Volume One: Flames on the Frontier Chapter Thirty-Six: Revisiting Old Grounds

Chen Qingyun escorted He Yu to the entrance of the Plum Pavilion and took her leave.

He Yu entered his home to find Deng’er still awake, working under the lamp to mend his clothes. Upon seeing her husband, her face blossomed with a smile. “Husband, did you eat your fill tonight? Would you like a little more?”

He Yu, tipsy from wine, replied languidly, “No need for more food. Pour me a cup of tea.”

Deng’er set aside her sewing and personally brought him the tea. As He Yu sipped it, he gazed at her exquisite features, thinking to himself, “People are truly different. Chen Jing, despite living a good life, is always longing to return to the South. As for me, with Deng’er by my side, even if the emperor offered me the empire in exchange, I wouldn’t care.”

Between power and beauty, He Yu would choose beauty without hesitation.

Deng’er saw He Yu gazing at her so intently, her face flushed with a shy smile. She coquettishly murmured, “Husband… hm… mm…” Her voice was as soft as the hum of a mosquito, barely audible, yet her charm was beyond compare.

He Yu chuckled, pulled Deng’er into his arms, and teased, “A beauty so lovely is a feast in itself—let your husband steal a kiss…”

The next day, definite news arrived: Murong Kai’s army would break camp and march north within ten days, crossing Yanmen Pass and aiming straight for Pingcheng, the key stronghold of Northern Wei. The four hundred warhorses sent by Li Ling as a gesture of goodwill had been accepted by Murong Kai, who had also sent gifts in return to Lord Chen Jing. From every angle, the threat facing the Chen stronghold was, for now, lifted.

A collective sigh of relief swept through the stronghold. In such turbulent times, no one could worry about tomorrow; even a brief moment of peace was a rare blessing for ordinary folk.

He Yu knew that with Murong Kai’s military pressure gone, Lord Chen Jing would soon urge him to set out as the advance party to the South. If all went well, he would reside in the South for the foreseeable future and perhaps never return to the Chen stronghold.

After more than half a year of living here, the sudden prospect of leaving filled him with reluctance.

Since he would be traveling with Deng’er, he told her about the planned migration to the South during dinner, urging her to keep it secret.

Upon hearing this, Deng’er’s bright eyes widened with delight. She clapped her hands and exclaimed, “Husband, is it true? Oh, that’s wonderful! When my mother was alive, she always told me the scenery in the South was exquisite, far better than the North, and there’s no need to fear constant warfare.”

“I’ve dreamed of going to the South!”

Overjoyed, Deng’er began to hum a tune:

In the South, one may gather lotus,
The lotus leaves stretch lush and wide.
Fish dart among the leaves,
East and west, north and south, they play.

This was a folksong from the Han era—“In the South”—simple in words but capturing the water-town scenery with remarkable clarity. It was well-known even in the North by this time.

He Yu, having studied the poem in school, was familiar with it. As Deng’er sang softly, he seemed to glimpse the Southern beauty, where “variegated flowers bloom, and orioles flit in confusion.”

“I once thought Deng’er would be attached to her homeland, reluctant to leave, but she is much like Chen Jing, having long yearned for the South.”

He Yu had not been particularly eager about moving south, but seeing Deng’er so delighted, he felt it might be worth trying. Moreover, though the Eastern Jin was ridden with chaos and war, the South did seem somewhat more peaceful in his memory.

Since arriving here over half a year ago, He Yu’s status and fate had undergone dramatic change. His experiences had been nothing short of extraordinary, and the risks he’d endured were hard to recount. A single misstep and he could have lost his life.

When he first crossed over, He Yu was full of ambition, eager to set the world right. Even just days ago, when Chen Jing sought his counsel, his mind was filled with grand designs and dreams of supremacy. Yet, in Deng’er’s gentle hum, all such ambitions melted away. Perhaps he was simply weary of war, or perhaps he was never that ambitious to begin with.

To live quietly with Deng’er in the South and grow old together—this, he now realized, was the greatest happiness.

With the military threat to the Chen stronghold suddenly gone, the entire fortress relaxed and He Yu’s workload eased. Reflecting that they would soon leave, he decided to take Deng’er to the Immortal Grotto of Kettle Heaven to pay respects at the tomb of the Sage of Peace.

He had survived several close calls, thanks both to his own wit and to the Sage’s otherworldly teachings. Gratitude and respect demanded he fulfill his duty as a disciple.

He had long promised to take Deng’er to this mysterious place, and she looked forward to it, but affairs had always delayed them.

Early the next morning, He Yu finished his official business, brought along a luminous pearl, purchased incense and paper for offerings, and set out for the grotto with Deng’er, both riding the big white horse.

The spring breeze was brisk and lively. Riding side by side, the couple exchanged playful words, their hearts brimming with joy. The white horse was fleet, and in less than half an hour, they arrived at the foot of the Solitary Dragon Ridge.

They led the horse up the mountain and tethered it to a pine. He Yu glanced around—the stone chamber in the mountain had collapsed even further since his last visit. Only the northwest corner remained, concealing the entrance and making it even harder to find.

After the landslide, the cliff face was sheer and impossible to climb, but the remaining stone showed no further cracks; it seemed safe enough now.

He Yu told Deng’er to wait, then took a rope and climbed to the peak, lowering it down to the entrance. Deng’er, though aware of her husband’s agility, watched with sweating palms as her heart pounded.

