Chapter 449

Fan Fiction 1: Never Expected to See White Hair in the Human World — Xiao Tang

Fan Fiction 1: Never Expected to See White Hair in the Human World — Xiao Tang

When he set foot on the Ten Thousand Brocade Shoal and plunged into the Yellow River's waters, his heart was filled with grief and indignation. Only one thought remained blazing red-hot, clenched tightly in his chest, unwilling to be abandoned.

No regret, no resignation, no surrender.

He could no longer see the river illuminated by the setting sun; that magnificent expanse of golden haze was gradually swallowed by rising darkness. The sounds of slaughter, shouts, and screams faded away as well. His armor, stained with blood, dragged his body downward. The river water, coarse with grit, choked his mouth and nose, and his chest grew tight with pain. Yet his hair and limbs became strangely light, and even his severely wounded left arm seemed to regain movement.

He remembered what his mother had said when he was a child: after death, everyone must drink Meng Po's soup, washing away the memories of this life before going to the human world for another turn.

What was the point of being born human? He had seen the filth of court politics, the infighting among officials, and had indignantly submitted a memorial impeaching Li Gang for his ignorance of military affairs, only to be forced to change his name and flee to a foreign land. He had witnessed the empire collapse in a single day, the golden vessel shattered. He had exhausted his family fortune, recruited a righteous army, and fought bloodily to defend an isolated city, yet he still could not stop the iron hooves of the Jin invaders trampling the mountains and rivers of Guanshan and Shaanxi. Even if he fought with his blade until the very last moment, he could not, with his lone courage alone, protect the common people who had trusted him completely.

So, in this life, he had seen so much suffering and expended so much strength, only to meet his end.

He stopped struggling and let the boundless Yellow River swallow him. Above the dark waters, and beyond them, were the fierce winds and blazing sun of Shanzhou that had remained unchanged for millennia.

Just as his soul was about to scatter, it felt as if someone was dragging his body with great force. Leaving the cold, heavy river water, his lungs inhaled the sweet air of the mountains and wilderness. He coughed painfully, every wound on his body aching. It was as if he had been thrown into a cauldron of boiling oil several times over. Even with his iron-willed fortitude, he could barely endure it, but fearing capture by the Jurchens, he refused to lose his resolve and let out a groan. Amid the jostling, he opened his eyes and barely made out two young men dressed like Song soldiers. They had cut a few branches, tied a tarpaulin to them, placed him on top, and were dragging him step by step back to a distant camp.

1.

In the autumn of the ninth year of Jianyan, the Imperial Song launched a northern expedition. The Son of Heaven personally led the campaign, shaking the realm.

Shanzhou City, a strategic stronghold, had suffered greatly from the scourge of war during the Jingkang era. Now, ten years after the establishment of the new Song of Jianyan, the entire city yearned for the day when they would trample Yanjing and vent their aspirations. Ever since His Majesty Zhao had set out on the imperial campaign and the northern expedition proclamation had been recited everywhere, the people of Shanzhou had been stirred into fervor. Military Governor Li, clad in silver armor and helmet, led a vast army out of the city. The elders of the city escorted them thirty li out, not turning back until they could no longer see the great banner of the "Pillar in the Midstream" fluttering in the wind.

This campaign was of great importance. Li Yanxian left only Shao Yun to guard Pinglu, with his younger brother Li Kui providing support in the rear. All other subordinates marched with the army. A grim, killing atmosphere pervaded Shanzhou City. Though it still appeared peaceful and bustling by day, the city gates were locked early at dusk. Women and children stayed indoors, while able-bodied men formed patrols, carrying torches and staves along the streets every night, carefully interrogating any unfamiliar faces to guard against Jin spies.

Shao Zhou was the younger brother of Shao Yun, Li Yanxian's trusted general. Only seventeen years old, he had caught Li Yanxian's eye during an inspection of Pinglu. Though young, he was clever and sensible, and Li Yanxian liked him, taking him on as an orderly. When the main army set out, Shao Zhou unfortunately caught a cold fever. By the time he recovered, the opportunity to follow had passed. Fortunately, Shao Zhou had an easygoing nature. While others sighed all day, regretting missing out on this monumental campaign, he busied himself in the rear offices without a hint of complaint.

That evening, a crescent golden moon hung in the deep blue sky. After a hasty dinner, Shao Zhou wiped his mouth and hurried to the kitchen, emerging with a bowl of steaming, pitch-black medicinal broth. He tiptoed, trying to slip into the eastern wing. He had only taken a few steps when a heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder. Startled, Shao Zhou nearly spilled the medicine. He looked up to see his familiar playmate Liang Dagang, now serving as a guard in the prefectural office. The man was much taller, blocking half the moonlight as he stood before him. Shao Zhou, focused on his quick steps, hadn't noticed when this fellow had caught him.

