Chapter 16

They set out early, threading through the woods in the dim morning light. Huode's dog dashed ahead happily, the jingling of its bell making him feel at ease.

The wound still hurt, each step feeling doubly hard, with no one able to help him; he could only pretend he wasn't injured at all and hurry to keep up with Huode's pace.

Huode was a small boy, his steps light and agile, pointing out ahead each stretch that needed caution. The boy had a head of brown‑gray hair, soaked by the forest's pooled water into messy clumps, a sheepskin cloak draped over his small frame, making him look somewhat stocky; though his clothes were bulky, they clearly didn't hinder his agility. He stepped lightly, hopping from stone to stone, from wet patch to wet patch, precisely avoiding every puddle. Occasionally he would pluck or pick ripe fruits from the wayside—hawthorn, wild berries, acorns, walnuts, red fruits, and other brightly colored things he couldn't name.

Qiongen had quickened his pace as much as his strength allowed, but no matter how he sped up, Huode was always waiting farther ahead, sharing with him the spoils of the road. Through his felt cap he could see the boy's ruddy, somewhat plump cheeks, weathered by wind, frost, snow and rain; compared to Bolan, he displayed a completely different charm and vitality.

Has Bolan already gotten to his feet? Will he keep climbing the walls?

The mountains stretched on endlessly; Qiongen felt he had climbed countless peaks, and he refused to show fatigue, so he did not ask how much longer it would take to reach the destination.

In some places he could see a gray‑overcast sky; he ought to thank the gods, for the spirits had left the rain for last night. The forest after rain was damp and hard to travel; he tried to steady each step, for if he slipped and strained his wound he might be delayed.

The woods were quiet, yet birdsong was constant—many kinds of birds, most numerous the crows, which did not cry "Snow Snow." He could tell by their calls the turtledoves, house sparrows, owls, and large nightingales, but the rest he could not identify. Huode was far more experienced.

"That's the call of a robin; they like caterpillars and go 'goo‑goo‑goo,'" he said while walking, learning the birds' voices, "that's the grouse, which goes 'gwa‑gwa‑gwa'; if you have time I can catch a few for you." Speaking made him seem more tired; he paused a moment, drawing a few quick breaths, "I hate woodpeckers the most—whenever this time comes they just keep rap‑rap‑rapping nonstop, and with them around you can't bag any game."

"Huode, you're sure to be a fine hunter." The dog barked woof woof woof ahead, turning its head to praise him.

"Huode has lived in the forest since childhood. The castle's children learn coats of arms from a young age, so they can only tell birds from beasts." The white‑bearded old man, hearing their conversation, came up from behind.

The white‑bearded old man insisted he be called "mixed‑bearded," and Qiongen gave a wry smile. The man's true name was Huoerna Nuorusi, a distant relation of the Earl of Nor.

Huoerna kept close behind them, maintaining a certain distance but never lagging too far; whenever they paused even a little, his steady footsteps could be heard approaching.

Qiongen felt utterly exhausted. Though the sky had not rained, too much water rolled off the leaves; whenever they startled a flock of birds, the birds would give them a brief shower, which Huode enjoyed dodging narrowly, but Qiongen could only smile and wait. Trekking over mountains and hills had soaked his cloak through, making it ever heavier. His undershirt and boots were constantly damp, and he couldn't tell whether it was sweat or imagination. Perhaps he was soaked inside and out.

"There's a shortcut ahead, but it's rough going." Old Man Huoerna took the lead.

Huode took hold of the hunting dog, kept it at his side, and signaled for Xuenuo to follow.

They followed the stream, but could not always see it. The banks were always tangled with odd tree roots and fallen, leaning trunks and weeds, which blocked their path in various ways and obscured every view.

He followed carefully, but before long he realized he was indeed soaked through and through. The long sword at his waist had become a burden, constantly snagged by vines and branches.

They kept walking, crossing many high cliffs, descending several bottomless pits where there was no path, and once he nearly plunged headfirst. So they decided to rest a bit. He felt guilty and ashamed, for the Black Castle awaited him, yet he was wasting time.

