ITIEQ C23

Chapter 23 – Cutting the Mat and Sitting Apart

 

Dozens of meters away, near the hunting ground’s fence, there came the rustling of grass. Yue Yin’s gaze flashed like lightning, instantly locking upon the faint scrap of coarse hemp clothing that nearly blended with the earth itself.

At once, he barked orders to surrounding attendants: find the wardens of the hunting grounds, apprehend the trespasser at once. If caught—kill without mercy, and bring the severed head as tribute.

Shen Qinghe’s lips trembled after dragging his eyes from that arrow-pierced body and the thick pool of blood. At last, he found his voice.

“Just drive them away—that would suffice.”

“Womanly softness,” Yue Yin dismissed coldly. His black stallion, Wu Li, stepped casually over the corpse gone silent. “This entire Mount Lu belongs to me. Would I let vermin trespass unpunished?”

“These wild rabble lack discipline. Thieving runs in their blood. During my absence from the capital, many slipped in, only to be devoured by the tigers and bears I keep, leaving nothing but bones. Yet still they dared intrude. Now that I return, if one head is not made into warning, how shall the prestige of the Yue clan stand?”

Shen Qinghe gazed heavily, words quivering from his lips: “You believe that hunting to survive means they ‘lack discipline’?”

“And do they not?”

The tall youth cast him a sidelong glance.

“When I commanded troops, such rabble captured in battle were kept as slaves, no different from livestock. In times of great war, flesh of men and beasts alike became our rations. Human jerky—you’ve likely never seen it in your pampered life.”

The blood drained from the red-clad youth’s face.

With scorn, Yue Yin sneered: “Shen Qinghe, my brother sees worth in you, but your courage is meager indeed. With such timidity, as frail as a mouse—how could you ever accomplish great deeds?”

Others had gathered by now, thinking the noise heralded a great kill. Horses crowded in.

“Quick, dispose of the body. The scent of blood will lure predators,” Yue Ji waved dismissively.

A young man of the Chang clan, no friend to Yue Yin, jeered coldly: “What’s this? Yue Yin, you ‘hunt’ people now? Your aim’s gone awry. I’ve already taken down two deer. It seems I will claim the prize of this hunt!”

Yue Yin spat back: “I had wounded a great black bear. Were it not for this interloper, that beast would already be mine. You’d hold no cause to crow.”

“To quarrel over trifles spoils the day,” Liu Si interjected smoothly. “The lynxhounds have scented a white stag—pure-coated, an omen of fortune itself. Whoever captures it alive shall truly win the crown.”

Excitement broke out, and most scattered into the woods.

The corpse was carried off swiftly by servants, discarded who-knew-where. In forest thick with tigers and wolves, surely there would be no remains left intact.

Yue Ji lingered at the rear. Clothed in flowing scholar’s robes, unarmed, without hunting servants, he was clearly not here for the sport. None in their senses would reproach him for abstaining—his fame sufficed.

He glanced at Shen Qinghe, whose lips were pale, his expression sickly. Yue Ji inclined his head with apology. “My brother knows not restraint; I fear he frightened you.”

But Shen Qinghe heard little. Not even during years of study abroad had he seen death so raw. To watch life claw and flail, then collapse in blood—that nausea clawed his throat raw.

He forced one question: “In such cases, must it always be to the very death?”

“Not necessarily,” Yue Ji mused. “But Mount Lu is Ziyuan’s domain; the guards answer to him. As elder, I cannot overstep.”

Shen Qinghe was silent. Yue Ji laughed lightly, having read his thoughts. “Do you think we hold human lives as grass and weeds? You cannot truly be some holy Bodhisattva.”

He went on, gently chiding: “I recall—you and your father came out of Zhuo Prefecture. Surely you know: displaced multitudes clog a single county. Without strong hand and thunderbolt, they cannot be governed.”

His glance swept lazily. Seeing turbulent emotion flicker upon the youth’s face, he smiled faintly. “Do you wish to save them?”

The words, tender and cruel all at once.

“But can you?”

Sweat ran cold from Shen Qinghe’s temple. He snapped at last: “Lord Yue, I cannot serve as your retainer any longer.”

Cold glint flickered in Yue Ji’s eyes. “The world is full of self-deceivers. Gleaning a morsel of talent, they imagine thunderous feats—salvation of all under heaven. Yet such presumption is both arrogant and foolish. None are saved; none give thanks; often they ruin themselves.”

Beyond the fence came the beat of hooves, the crack of whips. Guards shouted:

“These wretches are but skin and bones—yet run swifter than rabbits. Fan out and search!”

Shen Qinghe looked faintly toward the direction of flight. “This year’s droughts have been endless. Yanjin was untouched?”

“Six, seven months of every year are calamity. If they live, then live. If they die, poor fate.”

