Schatzkammer von Jianghu

Kapitel 103

Leng Shuangcheng walked through fiery forests, hills and mountains, and green grasslands, traversing many places. The setting sun cast her long shadow, watching her, draped in a camel-gray cloak and accompanied by a snow wolf, slowly disappear into the night. This cycle repeated itself endlessly until three days later when she could no longer walk, and only then did the figure of the woman and the wolf vanish from the desolate mountain path.

She hired a carriage and swayed back to Red Maple Ferry.

The stream flows gently, the red maples stand silently, and the dense forest and clear water, which have been separated for a hundred years, stretch out before us. It is as beautiful as a painting and as elegant as Xi Shi. It seems that she has been standing calmly on the mountainside waiting for hundreds of years.

The maple trees are in bloom, their umbrella-shaped stamens fluttering everywhere, creating a hazy, rosy atmosphere.

The air was cool and the sun was shining brightly. Leng Shuangcheng took a deep breath and walked along the smooth pebbles.

Two stars cross the river at night, green hills rest on green waves, and two streams that split at the foot of the red maple forest shimmer gently like the Milky Way pouring down from the sky. The water and sky reflect each other, and the green streams and secluded grasses spread out in layers of red, white and green. The scene is more beautiful than the heavens. Even if a celestial being descended, he could not paint this elegant and serene landscape.

At the end of the road stands a manor, its glazed eaves jutting out from the treetops like a soaring blue dragon, poised to take flight.

Leng Shuangcheng opened her eyes wide and indeed there was a towering shadow hidden among the red leaves.

Jade-green glazed tiles, brocade-like flowers on the walls—the exterior was all familiar to Leng Shuangcheng. Even the smooth, mirror-like bluestone walls exuded a brand-new feel. She walked forward quickly, incredulously gazing up at the horizontal plaque hanging above the gate.

The plaque was made of a different material, and the inscription on it was written in a different style than my father's, but the name was still the same two characters: Leng Mansion.

The large plaque with nine dragons painted in crimson gold exudes arrogance and domineering power. Deeply engraved on it are large characters in running script with splashed ink and flowing dragons. Leng Shuangcheng only glanced at it, and tears slowly flowed down her cheeks.

Only one person acted eccentrically and coldly, and even his handwriting could not conceal his unyielding style; and only one person spoke coldly to her, yet secretly did many things for her.

From the moment she withstood the accusations and infighting within the court and suppressed the leak of information about the ancient well, there was always someone silently enduring and watching from behind the scenes. She had only described the layout of the Leng residence in detail to Wu You, who was then mentally impaired, once in the Ye family garden, but unexpectedly, he still remembered it firmly.

Qiu Yeyijian restored a home for Leng Shuangcheng.

Carved railings and windows, white stone steps, winding corridors, and unique rooms—every corner faintly reveals the shadow of the former cold residence. Although most are not exactly the same, they are magnificent and elegant.

The house had obviously been cleaned, with fresh fallen leaves and twigs still on the ground. Just by looking at the marks on the ground, she could understand the general idea: Qiu Ye had made arrangements in advance, calling servants to come and tidy up regularly.

With a burst of strength, Leng Shuangcheng leaped out from behind the secluded, winding walls of the mansion and headed straight for the red maple forest.

The woods grew even quieter, save for the occasional cry of a bird or beast. She silently dug away the soil and placed a scholar's robe inside, creating a cenotaph for Wu You.

The wolf king lowered its tail and stared at her without moving.

The solitary grave, its grass damp with dew, sat quietly amidst the maple forest, perfectly complementing Wu You's refined and elegant demeanor. Leng Shuangcheng leaned against the grave, slowly watching the clouds rise on the horizon. After an unknown amount of time, she turned her head indifferently and suddenly saw a dragon claw flower in the distance.

The dark green, narrow blades of grass rise like clouds, with pinkish-green stripes scattered on their backs, creating a striking contrast of varying shades.

Looking at the dragon claw with its buds bare, a sudden thought struck her.

Because this is a flower destined to be "heartless and ungrateful," legend has it that it sprouts leaves in early summer and blooms in autumn. In the cycle of a thousand years, the flower and leaves are like a pair of tragic lovers, separated life after life.

"Love is not bound by cause and effect, fate determines life and death." Leng Shuangcheng stared intently at the motionless branches and smiled faintly, "Are you an envoy sent by Buddha to advise me? Unfortunately, I will not listen. I must try my best to wait until the day when the flower and the leaf meet again."

