Chapter 10#

A Dream#

Sha Que had walked with him for a day, originally hoping to get a good night’s sleep, but who would have thought that just when they were about to rest, another problem arose.

At the time, Kong Xiaoquan was still somewhat reserved. He whispered to Sha Que, “Why do these Eastern Palace guards keep staring at us?”

“Because we’re Senluo Ghosts,” Sha Que said, biting into a steamed cake. “They hate Senluo Ghosts.”

Centered on the two of them, Eastern Palace guards surrounded them on all sides—this was a misunderstanding caused by the new waist plaques.

War was raging everywhere at present, and as soon as each unit of soldiers hit the road, strict rations quotas were enforced. In truth, they should have been considered part of the Senluo Ghosts, but Yuchi Liang’s original plan hadn’t accounted for them, so the moment they left the city, their share of rations was cut from the Senluo Ghosts’ allocation.

This matter would have been easy to resolve—Yuchi Liang simply needed to send word to the logistics conscripts responsible for supplying grain. But the bald man seemed to have forgotten. He’d taken them in only out of reluctant necessity, and now that they were returning to Senluo, he intended to give them a proper runaround to make them understand that even if they survived that ordeal, from now on they’d have to live at his mercy.

So Kong Xiaoquan went to the Senluo Ghosts to beg for food, only to be told that since they bore the Eastern Palace waist plaques, they ought to eat with the Eastern Palace guards. Left with no choice, Kong Xiaoquan came to the Eastern Palace guards.

Long Shan was a straightforward fellow and didn’t make things difficult for them. But before they set out, the Senluo Ghosts and the Fucheng soldiers had just stolen horses from the Eastern Palace, and the three factions were at odds. Naturally, when the guards saw them coming to eat, they were displeased.

“Big woods, every kind of bird, and there are even freeloaders squatting on our ration spots,” someone jeered first—whoever it was—“When it comes to thick skin, who can match our Imperial Guards?”

Kong Xiaoquan felt pins and needles down his spine and wished he could bury his head in his steamed cake. Normally he could eat five cakes in a sitting, but now he chewed and swallowed the half cake in his hand with exaggerated care, terrified of offending anyone further.

Sha Que felt this person had a point, but venting his frustration at him was useless—he was hungry. Moreover, he had indeed protected Mi Jin that night. If he hadn’t intervened, those companions of theirs would not have died so easily, so he ate without guilt.

“Don’t laugh—people who hedge both sides don’t miss out anywhere,” someone else said. “Once we’re inside Senluo, who knows, they might turn out to be big shots, and then controlling us will be a piece of cake.”

Kong Xiaoquan felt like he was sitting on pins and cushions, forcing a smile: “Brothers, why speak like that? This waist plaque is only temporary. It’s not easy for two brothers just trying to scrape by for a meal… How about this? Once we reach Senluo and receive our salary, we’ll convert the ration shares we’ve consumed on the road into money and compensate you all in full…”

He meant well and didn’t want trouble, but he’d run headlong into a firestorm—there was no way to defuse this.

“Still talking about money, really think we’re all lapdogs who can’t afford a meal?” someone scoffed with a sneer. “If you really cared, why haven’t you returned our horses? How impressive you were—before departing, you looted the armory clean. What about all that armor and weaponry? Flog it off in a few hands and you’d even have enough to cover our blood money!”

They were now the underdogs, having clashed plenty with both the Senluo Ghosts and Fucheng soldiers. But the Crown Prince was no longer what he used to be, and since people didn’t respect the Prince, they naturally didn’t respect these Eastern Palace guards either. A few days ago it had still been bearable, when Mi Li Nan’s attitude was uncertain and the crowd backing the Prince could still gamble on their prospects. But now, with the “Wuye” edict decreed, morale among the ranks had crumbled.