They drew water several times from the stream—icy yet sweet and drinkable—and treated each drinking break as a rest.

When they finally emerged from the deep valley, he felt the sun had risen to high noon, at which point Huoerna announced they had completed half of half the journey.

"Could the Earl of Nor's lands really be this vast?" he gave a wry smile.

"Big? The Nor earldom is the smallest. Moreover, these mountains and valleys, upon closer inspection, all belong to the Stark family. We merely have hunting rights. For these lands we must each year pay Winterfell three hundred fine deer hides, three hundred wolf pelts, three thousand sheep skins, plus a hundred laborers and a hundred soldiers. Perhaps you could propose to the Nor chieftain that Winterfell reduce his taxes."

Except in the rare war‑torn years, they never had to serve military or labor duty, Qiongen knew.

Luobo might come to learn these things, and Scholar Luwen would teach him all of this knowledge.

"I am merely a bastard of Winterfell." "Bastard" is too refined; it ought to be called a mongrel.

"The world will not forget," he recalled what Tiliang had said to him.

"Don't underestimate your strength. Even a child can push a boulder off a mountaintop, and with the right timing could kill a king." The old man continued on, panting but not slowing his step, "What's more, you're not a child. And perhaps you should tell me again who your father is." He didn't wait for Qiongen to answer, "Ah, not just any Stark, but that Stark."

Qiongen fell silent, not knowing what to say. His legs had lost all feeling; he merely moved them forward by inertia. If he stopped, he might not be able to go on.

"You know, I've seen 'Ice,' a huge Valyrian steel sword; I once watched it easily cleave a neck, and I admit the adult is very skilled… I ask you, how many lords' bastards can wear Valyrian steel? And how many lords and heirs can? Does your brother Luobo have one?"

He did not. The sword was a gift from his sister, its name "Lightheat."

"This wasn't given to me by my father." He replied.

"Next time we meet, we'll talk about your mother." He recalled Eddard Stark's last words; the promise had now drifted away in the snow, and as his soul returned to the crypt, her information was buried and sealed by snow.

"I know. He has only one, and he would never, like a petty king, hand over the family sword to his bastard. But what difference does it make? Now Winterfell is ruled by your twin sister; when you see the Nor chieftain, you had best be sharp and explain all this properly. The chieftain is a bastard little brat who cares about face, hates refusal, often can't tell priorities, yet he is a man who keeps his word—find a way to make him pledge."

He felt Lightheat swaying back and forth at his waist, and had to steady it with his hand.

The journey fell quiet again; they had to keep walking through the dim thicket, new birdcalls and insect noises filling their ears, along with the jingle of the hound's bell.

"Hey, Qiongen, could you let me see your sword again?" Huode crept up beside him, the hunting dog hopping at his side, apparently wanting a look too.

He hadn't heard any beast's roar; the long sword was not a good tool against beasts, far inferior to the dagger at his waist. So he stopped, unsheathed the precious blade, bent over, and solemnly handed over Lightheat with both hands.

"It's extremely sharp—be very careful." The boy was just about as tall as the sword, but the Valyrian steel was not heavy, and he picked it up easily.

He drew out a section, let out an admiring sound, then swiftly pushed it back, glanced ahead at his grandfather, then sheathed the long sword and emptied his pockets of acorns, jujubes, and walnuts, stuffing them into the boy's clothing.

He didn't think he had bought the sword, did he? Qiongen chuckled inwardly.

He cradled the sword like a treasure, one hand on the hilt, the other embracing the blade, and followed Qiongen cheerfully behind. Qiongen was glad to lighten his load.

"He really is like a servant," Qiongen thought. He gave a wry smile.

"I am no knight, merely a watcher of the Wall; the Night's Watch has no right to a servant. Perhaps he should be a servant to Meiyi—she is a true knight, and if he does well, Meiyi might knight him, making him a mountain‑clan knight."

