Chapter Sixteen: Jing Family Village

The winter sun, still carrying its faint warmth, had set behind the hills. Ji Mi, clad in clothes half-damp and half-dry, shivered violently as the cold wind swept over her.

So cold. She slowly opened her eyes.

The sound of flowing water murmured in her ears. On her body—wait, why was there a man lying on top of her? Ji Mi was startled, hastily reaching out to push him away.

He was heavy... She struggled for a long time, but not only did she fail to move him, she was also painfully pressed by the hard armor. In the waning light of dusk, Ji Mi finally saw the man's profile clearly—it was the general she had seen atop the city wall.

He looked young, with a high nose and features chiseled like a blade, not at all like the handsome young men of her country, but there was an austere appeal to him. Remembering how fierce he had been with her earlier that day, Ji Mi stifled a laugh, feeling both embarrassed and amused. She had never observed a man from such close proximity before.

The man furrowed his brow, as if about to wake, and Ji Mi, startled, quickly turned her face away, her heart pounding in her chest, mortified.

But he did not awaken, and she dared not steal another glance.

Faint stars glimmered in the sky. The small boat rocked gently in the water. Am I dead? Ji Mi suddenly felt light, as if all burdens had fallen away. It was much better than she had imagined—just a bit cold, a bit hungry.

Her mind muddled, she drifted back into sleep.

The man was Meng Di. In his feverish haze, he found himself once more in the mountain valley. This time, every image was razor-sharp.

I am Meng Di, personal guard under Cavalry Captain Li Ling of the Great Han!

In the second year of Tianhan, Li Ling led five thousand men against the Xiongnu at the Emperor's command—a campaign as brutal as any ever fought. Due to a shortage of horses, the proud Cavalry Captain departed with only infantry. At Junji Mountain, they encountered the main Xiongnu force and were besieged by more than thirty thousand enemy riders.

The Han army encamped between two mountains, using their wagons as ramparts. The front lines held spears and shields, the rear archers and crossbowmen. The order was clear: attack at the sound of the drum, withdraw at the sound of the gong. The Xiongnu, seeing the Han so few in number, charged directly at their fortifications.

Li Ling commanded the attack. A thousand crossbows loosed in unison, and Xiongnu soldiers fell with every volley. The enemy retreated up the mountain, the Han gave chase and slew thousands. Alarmed, the Chanyu summoned over eighty thousand riders to surround them. The Han fought as they withdrew, but after several days found themselves trapped in a valley.

After days of brutal combat, many soldiers were wounded by arrows. Those wounded thrice rode in carts, those wounded twice drove the carts, those wounded once continued to fight.

When their arrows were spent, the soldiers broke wagon spokes for weapons and charged the Xiongnu.

As a personal guard, Meng Di never left Li Ling's side. Arrows pierced his body, yet he did not retreat a single step.

To die in battle—what of it! Meng Di had only one thought: he must fall before his commander, for that was the pride of a personal guard.

Blood blurred his vision, turning the world red. Torches blazed across the mountainside, forming a sea of fire. How beautiful, he thought, like azaleas blooming in spring. He laughed inwardly at himself for finding time for such thoughts in the midst of battle.

Then, everything changed in an instant. Li Ling laid down his weapon. In the astonished gaze of his dying men, he surrendered.

No—Captain Li, General Li, you cannot surrender! Have you forgotten the glory of Han? Have you forgotten your family's generations of honor?

Meng Di's hands trembled; he could no longer grip his blade. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

The Xiongnu halted their assault, confirming that what they saw was no illusion.

Stumbling to the edge of a cliff, Meng Di wept in despair.

He was an orphan, taken in by Li Ling from childhood. Though he never took the Li surname, he was taught letters and martial arts, and learned that those who defied Han's might would be destroyed, no matter how far. To him, Li Ling was more than a commander—he was everything. And now, everything had been destroyed, by Li Ling’s own hand.

Meng Di stepped into the void. Behind him, voices cried, "Meng Di..." Then, darkness consumed all.

Jing Zhuo was the second son of the Jing family. His name, Zhuo, meaning "swift," was chosen by a learned man from the city. The name suited him well; Jing Zhuo was faster than anyone, whether running or swimming. For any urgent task in the village, he was the one sent.

Now, with the river suddenly swelling, those in Jingjia Village—reliant on the water—were quick to sense something amiss. Pushed by his father, Jing Zhuo went upstream to investigate.

Muttering to himself as he reached the outskirts, he spotted a dark shape in the water. The sky was not yet fully dark. Peering closer, he saw it was a small boat, tangled in riverside branches, rising and falling with the current. There seemed to be people lying inside.

Jingjia Village sat at a bend in the Sui River, cut off from the main roads, rarely visited by outsiders. Jing Zhuo dashed back, shouting, "I've found someone!"

His father, exasperated, grabbed a wooden staff. What do you mean, found someone?

"It's true—a small boat, with people on it!"

The villagers, skeptical but curious, brought torches to the riverbank. Jing Zhuo, full of pride, declared, "See? There are people. Wait—there's another underneath!"

The people of Jingjia Village were simple and honest. They hurried to carry both survivors back to the village.

When Ji Mi awoke, she was lying in a bed. In the dim glow of a lamp, a kindly old woman was smiling down at her.

"Ah, don't move," the woman said, seeing Ji Mi try to rise. She brought over a steaming pot. "Here, drink some fish soup to warm yourself."

"Fish soup?" Ji Mi was bewildered. Wasn't she supposed to return to her ancestors after death? Why was she drinking soup?

Seeing Ji Mi silent and lost, the old woman apologized, "Are you unaccustomed to coarse cloth? We have nothing else to offer."

Only then did Ji Mi realize she was dressed in hemp garments. She looked around; only she and the old woman were in the room.

"Am I still alive? Where am I?"

"Of course you're alive. This is Jingjia Village. Come, drink the soup while it's hot."

Ji Mi had no idea where that was, but hunger gnawed at her. She took the pot and sipped the broth.

The old woman watched her with a smile. Her husband had said this girl must be from a wealthy family; she wore silk clothes dyed in madder root. The old woman didn’t know what madder was, but she'd never seen such a beautifully dyed red dress before. Her husband, who had traveled far and wide in his youth, surely wasn't mistaken.

But what was more, the way this young lady sipped her soup was so graceful.

Ji Mi set the pot down gently, feeling self-conscious under the old woman's gaze. Bowing her head, she whispered, "There was another person..."

"Yes, of course. The one with you—they said he’s a general."

"Is he all right?"

"My husband is tending the fire for him. Don't worry." The old woman tucked Ji Mi in. "You should rest now, my dear. Here in Jingjia Village we have little, but there’s always plenty of fish soup. That general will be well once he drinks it, too."

With that, she blew out the lamp and left.

In the darkness, Ji Mi lay wide-eyed, unable to sleep.

What had become of Yingdu? What of her mother, the queen, and the king? Why had she ended up here? The realization that she was still alive brought a thousand questions surging forth.

In this unfamiliar place, she longed more than ever to see Meng Di again, though she did not even know his name.

He was the only thing in her world that was still familiar.