“My dear Rou-mei,

Setting out on campaign on the ninth, as is customary, each of us has left behind a letter, to be sent on after our deaths. I have spent my life alone, with no attachments — but recalling our quarrel the other day, I leave this letter behind…”

The time was probably the first lunar month of the previous year, the place Zhang Village. Under the dim yellow lamplight of night, a scruffy, unshaven older man licked the tip of his brush and wrote these words, then looked over the line “I have spent my life alone, with no attachments” and thought himself especially dashing — thoroughly impressive, in fact.

“…I joined the army at sixteen, killed my first man at seventeen, made captain by twenty, spent half a lifetime in uniform… yet until the thirteenth year of Jinghan, before the events at Xia Village, I never realized how reckless and empty this whole life of mine had been…”

His brushstrokes were bold and unrestrained, and looked decent enough. He began recalling bits and pieces of half a lifetime, starting from joining the army at sixteen, all the way to his transformation at Xia Village. He rested his head in his hand, wrestling with it for a moment, then muttered to himself: “Who the hell would even want to read this…”

He struck through the passage with a black line to mark it deleted, but didn’t bother rewriting it on fresh paper — just started a new line further down.

“…I joined the army at sixteen, spent half my life in uniform. After joining the Huaxia Army, I may have accomplished some things worth noting in matters of strategy and warfare, but as a person, as a friend, I know myself to be reckless and unworthy of mention. You, sister, were born into a distinguished household — intelligent, refined, and well-versed in propriety. These past years, having had the good fortune to know you, have been the greatest blessing of my life…”

“Am I laying it on a bit thick…” the old man muttered as he wrote this line. His acquaintance with the woman had hardly been an ordinary one. When the Huaxia Army had withdrawn from Small Cangshui River, he’d been near the rear of the column, temporarily assigned to escort the family members of a few scholars. This woman had been among them, and had even picked up two children too slow to keep pace, making his already exhausting task even more nerve-wracking. They’d been ambushed several times along the way; he’d saved her more than once, slapped her twice, and in a moment of crisis she’d even taken a blade meant for him, which had slowed their pace even further given her injury.

Afterward, the whole journey had been one long string of bickering and squabbling. He was probably the only person capable of driving that once well-mannered, soft-spoken woman to such a state — even the foolish children she taught weren’t as troublesome as he was.

“Heh heh…”

“…The plan for Yongqing’s expedition is fraught with danger. Given the bond of brotherhood between us, I cannot simply stand aside. This journey — out through Sichuan’s four routes, past Sword Pavilion, deep into enemy territory — offers scant hope of survival. Having quarreled with you the other day, I truly did not wish to burden anyone else at a time like this. But having lived a life of recklessness, to have earned your regard, sister, is something I shall carry in my heart forever. Yet I am no fitting match for you. Should this letter ever be sent, then you and I, as brother and sister, may find ourselves worlds apart — but this bond between us, heaven and earth themselves can bear witness to it.”

“…I became a soldier of the Huaxia Army because, over these ten-odd years, the Jurchen have grown mighty and merciless, trampling upon us, while the Wu Dynasty, mired in ignorance, has proven unable to rise to the challenge. Over these ten-odd years, countless people across the realm have died, and those who survive live as though in purgatory — the misery of it defies description. That you and I, brother and sister, should have been born into such chaotic times is a great misfortune in life — but complaining serves no purpose; all that remains is to give ourselves to this cause.”

“…As I set out on this campaign, you alone remain in my thoughts. Should I fail to return, sister, please take good care of yourself. In the life ahead…”

His handwriting grew increasingly hurried and untidy as he wrote, and he added no small number of lines urging her to find some well-mannered scholar and settle down properly. By the time he set down his brush, the two sheets of paper were a messy tangle of scratched-out lines and corrections. Reading it back over, he found the whole thing rather poorly expressed — after all that talk earlier about living “alone, with no attachments,” so dashing and carefree, he’d then gone and written that she was the one person who “remained in my thoughts” — which rather contradicted himself, and besides, it came across as a bit maudlin. The blessing at the end felt insincere too, somehow.

He’d originally only meant to jot down a few lines. After crossing out a few passages, he’d considered polishing it and copying it out fresh afterward — but by the time he’d finished, he found himself too tired to bother. With the campaign about to begin, he’d spent the past couple of days visiting one household after another, and had drunk quite a bit that evening besides; drowsiness was creeping over him now, so he simply gave up worrying about it. He folded the paper and stuffed it into an envelope.

Best if it never gets sent at all, he thought to himself.

