Volume One: Flames on the Border Chapter Fifty: Fragrance Fades, Jade Perishes

A maid led He Yu to the site where Deng’er had met with misfortune. It was a nearly vertical cliff, about ten or so fathoms high.

The living must be found, and the dead must be seen. Refusing to give up, He Yu decided to descend to the foot of the cliff to search for Deng’er.

This place was too close to the Chen family stronghold. After a night of fierce battle, though the Later Yan cavalry had suffered considerable losses, their main force remained. It was likely they would regroup and search the mountain. Leaving this area quickly was of utmost importance.

He Yu and his master thus made arrangements. Ran Yu would lead the group around the enemy, taking mountain paths toward Lianyun Fort. After this conflict, the Chen stronghold had less than three thousand survivors, including troops and villagers. With the addition of those at Lianyun Fort, their total numbers barely reached five thousand. The fort occupied five peaks—ample space for them all.

At this moment, Chen Qingyun also learned of her elder brother’s tragic death. Overwhelmed with grief, she was incapable of managing affairs. She was more than ten years younger than her brother, raised by Chen Jing, and had always regarded him as a father.

Amidst her sorrow, she suddenly realized that the disaster befalling the stronghold was ultimately caused by Li Yu’s secret affection for her. She felt herself to be a harbinger of misfortune, and her mind became ensnared; she seemed almost senseless, refusing to utter a single word.

He Yu felt a kinship with Chen Qingyun in their shared misery. His own grief and anger rivaled hers, yet the safety of everyone in the stronghold now rested on his shoulders, leaving him no time to wallow in despair. Chen Qingyun, pampered from childhood, possessed far less resilience than He Yu, and the sudden loss of her closest kin left her utterly broken.

He Yu understood that only two things could heal Chen Qingyun’s pain: time and hatred. Any attempts at comfort would be futile.

Ran Yu directed his officers, divided the men, organized the ranks, and after a few final instructions, hurriedly led the group away. The route to Lianyun Fort was all mountain paths; the Yan army was mostly cavalry, unlikely to dispatch large forces to intercept them.

After the commotion died away and the group had moved far off, the surrounding forests returned to silence. The sky had already turned to afternoon. Ran Yu worried that He Yu might encounter trouble descending alone, so he left three trusted aides to assist him.

He Yu fastened a rope and descended to the base of the cliff. The bottom lay suspended between two mountains, forming a V-shape, seven or eight fathoms long and more than ten fathoms deep. The ground was covered with a shallow layer of rotten branches and leaves, along with weathered animal bones and feathers; nothing else.

The moment He Yu’s feet touched down, his eyes searched the area and instantly spotted Deng’er, clad in pale blue attire, her long hair disheveled, lying face-up atop the dead leaves, utterly motionless.

“Deng’er—Deng’er—!!”

He Yu’s legs gave way, and he stumbled forward, his voice trembling with grief.

Deng’er did not respond, nor did she move. One of her boots had fallen off, revealing white cloth socks.

He Yu knelt beside her, scrutinizing her closely. Her eyes were tightly shut, her breath faint as a whisper, her face as pale as paper, with a trace of blood at the corner of her mouth.

There were no visible wounds on her body; clearly she had suffered severe internal injuries. He Yu knew it was inadvisable to move her, and artificial respiration seemed inappropriate. He bent down, softly calling her name in her ear.

His call seemed to have an effect. Deng’er’s long lashes quivered, and she opened her eyes.

He Yu’s form appeared in her vision; a faint smile of relief graced her lips as she struggled to speak: “He… my love… you’re here. Am I… am I dreaming? I… can’t… go on… Hu… Hu… Tian…?”

Her slender arm lifted to grasp He Yu’s hand, but suddenly fell limp. Her fragrance faded; her life was gone.

“Deng’er…”

…

“Deng’er…”

He Yu, crying and shouting, felt pain as though his heart were scraped against stone. Suddenly recalling something, he hurriedly took a porcelain bottle from his breast, poured out the Nine-Turns Resurrection Pill gifted by Faxian, and placed it in Deng’er’s mouth.

There was no water at the cliff’s base, so He Yu used his own breath, mouth to mouth, to blow the pill into her body. The pill dissolved instantly, releasing a mysterious fragrance throughout.

He Yu remained motionless, watching Deng’er, hoping for a miracle. But after a long time, nothing happened; Deng’er lay still.

He Yu was utterly desolate. He sat beside her, put her boot back on, tidied her hair, and his tears fell upon her chest. Though he had been prepared for the worst, his mind remained clear despite his overwhelming grief.

He even felt a measure of relief, grateful he had insisted on descending to see Deng’er one last time.

He did not know how much time had passed when the rope beside him began to shake—the brothers above, worried by his silence, signaled him.

He Yu removed his bloodstained garment, wrapped Deng’er’s body, cradled her in his arms, and tugged the rope. The brothers understood, and slowly hauled them up. Deng’er was gone; as her husband, He Yu wished to preserve her dignity.

When He Yu reached the top, the three brothers immediately grasped the situation. Deng’er had once shared wine with them at Lianyun Fort, a friendly presence whose memory lingered, now departed.

The three knelt, kowtowed to Deng’er, and ground their teeth: “Young master, when we return to the mountain, you must lead us all in avenging Lady Deng’er.”

He Yu’s face was as somber as water; he nodded and kowtowed in return. They were his subordinates, and his gesture was more than they could accept; hastily, they helped him up.

