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foxghost · 2 years

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Joyful Reunion

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 4, Chapter 43 (Part 4)

Their boat has arrived beneath Mount Yuheng. Another night and they will turn into the Yangtze River, reaching the Jiangzuo region.

The sky is hung with heavy grey clouds, cut through occasionally by bouts of lightning that intertwine and scatter in the distant darkness. Duan Ling leans against the bow. He keeps feeling as though he can never get to the end of this journey; this road has taken him from death into life, from midnight into dawn.

Between now and that winter, a long time has already gone by. It’s been so long that he’s almost forgotten what it felt like.

“Get some sleep,” Wu Du says. “We’ll be in Jiangzhou by tomorrow.”

Duan Ling thinks they must have detoured around the assassins Cai Yan sent to kill them by now. Of course, maybe Cai Yan is so busy ascending to the throne and becoming the emperor that he has no time left anymore to send people to kill him. But he doesn’t dare say this aloud for fear of jinxing it. Wu Du doesn’t say a thing about it either. Contrary to his usual habit, this evening Wu Du’s put on a set of rogue’s blacks, matching belt, and strapped on his finger-daggers, and he’s placed the Lieguangjian right there at his side. Resting his leg on the boat’s railing, he cuts a figure that’s both slim and strong.

Duan Ling really likes the way he looks in rogue’s blacks. It gives him a sense of safety in the dark.

In the dark of night when one can’t see anything, having a quiet assassin by one’s side makes even this silent night seem gentler.

He knows that Wu Du is on guard as well; this is, after all, the last leg of their journey. They can’t afford to have mishaps near their journey’s end.

“Wu Du,” Duan Ling whispers, “Do you think my dad’s been travelling with us this whole way?”

“He’s been around all along. I even dreamt of him last night.”

“What did you dream of?” Duan Ling smiles.

“He said, my son has to go back now,” Wu Du says offhandedly. “Make sure you don’t let him work too hard from now on.”

Duan Ling smiles. He doesn’t know whether Wu Du is telling him the truth, but these are words he would rather believe. Duan Ling leans against Wu Du’s chest and slowly falls asleep.

He has no idea how much time passes before the boat starts to sway. Duan Ling turns over and feels rainwater splashing into the hold.

Thunder rumbles, startling him awake. The boat sways abruptly and water pours in, wetting his face. Duan Ling gets up immediately.

“Wu Du!”

“I’m over here!” Soaked through by the rain, Wu Du is at the aft trying to steady the boat. “Don’t come out! Stay in there!”

Duan Ling grabs the ship’s railing tight. He’s thrown up and down with the small boat as it heaves with the current. In the high waves, their boat rocks into the air before tipping down again towards the water.

“Get ready to pull ashore!” Wu Du shouts into the hold. “We’ll leave tomorrow! Let’s just take shelter from the storm for now!”

The wind is swift and the waves are high; each rumble of thunder is followed by another. Suddenly, a stroke of lightning cuts across the sky, illuminating Wu Du’s rain-soaked face.

That’s the moment when Duan Ling’s intuition, honed over practically countless brushes with death, puts him on full alert. He takes his bow and runs out of the hold towards Wu Du, and grabs him across the waist. Wu Du seems to have sensed something as well; he turns over in the air and wraps himself around Duan Ling before leaping headfirst into the river.

At the same time, several assassins in black jump into the boat. Blowdarts whip over their heads and into the river!

Thunder rumbles through the river, and currents rush at Duan Ling’s ears as he dives into the water, and he’s dragged at once to the bottom of the undertow. Wu Du shields him with his chest, banging his back and shoulders against the rocks in the middle of the river. Yet he doesn’t linger there for even an instant, and kicking against it, he uses the momentum to swim to shore with Duan Ling.

Wu Du is a great swimmer, and as long as the enemy doesn’t manage to touch him, he can create some distance between them right away. The river is full of hidden currents, and as they get through the interlacing undertow, another stroke of lightning strikes.

Utilising that flash of lightning, Duan Ling opens his eyes wide and sees five assassins in black swimming toward them. Wu Du shows no sign of fear, however. He grabs hold of Duan Ling and swims around the currents at the bottom of the river, not stopping at all as he gets to shore.

