Volume One: Flames on the Frontier Chapter 58: An Imperial Betrothal

The funeral procession began. He Yu rode past Murong Lin and Murong Shao, casting a glance full of hatred their way. His enemies were so close, yet he could do nothing to avenge himself; frustration weighed heavily on his heart.

A party of five hundred soldiers, along with five carriages, set out slowly toward the camp gates.

He Yu guided his horse at a measured pace, taking in the Later Yan encampment—so orderly, yet brimming with murderous intent. He thought to himself, “Murong Kai truly lives up to his lineage as the son of a famed general. The arrangement of these barracks is ingenious. I came to kill him, yet now I am to escort his coffin. What a strange turn of fate these past two days have brought.”

Once the procession left the camp and turned eastward, it took nearly half an hour to reach the relay station. From here, continuing east would lead to Zhongshan; heading north would take them to Lianyun Stronghold.

With so many eyes upon her, Murong Shanshan could not easily alight from her carriage. Instead, she passed out a white jade bracelet through the window, her voice choked with sorrow. “Today I bid you farewell, my lord. I have nothing else to give. This bracelet has always been with me; I offer it as a token, that we might recognize each other when we meet again.”

He Yu accepted the bracelet, still warm from Murong Shanshan’s wrist. Memories of their brief, tender days together surged up, and he felt a deep reluctance to part. Forcing himself to speak through the ache, he said, “Take care of yourself, my lady. I will watch you go.”

A soft, barely audible assent came from Murong Shanshan, her voice trembling, her skirt already soaked with tears.

The horses' hooves clattered, wheels rumbled—the funeral procession continued northward, receding into the distance. He Yu sat astride his horse, watching until the carriages disappeared beyond the horizon before finally turning his steed toward Lianyun Stronghold.

He had not gone five miles when he saw dust rising in the distance; dozens of riders approached at speed. Among them was a powerfully built man—Ran Yu—and beside him, a figure with flowing hair: Chen Qingyun.

The white dragon steed, having wandered the mountains for two days without finding its master, returned on its own to Lianyun Stronghold. The horse returned, but not the man. Ran Yu, suspecting trouble, brought his best men out to search. Chen Qingyun, anxious for He Yu’s safety, had come as well.

Upon seeing his master, He Yu was filled with joy and moved to greet him, but noticed one of the riders nocking an arrow, preparing to shoot.

He Yu quickly removed his helmet, waving his arm and shouting, “Master! Master! Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, it’s me, He Yu! It’s He Yu…”

His voice carried on the wind, and the riders heard him clearly, lowering their bows.

He Yu rode up to Ran Yu, bowed from horseback, and said, “Master, my feet are injured and I cannot dismount. Please forgive me.”

Seeing He Yu unharmed, Ran Yu felt a great weight lift from his heart. On hearing about He Yu’s injuries, he immediately asked what had happened.

As He Yu greeted the others, he recounted his attempted assassination of Murong Kai over the past two days.

Chen Qingyun, whose family had been destroyed and brother killed, had grown thin and pale in just a few days. Her clear eyes rested on He Yu, full of worry and care.

Ran Yu, on hearing the tale, scolded, “Yu’er, how reckless you are! Murong Kai is not someone to be killed so easily. It’s a blessing you came through unharmed—otherwise…” His words failed him, overcome by concern.

He Yu, recognizing his own rashness, hastened to admit his fault and then told them of Murong Kai’s death.

A look of hatred crossed Ran Yu’s face. “To think another enemy is gone… Ah…”

“Master, don’t be disheartened. Murong Kai may be dead, but Murong Shao still lives. We can still take our vengeance.”

Murong Shao and Murong Lin were responsible for Deng’er’s death; this was a vendetta that could not go unavenged.

The group turned their horses toward Lianyun Stronghold and rode for an hour before reaching the foot of the mountain.

He Yu’s feet were wounded. Walking on level ground was possible, but climbing was out of the question. Some of the men fetched a sedan chair, taking turns carrying him up the mountain.

Once atop the mountain, He Yu finally let his guard down, exhaustion washing over him. He ate with the others, bathed, changed into fresh clothes, and was about to nap when the wooden door creaked softly open—Chen Qingyun entered, bringing her family’s healing salve for his wounds.

While Deng’er lived, she had intended to yield her place as first wife to Chen Qingyun, but He Yu had never agreed. Now Deng’er was gone, and nothing stood in the way of Chen Qingyun’s care.

Chen Qingyun had been deeply affected by her recent tragedies, her spirit diminished, her appearance worn. She had managed Chen Family’s stronghold but always relied on her brother’s support. Now, with Chen Jing dead, she felt suddenly bereft of any protection.

He Yu rose to speak, but Chen Qingyun knelt and took his foot in her hands. “Don’t stand on ceremony, my lord. Let me see your injury.” Though of noble birth, she had never served anyone before. Yet her love for He Yu made her feel no shame.

He Yu, on the other hand, was embarrassed, thanking her repeatedly. Having his superior become his beloved left him at a loss. In Chen Qingyun’s presence, he always felt ill at ease.

Chen Qingyun carefully examined both feet, applied fresh medicine, and the family’s salve worked wonders—a cooling sensation eased He Yu’s pain at once.

