BEGW C56

Chapter 56

A great wind dimmed the daylight and sent sand flying.

The horses stamped uneasily on the spot, not obeying commands at all.

Seeing the wind and sand intensify, the envoys—including Jiang Yuxun—disembarked and, together with the soldiers, managed to drag the frightened horses into a large circle formed by the carriages, then finally climbed aboard to avoid the raging sand.

Sand and gravel flew over the ground; by the time they got in, everyone bore scrapes and bruises to some degree.

Jiang Yuxun had barely climbed in and not yet steadied himself when a soldier beside him called out loudly, “Lord Jiang, quickly roll up your sleeve and check the injury on your arm!”

“Alright.” While steadying his breath, Jiang Yuxun rolled up his sleeve to look at his arm.

Moments earlier, the gale had hurled pebbles straight at their bodies, and he had reflexively raised a hand to block.

The gravel tore through the thin spring garment, and a gash a handspan long scored his arm at once.

“Tss…” Seeing the wound, Tang Yimeng—sharing the same carriage—couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath. “How severe it is!”

He himself had been dragged down by a horse and fallen, leaving a glaring bruise on his face.

“It’s only a superficial wound, nothing serious.” Jiang Yuxun glanced and lowered his sleeve.

A soldier passed a water flask to his hand: “Lord Jiang, to be safe, rinse the wound first.”

Though not deep, the cut was caked with dust.

“Forget it, better save the water.” Jiang Yuxun shook his head lightly.

No sooner had he spoken than a sudden “bang—” thundered in his ears.

The next instant, the entire carriage shuddered and jolted violently.

Everyone within froze in place, unconsciously bracing themselves against the carriage walls.

Around them, all fell silent; the slow splitting of the wooden panels suddenly sounded piercingly loud.

Tang Yimeng’s face went ashen in a moment, and he forced a deep breath: “O-outside… why did the wind suddenly get so strong?”

The soldier was startled too: “Good thing it didn’t hit the horses…”

Startled horses at best neigh and fret; at worst they bolt and kick, with unimaginable consequences.

A great wind poured in through a crack in the carriage wall.

Through the gap, they could see a huge tornado drifting toward their position.

The force of the wind grew immense, lifting great stones from the gobi plain and hurling them in all directions.

Luckily there was another carriage behind them bracing the way; otherwise they would have been overturned.

Four people were crammed into the small carriage.

In one corner, the envoy who had earlier thought to press forward into the wind suddenly fell silent.

…If they had continued on just now, by now likely all would have been thrown head over heels.

No one spoke again. The soldier gripped the water flask tightly and quietly used the small table to block the crack in the wall.

Lips pressed tight, Jiang Yuxun’s heart hammered with unease.

But seeing the faces of the others, he could not keep from saying, “No need to be overly alarmed—we’re now inside a sandstorm. A sandstorm will break up a tornado and greatly weaken its power; in a little while the wind should abate.”

He offered a light smile and soothed them in a calm voice: “Seen that way, our luck isn’t so bad.”

Jiang Yuxun had never experienced such extreme weather.

What he said were scraps of news he had seen in his previous life.

But to steady everyone else’s nerves, his tone became quietly resolute.

Sure enough, with Jiang Yuxun’s words, the tension in their faces eased at once.

“Th-that’s good then…” Tang Yimeng let out a long breath.

The soldier exhaled and set the water flask down.

They sat quietly in the carriage, not making a sound.

In the corner of his eye, fine sand was trickling through the seam between the small table and the wall, piling up unawares in a thick layer at their feet.

The Northern Pacification Army’s camp lay buried in yellow sand.

Dust and haze blanketed the land; sand and stones scudded on the wind.

At the hour of chen just past, a party had left the camp in the gale, riding hard to the north.

After about an hour, they reached the edge of the sandy stretch.

“Odd,” a captain in the Northern Pacification Army murmured, “where have the ruts gone? Even when the wind rises, it’s not like this.”

His face changed at once; as he spoke he glanced around searching for tracks.

He went on muttering to himself, “Could we have taken the wrong direction?”

Ancient carriage wheels had no rubber; wooden structures made direct contact with the ground.

Over time, even a stone-paved road would bear clear, deep ruts.

This place was called “the sandy stretch” precisely because it held both desert and wasteland.

The old ruts lay upon the firmer wasteland.