“Fate!”

The word struck something loose. Shen Qinghe erupted with laughter, torso shaking, voice ringing sharp.

“Qi Lianjun told me as well: ‘They were born to common houses. Lacking strength to save the world, they can only hold guilt to them.’ You all worship fate. Scholar or peasant—you’ve carved the lines clean: here above, there below. Ne’er to be crossed.”

Yue Ji’s eyes dimmed, chill in their depths.

“Shen Gongzi. Journeyed so far, and you’d still dream of walking empty-handed?”

“I thought you wise. But I was mistaken—you are no different from the vulgar herd.”

Their gazes locked.

And suddenly Shen Qinghe understood Emperor Zhaohuan’s words—that everything must “end here.”

He had been wrong. Utterly, wholly wrong.

It was never about choosing Zhaohuan’s side, or Yue’s, or any faction.

For even as noble clans quarreled, they held one pact: that their storms remain above the clouds, never to let vines from below entwine the heavens.

The thunder and lightning they tossed so lightly—below, among the people—it was nightmare, devastation.

Shen Qinghe’s voice cut cold: “Our ways diverge. We cannot plot together. Forgive me, Lord Yue, but I feel only revulsion here.”

“Well spoken—‘different Dao, no common counsel.’”

Yue Ji turned his steed. Yet after a few steps, he wheeled back, plucked bow from his back, nocked an arrow with ease.

Though slender of frame, he bent the great bow as if effortless.

Tapping the arrowhead with his thumb, he leveled it.

“Suppose, in today’s hunt, Shen Qinghe met stray shaft and perished—what a pity that would be.”

So close, so taut—the arrow would pierce true.

Facing the gleam of steel, Shen Qinghe did not retreat. Tightening his reins, he pressed his pale horse forward, closer to that bow.

“Arrogant, foolish… Lord Yue, high among the Nine Heavens—permit me to return those words on behalf of the fallen.”

“You deem scholars mere counters, peasants mere hounds, lives all but chess pieces to be moved in your hand. Is that it?”

No flinch crossed Yue Ji.

Step by step, Shen Qinghe advanced, frenzy bright in his eyes.

“Lord Yue, you are supreme indeed. Then best kill me here today. For if I walk away, I shall make you bleed, make you weep—prove whether beneath your gate stands ‘Mandate of Heaven’ at all!”

Yue Ji narrowed his gaze and loosed.

The arrow roared toward his face.

Shen Qinghe did not blink. The shaft skimmed past, rattling his hair, and buried in a nearby tree. A sparrow nailed against its bark gave one pitiful cry, then fell still.

Yue Ji lowered the bow, gaze strange.

“Among all who know not sky from earth, you are unique—like a fish leaping on the oarsigns of a warship. That you will not unite with me—I almost regret that.”

“One more chance. Refuse, and next we meet, it shall be at your spirit hall.”

Shen Qinghe met him calmly. “If you dare enter my hall, I’ll host you even as a ghost.”

“Good. Well said. I shall keep you yet.” Yue Ji gave a courteous bow of head, though a sideways glance betrayed the arrogance veiled beneath grace.

Life had grown tedious. This playful fish—worth sport.

Lips curling in mockery, he said softly: “So you would have me shed blood and tears, Shen Qinghe? Yanjin Yue Ji—let us both wait and see.”

This time he left for good.

Shen Qinghe watched till he vanished, then bent double, sweat pouring down his spine, soaking fabric. The winter air chilled him to shivers.

But colder still was his heart.

He had built the Qingbei Academy to gain a foothold, to shield from tempest of noble strife.

Yet now—it seemed mere fantasy, a path none dared tread. Foolish self-deceit.

Faced with one Yue Ji alone—already so fierce. How hopeless against a whole class of clans? The emperor had been merciful, leaving him dignity. Shen Qinghe had only been too proud.

His horse snorted long, sensing turmoil.

Stroking its mane, Shen Qinghe murmured: “Treading Moon, be calm. You’re but a small steed—you mustn’t haste.”

Resting upon its back, eyes kindled with fire, he whispered resolute:

“The more they would crush me, the less I shall fear.”

“My only dread—waves less fierce than I desire, denying me my fill of struggle.”

Footnotes:

1. Wu Li (烏骊) – A famed black warhorse, a recurring symbol of martial prowess in Chinese literature. 
2. Human jerky (人脯) – Historical accounts describe extreme warfare famine practices, wherein human flesh might be preserved as rations, underscoring Yue Yin’s ruthlessness. 
3. Cutting the mat (割席分坐) – A classical idiom meaning breaking ties with another, from the tale of Guan Ning and Hua Xin. Shen Qinghe here “cuts the mat” with Yue Ji, refusing the alliance despite peril.