Volume One: Flames at the Border Chapter Eleven: The Peerless Beauty
He spoke so eloquently, but in his heart, He Yu was cursing up a storm. He had made such a grand promise—if this old man shamelessly tossed out a few hundred coins and walked away with two fine horses, it would be a total humiliation.
The old man never expected his offhand jest would be taken seriously, nor did he realize He Yu might be angry. He was just about to offer an explanation.
He Yu, however, slapped his chest and doubled down on his bluff: “A true man’s word is unbreakable—even four horses cannot chase it back! Today, whatever price you name is yours. If I so much as frown, I’m no man!”
He hadn’t really considered the price of the horses, but by common sense, these two military steeds were surely worth at least forty thousand coins.
“Today’s really my unlucky day,” He Yu grumbled to himself. “First I slaughtered two paupers, now I run into this miser. What rotten luck.”
“Linghu, pay the young man sixty thousand coins,” came a sweet, sultry voice from the crowd—a voice that instantly stirred the imagination.
The crowd parted, and a young lady appeared before their eyes. Seventeen or eighteen years old, her brows arched like spring hills, her eyes clear as autumn water, lips like cherry blossom, nose delicate and refined—a visage as if painted, and even more breathtaking than any portrait. Especially those eyes: limpid pools of blue, glowing with an almost otherworldly beauty.
She wore a long robe of white fox fur, a pointed hood trimmed with golden hair, her figure slender and graceful, adorned with splendid jewels—an air of opulence enveloped her.
Her attendants, all tall and imposing, had shielded her from view; now, as they stepped aside, the real spectacle was revealed, and He Yu was utterly stunned.
Never in his wildest dreams did he expect to encounter such a beauty in the horse market of this remote border town. In the half year since his transmigration, the prettiest woman he’d seen was Deng’er; the manor lord’s sister, Chen Qingyun, was reputedly beautiful, but he had yet to meet her.
Yet now He Yu was certain that, regardless of Chen Qingyun’s looks, she could not surpass this young woman—at best, she might equal Deng’er. Deng’er was gentle and lovely, already a rare beauty in the mortal world, but this girl was dazzling and otherworldly, almost supernatural in her allure.
He Yu stood there gaping, reins in hand, utterly entranced.
“Hey, young man! Take your money…” The old man fished out a hefty silver ingot and handed it to He Yu.
He Yu snapped out of his daze, feeling his cheeks flush. How foolish he must have looked, gawking so brazenly.
He was not usually lecherous, but this young woman was simply too beautiful to ignore.
He Yu bowed deeply. “Miss, your beauty is unparalleled. Forgive my rudeness, for I was momentarily lost in admiration.”
She smiled faintly, unoffended. “Thank you for your praise, young sir, but you’ve never seen my mother—now she is a true rarity among beauties, in heaven or on earth.”
With such extraordinary looks, the girl was well accustomed to others’ stares and awkwardness. Steppe women were passionate and bold, unlike their reserved Han counterparts. Compliments brought her only pleasure, never embarrassment.
With her retinue and horses, the girl drifted away, leaving behind a subtle fragrance of rare spices. Her fox-fur robe was exquisite and extravagant—using pure white fox for a full-length coat was a display of supreme wealth.
As He Yu led his horses, he mused idly, “Could this stunning young woman be the daughter or favored concubine of some Xianbei official? Who else could be so grand?”
While adjusting the saddles, suddenly something gleamed before his eyes—a large, flawless jade pendant had fallen in the frozen, muddy snow.
He picked it up. The jade was creamy and lustrous, the finest Hetian nephrite, inlaid with nine golden swallows, each distinct and vivid—a piece crafted with the most intricate skill.
In ancient times, jade was prized above all else, and China was always short of gold, making it even more precious. By his estimation, this pendant was worth more than fifty military horses.
There was no doubt it belonged to the young woman—only she could possess such a treasure.
Her party hadn’t gone far; he could still catch up.
He Yu vaulted onto a horse and followed the hoofprints north.
Sure enough, before long, he saw the girl’s party riding ahead. He Yu called out loudly in the Xianbei tongue, “Esteemed guest, please wait!”
Her group halted, several attendants warily gripping their sword hilts.
The old man called Linghu turned his horse, his tone displeased. “The money and horses have changed hands—what more do you want, young man?”
He Yu knew he’d misunderstood, but didn’t bother explaining. He simply took out the jade pendant and offered it. “This was just dropped—does it belong to your mistress?”
The old man was moved, and took the jade with a respectful salute. “Indeed, it is our lady’s cherished possession. Your integrity commands respect.”
He Yu, eager to return home, saluted in reply. “Then I’ll return the item to its owner and take my leave.”
He was about to turn his horse when the girl’s melodious voice drifted over, gentle and enchanting. “Please wait, young sir—may I have a word?”