He Yu, fearing Ran Yu’s concern, said, “Brothers, I must bury Deng’er in a place unknown to all. Please hurry back and report to Master. When I am done, I will return to the fort.”

The three exchanged glances, the eldest said, “Young master, Lady’s vengeance is unavenged… you must not… let kin suffer while enemies rejoice…”

He Yu understood their earnestness, and replied fiercely, “Thank you, brothers, for your concern. Until I have taken the heads of Murong Kai, Murong Lin, and Murong Shao, I shall not die.”

Hearing this, the three were reassured, reminded him a few more times, then mounted their horses and disappeared into the woods.

He Yu whistled, and the white dragon steed raced over. Cradling Deng’er, he determined his direction and rode toward Hu Tian’s sanctuary.

Deng’er’s dying wish had clearly been to rest in Hu Tian. The white dragon steed sped like the wind, and within the time it took to drink a cup of tea, He Yu had reached the foot of Dulong Ridge.

He Yu led his horse up the mountain, released it into the forest, and found the rope he had hidden in the tree hollow last time. The white dragon, fierce and vigilant, would let nothing approach, so he had no fear of losing it.

He Yu, holding Deng’er, descended by rope into the cave, winding downward into a small valley.

The valley’s beauty remained, but Deng’er could no longer see it. Passing the hot spring, He Yu scooped water to cleanse her hands and face.

Her features appeared lifelike, as if merely asleep. He Yu laid her on the stone bed, lay down beside her, and suddenly thought: “She has passed; she should be laid to rest in the earth. The temperature here is high—if left too long, her body would deteriorate, a grave disrespect.”

Yet the thought of burying her was unbearable. After much hesitation, he devised a solution. He turned the stone bed over; its hollow interior made a perfect coffin, and the stone table from the kitchen served as a lid.

He Yu cleaned the stone coffin thoroughly, dried it, gently placed Deng’er’s body inside, took a luminous pearl from his breast and placed it alongside her. As he sealed the coffin, it felt as if his soul departed with her.

He Yu gathered fresh fruit and flowers from the woods, arranged them at one end of the coffin, and carved on it with his Giant Que sword: “Tomb of beloved wife Lin Deng’er, erected by her husband He Yu.”

After all was done, he felt utterly exhausted, lay before the coffin, and soon drifted into a hazy sleep. In his dreams, Deng’er called him playfully, “Husband… husband… you love to visit Lady Chen. Go if you wish—it has nothing to do with me!”

He Yu was embarrassed, about to explain, but the voice vanished. It was only a fleeting dream. Looking out the window, daylight had already broken.

His beloved was gone; life held no joy, only revenge remained.

He Yu knelt before Deng’er’s spirit, sliced his finger with Giant Que, and vowed, “May your spirit in heaven protect me. If I do not slay the Murong clan, I am not fit to live.”

He bowed three times, forced himself to rise, retraced his steps, climbed to the summit, summoned the white dragon steed, and rode down the mountain.

Reaching the foot of the mountain, he intended to head for Lianyun Fort, but a sudden thought struck him: revenge did not depend on numbers. With his current skills, he could attempt an assassination; even if it failed, he could escape. The Later Yan army, having just captured the Chen stronghold, was likely to be careless in their triumph—perfect for a surprise attack.

Driven by vengeance, He Yu rode toward the Chen stronghold. Filthy and penniless, he was conspicuous by day, and after a day and night without food, his hunger gnawed at him.

He Yu thought for a moment, rode into the mountains, found a quiet spot and slept. After the bloody battle, the villagers who had lived in the mountains had long since fled, and the houses had been plundered and burned by the Later Yan army.

Night fell. He Yu, carrying Giant Que, slipped down the mountain. At the foot, he saw thick smoke billowing above the Chen stronghold, flames soaring skyward. The Later Yan army, laden with loot and grain, marched out the southern gate in a grand procession.

With urgent border affairs, the army dared not linger a single day. They looted the Chen stronghold overnight and set it ablaze before departing.

He Yu rode to the northern gate, which had collapsed and was deserted. The corpses of fallen Yan soldiers lay unburied. He galloped toward his home, passing scenes of devastation and smoking ruin.

He arrived at the Plum Pavilion, where the fire had not yet spread. He dismounted, entered the courtyard, passed through the corridor, and reached the inner chambers, which were in disarray.

Coming from a poor background, Deng’er had a habit of hiding gold and silver. Thus, He Yu easily found a bundle of jewelry, and picked up a set of his own clothes from the floor to change into.

At that moment, the southwest wind rose, intensifying the fire. He Yu dared not linger. After one last glance at the place where he and Deng’er had spent their days, he rushed outside, mounted the white dragon steed, and rode aimlessly out of the stronghold.

He Yu paused atop a hill, gazing down at the once-prosperous fortress, now consumed by flames.

The Yan army occupied Yanmen Pass; with the Chen stronghold destroyed and no rear threats, they could at any moment attack the Northern Wei capital Pingcheng.

As for the enmity between Later Yan and Northern Wei, He Yu had only read a little in history books before, but now, living through it, he had learned much from hearsay.

The Xianbei people originated in Liaodong in the northeast, comprising several tribes: Murong, Tuoba, Duan, Yuwen, and Tuyuhun. There was both conflict and intermarriage among them—in other words, they fought and made love—though the Murong and Tuoba clans were the strongest.