"I'm only asking you—who are you sneaking that medicine to every day? Is it that spy you and Wang Qi dragged back that day? You usually have the Military Governor's favor, so you need to be even more careful. Don't let a spy sneak in and ruin everything!"

Shao Zhou frowned when he heard his friend call the man he had rescued a spy. But he was mild-tempered and not good at loud arguments. He just carefully guarded the jar of medicine, afraid that another shove would spill it and delay things for the man inside.

"You're slandering a good man! The dozen or so arrowheads we cut out of that man were all Jurchen swallowtail arrowheads—that can't be faked! Besides, the sword wound on his left arm is severe. Even if he heals, he'll never lift a sword or wield a blade again. I say anyone who kills Jurchens is a good man. I simply couldn't leave him on the Ten Thousand Brocade Shoal!"

After venting at his friend, Shao Zhou continued toward the eastern wing. Liang Dagang's face burned, and he had to follow, first looking around, then lowering his voice: "But don't you think this man looks too much like the Military Governor? No, he's practically identical! Just darker, thinner, and with scars on his face!"

Shao Zhou just lowered his head, pretending not to hear, and pushed open the door to the eastern wing, slipping inside like a cat. Liang Dagang sighed outside, stomped his foot heavily, but ultimately couldn't rest easy and followed him in to see for himself.

Cold moonlight slanted through the window lattice, illuminating the man's thin figure on the kang, as if he were lying in a pool of jade-green water. When the two entered one after the other, he only glanced at them briefly before falling silent.

The room was thick with the strong scent of medicinal herbs and a faint smell of blood. Several ropes hung with fine cotton cloth for dressing wounds. Liang Dagang knew the man had heard their earlier conversation and felt awkward. He rubbed his fingers, wanting to say something, but saw the man coldly look away, as if unwilling to utter a single word. Shao Zhou, seemingly used to the man's temper, took off his boots, knelt by the kang, and tried to help him sit up to drink the medicine.

"In this life, I only know how to kill Jurchens and avenge my country's blood debt. I don't know what business a spy does." The man was proud and haughty. He waved away the medicine bowl Shao Zhou offered, his voice hoarse, like an owl calling to the moon.

Liang Dagang grew even more embarrassed and coughed a few times: "We didn't mean to misunderstand you, good man. It's just that with the national campaign imminent, the city's checks are strict."

The man was startled. "What national campaign? Has Wanyan Loushi come south again after Shanzhou fell?"

Shao Zhou heard this but remained silent. Seeing the man wouldn't drink, he set the bowl on a small table. Liang Dagang, however, grew anxious at these incomprehensible words. "You, fellow, are quite clueless! How could Shanzhou fall? Military Governor Li and us brothers have held it for eight years. The 'Pillar in the Midstream' army banner was granted by His Majesty Zhao. Wanyan Loushi was beheaded by our Imperial Song soldiers at the Battle of Yaoshan long ago. Can a dead ghost come back to life and lead troops?"

As he rambled on, Shao Zhou shot him a look, fetched a cotton quilt, carefully covered the man, and then pulled his companion out of the room.

"You're so strange, and this man is clueless too!" Liang Dagang fumed.

"He was drowning for a long time. His mind might be a bit off." Shao Zhou walked in the moonlight with his hands in his sleeves, his still somewhat childish face set in serious lines. "Maybe he's mixed up the battles from before. Anyway, we were right to save him."

The autumn night was cool. The moon had passed its zenith. A layer of pale frost covered the grass where the two had walked. The distant sound of a night watchman's clapper came from within the city. Shao Zhou saw Liang Dagang out of the prefectural office, gave a brief bow, and then shed his earlier composure. Ignoring the frost wetting his robe and boot soles, he hurried back at a trot, like a wary fox darting through the night.

He returned to the eastern wing, glanced at the medicine bowl on the table, and breathed a sigh of relief—the man had indeed taken his medicine on time.

"Are you afraid I'll seek death?"

"I am." Shao Zhou found a piece of clean, boiled cotton cloth, wet it in a brass basin, wrung it out, and prepared to wipe the man down—the severely wounded, bedridden for long periods, were prone to bedsores and needed help turning and cleaning. "Before, when I followed my elder brother, he fought, and I rescued people. Some of the good men brought down couldn't bear that all their comrades were gone, and they'd slit their own throats where no one could see."

He heard the man give a cold laugh: "What year is it now?"

