My life was salvaged from the battlefield.
That year, the winds at the border town blew especially fierce. I sat atop the hill, watching as the golden gravel danced in the gusts, forming ever-changing patterns, until finally being swallowed by the vast sand mist, slowly drifting towards the horizon. Suddenly, a dark cloud rose from the distance, swiftly engulfing the sand mist. Following that, the thunderous sound of hooves filled the air, and I heard people below shouting, “The southern Yue people are coming! Run!”
Then chaos ensued. I panicked and ran back home from the hill, following my parents and the rest of the village as we fled. But the imposing southern Yue soldiers soon breached the city. Mounted on horses, they shouted words I couldn’t understand, indiscriminately slashing at anyone they saw and setting houses ablaze. My father carried me, stepping over corpses, towards the city gate, but we were still pursued by a southern Yue soldier. He swung his big blade towards us, and my once sturdy father fell soft to the ground. Just before he died, he pinned me beneath him, and then my mother collapsed onto him. Blood sprayed from their bodies, staining the world crimson. I cowered under my father’s corpse, trembling incessantly, forgetting to breathe, to think, to flee.
Finally, a southern Yue soldier spotted me. He lifted my father’s corpse with the tip of his gun, then viciously stomped his boot on my head. I closed my eyes, awaiting the inevitable, but the foot never came down. I raised my head to see the southern Yue soldier screaming as he fell backward. Then, a general in white robes approached me against the light, his face indistinguishable, yet at that moment, he rescued me from terror.
He squatted down and said, “Don’t be afraid.” Then he hoisted me onto his horse and charged out amidst the encircling southern Yue soldiers. The horse’s gallop made me nauseous, amidst the chaos, all I could see were the yellow sands kicked up by hooves, with a banner fluttering in the wind, bearing the character “Xiao”.
Later, I learned that this troop was called the “Xiao Family Army,” a cavalry under the command of Marquis Xuan Yuan, Xiao Yunjing. They had been undefeated in many years of battles. After the calamity, the villagers spoke of the bravery and prowess of the Xiao Family Army, praising them incessantly. Even the children in the village would pick up sticks, aspiring to one day join the Xiao Family Army, to avenge their loved ones.
But at that time, I chose a different path for myself. I began to study tirelessly, day and night. The teacher once said I was talented and would surely achieve something in the future. As I delved deeper into my studies, I realized that what the Xiao Family Army needed was not just soldiers for battle, but also astute minds to strategize and navigate the court for them.
Later, my second uncle, who had no sons, asked me to stay with him. He said he would pass down all his land to me. But I refused and left Jingnan, the place that once held all my memories. On the day of departure, I sat on the hill for the last time, watching the vast yellow sands, and the soaring eagles, then descended the mountain, stepping onto a predetermined path.
This departure opened my eyes to a broader world. Beyond the desolate desert, there were lush willows and blooming flowers, beyond the lonely desert, there was the verdant spring grass of Jiangnan. In those years, I endured much hardship but also met many people, and understood many things. Until the age of seventeen, when I arrived in the capital city. There, I occasionally met an old gentleman, and we bonded instantly, engaging in discussions until dawn. Later, I found out he was the renowned scholar of the current era, Mr. Liu Wendao.
Mr. Liu admired my intellect and saw my financial struggles, so he invited me to teach at the Tai Xue within the Left Prime Minister’s mansion. It was there that I first saw Wanwan.
She had just turned thirteen at the time, sitting among the brightly dressed young ladies of the wealthy families, seemingly unremarkable. Perhaps due to spending long periods indoors, her complexion was somewhat pale. Yet when she felt the gaze of others, a faint blush would grace her cheeks. Suddenly, I recalled a type of flower that grew on rocky cliffs back in my hometown, pure white with a hint of red, quietly blossoming in deserted places.
She stole glances at me from amidst the crowd, her gaze clear and curious. So, I smiled at her across the bustling room, and she seemed momentarily stunned before shrinking like a startled rabbit, blushing and avoiding my gaze.
