My life was salvaged from the battlefield.
That year, the winds at the frontier blew with exceptional ferocity. I sat on a hilltop, watching golden sand particles constantly shifting patterns under the fierce wind’s caress, finally forming vast sandy mist that slowly drifted toward the horizon. Suddenly, a black cloud rose from the distance, swallowing the sandy mist in an instant, followed by deafening sounds of horse hooves. I heard someone shouting from below the mountain: “The Nanyue people are coming! Run!”
Then everything around me became chaotic. I panicked and ran down the mountain back home, following my parents and all the villagers as we fled. But the tall and fierce Nanyue warriors quickly broke into the city. They rode their horses, continuously shouting words I couldn’t understand, cutting down anyone they saw and burning every house they encountered. Father carried me as we ran over a ground covered with corpses toward the city gates, but we were still caught up by a Nanyue warrior. He raised his great blade and struck at us – my father, who had once been as solid as a mountain, just collapsed softly like that. Before dying, he pressed me firmly beneath his body, and then Mother also fell on top of him. Blood splattered from their bodies, dyeing heaven and earth a bloody red. I hid under Father’s corpse, trembling constantly, forgetting to breathe, forgetting to think, and forgetting to escape.
Finally, a Nanyue soldier discovered me. He used his spear tip to lift Father’s corpse, then with a savage expression, viciously stomped his leather boot toward my head. I closed my eyes waiting for that final moment to arrive, but that foot never came down. I raised my head and saw the Nanyue warrior scream and fall backward, then a white-robed general walked toward me against the light. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but in that moment he led me away from fear.
He crouched down and said to me: “Don’t be afraid.” Then he swept me onto his horse’s back and fought his way out through the pursuit of countless Nanyue warriors. I was jolted by the horse until I constantly wanted to vomit. In the chaos, I only saw a commander’s flag with the character “Xiao” written on it, fluttering in the wind amid the yellow sand kicked up by horse hooves.
Later I learned that this unit was called the “Xiao Family Army,” an iron cavalry under Marquis Xuanyuan Xiao Yunjing that had been invincible in years of warfare. When the surviving villagers spoke of how brave and skilled the Xiao Family Army was in battle after the catastrophe, they all praised them continuously. Even the children in the village picked up tree branches to gesture with them, yearning for the day they could join the Xiao Family Army to kill enemies for their country and avenge their relatives.
But at that time, I chose another path for myself. I began studying desperately day and night without rest. My teacher once said I was naturally intelligent and would surely accomplish great things in the future. The more books I read, the more I understood that what the Xiao Family Army needed was not just soldiers to fight on the battlefield, but keen eyes and ears to run around and scheme for them in the court, clearing the path ahead.
Later, my uncle, who had no sons, asked me to stay at his house, saying he would pass all his land and property to me. But I refused him and left Jingnan despite all my clan relatives’ incomprehension – this place that had once contained all my memories. On the day I left home, I sat on the hilltop for the last time, watching the vast yellow sand and soaring eagles, then walked down the mountain and embarked on a destined path.
This departure allowed me to see a broader world. I discovered that besides the vast desert wasteland, this world also had green willows and flying flowers; besides the solitary smoke rising straight in the great desert, there was also the growth of spring grass in Jiangnan… During those years, I suffered much hardship but also met many people and understood many things. When I reached seventeen and came to the capital, I occasionally became acquainted with an old gentleman. We got along famously at first sight, often sitting and debating until dawn. Only later did I learn he was actually the great Confucian scholar of the current dynasty, Master Liu Wendao.
Master Liu appreciated my talent and knowledge, and seeing my difficult living situation, invited me to teach with him at the Imperial Academy in the Left Chancellor’s mansion. There I first met Wanwan.
She had just turned thirteen then, sitting among a room full of bright and glamorous young ladies from prominent families, looking quite unremarkable. Perhaps because she often hid indoors, her complexion was somewhat pale, but when touched by strangers’ gazes, she would flush with a light blush. I suddenly thought of a type of flower that grew on rock faces in my hometown – plain white with a touch of red, blooming silently in uninhabited places.
She hid in the crowd and secretly watched me with clear and limpid eyes. So I smiled at her across the room’s clamor, and she seemed stunned for a moment, then like a startled little rabbit, blushed and lowered her head, never daring to look at me again.
