Volume One: Flames at the Frontier Chapter Ten: Double Kill

After their meal, He Yu and Deng'er rested for a while and discussed household affairs. Most of the family's savings had been spent on arranging Grandfather's funeral, though luckily there was still enough grain to eat. With Grandfather gone, there was no way to continue selling charcoal. Besides, after the New Year, the weather was warming, and charcoal was less needed anyway. Only now did He Yu realize how expensive daily necessities truly were; in the past, with Grandfather handling everything, he had simply done as he was told. Now, the responsibility of supporting the family had fallen on his shoulders, and he needed to find a way to earn money.

Though He Yu possessed martial skills, he was at a loss for a solution in the short term. It seemed his only option was to enlist as a retainer and support himself and Deng'er with the stipend. Even a hero can be brought low by lack of money. Ambition welled in his heart, but necessity bound his hands; troubled and restless, he mounted his horse and rode out of the stockade.

The sentries at the gate, familiar with He Yu, warned him not to stray far. With a major battle looming and the land in chaos, he might run into Yan soldiers if he wasn't careful. The words were spoken casually, but He Yu took them to heart. A cold smile flickered at the corner of his mouth as he agreed and rode off toward Guangwu City.

Yesterday’s heavy snow had not fallen; instead, today was bright and clear. The red sun shone over the vast fields of snow, revealing patches of dark brown earth and tender green wheat shoots. There were few travelers on the road; in the distance, a stray dog tore at an unknown corpse. Such a scene would be shocking today, but back then it was all too common.

In half a year since his arrival in this era, He Yu’s eyes had grown numb to such horrors—nothing shocked him anymore.

He rode on, ever watchful and alert. After covering more than twenty li, he saw two small black dots approaching. As they drew nearer, he recognized two riders in armor—clearly Xianbei scouts. He glanced behind them but saw no one else; apparently, they were alone. Since his arrival, He Yu had never fought ancient cavalry and did not know their true strength; still, judging by his own skills, he was confident he could deal with two scouts.

He Yu advanced slowly toward them.

As the distance closed, he could see clearly: both scouts had yellowish hair and deep-set eyes, with high, prominent noses—tall, handsome men typical of the high-latitude yellow race, as later records would have it. Their armor was askew, their clothes untidy, and clearly they had drunk a lot; one was blind in his left eye, the other in his right.

How fortuitous! He Yu suppressed his excitement, deliberately urged his horse forward a few more steps, then suddenly wheeled away, galloping toward the wild hills beside the road.

The two scouts, having traveled all this way without seeing a soul, were bored and drowsy with drink. Suddenly, seeing a lone horseman fleeing, they shouted in excitement and gave chase, yelling raucously. The Xianbei, descended from the Donghu, were renowned horsemen—even half-drunk, they could ride at great speed.

He Yu’s aim was to lure them in; he deliberately slowed his horse, leading them to a remote hill.

The slope was steep, and before long his horse could go no further. The scouts arrived at the foot of the hill, laughing loudly, certain that He Yu had no way to escape.

The one blind in his left eye called out in Xianbei, “So, it’s just a little Han slave. Let’s see where you run now!”

In the months since his arrival, He Yu had picked up some Xianbei, so he feigned panic and asked, “Sirs, why are you chasing me?”

The right-eyed scout laughed boisterously, “Why chase you? We like your fine horse and are requisitioning it for military use. Be smart—hand over everything of value and maybe we’ll spare your life.”

He Yu dismounted with a sly grin. “But what if I’m not willing to part with my horse, nor willing to die?”

The two scouts felt a chill at his laugh, an inexplicable sense of dread stirring in their hearts—a feeling they’d never known in all their murders and robberies.

They exchanged glances. “This Han brat is strange. Has he lost his mind or gone mad from fear?”

The left-eyed scout sneered at his companion, “He’s like that old fellow we met a few days back—would rather die than part with his money. Let’s just kill him.” With that, he spurred his horse forward to strike.

With those words, all doubt vanished—these two were the murderers of Lin Su.

Rage flared in He Yu’s heart, a killing intent rising within him.

Holding the reins, he slowly approached, pleading, “Sirs, please don’t be angry. I was foolish and didn’t understand. The horse is yours... but your lives are mine...”

“Haha, now you’re talking... Wait, what did you say?”

The left-eyed scout sensed a trap and, furious, drew his saber to strike.

He Yu was quicker. Before the blade could leave its scabbard, he pushed hard on the hilt, forcing it back into place. With a sudden leap, he mounted the horse behind the scout, hooked his arm around the man’s chin, and wrenched hard. There was a sharp crack—the man’s neck was broken. Without a sound, the scout slumped forward, dead. It was a neck-breaking move straight from the repertoire of modern special forces—how could the scout have resisted?