"Autumn of the ninth year of Jianyan. His Majesty has been back in the Eastern Capital for seven years."

"Wasn't the court cowering in Lin'an? How could it restore the old capital? Don't lie to me."

"I know you don't believe it, General. Words are empty. Tomorrow, I'll bring you the official gazettes from these past few years to see for yourself."

The people in the room fell silent. After Shao Zhou finished his service and covered the man with the quilt again, seeing that he had stopped speaking, he left the room once more. He let out a long breath, took a small bronze seal from his sleeve pouch, and examined it closely.

The bronze seal was small, warm to the touch. The cord on its knob was slightly worn, clearly a personal item of the man's. One side was incised with the characters "Eternal Joy and Peace," the other with "Shaoyan." The strokes were like silver hooks and iron strokes, their curves and angles exuding a compelling, sharp spirit.

2.

"Lush and thick the sweet pear tree, do not cut it down, do not harm it; beneath it Shao Bo once lodged.

Lush and thick the sweet pear tree, do not cut it down, do not spoil it; beneath it Shao Bo once rested.

Lush and thick the sweet pear tree, do not cut it down, do not bend it; beneath it Shao Bo once stayed.

……"

The weather grew colder day by day. Outside the prefectural office, children jumped and played. Their young voices carried over the walls, adding a touch of lively vitality to the bleak winter scene.

After the man could get up, he remained taciturn and unwilling to go out. He spent his days lying on a bamboo lounge chair under the sweet pear tree in the rear courtyard. The early winter sun offered only faint warmth, casting dappled light and shadow across his gaunt face through the bare branches. After reading the gazettes Shao Zhou had brought from the past few years, he grew even more silent—asking no questions, offering no smiles. His eyes, clear and distinct in black and white, grew brighter still. When he occasionally glanced at someone, it was as cold as a snowflake falling on a spear tip.

The army doctor came and sighed to Shao Zhou: "The tendons in his left arm are ruined. He'll never draw a bow or wield a blade again. Rainy days will be especially hard. That's all there is to it."

Shao Zhou quickly made a shushing gesture, sending the doctor back. Before he could turn around, he heard the man behind him speak: "Your surname is Shao. Do you know Shao Yun?"

Shao Zhou's heart skipped a beat. "He is my elder brother."

"Where is he? Has he gone on campaign?"

"No. Military Governor Li assigned him to guard Pinglu. These past few days, His Majesty's imperial carriage has arrived at Pinglu. My brother attended the banquet and received imperial favor and commendation. There have been no letters recently. The campaign is intense; perhaps he has escorted His Majesty north."

Silence.

Shao Zhou stole a glance and saw the man covering his face with his sleeve, his clenched fist pressed against his teeth, his shoulders trembling occasionally, as if he were struggling to contain a surging tide of emotion.

Of course he remembered Shao Yun—a comrade who had shared hardship and danger, a brother-in-arms he regarded as both general and elder brother. But in the end, he had been unable to save Shao Yun from escaping alive.

From the tearful, choked words of the defeated soldiers who had fled back after Pinglu fell, he pieced together a horrifying picture.

Shao Yun, righteous and indignant, refused to surrender. Wanyan Loushi ordered iron nails driven through Shao Yun's bones, shackling his body to a wooden frame, and paraded him at the eastern gate of the city. Shao Yun's clothes were tattered, revealing the black tattoos on his back. A young ruffian came forward to touch them, joking with his companion: "Nice tattoos. They'd make a good scabbard for my knife."

Shao Yun flew into a rage, lunging at the man with the wooden frame still on him, but was dragged back. He was shackled in the cold wind for four days, without food or water. On the fifth day, Loushi ordered him dismembered by a thousand cuts. During the execution, Shao Yun, his mouth full of blood, spat it into the Jin soldiers' faces. They gouged out his eyes and tore out his liver, yet Shao Yun continued to curse until his breath finally ceased.

The night he heard the terrible news, he lost control, nearly to the point of madness. He rode his horse into the city and burned every Daoist temple and Buddhist monastery within it, hacking to pieces the clay and wooden idols on the incense altars with his sword. The soldiers who rushed over lit torches and stood silently around him. He looked around—every face was young, heartbreakingly so. These were the Li family army he had kept together with gold and loyalty. Hearing of their comrade's brutal death, some were tear-streaked, some gnashed their teeth in hatred, but not one spoke of surrender, flight, or defeat.

"Heaven and earth are unkind; gods and Buddhas are blind!" Even his divine steed seemed to sense its master's grief and fury, snorting and stamping its hooves. He reined it in, leveled his sword, the crackling firelight like blood reflecting his fierce expression. "Don't even think of talking about benevolence with beasts! This blood debt must be collected by our own hands, and this Shanzhou must be defended by our own strength!"

