile, I am leading my tribe towards a lake, uncertain how many of us might drown before we even reach the city."
The barbarian stepped forward:
"Are you saying you do not trust the crossing the lake?"
The Chief said:
"If my men perish in the waters of that lake before we even face the enemy, then I am their killer."
The barbarian suggested:
"Chief... if we change course now, we shall have no trouble."
He glanced up at the still sky, "This weather is unnatural; no wind, no biting cold... everything is strangely deathly still. I fear the ice on the lake won't hold our weight and..."
The Chief cut him off:
"Time is important. Just tell me, how far is it from here to the defile?"
The man replied: "Half a day's journey."
The Chief nodded firmly. Then turned to the others and shouted:
"Hey, Move your asses. This much rest is enough. We must be on our way at once; we shall enter the city through that very defile."