That night, he dreamed once more of the retreat from Small Cangshui River years ago — the two of them fleeing together through mud and pouring rain, supporting each other as they went. Later, she had become a teacher at Hedeng, while he had taken up a post on the General Staff. He hadn’t gone out of his way to look for her, but a few months later they’d run into each other again — he’d greeted her among a crowd, then introduced her to others: “This is my sister.” The woman, hugging her books, had worn the composed, well-bred smile of someone from a fine household.

Only when no one else was around, in private, would she drop that mask, harshly criticizing him as coarse and reckless.

…

The letter, along with a great pile of other pre-campaign farewell letters, had been placed in a cabinet, locked away in a dark, quiet corner. And so about a year and a half had passed. In May, the letters were finally taken out, someone checking them against a list: “Oh, hold on — who’s this one addressed to…”

The letter made its way over two days to an office not far from Zhang Village. Given the tense wartime conditions, it was received by a woman named Yong Jinrou, who had been temporarily transferred there. Also in the office at the time were Li Shishi, Yuan Jin’er, and others. Seeing the shape and style of the envelope, they immediately understood what it was, and all fell silent.

May, the month in which the southwestern campaign had ended in victory, saw the Huaxia Army hold several celebratory events — but the true atmosphere here was not one of impassioned cheering. Amid the busy work of the aftermath, what the people of this entire organization had to bear was countless pieces of terrible news, and the weeping that inevitably followed.

These past days, that kind of weeping was something people had already seen far too much of.

Naturally, the fact that Yong Jinrou had received this letter struck people as rather odd, and it left room for a sliver of hope. As Yong Jinnian’s younger sister — herself well-mannered and cultured — Yong Jinrou had, over the years, attracted no shortage of suitors within the army, but at least openly, she hadn’t accepted anyone’s advances. There had been some rumors circulating privately, but rumors were, after all, just rumors. A farewell letter arriving after a martyr’s death might simply be the one-sided act of some admirer of hers.

— If so, at the very least, one fewer person would end up hurt.

They watched as Yong Jinrou, expressionless, tore open the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper covered in messy ink. A moment later, they saw the tears begin falling, splattering down one after another. Her body trembled. Yuan Jin’er closed the door, and as Shishi moved to steady her, a hoarse, choked sob finally tore free from her throat…

They didn’t know who had written the farewell letter, didn’t know which man had won Yong Jinrou’s affections before this — but two days later, they had a guess.

Zhuo Yongqing, back from Changsha for a report, had set up a small memorial hall for his deceased elder brother after returning to Zhang Village. Such private memorials had, over these past years, typically been kept simple within the Huaxia Army — at most a single day, held as a period of mourning. Mao Yishan, Hou Wu, Hou Yuanyong, and others had returned one after another for it.

The one who had died was Qu Qing.

Before the decisive battle at Tanzhou had begun, they had found themselves caught in an unexpected skirmish. Qu Qing had been wearing Zhuo Yongqing’s armor, making him rather conspicuous. Facing wave after wave of enemy attacks, Qu Qing, in the midst of the fighting, had grabbed hold of an enemy commander and fallen with him off a cliff — the two of them dying together in the fall.

Yong Jinrou went to the memorial hall to pay her respects to Qu Qing, weeping a great many tears.

…

The sun and moon traded places; the river of time flowed on, unceasing.

That May, Yong Jinrou became one of many mourners in Zhang Village — just one more among the countless tragedies the Huaxia Army had endured.

By this time, her elder brother Yong Jinnian had already gone to Chengdu, preparing for some new undertaking soon to begin. Jin’er, Yun Zhu, Shishi, and others came to comfort her; Zhuo Yongqing, too, came by to talk with her about Qu Qing — in truth, she herself had often been the one comforting others in the past, but only now, faced with it herself, did she come to understand just how little use such comfort really was.

The first three days brought the most tears; after that, she had to pull herself together and return to her work and the life awaiting her outside. From Small Cangshui River up to the present, the Huaxia Army had weathered one piece of terrible news after another — its people had never had the luxury of dwelling in grief for long.

After that, the tears came only occasionally — whenever old memories surfaced in her mind, that bitter, aching feeling would well up genuinely, real tears spilling out. The world, by contrast, felt somehow unreal — as though, once someone died, some piece had been forcibly torn out of the whole fabric of the world, leaving a hollow in the heart that could never again be filled.

She was no young girl — long ago, she’d had a brief marriage arranged by her parents, to a frail scholar who had died not long after the wedding. At the time, she’d only felt a kind of bewilderment, nothing like this present feeling of having had a piece of her heart gouged out, leaving a black, empty hollow behind.

She rose early every morning, sitting up in the darkness before dawn, and sometimes found a large damp patch on her pillow. Qu Qing was a detestable man — the smug self-satisfaction evident in that letter of his made her want to curse him to his face. All that vernacular nonsense he’d picked up from studying under Ning Yi, utterly foolish, going on about his memories from the battlefield of all things — had he even seriously considered, while writing that farewell letter, that he might actually die? Probably he hadn’t given it any real thought at all — the idiot!