He spurred his horse and rode away, the sound of his men prostrating themselves and shouting behind him shaking heaven and earth: "We are willing to die for the General!"

He knew that every inch of the ground beneath his feet, every block of the city wall, was soaked with the blood of his comrades. Under the high, solitary moon, he came alone to the beacon tower, knelt down, stroked the huge bluestone, and wept bitterly in the direction of Pinglu.

That night, Li Yanxian did not light the beacon fire. He understood that no reinforcements would come.

This land, a strategic pass linking the two capitals with the Xiao and Han mountain ranges, had long been abandoned by the court, which had retreated to Lin'an. The Zhao Song Emperor only cared about seeking temporary peace in the prosperous Jiangnan region, his vision obscured by song and dance, his body wrapped in silk and satin. How could those in high positions remember the common people suffering and struggling amidst the smoke and flames of war?

But he could not let go, he could not do it, he could not leave.

Even if this chaotic world was bloody and murky, he only wanted to use his own loyal and upright body to try and mend the broken sky.

After a long time, Shao Zhou watched as the man finally lowered the sleeve he had draped over his face and smiled wearily.

"This is good, then."

He was usually cold and aloof, but when he smiled, it was like the warm sun of spring. If Shao Zhou had not noticed the deep, bloody mark on the fist he had pressed against his teeth, he would almost have wanted to have that smile captured by a painter's hand, so that the world might remember it forever, rather than having it locked away in this courtyard, so lonely that even the sound of the wind was clear.

The man seemed to have gathered up all the harshness around him, and asked Shao Zhou in a tone that was gentle and kind for the first time, "What is your courtesy name?"

"My humble courtesy name is Zidu," Shao Zhou replied, clasping his hands.

"Zidu... saving others is too tiring. Saving yourself is good enough." He muttered to himself for a while, then turned his head to look over. "Go find a Daoist temple. Tell them an old acquaintance wants to cultivate the Dao. See if they'll take me in."

Shao Zhou was greatly startled and stammered, "How could I let the General go to a place like that..."

"And what of it?" He raised his face just as the north wind cut through the clouds. A withered leaf, breaking free from the branch's hold, drifted leisurely down toward him. He did not dodge or avoid, letting the withered leaf lightly kiss a scar on his cheek. "When Military Governor Li returns from his northern expedition, won't there be two of him in this city? How do you plan to explain that?"

Shao Zhou sucked in a breath of cold air and dared not reply. Seeing this, the man suddenly burst into laughter, laughing until his whole body shook, until tears glistened at the corners of his eyes. It was as if all the heroic spirits that had returned to the heavens had possessed him, wanting to use this wild laughter to vent all the resentment and injustice of a previous life.

"The Imperial Song's northern expedition, the restoration of the Two Rivers—what regret do I have! I am fine. You don't need to come and bother me anymore."

3.

After Qinghui Daoist became a priest, Shao Zhou rarely saw him appear in public. Worried, he would bring grain, rice, and cheap wine to the temple to visit, but the man would only let him put the things down without even a word of thanks. Sometimes, Shao Zhou would write down news of frontline victories and slip the letter under the crack of the door, but he never received any response.

On the thirtieth day of the twelfth lunar month, the Imperial Song captured two heavily fortified cities, Taiyuan and Yuancheng, in quick succession. When the soldiers and people of Shanzhou heard the news, they all sang and danced with joy. They set off firecrackers to welcome the new year, hung colorful lanterns, and performed lion dances, celebrating noisily until the fifteenth day of the first month. But the Luzu Temple on Yangjiao Mountain within the city remained with its heavy gates tightly shut, green moss covering the steps, as if it were cut off from the rest of the world.

Winter passed and spring came. The waters of the Yellow River gradually thawed. On this day, Shao Zhou led the horses from the government office to Wanjin Beach to wash them. This was a famous scenic spot in Shanzhou. To the north stretched the vast, rolling Mount Zhongtiao for a hundred li; to the west flowed the mighty Yellow River, seeming to come from the horizon; to the south lay the orderly rows of houses in Shanzhou city. At dusk, the shimmering waves, the cries of gulls, and the leaping of colorful carp created a scene that had inspired countless poets and scholars throughout the ages, filling their hearts with boundless passion for the land. Hence, it was named Wanjin Beach.

