Volume One: Flames on the Border Chapter Fifty-Four: Sleeping Together

When He Yu turned his head, he saw Murong Shanshan pursing her lips, signaling him to lie down on the inner side of the bed. The couch was broad, surrounded by screens painted with scenes of noble ladies at leisure, and every piece of bedding was exquisitely crafted.

Without thinking, He Yu lay down as she indicated. Murong Shanshan leaned over, extinguished the glass lamp, and pulled a spring quilt over He Yu, covering him completely. She herself lay down too, leaving only her head exposed.

“We’ve seen the Prince of Chenliu. The princess has retired; shall I wake Her Highness?” a maid called out crisply.

“Oh, there’s no need. Take good care of your princess. If Ninth Sister wakes, tell her I was here,” Murong Shao replied, his armor clinking as he departed.

So Murong Shanshan was the ninth among the imperial family; it seemed Murong Shao was quite protective of her.

Buried beneath the quilt, He Yu couldn’t see anything. He wasn’t sure if it was tension or excitement, but he broke out in a sweat, his nostrils filled with a delicate fragrance, part orchid, part sweet—Murong Shanshan’s feminine scent.

Murong Shanshan reached out, touched something cold, startled, and upon further inspection realized it was the Giant Que sword. She thought, “He Yu is indeed a gentleman, placing his sword between us to avoid any accidental contact.”

Once Murong Shao had gone, He Yu lifted the quilt and turned to see Murong Shanshan’s flawless face right before him, her eyes smiling, shy and mischievous, with a hint of secret delight. The glass lamp was out, and only a single red candle burned in the tent, casting their features both clear and indistinct in its flickering light.

Murong Shanshan’s eyes were bright, limpid as autumn water.

He Yu, slightly flustered, hurried to say, “Thank you, Lady, for saving me. Otherwise, I would have been doomed.”

Murong Shanshan’s breath was gentle as she whispered, “Last time at Lianyun Fort, you saved me first. According to our Xianbei customs, if you save me, you become my master, and I am your servant—prince and princess are no exception.”

He Yu thought, “Such a custom! It’s similar to later Khitan and Jurchen traditions. It seems all nomadic peoples are much alike.” With danger temporarily gone, he felt pain and swelling in his feet. Earlier, nerves taut, he hadn’t noticed the iron caltrops piercing his feet, but now the pain was acute.

Murong Shanshan noticed something was wrong and got out of bed, lighting the candle. She lifted the quilt and saw two sharp caltrops embedded deep in He Yu’s feet; his cloth socks, once patterned with plum blossoms, were soaked with blood, staining the bedding as well.

He Yu, battle-worn, having crossed mountains and valleys, was covered in blood and dirt, emitting an unpleasant odor. He felt ashamed, and said awkwardly, “Lady Murong, I’m too filthy; I’d better get off the bed.”

Murong Shanshan gently pressed him down, concerned. “It’s all right. Let me see your feet.” She removed his shoes and socks and examined the wounds carefully, showing no sign of distaste. She had been sickly as a child and later apprenticed to Faxian, so she knew medicine well.

After checking, Murong Shanshan drew the brocade curtain and called out, “Zhu’er, Bi’er, bring my medicine chest and a basin of hot water.”

A sandalwood screen at the edge of the couch divided the tent into two chambers. In the outer chamber, two maids slept on a low couch; they were Murong Shanshan’s personal attendants.

“Yes, Your Highness,” someone replied from outside.

Soon, the two little maids brought the items. One wore red, the other green, yawning, puzzled, “Why does the princess need her medicine chest in the middle of the night?”

Once the things were handed over,

Murong Shanshan instructed earnestly, “You may leave now. Don’t come in unless called.”

The two maids obeyed, bowed, and retreated.

Murong Shanshan knelt by the chest, cradled He Yu’s feet, and gently washed them with hot water. “Can you bear it, Lord He? I’ll pull out the caltrops now.”

He Yu, once a special forces soldier, was unfazed by pain. “Please go ahead, Lady Murong. I can endure it.”

Murong Shanshan took a copper tweezer from the medicine chest, gripped one caltrop, and pulled it free, releasing a stream of blood. She treated the other foot likewise, extracting both caltrops smoothly.

She then applied the Murong clan’s unique golden wound powder and wrapped the feet in white silk. The medicine worked instantly; He Yu felt a coolness spread from the soles, relieving much of the burning pain.

He Yu examined the caltrops on the floor, noting their smoothness. “These must have been made recently and scattered not long ago. No signs of rust—otherwise, I’d risk tetanus.” Such worries were natural for someone from the modern age.

Murong Shanshan finished tending his wounds and signaled He Yu to lie down and rest. She stowed the caltrops, bloodied silk, cloth, and socks under the bed, washed her hands, extinguished the candle, and lay beside him.

Tonight’s events were so extraordinary that even in dreams, He Yu could never have imagined meeting Murong Shanshan here.

His mind churned, sleep elusive. He glanced at Murong Shanshan, who also lay wide-eyed, watching him. From the outer tent, the maids’ soft, steady breathing declared they were asleep.

Murong Shanshan whispered, “How do you feel now, Lord He?”

He Yu replied gratefully, “Your medical skills are remarkable, Lady Murong. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

Murong Shanshan was reassured. “Good. Rest tomorrow, and once the wounds close, you’ll be fine.”

He Yu said urgently, “I must leave at dawn. If I’m discovered, it will implicate you, Lady Murong.”