Another snap of thunder resonates through the water. Wu Du drags Duan Ling out of the river and pushes him onto the rocks by the shore before he turns and leaps back into the water.

Duan Ling is surrounded by darkness. He dares not say anything, staring nervously at the river. Every once in a while, there is another flash of lightning, and the water is suddenly stained with fresh red blood. There is more and more blood until it’s coloured a patch of the river.

And then Wu Du is out of the water again. He sheathes the Lieguangjian, and without a word, picks up Duan Ling and charges into the forest.

“Are there more of them?!” Duan Ling asks.

“No idea! I’ve killed all the assassins that were underwater! Let’s just leave for now!”

“Let me down!”

“You don’t have shoes on! Don’t speak! You’ll lure the assassins to us!”

Wu Du walks through the mountain paths, stopping every once in a while to turn his ear to the wind, trying to listen for footsteps amidst the raindrops.

“Stop raining already …” Wu Du’s voice is shaking.

The rain is indeed starting to subside. Lightning is still flashing through the forest, one stroke after another. Duan Ling thinks Wu Du’s footsteps are steadier than before, and says, “Put me down. I can walk on my own now.”

Wu Du steps onto the flagstone path before he puts Duan Ling down. He keeps looking around him.

“Watch your step,” Wu Du says. “I heard them earlier. There are more of them. They’re using whistles to communicate.”

Before the last word is spoken, Duan Ling hears them as well. Through the rain, in the distant dark mountain forest, he can hear a vague whistling.

“How many of them are there?” Duan Ling asks.

“Can’t be sure. But definitely more than ten.”

“Where are we?”

“Mount Yuheng. If we climb any higher we’ll be in the Feijian Pine Forest. We need to get off the mountain as quickly as possible. I’m just worried that they’d shown up by the river just to force us onto the shore.”

Duan Ling and Wu Du pick up the pace and keep heading downhill. The rain gradually stops, and the world grows quiet as though everything had gone still.

Duan Ling looks up. There are still dark clouds hanging at the horizon, and not a smidgen of light under that night sky. There is nothing to break the silence but the light sound of Wu Du’s boots stepping into the puddles.

He can’t help recalling that night in Shangjing; the world had gone still then, not a sound to be heard.

Suddenly, Duan Ling hears the trigger of a crossbow. Wu Du reacts even faster than he does, and wraps Duan Ling in his arms, protecting his neck and face. The two of them roll on the stone steps before abruptly rolling downhill.

A series of bamboo whistles are going off around them all of a sudden, one after another, so frequently that they seem to blend into one great sound. Dozens of assassins emerge from both sides of the mountain path, firing their heavy crossbows at the two of them!

Wu Du can’t get any closer, so all he can do is charge down the steps with Duan Ling. He howls, “Get in front of me!”

“There are more in front of us!” Duan Ling shouts.

In a split second, more assassins are coming out of the dark. Duan Ling nocks and draws, killing an assassin charging at him dead on. The assassin had an iron crossbow in their hand, and the force of the arrow in their face throws them backwards. The iron crossbow flies out of their hand.

Duan Ling leaps up to grab the assassin’s heavy crossbow. With a roll, Wu Du comes at Duan Ling from behind, throwing himself at him, and the two of them roll downhill again. They crash into innumerable shrubs and branches along the way, putting painful scratches on Duan Ling’s cheeks. Stumbling and staggering, kicking up rocks as they go, they end up clinging to the end of the hillside.

Beneath them is nothing but a shore full of jagged rocks, and if they fall they will only end up bloody and mangled. Duan Ling and Wu Du hold onto each other’s wrists, and Wu Du nails the Lieguangjian into the cliffside, using it to anchor them so they can try their best to hold on.

On the cliff above, the assassins stick their heads over the edge. Duan Ling pulls the trigger, shooting one of them dead. The assassin screams and falls off the edge of the cliff, landing with a thud.

Wu Du gives off an angry howl.

“Haaah —!”

It rumbles through his ears like thunder and reverberates through the mountains in an echo. With a move that pushes the limits of his martial arts, Wu Du swings Duan Ling out in an arc and uses the momentum to step down hard on the mountain rocks. With a leap, the two of them fly to a clearing behind the bushes.

“Watch out!” Duan Ling shouts.