Shao Zhou tied up his sleeves, finished washing the horses, and let them return to the city on their own along the gravel path by the riverbank. Only then did he look up into the distance. Little specks of golden light dotted the waves, a lovely sight. On the calm stretches of water, a few rafts drifted freely back and forth, and the sound of fishermen's songs drifted leisurely into his ears—a truly peaceful and pleasant scene. But then, the sound of a dongxiao flute, carried by the evening breeze, came to him intermittently. Its tone was sobbing. At first, he only felt that the player was quite skilled in music, with tender and lingering emotions. But as he listened further, the sorrow and resentment gradually subsided, replaced by a strong sense of clashing weapons and martial conquest. Even though the listener stood bathed in a warm, golden-red light, he felt as if he were bathed in a cold moon, with ice and snow on his head.

Shaken by the sorrowful intent in the melody, he looked around the empty space and followed the sound to find Qinghui Daoist, whom he had not seen for months. The man stood facing the wind, playing the flute without pause as he looked down at the ceaselessly flowing Yellow River. A wide robe of black-green gauze was stirred by the wind, his sleeves fluttering, making him appear as if he were an immortal about to ascend.

By the time Shao Zhou, panting heavily, climbed to the high ground, Qinghui Daoist had already put away his dongxiao. Seeing him come up, leaning on his elbows and gasping for breath, the Daoist's face showed a hint of displeasure. "Every single one of the lads in the army is strong and healthy, training in martial arts all day long. How is it that you are so physically weak? How did Shao Yun teach his younger brother? He's allowed himself to become a Commander, but he doesn't even think to secure a future for you?"

Hearing that his words were not truly reproachful but carried a rare sense of closeness, Shao Zhou first respectfully clasped his hands and bowed. "The General may not know this, but your humble servant has been weak and hard to raise since childhood. My father and elder brother couldn't help but spoil me. Therefore, I am only diligent in miscellaneous chores and duties. A peaceful life is enough for me; I have never thought of things like official merit."

"Since I am no longer a man entangled in the mortal world, why use the old titles? Change them."

"Yes."

The red sun gradually sank in the west. The trees on the mountain were dense, casting deep shadows. The two of them descended the stone steps along the path. On the way, Shao Zhou, not minding the tediousness, focused on telling the Daoist about the court's anecdotes, miscellaneous events, political statements, and theories from recent years. When Qinghui Daoist heard him talk about the matter of killing the white horse to change the era name to Shaoxing, he finally couldn't help but interrupt: "Did the Emperor really say that? That he scolded the Two Sages to their faces, asking what sort of things they were?"

"Yes. The Two Sages abandoned the realm during the Jingkang years. Although they are his father and elder brother, the Emperor deeply resents them. The white horse incident also led to the expulsion of over seventy ministers who wanted to negotiate peace with the Jin. He will only be satisfied when their lair is swept clean and their nest plowed under."

"This Emperor is simply not an Emperor of the Zhao Song." Qinghui Daoist suddenly stopped, looked at a few lonely stars on the horizon, then glanced at Shao Yun, who was startled by this rebellious statement, before slowly adding the rest: "He is a star deity descended from the heavens."

They walked slowly all the way, entering the city only in the evening. Although Shanzhou was not as prosperous as the capital, Dongjing, it still had its scale of beaded curtains, embroidered canopies, and towering pavilions. Now that the front lines had recaptured cities one after another, the evening checks were not as strict as when the war first began. Lamps and candles shone brightly everywhere. Shops and markets were mostly open, with pedestrians and ladies passing by in an endless stream, and fragrant carriages and fine horses bustling to and fro. Shao Zhou stole a glance at Qinghui Daoist, only to see that he seemed even more familiar with these streets and alleys than himself. Every time he turned or stepped, there was no hesitation. Amidst this bustling marketplace, he alone was utterly cold and aloof. No one offered a single greeting to this solitary figure, and no one cared where this Daoist was going.

"Ah—" Only when they reached the foot of Yangjiao Mountain did Qinghui Daoist sigh. "Last time, you told me that the 'Green Jade Table' poem written by the Zhao Emperor was an absolutely exquisite piece. You still haven't copied it out for me."

Hearing this, Shao Zhou quickly replied, "Then why not trouble the Daoist tonight? I will carefully copy out all the poems and lyrics the Emperor has written in recent years for you to see."

Qinghui Daoist neither agreed nor disagreed, simply starting up the mountain path on his own.

Shao Zhou naturally followed closely behind. The mountain path was narrow, so they could only walk single file. After a few dozen steps, he heard the Daoist speaking to him from ahead: "I am an unlucky person, and you say you are physically weak. That copper seal you picked up when you saved me that day—get rid of it as soon as possible, bury it. It might bring you harm."

Hearing him speak of himself in this slow, calm tone, as emotionless as dead wood, Shao Zhou couldn't help but choke up. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve before answering: "General, please don't say that. If you are an unlucky person, then who earned this peaceful and prosperous scene?"