Time flowed by like water. Leng Shuangcheng sat in the forest during the day and rested in the courtyard at night. She didn't know how long she had been like this. She was like a ghost, her face pale as she wandered among the mountains and rivers.

She sensed the changes within her body, yet remained calm and waited.

But she didn't know that in those bygone days, on the distant shore of the East China Sea, a handsome figure in blue robes stood silently by the river, keeping her promise in mind.

...

The wind blew through the forest, causing the leaves to tremble repeatedly. Once everything returned to silence, Red Maple Ferry seemed to have fallen into a dream again.

A soft rustling sound of footsteps approached from afar, as each step gently trod across the ground covered with fallen leaves.

Leng Shuangcheng leaned weakly against a maple tree, struggling to open his eyes. The light was dim, and the parasol-like flowers fluttered and scattered, layer upon layer, over the corner of his black robe. He slowly approached, lowering his handsome, moon-like face: "It's alright, we're not too late."

"Nan Jing." Leng Shuangcheng moved her lips, opening and closing them with difficulty. "You came after receiving my message." A thousand words were stuck in her throat, but she didn't have the strength to say them. Finally, she closed her eyes and uttered two words: "Thank you."

"I know what you mean." Nan Jingqi looked at her face with heartache and said slowly, "When you were asleep, you asked me to protect your body and not to reveal your whereabouts to the outside world before the war is over. I remember all of that, so don't worry."

Leng Shuangcheng's eyelashes trembled slightly, then remained still, her whole being peaceful and silent, as if she were fast asleep.

Nan Jingqi stood silently for a long time, then reached out and embraced her light body, tears streaming down his face, as he walked out of the forest.

Returning home, the rosy clouds and flowing mists were dazzling; departing home, the afterglow of the setting sun filled the sky.

12 Endings

The wind urges on the border, carrying urgent messages.

Since June 18th, both the Central Plains and the northern border of the Song Dynasty were simultaneously attacked by artillery fire. The war in the Central Plains was completely quelled after five days, but the situation in the Yan-Yun region of the northern border was once in dire straits: Liao general Yelü Bao led 100,000 troops to advance from Dushi and Gubei. The Song border defense army fought bloody battles and killed 20,000 Liao troops in a battle of corpses. However, they were outnumbered and eight prefectures, including Wu, Ru, and Shun, fell one after another.

In mid-July, Zhao Yingcheng led his army to Zhuozhou and clashed head-on with Yelü Bao. The two fought several battles with varying degrees of victory and defeat. Subsequently, the Song army retreated and occupied Yanyunmo, Yingzhou, and other prefectures, forming a confrontation with the Liao army.

Close combat continued, and the war raged on.

On the 20th day of the seventh month of the fourth year of Jianlong, at midnight, at the Song army camp on the banks of the Baigou River.

The Baigou River is located downstream of Qigou Pass. During the height of summer, successive torrential rains have made the river extremely turbulent. The muddy water rushes past the corner of the military camp tents, roaring and raging like a wild horse.

Inside the main tent of the military camp, the dim candlelight flickered, casting two lonely shadows. The tent was simply furnished, with a striped table, a felt mat, and a lone crane-beak lamp standing in the corner, all bathed in a dancing yellow glow.

Scrolls lay spread out on the table. Zhao Yingcheng, head bowed, studied the intelligence reports for a long time. The candlelight flickered, illuminating his indifferent face and his finely shaped eyebrows. His deputy, Zhao Fan, stood respectfully to the side, trying to discern the prince's expression, but Zhao Yingcheng's face was as white as winter snow, pale and cold, revealing not a trace of emotion to him.

"Tomorrow's battle is crucial. In the end, Yelü Bao will definitely deploy the Iron Lion Regiment." Zhao Yingcheng surveyed the terrain for a long time without moving, and finally gave a calm order. "In the past month, both sides have suffered losses. Now they have 60,000 troops left, while we only have 20,000 remnants. We are already at a disadvantage in terms of strength. In addition, the Iron Lion Cavalry are brave and fierce, and skilled in plains warfare. Once they charge at the pass tomorrow, our army will not be able to resist. Therefore, the situation is extremely unfavorable for us."

"The Iron Lion Regiment?" Zhao Fan exclaimed in surprise, raising his voice, "The Tiger Wing Cavalry led by Yelü Xingtian two years ago? The Iron Lion Regiment, rumored to be capable of capturing entire camps?"

