Night had fallen, and snow was swirling through the air. With several thunderous booms, the market district began closing its gates. Yuanjue escorted Yaoying downstairs, where they boarded an unremarkable felt-covered carriage. Merchants streamed out of the district in crowds, heads bobbing in the darkness.
After the carriage had traveled half a street’s length, Xie Chong whispered, “Princess, someone is following us.”
The felt covering parted slightly, and Yaoying’s voice emerged: “Circle around a few times before heading back, and send someone to see who’s following us.”
Xie Chong quietly acknowledged the order and gestured to two attendants from the merchant group who were familiar with the royal city’s layout from their daily dealings with Hu merchants.
The attendants pulled their fur caps low and soon merged into the bustling crowd. The driver deliberately turned into small alleyways, winding through seven or eight turns, covering several li, and shaking off several of their tails.
Yuanjue, with his keen senses, carefully observed their surroundings. After scanning in all directions, he lowered his voice and said, “The others have lost our trail, but there’s still one Han person following us.”
A delicate hand adorned with bright henna parted the felt covering. Yaoying seemed intrigued by their Han pursuer and peered out, her eyes bright as she asked, “Can you tell who it is?”
Yuanjue’s mouth opened and closed several times before he suddenly began to stutter.
Earlier that day, Yaoying had received several groups of visitors. Unable to understand the Han language, Yuanjue hadn’t comprehended their conversations, but he had observed how these Han visitors had stood dumbstruck before displaying intense emotions – some trembling, others weeping profusely, and some even sobbing aloud.
Yaoying had treated them all with courtesy, rising to return their bows, maintaining both dignity and warmth. The room had been filled with alternating tears and laughter, discussions and arguments, until finally, Yaoying had said something that prompted everyone to rise and bow solemnly toward the east.
After each group departed, Yaoying needed to refresh her appearance. When the final group left, just as the market district was closing, she hadn’t had time to remove her makeup, hastily removing only her hairpins, ornaments, and pearl accessories. She had changed from her expensive gauze gown into a comfortable, warm round-necked long garment embroidered with magpies carrying auspicious herbs, but her face remained heavily made up.
Even from a distance earlier in the day, Yuanjue had found Yaoying’s beauty overwhelming and had avoided direct eye contact. Now, with her gorgeously made-up face so close, her charming smile and stunning beauty were almost bewitching. His heart began racing, and he quickly lowered his head, silently reciting Buddhist sutras.
At this moment, he deeply admired the Buddha’s Son for remaining unmoved in the face of such temptation – truly worthy of being their king!
Yaoying, thinking Yuanjue hadn’t heard clearly, repeated her question: “Can you see who that person is?”
She had been speaking all day, occasionally having to raise her voice to maintain an imposing presence before the noble families. Her voice now sounded deep and hoarse, unlike her usual gentle tones.
Yuanjue’s face burning hot, head bowed low, grabbed a leather water flask, and passed it into the carriage, saying, “Princess, please drink some warm sheep’s milk to soothe your throat.”
Yaoying smiled and thanked him, taking the flask. After a day of passionate speeches, her throat was indeed uncomfortable.
Yuanjue coughed several times to steady himself, then said, “The Han person following us is very tall – someone the Princess received today.”
Yaoying’s eyes brightened as she asked softly, “Is it that young man with the precious sword at his waist?”
Yuanjue’s face showed surprise: “How did the Princess know it was him?”
Most of the nobles Yaoying had received that day were elderly, some with gray hair who had burst into tears upon seeing the books and other items she had brought from the Central Plains – clearly River West people who had been forced to migrate to Gaochang in their youth. There were some middle-aged men, but few young ones, so Yuanjue remembered clearly that the young man with the precious sword had stood out most prominently, being irreverent and defiant, refusing to remove his sword during the greeting and shouting at the other elders.
To Yuanjue, the young man had been provocative, and if not for Yaoying’s glance signaling him to stay still, he would have drawn his blade long ago.
Could the young man have ill intentions in following them? Yuanjue instinctively clenched his fists.
Yaoying took a sip of sheep’s milk, which was indeed warm, and said, “I knew he would follow us. Don’t worry, he means no harm.”
Yuanjue acknowledged this and relaxed his muscles.
Yaoying lowered her head in thought.
The carriage traveled down the long street, its wheels crunching through thick snow with a continuous soft creaking. The night was deep, and curfew was approaching.
She calculated the time, set down the water flask, and quietly instructed Yuanjue: “Lead that young man into an alley. I need to speak with him briefly.”
Yuanjue whispered to the driver, who raised his whip and drove the carriage into a narrow, deserted alley. The young man, unaware of the trap, continued following. When he entered the alley, Xie Chong left the group and quickly leaped onto the snow-covered wall, then with several bounds landed behind the young man.
The carriage stopped.
The young man was startled and immediately turned to flee.
Xie Chong emerged from the corner, his long blade horizontal, blocking the exit.
