Huang Beishuang, at eighteen, was still too young to fully comprehend these matters. Her hair had yet to be put up in an adult style, and her childlike innocence lingered. She only knew about sacrificing for her people and the warm, fragrant tents of her homeland. There was still so much she didn’t understand, so much of importance. How long could she remain resolute? She was just an eighteen-year-old girl, yet already as lonely as a solitary gazelle in the desert.
“There’s half a water pouch left, Feita!” A hoarse, deep voice could be faintly heard through the yellow sand. It was a man speaking, his words tinged with regret and sorrow.
“Don’t push yourself, I’m fine!” The man chuckled, a bitter humor in his voice. He seemed to have weathered a storm, his body covered in gray sand, but he paid no attention to himself, focusing solely on clearing away the mound of earth before him. When he finished, he discovered a white horse buried beneath the sand, barely clinging to life after days without water.
The horse was loyal to a fault. Even as it began to convulse, it refused to drink the last half-pouch of water from its master’s hand. The man sighed, helplessly bringing the water pouch to its mouth, addressing it as he would a brother: “Feita, look at your stubbornness, as obstinate as a mule! Drink the water, you foolish beast!”
Feita seemed to understand its master’s words. Its eyes suddenly opened, glancing at its master once before closing again. Then it grew completely still, its limbs no longer trembling…
“Feita?” The man’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly reached out to check for breath, feeling Feita’s faint respiration. He furrowed his brow—not dead yet, but likely not far from it. Overwhelmed with sorrow, he gently stroked the horse’s mane.
“What happened to it? Is it dead?” An unexpected gentle voice rang out, filled with concern. The man instinctively looked back to see a caravan of camels adorned with festive red decorations. About 150 people flanked the sides—it appeared to be a marriage procession for a political union. He had heard them passing earlier but paid no attention, consumed by Feita’s imminent death. He hadn’t expected them to approach.
The speaker was a young woman sitting in a palanquin, pushing aside the beaded curtain hanging before her face. Her features were delicate and beautiful, her eyes sparkling with intelligence and curiosity.
After a brief silence, he replied, “Feita isn’t dead yet, but it will be soon. It’s been too long without water.”
The inquiring young woman was Huang Beishuang. She had noticed a figure in the distance, unmoved despite the wind and sand pulling at his cloak, nearly buried. She had assumed he was either seeking death or already lifeless, but upon approaching, she was surprised to find him keeping vigil over a horse. Intrigued by his noble appearance and dedication to the animal, she asked, “The heavens and earth show no mercy, and the wind and sand are blind. No matter how attached you are, you should value your own life. Why do you linger here, sir?”
The man, dressed in black brocade, no longer looked at her as he absent-mindedly replied, “Feita still breathes.”
Understanding his resolve, Huang Beishuang was moved. Without hesitation, she called out, “Nanny, tell Guoer and Yaner to bring ten pouches of water for the horse. Let’s see if we can save it!”
Duo Zai nodded and hobbled to the back of the palanquin. After some time, she emerged carrying ten water pouches, struggling with the weight as she made her way to the white horse. She set the water down and respectfully retreated.
The horse’s master seemed surprised and asked, “Miss, do you know that in the desert, ten pouches of water are more precious than a thousand pouches of gold?”
Huang Beishuang merely smiled, lowering the beaded curtain to half-cover her face. “I have dozens of horses, but I’ve never named any of them. They simply serve me. You have only one horse, yet you’re willing to stay with it until its final moment. For this alone, I’m willing to give you ten pouches of water—five to save Feita, and five for its master. I hope you have a safe journey. We must continue on our way, so let us part here.”
Huang Beishuang didn’t want to delay further. The day was growing late, and the desert terrain could change after nightfall, so they needed to complete their planned route before sunset. Moreover, she felt she had done her part and had no regrets. She ordered her group to continue their journey. As Duo Zai was lowering the palanquin’s brocade curtain, the horse’s master suddenly said to her, “I am Qing Yun. I will repay the miss’s kindness.” His voice, though cold, offered his name.
Sitting in her palanquin, Huang Beishuang pondered Qing Yun’s words and couldn’t help but smile. Repay? When? They would likely never meet again. As long as the horse was safe, that would be for the best. Otherwise, wasting ten pouches of life-saving water would be truly regrettable.
Qing Yun—outwardly so profound, yet his name carried a touch of magnificence with its delicacy. She wondered which tribe this straggler belonged to, wandering in this boundless sea of sand.