Zhao Yingcheng shielded himself from the wind, glanced up at him, and smiled calmly and coldly: "After Yelü's death, this valiant army belonged to the Liao King's private guard. This time, Yelü Bao is determined to fight me and Prince Qiuye to the death. The previous battles were all to clear the way for the Iron Lion Regiment. Therefore, the battle at Qigou Pass tomorrow is crucial. Yelü Bao wants to decide the outcome in one battle, so he will definitely send out the borrowed Iron Lion Knights."

Zhao Yingcheng extended his finger, tracing the winding lines of the map. Zhao Fan naturally understood the key to Qigou Pass's terrain: the pass resembled the mouth of a gourd; once breached, Mo and Ying prefectures would be exposed to the Liao army's iron hooves, and the capital's stable position in the Central Plains would be in jeopardy. He glanced at the faint shadow cast by the dim candlelight, and seeing Zhao Yingcheng's indifferent smile, his inner turmoil grew. He couldn't help but press on, "Does Your Highness have any chance of victory?"

Zhao Yingcheng laughed again and suddenly asked, "General Zhao, you must have heard some rumors, right? News just spread in the Central Plains that Prince Qiuye is seriously injured and unable to recover, and Yelü Bao launched a war in the Northern Frontier. Has General Zhao considered the connection between these events?"

Zhao Fan pondered for a moment, then shook his head. Zhao Yingcheng smiled faintly and replied, "It's because Yelü Bao is wary of a special force under Prince Qiuye's command, namely the Snow Shadow Battalion, the nemesis of the Iron Lion Regiment, who won the victory at Three Ape Gorge two years ago."

As soon as the words "Snow Shadow Camp" echoed in the slightly cool tent, Zhao Fan exclaimed, "I know the Snow Shadow Camp! Legend has it that their knights are as light as swallows, their horses as strong as swift steeds, charging left and right through a million-strong army, their speed unmatched." He paused, then, as if remembering something, asked, "Prince Qiuye is far away in Qingzhou, so why did Prince Zhao suddenly mention this cavalry? Could it be…?"

Zhao Yingcheng interrupted, "General Zhao, you may not know this, but the Snow Shadow Camp only obeys the orders of Prince Qiuye. To deploy them, one must personally see the Prince's edict and the tiger tally." Seeing Zhao Fan staring at the map with a worried expression, he did not explain anything, but simply said indifferently, "General Zhao, there is no need to worry... We will definitely win this battle."

Zhao Fan raised his head.

With his black hair flowing down his shoulders and his face thin, Zhao Yingcheng, without his armor, looked like a gentle and elegant young master. In the dim light behind him, his shadow was silent in the darkness, but his eyes were clear, like cool dew on bamboo, sinking deep into the earth and leaving an indelible mark.

While Zhao Fan was still in a daze, he heard that cold and calm voice ask again, "Where is Young Master Xue now?" He quickly replied respectfully, "I have received a message from my subordinates that Young Master Xue will arrive at Qigou Pass no later than 11 PM tomorrow."

"The hour of Wei?" Zhao Yingcheng tilted his head slightly, staring intently at the flickering candlelight, his voice somewhat ethereal: "That means it's after the great battle. The timing is just right."

Zhao Fan asked in surprise, "Why has the young master been urging Young Master Xue to come so many times?"

Zhao Yingcheng turned around and walked straight out of the tent. His back was shrouded in a faint light, which outlined his figure with a lonely air. As he walked, he said coldly, "I can't reveal too much about military secrets. General Zhao, just remember that Yu Xue is the key to tomorrow's battle. You must do your best to assist him."

Zhao Fan was even more surprised. Logically speaking, the commander-in-chief of tomorrow's battlefield should be Zhao Yingcheng, the heir apparent. Why did he instruct him before the battle to obey Young Master Yu Xue's orders?

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, Zhao Yingcheng calmly said before stepping out of the tent, "With a formidable enemy at hand, military orders are paramount. General Zhao, do you have any questions about the commander's arrangements?"

"This humble general dares not," Zhao Fan replied respectfully, raising his hand. Zhao Yingcheng did not pause, reaching out to lift the tent flap and walking out without saying a word.

The Baigou River continued its gurgling flow in the night, indifferent to human warmth and sorrow. A few candlelight flickered in the camp; the soldiers were all asleep, and apart from the sound of the flowing water, all was silent. A few sentries moved about in twos and threes; upon seeing the figure in a long robe emerge, they bowed and then continued their routine patrol.

