The army was now encamped at Bayan Wenzhuole. Ding Yi had been traveling with them for nearly ten days and was getting closer to her goal.
Traveling in Khalkha was no joke. One had to set out after the Chen hour (7-9 AM) and find lodging before the Shen hour (3-5 PM) in the afternoon. Darkness fell early here—once night came, it was nearly impossible to move through the ice and snow. Everyone wrapped themselves in thick furs; the old cotton-padded jackets weren’t breathable and could freeze if worn too long. Once in Mongolian territory, one had to wear fur robes and leather boots. Ding Yi’s robe was a bit short, allowing wind to enter from below. She took the opportunity during their overnight stay to adjust it for the next day’s journey.
Just as she sat down, someone called from the doorway, “Young brother, come here!”
She tied her belt and went out, seeing it was Gesheha, who was delivering coal braziers. She stretched her waist and asked, “Can I help you?”
He smiled and said, “Talking to someone who understands saves effort. The master is discussing matters in his room, and it’s too cold. He wants another brazier. In this godforsaken place, even washbasins are being used—there aren’t any more braziers. We found a jar, but I can’t lift it alone. Give me a hand.”
She responded with a sound of agreement, took the coarse cloth to place at the mouth of the jar, and together they carried it to the Thirteenth Prince’s door.
Inside, the Thirteenth Prince was crouched by the coal brazier, his hands turning back and forth over the fire as he asked in a slow voice, “Any news from the Chechen Khan’s tribe?”
The deputy commander below said, “Rest assured, master, the silver wasn’t spent in vain. Kou Ming has made contact and is gathering evidence…”
Ding Yi caught glimpses of this, understanding they had paid to get intelligence from within the Chechen Khan’s tribe. She naturally believed in the Twelfth Prince’s integrity, but people’s hearts were unfathomable. She didn’t know how the Thirteenth Prince truly felt about the Twelfth Prince. At this critical juncture, with life and death in his hands, if there was any bias, the Twelfth Prince would truly be finished.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t linger after delivering the coal. She had to leave. She was following another Gesheha out when, unexpectedly, after just a few steps, the Thirteenth Prince covered his mouth and nose, coughing and pointing at her, saying, “Why is there so much smoke? Go stir it and let it ventilate.” Then he turned to the deputy commander and said, “I estimate we’ll join the main army in about three days. Tell them to speed things up. If it’s true… we’ll need to replace the commander quickly. Such a major campaign with the court’s high expectations cannot be ruined by one person.”
Ding Yi’s heart pounded loudly. She slowly poked at the fire with the tongs as she heard the deputy commander hesitantly ask, “Does master believe these allegations are true?”
“Hard to say,” said the Thirteenth Prince. “I bear the Emperor’s mandate and must handle this impartially. If untrue, I will naturally restore his justice. If true, I must follow the imperial instructions. Even for a brother, I cannot show favoritism.”
She couldn’t delay any longer for fear of arousing suspicion. She put down the poker and withdrew with her hands at her sides. Outside the door, she was still trembling—not from cold, but from burning anxiety. She didn’t know what message would come back from the Chechen Khan’s tribe. Bayan Wenzhuole was two hundred li away. If she could warn the Twelfth Prince, he could prepare a response. But the temperature was too low; if they traveled at night, even if humans could endure it, the horses couldn’t.
Her mind was full of worries, she stood dazed under the eaves. Bodun had just returned from outside, shaking snow from his shoulders and spitting, “Just taking a piss turns into an icicle on the ground. This hellish place isn’t fit for humans.” Looking up at her, he asked, “Why aren’t you resting yet?”
She said, “I just delivered a coal brazier to the master and was about to go back. Master Bodun, how much longer do we have to travel?”
Bodun said, “If there’s no heavy snow, three days. If there are more changes, it could take up to ten days.”
She sighed, murmuring, “Such delays will affect the master’s mission.”
Bodun laughed, “You’re quite concerned, young man. The master didn’t save you for nothing. Don’t worry, that mission is being handled secretly; a few days’ delay won’t matter.”