The right-eyed scout, shocked sober by his companion’s death, drew his saber and swung at He Yu’s head. But on the narrow hilltop, the horse had no room to maneuver, and He Yu was now behind him; the blow was awkward and lacked force.

The saber swung wide, the moment wasted.

He Yu didn’t wait for him to recover. Slipping under the man’s arm, he turned to face him, hands like claws closing on the scout’s throat.

“Ah—”

The right-eyed scout cried out in terror, but with his saber stuck and reins tangled in his left hand, he could only watch helplessly as He Yu’s fingers closed around his neck.

With a surge of strength, He Yu crushed his throat with a crack. The scout kicked in a spasm, then went limp.

Having finished, He Yu dusted off his hands, a surge of vengeful satisfaction running through him.

The Later Yan army was nearby—if two missing scouts were discovered, they would inevitably launch a search, bringing disaster to the Chen family’s stockade if he was careless.

He Yu looked around. The hillside was thick with brush; higher up was a cliff, dark and bottomless.

He Yu led the horses up, struggling over the rough ground until he reached the cliff’s edge. He tore strips from the dead men’s clothing and blindfolded the horses, ready to push both horses and corpses over the precipice. Then a thought struck him.

Not far from here, beyond the Yanmen Pass, was a horse market—a livestock trading post on the Yan-Wei border. Soldiers from both sides would sometimes steal army horses to sell here and then vanish.

Money was tight at home, and these two glossy, well-fed warhorses would fetch a fine price. The risk of discovery was high, but it was worth a try.

He Yu dragged the corpses off the horses and searched them. Both were evidently seasoned drinkers, reeking of wine and without a single coin between them.

He Yu was bitterly disappointed and cursed under his breath. “Two paupers—made me work for nothing.”

The complaint made him laugh at himself. Now, with not a coin to his name, He Yu was one pauper among three—though at least he was alive, which was more than could be said for the other two.

“To hell with you!”

He Yu cut a lock of hair from each corpse, stuffed them into his shirt, and with two hard kicks sent the bodies tumbling off the cliff.

With that done, he led the horses down the mountain. To avoid notice, he took a roundabout route. One man, three horses, switching mounts as he went—he made good time. In less than an hour, the market was in sight.

He Yu removed the saddles and reins and threw them into a ravine, leading the now-bare horses into the market.

It was late afternoon; the market was nearly deserted, with only a few scrawny horses and old cattle left. He Yu’s two horses stood out like cranes among chickens. He waited half an hour, but no one inquired about the price.

A bystander advised, “Young man, you’d better come back early tomorrow. At the morning market, you’ll sell them in no time—there’s a shortage of horses up north, and prices are good. But it’s too late today.”

He Yu was disheartened. “My first time making a living out of murder and theft, and I can’t even fence the goods. What a joke.”

He resolved that if anyone asked the price, he’d accept whatever they offered, just to be rid of the horses. Among the scrawny beasts, his two warhorses stood out too much—if word got out, it would be a disaster.

But even so, no one came to ask. He Yu had visited the market before when it was crowded and lively, with braying and shouting everywhere. Who could have guessed the afternoon would be so empty? His plan had failed, all his effort for nothing.

As the sun slanted west and the north wind picked up, He Yu was at his wits’ end.

Only two choices remained: find a place to stay overnight and wait for the morning market—but he had no money, and there was no inn or tavern nearby. He could try to spend the night in the mountains, but if it snowed he’d freeze, and worse, Deng’er would worry and come looking for him, which was dangerous. The other option was to let the horses go, abandoning them to fend for themselves.

In the end, that was the only feasible plan. He Yu watched the setting sun, deciding that as soon as it disappeared, he would release the horses and head home.

As he hesitated, he heard footsteps approaching. A deep, elderly voice, speaking Xianbei, asked, “Young man, are these two horses for sale? What’s your price?”

At last, someone was interested! Overjoyed, He Yu replied eagerly, “Yes, they’re for sale! As for the price—whatever you think is fair, just give it to me.”

He was desperate, lowering himself as much as he could, fearing the buyer might change his mind and leave. Turning, he saw seven or eight Xianbei, all richly dressed—clearly nobles from Northern Wei. The speaker was a man of about sixty.

The old man chuckled. “You’re an interesting young fellow. What if I offer only two hundred coins—will you still sell?”

A deal in hand is better than a bird in the bush. Now was not the time to haggle. He Yu steeled himself, pushed the reins into the old man’s hand, and said boldly, “Deal!”