“It’s fortunate your wounds were treated in time,” said Chen Qingyun. “There’s nothing to worry about now.”

He Yu nodded. “Indeed. If it hadn’t been for Murong Shanshan, I fear I wouldn’t have lived to see you again.”

At the mention of Murong Shanshan, Chen Qingyun’s eyes brightened with curiosity. “I’ve heard she’s called one of the Twin Beauties of the Xianbei. Is she really so lovely?”

Women are always sensitive. Chen Qingyun sensed that this Murong Shanshan was likely enamored of He Yu as well—and a princess of royal blood, no less, her status beyond compare. What Deng’er had faced was repeating itself, only the roles had reversed.

He Yu, no fool, understood Chen Qingyun’s concern and, unable to answer directly, replied vaguely, “She is beautiful—just like you.”

Chen Qingyun, unconvinced and unwilling to let it drop, gathered her courage and pressed, “He Yu, you once promised that if you had met me first, you would have married me. Does that promise still hold?”

Bold and forthright by nature, and loving He Yu deeply, Chen Qingyun now sensed Murong Shanshan as a threat. She confronted He Yu directly, giving him no room to evade.

He Yu was caught off guard—discussing such matters so soon after a close bereavement felt improper. As he struggled for words, Ran Yu entered with a hearty laugh.

“Yu’er, since Madam Chen has spoken so, you must not let her down.” Ran Yu had heard some whispers of their relationship, but out of respect for Deng’er, had never intervened. Now that Deng’er was gone, he saw no reason the talented and beautiful Chen Qingyun should not wed his disciple.

He Yu and Chen Qingyun both bowed deeply.

Ran Yu waved his hand and stroked his beard. “With the loss of Master Chen and Deng’er, your hesitation is understandable. But as martial men, we should not be bound by hollow conventions. Chen Family’s stronghold is newly fallen; you must rouse yourself, lead our people through this crisis. If you marry Madam Chen, it will boost morale, and even Deng’er’s spirit in heaven will be comforted.”

He paused, then continued, “A few days ago, Grand Princess Tuo Ba Yan of Wei sent envoys, inviting Lianyun Stronghold and Chen Family’s men to join her at Pingcheng and resist the Murong traitors. I have pondered it for two days and wish to hear your thoughts.”

The enemy of one’s enemy is a friend. For Lianyun Stronghold and the Chen family to avenge themselves, alliance with Northern Wei would offer far greater hope than acting alone.

After considering, He Yu replied, “Master, Northern Wei is powerful. If we ally with them, our chances of revenge increase. My thought is, we should agree and see how things unfold.”

“Hmm, that is my view as well,” said Ran Yu, furrowing his brow. “But we have no ties with Northern Wei. If we send troops blindly, we risk much. I propose we first send two people to reconnoiter.”

Ran Yu’s experience made him cautious.

He Yu considered. “Master, you are right. Others may not be suitable—better to let your disciple go and see for himself.”

“But the Murong army has crossed Yanmen Pass and will soon attack Pingcheng. Your injuries are not healed; it may be difficult for you to travel now.”

“It’s not a problem. The journey takes four days by the main road; if we detour to avoid the Yan troops, six days. By then, my wounds will have healed. Besides, the Yan army besieges Pingcheng mainly to provoke Tuo Ba Gui into sending reinforcements, thereby weakening the capital’s defenses. So even though Murong’s troops have crossed the pass, they may not attack Pingcheng immediately. We have time.”

He Yu’s reasoning was sound, leaving Ran Yu unable to refute him, though he still hesitated.

At this, Chen Qingyun spoke up. “Commander Ran, if He Yu goes to Pingcheng, I would like to accompany him and serve at his side.”

Chen Qingyun was skilled in martial arts and could be relied upon. Her company was ideal.

“Very well, let it be so,” Ran Yu agreed, clapping his hands. “Since Madam Chen and Yu’er are to travel together, to avoid gossip, I shall formally betroth you now. Once our affairs are settled, you may wed properly. What say you?”

This arrangement would spare them embarrassment on their journey, and fulfill Chen Qingyun’s long-held wish. Betrothal first, marriage later—a plan both proper and respectful to the departed.

Chen Qingyun, surprised at her sudden happiness, blushed and replied, “I leave everything to your guidance, Master.”

He Yu, overwhelmed, glimpsed fleeting images of Deng’er and Murong Shanshan in his mind, but seeing Chen Qingyun’s hopeful gaze, he said, “Your disciple will obey, Master.”

Ran Yu laughed heartily. “Excellent! There’s no need to wait for an auspicious day or match horoscopes. The betrothal will be tonight!”

Ran Yu gave orders for a banquet to be prepared atop the mountain, and that evening, the betrothal ceremony was held.

Though sudden and following close bereavement, the festivities were joyous yet subdued. All present understood and kept their words and toasts measured.

In the middle of the night, as the guests departed, He Yu and Chen Qingyun paid their respects to Chen Jing and Deng’er, then walked hand in hand to a small courtyard. Early summer had arrived—the moon hung immense above the mountains, flooding the world with clear, silvery light.

Seated by the window, Chen Qingyun rested her head on He Yu’s shoulder, her long black hair cascading down, exuding a gentle, pleasant fragrance.