Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Cry in the Northern Wind

Qin Cheng was jolted awake by a nightmare. The room was still illuminated by the faint, yellow glow of a lamp, its flame flickering inside the oil lantern, casting dancing shadows across the walls. His head throbbed from last night’s drinking, and his stomach was unsettled. As he shifted, he noticed something amiss. Turning his head, he saw Bai Xinxin’s delicate, ivory face resting beside his shoulder. Qin Cheng frowned, realizing that his arm was wrapped in her embrace, her entire body pressed close, clinging to him like a koala to a tree. Her dark hair spilled messily over her, partly veiling her face, which now looked perfectly serene.

Bai Xinxin slept deeply and peacefully.

A beautiful woman lying unclothed at his side was a sight most tempting, yet Qin Cheng seemed in no mood to savor such pleasures. He gently disentangled her arms, slipped out of bed, and quickly dressed.

It was still dark outside; dawn had not yet arrived, and the world beyond the window remained pitch black.

After hurriedly straightening his clothes, Qin Cheng glanced back at Bai Xinxin, sleeping soundly, then turned away and strode out of the inner room. As he opened the door to the outer chamber, a voice called from behind him.

“General.”

At some point, Bai Xinxin had risen from bed. She hadn’t had time to dress and held her robe tightly to her chest. One pale, rosy arm braced against the wooden partition between the rooms, her enchanting gaze fixed longingly on Qin Cheng, tears glimmering on her lashes.

Qin Cheng paused at her call, tilting his head slightly, but never turned to look at her. He opened the door and stepped outside.

“General.”

As the door clicked shut, he heard Bai Xinxin’s soft, plaintive cry from within. His heart clenched, his face darkening with a trace of gloom. He cast a lingering look at the door before turning away, not descending the stairs immediately but pausing at the balcony, gazing up at the starry sky, his expression complex.

After a moment, he steadied himself and descended the stairs.

A cold wind whipped against Qin Cheng’s thinly-clad body, but he showed no sign of discomfort, striding briskly past the little fish pond in the courtyard and out the gate.

Faint starlight shimmered gently along the Milky Way.

Leaving the courtyard, he entered the main hall. The revelers had all departed; silence reigned. The chaos left by the night’s drinkers had been cleared away, and the only life in the hall was the faintly flickering lamplight.

Qin Cheng made his way toward the table where he and Ji Zhu and the others had drunk together, noticing Le Yi dozing at the table.

Perhaps the slight breeze stirred by Qin Cheng’s approach roused Le Yi, who shrank into himself. His clothes, even thinner than Qin Cheng’s, were wrapped tightly about him, but as he shifted, a couple of gaps opened, letting in the chill.

“Le Yi,” Qin Cheng said, gently shaking him.

Le Yi, ever alert, woke at the touch—though perhaps, in the cold of night, he’d never truly slept soundly. Lifting his head and seeing Qin Cheng, he asked in astonishment, “Is it morning already?”

“Not yet!” Qin Cheng sat beside him with a smile. “Was it comfortable sleeping here in the hall?”

Le Yi glanced around, confirming it was still dark outside. “Of course it’s not as comfortable as where you were sleeping. But tell me, why are you up so early? Didn’t Miss Xin keep you? No, wait—if the beauty didn’t keep you, you’d have left long ago. What’s going on—don’t tell me... you couldn’t perform? Did she kick you out? Ha!”

Qin Cheng cuffed him on the head. “Watch your filthy mouth! I’m perfectly fine!”

“Then why are you out here so early?” Le Yi grinned mischievously.

“None of your business. Anyway, where are Ji Zhu and Zhang Du? Where did they go?” Qin Cheng changed the subject.

Le Yi’s gaze drifted toward the rear courtyard. “We waited a long time for you last night. When you didn’t return, we figured you wouldn’t be coming out again. It was late, and everyone had had their fill. Lord Zhang suggested we all go home, but General Ji said it wouldn’t be right to leave you alone here, so he suggested we stay over. I didn’t have much money on me, so I couldn’t get a room. General Ji wanted to cover my room, but I refused, saying I should be here in case you needed anything. General Ji didn’t want to, but Lord Zhang, tipsy, dragged him off. Luckily, the servants didn’t kick me out, so I sat here. Eventually, I couldn’t help but doze off. Didn’t expect you to come out so soon.”

Hearing this, Qin Cheng thought of Bai Xinxin, and a tightness filled his chest. “Dawn is nearly here. Let’s just sit here until Ji Zhu and Zhang Du come down, then head back together.”

So they waited until mid-morning, when Ji Zhu finally emerged from the back with Zhang Du, both laughing heartily as if they understood everything that had transpired. Qin Cheng could only join their laughter, unable to offer any explanations.