She rode her chestnut steed to face him directly, and smiled coquettishly. “From your accent, it seems you’re not from the north.”
He Yu returned the salute and answered honestly, “You have a keen ear, miss. I am a Han from the south, stranded here by circumstance.”
She gazed at him with deer-like eyes, musing aloud, “Men from east of the river truly are distinguished.”
She drew a short sword from her waist and handed it to him. “Soon there will be war here; who will prevail is uncertain. If you ever come to Pingcheng, bring this sword and seek me out. Should I still be alive, I will be your host.” As she spoke, a trace of worry flickered across her face.
Pingcheng was the foremost city of Northern Wei, renowned in the north—a metropolis on par with any modern megacity. Rumor had it King Tuoba Gui intended to move the capital there from Shengle, but the old nobility resisted, so it hadn’t happened yet.
The girl turned her horse north, then paused and called back, “If you come to Pingcheng, show this sword—every official will recognize it, and I’ll know you’ve arrived.”
Pingcheng, with a population nearing a million, encompassed three inner and outer cities and nine gates. Yet she claimed that with her sword, every official would know its bearer—a bold assertion indeed.
Watching her party vanish into the dusk, He Yu felt a sense of loss. He examined the short sword in his hand: a sharkskin scabbard, a blade of fine steel, the hilt of hard wood inlaid with a golden phoenix, and the seal-script character “Yan” engraved at its center. By its craftsmanship, it was clearly a valuable weapon.
He Yu tucked the sword into his robe and galloped toward the Chen family stronghold. At the foot of the hill, he saw Deng’er’s petite figure anxiously waiting at the gate. Moved, he rushed ahead, dismounted, and entered the small courtyard. With a cry of joy, Deng’er threw herself into his arms like a fledgling sparrow returning to its nest.
When He Yu hadn’t returned by midday, she’d asked the guards and learned he had ridden out, which worried her greatly. She had a premonition of his intent, and was terrified something would happen to him. Even by dinnertime, He Yu was still not back; she waited, heartsick, reheating the food again and again, unable to eat a single bite. Only when she saw him in the distance did her anxious heart finally settle.
Overcome by emotion, Deng’er revealed her true feelings, but after the embrace, she grew embarrassed. The rules of mourning were strict; in times of deep grief, there should be no talk of love. Her grandfather had just passed away, and Deng’er was still in mourning. Their hearts were heavy with sorrow, and neither was in the mood for romance.
He Yu understood, so he gently stroked her hair and patted her cheek in comfort. They entered the house, and Deng’er served dinner: noodle soup, pickled vegetables, and boiled eggs. Cherishing He Yu, she insisted he eat both eggs.
For He Yu, life after transmigration was tolerable in every way except one: the food was truly poor, a steep decline in living standards. Even so, any bit of meat or egg was saved for him by Deng’er.
During dinner, He Yu recounted in detail how he had slain the raiders that day.
Deng’er listened, trembling with fear, her expression shifting with anxiety.
He Yu produced two locks of yellow hair from his robe. Together, they set up a memorial table, lit two oil lamps—candles were too expensive for ordinary folk—and burned the hair before Lin Su’s spirit tablet.
He Yu knelt and bowed deeply, praying, “Grandfather, your spirit is near; your grandson has avenged you.” Deng’er, dressed in mourning, collapsed in tears, her cries so mournful that He Yu also wept.
To have avenged his grandfather so swiftly lifted a great weight from He Yu’s heart. When the rites were over, they cleared the table. Deng’er changed into plain clothes and helped He Yu wash up.
He Yu, loving Deng’er and imbued with modern notions of equality, was reluctant to let her serve him, but she insisted; after several refusals, she grew unhappy, so he let it be.
In that era, men were supreme, women submissive. Deng’er, as He Yu’s wife, considered it only natural to care for him. If he refused her help, she would worry she had lost his favor.
Realizing this, He Yu no longer protested, and enjoyed her tender care with a clear conscience.
With his grandfather’s revenge so quickly achieved, Deng’er’s faith in He Yu’s abilities grew stronger. Yet she still felt lingering fear, and while washing his feet, she urged nervously, “Brother Yu, you scared me half to death today. Please don’t go out alone anymore. I’ve heard war between Yan and Wei is about to break out. Let’s stay inside the stronghold and avoid danger.”
In troubled times, nowhere is truly safe. You may not seek violence, but others may bring it to your door. The Chen family stronghold lay on the border; if war broke out, it would not escape unscathed. In such chaotic times, survival depended on strength; constant retreat and avoidance would not guarantee safety.
He Yu understood this, though Deng’er might not. After a moment’s thought, he replied firmly, “Deng’er, I understand. I’ll be careful in the future. But in times like these, without the means to defend ourselves, we are at others’ mercy. Not only must I hone my skills, but you, too, should learn self-defense, in case I’m ever unable to protect you.”