He again recalled Meiyi's persuasion.

If he accepted, perhaps he would follow Luobo south, taking White Spirit with him, and catch wind of every plot against Luobo; maybe they had already won, and his father rescued.

Thinking of White Spirit, he felt anxious again.

He immediately gave a wry smile: "If I stay wrapped in worry all night, I'll have a head of white hair by morning."

He suppressed stray thoughts, focused his mind on hurrying forward. He didn't want to end up like Huode behind him, gleefully tripping over and over.

They kept walking, having passed through a light rain. But beneath the trees the effect was slight, so they did not stop. After several sword exchanges with Huode and having finished all the food Huode had given him, the mixed‑bearded man announced they had completed half the route.

The forest was dense; he could not tell the time—perhaps it was already dark, perhaps still noon. Either way, he would keep going, knowing they could not spend the night in a forest without shelter.

"That peak ahead is Weeping Mountain. Legend has it that when the ancient king of the North waged war in the forest, he was struck dead by a falling rock here, ending his campaign. In his grief he wept without cease, so his son buried him beneath the mountain, and thus it gained its name."

Qiongen did not know such lore; when a king of the North or of the Winterlands dies, he is normally moved to the crypts of Winterfell, except when the body cannot be found—as with "the Shipbuilder" Brandon—there are no exceptions, but he did not want to argue over it.

"The Nor chieftain's dwelling lies on the opposite cliff of Weeping Mountain."

Qiongen finally heard good news. The destination lay before his eyes.

According to the mixed‑bearded old man's directions, Weeping Mountain is the larger, higher peak in a chain of connected hills; farther out, the corner peaks belong to Feilinte, beyond them the Wo'er clan, and across the broad hills on the other side, the old man wasn't sure whether it was Ridelle clan or Noer clan territory—he had never been there.

Having sighted the goal, Qiongen felt it best to set out at once. He understood he was racing against time and endurance with the wildlings. They might take hidden trails and be quicker, but they cannot cross mountains and hills, nor endure hunger and thirst on long raids; they are drawn to passing villages to commit senseless slaughter and theft—this is his chance. If he wishes to bring out more mountain‑clan warriors, he should grant the earl more time to summon hunters, not wasting a moment on the march.

Leaving the thicket, Huode returned Lightheat, taking the hound as a vanguard forward. Qiongen controlled his legs, striving to keep up.

He must not stop, he thought.

After they had gone all the way down the mountainside slope, they once again entered the primeval, desolate, and dark thicket; he strove to follow the hound's bell. The muscles along his back began to ache and go numb, and the pain in his leg wound flared, though not severely; he felt that gritting his teeth he could still endure.

include (sentence). Translate.

Black Castle

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Nuo De

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Jon

his sister

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Huo De

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- No names.

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Black Castle

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Wildlings

(line 73 is actually 【73】? Wait we have 【72】 then 【73】 etc. Let's continue.)

I've already changed your bandage. If you want to keep going, you need to dry your clothes and cloak. He noticed he'd already been wrapped in other cloaks and blankets. "It's not easy to start a fire here, but since we have one, let's make good use of it. Want something to eat? This is the squirrel and rabbit Huo De caught."

Huo De

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I have already changed your bandage. If you want to continue on the road, you need to dry your clothes and cloak by fire. He discovered that he had already been covered with other cloaks and bedding. "Making a fire here is not easy, but since we have one, make good use of it. Do you want to eat? These are the squirrel and rabbit that Huo De caught."

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Huo De

Black Castle

Wildlings

the North

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Zahuzi

Huo De

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Huo De

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Zahuzi

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Count Norros

The heat from the roasting warmed him, dispelling the soreness. He hoped to reach the Count of Nor's "castle" before his cloak armor and inner clothes cooled completely, but he knew this was merely a fantasy and a beautiful wish. Only a moment later, he felt inside and out, top to bottom, already chilled through.