Before he finished speaking, he was struck on the head with a whisk. The man ahead spoke sternly: "That was naturally earned by the Emperor here, leading your Military Governor and the other commanders, along with the hundreds of thousands of troops of the Imperial Camp, over nine years of effort. What sort of person am I? Nothing more than a lonely, wandering ghost between heaven and earth. Saying that would ruin the fortune of my reincarnation!"

For a moment, no one spoke. They walked for another few li. Shao Zhou actually rested more times than Qinghui Daoist, only stopping when they reached the mountaintop. Seeing the silence all around, Qinghui Daoist spoke again to explain: "There's another reason I told you to bury it: that private seal was carved and given to me by my father back then. All the armies' generals would see the seal and obey it as if it were an order. If you carelessly lose it and someone with ill intentions picks it up, it could harm that Military Governor Li. Do you understand?"

Only after hearing this did Shao Zhou reply respectfully: "Yes."

The Luzu Temple was nothing more than a few low whitewashed walls and a short wooden gate. Inside the courtyard, pines and cypresses towered to the sky, and flowers and plants covered the ground. It was the season when the magnolias were in full bloom, beautiful to behold. Clusters of them grew on the branches, like carved jade and snow; those that fell on the steps left their fragrance in the wind and dew. Qinghui Daoist unlocked the small lock on the door ring, gestured for Shao Zhou to enter, and then stood by the steps, hands in sleeves, watching the flowers in the moonlight.

The room was pitch black. Shao Zhou struck a flint from his bosom, fumbled to light a spill, then trimmed the candle flame before he could see his surroundings. The room was extremely simple, containing only a curtain, a bed, and a desk. The bedding and bed curtains on the couch were made of the most common blue-dyed cloth, washed clean and spotless, with some places already faded. Even an ordinary commoner's home was more comfortable than this. It was as quiet and plain as a snow cave.

Shao Zhou went to the desk to look for a brush and ink. As he moved things around, he discovered a thick stack of paper stained with ink. Curious, he picked it up to look. They were all copies of the Imperial Court's publicly issued northern expedition proclamations. Every single one was written in a neat, elegant, small-standard script. Using ink mixed with gold dust, word by word, sentence by sentence, they had been written out. Who knew how much effort and strain on the eyes it had cost the writer? He held them in his hands, flipping through a few sheets before eagerly looking again. Sure enough, there were thousands upon thousands of sheets, along with over a dozen rolls of paper already tied up against the wall, all bearing the same words:

"In his 'Later Memorial on Sending Out the Troops,' Marquis Wu spoke of Emperor Zhaolie's ambition, saying: 'The Han and the bandit cannot coexist; the royal enterprise cannot be secured by partial peace.' If the shame of the Jingkang Incident is not cleansed, whenever I call myself the Son of Heaven, I am silently ashamed; if the Two Rivers are not returned, you, my ministers, calling yourselves ministers of Han is also laughable. Therefore, the northern expedition is a matter of the nation's very foundation. Before a peaceful age is established, dare I call myself a descendant of the Three Kings? If I do not inherit the territory of the Han and Tang dynasties, how can I continue the lineage of Huaxia?"

Shao Zhou held it in his hands and had unconsciously begun to read it aloud. He did not notice that his hands were trembling violently. Although his voice was low, it was heard by Qinghui Daoist, who was standing at the door.

"Keep reading. Read it out loud." The man used his sleeve to brush away the fallen petals on the stone lion crouching by the steps, then sat down on it himself. "The people up in heaven want to hear it."

Unbeknownst to himself, Shao Zhou's face was already streaming with tears. He raised his voice. Every word, every sentence that burst forth felt like a fire was boiling his blood, boiling it dry, as if only when his flesh, skin, and bones had turned to ashes could the unyielding karmic fire be extinguished.

"The era name Jianyan was established nine years ago. Ruler and ministers are of one body, enduring together for the sake of the nation. The cycle of Heaven's mandate turns; we temper and strengthen each other. Now, the national power of the Imperial Song has revived; our troops and armor are well-supplied and sufficient. We have organized the Imperial Camp's Left, Right, Front, Rear, Center, Cavalry, River, and Sea Armies, totaling three hundred thousand men. We have also mobilized the scholar-officials of the Central Plains and Guanzhong, numbering five hundred thousand. Trusted ministers and elite soldiers, answering the call with a roar—this is a flourishing age unprecedented since antiquity! It is only right that we step forward bravely, display our martial might, recover all our lost territories, drive out the barbarian caitiffs, restore China, establish order and discipline, and rescue the people."