Without hesitation, Murong Shanshan answered, “I’m not afraid. Besides, you can’t walk yet. Wait until tomorrow passes—I’ll find a way to get you out.”

He Yu considered and realized there was no other way but to trust fate.

Murong Shanshan asked, “What’s happened at Chen Family Stronghold now?”

With nothing else to do, He Yu recounted the tragedy at Chen Family Stronghold, and the story of Deng’er falling from the cliff.

Murong Shanshan listened in silence for a long time, saying nothing. She’d met Deng’er once, not close, but hearing of her defiant leap, she felt sorrow.

He Yu gazed at the tent’s ceiling and spoke earnestly, “Don’t blame yourself, Lady Murong. It wasn’t your fault. In chaotic times, many things are beyond our control.”

Murong Shanshan clasped her hands behind her head, speaking softly to herself, “Ultimately, it was my Murong clan who drove Lady Chen to her death. I don’t understand—why can’t people simply live in peace? Why must there be fighting and killing? Lord He, do you know why?”

Born in a princely household, Murong Shanshan was pure of heart, yet her question was difficult to answer.

Why can’t people live in peace? Why must there be war and slaughter? There was no answer in the Eastern Jin, none in the present, and likely none in the future.

He Yu replied honestly, “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s human greed.”

Murong Shanshan nodded in agreement. “That may be it. My father once said, our Xianbei Murong family produces many talents—founding a nation is easy, keeping it is hard. The root cause is the ambition among the royal kin. Everyone wants to be emperor; you defy me, I defy you, and so the fighting begins. In the end, no one becomes emperor. And what good is being emperor anyway?”

He Yu understood. “I can’t say whether being emperor is good, but the Murong clan’s internal strife is well documented. Prince Fanyang, Murong De, saw this clearly—his insight was sharp, though theory is often crafted by those who never practice it. In the end, he became emperor himself, and did quite well.”

Murong Shanshan suddenly turned and asked, “Lord He, why did you sneak into the camp in the middle of the night?”

He Yu hesitated briefly and told her the truth about his attempted assassination of Murong Kai, Murong Lin, and Murong Shao.

Murong Shanshan grew anxious, pressing him, “Did you succeed? My… my second brother… he… he…” Her fear choked her speech.

He Yu thought, “Her ‘second brother’ must be Murong Kai. She seems deeply attached to him—this could be troublesome.”

He Yu didn’t want to deceive her. “Murong Kai is dead…”

Before he finished, Murong Shanshan let out a sob, lunged forward, and bit his shoulder fiercely. “You’re a bad man! Give me back my second brother… give him back… sob… sob…”

Just moments ago, they’d been laughing, and in the blink of an eye she was biting him. The saying that women are emotional creatures seemed true—even the serene Murong Shanshan was no exception.

He Yu felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, but couldn’t push her away harshly. He hurried to explain, “Lady Murong, hear me out. Murong Kai is dead, but not by my hand. Listen to me.”

Murong Shanshan paused, released him, her face streaked with tears. “Is that true? Lord He, don’t lie to me.”

He Yu, half laughing, half crying, rubbed his shoulder. “It’s absolutely true!” He recounted his attempt on Murong Kai’s life.

Murong Shanshan knew He Yu would not lie. Though saddened, she was calmer than before. She was aware Murong Kai was gravely ill; her journey to Yanmen was to visit him.

Murong Shanshan was an only child, without siblings, and among her cousins, she was closest to Murong Kai. His death from illness, though expected, still grieved her deeply.

She turned away, back to He Yu, shoulders trembling as she wept. He Yu tried to comfort her, but seeing no effect, fell silent. Consoling a young woman was an art he did not possess.

After a long bout of sobbing, Murong Shanshan turned back, gazing at He Yu. “Lord He, just now… I bit you… does it still hurt?”

He Yu felt his shoulder—there was a row of teeth marks. He teased, “It does hurt a bit, but Lady Murong is peerless in beauty. I don’t know how many people wish for a bite from you and never get one, so it doesn’t hurt anymore.” Saying this, he felt a little embarrassed and glanced at Murong Shanshan.

Murong Shanshan didn’t mind, replying earnestly, “Lord He, you jest. As for beauty, I dare not claim to be the most beautiful; there are others more lovely than I.”

He Yu shook his head in disbelief. “People say, ‘In the north shines Yan Yan, radiant and bright; in the south, Shanshan, gentle and fragrant.’ In my view, only Tuoba Yan can match you, Lady. At the very least, you are tied for first place.”

Murong Shanshan gently shook her head. “There are many beauties in the world. You met my second brother’s concubine, Jade Princess, just now; how does her beauty compare to mine?”

He Yu was taken aback, realizing Murong Shanshan meant the alluring woman he had accidentally killed earlier. In terms of looks, she was indeed not inferior to Murong Shanshan, but her bearing was lacking. He answered objectively, “Her appearance rivals yours, but her manners are far inferior—she cannot match your quiet grace and noble aura.”

Murong Shanshan’s eyes brightened, a hint of joy on her face. “Thank you for the compliment, Lord.”

She continued, “That Jade Princess was originally the wife of my eighth brother, Murong Chong. He had twelve concubines, all extraordinary beauties, known as the Twelve Beauties. Jade Princess was the foremost among them. After his death, she became my second brother’s.”

Murong Chong! The most handsome man among the Xianbei, famed as the ‘Jade-faced Asura’—Murong Chong!