The four of them left Linxiang Pavilion, had breakfast together, and then parted for their respective homes. Though Ji Zhu was also on leave, he had a family in Qiansang City and bid them farewell shortly after Zhang Du left. Zhang Du and Ji Zhu had kept Qin Cheng company all night at Linxiang Pavilion, and before parting, Qin Cheng thanked them both. Zhang Du promised that when he returned to the army and received his promotion, they would celebrate together with more wine. Qin Cheng readily agreed.

Le Yi escorted Qin Cheng back to the clinic, saying he had business with the battalion leader and then hurried off to the barracks.

“Xiaolou, this is for you.” Qin Cheng entered the sickroom to find Xiaolou busily grinding some medicinal herbs, entirely absorbed in his work. Qin Cheng greeted him and tossed over a packet of sweets he’d bought along the way.

“What’s this?” Xiaolou caught the paper packet, at first unimpressed—Qin Cheng had long ceased to be a towering hero in his eyes. But as soon as he saw the candy inside, his expression turned to shock. He popped a piece into his mouth and beamed. “Candy? Really? Brother Qin, you’re the best!”

“Don’t just eat—go and find me some ink and brush,” Qin Cheng said, unable to suppress a smile at Xiaolou’s exaggerated delight.

“Ink and brush? What for?” Xiaolou was reluctant, clearly afraid this errand would interrupt his enjoyment of the treat. Ignoring his sticky hands, he stuffed his mouth full until he couldn’t chew anymore.

“I’ve got my reasons. Just go get them, will you? And slow down with the sweets, the whole bag’s yours.” Qin Cheng shook his head, equal parts amused and pained. He remembered how, as a child, he’d surely looked just like that upon seeing candy.

“Really? All right! I’ll get them right away!” Xiaolou’s eyes lit up. He put down the sweets and darted out.

Soon after, he returned with an ink set from who knows where, arranging it carefully on the table. “Brother Qin, I’ll warn you—the ink is precious. Mind you don’t ruin it; I can’t afford to replace it.”

“All right, all right, go enjoy your candy. If it breaks, I’ll cover it,” Qin Cheng teased, settling at the desk. He’d have asked Xiaolou to grind the ink, but seeing the boy squatting in the corner, lost in bliss with his candy, he couldn’t bear to disturb him and did it himself.

Since Xiao Linglong had spoken plainly with him and he’d already given his word, the divorce letter to end their marriage was inevitable. But whether in this life or the last, Qin Cheng had no experience writing such a letter. Holding the brush, he hesitated, then smiled wryly to himself—what did it matter, so long as the meaning was clear? Surely, Father Xiao wouldn’t quarrel over the format.

Once finished, Qin Cheng had just risen when a soldier arrived, announcing a visitor. Qin Cheng replied, picked up the divorce letter, and curled his lips in a bitter smile. So quick to come—were they afraid he’d go back on his word?

Outside the clinic, Xiao Linglong stood in the autumn wind, a middle-aged steward behind her. The sky was overcast, the sun hidden, and a biting north wind blew. Xiao Linglong’s figure seemed frail and insubstantial on the empty ground before the clinic, her long black hair whipped into disarray.

The steward was perplexed. Though his master had asked for the divorce letter, it was hardly an honorable matter for his young mistress. Yet, when his master asked him to fetch the letter, she had insisted on coming along in secret, leaving him thoroughly baffled.

It was, after all, an awkward affair.

Soon, Qin Cheng emerged alone from the clinic, holding a slender bamboo scroll, idly spinning it between his fingers. To his surprise, Xiao Linglong herself had come to collect the letter. He sneered inwardly but said nothing, simply extending the scroll toward her.

From the moment she appeared, Xiao Linglong’s gaze never left him. Yet she didn’t reach out to take the letter, causing Qin Cheng to frown slightly.

“The divorce letter you wanted,” he said coldly.

Still, she did not take it, her eyes brimming with tears, perilously close to spilling over.

The steward grew anxious but dared not step forward on her behalf. The scene grew tense—Qin Cheng staring at Xiao Linglong, Xiao Linglong at Qin Cheng, the steward at his mistress.

“Will you take it or not?” Qin Cheng demanded, issuing an ultimatum.

“Qin Lang, is that all you have to say to me? Not a single word yesterday by the river, and now, nothing but these cold, impersonal words. Is there truly no feeling left in your heart for me?” Xiao Linglong’s tearful gaze fixed on him, her voice choked.

Suppressing the urge to lash out, Qin Cheng’s eyes flashed with disdain, his tone icy. “Miss Xiao, you jest. There is no longer anything between us. How can there be talk of affection?”

Cheating, then coming for proof of it, and now, at the moment you collect the evidence, you ask if I still care? Are you insane?