Reading up to this point, he could no longer contain himself. He threw down the sheet of paper, thin as fresh snow, rushed outside, and poured out all the doubts in his heart to that figure as still as a wooden carving:

"Military Governor Li! General Li! Li Yanxian!"

"Did Shanzhou fall in defeat!? You came from there, didn't you!?"

"What about my father? What about my elder brother? What about me?"

"What about our tens of thousands of Li family troops? Are they all dead? All gone!?"

Silence.

Shao Zhou lost all the strength in his body. He knelt in the fallen flowers covering the ground, clutching the man's sleeve, and wept bitterly.

Until he felt the man's hand gently patting the top of his head, once, twice, with almost no warmth of touch, as if a piece of ice and snow were hidden within the robe.

"Yes."

"The people up in heaven all want to see it. I need over fifty thousand copies. I write day and night. Even if I write for ten years, I still don't know if it will be enough."

"Those men were all soldiers and righteous volunteers I recruited from all over. What kind of ruffian and rogue things hadn't they done before?"

"Burning spirit money for them would only invite ridicule. It's better to tell them a single sentence: 'The great army has crossed the river.' That's more satisfying."

Shao Zhou clearly felt that although the man's tone of voice had not changed, still wooden and dull, two drops of icy cold water distinctly fell onto his forehead.

4.

Days and months shuttled back and forth, time flew like an arrow.

Shao Zhou had a daughter at the age of twenty-three. He specially prepared a gift and wanted to ask Pure Wisdom Daoist to give his daughter a name. That man was still in the temple writing every day, rarely inquiring about worldly affairs. His appearance had not changed, but the white hair at his temples had gradually increased.

In fact, Shao Zhou did not know his age either. When he had rescued him back then, he looked to be around thirty years old. But in these past few years, old injuries and new illnesses had plagued him, causing him no small amount of suffering. Though the noble and refined bearing throughout his body had not yet worn away, he had gradually taken on the momentum of a man approaching fifty.

"How could you be muddle-headed about this matter?" Pure Wisdom Daoist slowly ground a stick of ink in the inkstone, coughing incessantly—this was a root of illness left in his lungs from having been submerged in the river for too long back then. Because of his coughing sickness, his hand often could not hold the brush steadily. Recently, the speed at which paper scrolls piled up on the bookshelf in the corner had clearly slowed down a great deal.

"That man in Shanzhou city promoted you. You've done well these past few years, and the position of prefectural office steward has been given to you. That man—don't be fooled by how he usually says nothing; he worries about the family affairs of every subordinate. Now that you have a daughter, yet you want an outsider to name her—if he gets petty-minded, he'll remember this."

He held a wolf-hair brush, moistened it with ink in the inkstone, and suddenly laughed again. "If he gets a little curious and comes to the temple to see this outsider, tell me, can I still live in Shanzhou?"

After Shao Yun returned from his campaign, he naturally learned that his younger brother had befriended a Daoist and was constantly providing for him. At first, worried that his young brother, inexperienced in the world, might be deceived by the demonic tricks some crooked Daoist might spout, he proposed to visit Yangjiao Mountain to pay his respects. Every time he came to visit, Pure Wisdom Daoist was either gathering herbs in the mountains or traveling abroad—ten times out of ten, he never saw his real face. Shao Yun's stubborn temper flared up, and he nearly kicked down those two broken wooden doors. Only after Shao Zhou let his elder brother see the several bookshelves of paper scrolls piled up in the temple did he calm down. He simply told his younger brother to include him in the offerings from then on and never brought it up again.

Hearing him say this, Shao Zhou nodded. "Yes."

But before a moment had passed, he laughed again and said, "Then in the future, if I have a son, I'll still want the Daoist to teach him calligraphy and martial arts. For instance, this handwriting—my family members certainly can't write this well. Now, going to private school costs so much in tuition, and the teacher doesn't have as much learning as the Daoist..."

Before he could finish, he was interrupted: "You've got a good scheme, trying to latch onto me, haven't you?"

Shao Zhou smiled, rose from his mat, and made a bow to the man opposite him. "This young one thanks you in advance."

Pure Wisdom Daoist was helpless with him and could only say, "Come walk with me outside. It's the rainy season lately; the paper is damp and I can't write anyway."

Indeed, the rain threads outside lingered and drifted, only dampening the ground's surface. The locust flowers and elm seeds blown to the ground were mixed green and white, studded with a layer of fine water droplets. Afraid that Pure Wisdom Daoist might catch a chill and cough through the night with no one to look after him, Shao Zhou carefully held a paper umbrella over him as they walked. They strolled slowly to the thatched pavilion at the mountain's peak before stopping to look around.