The young man’s expression changed slightly.
Yaoying parted the curtains and gracefully descended from the carriage.
The young man turned to look at her, chin raised high, expression arrogant, fingers resting on his sword hilt as he said coldly, “What does the Princess intend to do?”
His River West official dialect was perfect.
Yaoying burst into laughter.
The young man froze, his expression stiffening. After a moment, anger flushed his face as he shouted, “What is the Princess laughing at?”
Yaoying contained her laughter, though mirth still danced in her eyes and brows as she carefully observed the young man.
He had thick eyebrows and large eyes, with an exceptionally tall and lengthy frame, broad shoulders, and a robust build without an ounce of excess flesh. Like the sons of Gaochang noble families, his braided hair hung down his back, but instead of a golden crown, he wore a headscarf. His brocade clothes were luxurious, his belt adorned with precious stones, and at his waist hung a jewel-encrusted long sword – from head to toe he gleamed with gold, dressed in an odd mixture of warrior’s attire.
As she continued staring at him, his handsome face gradually turned bright red, his eyes wary as he snapped, “Why are you staring at me?!”
Yaoying smiled and performed a respectful bow to the young man, saying seriously, “I admire Young Master Yang’s noble character.”
The young man, whose name was Yang Qian, showed confusion in his eyes and said stiffly, “I don’t understand what the Princess means.”
Yaoying smiled.
…
At this time, Yang Qian was just an unknown youth, but years later, his name would spread throughout the Central Plains.
With rivers and mountains lost, the Western Regions hung isolated. This young man, born in the vast desert, had witnessed the oppression and bullying of his people since childhood. As he grew up, he was determined to lead his people to reclaim their homeland and return to their country, but they were separated from Chang’an by thousands of li – how could returning east be easy?
Everyone advised Yang Qian to abandon this idea, but he didn’t lose his heart. While diligently practicing martial arts, he secretly sold his family’s possessions to gather men, all while continuously persuading the city’s noble families and urging Yuchi Datuo to seek help from the Central Plains.
In his twentieth year, when Tanmolouqie died, the Northern Rong people, no longer restrained, began massacring tribes that refused to submit. As unrest broke out everywhere, he seized the opportunity to break through the Northern Rong’s blockade with his guards and set out on the journey east to seek aid.
When he left, the city’s people, both young and old, clutched at Yang Qian’s sleeves, wailing loudly: “Young Master Yang, when you reach Chang’an, ask the emperor there, ask the ministers – do they still remember us, their subjects!”
The twenty-year-old Yang Qian drew his sword in anger, cut off his long hair, and made a vow: “Until I reach Chang’an, I will never turn back!”
This journey east would consume Yang Qian and his guards’ entire lives.
From Gaochang to Chang’an, they had to cross the Great Sea Road strewn with gravel, traverse the endless, barren flowing sands of the desert, cross uninhabited grasslands, climb over towering snow-capped mountains, and pass through numerous checkpoints and several Northern Rong strongholds.
Setting out from Gaochang, Yang Qian’s group faced death at every turn. Some died of thirst, some of hunger, some of exhaustion, some of illness, and even more fell to Northern Rong cavalry blades.
They never turned back, continuing eastward.
Finally, this group hoping for reinforcements from Chang’an vanished into the vast desert.
Years later, a Central Plains merchant caravan trading with the Northern Rong passed through Shazhou and discovered a skeleton in the flowing sands. The merchant, moved by compassion, wanted to bury it, and accidentally found an undecayed package beside it. Opening it revealed a ten-thousand-word letter written on silk.
It was a cry and plea from the people of the lost territories to the Central Plains, every sentence passionate, every word written in blood.
The desert skeleton was Yang Qian. Despite endless hardships, he had never safely reached Chang’an, dying alone in the great desert.
Before death, he had left his name and last words on the letter, begging whoever found it to deliver it to Chang’an in his stead.
Though the young life had long since departed, the skeleton still maintained its eastward-crawling posture.
Until reaching Chang’an, never turning back.
Besides Yang Qian, the others left no names – dozens of young men, buried in flowing sands, their remains lost forever.
They had fulfilled their vows with their lives.
Deeply moved, the merchant arranged for the letter to be sent to Chang’an.
Finally, this blood-written letter reached the hands of the supreme ruler, fulfilling Yang Qian’s wish after his death.
By then, Zheng Jing had become Prime Minister. He ordered the letter to be made public, shocking the world.
Yang Qian’s name quickly spread through Chang’an’s streets and alleys. Court officials expressed various opinions, common people discussed it extensively, and both the court and the public were inflamed, requesting the emperor to send troops to reclaim their lost lands.
But it was already too late.
The Northern Rong had grown powerful, while the Central Plains dynasty faced numerous internal contradictions and troubles both domestic and foreign, lacking the strength for a distant expedition.