“Idiot, idiot, idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot…”

She lay in the darkness, hugging her pillow, cursing him over and over.

And he’d deliberately brought up “our quarrel the other day” — except by now, “the other day” from when he’d written that letter was a year and a half in the past. He’d proposed a plan for Zhuo Yongqing that carried a very real risk of death, then felt guilty about it himself and wanted to go along.

“There might be danger… but there’s nothing to be done about it.” She remembered that was exactly what he’d said back then. But she hadn’t tried to stop him, had she — she’d only been thrown into confusion by the sudden news, and in her panic had hinted that, before he left, they should settle the nature of their relationship, once and for all.

He’d refused — and in her eyes, had done so with something close to smug satisfaction. After that clumsy hint of hers and his equally clumsy refusal, she’d been too embarrassed and angry to reconcile with him first, and in the days before he’d set out, he’d spent every evening drinking and carousing with various friends, making grand, heroic pronouncements — insufferably, hopelessly macho — leaving her no way to get close to him again.

“Idiot… …ot…”

Dawn after faint dawn, dusk after clamorous dusk — Yong Jinrou went on working, living her life day by day, outwardly no different from anyone else. Before long, more of her surviving admirers from the battlefield began coming to see her, bringing gifts, even proposing marriage: “I thought about it back then — if I made it back alive, I’d marry you for sure!” She turned each of them down, one by one.

Had the story ended there, it would still have been just one more unremarkable tragedy among the countless thousands the Huaxia Army had endured.

On the fifth of June, as she was leaving work, at the fork in the road in front of Zhang Village, she saw — carrying a pack on his back, travel-worn and dusty — the very man himself, trading banter with a few familiar army wives:

“…Hahahaha, how would I have died, don’t be ridiculous… I grabbed hold of that bastard and went over the cliff with him, sure, but I shed the armor and drifted along with the current… No idea how far I floated, hahaha… And the folks in that village were so warm and hospitable, once they found out I was Huaxia Army, a good few households were practically offering me their daughters — proper, unmarried girls, mind you, tsk tsk — and one of them looked after me day and night… Me, Qu Qing, upstanding gentleman that I am, right?…”

Yong Jinrou stood there for a long moment, tears streaming down her face once more. Shishi and the others stood beside her in support. From further down the road, Zhuo Yongqing and the others, having apparently gotten word, came running over as well. Qu Qing waved a greeting in their direction; one of the wives pointed behind him, and only then did he turn around and see Yong Jinrou approaching.

“Hey, sis—”

Crack! Yong Jinrou’s hand shot out and struck him squarely across the face — a crisp, resounding slap. The nearby wives’ mouths all rounded into perfect O’s, unsure whether to intervene or not. Behind her, Shishi waved her hands, mouthing silently: It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine…

“…What was that for!” After taking the slap, Qu Qing finally caught hold of her hand. Years ago he’d struck Yong Jinrou himself, but obviously he couldn’t very well hit back now.

“…You didn’t die…” Tears streaked Yong Jinrou’s face, her voice choked. Qu Qing opened his mouth. “Yeah — I didn’t die!”

“—Then why did you send a farewell letter if you didn’t die!” Yong Jinrou burst into tears, kicking him in the shin.

“…Huh? A farewell letter… I sent a farewell letter?” Something seemed to click in Qu Qing’s mind, and his face flushed red in a way rarely seen. “That… I’m not dead, though — I never actually sent it… wait, was it Zhuo Yongqing, that bastard, who told you I’d died—”

Zhuo Yongqing had already come running over, launching a flying kick aimed straight at Qu Qing. “You son of a bitch, you’re not dead—” But seeing the two hands still clasped together, his kick sailed clean past, missing entirely.

Mao Yishan came running up too, kicking Zhuo Yongqing clean off his feet. “You bastard, you tricked me too, hahaha—”

Zhuo Yongqing wiped his eyes and scrambled back up off the ground. This should have been a reunion of brothers, all embracing — or perhaps wrestling — together, but it was only now that they noticed the hands still clasped tightly between Qu Qing and Yong Jinrou…

Under the setting sun, everyone’s eyes suddenly grew sharp with interest. Yong Jinrou stood there in tears, and Qu Qing, his face still faintly flushed, made up his mind then and there — and simply refused to let go of her hand.

…

“…So the two of them have finally decided to get married.”

On June 15th, having finally met with Ning Yi in Chengdu, Li Shishi told him this amusing little story.

Among the countless tragedies the Huaxia Army had recently endured, it was the only one she knew of that had turned into a comedy instead.