Huang Beishuang chuckled, shaking her head to put this interlude behind her. As she thought about reaching Yunpei after seven more sunrises, a bitterness spread in her chest. Yunpei might be where her soul would wither and her fragrance fades. Although she was the Naxiu (political bride) gifted by the E’naqi tribe to Yunpei as a token of loyalty, the other side had not sent a single soldier to escort her. Huang Beishuang’s group had to rely on their strength to cross the desert and reach Yunpei. Along the way, they had to be wary of bandits and human traffickers—one group killing for riches, the other kidnapping for profit. It was evident how difficult life was for the children of these impoverished tribes in this desert world.
Gazing at the darkening sky, with its beautiful sunset and red clouds, the scenery seemed too peaceful. Leaning against the window frame, Huang Beishuang suddenly recalled her mother’s parting words.
“My child, when you marry into Yunpei, you will be neither wife nor subject. You are their treasured art of war, you are the note of our peace. You represent our loyalty and carry our hopes. My child, even if you do not find happiness, please do not forget the yellow sands of your E’naqi homeland!”
On that day, her mother had bid her farewell with flowing tears and deep sorrow. Even after Huang Beishuang’s palanquin had set off, her mother had stood there for a long time, calling out to her, “My child!”
In truth, the E’naqi tribe had formally established itself as a distinct ethnic group over a hundred years ago. They lived by herding and were skilled in song and dance. With a population of just over 7,700, they had long relied on political marriages as their main means of seeking protection from ruling powers. But who could not pity and lament their fate? In past political unions, over 200 E’naqi girls had died in foreign lands, suffering abuse and abandonment. News of their deaths, often without even remaining to return, frequently reached home on the wind. That sorrow had ultimately transformed into musical notes of prayer, still echoing across the barren flats.
Naxiu—what was a Naxiu? In the Naqi tribe, the highest status belonged to the Exiu, who led the entire tribe. Next came the Naxiu, those of the chieftain’s bloodline blessed with exquisite beauty, exemplars of loyalty married off to the highest nobles of the ruling power.
Of course, not every girl married off was a Naxiu, and not every marriage was to Yunpei. However, the higher the political significance, the more dangerous Huang Beishuang’s journey became.
Who might they encounter? It was impossible to know. In this desert, desires and evil, madness and plunder, greed and despair all lay buried in the scorching sands…
“Duo Zai, are you hungry? We’ve been traveling for so long. Come up and sit with me for a while!”
Huang Beishuang felt great sympathy for this tottering old woman, enduring the scorching sun and biting wind and sand as she followed the young caravan. They had 124 guards, 24 maids, and including the Naxiu and her accompanying nanny, a total of 150 people who had left their homeland, unlikely to ever return. For the E’naqi, this was already a grand wedding procession. But among them, only Duo Zai had reached her twilight years.
“Nanny isn’t hungry. Is the Naxiu hungry?” Duo Zai busied herself looking into the palanquin.
“Duo Zai, come up here!” Huang Beishuang patted her bony shoulder.
“Nanny can’t come up,” Duo Zai shook her head.
Huang Beishuang smiled, “If Duo Zai won’t come up, then sing for the Naxiu! Sing of the praying women, sing so that the Naxiu will never forget the desolation of this great desert!”
Duo Zai fell silent, for only this aged nanny knew the depth of Huang Beishuang’s sorrow. An eighteen-year-old girl forced to cross the desert to marry far away, her future not just uncertain but fraught with danger and hardship. From the moment the Exiu received the formal betrothal letter from Yunpei, this political marriage became inevitable. The eighteen-year-old Huang Beishuang had forcibly concealed her unease, never letting anyone see a hint of her fear or reluctance. She would often ride off alone, returning only when her emotions had settled. Upon her return, she always wore a faint smile, showing no trace of hesitation. Duo Zai had children of her own, but she knew that no child could match this one in strength, kindness, intelligence, and beauty.
Thinking of this, Duo Zai finally relented and climbed onto the palanquin’s edge with her heavy body. But given her age, she struggled to climb up. Huang Beishuang understood and reached out to pull her up. Once Duo Zai was seated, Huang Beishuang brushed the yellow dust from her hair, then took her hand and pressed it to her heart, saying softly, “Duo Zai, do you know? The Naxiu loves you more than anyone else in this world, more than father and mother, brothers and sisters.”
Duo Zai’s chest tightened, tears welling up and then receding. She gripped Huang Beishuang’s hand tightly and said in a low voice, “My little Naxiu, the nanny believes in you, and you must believe in the nanny. All things have an end—sorrow has an end, and so does happiness; poverty has an end, and so does wealth. When the end comes, it’s either the sweet after the bitter or a life no longer worth living. But nanny knows that for you, it will surely be sweetness after the bitterness!”