These past few days, even the capable ones were holding back their breath. With the Crown Prince’s position precarious, many wanted to leave. Despite their irreconcilable feud with the other two factions—if Jin Ming Shi and Yuchi Liang gave the word, half the people still sitting here would walk away.

That’s how the world works. Sha Que nibbled his steamed cake, then picked at some pickled vegetables[1]. The Crown Prince’s life was now hanging by a thread; trying to hold people was certainly futile. Righteousness and loyalty, absent any guarantee of profit, were mostly hollow performances with no real weight.

“Screw their grandfathers,” the guards clamored from all sides. “They’re not allowed to eat our food! And what’s more, it’ll be deducted from our own shares! With such a long journey, how much grain is left to feed outsiders!”

“Calm down, brothers—” Kong Xiaoquan, clumsy with words, had only just dredged up that earlier speech through sheer effort, and now seeing their fury, he panicked. “We, we—”

“Who the hell are ‘we’ with you? You won’t return the horses, you won’t return the military gear—” someone slammed his bowl down and started a commotion. “Brothers, seize their bowls right now!”

And that was the genius of the bald man. Sha Que still had the sesame sauce of the pickled vegetables on his tip of his tongue, and the taste lingered pleasantly. The bald man had merely placed two props here, and he could incite an incident. These people openly expressed displeasure at them eating here, but in truth it was resentment over their own present circumstances.

Bowls were hurled everywhere, and someone cried out: “Those waist plaques are ours—why should they hang them? Take them back too!”

Kong Xiaoquan clutched his waist, and seeing them pounce like wolves and tigers, his heart pounded—he could no longer sit still. He shouted: “These waist plaques were given by the general and approved by the Crown Prince—”

Foolish boy! They were waiting for you to say exactly that!

The Eastern Palace guards surged forward with a swish. Kong Xiaoquan was pulled over first. Still thinking about his unfinished steamed cake, he took several punches without letting go. Dust swirled across the scene. The rest came for Sha Que, and without a word, Sha Que grabbed his short blade.

A flash of cold light, and the short blade struck into the wood with a thud, pinning the waist plaque beside it!

“What—” Sha Que was still sitting on the newly erected railing. He wasn’t tall, but his eyes, set in the darkness, seemed to hold flickering firelight. “I came from outside. I don’t know the rules of your Eastern Palace guards, but this food given to us isn’t out of respect for the Senluo Ghosts—it’s because of our merit in protecting the Prince.”

His voice was neither loud nor soft, yet falling upon everyone’s ears, it sent a different kind of chill through them.

“If you’re unhappy, say whatever you like—but this food is mine to eat, and not a single bite will be missing.”

Sha Sanqing’s gaze swept from left to right, passing over every face. The campfire was just nearby, and the satin pattern on the short blade shifted with the faint flicker of the flames, as though in a trance, it were the corner of a silver feather being unfurled.

Tensions escalated, and Long Shan finally broke free from Jin Ming Shi’s side. The moment he heard the ruckus, he knew something was wrong. By the time he arrived, everyone had settled down again.

Sha Que had already returned to the Senluo Ghosts and lain down. He’d just pinned the blade there—try to take his waist plaque if you dare, whoever has the guts can take it.

Kong Xiaoquan still had lingering fear. He tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and asked Sha Que: “Will they throw that waist plaque away while we’re asleep? If it’s lost, how will we travel tomorrow?”

“You’d better eat two more steamed cakes,” Sha Que replied, gazing at the night sky, his head resting on a Senluo Ghost’s cloak. After a long moment, he leaned back, his gaze sweeping across the starry expanse before settling on the distant carriage.

Sha Que didn’t like to draw attention to himself. If they had only been bickering here tonight, he would have turned a deaf ear. But if they started fighting, whether anyone died or was injured, Yuchi Liang would eventually use him as a bargaining chip. Then the Crown Prince would be the one enduring humiliation, the bald man would be unscathed, and only he—and Kong Xiaoquan, who was equally unimpressive—would suffer.