After that encounter, she and I had no further interactions. Only occasionally during lectures would I catch her earnest and inquiring gaze. At that time I was preparing for the metropolitan examination two years later. Living expenses in the capital were higher everywhere than elsewhere, so although I had additional income from teaching, life remained tight. Each day when I went to lecture, I wore only an ordinary cotton robe. The young masters and ladies of the chancellor’s mansion, accustomed to fine clothes and luxurious garments, had learned to judge people by their attire. Seeing me come to lecture in that long robe washed to fading every time, their words began to carry more and more disdain and mockery. One day, the youngest Master Yan secretly embedded a steel needle in my lecture desk. Not noticing, I tore my sleeve on it. Those young masters winked at each other and clamored: “Little Master, your only robe is torn – what will you wear to lecture next time?” Then they laughed and ran off merrily.
At that time I didn’t feel embarrassed or awkward – after all, this was just a job to make a living, and if these spoiled young masters wanted to cause trouble, I’d let them. But this robe was indeed the only presentable garment I owned, and making another would cost quite a bit of silver. Then I heard movement beside me, and an extremely soft voice timidly said: “This… I’ll compensate you for them.”
I turned around and saw Wanwan standing beside me. Scattered sunlight fell on her face, making the ripples in her eyes shimmer. This was the first thing she ever said to me, and these words seemed to have used up all her courage. Her cheeks were red, her small chest heaving violently, but she still resolutely raised both hands high, spreading the broken silver in her palms before me. So I smiled and shook my head, saying: “Thank you, Fifth Miss, but my robe isn’t worth so much silver.”
Confusion flashed in Wanwan’s eyes, but she still stubbornly held the silver out to me, saying: “Anyway, none of it matters – the silver… and the clothes.”
I was somewhat surprised that a young lady from the Right Chancellor’s household would say such words, and found it quite interesting, so I asked: “Then what does Fifth Miss think is important?”
Her face flushed even redder, and she lowered her head, speaking in an almost inaudible voice: “I like listening to Little Master’s lessons. The other things… don’t matter.”
Only later did I learn that she was very afraid I would leave because of this incident, so she ran back and brought out all her savings to give me, not caring whether that silver was enough to buy many robes like mine. This was Wanwan – no matter where she lived, she could maintain her own way of living cleanly and transparently.
From then on, she was no longer as afraid of me as before. Occasionally she would also gather courage to ask me about things in books she didn’t understand after school ended. As spring went and autumn came, my relationship with her grew increasingly familiar. In front of me, she was no longer that timid and shy young lady, but became someone who loved to laugh and play. She would pester me to tell her many strange stories I had encountered during my travels, and beg me to find her books about criminal investigation and autopsy. When the weather was hot and laziness struck, she would very naturally hand over the copying assignments Master Liu had given her for me to do, while she hid to the side dozing. Sometimes when she received rare pastries distributed by the mansion, she would secretly stuff them into my sleeves when no one was watching. I would also find street foods she usually couldn’t eat at the marketplace and secretly share them with her after school ended.
Those things seemed ordinary at the time, but many years later, I discovered they were actually the only things I couldn’t bear to abandon. So I hid them in the long river of time, repeatedly recalling and carefully tracing every nearly forgotten memory – those were all the traces of your existence.
A year later, as the date of the metropolitan examination drew closer, Master Liu introduced me to many nobles who might help me. I also understood that the path I wanted to walk couldn’t rely solely on studying for fame, so I patiently socialized extensively with them. When busy, I couldn’t spare time to come teach at the academy. Five days later, when I returned to the academy again, I immediately saw Wanwan. She sat by the window with her cheek propped up, staring outside in a daze. She quickly saw me too, then showed an expression of disbelief. Her eyes suddenly reddened, and she hastily lowered her head to hide the expression on her face. I thought I had seen wrong, until I walked to her side and discovered she really was crying.
My heart filled with both guilt and unease. I patiently finished the lesson, and just as I was about to ask her about it, she had already run out in a rush. I searched for a long time before finding her behind an artificial mountain. She kept her head down, constantly wiping away tears. I quickly walked over and asked what had happened.
She raised her red and swollen eyes, staring at me and saying in a trembling voice: “I thought Little Master would never come back.”
Only then did I learn that I had been absent from the school for a full five days, and she thought I had just left like that and would never return. But she didn’t dare ask anyone, nor dare let others see she was sad. She just sat by the window waiting for me every day, until all hope was gradually drowned by despair.
I found her foolishness amusing yet felt a pang of heartache. In her world, I was her only friend and the only person worthy of her trust. At this time, Wanwan sniffled and asked cautiously: “Little Master, can you please not leave?”
Looking at her red nose from crying and her eyes full of expectation, at that moment I wanted to tell her many principles, to tell her I was merely her teacher and she would eventually come of age and marry, that we would part ways someday. But at that moment I couldn’t say anything, only gently brushed away the damp hair covering her eyes and smiled, saying: “Don’t worry, Little Master will never leave again.”