Yangjiao Mountain was located north of Shanzhou city. Its steepness was praised in a poem: "A single horn hangs suspended in the Yellow River, / Suspected to be a peak flown from the Three Gorges. / Looking up, green pines three thousand zhang tall; / Looking down, startling waves pour through the nine provinces." From the summit, one could take in the splendid view of Shanzhou—mountains encircling on all four sides, rivers on three sides, half the city's trees and half its fields. On the distant city wall, the figures of soldiers in armor with swords at their waists on patrol could faintly be seen. That great banner, which had weathered war and blood, stood atop the pass. Even though the flag, soaked by the mournful rain threads, could not flutter and fly, the four vigorous characters "A Firm Rock in Midstream" were already engraved in the hearts and souls of the residents here, never forgotten for a single day.

The fine rain moistened the flowing light. One of them sat on a mountain rock, the other stood attending at his side. Both only gazed at the hazy and peaceful state between heaven and earth. Below the mountain, an old man drove an ox, shouting as he passed by. A herb gatherer came down the stone path carrying a pole, singing freely on the mountain trail, gradually fading into the distance.

"Yesterday, I dreamed of Shao Yun."

"He asked me, 'You've come here once—have you been to the Huai River? Have you seen Nanyang? Have you paid respects at the Yaoshan Mountain God Temple? Have you gone to the Jingcheng Yuntai?' I answered, 'None.'"

"He was greatly displeased and gave me a sour face, saying, 'Then what are you doing here? Haven't these years been wasted? I didn't expect you to go to the capital to see the god-like official, but at least travel around the realm—I'd feel better just hearing about it.'"

Shao Zhou pursed his lips and smiled. "This is indeed my elder brother's temper."

Before he could continue the conversation, he heard a burst of hurried footsteps. Shao Zhou turned his head and saw a servant in blue from the prefectural office. The newcomer hastily bowed as soon as he arrived. "The steward had me searching high and low for you. The Prince of Jin and Military Governor Shao are in council and have summoned you."

Pure Wisdom Daoist sat quietly on the rock, not turning his head. Hearing this, he only said calmly, "Go, then. Don't delay matters."

Shao Zhou's heart was somehow uneasy. He hesitated and said, "This young one will come again in a couple of days to bring you a newly tailored Daoist robe."

"Good."

"And Master, don't only eat old rice. It's bad for your spleen and stomach over time."

"It's not rotten. What harm is there in eating it?"

"Today I brought newly ground gold powder. Master, don't copy too much—hurting your eyes is hard to heal."

"Now I only write one sheet a day. We'll talk when the gold powder runs out."

"Then Master, remember to take your medicine at night. Constant coughing always harms the body. My elder brother said a physician has come from the Eastern Capital, a former internal medicine master of the Yue Family Army. I'll bring him tomorrow to have a look at you."

He stood there, nagging on and on, feeling there were endless things to remind him of. Finally, he provoked Pure Wisdom Daoist's impatience. The Daoist flicked his sleeve. "Why do you have so many words today! Stop bothering me! Go attend to your business!"

Shao Zhou smiled and bowed. "Yes, I'm going now."

He hurried along with the servant. When he reached halfway down the mountain, he stopped and looked back. That man was still sitting in the pavilion, not having moved. His figure was dignified and unbreakable, as if it had merged with the green mountains and great rivers he had guarded in this life and past lives, blending into the boundless misty rain.

Two days later, Shao Zhou went up to Luzu Temple again. The copper lock hung loosely on the door ring, and the wooden door was half-open.

He walked in quietly. Fallen flowers covered the ground. The courtyard was silent, filled only with the sounds of birds and cuckoos. In the distance, the wind howled through the pine forest, adding an infinite sense of loneliness.

The quiet room where that man often stayed was now empty of people, leaving only walls covered with paper scrolls. On the desk, a sheet of white paper was pinned down with a copper hairpin. Shao Zhou walked over and saw that the characters on it were in the familiar handwriting of Pure Wisdom Daoist. He thought that the man must have come from a powerful family, received guidance from a famous teacher in his youth, and added his own natural intelligence and relentless practice to produce such elegant, flowing, and graceful calligraphy. That sheet of Xie Gong paper felt light as nothing in his hand. Written on it was half a stanza of the Zhao Song official's world-famous "Green Jade Cup":

Moth-brows, snow-willow, golden-threaded hair.

With tinkling laughter and fragrant grace she passed by.

A thousand times in the crowd I search for him.

Suddenly turning back, that man is there,

Where the lantern lights are dim and few.