After a brief hesitation, the captain couldn’t help making a bow to Ying Changchuan: “Your Majesty, the sandstorm is too fierce today. Without ruts to guide us, it would be easy to stray into the depths of the wasteland and bog down both men and horses—far too dangerous. Better we return first and set out after this wind and sand subside?”

Astride a dark warhorse, Ying Changchuan lowered his gaze and swept the surroundings.

After a few beats, he suddenly swung down and drew the long sword at his waist.

At the sight, the captain flinched and nearly fell from his mount.

From beginning to end, Ying Changchuan did not spare him a glance.

In an instant, cold light split the thick yellow haze; the silver edge did not touch the ground, and the sword-wind alone had already scoured the sand aside.

In the next moment, deep ruts were laid bare.

“Th-this…” Fierce, sand-lifting winds were common in spring; the captain—only half a year in the north and never having seen such a scene—stared, slack. “The sand is buried this deep.”

Seeing this, a chiliarch who had long garrisoned the north could not hold back: “A mere sandstorm wouldn’t raise such a volume of dust—just now, likely… a tornado passed this way.”

The Son of Heaven was ever adept at hiding emotion; even at critical moments he wore composure, a faint smile at his lips always.

But today… he had not spoken a word from start to finish—his thin lips pressed tight, and cold lay in the space between his brows.

The chiliarch clenched his fists unconsciously and avoided those ashen-gray eyes.

It was the first time he had seen Ying Changchuan reveal a clear displeasure.

At once, he turned and ordered the men behind: “Dismount! Clear the ruts together!”

“Yes, my lord—”

At the edge of the sandy stretch, the air grew heavy with strain.

No one knew how long had passed before the carriages at last stopped shaking.

The tornado that had raged half the day was broken apart by the sandstorm.

Yet Jiang Yuxun and his party did not let down their guard—

Before taking shelter, the horses had already been spooked; they had drifted off their original road, bit by bit.

Now a great weight of sand had smoothed the earth, and in the very center of the sandy wastes they had no idea where to look for the ruts.

“Lord Jiang, two carriages were severely damaged and can no longer be used,” a soldier came forward, saluted, and reported. “Five horses are injured; of those, three look quite serious and likely cannot pull anymore.” As he spoke, a gloom came over him.

Though they had ringed the horses together, rocks falling from the air had still struck them.

“Cough, cough…” Jiang Yuxun coughed as he sprang down from the carriage.

He turned and instructed everyone: “First sweep the sand out of the carriages. Once that’s done, free the wheels from the sand!”

“Yes, my lord!”

With that, he faced into the yellow sand and peered around.

Unfortunately, the sky was blotted out; speak not of direction—he could not even find the sun.

In this era, the prototype of the compass—the sinan—had appeared and was widely used in geomancy.

It was not only large and heavy to carry; its precision was also very low.

Worst of all, it could only discern direction on flat ground; on uneven terrain the magnet needle would be disturbed.

“Ah…” Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help a sigh.

If he yet lived to return to Zhaodu, he must find someone to improve it properly.

For now, their party was full of the wounded.

Seeing that the naked eye could no longer find direction, he turned back into the group and set to work with the others, clearing the sand from the carriages.

…

Bit by bit, the sky darkened. Yet the sand did not show signs of falling.

In a blink, twilight thickened, and the wheels sunk deep in the sand were at last freed by their combined efforts.

The northern lands had a great diurnal temperature difference; though it had been warm at noon, by night a bone-chilling cold was born all around.

The carriages held baggage and clothing, but the garments were not heavy. Even wearing them all, one could ward off only a little chill.

The wind and sand had not ceased; they could not make a fire.

They could only stay within the carriages to avoid the wind and keep warm.

With one arm wrapped around his knees, Jiang Yuxun leaned against the wall and rested in silence.

His hands and feet were icy; the wound on his arm had long since gone numb.

The howling gale had not ended, but at this moment the beating of his heart overwhelmed it.

Thump-thump-thump—

By his prior experience, the sands would take at least another day to settle.

By now, the group was exhausted to the bone.

May we not have strayed from the road too long; may Ying Changchuan’s men find us swiftly…

Jiang Yuxun pressed his lips tight.

His nerves had been strung taut all day.

Now his body was wrung out with fatigue, yet his thoughts were abnormally alert, and his heart pounded faster than ever.

He closed his eyes heavily.

The wind and sand still spread. Between waking and sleep, a familiar sound came to his ear.

“Ta-ta—”

He furrowed his brow and pressed his ear hard against the carriage wall.