Officials eagerly submitted memorials, seemingly discussing military action, but in reality using Yang Qian’s matter to attack and slander each other, eliminating opposition.
Zheng Jing had no choice but to advise the young emperor to posthumously honor Yang Qian and his companions as righteous men, issuing an inspiring edict, while the matter of sending troops to reclaim the territories north of River West was left unresolved.
A few years later, the Northern Rong swept eastward, Great Wei fell, the country was destroyed, and corpses littered the ground.
…
Now, in Gaochang.
Yaoying smiled as she gazed at the spirited Yang Qian before her, her heart filled with emotion.
Her coming to Gaochang was not just to try her luck.
Whenever and wherever mountains and rivers were broken, there would always be heroes like the Zhu ancestors, Xie Wuliang, and Yang Qian, who took it upon themselves to save the common people, willing to sacrifice their lives, shed their blood, face death unflinchingly, and march forward bravely.
When she first arrived in Gaochang and inquired about Yang Qian’s character, the results made her both laugh and cry: Yang Qian was young and impetuous, occupied with cockfighting and falconry, indulging in romance, achieving nothing – a notorious playboy.
Yaoying couldn’t help but doubt: Could it be just someone with the same name? Or was the skeleton in the book’s account someone else entirely?
The noble families Old Qi had invited with formal letters were carefully selected. When she said she wanted to invite Yang Qian, Old Qi strongly opposed: “Princess, Yang Qian is young, rash and impulsive, and idle all day – such a person isn’t worth befriending. I heard that a few days ago, he quarreled with someone over a dancing girl and even talked back to the clan elders, getting scolded for it.”
Yaoying hesitated for a long time before finally deciding to meet Yang Qian first. After all, he was the only one who matched in name and age and happened to be from a prestigious River West family.
Whatever the case, that skeleton must have some connection to Yang Qian.
After meeting him, Yaoying was certain she had found the right person.
The middle-aged nobles all spoke with awkward accents, some white-haired elders had even forgotten their native dialect, but the youngest, Yang Qian, could speak the perfect River West official language – he was destined to become that skeleton in the flowing sands, still pointing eastward.
Yaoying had laughed then.
Yang Qian revealed all his thoughts as soon as he spoke, even deliberately provoking and testing her, and now following her, wanting to investigate her background.
Little did he know, she had already determined he would cooperate with her.
Because he constantly yearned to restore contact with the Central Plains dynasty.
Yang Qian confronted Yaoying, intending to frighten her, but she merely smiled silently, calm and composed. Being young, he couldn’t contain himself and sneered, “Princess Wenzhao, disaster looms, and death approaches, yet you remain here so carefree – I admire that!”
Yaoying laughed lightly: “What does Young Master Yang mean by this?”
Yang Qian said arrogantly: “Does Princess Wenzhao think all those people you met today are trustworthy? Let me tell you honestly, Princess – they swore to heaven before you, claiming their hearts yearned for Chang’an and returning to the east, crying as if their mothers had died, vowing not to reveal your identity, but they’re all full of deceit. Someone has probably already gone to the palace to report you.”
Yaoying’s expression changed slightly as she asked: “Then what does Young Master Yang think I should do?”
Yang Qian raised his chin even higher, saying: “My ancestral home is River West, my ancestors were all famous River West generals, and my grandfather once served as River West Military Commander. On his deathbed, he instructed me never to forget our homeland. Since Great Wei has unified the Central Plains, my Yang clan naturally should serve Great Wei. You are a Great Wei princess, stranded in Gaochang, alone and helpless. As a son of the Yang family, I should protect the princess.”
He secretly straightened his chest, making himself appear taller and stronger.
“If the princess trusts my words, please come take refuge at the Yang residence first. I can guarantee to the princess that with me here, no one will dare harm you!”
Hearing these words, everyone exchanged glances with varying expressions.
Yuanjue suddenly felt a strange sensation rise in his heart, partly anger, partly unease: the princess was the king’s Matangi woman – it wasn’t this young man’s place to meddle!
He looked toward Yaoying.
Yaoying was still smiling; she indeed hadn’t misjudged him. Among all those she met today, Yang Qian was the most sincere.
She asked with a smile: “Isn’t Young Master Yang afraid they’ll report you to the palace?”
Yang Qian straightened his back even more, fingers gripping his sword tightly: “I’m not afraid of them! My family and the Yuchi family are old friends – even if they report to the ruler, I can still protect the princess.”
Yaoying glanced at the sky, saying: “Young Master Yang speaks truly. Among the Zhao, Yang, and Zhang families, some look toward the Central Plains, but naturally, also those who have submitted to the Northern Rong. They may not all be trustworthy. When I met them and told them my identity, surely some among them wished to use this opportunity to curry favor with Lady Yina…”
Yang Qian’s face showed a pleased expression.
Yaoying suddenly changed her tone, her lips curling slightly, “Young Master Yang, how do you suggest we deal with such treacherous people?”
Yang Qian was stunned.