After that encounter, we had no further interaction. But during lectures, I would occasionally catch her earnest and inquisitive gaze. At that time, I was preparing for the imperial examinations two years hence. Expenses in the capital were higher everywhere, and though I earned some income from teaching, life remained frugal. I would wear the same old cotton robe every day for lectures. The young gentlemen and ladies of the mansion, accustomed to fine attire, began to sneer and mock me openly. One day, the youngest Master Yan secretly placed a steel needle on my desk during class. I didn’t notice and ended up tearing my sleeve. The group of young masters and misses burst into laughter, saying, “Little scholar, your only robe is ruined. What will you wear next time you lecture?” Then they giggled and ran off.
At that moment, I didn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed. After all, this was just a means of making a living. Let those spoiled youngsters have their fun. But this robe was indeed the only decent garment I had, and making another would cost a considerable sum. Just then, I heard a slight commotion beside me, and then, a very soft voice timidly said, “Um… let me compensate you for this.”
I turned my head and saw Wanwan standing beside me. The fragmented sunlight bathed her face, reflecting the shimmering light in her eyes. It was her first words to me, and it seemed like she had summoned all her courage for it. Her cheeks flushed, and her small chest heaved violently, yet she firmly raised her hands and spread out the silver coins in her palms before me. I smiled and shook my head, saying, “Thank you, Miss Wu, but my robe isn’t worth that much silver.”
A hint of confusion flashed in Wanwan’s eyes, but she stubbornly pushed the silver coins towards me, saying, “It doesn’t matter anyway. Silver… or clothes.”
I was surprised that a young lady from the Prime Minister’s family would say such words, yet found it amusing. So, I asked, “What does Miss Wu think is important then?”
Her face reddened even more, she lowered her head and murmured almost inaudibly, “I like listening to your lectures. Everything else… doesn’t matter.”
Later, I learned that she was afraid I might leave because of that incident. So, she rushed back to give me all her savings, regardless of whether it was enough to buy many robes like mine. That was Wanwan. No matter where she grew up, she could live cleanly and transparently in her way.
From then on, she wasn’t as timid around me. Occasionally, she would gather the courage to ask me questions about things she didn’t understand in her studies after class. As the seasons passed, our relationship grew closer. She no longer seemed like the shy young lady from before but became lively and cheerful. She would pester me with tales of strange encounters during my travels, and request books on solving mysteries and examining corpses. On hot days, she would lazily assign me the copying tasks assigned by Mr. Liu, while she dozed off nearby. Sometimes, she would sneak rare snacks distributed in the mansion into my sleeves when no one was looking. And I would bring street food that she couldn’t usually eat to share with her after class.
At the time, these things seemed ordinary. But many years later, I realized they were the only things I couldn’t bear to part with. So, I repeatedly reminisced about them in the river of time, carefully delineating every fading memory. They were all traces of your existence.
A year later, as the day of the imperial examination drew near, Mr. Liu recommended me to many influential people who might help me. I also understood that the path I wanted to take couldn’t rely solely on studying for officialdom. So, I patiently entertained many social engagements. I became so busy that I neglected to teach at the Tai Xue for a while. Five days later, when I returned to the Tai Xue, I immediately spotted Wanwan. She was sitting by the window, lost in thought. As soon as she saw me, her expression turned to disbelief. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she quickly lowered her head to hide her emotions. I thought I was mistaken until I walked up to her and realized she was indeed crying.
Feeling guilty and uneasy, I finished the class patiently. Just as I was about to approach her, she dashed out. It took me a while to find her behind a rocker. She was wiping her tears incessantly. I hurried over and asked her what had happened.
She lifted her swollen eyes and stared at me, trembling as she said, “I thought you would never come back, Master.”
Later, I learned that I hadn’t returned to the school for five days, and she thought I had left for good. But she didn’t dare ask anyone or let others see her sorrow. She just sat by the window every day, waiting for me until every hope was drowned in despair.
I found her foolishness amusing yet felt a pang of sadness. In her world, I was her only friend and the only person she could trust. At that moment, Wanwan sniffled and asked tentatively, “Master, can you not leave?”
Seeing her red nose and eyes filled with anticipation, I wanted to say many things to her, to tell her that I was just her teacher and that she would eventually marry, that we would inevitably part ways someday. But at that moment, I couldn’t say anything. I simply gently brushed away the wet hair from her eyes and smiled, saying, “Don’t worry, Master. I’ll never leave again.”