She responded vaguely, afraid to say too much lest her true identity be discovered. Back in her room, she tossed and turned with thoughts: Was the Twelfth Prince the type to cling to life ignominiously? If the court wanted to harm him, would he listen to her advice to flee far away, perhaps to the Western Regions? He had his pride; he was a prince. Even in death, he probably wouldn’t want to live without dignity! So he must stay alive—only with life was there hope. The gold-flake wine wasn’t served twice. No criminal at the execution ground, if not killed by the first stroke, would receive a second. Though not written in law, there was this unwritten rule in judicial practices. An emperor wanting to be seen as benevolent wouldn’t ruin his reputation over this.
She lay down, looking up at the sky, her thumb slowly caressing the smooth back of her rhinoceros horn comb. She had thought of begging the Thirteenth Prince, but she hadn’t yet discerned his position and couldn’t approach him rashly. Perhaps she should wait until they reached the main camp.
Heaven showed some favor as the snow stopped these past few days, and the sun even came out. She followed the group, riding swiftly, passing through a hilly forest until they saw in the distance large and small tents surrounding a royal tent, stretching for several li in all directions. The Twelfth Prince’s army was there.
After more than a year apart, she wondered how he looked now—probably still as she remembered him. As for herself, the hardships of travel had taken their toll. She wiped her face with her hand; the fine cracks on her cheekbones had scabbed over, feeling rough to the touch. As they approached the camp, the horses gradually slowed. She quietly adjusted her collar, pulling her scarf a bit higher.
People came out to meet them at the camp entrance—all soldiers in battle, each wearing a sword. With every step, the brass studs on their armor clinked loudly. The leader wore soft dragon armor with a tiger-head apron. Standing in the morning sun, the light illuminated his gentle brow and eyes—without sharp edges, yet enough to blur Ding Yi’s vision.
He bowed from a distance, “Thirteenth Brother, you’ve had a long and arduous journey.”
Though his voice came from far away, she heard it. After thinking of and missing him for so long, now that they were face to face, she wasn’t sure how to approach him. She felt ashamed and could only secretly watch him through the wall of people. He had darkened somewhat, appearing more valiant than when in Beijing, and his spirits seemed good. But she knew the Thirteenth Prince carried secret orders, and he hadn’t yet realized the court had murderous intentions. Now that she was so close, she was torn about whether to tell him the truth. They would meet eventually, and she must warn him. He was intelligent—perhaps he could sense something from his conversation with the Thirteenth Prince.
It wasn’t appropriate to act hastily now. She watched them enter the large tent while she followed the Geshehas to the barracks. Someone brought armor, and everyone put it on. She adjusted the heart-protecting mirror on her chest, pretending to air out clothes as she looked outside. There were guards around the royal tent, making it difficult for ordinary people to approach. She needed to find someone close to him—either Guan Zhaojing or Ha Gangdaiqin would do. As long as she found someone she knew who could help, she could enter and deliver her warning.
They had important matters to discuss, and it wasn’t until dusk that the Thirteenth Prince emerged. People were waiting outside, hunching their shoulders as they led him to his tent.
She hadn’t wasted her earlier time, having inquired about Guan Zhaojing’s quarters. During the army’s mealtime, she slipped over but unfortunately didn’t find him. She could only wait outside, rubbing her hands together.
The patrol crossed back and forth, carrying torches everywhere. One group passed, and another came. She turned her back, trying to avoid them, fearing that as a stranger, she would be caught and cause trouble. But the more she tried to avoid notice, the more suspicious she seemed. Sure enough, a loud voice called out, “Which girl are you from? What are you sneaking around for?”
The torch came closer, flashing in front of her face, making her see stars. She raised her arm to block it, smiling apologetically, “I came with the Thirteenth Prince. I have some business with Manager Guan.”
“Is this a place for you to chat with friends? Moving around in a restricted military camp—do you know you’ll get thirty lashes if caught?” The leader raised his chin. “Arrest him and let their zangling come claim him.”
She was startled as two arms seized her. Begging and pleading did no good; they wouldn’t listen. As they were dragging her away, someone behind shouted, “What’s this? Looking for me to talk is just chatting? Are you looking down on him, or looking down on me?”
Ding Yi’s heart leaped with joy—Guan Zhaojing had arrived. Finally, her wait was over.
Guan Zhaojing had grown thinner in the military camp, darker too, stretching his neck like an old crow. He glanced at her, initially not paying much attention as his gaze swept past, but suddenly he came to his senses. With his small eyes, he examined her again, too shocked to close his mouth for a long time. “This… isn’t this… Fu… Fu…”
Ding Yi gave him a deep bow, “Greetings to Master Guan.”