“Ta-ta-ta—”

Hoofbeats!

Had Ying Changchuan’s men arrived?

Hooves struck the earth; the vibration came through the firm wall to Jiang Yuxun’s ear.

His eyes flew open and he lifted the curtain to step out at once.

“Lord Jiang?!”

His motion startled the others within.

Tang Yimeng blinked, then hurriedly called, “What are you doing?”

“I hear hoofbeats!”

Even as he spoke, Jiang Yuxun had vanished from sight.

“Hoofbeats?” Hearing nothing, Tang Yimeng looked after him in puzzlement, then gritted his teeth and followed.

The sandy waste was pitch dark; nothing could be seen.

Fearing that Ying Changchuan’s men would pass them by, Jiang Yuxun, once alighted, cupped his hands and called out loudly toward the distance, “Here!”

After a whole day without water, the voice once clear and moist was now hoarse.

He cried at full volume; a stab of pain spread through his chest.

His voice was cut into pieces by the wind and blown away.

Then it was swallowed by the sand.

Still not giving up, he walked forward and shouted, “We’re here—”

Not far off, a jet-black warhorse slowed.

The rider suddenly lifted a hand, signaling all to halt.

The gale moaned at the ear.

Beyond that, nothing could be heard clearly.

Though puzzled, no one dared utter a sound and disturb the Son of Heaven.

After a moment, Ying Changchuan finally spoke, slowly: “On.”

The atmosphere—oppressively tight within the Northern Pacification Army—seemed at last to loosen slightly.

“Yes!”

They hurried to follow behind him, going with him to the northwest.

Faint starlight pierced the yellow sand and fell upon the ground.

In the distance, one could just make out someone waving his arms with effort.

His voice was gone, and his body trembled slightly with cold.

The taut string within Ying Changchuan, held tight all the way, did not slacken now—instead, it suddenly dipped.

At last, a faint ache rose.

…

Tang Yimeng forced his way through the sand toward them.

He had not only taken a blow to the face earlier; a large patch of his leg was bruised—he could not run even if he wished.

Seeing Jiang Yuxun still moving forward, he shouted loudly over the wind, close behind him, “Lord Jiang, be careful—”

 

“Why not come back first, and in a bit we’ll go ahead together to take a look!”

On the sandy ground the gale howled, and Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help narrowing his eyes.

He did not answer Tang Yimeng, but stubbornly kept his gaze fixed ahead.

In the darkness the figure there was somewhat indistinct.

In that instant, Jiang Yuxun’s heart leapt up high.

For a moment, he could not even tell whether what he saw before him was reality or illusion.

Another blast of wind came on, and Jiang Yuxun instinctively lifted his uninjured arm to shield his face.

With his legs not quite steady, Tang Yimeng was still calling loudly to him, “Come back first! The wind and sand were too heavy just now—what you heard may not have been hoofbeats!”

Jiang Yuxun slowly shook his head, and, obstinate, lowered his arm at that moment, gritting his teeth as he continued forward.

In that instant, the dark shape at last became clear.

Jiang Yuxun saw someone riding a horse straight toward where he stood!

…Could it be Ying Changchuan?

By reflex, Jiang Yuxun wanted to call Ying Changchuan’s name, but thinking of the other’s station, he swallowed those three syllables back down.

His heart thudded heavily in this moment.

The joy of narrow escape seemed, in an instant, to revive limbs made stiff by the wind.

He nearly broke into a trot as he moved ahead.

The warhorse’s speed was faster than he had imagined.

In no time, a piercing neigh reached his ears.

“Whoa—”

Before the horse had even fully halted, the dark-clad figure had already leapt down from the saddle.

Before Jiang Yuxun could react, the howling wind at his ear was, in an instant, blocked by the man’s body.

The sand that had been slapping his cheeks vanished, and the gale paused there and then.

“…Your Majesty?”

The man before his eyes was Ying Changchuan.

He had actually come in person!

Jiang Yuxun’s breath caught abruptly.

Not yet recovered, he stared for a beat, lifting his eyes by starlight to look at the newcomer.

Those twin ashen-gray eyes were, at that moment, lowered to gaze upon him.

It seemed as if the sandstorm over the plain had blown into Ying Changchuan’s eyes as well.

So that his gaze was no longer as tranquil as usual.

Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help murmuring, “…I knew you would come.”

As soon as he spoke, the hoarseness of his own voice startled him.

No—that wasn’t right!

How had Ying Changchuan come in person?