The reason Mi Jin had given them both the Eastern Palace waist plaques was, firstly, intimidation: to tell Sha Que that he was watching him. And secondly, still intimidation: to tell Yuchi Liang that he knew the bald man’s crooked schemes.

An assassin bearing the Eastern Palace waist plaque, yet belonging to the Senluo Ghosts—his identity thus became the fulcrum of tug-of-war between the two sides. Yuchi Liang certainly wanted Sha Que dead; not a single soldier from the Tianxing Prefecture should have survived. Mi Jin, on the other hand, insisted on forcing Yuchi Liang to promote Sha Que under the pretense of protecting the Prince. As long as Sha Que remained alive, Yuchi Liang held leverage in the Prince’s hands. Perhaps Mi Jin didn’t need it yet, but what about later?

Sha Que had said last night that Mi Jin didn’t want to die, and that was precisely because Mi Jin had long since begun playing this game with these people. His desire to reach Senluo was extraordinarily intense—he would pay any price for it. Tonight’s turmoil may well have been within the Prince’s expectations. With morale wavering below, he did nothing, and the only possible reason was that he had already decided to abandon this group of people.

Cut decisively, and you won’t be troubled by it.

The Butchering King was a lucky one, Sha Que thought as he closed his eyes, sinking into darkness. The man was already dying, yet he could still summon such a young tiger to his side.

Sha Que never dreamed. When he slept, he entered a dark expanse with no sounds, no images, and not even himself. Mi Jin was the opposite—when he slept, it was full of dreams: of the past, of chaos, and even of falsehoods.

The autumn night was bitterly cold, yet Mi Jin felt only heat. The curtains shrouded him like blood being poured over him from above. He wore those long chains; they coiled around him in intricate patterns. Dzi beads clattered to the ground one by one. He heard his own voice in the throes of an episode, and from the rippling pool, saw his own face distorted in the throes of an episode.

Were we always this ugly? Mi Jin asked Aya, lying beside the pool, rare in his docility.

Not ugly at all. Mi Luo sat cross-legged opposite the pool, his body also entangled in those long chains. He faced the water, turning his cheeks left and right to admire them. Your mother[2] always said I looked very handsome like this.

…I don’t want to go out in public with these marks. Mi Jin stared at the patterns climbing up his neck, like circles of curses.

Then you must cultivate your heart well. Mi Luo removed a golden flower from his body. Don’t fly into a rage over such things, Naga. Our fury is more terrible than anyone else’s.

I’m just angry. Mi Jin flared up without provocation. Aya, why me? Why—

The long chains all over his body rattled, and someone embraced him from behind—Mother. Her long veil hung beside his face, and he suddenly wept, as if experiencing his first episode, roaring in that immense agony: Why me! His father had come over at some point as well, wrapping both his arms around them all.

I’m sorry, Father said. I’m sorry.

Rain tapped against his face bit by bit. Mi Jin woke. The long chains wound tight around his hand, and those two golden flowers were wedged against the web of his thumb, threatening to cut him. The curtains swayed with the carriage, and rain was falling outside again. He had already forgotten how many days it had been since they left Ayu City.

Riders galloped past on either side of the carriage. Xu Dao Chun’s ox cart struggled to keep pace, and from some distance away, he called toward Mi Jin’s carriage: “Your Highness, look—our old capital Senluo has arrived!”

Mi Jin lifted the curtain. Close by, Sha Que was jogging along with the procession. In the fine rain, he hooked the waist plaque at his side and flicked it lightly toward Mi Jin.

Raindrops spattered as their eyes met once again.

This time, Sha Que’s smile was half-formed, his peripheral gaze sweeping past Mi Jin like the cool, tinkling clarity of a mountain stream. The petal of the flower curled inward, dragging out a sliver of tender, feigned warmth.

The two then passed each other, both heading toward that towering, majestic city of Senluo.