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Count

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Tear Mountain

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The castle is located on the mountainside of Tears Mountain; ordinary people would wonder how to get water, but the waterfall plunging straight down from the summit solved this problem for the count, and a wooden chute diverts the waterfall's flow from afar. Beside the chute connected to the waterfall stands a huge fish-lattice tree, its red leaves glimmering in the morning sun.

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Heart Tree

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Count

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Count Norros

Winterfell

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Zahuzi

Eddard

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Jon Snow

Count Norros

Huo Ke

Night's Watch

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Count Norros

Zahuzi

Lord

the North

Eddard Stark

Robb

The Count of Nor is at least half a head taller than him, and like the scruffy fellow, his face is weather-beaten, yet he possesses the steadiness of a hunter, the dignity of a lord, and a hint of a merchant's slyness, making it impossible to tell that he is a mountain clansman. Perhaps, like other rough northern lords, beneath his wild exterior he harbors his own thoughts. Eddard Stark once warned both Robb and him.

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Jon

Wildlings

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Southern Wildlings

Huoma

the Wall

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Huoma

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Jon

Count

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Huoma

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"Last night, Holma already released a warning crow." Qiongen said. Holma nodded beside him.

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Black Castle

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the Wall

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Wildlings

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Jon

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Winterfell

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Wildlings

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Count Norros

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Steward

Huoma

Jon Snow

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Count Norros

Jon Snow

Huola

Little Ghost Huo De

Night's Watch

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Count

Night's Watch

Mormont

Chief Commander

Winterfell

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Eddard Stark

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Ned

Eddard Stark

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Jon

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King Robert

Meya Stark

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Ned

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Black Castle

Winterfell

Raven Keeper

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After collecting his laughter, he fell silent for a moment, then continued, "Child, quickly write the letter. First write to the Black Castle; you surely have something to add. Then write to Winterfell; the keeper of the ravens is illiterate, so you must absolutely not let him deliver the letter backwards. When you finish the letter, we will discuss other matters." His tone began to soften, and Qiongen took this as stemming from Winterfell's benefits.

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Count Norros

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the Wall

Jon

Winterfell

Something was definitely biting him. He forced himself to quickly describe all the situations the Wall faced, explaining the Wall's—or his own—expectations for Winterfell. "I am Qiongen of the Wall, not of Winterfell," he told himself as he wrote, hoping to squeeze the last bit of strength out of Winterfell through words.

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Robb Stark

Riverrun

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Lord

Catelyn Stark

Norros Hunters

"Your brother, Robb Stark, was killed by the Frey family while attending a wedding at Riverrun; at the same time, many northern lords, their liege lords or relatives, and his mother, Catelyn Stark, also perished. I hope you mourn, of course I will accompany you. My brothers are mostly dead as well; a hundred Nor hunters likely none will return."

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Zahuzi

Huomin

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Count Norros

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Owen Norros

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Count Norros

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Winterfell

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After finishing the drink, the Count of Nor gripped the horn tightly, "To die on the battlefield is honorable; to die at a wedding is infuriating. Perhaps you should tell the brothers of Winterfell that we are waiting for him to grow up, and also tell him that our patience is limited."

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Norros

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Black Castle

Wildlings

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Mance Rayder

Adult, I hope Nuorui can send hunters to follow me to defend Black Castle. Just because, if the wildlings take the Wall, the North will have no chance to go south for revenge! For revenge, we should go north not south, but our going north is to go south. I believe my sister and my brothers, upon receiving the ravens, will surely send reinforcements to the Wall to defeat Mance Rayder!

Hehe, Qiongenxuenuo, if we defend the Wall, but Winterfell cannot help in time, then defending is meaningless. He handed the horn cup back to the servant.

"Meaningful, definitely meaningful. Winterfell will never abandon the Wall and ignore it." He only hopes Meera and his brothers aren't blinded by hatred.

"I trust Ned's Winterfell, but that doesn't mean I can trust his son."

"You must believe." "My father is a trustworthy person; I know that, but I stake my honor and life on it—his children can also be trusted."