Coming back to himself, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help asking, “Why did you…” why did you truly come yourself?

But before he could finish, he was cut off by the other’s movement.

—Ying Changchuan undid his cloak and slowly draped it over him.

The cloak’s warmth and the faint scent of ambergris enveloped Jiang Yuxun in an instant.

Like a hand, it pulled him out of the endless yellow sands.

They had clearly not yet left the sands, but the heart that had been suspended for days settled, here and now.

The wind and sand seemed a shade weaker; pale starlight fell into Jiang Yuxun’s eyes.

And at that moment, upon Ying Changchuan’s heart.

Jiang Yuxun paused, and could not help saying to the man who had come, “We’ve secured the wheat seed—and besides that, vegetable seeds from the Western Regions as well! Once we’re back, we can start breeding at once—”

Joy, remorse, fear, anxiety, pride.

Strange and complex emotions surged into the Son of Heaven’s heart in an instant.

That earlier sour ache became an invisible hand, lightly stroking his heart.

“…Your Majesty?” Seeing he did not speak, Jiang Yuxun called softly by reflex.

The Northern Pacification Army had yet to arrive, and those in the carriages had no inkling that rescue had come.

It seemed that in the endless sands there were only the two of them—Jiang Yuxun and Ying Changchuan.

Starlight broke through the gray haze and fell upon Jiang Yuxun.

Just then, Ying Changchuan found himself wanting… to gently stroke his long hair.

For an instant, Ying Changchuan had countless words he wished to say.

But at that moment, the hoofbeats of the Northern Pacification Army suddenly pierced the whistling cold wind and reached his ear.

Tang Yimeng had also followed Jiang Yuxun to this spot.

After a few beats’ pause, Ying Changchuan at last smiled slowly at Jiang Yuxun.

Then, while fastening the cloak for him, he asked softly, “Still cold?”

Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help lowering his head to glance at his neck.

—A cloak not only wards off cold; it is a symbol of station.

This dark cloak was embroidered with the pattern of stars; in the Great Zhou, only Ying Changchuan could use it.

By instinct he wanted to return this cloak—unsuited to his status—but his mouth, out of his control, answered honestly, “It was a bit cold just now—much better now.”

…Having said that, what cloak could he return?

Jiang Yuxun felt a pang in his heart.

Hearing him, the Son of Heaven smiled: “Good.”

As he spoke, he did not forget to draw the cloak close for him with care.

Not far off, Tang Yimeng—gasping as he reached them from behind—was about to speak, when he met those ashen-gray eyes.

…Why would His Majesty be here?!

There was no time to think; Tang Yimeng lowered his head at once and saluted: “Paying respects to Your Majesty—”

His heart began pounding wildly in that instant; fear and panic rose with it.

In the next moment, the Northern Pacification Army arrived as well.

All at once, the sandy waste grew lively.

Left neglected at the back of the crowd, Tang Yimeng at last stood straight with care.

He could not help pressing a hand to his chest and stealing a glance ahead.

Cold wind blew against his face, and with a start he suddenly understood the source of that odd feeling in his heart—what had just transpired seemed to have overstepped a boundary.

Night had grown deep; they did not linger long on the sandy ground. Once they had joined up, they quickly set out on the return.

The horses, trapped in the sandstorm all day, were jittery and restless.

The soldiers tethered them to the rear of the column and harnessed others to pull the carriages.

This time, Jiang Yuxun and Ying Changchuan again took the same carriage.

Once nerves relaxed, drowsiness came late.

Seeing the emperor still bright-eyed and alert, and unwilling to doze before him, Jiang Yuxun racked his brain for a topic:

“Does Your Majesty know the ‘sinan’? Today the wind sprang up, and direction was hard to tell. At the time, this minister thought—if one could carry a sinan when going out, one would feel much more assured,” he said, breathing warmth into his palms, “In the future, if we fight Zherou again and encounter such weather, we would not need to be afraid.”

Ying Changchuan nodded lightly: “Once back in Zhaodu, the matter can be set in motion.”

Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help smiling, and turned to continue speaking of the wheat seed.

As he spoke, he lifted a hand, pointing to the carriage behind.

His movement was a little too large; only when a stab of pain came from his hand did he remember he was still injured.

“Tss…”

Unconsciously, he meant to pull back his hand—yet in the next instant his wrist was held firmly by Ying Changchuan: “What’s this?”

“Struck by a stone…” Jiang Yuxun tried to yank his hand free. “Only a superficial wound.”