He Yu, reaching the entrance, secured the rope and tossed the other end to Deng’er. The distance wasn’t great, but there was no foothold; jumping would be too risky. Descending by rope from above was safer.

Deng’er tied the rope around her waist and waved to He Yu. With a firm tug, he pulled her up, and she landed lightly at his side, as if treading air.

They untied the rope, pushed open the stone door, and ventured into the heart of the mountain. Deng’er’s face was full of curiosity and a touch of unease.

For He Yu, this was a familiar place, and with the luminous pearl lighting the way, they wound through the tunnels. In the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, they reached the great stone.

Light shone from behind the rock, and the inscription was clear. Deng’er paused before the ancient characters “Immortal Grotto of Kettle Heaven,” gazing in a daze as if in a dream.

“Come, Deng’er,” He Yu called.

“Yes, husband,” she replied.

He Yu led her around the great stone, and suddenly the vista opened: flowers, waterfalls, a small lake, and cottages appeared before them.

Having walked for so long in the dim passage, their eyes were used to shadow; the sudden brightness dazzled them. He Yu, expecting this, was unfazed, but Deng’er covered her eyes. When she lowered her hand and saw the valley clearly, she cried out in delight and flitted off like a butterfly.

He Yu smiled at her joy.

Looking around, Deng’er stretched out her arms and declared, “Husband, with a place like this in the mountains, I don’t even want to go to the South anymore.”

Her delicate brows arched with charm and playful reproach, enchanting beyond compare. He Yu, his heart stirred, nearly acted on impulse.

The valley was deep; gazing upward, there remained only a strip of sky shrouded in white mist. Sunlight, but no sun, reached the floor. By rights, such a depth should be cold and damp, but thanks to geothermal warmth, it was as if the valley were centrally heated—springlike all year, with constant temperature and humidity.

No one ever came here. The grass was lush as a carpet. The idea of lying with Deng’er on the spot, amid such wild beauty, was almost too tempting.

Deng’er, seeing He Yu approach with a mischievous grin, guessed his thoughts. Her cheeks flushed, she nodded toward a nearby stone tomb, pouting slightly.

He Yu laughed, and his desire faded. The Sage of Peace, though now but bones, was still his teacher from another life; to act so at his tomb would be a grave disrespect. Though He Yu was from the modern world, he still honored such basic propriety.

It had been some time since their last visit; the stone tomb was now overgrown with moss and grass, blending into the landscape—one might take it for an ordinary mound.

The Daoists sought unity with nature, returning to the mountains after death—a fine resting place.

He Yu’s expression grew solemn as he knelt with Deng’er and bowed deeply. “Sage of Peace above, your disciple He Yu, and my wife Lin Deng’er, offer our respects. May our master’s spirit bless us to turn danger into safety, and may we, husband and wife, remain together for all our lives and beyond.”

Deng’er, moved by her husband’s sincerity, silently prayed: “May our master bless us on our journey south, keep us safe and smooth our path. May I soon bear a child for my husband.”

In ancient times, marriage and children came sooner than now, so her wish was only natural.

They lit incense and burned paper offerings, then strolled hand in hand about the valley.

Previously, He Yu had hurried through for fear of worrying Deng’er, only glancing about. Now, with ample time and his beloved at his side, he could truly appreciate the place.

The valley floor was not large—about ten acres—lush with grass and trees, blooming with flowers and fruit, vibrant and alive. Birds sang, white deer appeared and vanished—a paradise apart from the world.

The valley was round, with a small waterfall in the northwest corner feeding a pond, beside which stood a pavilion and three simple rooms.

From the southeast corner, white vapor drifted, with no vegetation growing nearby—a curious sight. Exploring, they found a fissure in the cliff, glowing with red light—a miniature volcanic vent.

He Yu laughed with delight. “What a place! Even lighting a fire is unnecessary.” In ancient times, keeping fire was no simple matter; such a vent made it much easier.

Deng’er, a little worried, asked, “Who knows how long this fire’s been burning underground? Might it erupt?”

He Yu shook his head. “It shouldn’t. Volcanic eruptions are regular, and there’s no record of eruptions near Yanmen. Besides, before an eruption, there are usually signs—strange underground sounds. We’d have time to leave.”

Deng’er believed her husband capable of anything, so his assurance eased her mind, though she lamented, “If only we’d known earlier. Now we’re leaving for the South, but if we’d found this place sooner, we wouldn’t have needed to rely on the Chen stronghold.”

He Yu laughed heartily, “That’s true. Come, Deng’er, let’s see inside.”

“Yes,” she replied.

They passed through the pavilion to the stone house, which faced south. There were three rooms, not large. The windows and doors were rotten with age. The easternmost room was a bath, with a bubbling hot spring at its center.

The middle room was a kitchen, with dusty ceramic bowls and pots.

The western room was both study and bedroom, with a large stone bed and shelves carved into the walls. The bamboo slips and clothing that once sat there had long since decayed.

They searched carefully but found nothing of use. The utensils left in the kitchen and bedroom were scattered in disorder—clearly the dwelling of a solitary man.

He Yu couldn’t help but laugh. “Our master was a true recluse. He probably never had a wife. What a life—so messy, even the bed is a wreck.”

Deng’er laughed too. “A master above the world cares little for such things. With no woman to look after him, what can you expect? But mind your tongue—if you speak ill of him, his spirit might come to trouble you.”