A dart hits Wu Du in the shoulder, and blood sprays forth, but he doesn’t bother pulling it. He just shields Duan Ling as they continue sliding down the hill. More and more assassins have appeared; there are now almost a hundred of them. They charge towards them from every direction, relentlessly pursuing them.

“Where are these assassins from?”

“Shadow Guard!” Wu Du shouts. “They must have been newly recruited!”

They land in front of a dark temple. Duan Ling runs headlong into the iron doors, making a loud boom. Wu Du immediately pushes Duan Ling to the door and stands facing out in front of him, shielding him with his own body. They can hear many footsteps; the assassins are quickly approaching.

Wu Du slides his finger-daggers up to his knuckles and pushes a button on his belt to spring out a spray of poison powder. He reaches behind him to snap the dart off his shoulder, gritting his teeth at the pain. Blood spurts out of the wound.

Wu Du lowers his voice and says, “In a moment I will stall them. You find a chance to run down the mountain.”

“No,” Duan Ling says shakily, “Wu Du, don’t risk your life …”

By now the dark clouds above them have dissipated entirely, giving way to countless brilliant pinpoints of stars, casting their light into the mortal world. By this feeble starlight, Duan Ling makes out almost a hundred assassins packed into the platform in front of them. Each and every one of them is holding a heavy crossbow, and loading their bolts, they slowly approach from every direction.

They keep a distance of almost twenty paces in case Wu Du sets off a cloud of poisoned smoke. If a hundred bolts fire all at once, there is no doubt the two of them will be shot dead before these great bronze doors.

Duan Ling whips around to look, and by the faint starlight, he manages to see an old lock on the door.

“Wu Du,” Duan Ling says quietly.

Wu Du doesn’t answer. He presses his powerful back and shoulders against Duan Ling. All of the assassins have stopped walking.

“Run towards the northwest corner.” Wu Du bends down slightly. It’s the pose one takes before pushing off. Then, the assassins pull the trigger of their crossbows as one.

Just as they do, Duan Ling pulls the Lieguangjian out of its sheath worn at Wu Du’s waist and chops down on the lock. He crashes through the doors and drags Wu Du into the temple with him.

“Close the door!” Duan Ling howls.

Wu Du reacts immediately, pushing the door back with his shoulder until it closes with a great bang. Immediately, all one can hear is the sound of bolts hitting the door like raindrops, clanging on forever.

Duan Ling searches all over for something to hold the door closed with, but there’s nothing in this temple hall, not even a prayer mat. Outside, someone starts ramming the door. Wu Du slots his scabbard through the door handles. He howls, “Run into the temple!”

Following the path, they charge into the depths of the temple. There is only darkness in front of them; in the dark, there is no sound save for the noises Wu Du and Duan Ling are making as they gasp for breath. They can’t see a thing. Duan Ling hears a crash, and hurriedly turns to his side, crashing onto the wall alongside Wu Du.

“Wu Du?” Duan Ling calls for him.

Duan Ling reaches out with a hand to grope in the dark and finds Wu Du’s trembling fingers. He follows those fingers up the arm until he finds Wu Du’s face. Duan Ling presses a kiss on his lips.

“It’s a dead end,” Wu Du whispers, “wait here. I’ll go kill them all.”

Another crash comes from the outside. The assassins are ramming the doors over and over again.

“No, wait,” Duan Ling says. “There has to be a way leading out of here. This is a shrine of some sort, and all shrines have back doors …”

Duan Ling gropes around in the dark and suddenly finds a flint and tinder sitting on a stone platform. He wastes no time trying to light it. There is another loud bang outside. Lieguangjian’s fine steel scabbard is already bent out of shape, but it’s still firmly wedged through the handles.

The flame is lit. Duan Ling lights a small candle stump next to the stone platform and spots a vat filled with oil in the corner for the eternal flame, so he lights that as well. All of a sudden, this ten-foot square room is filled with light.

This is an imperial mausoleum.

A white marble coffin with dragons sculpted into its lid is lying in the middle of the mausoleum, and a tablet carved out of ebony had been erected before the coffin.

Emperor Wu of Great Chen

“This is my dad’s tomb.” Duan Ling’s voice is shaking. “Dad …”

Wu Du and Duan Ling stand side by side in front of Li Jianhong’s stone coffin. Duan Ling starts to smile, and he says, “Did you call us here?”