A slender poplar tree stood on the riverbank, its branches graceful and its green leaves blending into the darkness. Zhao Yingcheng walked silently to the tree, gazing at the dark, still water, motionless.

The air was heavy and damp.

He looked at it for a while, then took out the letter his father had written to him from his pocket. He didn't open it, but instead tore it into pieces, watching the paper turn into fragments that drifted into the swirling vortex.

There was no need to read the contents of the letter; it was nothing more than an advice to settle down and continue to work hard for the prosperity of the family. He had read such letters many times before. At first, his father had tried to persuade him to change his mind and not give up his future so easily for a three-year-old child. However, after not receiving the expected response several times, the words in the letters gradually became sharp and cold.

Zhao Yingcheng remained calm, recalling the past, and smiled gently.

As time passed and the seasons changed, all things fell silent. The river churned up turbid foam, as if howling out an ancient sorrow. Zhao Yingcheng looked up at the lonely morning star, watching it hang in the vast, silent sky, so bright and crystalline.

It resembles bright, expressive eyes. Its clear light shines through, radiant and captivating.

In my memory, only one person's eyes can remain forever in my heart, unforgettable.

Yang Wan.

This name was always etched in his heart, shining like a star.

"Years have passed since I left, and Yang Wan has suffered too much because of me. After we part tomorrow, I wish her a carefree life for the rest of her days." Despite the many regrets and ties in his heart, before setting off on his campaign, Zhao Yingcheng stroked the tree trunk and once again slowly uttered the blessing he had given by the sea that day, as the sky turned from chaos to daylight.

He stood alone all night, like a shadow growing by a tree.

After daybreak, Zhao Yingcheng shook off the icy dewdrops from his clothes and turned to enter the military tent.

A servant had already brought him the armor, which he put on one by one. The faint light from the tent ceiling filtered down, making the armor gleam silver. After lifting the curtain, a cold, sharp-looking pear blossom spear appeared before him.

The white tassels fluttered gently in the breeze, the spear stood straight and sharp as a knife, silently on the weapon rack. Zhao Yingcheng stepped forward, grasped the shaft with his right hand, rubbed it a couple of times, as if he had made up his mind, and then drew it out with a mighty swift motion. Facing the rosy dawn, he shouted loudly, "Let's fight!"

At the hour of Ren Chen on this day, the two armies met in front of Qigou Pass. The Liao army led with light cavalry, lined up in a row to form a hill. From a distance, the black and gold banners that obscured the sun fluttered in the wind, and the Iron Lion Army, clad in bright white armor, stood firmly behind them. Only when the banners swayed did the cold, eerie shadows peek out from the gaps in the banners.

Zhao Yingcheng, leading 20,000 elite troops, stood guard in the road. He saw a man slowly ride out from the Liao army, his silver spear landing beside his horse, its tip gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

"Who goes there?" he shouted, brandishing his spear.

The other party was a young general in black armor, with a handsome face. He curled his lips and raised a sinister brow: "Xiao Zheng, Marquis of Suqing of the Southern Privy Council." His black armor was cold and austere, making his skin look like ice, like a demon born of the night.

Zhao Yingcheng's heart skipped a beat; he hadn't expected to encounter such a person on the battlefield.

Xiao Zheng, also known as Xiao Feisu, was one of the eight prominent noble families of the Liao Dynasty. He was known for his ruthless methods and narrow-mindedness. He once led troops to suppress the Han and Qiang people living together in Yan and Yun, leaving no survivors in his path. It is said that he was deeply trusted by the Liao King and rose from a minor official in the west to a Privy Councilor in just two years, while also having command of the Iron Lion Regiment, which shows his iron-fisted and ruthless methods.

These are just the contents recorded in military intelligence; there must be many more twists and turns unknown to outsiders.

However, Zhao Yingcheng was very clear about one thing: Xiao Zheng was trained in martial arts and his current martial arts skills were superior to his own.

With a wry smile, Zhao Yingcheng replied in a loud voice, his face stern: "Whether it is Marquis Feixu or General Yelü who comes, I, Zhao Yingcheng, will personally meet them and settle the score on the battlefield!" Without waiting for a reply, he waved his hand and led his trusted elite troops forward.

The two armies joined forces and began to fight.

Liao first dispatched light cavalry, their horses nimble and unrestrained, to intercept Zhao Yingcheng's vanguard. A mixture of blue and black, like ink, slowly spread across the flat ground at the pass.