Qin Cheng’s heart was frigid.

At his words, Xiao Linglong’s slender form swayed, barely able to stand. Her hands clenched tight, nails biting into her palms, lips trembling as she mustered her last strength. “Qin Lang, Qin Lang! Let’s leave this place—take me away with you, somewhere far from here, and never return. Please, let’s start over!”

Qin Cheng trembled, as if some memory was stirred. He shot her a cold look, tossed the bamboo scroll to the steward, and turned away with a final remark.

“Your mistress is ill. Take her home.”

Xiao Linglong collapsed to the ground, her face deathly pale, eyes dazed as she watched his back disappear into the clinic, her tears blurring everything.

The steward, holding the scroll, saw his young mistress sprawled in misery. Afraid to overstep his bounds, he hesitated, then tried to comfort her. “Miss, please, there are many eyes about—let’s go home.”

But Xiao Linglong seemed not to hear, her gaze fixed on the clinic, oblivious to the stares and whispers. Her sobs would not cease.

I once thought losing a fool who didn’t love me would not bring me pain. But when you truly left, I found my world could no longer turn. Only when I realized I could not be without you did I see you vanish into the endless crowd.

“Qin Lang!”

Collapsed on the ground, Xiao Linglong cried out after him, a raw, wrenching sound.

At last, she managed to stifle her sobs, rose, straightened her clothes, and looked one last time at the clinic, a smile of devastating beauty on her lips. “Qin Lang, from this day forth, you and I are as distant as strangers, no longer bound by anything.”

She paused, then added, “But for your heartlessness today, you will regret it someday. I, Xiao Linglong, keep my word!”

With that, she turned and left without looking back.

...

On the vast steppe, outside the royal tent of the Zuoxian King.

The Zuoxian King stood with his hands behind his back, gazing westward. He had already exchanged his battle armor, worn during the campaign against Han a dozen days before, for the ceremonial robes of a Xiongnu king. He had spent six months preparing for this campaign, confident that defeating Li Guang’s army and capturing Li Guang himself would be a simple matter. Unexpectedly, not only did Li Guang escape, but the king lost both men and horses—Left Guduhou was killed, his cavalry decimated, and he barely escaped with his life.

Had he not led his personal guard in the rear during the retreat from Qiansang City, he would not have faced such peril, nearly losing his life. Though this move reduced casualties among the Xiongnu cavalry, it could not erase the disgrace of defeat. The Chanyu would not care for such distinctions, nor would he himself.

“Lord, everyone is assembled,” a personal guard reported.

The Zuoxian King nodded and entered the great tent.

Inside, his senior generals and officials were already gathered. Upon his arrival, they bowed with hands on their chests. “Greetings, Zuoxian King!”

He ascended the throne and motioned for them to be seated. “Please, be seated.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Resting his forearm on his knee, the Zuoxian King surveyed his lieutenants and began, “I devoted half a year to plotting this campaign. Victory seemed assured—defeating Li Guang, avenging the humiliation at Mayi. Yet fate would not have it so, and we suffered a crushing defeat. Of fifteen thousand cavalry, only half returned. Our tribe has suffered grievous loss and shame. I am heartsick, unable to sleep or eat. Today, I have summoned you not only to settle the aftermath but to discuss why we failed, and how we shall avenge this insult in the future!”

At his words, silence fell. The officers looked at one another, none willing to speak first.

The Zuoxian King waited, then barked, “Why do you say nothing? Has a single defeat broken the spirit of Xiongnu warriors? Are we, sons of Kunlun, lacking the courage to face failure, the wisdom to learn from it, or the strength to rise again?”

“My lord,” the Right Guduhou spoke up, “in this campaign, every Xiongnu fought bravely, honoring the glory of Kunlun. But that Li Guang exploited the terrain, first evading our pursuit, then ambushing us by night, inflicting heavy casualties. If not for that, even with Han reinforcements at Qiansang, we would not have been so badly beaten!”

“Well said!” the Zuoxian King praised. “Continue.”

As a leader, he understood the reasons for the defeat and had ideas for future revenge. But having his officers analyze and discuss the matter themselves would be far more effective. Only by thinking it through themselves would they truly learn, recover from defeat, and steel themselves for the next battle.

“Hence, next time we campaign, our cavalry must not engage the Han in forests or linger in unfamiliar terrain.”

“I believe this time we fought to our disadvantage, forsaking the wide-open steppe for the narrow Han territory, thereby losing the edge of our cavalry...”

“Next time, we should lure the Han into the steppe and fight them there...”

“Swift attacks are best—raid the Han and withdraw quickly...”

The generals all offered their opinions in turn.

Watching his officers argue their points, the Zuoxian King’s lips gradually curved into a smile.