He walks up to kneel before the coffin and leans against the end of it with his cheek. He whispers, “I’ve come back. This time, I’ve finally come back.”

There is another great crash from behind them. Wu Du turns around abruptly to find the bronze doors at the end of the hallway already bulging inwards, revealing a small gap.

Winded, Wu Du closes his eyes and says, “All my life, I’ve never believed in the will of heaven, but now I have no choice but to believe.”

“Look over there,” Duan Ling gestures. “My dad left that for you.”

There’s a set of black armour hanging at the very end of the mausoleum, its reflective iron scales linking together in the warrior robe, gleaming like the scales of a dragon, the Qilin helmet most imposing. There are also bracers and boots; it’s a complete set.

It is the very set of armour Li Jianhong wore to keep his appointment with Duan Ling in Shangjing!

There’s even a heavy imitation Zhenshanhe sitting next to the helmet. Back when the Zhenshanhe was lost, Li Yanqiu had another forged, placing it in the mausoleum along with the emperor’s armour to act as grave goods for Li Jianhong.

There’s another great crash as the doors are finally smashed open. The assassins charge into the mausoleum, heavy crossbows in hand.

Fully armoured, Wu Du runs headlong into a torrential downpour of bolts as though he’s swimming against the tide. Dragging the heavy sword behind him, he crashes sidelong into the assassins!

On this night, beneath ten thousand rays of starlight, the dark clouds fade, revealing the Silver River that spans the horizon.

Warrior boots step onto the paving stones outside the mausoleum hard enough to put cracks in them. A million puddles reflect the stars up above.

Slowly, Duan Ling walks out of the mausoleum. The ground before him is already littered with corpses.

On a high platform, miles above the earth, halfway up Mount Yuheng, the doors to the emperor’s mausoleum sit wide open. Ribbons of starlight interweave, sparkling, shining onto the Yangtze River, endlessly flowing east.

It is another Seventh of Seventh.

Wu Du takes off the helmet, tossing it to the floor. It shudders on the tiles.

Wearily, he drags the heavy sword behind him and walks towards the waiting Duan Ling standing before the imperial mausoleum. Wu Du wraps his arm around Duan Ling, and the two of them fall to their knees together.

What passionate blood beneath that armour had never gone cold; the heroic soul from all those years ago had never forgotten the promise he made through that door.

The Qilin helmet lies quietly in a puddle, surrounded by rainwater like a mirror holding a reflection of the Silver River above them.

On the Seventh of Seventh, the weaving maid weaves her brocade, knocks over a silver bottle, and spills a million drops of jade nectar into the mortal world.

They travel from the heavens to earth, then from earth to sky.

Duan Ling raises his gaze towards the horizon; his pupils reflect the brilliant stars.

Seventh of Seventh; mortality is like a dream, fading with the west winds, lasting but a second in heaven.

Seventh of Seventh; the eternal Silver River had already put a million years between them.

The world is but an inn for all that is living; time is but a passing traveller through generations upon generations.

Yet life is as ethereal as a dream; how much joy can we ever hope to gain? When the ancients made merry at night by candlelight; they did so for good reasons.

And besides, spring entices me with beautiful scenery and nature grants me many fine things. Such as meeting in a garden scented with peach blossoms, and reminisce about good times with family.

Because all my younger brothers are handsome and outstanding each as talented as Huilian; yet when I recite my poetry, to my shame I alone cannot be compared to Kangle.

Appreciating our serene surroundings, our conversations revolve around the lofty and rarefied. We host a feast for flower-viewing, drink out of carved-feather goblets unto intoxication beneath the moon.

How can we ever express these refined feelings without fine poetry? If anyone fails to improvise a poem, expect to be made to drink as per the rules of the Jingu Garden.2

《End of Book 4: ‘Til We’re Drunk Beneath the Moon》

This translation is by foxghost, on tumblr and kofi. I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, it was reposted without permission. Do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

This is a full prose by Li Bai called Preface to a Spring Evening in a Peach Garden. I translated it fully on my blog once, but this one is slightly updated. It does have a couple of notes, but all you really need to know is that Huilian and Kangle were both contemporary poets of Li Bai. ↩︎

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