He awkwardly accepted the courtesy, caught in an uncomfortable position and not wanting to expose her. He cleared his throat and said, “Rise!” Then turned to the patrol and said, “Why haven’t you dispersed? Or would you like to come into my tent for tea?”
They hastily said they wouldn’t dare and reformed their ranks, moving away.
Guan Zhaojing nearly knelt. “My Fujin, why have you come?”
“Anda…” Her voice caught. “Where is the Twelfth Prince? I want to see him.”
Guan Zhaojing quickly led the way, constantly looking back and murmuring, “This slave never imagined you would come. Heavens, it’s several thousand li! How did you manage the journey? You’re truly alarming—fearless. You’re a heroine among women…” While speaking, he asked her to wait a moment, peered through the curtain, and saw the prince writing a memorial at his desk with no one else present. He gestured for her to enter.
Her leather boots made no sound on the felt mats. She walked over, but he didn’t notice, absorbed in his writing. She stood close, looking at him in the flickering firelight that seemed almost unreal. The brow and eyes were as she remembered, but they had been apart so long that she could no longer be certain. Was this her Hong Ce? Was this the man who had asked her to read his palm in the Cool Breeze Pavilion?
He was accustomed to having people attend him, so he paid little attention to who was standing by. Noticing the ink in the inkstone was running low, he tapped his brush tip and said, “Grind more ink.”
Hearing this, she hurried forward to take the ink stick, added two ladles of water to the inkstone, and carefully ground the ink. She watched as his brush moved across the paper, writing each word: “The Chunqin Prince Hong Ce and others humbly request imperial well-being…” Her heart ached. Here he was, writing a greeting memorial, while behind his back, others were plotting how to have him executed.
Without warning, a teardrop fell onto the document, slowly spreading into an exquisite flower-like stain. His brush tip paused, and his gaze moved from the tear to the hand grinding the ink—each joint had cracked skin, the wounds unhealed, with visible traces of blood.
Even with her appearance so changed, she was still unmistakably familiar to his heart. He stood up abruptly, looking at her in astonishment. “Ding Yi… am I dreaming?”
She cried until her eyes and nose were a mess, yet still tried to maintain her dignity through her sobs. “I grew tired of staying in Beijing and wanted to travel. I wandered aimlessly and somehow ended up here. Then I remembered and thought I’d visit you along the way.”
He was too surprised. This girl had always been brave, but he never imagined she would appear here. He looked her up and down—she had suffered greatly on this journey; her face and hands were chapped. Once a fine young lady, she had become like this…
His heart ached unbearably. Since she could cross such a vast distance, perhaps there were no more obstacles between them! He reached out to touch her face, asking in a trembling voice, “Have you forgiven me?” His eyes gradually reddened. “Do you no longer hate me for Ru Jian’s matter?”
He had forgotten completely. He had left Beijing in anger not for anything else but because she had harmed their child. He never dwelled on her faults; he always took the blame upon himself, indulging and spoiling her, elevating her to where she only knew how to take, not how to give back.
She felt she had no right to face him. No words could compensate for the hurt she had caused him. She knelt as if only this could make her feel better.
“You were never wrong. I was the one who always made mistakes,” she said, hugging his legs and looking up through her tears. “I didn’t know how to cherish what I had, trapped in my city of sorrow. I only cared about my feelings, making you suffer unjust anger. Now I know I was wrong. Is it too late?”
He couldn’t help her up, so he knelt face to face with her, wiping her tears, his voice choking as he said, “Don’t cry, the cracks on your face will hurt… don’t cry, how can I bear to see you like this! I never blamed you. I might have hated you momentarily, but I regretted it as soon as I left Beijing. I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye, shouldn’t have made you sad during your postpartum period…”
She shook her head and said, “Don’t blame yourself. I brought this upon myself. I know I would regret losing you for the rest of my life. There’s no one else in this world as good as you.”
She nestled into his arms. His armor was cold, but she felt warmth in her heart. She had always feared he wouldn’t forgive her. In this life that spun like a lantern show, he was the one who had suffered the most. He owed no one, yet he bore the heaviest pressure and the deepest grievances. Why? Simply because he loved her.