Before he finished, Ying Changchuan had carefully turned back his sleeve.

The cut was indeed not deep, but the skin around it was not only caked with dust; it was slightly swollen and red.

Ying Changchuan frowned, and from somewhere produced a leather water-skin he carried.

By the faint light outside the window, he took Jiang Yuxun’s wrist with one hand and slowly tilted the water-skin with the other, rinsing the wound for him.

“Though the wound is not deep, the grime still must be dealt with at once.”

The cool beads rolled down Jiang Yuxun’s arm onto the floor.

The unexpectedness of Ying Changchuan’s action, and Jiang Yuxun’s lack of preparation, made him gasp in a breath: “Hss—”

The Son of Heaven’s movement paused: “What is it?”

A piddling scrape—how could it defeat a dignified Great Zhou envoy?!

By reflex, Jiang Yuxun meant to brazen it out, but under the debuff could only confess truthfully, “Could Your Majesty be a bit gentler? It stung just now…”

The more he spoke, the smaller his voice grew; he sounded a little guilty.

This was the Son of Heaven—stooping to cleanse his wound.

And he was complaining this and that!

With emotional intelligence like this—hopeless—

Jiang Yuxun had thought Ying Changchuan would deem him ungrateful.

Unexpectedly, the other nodded: “Very well.”

As he spoke, his movement truly gentled further.

All the carriages on this journey had “taken wounds” in that storm just now.

The carriage they were in was small to begin with, and half of it was occupied by a small table.

The two of them had no choice but to press together into the same corner.

For ease of rinsing, Ying Changchuan held the water-skin in one hand and lightly took Jiang Yuxun’s palm in the other.

Warmth came through where their hands met.

All around, it was tranquil. In that moment, Jiang Yuxun seemed to feel clearly the thin calluses on Ying Changchuan’s fingers…

Jiang Yuxun’s slightly curled fingers suddenly felt a bit ill at ease.

It was only handholding!

What was there to be ill at ease about?

He couldn’t help clearing his throat, letting his eyes dart erratically about.

Night deepened, and the wind and sand still did not cease.

At his ear was only the patter of pebbles striking the carriage wall.

Heard long enough, the sound was like white noise, lulling one to sleep.

Without realizing it, his eyelids grew heavy.

But unwilling to nap before the emperor, he stubbornly continued searching for words: “…This must be Your Majesty’s first time in so shabby and small a carriage?”

Ying Changchuan smiled: “Indeed.”

But he felt the carriage’s size was just right.

Jiang Yuxun forced himself to blink and stay awake: “Good thing Your Majesty came to find us—otherwise… come tomorrow we still wouldn’t find our way…”

As he spoke, he couldn’t help a yawn.

His face practically wore the character for “sleepy.”

Seeing this, Ying Changchuan at last could not help saying, “It is late—if my beloved minister is tired, then sleep.”

Sleep?

Jiang Yuxun shook his head at once: “This minister won’t sleep—only close his eyes for a moment.”

His voice was a little hoarse, tinged with a faint nasality from drowsiness: “Your Majesty, rest assured—this minister will wake in a little while…”

Before he could finish, he fell silent.

In the moment before sleep took him, he couldn’t help thinking—just now, when the emperor rinsed my wound, did I forget to demur?

…It felt a bit too at ease.

The carriage creaked forward.

On the sandy ground, the wind still showed no sign of stopping.

And in the carriage, Jiang Yuxun did not, as he had said, “only close his eyes for a moment.”

His eyes closed heavily; in no time he had fallen into slumber.

His body swayed uncontrollably with the carriage.

A moment later, just as Ying Changchuan had thought he would, he gently came to rest upon the Son of Heaven’s shoulder.

His movement was very light, like a feather alighting there.

His shallow breaths turned into a ribbon, encircling Ying Changchuan’s neck.

Bringing a hint of itch and a faint tingling, which spread in an instant through his limbs and bones.

The unfamiliar sensation made Ying Changchuan’s fingers tremble slightly.

He did not push away the one upon his shoulder.

On the contrary, he slowly leaned a bit, no longer sitting as formally as before.

Amid the yellow sands, a trace of faint light leaked through the window into the carriage.

It lit the light-gray eyes and the Son of Heaven’s ever so slightly upturned lips.

After a few breaths, he could not help lowering his gaze in that faint light.

And, breathing softly, let his eyes come to rest upon the one at his side.