Lord Norrey burst out laughing. "If that child were you, I could trust them, but I've never met them; I only trust those I've seen with my own eyes. Moreover, as far as I know, he's just a child, and your sister is just a woman. Why should I trust them!" He slammed the table. "Let me make you an offer! My daughter, the one standing behind you—my only daughter, sixteen—she'd be a good match for you. If you promise to marry her, I'll immediately summon warriors to guard Blackfort for you."

This isn't my Blackfort; it belongs to the entire North.

The servant's face flushed red, but he bravely met his gaze, as if provoking her. She looked somewhat like Ygritte, but Ygritte wouldn't blush. Qiongen thought.

"My lord, you know I have sworn oaths as a Night's Watchman, before the heart tree I vowed never to take a wife nor hold lands." Qiongen felt Lord Norrey was merely refusing in another way, which left him somewhat disheartened.

"Heh, you're straightforward, talking about being a Night's Watchman." His big beard twitched, "You should obviously be more concerned about your surname."

"What is this, an insult?" "My lord, I'm not that proud. Of course, I'm just a bastard of Winterfell, unworthy of your daughter."

"Robb is King of the North, his heir is also king—you said your sister was legitimized, don't you think you have no hope?" Lord Norrey took a new cup of wine, "The Night's Watch is the same; there's surely a way to free you from your vows."

"Only a naive person would think this possible." He felt disappointed but still wanted to fight for it, "This is absolutely impossible, my lord. You could easily change the condition."

"Changing the condition?" Lord Nuodun drained his cup in one gulp, "Fine, then let's change the condition. We'll have a drinking contest; whoever drinks more wins. If I lose, I'll send troops."

Qiongen only felt his head throbbing again. Even if he were healthy, he could not be his opponent.

"Not possible? How about hunting and wrestling? You know, I've wrestled Ned countless times; he hardly ever won. We decide whether to obey his orders by wrestling."

If it were all decided by wrestling, he would have chopped off your head by now.

Qiongen was fuming, staring straight at him. Doesn't he see he's injured and in bad shape? If we wait for him to recover, he'll likely be dueling Mance Rayder in this hall.

"You're still unwilling. But let me tell you, to earn my trust you either have to beat me or marry into my family. The last Stark-Norrey marriage was over two hundred years ago."

"My lord, I'm not the Duke of Winterfell; I can't arrange a marriage between you and the Starks. This young lady can certainly look for other nobles." Brandon's marriage could secure vital strength for Winterfell, while Rickon is practically just a child.

"Who said only my daughter could marry into Winterfell?"

This remark made his heart race. He somewhat doubted whether he should have come here for aid. His two sisters are in King's Landing; they could hardly give this earl a stepmother, and Meera—just look at the earl's big beard, and you know she's hardly a good match. If his sister married him, he'd rather let the wildlings pass over the Wall, perhaps.

Lord Norrey took another cup, this time drinking more slowly.

Is he trying to get me to propose a condition?

Realizing this, he quickly calmed down.

He stepped down from his seat, retreated to the side of the main seat, bowed to Lord Norrey, then unsheathed his long sword.

"When I marched north to the Wall, my sister Meera Stark gave me this sword," he drew the long sword, smoke-gray ripples flowing along the blade, exquisitely beautiful, "This is a Valyrian steel sword; among the Seven Kingdoms, only a few ancient great houses can wield one. No need to elaborate on its value."

Lord Norrey stopped his cup, staring at the sword, staring at him.

"I pledge this sword as guarantee that Winterfell is trustworthy and worthy of trust. After you aid Blackfort, if Winterfell does not march against Mance Rayder, leaving you without support, this sword will be yours." He waited a few breaths, but Lord Norrey remained unmoved; he sighed inwardly and had to raise the stakes: "I swear by the Wall, Winterfell, and my sister Meera Stark that each of your warriors and soldiers will receive a fine steel sword, a set of leather armor, and every fallen fighter will be compensated with a gold dragon."

Lord Norrey laughed.