But no matter how reluctant, the day of separation would eventually come. Just as the date of the metropolitan examination grew closer, the chancellor’s mansion hired opera performers. Wanwan begged me to accompany her to watch. She wasn’t supposed to attend such occasions, so I secretly brought her to sneak behind the opera stage, climbed onto a low wall, and pulled her to sit beside me.
We sat side by side on the low wall, watching colorful sleeves dance and painted faces sing on the stage. Wanwan excitedly called out approval continuously. She had secretly brought candied fruits from her room, sometimes tossing a few into her mouth, sometimes placing them in my hands. Once, absorbed in watching, she put them directly into my mouth – they were green plums preserved in sugar water, sweet with a slight sourness.
The last opera performed that day was “The Peony Pavilion.” I had heard those arias many times before, but somehow, this time I was caught off guard and struck in the heart. Wanwan’s soft voice asked beside me: “Little Master, what are they singing on stage?”
At that moment the stage was singing: “Beyond carved railings, red turning with emerald green. Stirring up bees’ sorrow and butterflies’ love. Fate on the Three Lives Stone, not from dreams and illusions. One pillow of Huaxu, two suddenly departed.” In the season of flying catkins, snow-white fluff fell bit by bit on her black hair. Looking at her eyes like clear water, my heart suddenly swelled with pain, yet felt empty and didn’t know how to fill it. She was still so young – how could he explain to her those tales of young ladies and scholars, life and death love dreams? It was like the flying catkins before our eyes – they looked beautiful and moving, but if they fell on one’s body they would cause itching and add to one’s troubles. So I stopped looking at her and said stiffly: “Wanwan, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Wanwan’s eyes widened suddenly, and the candied fruit in her hands scattered to the ground. The red fruits were instantly covered with gray and white dust. From then on, I never watched “The Peony Pavilion” again.
Only after leaving the chancellor’s mansion did I discover that no amount of poetry and books, no matter how busy the socializing, could fill my heart for even a moment. I knew I was thinking of her. Every time I opened a book, I seemed to see her sitting before me, propping her cheek and asking: “Little Master, what does this sentence really mean?” So I began writing many annotations in books and sending them to her one by one, as if I could still converse with her. Finally, before her coming-of-age ceremony, I gathered courage to write down in “The Peach Blossom Fan” what I had always wanted to tell her. I remember it rained heavily on the day of her coming-of-age ceremony. I stood outside the chancellor’s mansion for a long time but ultimately didn’t wait for her. Later, I successfully passed the metropolitan and palace examinations and was recommended to the Hanlin Academy. When I saw her again, she was already the new madam of the marquis’s mansion.
I found Marquis Xuanyuan and told him I would do everything in my power to help him and the Xiao Family Army escape their predicament. This was the moment I had been waiting for since childhood. But I never expected Wanwan would be granted in marriage to become Xiao Du’s wife. Perhaps fate had already determined that I would be entangled with her for this lifetime: I watched her grow from helpless to resilient, from a fragile daisy into a towering tree. She was no longer that little girl who cried and begged me not to leave. Her world grew larger and larger – this was good too. When I leave again this time, you won’t be so sad, will you?
Now I’m back on the battlefield again. Mixed sounds of horse hooves and shouting fill my ears, the air thick with the strong smell of blood. I hold little Zhuzi tightly, looking at that small face filled with fear and innocence, as if seeing my once panicked and helpless self on the Jingnan battlefield. So I bit my finger and wrote down all the soldiers’ names I could remember on his undergarment. The shouting voices grew closer and closer. The Black Cavalry began stabbing wildly everywhere, determined not to spare any survivors. I hid Zhuzi in the haystack and said to him: “Don’t worry, uncle promised to let you return safely. Just hide here and don’t come out no matter what happens.”
Zhuzi’s face was covered with tears as he grabbed me tightly, not letting me leave. I smiled at him, patted his head, then used all my strength to run outside, throwing everything I could at those Black Cavalry soldiers. Cold blades pierced my body. I fell backward to the ground, gazing at the boundless blue sky and floating clouds, seeming to see Wanwan’s face again: smiling, crying, sleeping quietly at the desk, and then everything sank into endless darkness. I felt very tired and slowly closed my eyes: that child should be safe now.
In the darkness, I seemed to return to that gentle afternoon when Wanwan tilted her head and said to me: “Little Master, please give me a courtesy name.” I named you Wanwan, but never dared tell you the poem about your name.
“Wanwan, my beloved, your new dwelling neighbors my wall. I send word asking if you can come visit, to express the sorrow in my heart.”