However unwilling, the day of separation would always come. Just as the day of the examination approached, the mansion hosted a theater troupe to perform. Wanwan begged me to accompany her, even though she wasn’t supposed to attend such events. So, I secretly took her to the backstage of the theater and climbed onto a low wall, pulling her to sit beside me.
We sat side by side on the wall, watching the colorful sleeves and lively music on the stage. Wanwan cheered excitedly, sneaking some preserved fruits from the mansion’s pantry. Sometimes she would pop a few into her mouth, sometimes she’d stuff them into my hand. Once she got too engrossed in watching and directly stuffed them into my mouth. They were pickled plums in sugar water, sweet with a hint of tartness.
The last play of the day was “The Mudan Pavilion.” I had heard those lines many times before, but for some reason, they struck me unexpectedly this time. Wanwan’s soft voice asked beside me, “Master, what are they singing about on stage?”
At that time, on the stage, they were singing: “Outside the carved railings, red turns to green. Stirring up the sorrow of bees and the love of butterflies. The fate on the stone of three lives, not because of dreams. One pillow in Huaxu, suddenly two are parted.” It was the season of floating willow catkins, and the snow-white fluff drifted down, dotting her jet-black hair.
As I gazed into her eyes as clear as water, a sudden pain swelled in my heart, yet it remained empty, unsure of how to fill it. She was still so young; how could I explain to her those romantic tales of young ladies and scholars, of life and death, as if the myriad of floating catkins before us, appearing beautiful and enchanting, would only cause itching if they landed on us, adding a bit of trouble. So, I forced myself not to look at her anymore, and bluntly said, “Wanwan, I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
Wanwan’s eyes widened suddenly, the candied fruit in her hand fell to the ground, the red fruits turning grayish-white in an instant, covered in dust. Since then, I have never seen that performance of the Mudan Pavilion again.
It was only after leaving the mansion that I realized no amount of poetry or scholarly pursuits could fill the void in my heart even for a moment. I knew I was thinking of her; every time I opened a book, it was as if I saw her sitting in front of me, resting her chin on her hand, asking me, “Young scholar, what does this line mean?” So, I began writing numerous annotations in the books, sending them to her one by one, as if still able to converse with her.
Finally, before her adulthood ceremony, I gathered the courage to write down in “The Peach Blossom Fan” what I had always wanted to say to her. I remember it rained heavily on the day of her adulthood ceremony, and I waited outside the mansion for a long time, but she never came. Later, I passed the imperial examinations and was recommended to enter the Hanlin Academy. When I saw her again, she was already the new mistress of the Marquis’ Mansion.
I found Marquis Xuanyuan and told him I would do my utmost to help him and the Xiao family’s army out of their predicament. This was the moment I had been waiting for since childhood. But I never expected Wanwan to be married off to Xiao Du, perhaps it was destined long ago. My life was destined to be entwined with hers: I watched her transform from helpless to resilient, from a delicate daisy to a towering tree. She was no longer the little girl who cried and begged me not to leave; her world was expanding. It was for the better; when I left again, perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard for her.
Now, I am back on the battlefield, surrounded by the chaos of hooves and shouts, the air filled with a thick scent of blood. I hold onto Little Pillar tightly, watching his face, filled with fear and innocence, reminding me of my panic on the Jingnan battlefield. So, I bit my finger, writing down the names of all the soldiers I remembered on his inner clothes. The shouts grew closer, and the Black Cavalry began to wildly stab around, sparing no one. I hid Little Pillar in a haystack, telling him, “Don’t worry, Uncle promised to get you back safely. Just hide here, no matter what happens, don’t come out.”
Little Pillar’s face was covered in tears, clinging to me desperately, not letting me leave. I smiled at him, patting his head, then ran outside with all my strength, throwing everything I had around me at those Black Cavalrymen. The cold blade pierced my body, and I fell backward, staring at the endless blue sky and clouds, as if seeing Wanwan’s face again: smiling, crying, peacefully asleep on the table. Then, everything sank into endless darkness. I felt so tired, slowly closing my eyes: that child, he must be safe now.
In the darkness, it was as if I returned to that breezy afternoon, Wanwan tilting her head and saying to me, “Young scholar, give me a nickname.” I named you Wanwan, but I never dared to tell you about that poem line related to your name.
Wanwan, whom I love, your new residence is next to mine. If you wish to come and play, you can. This is just to alleviate my melancholy.